one of the ones y'all have been waiting for i'm sure

I Still Exist

Requests: Omg your stories are awesome! I was wondering if I could suggest a newt x reader with the song “Where Do We Go” or “Shatter Me” by Lindsey Stirling? Where the reader feels kinda neglected and depressed for quite some time and newt fails to notice because he is in a lot harsher mood and snaps a lot as a result of working on his book? And one day she goes “missing” and worries newt? Lots of angst pls!(Idk it sounded a lot better in my head)You can come up with the rest. Thanks!       AND      hi !! i really love your stories, and i was wondering if i could request an v angsty one where newt is under a lot of stress and snaps at reader? ❤️❤️

Word Count: 2,701

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to one in

The workshop smells about how you’d expected when you crawl into the case. A burning mixture evaporates somewhere nearby, partly covering up the odors of the various feed bags for the creatures and the plate of raw meat rotting on the table. You shake your head, disgusted, and slip past the shed. Scanning the field, hand over your eyes to block out the blinding sun, you spot Newt next to a murtlap. He’s on his knees saying something to the snarling creature. You swallow down the heart breaking in your chest. He’s exchanging more words with that beast than he has with you in the past month.

“Newt. Newt!” You shout, crossing through tall grasses and kicking stones out of your way. For God’s sake, “Newt!”

He twists enough to ensure it’s you before turning his back on you. “One minute, love.”

Hands on your hips, you wait as he chatters with the beast. It’s not that you’re against his research, it’s that he’s trying to cram chapters worth of new material into the book. You’d supported his idea when he first told you a month and a half ago. Now, though, you’re not sure you would’ve been so encouraging had you known he would spend every waking minute in the case without you.

“I don’t have all day, Newt. I have to get to the bakery with Queenie before it closes.”

He shakes his head, facing you. “I’m busy, love. Can’t it wait?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, strengthened, no doubt, by the bags under his eyes. “I just need to know if you’d prefer apple or peach pie for dessert.”

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘that’s it?’ but when you question him, he simply says, “I said it’s your choice. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”

Keep reading

“Is Bruce in here?” Tim figured he might be— Bruce spent a lot of time in the children’s wing of Wayne Enterprises. There were a dozen or so kids in daycare most weekdays, and Bruce liked to hang out.

Tim liked to hang out too. They had nice snacks, and he’d known most of the kids since they were toddlers. And sometimes naps were mandatory.

“Conference call,” Damian told him. (For someone who claimed to hate naps, snackfood, kids, and humanity in general, Damian also spent a lot of time in the children’s wing.) “I don’t know where.” 

He went back to what he was doing, which was arranging a set of pewter soldiers into a complex model of a battlefield, presumably for the benefit of the preschooler sitting next to him. 

“What’s this?”

“The Battle of Issus, 333 BC.”

“Right, obviously.” Tim decided he was curious, so he settled down on the mats to watch.  Damian finished his model; he pulled a marker from the art table and used it as a pointer. 

“Okay. This is the Macedonian army, outnumbered but in the better tactical position, south of the Pinarus River. Their leader is Alexander the Great. And this—” He pointed to his enemy line. “—is the Achaemenid Empire. They’re about to lose.”

Damian tapped his marker on the Macedonian right. “This is the companion calvary, Alexander’s elite force, and they—” he cut off when he noticed his pupil digging in the toy bin, clearly distracted. The kid came up with a battered Transformer, which he set behind Damian’s lines. 

“Elliot. Alexander did not have robots.”

“But,” said Tim, rummaging through the box himself, “did he have wizards?” He pulled a bearded magician out of the tub and held it up for Damian to see. 

“You know he didn’t.”

Tim passed the wizard to Elliot. “But what if he did?”


“How would that go?”


“Abracadabra, Alexander!” Elliot yelled, gleefully smashing through Damian’s entire left flank.

“Damn it, Drake.” Damian sighed in frustration— not quite the rise Tim was hoping for, but still something. He dropped Elliot’s discarded robot back into the box.

“I don’t know what you were expecting,” Tim told him. “Elliot’s four. He’s too young for— what is this— military history?”

“He was doing fine before you showed up.” Damian started to re-erect his soldiers, but he gave it up after Elliot came in for a second pass. “Which is typical, isn’t it?”

“Good one.”

“Thank you.” Damian crossed his arms. “Fine. I’ll bite. When is he supposed to learn this kind of thing?”

“High school? Maybe never.”

“That can’t be right.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Frequently.” Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m getting a second opinion.”

“I’ll wait.”

Damian checked the room for potential allies. “Thomas?” he called over his shoulder, “You learned military strategy as a kid, right?”

Duke looked up from the book he was reading to a pair of kindergardeners. “Just you, man.”

“Told you.” Tim fished a bag of plastic ninja from the toy box and arranged them pointedly into a row. “How are you still surprised by this kind of thing?”

Damian glared at him. “Okay, first of all? I’m not a— hold on a second. Elliot!”

Elliot froze with a large, plastic dinosaur held aloft over the battlefield. He drew it sheepishly back to his chest. “Sorry.”

“Not in the calvary wing,” Damian told him. “You’ll scare the horses.”

“Here?” Elliot pointed to the front of the phalanx.



“Aim for his center.” Damian turned back to Tim. “Anyway. Why are you still talking to me? I thought we had an agreement about unnecessary contact.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Boi, hi, I've been waiting for this. Could I request the RFA boys (+ V & Searan)'s reactions to finding out MC is a Victoria's Secret model and finding out by MC dragging them to a show before disappearing leaving them sitting alone for awhile before they walk out and yeah (I'm so sorry this is so long and I totally get if you don't want to write this. Have a great day!)

A/N: b o i you sent this in literally *right* after I opened requests and I giGGLED SO HARD AT YOUR ENTHUSIASM it really made my day, so i hope you like this ~Admin 404



               -He was already red as hell and nervously sweating when you just mentioned taking him to the show

               -“Isn’t Victoria Secret that one… you know… sexy clothing store?”

               - yes, yes it is

               -The whole way there, he’s muttering to himself

               -Honestly trying to hold back tears because he feels so awkward

               -Wants to look at you and only you!! He doesn’t want you to feel bad about him looking at other partially naked women


               -Holds onto your wrist when you try to leave him there alone and you have to drag him a little bit before telling him that he’d be fine and you’d be back in just a little bit

               -He tries to fold himself up as much as possible to hide himself from the people giving him weird looks

               - it didn’t help

               -When the show started, a small shriek rose up from the back of his throat and he covered his eyes with his hands, though he peeked through his fingers because his curiosity got the best of him

               -But the first person he saw was you? And you were in some absolutely gorgeous, lacey, and very short nightgowns? Where are your pants? Are you in jUST UNDERWEAR? ARE THOSE WINGS??

               -The poor boy has a full blown nose bleed. His face is as red as Saeyoung’s hair. He’s stuttering and muttering to himself because he has absolutely no (comprehensive) words

               -He struggles to look you in the eye after the show! Kept trying for a solid hour to compliment you but the words kept getting stuck on his tongue.

               -That night he held you cautiously, but still close enough to feel his heart race

               -Like, wow, he’s dating a mODEL! He knew you were beautiful inside and out but it’s just amAZING! He would have never expected it


               -“Why are we going to a fashion show?”

               -“I’m beautiful, I should be one of the models!”

               - thanks for being modest zen

               -You didn’t tell him what kind of fashion show, but he agreed to go anyway

               -Famous people are always seen at these things, he feels like he fits in!

               -He was so ready to compliment the hell out of you to make sure you know he’s got all eyes for you

               -But when he turned back to you, you were gone?

               -P A N I C

               -Before he could look around for you though, the show started

               -And the people behind him were grumbling about him being in their way so he sat down and silently hoped that maybe you just excused yourself to the restroom

               -But as the show started, he watched as multiple models walked out in different sorts of lingerie

               -He felt so AWKWARD! He just wanted you to come back so he could focus on you instead of these other wome-

               -There was one model that captured his eye and he thought she was just absolutely breathtaking. Just by the curve of your face, let alone your hips, he knew it was you

               -He couldn’t help himself, he cheered for you like it was a football game people had to pull him down to his seat

               -He practically lifted you into the air and spun you around afterwards, showering you in more compliments than usual (which is a lot). Reminded you constantly throughout the rest of the night how proud he was of you!

               -Also had to use all of his willpower to fight the inner beast the rest of the night


               -She’s always wanted to attend fashion shows, but has always been way too busy

               -Not to mention she didn’t even get to go to any for work reasons damn jumin

               -So she was extremely excited to hear that you were going to bring her to one!

               -She likes any and all information about where the two of you go so she was very shaken by the fact that you wouldn’t tell her what kind of show this was

               -What if it was a super fancy fashion show and she wasn’t presentable? What if it was super casual and she’s too dressed up? WHAT IF IT WAS SECRETLY A STRIP CLUB AND YOU DIDN’T TELL HER

               -She was trying to get you to give her hints about what kind of show this was

               -Actually got frustrated when you didn’t give her any sort of hint

               - acts like a child and pouts, completely ignoring you

               -Simply nods her head in acknowledgement when you excuse yourself

               -The music started to play not long after that and she started to get really giggly and excited! But there was no sign of you?

