ran cycle

In Dreams (The Raven Cycle amv)

Since The Raven King comes out today, I wanted to post something special before I dive into the end. I’ve been wasting away months of my life drawing all the scenes for this video, and now it’s finally done. I hope you enjoy it!


Inktober Day 12: Enchanted 

“Don’t go.”  

 This started off as something romantic but it’s the month of spoopiness, so of course I ended up thinking of The Raven Cycle and this happened instead.

Referenced from this beautiful statue~

Just adding a bit of trivia/explanation for this picture!

Okay so in the tower there is a room below the bulb called the Window or Service Room, which is where a majority of the Keeper’s time was spent at night since the Lantern Room really only has enough room for the bulb and the small path to walk around it. In that room, there would be a desk for reading to help the Keeper stay awake at night, and a window for which they can see out to sea for ships. That room was very dark, and so the metal floor of the lantern room above had patterned crystals in the floor to allow light to shine through. During the day this would mean natural light, and at night it would mean the bulb. So the crystals in the floor also allowed the Keeper to maintain vigilance of the light while not being on that floor.

Ford is only apparent when the light is on, and thus when the light from the bulb shines through the crystals (in this case, patterned like the portal symbols) to the floor below. Since the floor is circular it made sense for it to be the Portal replacement for this AU.

Starchild, 1.

Pairing: Park Jimin / Reader

Genre: Bad Boy!Jimin, Fluff + Slight Angst

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: None.

Summary: It’s been one hell of a night, hasn’t it?

Count: 1515 words.

Note: Inspired by Teena Marie’s Starchild album. Thank you for screaming about this with me @minmelly, @sydist , @vintaege + @trbld-writer .



It has been the sixth time that he had noticed her and during each time, she was attired as a vintage waitress—hair displayed in a simple ponytail, cheeks and lips compliments with a lustful shade of rouge, shirt buttoned just to her collarbones and her skirt swaying purposefully with every step. She would pass the bar he frequented at rather regularly and it would seem to be at the moments he loitered outside, leant against a lamppost whilst the orange fluorescent lighting engulfed his figure.

Keep reading

Whispers in the Dark [Tom Riddle x Ravenclaw! Reader - Pre-Hogwarts]

Originally posted by my-harry-potter-generation

   Y/N L/N has a family notorious for writing school books, and this causes her to be teased and taunted mercilessly by Hogwarts students of every color. Tom, however, regards the girl with intrigue, and this leads to a relationship both passionate and consequential.
♥ A/N ♥
  I wanted a new set-up for my imagines, so here I am with a different kind. Putting that aside, [3] was the winner! Sorry to fans of [5], but fortunately, that will be the next series I begin after my other two series meet an end. I’m particularly excited to get started on this series, as I’ve always been really big trash for Tom Riddle. His backstory is so intriguing and anything to do with him enraptures me. Should I be ashamed? He’s really hot as a youngster, so I’m not very ashamed. By the way, everyone, the story is told in third-person like Not Your Girlfriend is. If you all want that changed, just message my inbox! Thank you all for requesting. It makes me so happy when I see my inbox filled with requests. It gets my creative juices a’flowing. So thank you. And also, I apologise for the long wait. And let’s begin!
Swearing, Angst, Death, Horror, Romance

 Y/N was desperate, her head whirling as she tore and fumbled with books of varying deterioration and length. She needed to find the book with the right answer, the book that would change everything—fix everything. Was she a fool? Did looking to books for an answer to something so big and blatant—something she merely needed to ask a professor herself to receive a solidified answer—make her the world’s biggest clod? She remembered a certain quote then, one she learned when a mere toddler home-schooled in all things literature and magic—Shakespearean, filled with meaning and metaphor. “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” Was she somewhere in-between such, caught in the middle of wisdom and dolt-plagued tomfoolery? Her parents might have denied it, but Y/N wasn’t convinced. She never believed in fairytales, nor did she believe any single compliment was sincere.

It was something she got from him.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered, grabbing at her left temple as it began to pound at her, like a stick against one’s drum. It was like a war inside her head, with screams and groans coming from every direction. Monsters—demons of all shapes and sizes—were tearing at her mind, ripping her sanity into shreds. The books became weights, only they weren’t on her shoulders—each page-flip required every bit of stamina Y/N had left. But she needed the answers—
she needed them. She didn’t care for the pain if it meant she’d come out victorious in the end. A few bumps and bruises were nothing; they were miniscular compared to the tragedy that’d befallen her all throughout her life.

One book fell to the ground, then another. This one made her pause in her quest. The second was a book her own mother had written—a research book, filled to the absolute brim with history. It explained the legacy of Grindewald, it brought to attention the achievements of several Pureblood families, and it also highlighted the atmospheric beauty of Hogwarts. Nowhere did it have answers. What was the bloody point in her mother writing a book if it answered nothing but the questions that came with the pesky curiosity of an insolent youth? It was pathetically unhelpful—it gave nothing but a headache, a certain vibration that ran from each synapse to the next, bringing with it tremors of nerves.

But he needed her help. He was waiting, ever-so-patiently and ever-so-kindly. And she was desperate to please him and to bring him news of success. She wouldn’t have the heart to look him in the eye and give a sad shake of the head. What was the point in a visitation when she would only be the bearer of bad news?

Finally came along a book with black and violet coloring, velvet lining, and medieval font. There were apparent crucifixes aligning the front, but for some reason, the only illustration that comeform inside her head was that of a serpent. Y/N could only stare at it for a moment, her eardrums giving a faint “thump, thump, thump” as both her heart and her ears became one, drilling into her a resonant, “
Open it, Y/N. Open it.” She would, but only for him. She had no need for this book, so fabrication was a necessary process. Motivation was nonexistent, so for him, she’d try. She’d give herself some, even if it tore apart her comprehension and lucidity in the process.

Slowly but surely, she creaked open the book. Inside was a short introduction, then a table of contents, located on the next page. Y/N nearly skimmed past, so lost in her thoughts that she was faint of observation. When she saw the list for the fifth chapter, she smiled with delight. There in bold letters, she seen the word “Immortality.” And right below, there was the word that made her both breathless and sore, a strong feeling of befuddlement setting in her intestines.


And like the whisper of a Parseltongue hissing at a reptilian bastard, there it came… like a song, menacing and alight with fear and foreshadowing and darkness

“First comes murder, so evanescent and divine,
then comes a spell, wretchedly dissolved into brine.
Salt in the wounds, a fool’s dying breath leaves,
‘To those that live; retain your mask and identity.’”

They’d never take them alive. Never, never, never


Y/N L/N awoke with a gasp. Air felt finite when her chest both heaved and sucked for just a single breath, enough for her to retain a chance at life. The atmosphere felt hot and sticky, just like always—it was a family trait to have a house that reeked of sweat and humiliation. Her room was the least obvious, as she always casted a spell to interchange the scent, but every morning was the same. She’d awake with her throat sore and choking, then she’d breathe in the essence of her home. The home that bore so many memories, yet gave her chills down the spine whenever she entered it.

