prick ear

diversemediums  asked:

Well. With THAT lovely little ditty to start our day I'll ask: Does Jamie hear this? Cuz JAMMF could verra well come by her door every night to check on her. If he wanted. 😬

Part one: <HERE>

He heard his name, the airy wisp of it floating from underneath Claire’s door as he snuck down the quiet corridor. He wasn’t supposed to be there, he should have been tucked away in his home made cot in the stables, but he’d promised Claire safety and he meant to check on her as much as he was able.

Her voice sounded far away, as if she were dreaming of him. It called to Jamie, and he crept closer to the closed door. Knowing he shouldn’t be there, he kept his ears pricked for signs of anyone wandering close, but his eyes were fixed solidly to the oak that lay between him and mistress Beauchamp. 

She enthralled him, and, by the sound of her mournful cries, he’d done something similar to her.

Jamie couldn’t quite believe it. The sounds, louder now he was closer, seemed to grow in intensity as he placed his hands against the cold wood, her keens subtly transforming from careful desire into out-and-out want within moments. 

“Claire…” he whispered, hoping that his voice didn’t carry as hers had.

He knew, as he’d taken her into his arms in front of the fire only a few days before, that she was special. After bending towards her, desire spiking between the pair as heat coursed through them, he’d been disappointed when she’d pulled away. This was a sure sign that she hadn’t altogether wanted to rebuff him.

Smiling, his cheeks flushed as he heard her moan and still. Leaning his forehead against the door, Jamie licked his lips in anticipation. She was to leave come the morning, but the idea of her vanishing -especially now, after what he’d just heard- made his heart beat faster, the loud thump of it echoing in his ears. 

“Fuck…yes, Jamie…!”

The surreal curse reverberated through the floor, under the door and up through Jamie’s feet as he held his breath. He’d been certain she’d finished, so sure that he’d stopped paying attention to her moans. Caught off guard by his daydreams, Jamie shook his loose curls to clear his vision. Lust flowed through him at the sound of her climax. He’d never borne witness to a woman…*touching*…but her sweet tones made him wish he could evaporate through the door into her room, just to catch her face at this moment.

If it were possible, her calls had Jamie more enamoured with her now that he had been before.

“Please, Claire,” he begged to himself, “please dinna leave me…”

Crawling into bed on the other side of the door, Claire tried to calm the pulsating beat of her pounding heart. 

‘Please,’ she was certain she’d heard it, the plea for her to stay, But as the haze had lifted and she’d tried to right herself, Claire had written it off as her imagination. 

She knew that Jamie was in love with her, that he wanted her to stay. But would he ever be so selfish as to beg her not to leave?

The question she posed to herself was useless. She knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Events would transpire as they had done before. Collum and Douglas would put pay to her release and this time she would be grateful for it.

“Never fear, love,” she sighed as she slid the covers around her and snuggled down under the quilts, “I won’t.”

(I still don’t know where this is going, but thanks @diversemediums for the prompt. You are so wise.)

Talk fantasy prosthetics to me.

An elf maiden dances on feet of living wood sung into shape, planted in soil and watered when she takes them off. Every year she plants the old ones and sings a new pair. (Incidentally, the pair of peach saplings from three years ago have produced an excellent crop- She makes preserves from them, and despite the inevitable jokes about “toe-jam”, they are appreciated.)

A dwarf king has a metal fist, all tiny gears and fine wires, kept wound by a mischievous mine-spirit bound to the spring as punishment- the more it struggles, the tighter the spring. 

An orc chieftaness is regularly asked for the story of how she earned the name Wyrmthrottler- she boasts of how she strangled the dragon that ate her arm, and had her shaman make a new arm from its bones, with its fangs as the fingers.

A necromancer simply re-attached his old leg bones- Sacrificing a few mice each day keeps it going.

A pirate captain lost her arm to a shark attack: a passing selkie saved her, and gave her tattoos of kraken blood. Now she has an arm made of salt-water, that grows and wanes with the tides, and swings a cutlass as well as the original. (She doesn’t sail as far these days though: she doesn’t want her wife to worry.)

A wandering swordsman was broken at the waist- his ancestral armour allows him to walk again, as long as he keeps it polished, and burns incense to the ancestors regularly.

A high priestess has an eye made from a crystal ball- to predict the future, all she has to do is wink.

A bard was struck deaf by illness- he struck a deal with the god of music. Now he wears hearing-trumpets made from his old pipes, and dedicates his every song to the god of music- the better he plays, the better his hearing. (It is said his music could make statues weep, and he can hear a mouse fart at 60 paces.)

A princess has the arm of a golem, enchanted clay with mystic words carved in- her music tutor despairs of how her harp playing has become even worse, but her calligraphy tutor is ecstatic over her handwriting.