               -She figured she would just record the show until you made it back, so you could watch it later on when you were home!

               -The moment she got her phone ready, she hit record and looked down at the lit up screen

               -But when she did look, all she saw was you? Walking down the catwalk? In some very revealing lingerie?

               -Had to do a double-take from the screen and up at the stage to make sure it was truly you

               -And holy shit??? Like, you go girl?? 10/10 she was so excited to see you up there, strutting your stuff!

               -Any outfit you had modeled, she planned on buying matching outfits for the two of you as soon as possible


               -He’s tried to avoid any type of show at all costs

               -It’s just not his type of scene, you know?

               -Watching all these women strut around in ridiculous outfits, acting high and mighty, wanting nothing but attention (so he thought)

               -He just wanted to take this day off, sit at home with his precious girls (you and Elizabeth, obviously), and relax

               -Instead, you had begged him to come to this show, which you wouldn’t even tell him the theme of

               -And of course he agreed, you’re his beloved and he wanted to do anything he could to make you happy

               -If that meant he had to watch this agonizing show, then he would

               - he only wished he could have his wine as well

               - honestly thought about sneaking in a flask because he hated these things that much

               -Whined like a child when you told him to stay put because you’d be right back

               -“But MC! I dislike these things, you can’t truly expect me to stay here alone, can you?”

               -You left anyway, and found your way to the stage, only to walk out and see Mr. Trustfund Kid’s jaw clench- his whole body moving forward to the edge of his seat, a hand covering his mouth and his eyebrows knitted together

               -He was pleasantly surprised to see you walk out in some gorgeous lingerie

               -But he was also immediately jealous of every other pair of eyes that set on you and your body

               -He swore to himself that you’ll know for sure that you’re his and only his later that night

               -Not to mention that every set of lingerie featured in the show would soon be in your closet for a private, up-close showing for him and only him


               -He doesn’t get out much

               -But if you wanna go somewhere, then he! Is! Going! Somewhere!

               -Whatever you want to do, he will do it for you!

               -You want to go to some sort of fashion show?

               -He probably won’t enjoy it, since it’s not really something he’s into, but he will still go with you to make you happy

               -Every fashion show he’s ever seen had such ridiculous outfits

               -He’s hoping they’re just as terrible this time so he has something to make jokes about and keep himself entertained

               -Lowkey threw a hissy fit when you told him you were leaving for a little bit

               -He was there for you! You can’t leave

               -“Fine if you won’t sit and stay then I’ll make fun of the outfits by myself”

               -When the music started he sat forward, completely ready to slaughter the first outfit with insults

               -Except it was really cute. And sexy. And oN YOU.

               -He literally fell out of his chair onto the floor, people had to help him get back up

               -Not before he turned as red as his hair, though

               -From then on, every time you came on stage, he would whoop and howl, causing you to almost lose your cool a couple of times

               - ends up surprising you weeks later wearing that same lingerie for you, wink wonk


               -He’s been to many shows

               -Well okay he’s photographed many shows

               -Never sat and enjoyed one himself

               -But completely willing to go with you! He enjoys the art of the fashion

               -Doesn’t even matter what kind of show, he is 500% ready and willing to go

               -Of course he has his camera too, but not to take pictures of the models!

               -He wanted to take pictures of your reactions, how the bright lights shine on your face, how you can see the passion in your eyes

               -HE WAS SO EXCITED, AAAAAA

               -When the music started he was worried about you missing the show

               -He didn’t want to photograph the sadness in your eyes!

               -But he looked up at the stage to see you, walking out from behind the curtain with upmost confidence

               -Shining bright, dripping in sexiness, and giving off a “I’m a badass” vibe

               -And he. was. lOVING IT.

               -It made him so nervous to see his precious angel like that but he knew he couldn’t miss the opportunity

               -So every time you came out in any outfit, he was sure to take the most amazing photos of you, in an attempt to capture how much love he has for you in each one

               - wants a private photoshoot behind the scenes afterwards, wink wonk


               -You thought Saeyoung hating getting out of the house?

               -We all know Saeran is 10 times worse

               -You are physically dragging him to this show because he’s so against it

               -“Why the fuck would I want to watch people parading around the stage in stupid outfits”

               -Because?? Just go with me anyway??

               -He’s holding onto your arm, letting his feet drag against the floor when you try to leave him in the crowd alone

               -“Saeran I need to go do something!” “Oh no, you are NOT leaving me alone with ALL THESE PEOPLE”

               -You did leave him alone though, and he is LIVID.

               -He planned on not talking to you for the remainder of the night because of it. Maybe he’d keep up the silent treatment until tomorrow. Who knows?

               -The loud music started to play and he already hated everything about this

               -He watched as a few women walked out on stage, each in a progressively more revealing outfit

               -Until his arms unfolded when he saw you in this sexy bra and panties set

               -Matching them to the large wings hanging behind you

               -Immediately snapping photos on his phone for later blackmail

               - and also using them as research references to get those outfits for later

               - practically pounces you behind the stage, attacking your whole body in kisses


Don’t Leave Me

Request: Hey! Just found you’re account a few days ago, and I was just wondering if I could request? I honestly love your write so much. ❤️ if you could wright a newt scamander imagine where Newt leaves the reader for Leta (set in hogwarts) and they don’t talk until like some point? Idk. please make it angst but with a happy ending? Thanks!

Word Count: 2,288

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous but also tagging @caseoffics and @red-roses-and-stories

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

You spot Newt’s lanky frame curled up in the grassy spot near the lake, knees against his chest and hands around his knees as he stares out over the water, His shaggy hair blows like the waves in the breeze. You can’t fight your smile as you watch him absentmindedly brush his hair from his eyes. You reach into your pocket, forgetting that your gift is back in your room, hidden between the pages of your transfiguration textbook. You remind yourself that it’s only one more day before you can give it to him. One more day.

He doesn’t hear you approaching, jumping at your voice when you call out to him.

“There you are.” The words are a routine, a joke from nearly a year ago when Newt had approached you with shaking hands.

Newt starts to stand, but stops when you shake your head and toss your books onto the ground, plopping down next to him. “Here I am.” He says, scooting over as you take his hand.

“Studied any amazing creatures lately? It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

Newt’s smile is small. “It’s only been a week and a half.”

You raise your eyebrows and lean back. “Sure feels like forever.”

Newt stares at your joined hands. “Maybe.”

The breeze slows, leaving only the warm sunshine to brush your face. “It’s beautiful out. I hope it stays this way for tomorrow.”

“About tomorrow…”

You don’t notice the change in Newt’s tone as you chatter on. “Wow, can you believe it’s been a year? Isn’t a picnic the perfect way to celebrate a year together?”

Keep reading

If Jamie and Claire (and Wee Ian) could text: Jamie throws out his back in Drums of Autumn and they get it on in the lean-to Edition because why not (BOOK SPOILERS)
  • Claire: Jamie you've been out in the snow for far too long
  • Claire: are you alright?
  • Claire: Jamie?
  • Claire: Jamie Brigitta Fraser respond to me right this minute
  • >>Wee Ian Murray was added to the chat<<
  • Claire: Ian have you heard from you uncle??
  • Claire: he went out hunting and he's not responding to my demeaning jibes
  • Ian: omg!
  • Ian: are ye sure he's not just sleeping on the hunt and ignoring the texts?
  • Claire: god I hope so but you give it a go
  • Ian: Hey, Uncle, I bedded five different Tuscarora lassies at once last night, and they had me Tuscaroarin'
  • Claire: ohgoodlordIan
  • {{{crickets}}}
  • Ian: oh aye he's definitely not seeing these texts
  • Ian: I'm a half day away but I'll head your way now
  • Claire: I'm heading out into the snow to find him
  • Ian: be safe auntie
  • Ian: dress warmly
  • {{{two hours}}}
  • Claire: Jamie I found your trail but it went cold
  • Claire: PLEASE text me
  • Ian: borrowed a horse, will be there asap
  • Claire: of Course Jamie picks a bloody blizzard to disappear in
  • {{{one hour}}}
  • Claire: I will never forgive you if you got eaten by a wildcat or
  • Jamie: I'm alive
  • Claire: OH THANK GOD
  • Ian: WHEW
  • Ian: what happened??
  • Claire: WHERE ARE YOU??
  • Jamie: Threw out my back
  • Jamie: cannnamove
  • Claire: WHERE??
  • Jamie: those your thundering footsteps I hear
  • Tramping about?
  • Jamie: go down the hill and
  • To the left, my sun and stars
  • Jamie: halpthishurtssobad
  • {{{twenty minutes}}}
  • Claire: found him Ian
  • Claire: made a quick lean to
  • Claire: we're going to wait out the storm a bit
  • >>pings location on google maps <<
  • Claire: come find us and bring the horse as soon as you can
  • Ian: okay still three hours out
  • Ian: two hours out
  • Ian: one hour out
  • Ian: 30 mins
  • Ian: you guys okay?
  • Ian: why aren't you responding ?
  • Ian: okay I think I'm here
  • Ian: oh yeah I see the lean to at the bottom of this cliff
  • Ian: wait are you...
  • Ian: 😱
  • Ian: 😏 oh y'all NASTY
  • Ian: but also adorable
  • Ian: ❄️🎶baby it's collddddddd outttttsiiiiiiiiide🎶❄️
  • Ian: also not to be creepy but you guys have some moves
  • Ian: jaysus
  • Ian: I'm averting my eyes I swear
  • Ian: buuuuuuut first imma help set this #Mood a little better
  • >>incoming files:
  • Like_a_virgin.mp3
  • Missy_elliot_work it.mp3
  • boyz2men_ill_make_love_to_you.mp3
  • Ian: okay I've given you quite a range there
  • Ian: maybe run through all three and see how it goes
  • Ian: you guys do your thang
  • Ian: I'll just
  • Ian: oh wait
  • Ian: sounds like you're finishing up now
  • Ian: you didna get to use the playlist 😔
  • Ian: save for next time aye?
  • Ian: okay I'm guessing you'll be checking your phones in 3...2..:
  • Ian: well yeah that's the whole point!!
  • Ian: was just tryna be supportive!
  • Jamie: oh and that five lassies joke wasna AT ALL funny
  • Ian: oh aye. DEFINITELY was A joke.
  • Ian: ha
  • Jamie: Christyourmotherwilleviscerateme
  • Ian: so are we all finished or should I go take a lap?
  • Ian: dinna want the playlist to go to waste
Wink, Blink, and Nod