She’d been having nightmares ever since she could remember. For her, life was Hell in itself, and even in her dreams she couldn’t find solace. Everything was a cycle; life ran and repeated, much like history did, and it was all so fucking inescapable. Maybe that should have meant something to her. She was born in this house, raised in this house, taught in this house; it was a cycle, a rinse-and-repeat process that everyone in her damn family went through from their first breaths to their last. Nightmares weren’t meant to be in the cycle, and maybe that was the first sign—the first showing that Y/N was nothing like her family.

Her chest was burning. She felt like Frigg, just moments before her son Balder died in her arms from a mistletoe dart. That sensation of grief surrounding your senses, of denial festering in your bones, of heartache manifesting as a persona—that was something she emphasized with, whether she wished to admit to it or not. This nightmare—it was quite unlike the others. It hurt to think about; hell, it just plain hurt. It was nothing but a figment of Y/N’s imagination; it wouldn’t hurt her. It couldn’t. It was a bloody dream; it shouldn’t have any damn power over her. Should it? Could it?

Y/N kicked off her sheets and sat up in bed. She ran a hand through her Y/H/C hair, flinching at the tangles that stung with each violent tug. She kept thinking about the dream, sweat drenching her brow and her knickers. Shivers tremored up and down her back, but she couldn’t tell if they were from fear or pleasure. It was like the nightmare both excited and unnerved her. She felt the temptation to panic, but she also wanted to calmly drink in the world around her. She wanted to know what this meant. To Y/N, it appeared to be some sort of premonition. And it scared her to death to think that that might be true.

A face was something she was missing. She had a book, a mysterious object called a “Horcrux,” and an apparent desperation to please someone. But a face was missing… and that was the one way to determine if this was really a nightmare… or if it was a presage for what was to come. This thought frightened her into a sleepless stupor that lasted the rest of that night. Her only regret lay in knowing that she’d be up at nine that same day to pack and head off to Platform 9 ¾. Even then, she couldn’t help herself but shake silently in bed, head clouded in fantasies of a life where she didn’t loathe her own existence and nightmares didn’t plague her sleep.

That following morning, a mere four hours after her abrupt awakening, Y/N could feel the slight dusting of crust in the corners of her eyes and the stress on her brow and cheeks that caused premature wrinkles to coat her features. She hated that feeling—that horrible feeling of sleep-deprivation and weakness—but why should that have bothered her? It was a chronic feeling; there was nothing unusual about this. Nothing—nothing at all.

But then, she thought about her dream. The Parseltongue, the song—the implications, the premonitions. This time, it wasn’t just fatigue weighing down her shoulders. It was fear.

“Y/N, darling, the train has no use for rocks as passengers!” It was her mother, a flamboyantly-dressed, spiky-haired woman that was known to be continually-perky and full of life. She was ignorant to the things that society said behind her back. Y/N didn’t know whether to sympathize with her or find amusement in the situation. “Get up, get up! Time to dress yourself—blimey, Y/N, you look like death!”

Her mother had just opened the door, and she was staring at Y/N with wide eyes, her mouth agape. The youngest of the two just scowled hard, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. It was one thing for her peers to make her feel terrible, but it was a whole other thing when her mum uttered something regarding her appearance. It stung less, but brought more to attention. Though she felt bad for it, she honestly just wished her mother would bugger off. She told her mother so. “I’d rather not have you here when doing so,” Y/N said, throwing her mother a dark look. “Can you leave?”

Her mother blanched slightly, but covered it up with a smile. “Of course, darling,” she said. “We leave twenty minutes till!”

Y/N rubbed a hand over her face. Standing up, she stretched her limbs and looked to a nearby mirror. Her reflection caused her to instantly look away, a frown adorning her mouth. It was time to dress, she supposed. She definitely could see why her mother was shocked by her appearance.

She threw on an old shirt of her father’s, then a pair of denim jeans. A pair of trainers were slipped on her feet, partially dirty but presentable enough that Y/N shrugged off their flaws. She went about the room, cleaning up any blatant messes and taking all the objects that she knew she’d need in her 5th year of Hogwarts. Clothes, robes, books, wand, and owl—those were the basics, the barest necessities.

The thought of someone controlling her plagued her, leaving her to contemplate it for a solid hour… and then her mother and father came, telling her it was time to Apparate to the platform.

An expression of embarrassment was permanently set into Y/N’s features as she arrived at the fantastical platform hidden within the walls of King’s Cross Station. She looked around, eying all of her peers with an expression of reproach. Though she hated them with every fiber of her being, she hated her parents the most. They were the ones that turned into a mockery. They made her into a puppet, controlled by the whims and jeers of people that only knew her by her last name. It made her into a hateful, spoiled little girl, and she was aware—but she couldn’t help it. She was filled with an uncontrollable bubble of rage, and it was completely a part of her.

She ignored the mirth-filled stares she was getting around the station and turned to look at her parents. She felt guilty for the way she was thinking about her parents, so surprising the two, she wrapped them into a hug. “I love you,” she mumbled, making a face as she pulled back. The two parents could only watch, dumbfounded, as their only child made her way to the train. Y/N was an enigma neither parent could solve or even fathom. She wasn’t the only one filled with fear at that moment.

Y/N strolled her way from corridor to corridor, face pulling into a frown every time some nasty git caught her gaze. She was hardly paying attention to where she was walking until a tall body knocked directly into her, pulling her and her bag to the floor from the impact. It bleeding well hurt, and she was meaning to give the person a comment on his lack of coordination, but then she looked up and she lost all ability to talk.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. Slytherin Prefect, judging by the badge, and the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He had eyes you could get lost in, and a frown that was permanently imbedded into his mouth. He looked like he knew his way around a wand and his way around socialization—while he looked brooding, he also looked manipulative. Dark. Malevolent. Haunted.

Y/N stared at him, and Tom stared at her. Y/N was the first to realize how utterly ridiculous she was being, and she quickly frowned at him. Not a scowl, no—but somewhere in between. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she couldn’t tell why she wasn’t being standoffish. “Didn’t look where I was going.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow at her. His brown eyes were full of curiosity. Such a strange feeling for someone so mysterious. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. He extended a hand, and Y/N gladly took it. She tried to ignore the sparks she felt when she touched his hand.

She now stood up, glancing up to Tom with a shy expression, all of a sudden. “Thank you,” she said, just as quietly. She watched as Tom quickly headed down the corridor. She was stricken. Was it fear? Attraction? Intrigue?

They all felt the same to her. Maybe it was all three.

“First comes murder, so evanescent and divine,
then comes a spell, wretchedly dissolved into brine.
Salt in the wounds, a fool’s dying breath leaves,
‘To those that live; retain your mask and identity.’”

Even then, she didn’t notice her mistake.

anonymous asked:

If you're still taking small requests for Seokmin, Seungkwan and Chan, can I request a college au with Seungkwan in which you're besties and he's really stressed so you take him out for a drive? And while coming back, he's dozing off in the passenger seat and when you're at a red light, he holds your hand over the gear and tells you that he feels lucky to have you as a best friend. ^^ sorry if this was too much to ask. I love your writing! Keep it up and thank you! :)

because I am awfully soft for this man and have a lot of time in my hands, here is a scenario no one saw coming 😘 thank you for this request bb, it was by no means too much to ask! 💖

Seungkwan had been getting more and more stressed steadily as the semester in university had proceeded, and you had been trying to figure out ways to help him relax for days on end. As his best friend it upset you to see him as stressed as he was, the bags under his eyes growing bigger and darker as his laughter got emptier and rarer.