A goblin pickpocket has an arm made of whatever he steals- no-one feels his fingers, and even if they did, they couldn’t find their possessions amongst all the rest.  

A witch has eyes made from shadow and starlight, given to her in a game with a demon. Nobody dares to ask what she wagered- they aren’t even sure she won.

A warg was born deaf and blind- his people learned of his power when the nearest birds started staring at them, and dogs pricked up their ears as he walked past.

ifeelbetterer  asked:

Gotg prompt: how did Rocket learn to speak Groot?

“Repeat after me, Quill: I am Groot.”

“I am Groot,” Peter said dutifully. He felt like an idiot, but there were only a limited number of ways to while away quiet nights on the ship when neither of them could sleep. If it was him and Gamora, or him and Drax, they could spar, but he’d only tried sparring with Rocket once. It took weeks for the bite marks to heal.

Rocket’s oddly expressive – for a raccoon – face wrinkled in an expression of disgust. “Do you even hear yourself? That is nothing like what I just said.”

“Dude, that is exactly what you just said.”

“No, I said ‘I am Groot’ and you said ‘I am Groot’.”

“Which is … the same?”

Rocket stared at him for a long moment, then pointed at his snout. “Read my lips: I am Groot.”

“Was I supposed to repeat that, or …”

Rocket showed some teeth. Peter shut up. There was a moment of silence and Peter was just about to put his earbuds back in and quit with the language lessons when Rocket said suddenly, “Quill, if I say, 'I am Groot,’ just like that, what do you hear?”

“Is this a trick question? Especially the kind of trick question that’s gonna end in you pissing on my bed?”

“That was only once, and you had it coming –”

“Rocket –”

“No, for the love o’ cheese, it’s not a trick question. Just say 'I am Groot’.”

“I am Groot,” Peter said. “I feel like a complete jackass right now, in case that was your intent – hey, where are you going?”

“Jus’ need to get a thing!” Rocket’s voice trailed behind him.

Peter flopped back down in the chair in the mess and put his earbuds in. He was actually getting sleepy, and considering going back to bed, when Rocket jumped up onto the table in front of him with something clutched in his paws.

“What’s that?” Peter asked, sitting up. He palmed off the Zune and took off the earpieces. He had to hand it to Earth tech: the new music player was a lot more convenient to carry around than his late, lamented Walkman.

Rocket’s device was a thin, flat screen about the size of a hardback book; he had it clutched with a paw on each side while readouts rippled quickly across it.

“Okay, now say 'I am Groot’,” Rocket declared, studying the screen.

“Come on, man, do we really have to go through this again?”

“Humor me.”

Peter sighed and slouched in his chair. “I am Groot.”

Rocket’s ears pricked forward. “I am Groot,” he said, and tapped the display with his paw, causing the tiny, scrolling lines and numbers to freeze. “Did that sound the same to you?”

“Well … yeah?”

The flat pads of Rocket’s fingers danced across the display, and he laid the screen on the table between them. “Know what you’re lookin’ at?”

“Squiggly lines,” Peter said automatically.

“Did your mama drop you on the head a lot as a baby, Quill?”

“No, but Yondu did occasionally.” Peter rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. As much fun as it was to mess with Rocket, he did actually think he knew what the raccoon was getting at. “That wiggly line is some kind of … uh … noise – wiggle – curve, right?”

“That’s real precise.”

“I was abducted from Earth before we got to algebra in school. Cut me some slack here.”

“Excuses, excuses. I was raised in a cage and my mother had an IQ of 3.” Rocket touched the display, zooming in on it. “Point is, I don’t think it’s just that all a’ you two-legged bunch is too obtuse to understand perfectly clear speech –”

“Thanks.”

“– like I used to think. It’s more like, my ears hear at higher and lower frequencies than yours do, so I get different overtones. Put simply for the simple, I can hear things you can’t.”

Peter leaned forward, intrigued. “So, wait – you mean all this time, all his 'I am Groot’s sound different to you?”

He realized what he’d said as soon as the words left his mouth, and got the flat 'I am dealing with morons’ look from Rocket that he’d instantly realized he had coming. “How am I supposed to understand him if they don’t, Quill, I ask you?”

“Okay – point – but … so why does it sound like 'I am Groot’ to the rest of us?”

“It sounds like 'I am Groot’ to me too.” When Peter glowered at him, Rocket held up a paw. “No, I ain’t messin’ with ya. This time. No, that’s what the translation unit picks up, 'cause it ain’t so smart about some of the less humanoid languages. It’s just, I hear it like …” He hesitated and waggled his paw. “It’s like your music, right? All those up and down tones at the same time. Groot can do that. Your throat, my throat, can’t.”

“Singing?” Peter said after a minute. “Groot’s singing?”

