prod*

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WTNV + OMGCP… part TWO 

[part 1]

Looking for a snack? Try pie, or a pie by-product. Dinner? Pie and/or its by-product. Trying to patch a leaky roof? We have just the thing for you, and we also have its by-products.

Mandy & Jenny: “We are living in an immaterial world – a ghost world, and I am an immaterial girl – a ghost.”

Bitty: “To the family of Chowder the intern, we regret to inform you that your son has, in the line of radio duty, transformed partway into a shark, and that his original body will be missed and never forgotten.

To the family of intern Dex, we thank you for his service to the cause of community radio, and join you in mourning the permanent loss of his chill.”

Hockey Mantra: Pain is just weakness leaving the body. And then being replaced by pain. Lots of pain.

An update on our previous message about pie and pie by-products. You should not eat pie or pie by-products, say several frantic sports nutritionists, waving clipboards in our studio. If you have any pie or pie by-products in your home, you are almost certainly already dead. Sorry about that.

… even in crossovers, some things don’t change ;)

Headcanons

Once Hanzo has some equilibrium with Genji and Overwatch, his dragons refuse to stay hidden. If Genji is around, they’re all over him and his dragon, so fucking pleased to be reunited. Hanzo is frustrated as hell with their lack of calm, but he can’t really do anything about it because there’s a difference between calling the dragons to smite his enemies and getting them to stay put.

The rest of Overwatch starts using the dragons to gauge Hanzo’s mood because there’s a strong correlation. If he’s happy, the dragons play. If he’s brooding, they curl up and can only be prodded into motion by a mission or Genji’s dragon.


This is also how nearly everyone figures out that Hanzo has a crush on Jesse, because his dragons *adore* McCree. Like, fly over to him as soon as he walks into the room and start winding around him like affectionate cats levels of adoration. Jesse is oblivious and thinks it’s just because he as a way with animals. He figured out what kinds of treats spirit dragons can have and where they tend to like getting petted from when he used to interact with Genji and his dragon back in the old days. 


Jesse remembers these kinds of things: favorite foods, the way people take their morning beverages, little things that will make them smile when their mood is teetering on the edge of bad, because he’s gotten used to being unable to reliably celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, or other socially-significant events. It’s the way he shows he cares, but he thinks nothing of doing these small (inconsequential, he insists) things for people.


He doesn’t even consider that Hanzo could read these gestures as flirting or even courting. Hanzo is so far out of his league that they’re playing different sports in different parts of the world, after all.

youtube

elo - rose (prod. by gray) official music video

ahjulieet  asked:

Hey! Woah, its been a while since I wrote to you! I was wondering if you would like to write a little fic where E is smol, and Grantaire is 6.4, so Eny just cant believe he has a such big and great boyfriend? And also: happy vacations! ❤

“Jehan, are you sure this is a good idea?” Enjolras asked, tone disapproving.

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped and started inching backwards away from the looming, black doorway until he bumped against Grantaire’s chest who then had the nerve to grab his shoulders and shout “Boo!” as loudly as he could in his ear.  Scowling, Enjolras shoved at him, pushing him back in so much as you could push back someone who was damn near a foot taller than yourself.  

Grantaire just prodded him towards the door and laughed, “Scared?  I thought you lived and breathed this city, Enj.  Shouldn’t you want to explore every miserable, grimy inch of it?”

Okay, so maybe his tone had been less “disapproving” and more bordering the realm of “terrified” but he’d be damned if he’d admit it.

“No,” he snapped.  “It’s just… probably not safe.  Isn’t it condemned? And it’s illegal, this is trespassing, right?”

“Right, ‘cause we’ve never done anything illegal before,” Courfeyrac smirked, strolling past Enjolras to leap up the sagging wooden steps onto the wide, heavily shadowed porch.

“Don’t worry, Enjolras,” Jehan added, peaking their head back out through the doorway, “I’ve been in here a bunch already, it’s stable enough so long as we stay off the third floor.”