It wasn’t until you had driven him to a nearby city and he had almost fallen asleep next to you that it hit you that out of every other way to help him relax, a drive seemed to be the way to go. There seemed to be something about it that made him feel at ease and finally let go of everything that bothered him and caused his shoulders to be as tense as they were.

Your theory was further proved right when you figured that food wouldn’t help because his appetite was barely there, movies or the like wouldn’t help because he couldn’t focus, and similar issues prevented other relaxation methods from working, too.

One evening you had tried to get him to relax with a meditation audio, but had deemed it useless a mere two minutes in, because Seungkwan was so stressed that he couldn’t for the life of him stay still.

And so, a few days after the trip to the nearby city, you found Seungkwan in the university library, immersed in his book, and placed your hands on his shoulders out of the blue. He jumped, and you laughed while sitting down next to him.

“What if I had gotten a heart attack or something?” he asked, scandalized, and pouted a little. “You can’t just creep up on people like that.”

You rolled your eyes good-humoredly and placed your hand on his knee. “I know, but hear me out. I’ve got an idea to ease your stress.”

Seungkwan squinted his eyes skeptically. “Unless you’re going to make the whole university magically disappear, I’m not sure if I’m convinced.”

“You’ll see,” you hummed knowingly and smiled brightly. “Just come to my room at 5pm and I’ll show you.”

“Alright,” he sighed and melted into a small smile as he looked at you. “I guess it won’t do any harm.”

You shook your head reassuringly and patted his leg. “But now I’ve got to go, I don’t want to be late from my lecture. See you at 5!”

Seungkwan hummed while nodding, and as soon as you left, returned to the book in front of him, fiddling with his pen while reading. 

Fifteen minutes before 5pm, you heard a knock on your door, and grinned. You picked up your keys, phone and bag on your way to the door and opened it cheerfully, immediately met with a surprised Seungkwan. “Ready?”

“Sure?” he answered, definitely not expecting you to be ready to go so early, and followed you down the hallway. When you left your dorm building, he quirked his eyebrow. “So where exactly are you going to take me?”

“I…” you began almost dramatically, and hurried your steps so that you could see your car before you continued. Close enough, you pointed at the vehicle. “…am going to take you for a drive.”

Seungkwan looked incredulous for a moment, but the main emotion on his face was happiness, and seeing that made your heart warm. You loved making him happy, and judging by his reaction you knew you were on the right track in your mission to help him relax.

“How did you know?” he asked, amazed, while taking a seat on the passenger’s side as you sat behind the wheel.

“Don’t you remember the last time you were in my car?” you asked with a laugh, and snickered when Seungkwan looked puzzled. “That’s right, because you slept, just like a baby.”

He flushed a little and tried to fix his fringe nonchalantly. “Oh, I did?” You hummed, and he let out a calm sigh. “It’s because when I was small, we used to drive a lot of long distances. I don’t know if it was that or if it’s just me, but there’s something really… relaxing about drives.”

You listened intently and nodded while starting your car. “I don’t think you’re alone with that. This drive better relax you, too.”

Seungkwan laughed and agreed with you, and hummed contently when you took off, making your way through the busy streets of the city.

“But still… where are we going to go?” he asked amusedly, already visibly more relaxed than normally, and looked at you brightly. 

You tapped on the steering wheel. “We don’t really need to go anywhere, do we? We can just drive around.”

He nodded and looked around himself, taking in the lights of the city as well as the multicolored sky. “Could we go to a hill, though? I really like looking at the city.”

Seungkwan’s voice sounded almost dreamy, and you found yourself agreeing readily.

As you drove through the city in order to get out of it, Seungkwan fiddled with your radio and found his favorite channel, although you laughed at him heartily, noting that you had it in your favorites, so he could’ve just pressed number 2. He sighed and leaned into his seat. “And now you tell me that?”

The drive continued with the two of you bickering, all in good humor, like back when he wasn’t stressed to the point of snapping at any given moment. It was clear that he was, at last, allowing himself to not think about everything he had to do and how well he had to do it, and instead just relaxed.

The knowledge of that calmed you down, too.

It was calming to not see him fidgeting, looking around every two seconds, and having him actually present, listening to you and talking to you without being distracted by his anxious thoughts that just ran in a vicious cycle, not to mention snapping at you for nothing.

Eventually you reached the hill you had been going to, and Seungkwan breathed in eagerly when he got out of the car. “I knew the air would be better here.”

“I think that’s a given,” you grinned and joined him in walking to the front of your car, leaning against it lightly. You looked at him warmly, glad to see how at peace he looked as he watched the city and the sky, some clouds trying to block the sun that was almost starting to set already. “Feeling any better?”

“A lot,” Seungkwan said brightly and looked at you, his smile more genuine than you had seen it in a while. “Thank you.”

You nudged him lightly and laughed while turning your gaze to the city. “Isn’t this what friends are for?”

He nodded with a warm smile on his face. “Yeah.”

You spent a while on the hill, taking in the fresh air and letting the wind blow by you as you both let yourselves unwind while talking quietly - not once did the topic stray to school.

When it started to get chilly and you noticed Seungkwan stroking his arms in an attempt to get himself warmer, you decided it was time to go and got your arm around him. “Let’s go before you become a snowman.”

He snorted and tried to defend himself, but gladly got into the car nevertheless, and let out a content sigh when you turned the air conditioning to a pleasantly warm temperature.

Not too long into the drive back, you could already see and hear Seungkwan dozing off.

“Sleep, you need it,” you whispered, knowing full well that he most likely wouldn’t hear or register your words, and took a look at him whenever you could, smiling adoringly every single time. “Cute.”

Seungkwan had let his head lull a bit to your side, and his eyes were shut and lips slightly parted as peaceful huffs of breath came from there every now and then. 

For most of the drive there was silence, only broken by the quiet music coming from the radio and Seungkwan’s calm breathing, and it lasted until one of the red lights when you were back in the city.

You felt his hand land on top of yours on top of the gearstick, and you jolted, which made him snicker.

“I could’ve crashed into someone,” you complained while laughing, and he laughed, too, just more quietly with a sleepy hint to it.

“Do you now understand why you should stop creeping up on me?” he asked playfully, grinning a little at you, his eyes still falling shut every few seconds.

“Yes,” you sighed and shook your head, looking at the traffic lights again, only to see that it was still red.

Seungkwan rubbed your hand lightly with his thumb, smiling serenely. “I’m really lucky to have you as my best friend.”

The sweetness of his words had you pouting instinctively as you turned to look at him. “Please, I’m the lucky one.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head, slowly taking his hand off yours. “Unfortunately I don’t think I take care of you as much as you do of me, Y/N.”

You pouted a little again. “That’s not true. You take good care of me, too.”

Seungkwan was about to disagree again, but you threw him a glance that screamed “Don’t fight me on this, I have a long list”.