“I refer you back to the part about bein’ dropped on your head.” Rocket pursed his lips and let out a sharp whistle, making Peter jump – there was still some part of him that couldn’t quite hear whistling and not expect a death arrow to follow an instant later. And he might not be the only one, because Rocket stopped abruptly, closed his mouth, and then said, “Quill, do this,” and hummed softly.

It wasn’t really a tune. “You just want me to hum?” Peter asked. “Like, generic humming?”

Rocket curled his lip and the hum became more of a snarl.

“Right, humming,” Peter said hastily.

The funny thing was, the instant his soft hum of response hit the right harmonics with the note Rocket was humming (and the raccoon did have a good sense of pitch; Peter had always suspected so) he understood exactly what Rocket was getting at.

“Ohhhhh. When Groot talks, it’s like a symphony. Is that what you mean? And the 'I am Groot’ part is the part in the human audible range.”

Rocket’s ears and tail went up cheerfully. “Yeah, ezzactly. He’s tryin’ to communicate, it’s just he didn’t get any farther than 'I am Groot’ when he was learning. It’s as hard for him to do the talkin’ part for the translators as it is for you and me to do his kind of talk. He can hear us just fine, though. Actually to him, understanding our talk is dead easy.”

“So how do we understand him?” Peter asked. “Can you, I dunno, juice up the translator so it picks up a higher range of frequencies, or something?”

“I dunno. That’s not a bad idea.” Rocket tapped his claw against his teeth before picking up the screen thing and hopping off the table. “Have to think on it. Don’t wanna explode your heads or anything.”

“Yeah, well, on that lovely note, I’m goin’ to bed.” He actually was tired enough now to fall asleep in spite of the inevitable nightmares (the bitter cold and darkness of space; Ego’s face dissolving in his hands; his friends crushed by rocks or blown apart). The music helped as it always had, a melodic bulwark against the dark, wrapped gently around his heart – but it could only do so much.

Rocket grunted absently as he trotted off, already engrossed in figuring out the problem.

The thought occurred to Peter as he wandered back to his quarters, thumbing idly through the songs on the Zune, that these sorts of mechanical puzzles served the same purpose for Rocket as his music did for him: something to make his mind go quiet.

The music did that … and so did letting Gamora beat the stuffing out of him in the ship’s small exercise area. Or getting language lessons from Rocket. Or –

“I am Groot?”

Peter jumped as small hands grabbed hold of his pants leg. Groot shimmied quickly up to perch on his shoulder.

“Hey, little buddy.” Peter opened the door to his quarters and left it open so Groot could come and go as he wanted. Or so he could hear if anybody got into a fight or whatever. He flopped wearily on his unmade bed, careful not to dislodge Groot. “You know, I’m not sure how much of this you can understand right now, but Rocket’s teaching me to speak your language.”

“I am Groot?”

“Well, to understand you more than speak it, I guess I should say.” He was lying on his back now and he couldn’t really see Groot except out of the corner of his eye, but he could feel the little tree shifting around in the hollow where the collar of his sweatshirt rested against his neck.

“I am Groot,” Groot said insistently, almost in his ear. Small hands patted at the side of his face and his earlobe.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter pinched one earbud between two fingers and held it where Groot could get at it. The little hands took it out of his fingers. Peter settled himself comfortably as Groot squirmed somewhat ticklishly against his neck, and sorted through the songs. “How 'bout Elton John tonight, buddy?”

“I am Groot,” came the sleepy answer.

“You know, little guy,” Peter murmured, as the first strains of the music began to play and Groot snuggled comfortably against his neck, “whether or not Rocket can get his new gadget working, I think we understand each other just fine, don’t we?”

“I am Groot!”

Secrets

Peter Parker X Reader

Word Count: 1907

Warning: There is a teeny bit of kissing. But it’s kind of cute????

A/N: Hey, I know this isn’t a Crash Landing update, but I’m kind of struggling with it at the moment. So, I wrote this. Also, if you haven’t seen an earlier post, I’m away for the next four-ish weeks, so don’t expect to hear all too much from me for a bit. I am trying to queue up some writing, but I can’t make any promises! I love you guys!

Want to be tagged in future fics? Please let me know!

(not my gif)

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Protégé [Part 6] (M)

Originally posted by jjks


[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3] - [Part 4] - Part 5]

Thirty-four hours.

It had been thirty-four hours since you’d yelled at Jungkook and he had left your office. It had been thirty-four hours since you’d collected yourself after shattering your phone set into pieces and ran out of your office looking for him. Jaebum told you with a dejected frown that Jungkook had left. Where to? His guess was just as good as yours, if not worse.

You ran out to your car, the chill of the night air biting against your bare arms and cheeks, but you’d be lying if you said you felt it. You went at a crawl through the streets, stomping down on the brakes and squinting to make out the face of each and every pedestrian you past who resembled Jungkook in any way. You had even called out to a few of them, earning you nothing more than odd stares or blatant ignorance. You didn’t believe he could have gotten very far, but after two hours of driving, there was no sign of him.