Enjolras peered up – and up and up – at the towering, ancient house.  With tall, narrow windows, moss clinging to every inch of the delicate scrollwork, and steepled little towers and chimneys rising up into the black night, the building looked like it had crawled out of the darkest corners of a ghost story, waiting to gobble them up as they stepped inside past the rotting door that slumped on its hinges and the cracked plywood that had been a half-hearted attempt to board it up.

Of course it was the ghost story aspect that had brought them out here in the first place.  At the moment Jehan was incredibly keen on what they called urban exploring – finding the forgotten places surrounded by a sea of people, or something else vaguely poetic and sinister sounding – and made frequent treks about the city and into the suburbs with Bahorel or Grantaire or Courfeyrac or whoever else they could convince to climb around graffitied buildings and crumbling woodwork for a couple hours.  They’d come to their last meeting out of breath with excitement, insisting that they had felt a presence in this one old house – a house which, Combeferre informed them after looking it up, had been the house of the hospital directory for an old tuberculous hospital that had been fashioned during an old epidemic that had swept the city.  While the hospital itself had been torn down decades ago the house itself had lingered.  Since then though it had been abandoned to the elements and was now condemned, and Jehan was certain that it had spirits clinging to it – perhaps poor souls who had been quarantined to the old hospital and never left, or the director himself, his soul tortured and trapped after all the suffering under his command.

Enjolras, of course, thought it was complete nonsense.  Combeferre, on the other hand, was nearly as giddy as Jehan at the prospect, and insisted they visit the next night to see if they couldn’t “detect” anything else.  Recognizing it for the foolishness it was, Enjolras politely declined when Combeferre suggested he join them.  He even resisted when Courfeyrac got wind of it and immediately after signing himself onto the expedition started turning his indomitable will on Enjolras, insisting, cajoling, and begging Enjolras join them.  Courf grinned the entire time, his begging coloured with a teasing bite – he had grown up with Enjolras and knew exactly how bad he was with horror movies, the little shit.  Enjolras refused.  But then Grantaire had turned up at the meeting, just let off from a late shift, and Enjolras realized Courfeyrac’s plan seconds before he’d managed to call Grantaire over.  Tackling Courf did no good though, because he squirmed under Enjolras’ body until he was gasping but free enough to invite a baffled Grantaire to join the ghost hunt. From that point on, there was no hope for Enjolras.  Both he and Grantaire were kept business enough with schoolwork and club work and work-work that time that could be spent together was precious, and as soon as Grantaire started wheedling at Enjolras, trying to convince him to join them – it’d be fine, just a bit of wandering around some old bloke’s house, no big deal, it’ll be fun – Enjolras knew he was doomed.

And that was why he could now feel his heart beating a painful staccato against his ribs as he ducked under the plywood and entered the ancient entryway.

-

It was eery, to say the least.  Thick dust covered and greyed a rug that ran the length of the hall, and though Courfeyrac gave the old light switch on the wall an experimental flick the ornate bulbs stayed clouded and lifeless.  The hall ran in either three directions from the front door.  At either end, visible only when the flashlights Jehan had brought were cast down their depths, was a door, one firmly shut and the other cracked – Enjolras tried to resist shying away from that one and whatever might be waiting inside.

“I started looking around in there,” Jehan whispered.  “It’s an old parlour.  Ferre, just wait until you feel the energy in there!”

The third route was a pitch black stairwell that curved upward into the blackness of the ceiling, it’s posts crumbling apart and old steps littered with debris.  At the moment it was all Enjolar could do not to run back out the front door – nothing on this earth would get him to touch those stairs.  Even with Jehan’s reassurance that they were sturdy, it looked like a deathtrap waiting to happen.  No sooner had he inched away from the stairs though, towards where Jehan, Combeferre, and Grantaire stood with the flashlights, then the very house seemed to moan at him, as if sensing his fear.  Of course it was the wind streaming in through the boarded up windows and down the strange halls, but it was so much like a pitiful voice trapped in the houses depths, like cold fingers trailing up Enjolras spine, that he couldn’t help but shudder away, towards Combeferre when the wind seemed to solidify, wrapping its cold talons around his wrist and pulling

Grantaire gave Enjolras’s wrist a playful shake as he swallowed his yelp and said, “Shivers, Enjolras?  You sensing some ghosts in here?”