He let out a content sigh again and let his eyes fall shut. “Thank you for being my best friend.”

You placed your hand to his knee momentarily to squeeze it gently. “Thank you, too.”

Neither of you knew where you would’ve been without each other.

Admin Scooter

anonymous asked:

can you please do one with Lavellan having a sweet and comfy day with Solas?

Thanks, anon for this prompt! ❤ Now…I shall warn you. It is sweet, very sweet but it is also very sad. One of the things that bothered me tremendously in the game was the lack of reference to Lavellan’s clan if they were killed. So naturally, I filled in the blanks with my imagination and this is what I imagine happens after Revas finds out. This was very hard to write. I’ll admit…I cried while writing it.

Tiny Lives and Little Feet

Revas had been away from Skyhold, taking off in the middle of the night not long after she had received news of her clan…of Taminsan.

She had run. It was the only thing her body had wanted to do as she’d lay in bed. She’d felt like she could have climbed the walls and begged Solas to just knock her out somehow, with a spell or with a blunt object, she didn’t care. She just wanted the images to stop, the images conjured by a mind she believed was hellbent on torturing her.

Of course, he’d refused. He’d tried to calm her down, but in truth, he wasn’t sure how. He was a man who had an answer for most things but what does one say to a mother who had just lost her child?

So, instead, Revas had run. But he had followed.

He’d chased her outside, saw the whip of her robes as she’d snapped the reins on her mount, the hooves pounding the ground echoing the beating of his heart. He stepped through the Fade to get to the stables, needing to be quick to catch up to his love.

Two weeks later, they returned.

Revas walked through the main gates, rein in hand and her mount trotting lazily by her side. She stopped and breathed in deeply, the familiar scent of baking bread from the kitchen travelled on the breeze that brushed her face.

Solas was still on his mount, behind her, and came to a slow stop with a gentle tug on the rein and a few soothing words. He slid down from the saddle and approached Revas, snaking his arms around her waist as she looked up at the majestic fortress before her. She leaned her head back on his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers.

It was still early morning. Only the cooks preparing breakfast and the ravens from the tower stirred. She was glad that they’d returned before Skyhold had fully woken. She didn’t have to face anyone yet.

She patted his arm, and they broke apart so they could guide their mounts to the stable. Fresh hay was left out and water refilled.

Solas turned to face her and held out his hand which she took with a weak smile, and they padded together to their quarters.

As soon as she climbed the stairs, she made her way to the bed and collapsed onto it, laying on her stomach, hugging the pillow.

Solas came to perch on the edge and rubbed gentle circles on her back. “What can I do for you, vhenan? You have but to ask.”

“I don’t know.” Her response was lifeless.

The last two weeks had been a hurricane of emotions, a tidal wave that had swept through her, leaving nothing but an aching longing to be able to somehow step into the memories of her little boy and stay there.

First, there had been the urge to run, but no matter how far she went she couldn’t run from her own mind or the situation she found herself in. She had finally stopped, and Solas caught up but by that time she had been consumed by a fiery rage that would burn the world, turning it into ash if it brought her baby back. She had screamed, railed at the sky and all Solas could do was hold her tight as she hit even him in her attempt to wage war against the cards life had so cruelly dealt her. And then she had felt like she was drowning. Water filling her lungs to the point of bursting, pressure in her throat, choking her until it rained from her eyes. And then nothing. Just an emptiness that settled underneath her ribcage as she stared, unfocused, into the distance.

It was a cycle. And the cycle ran continuously for two weeks until Solas convinced her to return to Skyhold with him.

“You haven’t eaten much these past two weeks. Shall I get you something? Something small. An apple, perhaps? Or some cheese and crackers?”


He wanted to be helpful somehow, to help her in any way he could. But he wasn’t sure what else to do. He knew grief himself, intimately. But grief was a very personal experience, unique to each. And grieving the loss of a child he could not even begin to imagine.

He thought for a second. “How about a bath?”

Revas didn’t respond at first, but a few moments later she nodded. The tension in Solas’ neck and shoulders eased ever so slightly. Finally, he could do something useful, even if it wasn’t much.

He leaned in, kissing her head and then went to stand up when Revas grabbed his hand, her eyes pleading.

“I won’t be long, vhenan. I’ll bring the bath in here and use magic to fill and heat it,” he said, stroking her cheek.


She felt heavy, her limbs sinking into the mattress. But not in a pleasant, relaxed way. It was like she was being held down by some invisible force. She tried to move her fingers but she couldn’t. She closed her eyes, and a sudden unimaginable fatigue settled like lead inside her.

She woke with a start an hour later, grasping at some unseen entity before her. Her breathing was rapid, sweat drenched her entire body, and her cheeks were wet. Solas was on the bed, cradling her.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he was saying over and over again as he rocked her.

She blinked and turned to look up at him. She swiftly changed her position and buried her face in his neck.

She’d dreamt of Taminsan on his own and terrified, shouting for her. “Mamae! Mamae!”

He was just a little boy in the dream, no older than four. He was just out of reach, but she couldn’t move her legs. All she could do was scream his name which then mixed with the sounds of swords clashing, arrows whirling through the air. A bloody battle played out in front of her eyes, and Taminsan was in the midst of the chaos. And she could do nothing.

She choked out a sound against Solas, his tunic becoming damp as the river of her grief flowed unbridled from her. She cried until she was once again exhausted, when only little sobs and sharp intakes of breath were left. And Solas just held her tightly.

She fell silent, closing her eyes once more before realising that the room smelled of lavender. It was her favourite scent. She turned her head and saw the bath in the centre of the room, steam rising gently from it. Solas must have used one of the oils Josephine had bought for her.

She looked back at him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

“I wish I could do more,” he whispered, a strangled sound.

He’d never felt so powerless.

“It is enough,” Revas said as she reached a hand up to stroke his cheek.

She sat up, slowly, allowing her legs to slide off the bed. She tried to unbutton her top, but she didn’t have the energy. Her arms slumped to her side, hitting the mattress with a soft thud.

Solas got up from the bed and knelt in front of her. “Let me help you.”

He unbuttoned her top and raised her arms so that he could pull it up over her head.

“May I?” he asked before he started unwrapping her breast band.

She nodded, and he began to unravel the material. Usually, she was self-conscious of her breasts and stomach, evidence of past pregnancy written in silver across her skin. This time, however, she traced her finger over them as Solas watched. They were all she had left of her son.

She remained silent and allowed him to help her. She was grateful for the kindness of his touch, the tenderness of his quiet care.

He removed her boots and then gently guided her up and undid her pants, lowering them as she placed her hands on his shoulders, stepping out.

Once she was completely undressed, he scooped her up in his arms and walked over to the bath. He lowered her slightly so she could dip her foot in.

“Is the temperature alright, vhenan?”

She nodded, and he slowly lowered her entirely into the bath.

She was surprised at how much the warmth surrounding her and the smell of the lavender in the air had helped already.

Solas rolled up his sleeves and picked up the nearby flannel, submerging it in the water and then bringing it to her shoulders. He washed her gently, and then poured some of the lavender oil into his hands, rubbing it into her back. He travelled down her arm until he reached her hand and massaged her palm and fingers. He switched and did the same on the other side.