With a hat-tip to @terrie01, I think we’ve finally got some words to use for the frustration many of us feel about so-called “queer representation” these days.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad to start seeing the back of the dead queer trope. But I’m not exactly jumping for joy at the replacement trio.

The Queer Wink: One step up from queerbaiting, this trope gives off a subtle, coded statement that yes, you’re right, there’s queer here, and it’s not just conspiracy theorists saying that. I mean, nothing like actual daily life queer, but at least there’s confirmation of the baiting for those who look hard enough. Look, a rainbow in the background! That’s good, right? Right? >.>

The Queer Blink: It’s the first! The first what? The first openly pan demi-woman on this particular network! Where? There! For just a second there, in the shot at 33:09. That one line in the fourth book about an ex. The third panel of page twelve. Totally obvious, great representation! The creators and publicists will now spend all their time talking about this in every interview, because they’re that awesome and we should all know it. >.<

The Queer Nod: At the very end, after fans have sweated blood and tears to keep going, there’s a scene. It’s a brief scene. There are no words. But there, in that moment, at least one major character is revealed to be almost-certainly-queer, if we assume things that cisstraight people assume about queerness but keep our queer goggles on at the same time. The creators wanted to do more, of course, but the network/producers/publishers wouldn’t let them. So they did it at the end, when there could not longer be consequences for their activism! Aren’t you glad you waited 5 seasons for this one moment of holding hands/half-hug/kid-safe and fully ignorable expression of same-gender affection? ;_;

So yeah, I guess the last couple years have been better than the dreck we deal with most of the time, but I saw better in the 90s, yo. I’m not about to go around thanking anyone for a wink, blink, or nod. I get that purse-string control is a beast, I do. But don’t hop into an interview and tell me you’re doing something for me if your “representation” falls into one of these categories. They are just pipe dreams. I’m a human being, and I expect to see no less than other human beings like me and mine in our media. If you can’t or won’t do it, I’ll go to the people who will.

And y’all wonder why fandom is so huge. Seriously?

Harry Potter and the Passive Aggressive Confrontation of the Prophet

Here is an expert from one of the oneshots that will be following on from Lost Children (no spoilers bar the fact it ends happily, which I’ve never denied!) I am having an absolutely hilarious time writing this and have to give a shout out to @llap115 @unadulteratedstorycollector and @shiftylinguini for all the amazing ideas they gave me. This expert is inspired directly by Shifty: “I thought you said do a CROSSWORD in the Prophet”

There was nothing Harry loved more than lazy Sunday afternoons as the sun filtered through the trees in the garden of Grimmauld Place. Neville had helped Harry tackle the garden, or Neville had tried to at least. It had turned out that Harry was completely and absolutely useless in the garden. Draco, however, had spent years listening to his mother commanding the elves around the Manor grounds and so knew what he was doing. Things had been tentative and awkward between Draco and Neville at first but bit by bit they bonded over a mutual understanding of gardening. Draco had managed to talk Neville out of filling Grimmauld’s garden with bizarre, exotic and often murderous plants, much to Harry’s relief.

Draco tilted his face up to the sun and Harry smiled at the sight of the sunlight catching on the white hair, pale lashes and unguarded smile. Harry’s breath caught at how fucking beautiful he was. Draco was like fine wine and only got better with age. Harry couldn’t wait to see him when they were fifty. Thoughts like that surprised him sometimes but it was true, Harry couldn’t imagine being without Draco. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever want anyone else by his side. No one else could ever hold a candle to Draco Malfoy.

“Did you see the Prophet article this morning?” Draco asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t know why you even bother reading it,” Harry sighed, as he glared at the case files in front of him. Three years later and he was a fully qualified auror, it was exhausting and demanding but he loved it. The thrill of being in the field and relying on pure instinct alone was one he loved. However, the pouring over case files and trying to connect loose ends was much more Ron’s forte than his.

“Call me a masochist,” Draco shrugged. “Anyway, can you stop your affair with the She-Weasel please?”

Harry snorted as Draco passed him the paper. On the front, there was a picture of Harry congratulating Ginny after winning one of her latest matches and underneath it was a smaller picture of Luna and Draco smiling at each other. “Only if you stop your revenge affair with Luna.”

“Maybe I should get a tshirt that says I only like cock?” Draco hummed as he took his paper back from Harry and continued with his crosswords.

“Nah, they’ll just start writing that you’re shagging Blaise.”

“At least Blaise is good in bed,” Draco said, smirking as Harry scowled at him. “Don’t worry, you’re better.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “I should hope after all this time I’m your favourite lay.”

“I didn’t say you were my favourite.”

“Have I told you how much I hate you recently?”

“No, because you love me. Now what’s a seven-letter word related to masturbation?”

Harry did love him. Harry loved Draco more than he could put into words and especially with his stupid cross word games.


“That’s six.”

“Wanking,” Harry shrugged, grinning over at Draco.

“Ooh that’s perfect,” Draco smirked, scrawling it down.

“What was the actual question?”

“A seven-letter word that is also a motion potion.”


Draco grinned at Harry, and Harry shook his head in amusement. Part of their Sunday routine involved Draco filling out the Prophet’s crossword puzzle using the rudest answers and most inappropriate articles he could before sending it in to them. Draco was a passive aggressive idiot and Harry loved him with all his heart.

PS. Later I will be using Shifty’s other line of “I thought you said come on the Prophet” so look forward to that @jadepresley

( is the link to Lost Children)


italicized headcanons are provided by the amazing @rreneewalker

neil josten is a homeless teen who is pursuing a career in modeling

he gets signed with palmetto inc. because of his background.  (palmetto is known for recruiting troubled models and are in need of getting their life back on track, and furthering their modeling careers. they’re seen as a disgrace to the modeling world, and thus are shunned.) he is a NaTuRaL and absolutely KILLS the modeling game by normalizing modeling with scars

their arch-rival modeling agency is the edgar allen elite, and riko moriyama is the extremely bitchy, yet extremely talented model that gets alllllll the attention and praise of fashion designers, even though his off-camera personality is as tolerable as olive garden attempting to pass off their cuisine as palatable and italian

andrew minyard is a model that PI signed when they saw him off the street (holy shit this kid is gorgeous), and he was like “sure, fuck it. it pays more than my current job”, and even though he has drug problems their manager david wymack gets him help so he can be weaned off of them

he also signs on andrew’s twin brother aaron and the twins have a blast messing with wymack by confusing him in a fred-and-george-esque way (“aaron! move your damn head, you look like an owl with a broken neck.” “this is andrew.” “wait wh— YOU MEAN WE’VE BEEN SHOOTING WITH THE WRONG TWIN. DAMMIT—” “chill, wymack, i’m just fucking with you. it’s aaron.” “—i’m gonna fucking murder you after this shoot is over.”)