The hospital’s visiting hours were long over, which cut that out as an option. And it took a persuasive conversation and a few slow swipes of your tongue across your painted lips to convince the security guard of Jungkook’s apartment building to tell you that no one had come in or out since six that night. He’d left your building much later than that.

You returned to the building, your jaw aching from hours of clenching your teeth and your eyes downcast, staring at nothing in particular. Jaebum greeted you, and before he could get the chance to ask you what had happened, you held your hand up to him. You were tired of questions, you were tired of explaining things. But, mostly, you just didn’t want to relive the truth of the matter–this was entirely your fault.

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BTS’s reaction to you playing their song on the piano:

A/N: Here you are, sweetie ❤️ I really hope you enjoy it! Hopefully it’s as filled full of feels as you wanted~


Jin: Jin pricks his ears, and listens to the melodious chords fluttering to his ears. You haven’t played the piano in a while. It’s good to finally hear the dusty old instrument in use. He heads towards the sound, before a bout of realisation has him stopping at the door, where just inside he can see your curved figure leaning over the keys, sweeping the music along with your fingers. He knows this tune. It’s his tune - ‘Awake’.

And without any warning - no cracking or breaking, just out of the blue, like thunder in June - tears well up in his eyes, and shimmer to the brink of spilling over. Of all the songs you could have picked, you picked the one he needs to hear. He can still remember the emotions that tumbled through him when he first sang this song: the desperation he felt to keep up with his six brothers, the terror he recoiled from, a fear of falling behind. Yet, here he is, years later, still trembling and afraid, but trying hard to mask it – reduced to tears behind the living room door. Except… no. Things have changed. Back then, he didn’t have you – you, who keep his chin up, and his eyes fixed firmly on the clouds. You, who believe without an inkling of a doubt that he can go further, stretch farther, and climb higher than he ever realised. You, who everyday whisper to him, ‘Kim Seokjin, how luck am I to have you?’ Really, he should be the one asking you. After all, if it weren’t for you, he’d still be on the ground, tear-dampened gaze filtering to fickle mist-clouds he could never reach. Now, here he is, flying – soaring – because of you. Up past blue and into the star sprinkled black of space.

The tears are falling now, but they feel good – warm and wet like a spring shower. It’s been a while since he cried - properly, like this. He opens the door, and you turn in your seat to face him, and when he holds out his arms, you run to him, and burrow into his heat. While you rest your head in the crook between his shoulder and his neck, he sings the rest of the tune in low tones. “Maybe I can’t touch the sky, but I’ll stretch my arm.”

Originally posted by snowyjin


Yoongi: It has been a tough day for Min Yoongi. He’s been sat in the studio all afternoon, all evening, and well into the night, fiddling on his laptop, trying to get the latest track just right. When he closes his eyes, he can still see the square of light from his screen, burned in blue onto his retina. He arrives back at his house, completely drained of energy, only to be greeted by a gentle wave of music when he opens the door. And despite all the muscles in his face being past their stretching point, they still manage to push up into a smile when he hears you tinkling away on the piano, playing a song he produced (of course, nothing else would do for you), playing something he hasn’t heard in a while - ‘Tomorrow’.

You stop playing when you hear him enter the room, peeking over your shoulder at his tired face.

“Please continue,” he rasps.

Your brows tip up in concern, sensing how tired he is, but you return to your music without pressing him with a ‘how was your day?’. In a few steps he’s sitting down on your right-hand side, and his fingers fitting into the groves of the worn ivory keys, he unfolds a gentle harmony in the treble cleft.

You continue on, the both of you enraptured in the music, until Yoongi’s playing fades away, and as you turn to him, wondering why he’s stopped, his head lolls onto your shoulder. Smiling, you brush a few stray wisps of hair away from his face. “Tired?”

He nods into your shoulder, eyes closing as you pick up the tune again, slower and more lullaby-like.

“Rest all you want,” you tell him, “I’m not letting you go back to work, until I know you’ve fully recovered.” Then, as he slowly slips into sleep, you whisper the lyrics from ‘Tomorrow’ he needs to hear most: “Wherever you are right now, you’re just taking a break. Don’t give up… Don’t get too far away, tomorrow.”

Originally posted by sugagifs


Hoseok: Outside, the wind whisks up a torrent of leaves, clattering in shades of frozen amber against your window, but inside, cut off from the cold autumn storm, it glows with warmth, drenched in the heat of love and affection – mainly Hoseok’s love and affection, directed at you. As you sit at the piano, running through a soft re-imagining of ‘Autumn Leaves’, he watches in appreciation, head resting in his hands, breath snatched away at the way your fingers ghost across the keys, eyes half-closed, drowned in the melody.