“How does that feel?”

She murmured a response but she sounded relaxed, and that was all Solas wanted.

He picked up the jug he’d placed by the side of the bath, near the towel and filled it. He put a hand just beneath her hairline on her forehead and gently eased her head back a bit before pouring the water over her hair.

He hadn’t known what to put in the bath or what to use to wash her so he’d picked up everything that was displayed on the cabinet in the bathroom including what he presumed was shampoo.

He put the jug down and poured the liquid into his hand, massaging it into her silver tresses, gentle circles on her temples. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation as the headache she’d felt for the past two weeks began to lift slightly. He picked up the jug once more and started washing away the suds until the water ran clear.

“Relax back now, my love,” he said as she eased herself into a lying position and rested her head, closing her eyes.

Solas moved to the side of the bath and crouched down, filling the jug again and began gently pouring water over the parts of her that were exposed.

He wanted to say something, but words bubbled up in his throat before dying away again, uncertainty killing the sentence every time.

Then a story Revas had told him a few months ago, sprung to mind.

He took her hand, his thumb travelling over the back, caressing and gentle. “My…my favourite story of Taminsan is the one where you were watching him play with a group of children. The others were running around wildly, throwing dirt up into the air, yet you noticed Taminsan crouched down quietly beside a tree.”

Revas smiled at the beautiful memory of her sweet boy. “Yes. He was so engrossed. I went to him and looked over his shoulder. He was helping tiny insects that had got stuck on their backs. The other children came to see and oh how he protected those tiny lives from the stomping of little feet. He must have only been about five. It was then that I realised just how special my baby was, to be filled with such compassion, even for the smallest of creatures, at that young age…”

Solas listened intently. She’d hardly spoken over the past two weeks, and he wanted to memorise and relish in the sound of her voice, the peaks and dips, how she pronounced certain words. He’d wanted her to open up to him so that he could share the weight of her burden. He would bear the brunt of all her pain, shoulder all of her struggles if he could.

“You created and raised a wonderful spirit, my love. And that spirit goes on.” He caught her eye.

“I know.” She fell silent for a moment. “He was going to come here. To Skyhold. He was curious about you since I’d mentioned you quite a bit in my letters to him.”

“I would have enjoyed meeting him. I have grown fond of him through your stories. He was a remarkable young man.”

Silence resumed as Solas let go of her hand and continued to caress her body with the falling liquid from the jug. Revas’ eyes remained closed. He didn’t want to push her, it was a slow process and not something that should ever be rushed. He was just glad that she had finally spoken to him, even a little bit.

After a while, Revas breathing became slow and steady. Solas went to scoop her out of the bath to put her in bed but as he leaned over, her eyes snapped open. He startled slightly as she sat up abruptly, water cascading over the sides of the bath.

“Solas…was it my fault?” she said, barely audible.

She finally asked aloud the question that had weaved and snaked between each grief-stricken thought. An insidious whisper. She had been scared, so scared to give it a voice, terrified that by doing so would somehow make it true.

“Did I make the wrong decision? Should I have done something different?” Her voice became shrill as she gripped the sides of the bath and she looked at him wide-eyed.

He brought his hands to her face as a tear began to fall and he brushed it away with his thumb. “What happened was not within your control, vhenan. You did the best you could with the information you had at the time. You mustn’t blame yourself. However, it is natural to do so. But I assure you”–he pressed his forehead to hers–”that you are in no way to blame for his death. And whenever you forget this…I will remind you.”

Revas grip relaxed, and she reached up to put her arms around his neck. She tried to stand up but was too weak, but he caught her, lifting her out of the bath, embracing her tightly. He reached for the nearby towel with one hand and wrapped it around her before pulling her to him again.

She cried against him once more until there was nothing left and she slumped. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, kicking the duvet back with his foot and placed her gently on the mattress.

His tunic was soaking wet, so he pulled it over his head before climbing into bed beside her. He wrapped his arms around her as she nestled her head under his chin.

“I don’t want to fall asleep. The nightmares - ”

“Sleep, vhenan. Do not worry. We can enter the Fade together, as we have done so before. I will watch over your dreams.”

She inched closer to him, safe in his arms and pressed her ear to his chest. She fell asleep to the rhythm of his heart.

When she woke she didn’t remember much of the dreams she’d had, it had been a peaceful night. All she remembered, although vaguely, was a wolf that sat silently beside her. She’d wondered where Solas was, but somehow she just knew she was safe in the animal’s presence. She’d reached out a hand and stroked its black fur. The wolf had turned and looked at her. She’d known those eyes. The eyes of her protector. Her defender. Her guardian.

First Post!

Dec . 6 . 2016

Title: Till the Morning

Muse: Skate Maloley (Nate)

Word Count: 1,494

He comes just past midnight his urgent knocks pulling me from the fitful sleep I had just managed to fall into. I rolled onto my back a sigh held back at the base of my throat. don’t do it. don’t do this. my conscience begs me to stay put but my conflicted emotions aren’t enough to keep me away. Just the thought of him leaning against my doorframe with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips urges me into a standing position. I find myself in front of the mirror next to my bedroom door, glaring at the girl in the reflection her hands clenched together against her chest in an attempt to guard herself from what was to come. When did you becomes so weak?

It was dark as I made my way down the hall from my room to the front door, my hands gliding against the walls for some support so I wouldn’t fall over from the nerves that shook up my legs. I held my breath another knock causing an ache to surge through my chest, my fingers blindly finding their way to the doorknob. His lips pulled up into the lazy smirk I knew all too well, his dimples giving him an innocent aura that only a fool would believe he possessed.

“Took you long enough Elani,” He teased disregarding any formalities as he grabbed my waist his lips drowning mine in warm bliss every movement I made matching his without hesitation or question. He pushed me down hallway kicking the door shut as he ran his hands up the thin t-shirt that kept my skin from him. His calloused fingers brushed against my stomach feeding into lustful hunger that was quickly shutting down every sane part of me. “Did you miss me?” the question was painfully familiar the words like poison, part of me convinced he asked with purpose to find reassurance he still had me wrapped around his finger. Defeat warmed my blood as I let his touch weigh me down.

“Yes” one word became another confirmation of his power over me. A smirk became visible in the shadows his hands gripping onto my hips as my legs wrapped around his waist, our bodies carrying on to the living room where moonlight peering through the sliding glass doors of the balcony gave us a chance to look eye to eye for the first time. Although the shadows of the night made his eyes look black I could still see the brown of his irises from memory, his smirk ever present as the cycle ran its course my shirt finding it’s way to the floor. His body hovered over mine on the couch his familiar cologne mixed with the scent of marijuana so warm and intoxicating I felt dizzy like he had me under a spell. “Nate” I whispered his name with such need I almost moaned in relief when his teeth grazed against my jaw hands expertly gliding across my skin until they grazed the lace material of my underwear. I let myself unravel underneath him as he sent me into a frenzy with his fingers teasing the most sensitive part of my body.

“Tell me what you want” his voice was slow and gruff eagerness seeping through the undertones of his words. In my muddled state I could barely think up a coherent sentence my lips drying up as I said,

“You” that was all he needed to pull me over the edge, his gruff voice whispering devilish things that made my body shake.