palmetto managed to nab kevin day, former edgar allan model, but he had to quit after an accident that left him scarred (a nono on the EA contract, so he’s let go), and wymack brings him in, but kevin is too unfamiliar with modeling alone, since he had a joint contract with riko, whom he did all his shoots with, but until neil shows up, his photoshoots with anyone else in palmetto is sadly stilted and lacks any chemistry

and then neil comes along and manages to piss kevin off somehow, so their first shoot together included muttered threats through clenched teeth and glaring at each other, but that somehow translates to an extremely intriguing photoshoot that had photographers around the globe admiring their supposed chemistry and energy

the modeling team has veteran danielle wilds as their mentor and fellow model, who is romantically involved with the photographer, matt boyd, of the agency

nicky hemmick, one of the older models, loves to flirt with matt while he shoots, much to dan’s amusement and matt’s chagrin (“nicky, i need you to stop looking like you’re eyefucking the camera” “it’s not the camera that eye want to f—” “OH FOR GOD’S SAKE”)

renee walker and allison reynolds are a two-for-one deal, and they are glued to the hip, so wymack had to sign both of them. they’re formidable models, and their different personalities surprisingly complement each other, on- and off-camera.

all the modeling agencies meet once a year at model expo, where they model for up-and-coming designers at the catwalk on every night of the expo, attend workshops, and scope out the competition,

and of course they run into the edgar allan elite, who always walk in v-formation (seriously, what the fuck is up with that) and pose once they stop walking like a bunch of c-list hollywood tweens; the last part nicky purposely inadvertently said out loud

andrew would be the KING of snarky, totally cheesy, off the chain quips in answer to riko’s shitty remarks

“oh look, it’s the palghetto mannequins.”

“hey riko! y’all, it’s edgar allan poe with his edgar allan hoes.”

every year 20 agencies are chosen to participate in ENTM, which is a modeling competition sponsored by EXY, Extraordinary Youth, an organization looking for top models to recruit for top-end designers

the models are sponsored by designers: edgar allan would get the best sponsors, since they’ve won the past 12 cycles and designers are always thirsty for their work to be worn by the EA to get recognition, while palmetto had to barely scrape by with clothes they salvage from donations, and the clothes they make with the team’s tailor, abby

it’s the 20th cycle, and the 20th anniversary, of ENTM; in honor of the anniversary, the grand prize is $200,000 instead of the normal $100,000, so it’s a pretty big fucking deal

with neil filling in the spot in the required 10-man team, they can audition for ENTM and come back for the 20th cycle

so with neil as a rookie model, palmetto has a bit of a disadvantage which is made up for with his natural talent, and the media goes crazy in covering the continuing rivalry between palmetto and edgar allan during the whole 20th season of ENTM

I’ll Find You

Request: Hello! I can say without a doubt that I love your writings!❤ I also was wondering if you could do a newt x reader where she goes missing and when it gets too long everybody loses their hope except for Newt. Later on he finds her being tortured, saves her and it’s a grand and really fluffy reunion?:) Sorry, I just crave for angst and fluff😂 

Warning: Allusion to torture

Word Count: 3,095

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

Pickett crawls from the pocket of Newt’s discarded vest, top leaves drooping from exhaustion. Stumbling forward, the tiny creature pulls itself up by the bed’s legs and hops onto the mattress. Gripping the headboard’s bars, Pickett inches past the pillows and avoids Newt’s hand when it jerks forward.

Once he’s in range, the bowtruckle reaches forward and tickles Newt’s nose. He jumps back, slipping off the mattress and swinging wildly when Newt smacks at his face.

Pickett’s still swaying off the bed when Newt jolts up, rubbing his forehead with one hand and reaching for you with the other. “I had the worst nightmare, love. Love?”

His terror peaks for the third night in a row this month when his hand only hits empty sheets and a cold half of the bed. He opens his mouth to shout for you before he remembers: you’re gone.

He takes in two shaky breaths before he hears Pickett’s squeals. “Pickett, what are you doing up here? You should be asleep.” He lifts the bowtruckle from the front of the mattress and slips out of bed, carrying him to a tree. “Yes, I know you don’t want to be here, but this is where you’re staying. Do you want to stay in that tree? I didn’t think so.”

He peels Pickett from his hand and places him on the tree before turning back into the bedroom and closing the door.

Careful to step over the clothes, crumpled up pages, and overturned pots of feed, Newt crosses the room and slides out the desk’s chair.

The two of you had decided to place a small bedroom in the case for any situations where you needed to be ready to respond to a creature at any moment. For the most part, it had been used when one was about to give birth, but more and more often, you and Newt had been spending nights down there after long hours of work studying a new creature.

Newt drops his head in his hands as he stares at the pages scattered in front of him. Notes that mean nothing at 3 in the morning fill the papers, but Newt still rifles through them, furious with the tears dripping down his cheeks. He has no time to cry. He has to find you.

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Rosvolio + wedding night?

There was not enough wine in the world to ready Benvolio for what he was about to do.

God knows, he had done his best to fortify himself for the task at hand, having finished off several glasses of his uncle’s best Rhenish between all the feasting and the dancing – and, for his pains, was now feeling more than a trifle light-headed – but he could not yet bring himself to rise from his chair and make his way upstairs, where his all-too unwilling bride waited.

The ceremony had taken place that morning in Capulet’s cathedral, as his uncle had wished, for the remaining structural work had miraculously – and mysteriously – been completed before the arrival of autumn. All of Veronan society had turned out for the occasion, dressed their most colorful silks, velvets, and brocades, making the interior of the basilica resemble nothing less than a great casket of jewels. His bride, for her part, had made her way towards the altar dressed in a gown of deep cerulean blue, and Benvolio couldn’t help but notice the bodice, cut square and delectably low across her chest – before he had the good sense to shift his gaze upward.

As the assembled nobles stood watching, the two of them had knelt, their hands joined together by the bishop, followed by an exchange of vows in Latin. There was a brief mass, and those gathered took communion, beginning with the newly-married couple, both of them dutifully parting their lips to receive the body of their Lord. It had been difficult for Benvolio not to think back to the last wedding he had attended – a secret one, with only two witnesses, the ceremony performed by a humble friar – and draw altogether unfavorable comparisons. For all the misfortunes it had brought, his cousin’s marriage had at least been born out of love, not politics, and there had been no mistaking the joy and passion in the eyes of Romeo and his Capulet bride as they had uttered their vows in that candle-lit chapel. Benvolio’s new wife would not even look at him – although he could hardly blame her, given his rather cowardly lack of resistance to the news of their betrothal. And if her heart secretly belonged to another, as he had come to suspect, gazing upon his face would no doubt bring her only pain.

At the celebratory feast that evening, they had proved a somber pair as they sat together at the high table, sharing from the same plate and goblet, but saying almost nothing to each other. She drank but a half-glass of wine and ate very little, and part of him wondered if she planned to escape this marriage simply by refusing to eat, intent on wasting away from lack of sustenance. As the revelries proceeded into the night, Benvolio found himself reaching for the wine time and again, refilling the glass from the silver flagon that sat nestled among the platters of food. The warm evening air was heavy with torch-smoke, thick with the sounds of the drum and pipe as they sung out over the voices in the crowded courtyard, and Benvolio had slowly felt his head begin to spin with it.

In that haze, his eyes had found occasion to seek her out, drawn to her as to a lodestone, although he did not dare to let them linger long. For even in her silent indignation, his wife truly was beautiful – no man could deny it. In the warmth of the torchlight her skin shimmered with rich tones of gold and umber, pulling attention to the winged jut of her collarbones and the length of her neck. She had been endowed with wide, dark eyes, made more expressive by her frequent displays of wit, and a pair of full and rounded lips that seemed to have been formed for no other purpose than to be kissed. He remembered how she had once spoken of her desire to enter a convent – but by Saint Peter, what a waste that would have been.

Yet in the end it mattered not what he thought of her neck or her eyes or even the fullness of her lips, for she did not want him and had only consented to marry him by means of great persuasion from her uncle and the prince. And as Benvolio stared into his half-empty glass, he had realized he could not bear to have her think of him the same way, as yet another man who sought to break her will upon his own.

By and by, the night had grown late, the torches burning low within their sconces, and the time had come for the bride to take her leave and excuse herself from the assembled company. She had risen to her feet amid the ribald cheers and customary encomiums to her beauty and virtue, and just as quickly departed – all without a single glance in Benvolio’s direction. A pair of serving women had been directed to escort her upstairs to his chambers and there she was to make herself ready for bed.

Benvolio waited as long as he possibly could to follow, and he might have waited a while longer, had not his uncle come and clasped a strong hand around his shoulder.

“Go, Benvolio, and make a Montague of her,” he urged, nodding his head towards the stairs, “or at least put one in her.”

Benvolio’s face burned bright with shame – for they should all have been ashamed, having cruelly used this young maid as a pawn in their dealings – but his uncle mistook it for excitement and laughed lustily, quickly pulling Benvolio out of his chair and pushing him in the direction of his chamber.

His feet were like lead upon the stairs, a sharp contrast with his dizzy head, and a hopeful part of him latched onto the possibility that she had simply gone to sleep rather than await his arrival.