As the final chords hang in the air, Hoseok rouses himself from the trance you have placed him in and begins clapping in appreciation – the sole audience member in this private concert. “Wow! Y/N, just… wow! That was… wow….” He tries to search for a word to aptly describe the feelings you have stirred in him, but nothing surfaces, so instead, he crosses the distance between you, and expresses himself with a gentle hand on your cheek and a breathy kiss that presses warmth into your lips.

When he pulls away, your fingers reach out, wanting him back – and, smiling, he obliges, balancing on the edge of the piano stool so he can be that extra bit closer to you.

With the first pitter-patters of rain starting up outside, Hoseok starts up another kind of storm with you – flurries of kisses dropping down onto your skin. As the leaves fall, you fall in love.

Originally posted by joeguk


Namjoon: Sometimes, Namjoon really doesn’t like himself. When it’s late in the evening, and the light’s fading, he really doesn’t like himself. When he’s wasted away the day, erasing work, rather than progressing, he really doesn’t like himself. When he can’t force a smile without cracking, he really doesn’t like himself.

But, at least he’s coming home to you. And he knows that, despite all the negativity that’s oozing through him like sewage water, you love him. Even in moments of doubt, like right now, when he arrives home, faded, and ghostly, and wondering if he’s likeable, he hears you wandering through chords on the piano, and he knows that you know. Because he recognises the song – ‘Reflection’. It’s your reminder that it’s okay – all of it.

He leans back against the door as the familiar notes hit him – spine pressing to the wood and head tilting back till he’s gazing up at the grey ceiling. There may be no words, but each jump of your fingers across the black and ivory keys speaks to him. He hears. He understands.

After a few moments, after a few deep breaths, he feels himself – his real self – float back into his body, and he’s ready to greet you. He steps forward, into the light of the music room, where you shift to glance at him out of the corner of your eyes. The music keeps on spinning out. He smiles at you, and you smile back, and that’s all it takes for Namjoon to like himself like you love him.

Originally posted by myloveseokjin


Jimin: “Forever we are young, amidst the scattering rain of flower petals I run, wandering through this maze.” Jimin can’t help but sing the last few lines of the familiar song while you rest upon the final chords on the piano.

Turning to him, eyes shining bright, you say, “Your singing still sounds as beautiful as it did when you first sang this song.”

Jimin heaves out a sigh. “That was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” His mind flickers back to those days, an eternity ago (try a few years, but they feel infinite), when you didn’t exist in his life. So many things have changed since then. He’s changed since then.

Sensing a shift in his mood, you reach out your hands to him, hoping for a hold on his uncertain frame, quivering on the edge of being lost to remembering. In answer to your silent plea, he steps closer and winds his arms around your shoulders. You ground him back in reality with your head resting on his chest.

“It wasn’t so long ago…” you murmur.

“Sure feels like it though.” Stifling thoughts begin clinging onto Jimin, realisations of how far on his life has progressed, how much closer he is to stepping off the cusp of youth… realisations that the lyrics of the song you played can’t be true. He won’t be young forever, and neither will you. It terrifies him.

You stretch your neck to gaze up at him. “We’re still young,” you assure him, “And even when we grow old, and get grey-haired and wrinkly, we’ll stay young – on the inside at least. All I need is you by my side, and I feel like I could stay vibrant and strong for the rest of my life.”

How is it that you always know what to say? Jimin swallows down his foul-tasting fears and kisses the top of your head. “Young forever, you and me.”

Originally posted by lonastic


Taehyung: As you drift through the dream-enhancing chords, sat over the piano, Taehyung stands on the other side of the door, enraptured and enwrapped by your playing. When the final notes peel away into a calm quiet, he opens the door to be greeted by your smile.

“Just One Day?” Taehyung asks, although he doesn’t need an answer from you – he recognises the melody like he recognises the freckles on your face.

“Did you like my arrangement of it?”

“Like it?” Taehyung flops down onto the nearby sofa, and motions for you to join him, “Like it? I adored it.”

“I adore you,” you counter, abandoning the piano stool to find a comfier spot with Taehyung, perched above him, legs straddling his waist. Your hair falls down around your shoulders and, as you lean towards Taehyung, it cuts off the rest of the world, encasing the two of you in your own existence.

Taehyung’s hands reach up to cup your face, and when you close your eyes to his touch, he stretches up to kiss your eyelids. In parting his lips from your skin, he murmurs, “I never really understood the lyrics of that song until I met you.”

“What? ‘Just One Day’?”

He nods, bumping his nose against yours in the process. “I never understood the desperate need to be with someone, even if it was only for one day. But then I saw you, and suddenly it made sense. I got the feeling that even if I could only be with you for one day, one hour, even one second, that would be enough for me. It’s like my purpose is to be with you.”