“Scream for me Lani” I responded with my hands balling up the material of his t shirt into my clenched fist, animal like sounds bursting through my open lips from deep within me. I barely let myself catch a breath as I rushed to get his belt unbuckled his shirt finally finding its place next to mine. Our bodies melded together in a mess of sweaty skin and reciprocated moans, my nails digging into his bare back while I begged him for more. We crashed in a burst of blinding pleasure my fingers tugging at his brown locks as the heat slowly faded into warmth. He stood bare in front of me leaning down to lift me into his arms, I closed my eyes breathing him in as he carried me to the bedroom. I felt the surface of my bed against my back his weight falling next to me with the warmth of his arms pulling me into him. I lay still counting the soft kisses he left on my bare shoulder allowing myself only a moment to fantasize they held some meaning.


It was quiet early signs of dawn peering through the shades guarding the windows of my room. He lay sprawled across the bed tattoos and bare skin covered by a thin blanket tangled around his torso, reminders of last night painted on the length of his back and arms. I stood at the doorway assessing the damage a joint in between my fingers all I had to keep me from falling victim to the thoughts of disappointment just as regret surfaced.

He shifted onto his back eyes fluttering open chocolate brown irises meeting mine in the dim light. “Morning” he flashed a lazy smile in my direction the dimples in his cheeks giving him a more boyish essence I adored.

“Good Morning” I returned the smile surprised when he sat up and motioned for me to situate myself in the empty space. While I passed him the joint I lay with my head on his lap tracing the outlines of the tattoos on his arms a comfortable silence falling between us as he played with my hair. I reveled in it all feeling cold when he broke away in the moments just before the full sun shone across our skin.

“I should get going early studio session,” He murmured leaving a kiss on my neck, as he went to find his clothes. “I’m free tonight if you wanna come through to my place this time, won’t have time to come by before I leave” he reappeared fully dressed a suggestive grin awakening my conscience from it’s break as I realized he was leaving yet again.

“I can’t do this anymore” the words spilled through my lips in a rush his features furrowing in confusion,

“What do you mean?” He stood at the edge of the bed the better part of me wishing I could take them back, but the other part of me forced it’s way through me.

“I can not keep putting myself through this shit”


“don’t talk” I brought the covers up around me in an attempt to give myself a sense of security, “You only come around when you need some satisfying that’s all I am just one good fuck every once in awhile.”

“Elani stop-”

“Stop what telling the truth? Like excuse me for being sick and tired of playing this game. You’re this up and rising star you’re barely around, and when you are I see you for a few hours and then you’re gone for however long. We ain’t together but it feels wrong to me to look at someone else. The moment I feel like I’m moving on you show up at my door. I sit around hoping you’ll come around so I can feel whole again but then when you come you always leave me feeling crazy because you aren’t mine and you never could be.  And that isn’t your fault…I knew from the start what this was but I can’t help that I started to want more than just being one of your girls…but that won’t ever happen will it? I’m just someone for you to use when you need me and the sick thing about this all is that I don’t care because I love you” He stares at me speechless face blank as he takes in all I’ve said, his lips open and shut a darkness falling over his features. I stood waiting for him to say anything needing him to say something even if it hurt me, but words never come he only lets out a deep breath turning his back to leave. Anger tore through my chest the ‘I love you’ from earlier faltering.

“So that’s it you can’t even say ‘hey I don’t feel anything for you’, you’re just going to walk out and just further prove I’m worth nothing more to you than a night of sex!” his head fell and he started walking down the hallway, causing a grey tone to dim my surroundings my shoulders falling from a weight that seemed to suddenly crush me. When the front door slammed shut i let myself fall to my knees tears shaking my body when I picked up the faint smell of his cologne on my bed sheets.

*Yo hey guys this is my first post on this blog so that’s exciting…used to have another blog I wrote on but it was just something I had to put aside. This blog is a bit of a start over to have space to enjoy all aspects of my musical, book, tv, movie fandom related things. I take requests, submissions, any questions or comments, or to talk.

*This is actually something I wrote a little over a year ago, I published the initial one and it’s still out there somewhere but I really wanted to rewrite it basically from the time I first posted it. Now I sort of like it more and unlike the original that I had no intention to do a part 2 for I have left this one open for suggestions just so I can tell if anyone actually wants to read more of what I write! -Bee

Pet Store Blues Ep. 6 or something

*walks over to a couple crouching over by the goldfish section which you know will always lead to a thrilling ride*

Customer: Hi, so we have a small tank… err… I’m not sure how large, maybe… *points to a 20L tank on display* We set it up maybe… err… 2 days ago? So it’s been running a long time. So we just want 4 goldfish.

Does anyone know the feeling where you’re smiling and nodding through their speech but inside, you’re wondering how you’re gonna seamlessly transition from being polite and sweet to wrecking their plans (hopefully still politely as possible)? 

Me: *inserts goldfish info* 

Okay, so here’s where I always feel guilty because my boss is a nice, responsible and knowledgeable guy but he’s also running a small business so it is expected of us to still sell a single goldfish to customers with inadequate set ups after doing our best to educate them and asking they return it as soon as it becomes too large. 

Me: So unfortunately guys, buying 4 goldfish today will most likely only end in a lot of water changes for you and a lot of suffering for the four little fish, it’d be best if you bought one small goldfish in a few weeks and I ran you through cycl – 

Customer: – -Yeah, okay, whatever. We still just want 4 goldfish. 

They actually said that? 

Me: *gets that spider sense feeling where you become sure they don’t actually own de-chlorinator* Hang on, have you used a water conditioner yet?

Customer: What is that, is that the …err…. the carbon filter thing? My brother said I didn’t need the carbon filter.

Me: *tries to sell them water conditioner, stability, aquarium salt, decent food and the idea on researching a bit more before buying a live animal*

Customer: Yeah, I don’t know. I think I’ll ask my brother if I actually need the de-chlorinator, he has goldfish. I’m not gonna get scammed into buying useless junk, sorry. 

*smiles at me and leaves*

coma (riarkle)

@matthews-and-hart asked: since you love angst so much: farkle or riley are in a car accident and are put into a coma and the other is told they’ll never wake up

approx. 9000 words

“There had been an accident on the corner of Halsted and Main. Come, Mr. Matthews had said. Come quick.”