Enjolras pulled his wrist from Grantaire’s hand and scowled at him.  “All I’m sensing is dicks.”  Lurching away from Grantaire, Enjolras marched further along the hall, to where Ferre and Jehan were in conference with each other.

“Hey,” Grantaire called after him, “you know you’re welcome to sense my dick all you–”

“Keep it PG, kids!” Courfeyrac shouted from open room at the end of the hall, where he had promptly ducked into after pilfering Jehan’s flashlight.  “You never know, these spirits could be minors!”

Combeferre and Jehan laughed, slipping past the door to join Courfeyrac, but Enjolras stood stock still, staring down at the dark void that was the open door, lit only by the occasional darting paths of flashlight beams.  He knew his friends were in there, it was crowded and safe with their voices, but stepping inside…

“Aw, don’t look like that,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras a nudge. “Let’s catch up with the others.  You can hold my hand if you like,” he added with a wink.

For a moment Enjolras considered it.  It might almost be nice, despite his rabbiting heart and already frayed nerves.  Enjolras was short enough that he tucked nearly perfectly under Grantaire’s arm, and the idea of walking around the creepy old house, cocooned in Grantaire’s warmth, hand in hand was almost appealing.  But then came the thought of the amount of teasing and preening he’d have to put up with every time he jumped at a creaking roof or stray gust of wind.  He did not believe in ghosts, he did not, but… well, there was nothing wrong with a healthy dose of fear. Grantaire was the one always saying he didn’t have a strong enough survival instinct.  What would he say now that he saw his fearless leader – his boyfriend – trembling in his boots over make-believe monsters and shadows  In that moment he felt himself steeled and stepped stubbornly away from Grantaire, snatching the flashlight from him.

You go join the others,” he huffed.  “I’ll look over here.”  He gestured the beam of light vaguely in the other direction, towards the door past the stairs and down the opposite end of the hall.

“What, all by yourself?” said Grantaire.  “Won’t it get spooky?”

“No, it won’t, because this is ridiculous and there’s no such thing as ghosts,” Enjolras snapped.  “The sooner we establish that, the sooner we can leave.”

Grantaire held his hands up defensively, though he still looked amused enough that Enjolras could feel his hackles rising.  “Alright, whatever you say.  And you call me a skeptic, Combeferre would be so disappointed in you.  We’ll meet up with you before we head upstairs, I guess.  Or, y'know, if you need a pair of warm, strong arms to protect you, you know where I’ll be.”

Cackling, Grantaire ducked to avoid the wood chip Enjolras snatched off the lopsided table in the hall and hucked at his head, before waving goodbye and slipping away into the now dark room that the others had gone into.  Leaving Enjolras in a small pool of light in an otherwise dark hall.  Alone.

What had he been thinking?

Well, mostly he’d been thinking that he would get to retain an ounce of dignity by marching high-headed and confident into that room at the other end of the hall and have Grantaire trail behind him.  He hadn’t actually thought Grantaire would leave him alone, god knew Enjolras could never convince him to when they had exams to study for.  But the thought of turning tail now and running immediately back to Grantaire’s side – oh, Grantaire would happily do exactly as he’d said and wrap Enjolras in his arms, tuck his head under his chin, but what it would cost in mockery made Enjolras grit his teeth.  Darn it, he was a grown man, he could walk into a dark room by himself.  He’d give the room a cursory glance around, then walk back to the others at his own pace. It was fine.  Totally fine.  This wasn’t a horror movie and there were no mass murderers or malevolent hell-beasts lurking around that door.

…This was much easier to tell himself than to believe, especially since every step he took down the hall seemed to make the entire house groan under his feet.  If there were any spirits in here – not that there were – they’d know exactly where Enjolras was and where he was going.

With that cheery thought in mind, Enjolras held out his flashlight like the beam was a weapon and, rallying himself, pushed the door open.

And pushed.

And briefly considered turning around with the excuse that the door was jammed, such a shame, oh well, before bracing himself and slamming his shoulder against the door.