You felt the sting of tears as they jumped up behind your lids, but you refused to let them fall. “I suppose it’s a good thing we have more than one day then.”

Originally posted by mayfifolle


Jungkook: Poised on your doorstep, Jungkook takes a deep breath and steps forward to knock.

And pauses.

The last time he saw you, you had been in floods of tears, both of you shouting things you didn’t mean. Now he’s outside, wanting to apologise, to go back to how it used to be. But he’s scared. He’s terrified. And he can’t bring himself to make a move.

That is until he hears the strains of a piano playing, wafting through an open window. Those chords are familiar – ‘Love is not over’. On recognising the song, he slowly breaks down – like a lump of sugar dissolving in coffee, one second he’s solid and the next he’s disappearing, forgetting himself and slipping over into tears. He can’t bear to be apart from you any longer, and judging by your playing, neither can you. Not caring how much of a mess his face is, puffy and red, striped with tear-tracks, he knocks. And after a few seconds you answer. Your face is a mirror of his, just as cracked, just as damp.

“I’m sorry…” is all you can say before he pulls you into a tight hug that squeezes all the air out of you, and he’s murmuring in your ear, “Me too. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Just like that it’s okay again. With the two of you, things can never truly be finished – you can never truly be done with each other. Love will never be over, and so long as you’re breathing, you’ll be together.

Originally posted by jungkookfortunekookies


! I did not make the gifs !

A Blue CatAstrophe!

Lance isn’t missing, he’s right there. It was an accident, how he’d ended up ‘missing’, but Blue said that there should be some cure for this. He wished he was human again, so he could comfort his team with the knowledge that he wasn’t dead. But no, he’s a cat, and the only way to make sure they smile is to knock all the pens to the ground, chase some string, and occasionally wake up his crush and idol up from a nightmare and almost get smacked across the room by accident. Well, okay, that last one had to be mended since he was apparently a good stress reliever if you ran your hands down his back… too bad it wouldn’t happen if he was a human. So, for now, he’ll deal with being a brown and darker brown swirled tabby kitten for just a little bit longer. Purrrrrrrr…..

A Cat Au, where Lance becomes a cat and hell ensues.

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5 | You’ll Never Walk Alone

BTS + GOT7 X READER [GANG!AU]

WORD COUNT: 5,144

series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as semi non-con, burns and the slightest suggestive smut

Originally posted by shishikookie

masterlist | ask | prev | next

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Dating George Weasley Would Include...
  • always trying to surprise you (scare you) when you don’t expect it, all just to say hi or something
  • while he’s always super confident and stupid with Fred, before actually asking you out he’d be ever so slightly more awkward around you
  • Like he’d still be stupid don’t get me wrong, but he’d be more careful what to say
  • admiring you from afar before he grew the balls to actually talk to you
  • Fred fucking notices
  • Ginny being your biggest shippers
  • he’d try to play it cool that he’s dating you but is actually super giddy about it
  • “I told her to wear that shirt today how good does she look”
  • “Did I tell you this thing about Y/N…”
  • “Y/n got a 90% on her Transfig exam can you believe it”
  • “I don’t even talk about her that much shut up”
  • stealing each other’s food
  • like even if you were in other houses
  • you’d make up such elaborate and insane strategies to steal like a single potato wedge
  • him trying to make you laugh 24/7
  • him helping you with homework
  • because he’s secretly so smart but keeps it under wraps
  • “George when did you even get smart”
  • excuse me
  • not gross PDA but the occasional hand holding
  • him telling Fred how much he likes you
  • “omg Fred she looked at me did you see that”
  • “god her hair looks pretty, like it always does but it needs saying”
  • *ears prick up* “that was so Y/n’s laugh I know her laugh and that was it”
  • “ah, Fred, she looked at me again”
  • “Fred I think she might have a crush on me”
  • “George you’re DATING
  • saying comments for the soul purpose to get you to blush
  • o v e r   p r o t e c t i v e
  • “George did you do the potions homework?”
  • “What potions— FUCK”
  • natural lounging position: his arm around you lazily
  • Fred would 100% say things about you to get him jealous
  • like Fred would say something like “Looking good Y/n” with a wink
  • George would just go quiet and have the iconic Weasley response of annoyance: red ears
  • having to reassure him that you’re only his
  • of course he believes you because he loves you
  • this was super long I apologise if you made it this far I congratulate you

Request: Could you make a ’_____ with George Weasley would include’ post because I’ve seen a bunch with Fred but I can’t find any with George. Thanks a million!!