Alas, fortune did not favor him, for as he quietly opened the door he could see that a single candle had been left burning and his new bride was sitting up in bed, very much awake. She was clad in a nightgown of fine ivory linen, her unbound hair falling in loose curls over her shoulders. A pair of dark eyes instantly turned towards him, her hands stiff as she clutched the bedclothes tightly against her chest. He had not imagined that he could possibly feel more abashed, but the way she was staring at him, with equal parts defiance and fear written into her gaze, made his heart twist forcefully against his ribs. Had she imagined that he would straightaway attempt to claim his marital rights, he wondered, even in the face of her unwillingness? One look at her was all it took for him to know.

“Fear not, lady,” he muttered with a sigh, “I will not impose myself upon you.”

His words seemed to put her at ease, but only slightly, her wary eyes still fixed upon him as he stepped into the room.

“And what of tomorrow night, and the nights that follow?” she asked. “Will you say the same?”

“I will say it every night you do ask it of me,” he answered quietly, “for I am not the unrepentant blackguard you imagine every Montague must be.” Benvolio rubbed his hand along his forehead, a sudden weariness overtaking him. “But for tonight, put out thy candle and let us have peace. I will rest elsewhere…” – he nodded towards the long wooden bench set flush against the opposite wall – “…and leave you to your dreams.”

He did not wait to see her reaction, but made his way over to his makeshift bower and swiftly stripped himself down to his shirt and hose. It was not until he had laid down upon the bench, using his wadded-up doublet as a cushion for his head, that he realized she had not blown out the candle. Let her keep the light, he thought as he closed his eyes, if it brings her some comfort.

He had almost surrendered to the weight of sleep when he heard her shifting upon the mattress.

“I wonder, my lord,” she murmured, “if you had decided… to impose yourself, what might you have done?”

Benvolio’s eyes snapped open, uncertain that he had heard her true. He glanced over and saw that she had turned onto her side to face him, propping herself up upon an elbow. Something had shifted in her expression, for while she still held herself guardedly, she no longer looked quite so apprehensive, and her eyes glinted with a spark of curiosity. Still, in the thick fog of his mind he could not be sure she knew exactly what it was she was asking.

“What might I have done, when I came into the room?” he stammered.

She nodded, her gaze wide enough that he could see the light of the candle reflected there. Time seemed to slow for a moment, in the stillness of his half-darkened chamber, and all Benvolio could feel was the rough pounding of his heart within his chest. He did not entirely understand why she had thought to ask such a thing, but he would give her an answer – a truthful one.

“Well… to begin, I would have come to sit by your side, lady. For ‘tis all very dependent on proximity.”

“Of course,” she said, her features softening ever so slightly. “And then?”

The corner of his mouth tugged upward in a wry smile, the first time it had done so all day. “Perhaps I would have kissed you,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Gently at first, and then with greater urgency.”

With her gaze still caught on his, she bit against the fullness of her bottom lip, perhaps in innocence, or perhaps to tease him – and with a tightening sensation in his belly, Benvolio realized he did not care in the slightest which it was.

“Is that all?” she asked.

He exhaled roughly, his breath half-mixed with laughter. “Oh, my Rosaline, had you no nursemaid to tell you of such things?” He paused and pursed his lips, taking her coy silence as his cue to continue with his answer. “No, ‘tis merely the beginning. For then I might have taken you into my arms and held you close, until naught remained to separate us.”

Her lips parted a little, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “And what of our clothes?”

“I would fain have us unclothed,” Benvolio replied, and her dark eyes widened, as if scandalized at the thought. “As husband and wife, there should be no secrets between us.” He swallowed hard, allowing his mind to momentarily cloud with visions of his new bride, her bare skin velvet-smooth and flush with yearning. Perhaps it was only the presence of such distracting thoughts that could explain the liberties he took in speaking to her so brazenly. 

“And I would wish to see you, my lady – all of you – as you laid back and pulled me down with my weight upon you. For then there would be nothing left but for me to possess you fully, our bodies joined together in the most intimate of ways.”

He fell silent, knowing not what else to say as he gazed at her, recumbent upon his bed, the wild tendrils of her hair spilling onto the sheets, her eyes shining with something that could only be desire. His breath came heavy, caught in his throat, his hunger for her coiling and nestling deep within his groin. Benvolio found himself filled with the compulsion to rise to his feet and make his way over to where she lay, so he might in fact begin to enact that sequence of events he had just described to her. Before he could do anything, though, she tilted her head, her gaze leveling him with cool appraisal.

“Perhaps it is fortunate, then, that you were compelled to restrain yourself,” she said, her eyebrows raised into uniform arches. “For now, armed with such knowledge, I feel wholly prepared to resist any advances should they be attempted.” She gave him one final shrewd glance before she put her lips up to the candle’s flame.

“Good night, my lord,” she whispered, and with a single breath plunged the room into darkness.

For a moment, Benvolio could only lay back upon the bench, fully awash in bewilderment and frustration, listening to the rustle of the bed linens as she settled herself down for sleep. But as he recalled the words that had just passed between them, he finally came to the realization that she had provoked him deliberately, drawing his mind towards thoughts of carnal pleasures all the while knowing she would allow him no satisfaction of them. But her response to his words had been clear enough – she could not have feigned such desire, could she? Jesu, what sort of bold little minx had he married?

And then he couldn’t help but smile, and shake his head, knowing that he had all the remaining days – and nights – of his life to figure it out.

[my Still Star-Crossed ficlets are on AO3 – read them here]

Home and Family, Shance Fluff Week Prompt 3

June 6th: Home/Family
Yes, I did both, because I couldn’t make it about Family when they’re all on Earth, AKA Home.
Lance was wiggling impatiently during the meeting. They’d finally defeated Zarkon and Lotor, the last of the Galra Empire crushed, and they’d finally, finally returned to Earth. But negotiations with Earth had to happen first, all the major leaders speaking to Allura and Coran and news crews everywhere.

Lance just wanted to go home. He wanted to see his family, his Mamá and Papá and siblings and every relative he could think of, back in Cuba. But he’d be free soon enough, so he smiled and waved and tapped his foot agitatedly against the sweet and familiar dirt he’d missed these past few years.

Shiro noticed his fidgeting and slyly twined his hand together with his boyfriend’s, Blue rumbling soothingly in his mind while Pidge shot him an empathetic look from where she was standing with her brother and father. Hunk and Keith noticed too, shuffling closer while Keith stayed behind the bigger man, camera shy.

“Soon, Lance. Just hold on a little longer, and then we’ll all go visit Cuba with you.” Shiro muttered as he smiled at another camera.

Lance made a soft whine in the back of his throat at the thought of waiting longer, but a soft laugh from Blue soothed his impatience as she reassured him she’d fly as fast as she could to get him to his family.

It took longer than he thought, but sure enough he and Blue were breaking the sound barrier as they flew across the country to his homeland, the others following close behind.

Shiro’s laughter echoed through the comm link. “Lance! Slow down babe, the rest of us can’t keep up.” Lance purposefully ignored Keith’s indignant shout in favor of whining at his boyfriend.

“I know Shiro, but I haven’t seen them in years! I don’t know if my siblings got married or if aunt Rosa had the baby oh who am I kidding she probably did but what about the baby itself? Is it a girl? Boy? I don’t know!” Lance rambled, gunning Blue’s engines even faster over the ocean.

“Lance, its only been five years. Besides, if anything, I’m slightly worried about meeting them.” Shiro confessed.

Lance huffed out a short laugh. “Babe, you’re the epitome of a good gentleman. They’ll love you!” He said, finally slowing Blue down in order to regale his boyfriend and team with stories of how well his family had taken his bisexuality and attraction to boys, both negating his panic and easing Shiro’s worries.

It wasn’t long after that the familiar island country popped into view, exciting Lance and even Blue purred in anticipation.

He landed her in a field, only a few miles from his old house. He’d checked beforehand, the McClain residence still standing and bursting with people.

He dashed out of the cockpit, stumbling a little as he ran down a dusty path towards his house, noticing people chattering in rapid Spanish around a TV set up on the porch. He recognized the flash of blue onscreen.

“Mamá! Papá!” He called, watching as the two people closest to the television whirled around and gaped at the dusty man in armor tearing up the path to their home, crying.

The first to reach him was surprisingly his mother, a short and stocky woman, who had sprinted across the yard and practically tackled him, sobbing his name as cries of “Its really him!” “It’s Lance! He’s alive!” and “Please God, don’t let this be a dream!” echoed across the house in Spanish, more and more familiar family members coming out to dogpile their lost and thought dead relative.

Lance sobbed and hugged as many blood relatives as he could, his mother full on bawling like some of his sisters and his father and older brother sniffling and his uncle shouting about where in hell had he been all this time and his little cousins squealing over his armor.