It gave with a painfully melancholic cry and a shower of woodchips, but the door swung inward and let Enjolras stumble in, tripping over the high lip of the old door.  Swinging his flashlight around, not sure what would be worse, something hiding in the dark or finding something hiding in the dark, Enjolras steadied himself against the door jam and tried to regain his breath – which promptly escaped from him again with a wheeze when he saw something skitter through his light.  A rat.  It was just a rat.  But it was also a rat. Lurching away from the wall, as if they could be teaming with the sharp, furry, fanged creatures, Enjolras tucked his arms into his body continued to bounce the light around the room.  He was suddenly very, very grateful for his tall boots, but the thought of those tiny, cold, claws clambering up his pantleg, biting and infecting him with some horrible, fatal disease… he groaned and shuddered. Nothing else moved in the silent, dead room though except for the dust in his flashlight’s beam, so he cautiously worked up the nerve to creep further in.

It stank, was one of the first things Enjolras was able to register once his fear of things creeping in the corners had abated somewhat.  One of the windows was shattered and though it was bordered up now it had made the room all the more exposed to the elements; that entire corner was a thicket of soggy moss and black decay, and filled the room with the moist, suffocating smell of rot, not helped by what Enjolras could only imagine were long rotten jars and boxes stacked along the room’s shelves.  It was a kitchen, he realized, as his light slid past the shelves to an old, oily stove and looming refrigerator that looked like the newest thing in the entire room and even that was outdated by some fifty years.  Tentatively Enjolras stepped further into the room if for no other reason than he didn’t want the gaping, dark doorway at his back, ready for any reaching, grasping things to snatch him up.  Instead of thinking about every squeaking moan of the floorboards as he stepped, Enjolras tried to focus on cataloging everything his light unearthed.  Scraps of curtain hung in the windows, worn thinner now than the cobwebs that were draped from every corner, wallpaper that was spotted with moisture clung pitifully to the walls, and jars of fruit preserves glistened sickly, lumps suspended in greying liquids, too ancient and organic to look at for long.  There was what looked like a trapdoor of sorts built into the floor with a heavy ring for a handle set into the old, moss-coated planks, but Enjolras had no intentions of touching it, not on his own – hopefully Jehan wouldn’t notice it either because the thought of being forced to explore a basement…  The thought of dusty skeletons and forgotten demons gave Enjolras more than enough motivation to step gingerly around the door.  On the other wall was a sink lined with mildew, and a pantry that was partially open but let of such a stench and was so filled with flies that Enjolras sharply avoided it.  Cutlery was spread over the counters and Enjolras tried not to think of anything nefarious about the knives, old china glinted dully under the light, and thick layers of dust grew everywhere.

Enjolras had just about decided he’d spent enough time in this room to prove to Grantaire that he was no coward, when an ear-splitting shriek rang out, like metal on metal.  Or claws on a sealed door, or broken teeth on bone, or…  Heart pounding, fear thick in his throat, Enjolras stumbled back, the beam of light swinging wildly – he nearly screamed as faces jutted out at him in the dark, he only saved his pride by realizing seconds after that they were harmless, smudges on the wallpaper, an old, dull photo tacked to the wall, the cracks in the window – when the thump came.  The entire room rattled, it could be anything, dropped chains, falling bodies, murderers slipping in from the high, narrow windows – and Enjolras couldn’t help it, he jumped back with a scream in his throat.

His jump carried him back hard though, and something grabbed his foot – no, it was that ring in the floor catching on his shoe – and then he was stumbling on the old trapdoor, softened with decay, and the floor gave a creak, a moan, and finally a pitiful wail as the old planks gave and Enjolras was falling, falling, and down.

-

Enjolras had to press his hands to his mouth to keep from shrieking.  He wasn’t sure if it was to maintain some semblance of dignity or because of the bone deep certainty that something would hear.  Instead he remained lying on his back, aching, and willing his heart to calm and his sense to come back to him.  He wasn’t hurt, not really.  The fall hadn’t been far, more sudden; the worst damage was a sore ankle that he’d landed badly on before flopping down onto his back.