I HAVE WANTED TO DO ONE OF THESE FOR AGES! Also turns out I read it wrong so I did the standard ‘Dating whoever would include’ sorry! I never had any inspiration to do one of these but here was my loooong attempt

Scheme: Part 2

Prompt combination of: Hopefully I get this in time and this works out :3 How about where the reader has been part of Batfamily and when Ra’s/Talia “visits” Bruce and Damian, they recognize the reader like “What are you doing here?” and they reply with “Hello Uncle Ra’s/Aunt//Cousin Talia”, revealing that the reader is distantly related to the Al Ghul family but not part of the crazy business. (Bonus if Damian and the reader have a family bond ;3)  AND

One where Jason gets hurt (like dieing again hurt) and Tim asks if anyone’s called Jason’s girl. But nobody knows who Jason girl is. Then they meet her at the cave and her and Tim are friends cause Tim hangs out at Jason’s apartment and knows her. She’s really tough and Bruce and the rest fall in love. And when Jason wakes up Damian won’t let her leave and is extremely attached. Please that was really weird but I would love it. Love you 😘😘😘

Requested by ANON and audreythetealovingcat

Part 1


You watch Scheme toddle around the cave with a small smile. Her fascination with the trophies spread throughout the cave aren’t unusual, after all, what four year old wouldn’t be fascinated by a giant penny. Your eyes glance at the clock on the computer, and you know it’ll be any moment now.

    Sure enough the sound of engines hits your ears moments later. Out of the corner of your eye you watch Scheme’s ears twitch before spinning to look at the entrance.

    Your daughter is a quiet thing. Observant and smart as hell. She takes after Jason. More often than not you find them reading, or researching something together. Your family is made up of nerds and you love that.

    The first one through is all too familiar. You know it’s bad when Damian stumbles. He’s covered in cuts, and bruises and you make sure to catch him before he falls. You say nothing as you escort him to the gurney and start tending to his wounds.

    Damian is a chatter box. Your nephew had come into the world screaming, and he hadn’t stopped talking yet. Thalia had always been quiet, your father on the other hand…Damian had to have picked up his chatty nature from somewhere, and Ra’s was the only obvious point.

    “Auntie, it’s bad. Joker …”

    “Will die a painful death once I’m through with him. Right now my focus is you and then Jason. When I’m done with you, I want you to take Scheme somewhere safe.”

    He sighs, “I can be of more help .  . .”

    “Taking care of your cousin. I’m leaving her in your care Damian. Do not let me down.”

    He says nothing else. The sound of more engines prick your ears, and you listen to the rush to get Jason out of the car, when everything seems to stop.

    “What the hell is she doing here?”

    Your eyes flicker to Bruce, and he gives you a small nod of his head. “It’s been a while Y/N.”

    “Bruce.”

    He lets out a sigh, “I should have known. I heard about your defectment. I should have put the pieces together.”

    “Yes, you should have.”

    “Where’s Alfred?”

    “I slipped in as he slipped out to get a Dr. Lee.”

    Bruce nods, “So you and Jason?”

    “Are married.”

    “And she’s?”

    “Our daughter, Scheme.”

    Bruce nods, “I’ll need your help getting him out of the car. The others are one their way, but Jason needs attention now.”

    You nod, as Damian scoots off the gurney and Jason is moved on to it. He’s unconscious, with several broken bones, gashes and burns. It’s bad, you know it is. That’s when you hear her voice, “Papa.”

    Your eyes flick to Scheme, “Damian …”

    He picks your daughter up without any hesitation, you watch her snuggle into his arms, and listen as Damian speaks Arabic to her. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes stay trained on her father.

    You work quickly to slow the bleeding and stabilize him, the others arrive soon after, and Bruce explains things to them. And then again when Alfred arrives. You say nothing as the Doctor takes your place.

    You turn away, and end up face to face with Cass. She says nothing, simply wraps her arms around you, and gives you a tight hug. You return it, before turning to face Damian. Scheme holds out her arms not to you but to Cass. The woman takes her without a word, before sitting on the floor, and tucking her into her embrace.

    Hours later she falls asleep in Cass’ arms with Damian nearby. You talk with his brothers in the days that he’s unconscious. You watch as your daughter wraps everyone around her finger, Alfred and Dick in particular. The girl was going to end up spoiled if the amount of cookies she’d been given was any indication. It’s in the early hours two days after he’d been brought in that Jason begins to stir.

    He moves in and out of consciousness over the next several days. You don’t leave his side. A week after everything’s said and done, when Jason is conscious, and your daughter is able to hug him you make a call.

    The next night you leave them curled up on the bed, and sneak out of the estate. Damian is waiting for you outside the gate. Neither of you says anything, as you make your way to your destination. They’re waiting for you.

    “You have some nerve calling us for help.”

    You roll your eyes, “You’ve always been on the dramatic side father. Honestly I expect more at this point.”

    Your father turns his gaze on you, “I should have you killed for ruining my plans.”

    “But you won’t. I’d also like to point out that I didn’t ask for your help. I asked for my sister’s help.” You turn to them, “He followed you?”