He was smothered in kisses and hugs and it was almost overwhelming. His family finally backed up a little, crowding around him and shouting questions, rapid Spanish nearly drowning the Blue Paladin. His Mamá held his face between both hands as she peppered his face with little kisses, just like she’d done before he’d left for the Garrison all those years ago.

“You’ve come back to me. Mi hijo came back to me.” His mother whimpered, the familiar lilt to her voice such a missed sound that Lance cried even harder as he enveloped her in a hug.

“I’m home, Mamá.” He hiccuped, hearing the approaching sound of his other family, his team. He smiled. “There’s some people I’d like you to meet.” He explained, pulling away and leading her by the hand to where his space family stood by the gate.

Lance smiled and reached for Shiro’s hand. “Mamá, this is my boyfriend, Shiro.” He said, beaming at his mother. She laughed and pulled the bigger man into a hug, startling him.

“Thank you for bringing my baby home in one piece, Shiro.” She said gratefully, Shiro finally hugging back.

“Ha! It was a really near thing. I dunno how many times that idiot took a hit for one of us.” Keith spoke up, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing Lance playfully. Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes as the team started relaxing around the huge Cuban family, cousins already tugging at Matt’s rebel clothing, Pidge getting buried under fussing adults and Hunk saying hello to the McClain’s he remembered.

“Only because some mullet headed moron kept thinking with his sword more than his head!” Lance shot back, grinning. Lance’s mother quirked an eyebrow as she stepped back from the hug she’d given Shiro, her husband already heading inside to make coffee.

“Okay boys, play nice.” Pidge piped up, finally free from Lance’s aunts and uncles and jabbing Keith in the side while Lance cackled at the startled yelp the Red Paladin gave at the sudden injury. Matt snickered, highfiving his sister.

Lance’s mother shook her head, giggling at the playful little group her boy had claimed as a second family.

“Why don’t you all come inside for some coffee and tea? It sounds like you have a lot of stories to tell.” She asked kindly, and Shiro tilted his head at her with a gentle smile.

“That sounds lovely, Mrs. McClain.”
I hope this was fluffy enough!!!! 🖤💙🖤💙

Boy, can I tell you a terrible thing?

Part 1 (you are here)

A spin-off of the lovely and talented @realisticallycynical​‘s In the rough which, as it happens, was based off of my Royalty AU.

Victor and Yuuri don’t get their happily ever after.

Not right away, at least.

It starts off on a deceptively normal day.

Yuuri is out on the training grounds, practicing his swordsmanship against one of the prince’s guards, Otabek Altin.

They’ve been sparring, nonstop, for the past half hour and have worked up a good sweat. A decent crowd has gathered around them, hooting and cheering for their favourite. The support is split pretty eveny, something that still surprises Yuuri to this day, how easily he was able to fit in with this group, how readily they accepted him as one of their own.

But then, just as Yuuri dodges an attack, he feels something snap, and he freezes short as his long, waist-length hair falls free of its usual tight knot at the base of his skull.

“Wait-” he gasps, panicking as he dodges back out of the path of Otabek’s sword.

Otabek doesn’t seem to hear him. Or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care.

Yuuri scrambles back, lifting his sword to block, but without watching where he’s going, it’s inevitable that he trips and goes crashing to the ground.

Otabek’s eyes widen, but it’s too late for him to stop his swing. Yuuri ducks his head to protect it, and as he crashes to the ground, he hears the telltale snip of a blade cutting through hair.

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (5/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature
Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence
AN: Bonus points to anyone who can tell me what Merida’s last name means here. Also, have some more vaguely emotional backstory. I am nothing without @laurnorder, @beautiful-swan & @distant-rose who are a constant and goddamn delight. 
Hanging out on Ao3, and tag’ed up on Tumblr

She’d come up with the idea at some point in the middle of the night – somewhere between flipping onto her back and trying not to break her neck from leaning against the arm of Mary Margaret’s couch and resisting the urge to groan so loudly she’d definitely wake up both Mary Margaret and David because this was, hands down, the the most uncomfortable couch in the entire world.

It felt a bit like lightning.

Or whatever metaphor she wanted to use that didn’t sound quite as ridiculous as saying an idea felt like lightning.

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*chokes on a snore as I ungracefully exit the Dream Zone* hey y'all guess who’s emotionally compromised & it’S LEAKING INTO HER SUBCONSCIOUS AGAIN??????????

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anonymous asked:

fave headcanons or aus of your otps? c:

Oh god okay okay I’m so so sorry have fun
-Spanish Speaking Yamaguchi
Yamaguchi who moved from Spain to Japan at the tender age of two but never forgot his roots! Yamaguchi who speaks Spanish around the house to his Mama as it’s her first language and he knows how much joy it brings her to hear her son speak it. Tsukki loving every second he hears Yamaguchis native tongue because god the way the words slip off his lips is so seductive it makes him feel weak at the knees. Yamaguchi feeling so self conscious of his inability to learn English because he already knows two languages; three is just too much to comprehend at this point in his life. Just Yamaguchi speaking Spanish, okay?
- Kenma is Protective AF
As a kid, or even as a teenager, Kenma isn’t the easiest accepted of people. He is small and quiet and a loner in his class and he doesn’t believe he has many close friends. However those he does have? He would die for them. Like when people made fun of Lev for his legs (they’re so long and spindly he seems to tower over the rest of the class and he loves it because volleyball but also hates it because it’s just another thing that makes him different from the rest of the class) Kenma glared at them so intensely they got freaked and left. Kenma going anonymously onto people’s accounts who have been bothering his pals and sending them subtle threats to back off. Yet in person he is the least likely person to ever show it but he would crush anyone if it meant keeping his team safe. And Kuroo knows this. That’s why he lets him do as he likes because he knows no matter what he will always do what’s best for his friends.
- Iwaizumi would do anything to make sure his friends are happy and comfortable
One day at practice Makki complains about his phone breaking meaning he won’t be able to call anyone. The next day he walks into the gymnasium and right there next to his bag is a brand new phone. Another time Watari needs textbooks for his literature class otherwise he knows for sure he is going to fail it. Two days later all the books he needs, plus additional revision material, are waiting for him in his locker. On a separate occasion Kyoutani complains about his back hurting from all the spiking and low and behold the day after there is a back massager sitting waiting for him in his bag. For months no one knows what’s going on until finally Oikawa steps in. Iwaizumi Hajime may not come from a exceptionally rich family but he does have a exceptionally big heart and Tooru knows this better than anyone. Working late, doing night shifts and overtime just to have the money to make sure his friends and family never go without. He would never take credit for it of course but Oikawa knows anyway. After all this is the same boy who waits with him for hours after practice just so Oikawa can get in that last perfect serve. He is the boy who will answer his phone at 3am with a groan and a complaint but never the less still answers. He is the boy who would come home from school and pull a blanket over his mother and swear to himself that one day she wouldn’t be so constantly tired that the only things in her life were work and sleep. And, most importantly, he is the boy who, on the night of Oikawas 6th birthday, didn’t get a wink of sleep for the sole reason he was still preparing his present. The thing Oikawa wanted the most in the work. To see the stars. Being 6 of course that was impossible but there would be one way. Iwaizumi couldn’t send Oikawa to the stars so instead he would bring them to him. And as the last star shone a glowing green in the blackness of Oikawas darkened room it was done. 100 stars, 20 packets littered on the bedroom floor and one very very thankful little boy still asleep in his bed with another stood just beside him. Dreaming of the stars.
- The Captains all have a group chat.
Kuroo and Bokuto Meme, Daichi is confused, Ushiwaka is silently observing and Oikawa is fangirling and hating on Ushi. Literally enough said. Y'all know this is canon.
Okay wow I have a lot more I have never written here before and idek if these make sense but whatever! So okay yeah wow I’m scared okay sorry

beautiful in chicago 2017

i was going to do one immediately, and then i didn’t and i deleted the original lab report type post, but then the photo op pics came out and this happened:

so i thought, yeah. i’m going to write a small fanaccount of how i have an irl crush on minhyuk and lost my shit at the mx concert bc i love 7 boys and a long legged weird one a bit more. (i look at hot mess in that photo and way too excited i’m sorry :D)

some videos and pictures have been posted here, but all of my media has been posted on my twitter 

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mewwitch  asked:

I'm curious as to HOW the space paparazzi found out about Luke being Vader's son to begin with. Someone must have blabbed or was a reporter just lucky, being in the right place at the right time? And if someone did leak yhe information, was it someone on the Rebellion's side or the Empire's?

Well, I have three possible scenarios for that, and I’m sure y'all have alternate versions as well.

Scenario one: someone in the Empire blabbed
In this particular instance, it may have been one of the Imperial relatives of one of the Rogues. There’s a 50% chance it was done unthinkingly, a passionate parent or sibling defending their “traitorous” kin by arguing that they guard Lord Vader’s son while in enemy territory, and the space paparazzi just put two and two together. However there’s also a 50% chance that it was leaked spitefully or otherwise maliciously by someone hoping to cause a scandal for Vader. If the latter, no one will ever hear from this informant again. If the former, they’re probably going to end up in some weird distant prison for a while.