He was trapped he was trapped he was trapped in the basement of a haunted house.

It was going to be alright.

Carefully, biting his lip as his back twinged, Enjolras sat up and scrambled for his flashlight,  gasping with relief when his fumbling hands clasped around the light.  At least it wasn’t dead.  On the other hand he wasn’t so thrilled by what he saw.  He was in a… cellar, or sorts. There was a gaping rectangle of blacker darkness where the trapdoor had given way and a pile of crumbling planks below him to mark the descent.  The room wasn’t really all that much bigger than that.  It had a dark, low ceiling that made the entire thing very claustrophobic and the walls were lined with sagging, wooden shelves filled with more foggy jars.  At least it was small enough that Enjolras knew he was only thing in it besides a handful of spiders among the shelves.

The problem was though that despite the tiny cellar was, the ceiling still towered well out of Enjolras’s reach and if there ever was a ladder then it had either been removed or had long since broken apart.

Heart pounding so heavily in his throat he could hardly breathe past it, Enjolras scrambled to the edge of the little cellar and flung himself upwards at the ledge – if only, if he could just…

His fingers didn’t come close to the edge, they grasped at  air

Again. He jumped again, and again, until he fell heavily against the wall, gasping, shuddering.

Trapped. He was trapped down here.  He couldn’t get out.  And it wasn’t like any of them had thought to bring ropes… if he wanted to get out, he’d have to wait for them to leave and come back with something to rescue him with, they’d have to leave him alone down here in the dark…

Grantaire,” he tried to call but it came out as more of a hoarse croak, barely enough to make the dust stir in the air never mind be heard in the rest of the house.

Looking around, he scrambled for a crate tucked against the far wall and heaved it towards the opening.  Its faded apple brand was still legible and Enjolras prayed that meant it hadn’t been as eaten away as the trapdoor.  It held steady as he heaved himself onto it but as he jumped – fingers just brushing the edge, jarring his nails and still not far enough, too high, still trapped, but as he dropped back down he hit the crate hard enough for the wood to splinter under his feet and send him tumbling back down, sore ankle complaining under the assault.

“Did you hear that?”

“You think it’s a ghost thumping around in there?  Probably Enjolras trying to kill a spider.”

“Courfeyrac?” Enjolras called out desperately.

“Enjolras?

There was a thumping of feet that made dust shake loose over head, and then Enjolras was squinting up into twin beams of light as Courfeyrac and Grantaire peered over the sides of what was once the cellar door.

“How the hell’d you get down there?” Grantaire called, eyebrows in his hairline, clearly shocked at Enjolras’s daring for exploring the cellar.  How soon he would be disappointed.

“I fell,” Enjolras said, trying to keep his voice from quavering. “The floor gave way.  I– there’s no ladder, I can’t get out.”

Shit, are you okay?” Courfeyrac called down as Grantaire swore next to him, craning to look further into the hole, trying to ensure that Enjolras was whole and well.

“I’m okay,” Enjolras said.  He was, he was, he would be fine, even if he was left alone in this dark house, in this hole, he would be fine… “My ankle’s twisted but that’s it.  But there’s no way out.  You– someone will have to go and get a rope, or, or something.”

“Is Enjolras in there?” he heard Jehan call from somewhere in the distance, followed by more thumping and then Courfeyrac’s head disappeared to call over Jehan and Combeferre.

“You’re okay?” Grantaire asked again, gently.

“Don’t leave,” Enjolras found himself saying, to his embarrassment.

Then Grantaire’s head disappeared and Enjolras nearly choked on his fear again as the room seemed to become all the more darker, even with his little flashlight – was this another prank?  Or would Grantaire just leave him like this to go talk to Jehan?  Or was he finding a way to get Enjolras out?

But the second had hardly passed before Grantaire’s head was replaced with his worn sneakers, and Enjolras couldn’t even get a warning out before Grantaire had dropped heavily into the pit next to him.

“You idiot,” Enjolras cried, slapping Grantaire back before he was even able to straighten. “What’s the point of both of us being stuck?”  