Keep reading

It just happened. I woke up one day and that was that. I tossed my bedsheets in the washer and watched patiently as they swiveled about, slamming against the glass, beckoning to be freed. But your intoxicating scent no longer enthralled me, it was no longer my drug. I let the machine run its cycle, ran it through the dryer. Once, twice, three times. I could no longer find any trace of tear-stained spots from countless nights your bitter words had kept me awake. I tore down the pictures from my walls, tossed away every note you had ever written me, and it felt fucking good. I finished every damn poem I had ever started about you. I let the words seep onto paper until my pen ran out of ink and that is when I knew, I had written enough about you. I overflowed my bathtub with bubbles, immersed myself in them, and closed my eyes, engulfed by the silence that no longer seemed to deafen me. And each breath I took was crisp as it traveled through my lungs, each crack had been stitched, each wound had mended. My immune system deserves a lot of gratitude. It was strong enough to rid my body of your poison. I loved you. There are parts of me that still do. I will always love you, at least the person you were when you were mine. But seasons come and go, people change. You craved change, so much you became it. Maybe that’s when you stopped loving me, when you realized your limbs had outgrown their ability to sustain the weight of mine. But summer is knocking on my door and I’ve realized I am too warm to have your hands enveloping me. I no longer need you to help me breathe. I woke up one day and I just knew, I was no longer in love with you.
—  A.N, “I promise, this is the last time I will ever write about you.”

anonymous asked:

Adam agreeing to move into Monmouth between the last chapter and the epilogue if they let him pay rent for the same amount he was paying at the church so he moves his shit into Noah's old room but he ends up in Ronan's room almost every night.

Imagine the massive drama the night he moves in though…

  • He’s still feeling pretty weird about moving in, yeah he’s paying his own rent and for his own food and everything but still, he feels uncomfortable after so long trying to avoid living here
  • and Ronan, the asshole, makes some asshole comment about Adam finally getting his pride in check enough to grace them with his presence
  • I mean, he meant it as a joke because he gets it and he didn’t realize Adam would react like this
  • but Adam gets mad
  • It’s his first night at Monmouth and he’s feeling pretty sensitive about the whole situation and tbh he was really starting to like his apartment over at st agnes but the water was always cold and the dust in the old building was making his allergies flare up all the time
  • so moving to Monmouth seemed like the best thing to do before he moved away to college
  • and being a room away from Ronan was definitely a perk now that they were something
  • but now Ronan is pissing him off and he goes into his new room and slams the door
  • He hears Gansey and Ronan arguing and it sets his nerves on edge, the sound of raised voices echoing through the walls
  • Maybe this was a bad idea after all
  • A door slams and the walls shudder, then silence
  • Solid, unbreakable silence
  • Adam climbs under the covers of his new bed that’s a lot comfier than what he’s used to
  • He doesn’t bother getting undressed, he doesn’t want to move from under the sheets
  • monsters under the bed waiting to grab his ankles or something
  • He’s drifting off when there’s a knock at the door and he starts awake, sitting up abruptly
  • “Yeah?” he calls and the door swings open, letting a triangle of light spread across the floor
  • Someone steps in, backlit by the lights in the next room, face in shadow, but Adam knows who it is
  • “What?” he says
  • “Can I come in?” Ronan asks, still standing in the doorway. Adam shrugs and Ronan comes in and closes the door
  • He sits at the end of the bed and stares at his hands
  • “I’m sorry about what I said. It wasn’t funny and I’m just- I’m sorry.”
  • “It’s okay,” Adam says because suddenly, it is 
  • “You sure?”
  • “Yeah.”
  • Ronan nods and gets up to leave
  • “wait, you can sleep in my bed tonight if you want” Adam says. “It’s really comfy”
  • Ronan doesn’t need to be asked twice and strips out of his shirt as he walks back over to the bed
  • Adam pulls the cover aside to let him in and as soon as he’s lying down, he crawls on top of him
  • “I think you’re supposed to say something like ‘welcome home’”
  • “Hmm,” Ronan says, thoughtful, “yeah, or I could just not say anything and do this instead…” he reaches up to kiss him
  • Adam sits up to pull his own shirt off and not to be blunt but, 
  • they have sex
  • hot, loud sex
  • Gansey is starting to regret inviting Adam to move in

Maybe an imagine with the reader who is usually pretty aloof/laid back, but one day gets worked up about something she’s passionate about, and surprises (Elementary) Sherlock? And he gets really interested in her but she’s completely misses his more subtle gestures or is frustrated with him popping up randomly to understand her better?

I can most certainly do this!…or at least an interpretation of it.  Here is your one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!

Sherlock was used to not hearing from you for days at a time.  After all, he had never found someone with the ability to avoid stress the way that you were able to.

It was as if you didn’t have the capability of being offended.

But that also brought about with it the incapability of seeing the value of speech.  You listened more than you spoke, and for someone like Sherlock that always wanted to learn more about how someone worked, going strictly off of your body language and what he could find out when seeing you walk down the street was frustrating.

But Sherlock was approaching the eighth day since he had spoken with you over take-out Chinese when he had randomly shown up on your doorstep, and he was concerned that he had angered you in the process.

Well, maybe not angered.  Maybe just annoyed.

But the prospect still bothered him.

“Where’re you going?” Joan asks as Sherlock grabs his coat.

“I am going to pick up some coffee, and possibly a cranberry muffin.”

“Going to see Y/N?” Joan asks as she turns herself in her kitchen chair.

“What makes you say that?” Sherlock asks as he jabs his arm into his coat and flips up it his arms.

“Because that’s what she’s always eating whenever we see her in the mornings,” Joan says, smirking lightly as Sherlock’s shoulders pull taut.

“Sherlock, I know it’s been a while since we’ve heard from her…” Joan trails off.

“I just want to make sure she is alright,” Sherlock lulls as he approaches the stairs, his back to Joan.

“Sherlock,” Joan calls after him.

“Yes?” he asks, exasperated.

He just wanted to pick up your breakfast.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” she reassures him.

But that was something he wanted to see for himself.


Hearing a knock at the door, you sigh as you close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as you hear the dreaded sound ring out again into your home.

Apparently the “Do Not Knock” sign wasn’t readable to someone.

Attempting to ignore it one last time, you go to loop your yarn around your crochet hook one last time before a familiar voice ricochets through the corners of your home.

“Y/N?  It’s Sherlock.”

You grit your teeth, cursing the fact that he still refuses to call you before he randomly shows up at your door.

Dropping your project in your wicker basket beside your plush chair, you toss your reading glasses onto the couch as you pull your huge sweater tighter around your body, making your way for your front door.

Reaching for the knob, you slowly pull your door open as the harsh light of days causes your eyes to squint, making the dark circles underneath them more apparent as Sherlock studies your every micro-movement.

“I brought breakfast,” he says matter-of-factly, holding up a brown paper bag and what smelled like a large caramel-based coffee.

Your eyes finally adjusted enough to open them up, staring Sherlock dead-pan in his face before your finger points, slowly coming up to the taped sign upon your door.

“Yes, well.  It has been eight days since I have heard from you,” he says.

Like that was a proper excuse for ignoring your sign.

Sighing as you turn back into your home, you hear him step in behind you as your front door clicks shut lightly.

“Don’t,” you lull lowly, causing Sherlock’s finger to stop just underneath the light-switch.


The tone of Sherlock’s voice shocks you, causing you to stop in your tracks before lightly turning your head in his direction.

“Are you alright?” he asks from the doorway.

“What makes you think I’m not?” you ask as you reach out for your glasses, settling themback on your face before sitting back down in your chair.

“The darkened home, the lack of picking up the mail judging by the state of your mailbox, the dark circles underneath your eyes, the dank smell radiating from this particular room, the light grease stains lining your hair-line, and your unusual lack of communication.”

“I don’t ever communicate, Sherlock,” you lull, reaching down for your crocheting project as you plop it in your lap.