Scenario two: someone in the Rebellion blabbed
Now, this could’ve been as simple as accidentally saying the wrong thing to someone who happened to be a tabloid informant, or it could be as complicated as a gamble to shake up the political situation in the Empire (“the heir to the throne supports freedom for all worlds, where do your loyalties lie? Old ways or young blood?”)
It could also have been a Rogue calling in a favor to get out of being captured/killed. Or someone who just didn’t like Luke (statistically, I find it unlikely that everyone in the Alliance likes him) and was hoping to disgrace him before Command. (If so, said person had better hope the Rogues or the Empire gets ahold of them before Leia does. She’s not as forgiving as them.)

Scenario three: it was sheer happenstance
In this scenario, some lucky paparazzo just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Perhaps they were present at the awkward standoff with the Imperial Dad and mob where Vader had to intervene. Or perhaps a war journalist witnessed Vader unironically praising Luke’s progress while they’re dueling on the battlefield and the journalist has to do a double take when the infamous Jedi grins “Thanks, Father,” looking delighted.

Maybe someone was present reporting on the Hutts getting a little too bold and testing the Empire’s boundaries and the Rebels show up and the place is a battlefield in less than forty minutes. The reporter is thinking it’s time to go when the Imperials show up, but then General Veers himself marches up out of the smoke, grabs Skywalker by the shoulder and says, “We’ve surrounded the city, take your squadron through the stone district, your father and the 501st will meet you there!”
Nobody’s thinking about the reporter, they’re in the middle of a firefight. But the reporter remembers, especially when they trail along after the Rogues and see who’s waiting in the stone district. After that it’s somewhat common knowledge.

Kingdom- Chapter Two

Gajeel has had the dream about dying for the blue haired girl for as long as he can remember. Which is weird, since he’s never met anyone with blue hair in his life.

Levy has always loved myths and legends. So much so, in fact, that she was currently getting her master’s in mythological studies.

What neither of them realized was that they were living a legend all their own.

AKA the one with a knight, a princess, and a curse that keeps bringing them together just to pull them apart.

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Who To Fight - Choices Stories You Play Edition - Part II
  • For Part I:
  • ______________________________________________________________
  • Professor Vasquez: He's already dead. You can't fight him, anymore...
  • Zig: This dude's already a badass and you wanna fight him? You're gonna be left with scars and bruises. Or worse, lying on the ground, not moving at all.
  • Rachel: Same as Natasha.
  • Amara: She's on your side and also why would you wanna fight her?
  • Arjun: Poor Arjun being beaten up by you. He doesn't do anything wrong.
  • Yasmin Udoka: You better fight her. She's already sexual harrasing James.
  • Cassandra Leigh: Don't you dare to fight this precious cinnamon roll. She's already being held hostage by John Tull and Hayley Rose and she needs to be protected. Don't fight her, please.
  • Ryan Summers: Again, this guy didn't do anything wrong to you. There's no reason to fight him. Unless, if you're the antagonist/hero in the movie that you're starring alongside him and he's the hero/antagonist.
  • Alyssa Griffin: She'll call her lawyers if you wanna fight her.
  • Capt. Dana Beckham: You dare to fight with a superior of the Los Angeles Police Department? You're gonna be thrown into jail for sure.
  • Officer Rebecca McKenzie: Don't fight with a freaking police officer. You'll end up in jail. You can't run from your crimes.
  • Severin Cale: You're gonna lose if you're not careful with him "playing dirty", but sure fight him.
  • Prince Tevan Drammir: He'll fight you if you wanna fight him.
  • Adder: Queen of daggers, bad idea.
  • Kailani Keawe: She and her brother Noa will have their combo move and you had no chance on winning.
  • Noa Keawe: Same as Kailani.
  • Anu Rhuka: This fire master would probably burn you to death. No kidding.
  • Hex: FIGHT HER. (bruh this was before she has a sudden change of heart) Ok, maybe bad idea.
  • Leon Stirling: Heh, he'll beat you up first. Now that he's dead...
  • Gabriel Amarne: He's dead...
  • The Mechateur from The Foundry: Bad idea. *cues the "You have died." screen*
  • The Bear recruited from Aurelia: The Bear will eat you before you could even fight it. *cues the "You have died." screen*
  • Mama Kraken: Like I said above for the Baby Kraken.
  • Party Twin: Why do you want to fight with your own sister? There's no sibling rivalry in your family. Unless, there's a cookie left... maybe?
  • Smart Twin: Same as Party Twin.
  • The Brother: He's your own brother... he will protect you for those people who wants to fight you. Unless when it comes down to "only one left" piece of food... maybe?
  • Elena Sanchez: Elena is just a precious cinnamon roll that there's no reason to fight with her. Unless you mess with her, she looks like she can break your bones.
  • Blake Yasuda: You're gonna get fired from Nomade. Lmao.
  • Carter: There's nothing to fight with him. Why bother?
  • Evil Aunt: She's trying to fail you and your siblings for the inheritance. GO FIGHT HER.
  • Claire Pierce: FIGHT THIS BITCH.
  • William Sloan, Rich Businessman: He's a sweetheart. Why would you want to fight him? He has lawyers too.
  • Prince Leo of Cordonia, RoE: No comment, honestly.
  • The Bartender: Um... he used to be in the military so I guess he knows how to fight so...
  • Audrey: There's completely no reason to fight with her.
  • Paolo: Fight him for being a fricking arse.
  • Blaire Hall: Um...
  • Diego Ortiz Soto: You'll regret this for the rest of your lives. Don't fight him, please. If you still want to fight him, -1000000 friendship points with Diego.
  • Jake McKenzie: Hahahahahaha... ha... ha... sure, if you DARE, Princess/Boy Scout.
  • Quinn Kelly: DON'T FIGHT THIS PRECIOUS CINNAMON ROLL. If you do, -1000000 friendship points with Quinn.
  • Sean Gayle: Wait you really want to fight this quarterback? Here's a story, Sean has hard abs and looks like he can crush your trachea. RIP you. Cause of death is asphyxiation because Sean crushed your trachea.
  • Michelle Nguyen: You fight her, you get -1000000 friendship points with Michelle.
  • Craig Hsiao: If you win, Craig will praise you. If Craig wins, you have to do his betting.
  • Raj Bhandarkar: Again, why would you want to do it so? -1000000 friendship points with Raj.
  • Zahra Namazi: Heh. No big deal for her. *smirks like Zahra*
  • Aleister Rourke II: He's up for a challenge.
  • Grace Hall: -1000000 friendship points with Grace and Aleister. Also, Aleister will fight you if you dare to fight Grace.
  • Estela Montoya: You and her are gonna fight. A probability of 1/2 for you to win and another 1/2 for Estela to win. Dare to do it?
  • Lila: Woah, if you get on her bad side, she'll probably electrocute you with her traps.
  • The Watchers: You HAD to.
  • Sabertooth: Same as the Watchers.
  • Giant Crabs: Same as the Watchers and Sabertooth.
  • Everett A. Rourke I: Ok but fight him because he's the one who trapped y'all in La Huerta but then again, he's hibernating in a pod so...
  • Mark Collins: I seriously don't know dude. Maybe you guys fight in a game of Scrabble or something. No physical strength involve.
  • Sereena: You wanna fight her? She also wants to fight you. *plays Wild West fight scenario music*
  • Brooke: But... why? Poor Brooke.
  • C. Coleman: Did Cole did anything wrong to you? Right, he was drunk and casually said that Mark's in love with Dani. Uh...
  • Horatio Santos: Why do you wanna fight this cinnamon roll? Horatio didn't do anything wrong to you. How dare you? Did I mention that he's really jacked up?
  • Ben: Poor Ben.
  • Leah: Poor Leah.
  • Martin: FIGHT HIM AND TJ.
  • Felix: Maybe you guys challenge each other in a spicy food eating contest.
  • Isabel: Isabel looks like she can break your bones.
  • Eleanor Waverley: Um, she's dead. (in my game)
  • Simon Waverley: He's dead and if he was alive, you still can't fight him because he's a precious cinnamon roll that needs to be protected at all costs.
  • Clarissa Waverley: Same as Simon.
  • Thomas Waverley: Same as his siblings.
  • Victor: Victor's been nothing but a love interest/best friend to you and being in a fight with him is just... not right.
  • Rose Waverley: She's dead but if she was alive, FIGHT HER FOR WHAT SHE DID TO HER CHILDREN.
  • Hana: She just came here to have a good time and honestly feeling so attacked right now. No, don't fight her.
  • Olivia: Or Zenobia Nevrakis? Jk, she's a descendant. Fight her I guess?
  • Drake: *casually has Hotline Bling in my head* I dunno. Some of y'all still dislike/hate him and some of y'all had a change of heart. Ok let me tell you what, you and him should race down the snowy hills, which you guys did.
  • Prince Liam of Cordonia, from TRR: I don't think there's even a reason to fight with him...
  • Maxwell: There's no reason for you to fight him, unless PB will cause a plot twist to his character like I've seen there's a "Maxwell is evil" theory. As long as he's still the guy who loves cronuts, please do not fight him.
Vital: Part One - Terra (A Yondu x Reader fic) Chapter 3/?: Hold On, I’m Comin’

Click here for: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Rated M for language and future NSFW chapters (these will be marked as such).