“Enjolras–”

You’re the strongest, the others are going to need you if they get a rope to pull me out with, what were you thinking–”

Enjolras. It’s fine.”

And Grantaire stood.  And kept standing.  And… and, oh.  Grantaire would actually need to be careful not to bump his head on the far end of the cellar where the ceiling sloped.  He raised a brow at Enjolras, gesturing grandly to himself, and smirked as Enjolras went red.  Without further adieu he hauled Enjolras up around the waist and carried him over to the lip of the hole, which Enjolras was now able to easily heave his arms over and, with Courfeyrac and Jehan’s help, was able to pull himself back onto the sturdy, kitchen floor. Combeferre was patting his back reassuringly as Grantaire leapt at the hole with a huff and pulled himself easily up over the edge.

“I hate you,” Enjolras grumbled as Grantaire knelt down next to him and pulled him into a hug.

“So, what, that means you and your poor, twisted ankle don’t want to be carried?”

Enjolras huffed but immediately looped his arms around Grantaire’s neck and his legs around his waist, and clung to him as he straightened up. Without a word, Grantaire’s arms were looped around him, holding him securely in place, and Enjolras pressed his head against the crook of Grantaire’s neck, deep into his hoodie and breathed with relief a smell that wasn’t tinged with dust and mildew.

“Should I take this to mean you’re ready to head home?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras grunted his agreement.

“…I seriously can’t believe how short you are, Enjolras,” Grantaire added, earning himself a sharp kick in the side.  “But it does mean I get to play the dashing hero, so I’m not complaining.

“I really hate you,” Enjolras amended, but Grantaire’s laughter was a reassuring rumble against his chest, and okay, there were definite perks to being short and those included being carried and cuddled like you weighed as much as a teddy bear, and Enjolras wasn’t ever going to complain about that.  Especially if it meant being carried promptly out of this awful house, down the street, and preferably straight into his warm bed.

Ben Winston, exec. prod. of The Late Late Show, talks about Britney’s appearance on tonight’s #CarpoolKaraoke.

“It’s a 10 minute bit. People have only seen 30 seconds of it. I think it was probably unfortunate that we maybe chose one bit where she was…it [Toxic] was the first song that they sung actually. So she was a bit shy at that point. Cause I think she found it quite strange that we…I don’t think she’d actually watched it before.

I’m not convinced she’d seen ‘Carpool’. I think she just heard that it was quite a big thing. So maybe she just got a bit of a shock but no she’s great. She does join in and that goes out tonight. And I hope people will really like it.

source: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p045tw5x

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Notice anything missing? 🙂

I called to check on Ruby today and the nurse told me that she had ripped off her nose cannula and no one noticed until they looked in on her to do cares (she stays covered up) because she’d had no episodes. So instead of putting it back on her they decided to let her do her thing and see what happened. Well she’s doing so well they’ve decided to keep it off! AND we tried another bottle feeding and she did so much better than last night even without the oxygen. She was sucking/swallowing/breathing simultaneously and when she got tired she’d take a break but leave the nipple in her mouth and then start again without prodding. She was able to get down 20 of the 36 ml’s before she got pooped and fell asleep. I’m so proud of my little peanut 😍

i’m taking the bridesmaid dress in for alterations everyone pray4me that i don’t have a meltdown bc having someone intimately measure and prod at me is the stuff of nightmares

is it just me or does evan really enjoy pushing del’s comfort zone in a very nondescript & casual way? like it dawned on me from yesterday’s video that evan is becoming fucking ballsy & dropping whatever personal inhibitions he may have just to prod @ del & possibly gauge del’s reactions? he’s testing the waters so to speak lol that’s a very evan thing to do & there’s no doubt in my mind he knows what he’s doing & seeing how far he can take it 

Bound Tight and Confident (Part 1)

Thank you, subconscious, for prodding me to work on this WIP!

I’ve been struggling with where to go in the next chapter of The Ink Stains Us, seeing as how we’ve veered so far from my outline I can barely use any of it. Anxiety about it has kept me from writing for the past 5 days, and I knew I had to force myself out of it.