Nyssa’s scowl was all the answer you need, “Like a bloodhound on a hunt.”  

You shrug, “You’re welcome to leave father, the four of us are more than enough for what I need to do.”

His eyes focus on you, “To kill a clown. I’m done playing around.”

Your sisters’ smiles are daring, “The little imp on a mission, my oh my, this hasn’t

happened for a looong time.” Nyssa says with a grin.

    Talia’s matches Nyssa’s, “And we all know what the youngest sister is like when her mind is set to a task.”

    “The stupid clown doesn’t stand a chance.” Damian’s voice is sincere and steady.

    Ra’s let’s out a sigh, “If we’re going to do this then we should call in your mother and other sister.”

    You shake your head, “No. Cass has her own standards I respect those. And Shiva is too much of a wild card. We handle this among the Al Ghul’s.”

Your father nods, “Fair enough, but I have a price.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I’d like to see my granddaughter.”

Shance Tumblr AU

…….why does my brain want to do this instead of the stuff I should actually be doing…..
———————
Pidge jolted up from her homework to the sound of her roommate screaming followed by a loud thunk and a crash.

She popped her head into the doorway of said man’s room, raising an eyebrow at the male currently sitting on the bed, jaw dropped, eyes wide, staring at where his phone had hit the wall.

“Lance? Dude, you okay?” Pidge prompted carefully, as her friend was seemingly in shock.

“He followed me back. Oh my god.” Lance whispered, seemingly in disbelief. Pidge blinked.

“What?”

“On Tumblr. That artist blog I told you about?” Lance hissed, still in shock.

Pidge’s eyebrow went higher. “The one you don’t stop talking about? The guy with the scar and the white hair?” Lance nodded frantically.

“I- I wrote a small fic based on an idea he had, tagged him in it, and yesterday he reblogged and liked it and I woke up and looked at my notifications and it was right there?!? How the fuck?!?” Lance’s voice rose in volume until he was practically yelling.

Pidge’s cat, Green, mewed and patted Lance’s lap, ears pricked curiously. Lance’s own cat, Blue, was used to Lance’s screeching and was peacefully napping on the Cuban male’s pillow.

“Lance. Chill.” Pidge deadpanned, moving over to scoop up her cat from the red faced man currently rolling on his bed screeching in a mixture of what she guessed was happy shock, probably. She also moved over to pick up the discarded phone, peeking at the notifications.

Yup. Famous art blog ShiroTheHero was definitely following BlueLionLance. No wonder Lance was practically having a stroke. The guy’s art was pretty good, as her own blog followed him too and was really only there for the gay stuff.

She glanced back over at her friend. “At least you didn’t throw your phone out the window screaming ‘I’m gay’ again.” She commented, setting the blue cased phone next to Blue on the pillow.

Lance rolled back over from where he was screaming into another pillow. “He posted a selfie! And he’s really hot! I couldn’t help it!” He wailed, pouting.

Pidge snorted in amusement. “I saw the picture too, and I didn’t have the same reaction as you. You’re literally the living embodiment of bisexual drama. Glad I’m not as gay as you, thirsty boy.” She teased.

Lance squinted at the tiny woman. “Pidge, you’re the gayest little shit I know besides Keith.” He said seriously, getting a huge grin from said lesbian.

“I know. Now quit the gay fangirling, I’ve got homework to finish for college finals and I can’t concentrate over the sound of you screaming your bisexual little heart out.” She scolded, before turning and leaving the room, Green still tucked in her arms.

Lance rolled his eyes and checked his phone again, smiling at the little notification.

ShiroTheHero is now following BlueLionLance
—————————–
Tbh I do the same thing as Lance whenever a popular blog follows me or likes/reblogs anything I post. I really do scream and chuck my phone at the wall in shock, I dunno why, it’s just a reaction I have??? Eh. Well, hope you liked this little Shance Drabble! :3 (I’m calling it the Tumblr AU, should I make more maybe?)

things you said through your teeth

more ladynoir for the soul /o/

somewhat NSFW take heed :’D

“Mmmmnffff…”

Of all the noises Ladybug had expected while going over Chat’s back for damage, the half-hiss, half-moan had not been one of them.

She froze, hands stilling where she’d been running them down his back, from his shoulders to his hips, taking her time as he sprawled across her lap. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

His cat ears pricked, the muscles under hands flexing for a second, and then relaxing with a stuttered almost-sigh. “N-no?”

Ladybug squinted at the back of her partner’s head. That didn’t sound like a lie…

Cautiously, she began to move her hands again, paying extra attention to his reactions this time — the rhythm of his breathing and how the firm, warm flesh felt under her hands and the luxurious curve of his spine and—

And it was possible, just possible, that she got a little distracted.

Anytime her dorky partner wanted to stop being hot as hell would be a good time for her. Really.

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