So this chapter started out even longer than the last one, so I broke it in two. ;) Will post chapter 4 later today.

It’s late that night when you leave the hospital. As soon as your shift ended, your mind immediately went to Yondu. You were nervous about leaving an alien to his own devices in your home all day, but he said he wouldn’t hurt you, and he wouldn’t steal from you, and you decided that you had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Hours later, you’re still nervous, but for a different reason – a have vague sense of growing apprehension that you can’t pin to any specific source. As you get in your car, you see dark clouds rolling in, and you try to swallow back the anxiety building in the pit of your stomach. You drive a little faster on the way home, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.

By the time you pull in your garage, rain is falling steadily.

You fumble with the door lock in your haste to open it, and the moment you walk inside, you know something is wrong. You feel it. “Yondu?” you call, placing your keys down. There’s no answer. You walk through the living room, past the dining room, and into the kitchen, but all are empty. Swallowing, you go up the stairs, hoping and praying that he is in his bed, sleeping. 

He’s not there. Your room and the bathrooms are also dead ends.

You go back down the stairs, now looking for some sort of sign that his crew picked him up, but everything is as you left it earlier, with the exception of an empty bag of chips on the couch, and a jar of peanut butter on Yondu’s tray with spoon stuck in it, which you doubt is a message. You look around carefully, deliberately taking note of anything that looks amiss.

Your eyes land on the sliding door, and you see it’s unlocked - that is not the way you left it.

With a gasp, you recall Yondu’s earlier words. If I can get back to my ship, there might be something I can find. Your face pales. If he ripped his stitches, he might be bleeding out, alone out there in the field or the woods somewhere. You snatch your raincoat, grab a flashlight, and stuff a roll of bandage into your pocket. You grab a blanket off the couch and tuck it under your arm in a messy roll. As a crack of lightning splits the sky in the distance, you race out into the field behind your house.

The flashlight beam cuts through the dark field in all directions, but you run towards the tree line at the far end. “Yondu! Yondu, can you hear me?” The wind is picking up, carrying your voice away. You shout louder, still running. “Yondu!“ 

You cry out as you trip over a stone and go flying, landing hard on your knee as you try to keep the blanket out of the mud. "Dammit!” You scramble for your flashlight, which you dropped, and wipe the mud off it on your sleeve. You massage your sore knee for a second, then get back on your feet and continue your pace, sweeping the flashlight beam from side to side. The grass is dead, but it’s still tall, and if he’s fallen or lying down you might miss him.

Your heart crawls into your throat and stays there, a uncomfortable lump. Your anxiety is reaching a high, and you have the same sense of foreboding that you got when the man in the military uniform came to the hospital to inform you about your brother. 

You slow as you get to the tree line, brushing your way past branches and kicking through the brush. “Yondu!” The trees shield your voice from the wind, and it seems loud. You make your way around a large tree and gasp. A huge, bird-like ship lies mangled on the forest floor, small trees crushed under its weight. The windows are broken - one tree branch has punctured the main windshield; the wings bent and torn. Shrapnel lies everywhere, some even embedded into the tree trunks.

“Yondu?” you cry, stepping carefully around the wreckage. “Answer me! Where are you?” You skirt the hull and as you turn to duck around one of the wings, you almost trip over him. You gasp and fall to your knees, ignoring the wet leaves and soil soaking through the knees of your scrubs. “Yondu, Yondu wake up.” You pull him against you, cradling his head, and to your relief he lets out a loud groan.

“Shiiit,” he groans again. Breathing heavily, his eyes open and roll up to you. “Darlin’?”

“Oh geez, Yondu." His skin is chilled but sweaty. You shake out the blanket and wrap it around his shoulders. "Are you okay?” Looking down and lifting his shirt carefully, you see blood smeared across his midsection. You bite back a noise of frustration. He broke the stitches. You told him to take it easy. Keep it together, you scold yourself. Don’t get angry. You shake his shoulder lightly. “Yondu. Look at me, focus. Can you walk?" He swallows, pauses, then nods, gripping the bent trunk of a sapling for support, and you see there’s something clutched in his hand. "Give me that,” you order, taking it out of his hand. It’s some kind of metallic arrow. You wonder at it for a second, then stick it in your coat pocket. “Lean on me,” you say, slinging an arm about his waist and pulling his arm over your shoulder. “That’s it. Take it nice and easy.”

He leans against you heavily, his footsteps slow. You have no idea how much blood he’s lost, or how long he’s been out here in the damp and cold. “One foot in front of the other. You’re doing great.” His hand clenches your shoulder, and you bite your lip against the pain as he stumbles and his nails dig through your jacket.

After what seems like an eternity, you reach the house. You get him onto the dining room table, where he collapses, head lolling to one side. You take his temperature, which seems a little high, and blood pressure and pulse, and work on removing the stitches. It’s not on purpose per say, but as you put new stitches in, you’re not as gentle as you were the first time. You warned him, gave him specific instructions before you left, but you should have known. You could tell he was stubborn right from the get-go. You sigh and settle back in your chair. It’s going to be a long night. Sipping on coffee, you monitor him for hours, only leaving his side to change into some dry clothes and to use the bathroom. 

When he wakes at last at about 3 in the morning, he seems surprised at his surroundings. “The hell am I?” he asks gruffly, and you jump - you were starting to doze off. He starts to sit up.

“Don’t you move!” you snap at him, and he stills, ruby eyes darkening into a crimson glare at you. “And don’t you look at me like that. You could have died!” You throw your arms in the air. “What the hell were you thinking, going out there in your state? I told you to stay put, or those stitches would come out-”

“Y'all don’t tell me what to do,” he snarls.

You’re a little startled at his tone, but you’re too angry to be afraid of him right now. You put your hands on your hips. “I do when I’m your doctor.”

“"Y'ain’t my doctor,” he hisses.

“Well I don’t see anyone else taking care of you right now!” you reply through gritted teeth. “Seriously, what you were thinking? Going out for - for this thing?” You snatch the arrow off the counter and wave it in front of him. “You couldn’t wait until morning? It couldn’t wait until your healed up?”

“Might be the only way m'crew can find me,” he growls. “It ain’t like yer around to ask, workin’ these stupid long ass hours.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that,” you snap back. “I saved your life!” A pang of regret strikes you at the words - you never, ever pull that card on anybody, but he’s got you riled up.

“I didn’t ask ya to!” he shouts, bolting upright. He lets out a sharp cry; his hand flies to his side.

All anger momentarily forgotten, you gasp and rush to him, supporting him. “Yondu! Careful, lay down before you open it up again!”

“Don’t ya… give me orders….” he says. He tries to say it menacingly, but his voice comes out panting.

“Just lay down,” you say softly, with a gentle push on his shoulder. “Please.”

He doesn’t argue with you this time, and you inspect his side. Thankfully the stitches held, but there’s a little blood at the edges of the wound, which you pad with gauze and medical tape.

You slump into the seat at his side, and you just stare at one another for a several minutes.

“How long I been lyin’ here?”

You glance at the microwave clock. “About three or four hours, I don’t know. I can’t remember when we got back.”

“When’d ya get home?”

“A little before that. When I couldn’t find you, I freaked out. You had me worried sick.”

His eyes widen slightly and he adjusts his head on the pillow to look at you more fully. “You was worried, ‘bout me?”

You nod. “Well yeah, of course I was.”

“Why?" comes the hoarse, unbelieving whisper.

"Because I don’t want to see you hurt, I didn’t want you to die out there,” you say quietly. “Now get some sleep.”

“Why not?”

You let out an exasperated laugh. “Wh-what? What kind of question is that? I don’t wish death on anybody! Besides, I’m sure you have people that care about you, back wherever you came from! Like - what was his name? Kraglin? And Quill? I’m sure they don’t want to lose you, right?”

Yondu grows absolutely still. His eyes glaze over slightly, remembering something you can’t even guess at. He turns his head back, staring up at the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together. You’re not sure, but you think you see the glint of tears in his eyes. You don’t mention this, and instead grab a blanket off the couch and drape it over him.

“Get some sleep,” you repeat. “I’m going to stay here on the couch, in case you need anything during the night. I work the late shift again tomorrow so I don’t have to go in early.” You turn off the lights, make sure he has water near him in case he wants it, and curl upon the couch, closing your eyes.

You don’t see Yondu crane his neck to watch you.

Tagged: @thewildomega @pitrymcbride @shinva

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