So I picked up this vignette about Harry from the same ‘verse, and it has cleared up a whole bunch of things about his past, and lets me see how it will affect his anxiety, and how Eggsy and Merlin can help him now.

I had to go back and tweek two sentences from the last chapter to keep things consistent, but I don’t think that it will really affect how people have already read the chapter.

If I can keep up the rhythm, I might even finish this vignette sometime next week (because I expect Harry and Merlin to need to talk about things far longer than I initially planned).

All that said, you guys get to benefit with a snippet of the beginning that I wrote today! Enjoy!


Getting his picture taken was something that he had always disliked, even before he had become a spy. Harry had hated it when school photos came around, or at the holidays when one aunt or another would insist on a family photo. His mother would attempt to tame his unruly waves with a spit slicked hand, and his father would clap him between the shoulders and remind him to keep his back straight. People telling him to smile now, dear always made him want to roll his eyes and scowl.

After joining Kingsman, it was normal to keep from being photographed while on missions. Merlin could always send a clean up crew to take care of anything that Harry couldn’t avoid, but it was a point of pride that Merlin rarely had to. Harry found it quite easy to evade the cameras, turning away to help someone or offering to take the picture for them. It was harder to avoid in his personal relationships, but either his partners weren’t around long enough for it to be an issue or he bribed Merlin to help him clean up there as well.

And then somewhere along the way, Merlin and Harry started a relationship and Merlin was suddenly taking out his camera and asking if he could take Harry’s picture. Harry froze, that first time, eyes narrowed at floor and shoulders tense. “It’s rather unnecessary, don’t you think? And more than a little risky.”

He placed the camera down on the coffee table carefully and turned on the couch to face Harry. “I won’t, of course, if yeh don’t want me to. But ye know that they’ll be as safe as any other Kingsman information I have. Probably more so, since you and I would be the only ones to know of their existence.”

He laid his hand on Harry’s thigh and waited until he turned to look at him. “Do ye have any idea just how beautiful ye are like this? Without your suit as armor, relaxed in a way no one ever sees outside of this house?” Harry looked away again, spine going stiff at the words. “I don’t think you really do.”

Merlin took his hand off Harry’s leg and picked up his camera, returning it to his bag on the floor. “I won’t take your picture, Harry, as long as you danea want me to.”

anonymous asked:

On the werewolf lying thing, it was def Kate and Derek in s1, when she tasers him with the cattle prod. From the transcript: Kate: You think I'm lying? Derek: Wouldn't be the first time. Kate: Tsk, sweetie - Well...why don't you just listen to my heart and tell me if I am. Okay? We - didn't - kill - your - sister. Do you hear that? There's no blips or upticks. Just the steady beat of the cold, hard truth.

Thank you so much for the direct quote!

So the heartbeat lie detector ability was established by Kate and Derek in 1x05, “The Tell”

ninizilla  asked:

Brutaltown + "you're so cute when you blush" ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Traaaaash

“Hey, Ian; have I ever told you that I like you? Like, a lot.” Luke raised an eyebrow, grinning to himself when Ian’s head dipped a little, his narrowed, hardened gaze turning down towards the floor in defiance, but Luke gently prodded his shoulder and chuckled, “You’re so cute when you blush.”

Pairing + Prompt = 3 Sentence Fic

anonymous asked:

"You're drunk."

“You’re drunk.” Klaus said it as a fact leaving no room for assumption as Caroline trotted uninvited into his bedroom.
“Slightly tipsy,” she corrected him as she dropped her purse and shoes on the ground with a thud as she shut the door behind herself.
“That’s possibly why you came into my room and not Rebekah’s two doors down,” he prodded as he shut his sketchbook.
She shook her head, “I knew where I was going,” she murmured as she crawled onto his bed beside him.
Shocked about his little sister’s best friend in his bed didn’t begin to cover his feelings as her hands rode up his thighs. More like a dream come true as her azure eyes flickered to midnight blue while dropping to the view of his parted mouth as he panted for air.
“I’ll tell you why later,” she promised as she snuggled into his side her chest draped over his and promptly fell asleep.


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