Walking towards you as he sits on your couch, he places the muffins and coffee on the table next to you as he watches your fingers begin to nimbly move along the yarn, watching as a beautiful piece of clothing comes alive, right in your lap.

“What are you making?” he asks.

“Sherlock,” you bite as you toss your gaze over to him, “you disregarded my sign, you brought me breakfast even though you never asked if I was hungry, you randomly show up on my doorstep without calling despite my constantly asking that you do.  The least you can do is observe what’s around you instead of asking asinine questions.”

“Well.  If I could see,” Sherlock says as he bobs his head up and down, “then I would.”

Sighing heavily, you put your project down in your lap before reaching over and cutting on the lamp beside you, illuminating the room as Sherlock’s surprised features take in the slew of crocheted projects around you.

Hats and dresses.  Lacy patterns and little pants.  Booties and gloves and tiny scarves and and bows.

All of it…crocheted.

All of it…littering your floor.

Intricately woven, precisely colored, and absolutely littering your carpet.

Sherlock was absolutely stunned.

“You made all these?” he asks.


“In the past eight days?”


It was a side of you he never even considered.  An artistic, creative side that, when unleashed, held you in its claws until the cycle ran itself dry.

And then he asked the infamous question.

“What are they all for?”

That was when your fingers stopped, beginning to tremble as your mind flutters back to the last case you worked with him.  The one that had taken you from the back alleys and streets of New York to the NICU of one of the biggest hospitals in the area.

Losing yourself in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized that the tears that were brewing at the base of your eyes were slowly falling down your cheek.

It wasn’t until you felt something warm and soft wrap around your trembling hand that your gaze ripped itself from its trance and whipped around to Sherlock.

“Did you know that hospitals that have NICU’s have volunteer positions specifically for people who want to come and rock, skin-to-skin, with children born who probably won’t make it?” you choke out.

“No.  No, I did not,” Sherlock coos lowly.

“Did you know that 62% of those children in major cities are born with addictions to drugs, and wont’ make it past the withdrawl stage?” you breathe as your lip begins to quiver.

That statement hit a part of Sherlock that was a bit too deep and personal, causing him to tighten his grip on you without realizing it.

“Did you know that, out of all of those children who are rocked to sleep until they pass, over half of them will be buried without clothes?”

You whispered the last part, almost as if chewing on a disgusting joke.

“No,” Sherlock finds himself choking out, “No, Y/N…I did not.”

And as you lean closer to Sherlock…so close, in fact, that you could feel his breath on the tip of your nose, you lock your stern gaze with him as you draw in a long breath through your nose.

“Unacceptable,” you whisper.

And all at once, before you could react or counteract the movement itself, you feel a pair of warm, wet lips plant a steady kiss into the middle of your forehead before trailing light kisses down to the tip of your nose.

Suddenly, all of the pieces falll into place.  The random appearances on your doorstep.  The odd amount of coincidences in which you had seen him in various places you frequented.  The books to your liking that were sent to you with no return address.  The constant need to pursue conversation with you despite your cold outer demeanor.

It all suddenly falls into place as clarity slowly begins to dawn across your features.

“Very,” Sherlock murmurs lowly, his eyes slowly coming back into view as tears continue to drip down your cheeks.

And after a few beats of stunned silence.

“Do you wash them?” Sherlock asks.

“Huh?” you breathe.

“The clothes.  After you make them, do you wash them?” he asks.

“Uh…um, no.  No no, I figured I would let the hospital do that.  Special detergents and all,” you snicker.

“Alright.  Well, I’m going to collect what you have already made and I will deliver then to the hospital NICU,” Sherlock says as he rises to his feet.

“You don’t-”

“After I do that.  I am going to pick up lunch and bring it back,” he says as he interrupts you, bending over as he begins picking up the numerous articles of clothing upon your floor.

“You really don’t-”

“And when I return, I expect you to have finished your coffee and, at the very least, have showered.”

It was then that his stern gaze lifted, connecting with yours once more as his features soften ever-so-lightly.


Ripping you from your trance yet again, you feel your gaze lurch as it focuses back upon the man now crouched in front of you.

“Do not allow this world to strip you of your hope.  If there is one thing I have come to find by being around you, it is that those who give hope to others struggle with finding hope on their own.  I have found that it is within their own struggle to find it that ignites a…a passion…to produce as much of it as they can in order to bestow it upon others.”

You feel your hands begin to tremble once again as Sherlock cups his hands around yours.

“It is not considered selfish to keep some for yourself,” he urges, holding your gaze as you swallow deep, clenching your jaw as you will your entire body to stop shaking.

“Remember:” Sherlock lulls as he leans forward, placing his forehead against yours as your eyes flutter closed, “coffee and shower.”

And 15 minutes later, he was out the door.

the raven crew + voice headcanons

shit alright i ran out of room three times in the reply/ask box, but trc voice headcanons because buesargent commanded it:

Gansey sounds official, and knows what he want. He talks with his whole chest and anyone could feel the reverberations through the floor. He has two tones: “zero chill” and “mom voice”. Zero chill is used for official business and aka his normal tone. Mom voice is used mostly towards Ronan. He usually says “Ronan, you can’t just write dick jokes in latin to welcome every new latin teacher, that’s absurd”.  (When he gets into a Glendower discussion, he starts to lose composure and talks really fast).

Adam is more quiet-spoken; like he’ll get hurt if he says anything at all, but he’s certain of what he’s saying. He speaks sort of slowly to concentrate on covering his accent. But when he gets talking, his voice is sweet and honey-covered. (Ronan tried to get Adam to talk since the day he met because he secretly fell in love with his voice first).

Ronan’s speech is just snark. That’s all. His voice is really gravely and cut short. He mainly speaks quietly, but only to make comments and profane quiet enough for adam to hear, but not gansey (let’s face it, ronan hates Gansey’s mom voice). Outside of the classroom, he practically growls his answers. Before his father was killed, he spoke like the world fascinated him and wonder filled his voice. Now it’s just hallow. The only trace of this is when he talks to Matthew, who deserves the wonderment. (When Ronan just wakes up, his sleepy voice is from God himself according to Adam and Noah has it on video somewhere).

Blue sounds defiant. Just defiant, like every statement she says is in contradiction to the big man in power. Her accent is strong, but not as nearly as strong as Adam’s and goes forgotten. (When she quotes her mom/aunts/300 fox way ladies, she uses the Madame Zeroni accent to capture the psychic aesthetic)

Noah is… difficult and harder to explain. He talks really fast and like a child, you know, how a young kid talks like you just blew his mind and he looks at you with wide-eyes. Before blue was around, his voice was quiet and soothing but always behind; like there was a lag between his mouth moving and actually hearing, almost as if he’s farther away than he actually was (hm, interesting…). When his body was removed from the ley line, his voice was harder to hear. Like he was talking on a radio that was barely tuned. It was distant and barely understandable through bursts of static and fade-ins. When he touches blue/his battery, his voice is clear and loud. His words never flow through the air, but are in everyone’s ears like a headphone turned up too loud. (When he was alive, he really wanted to be a radio host and play nothing but punk rock at 4am).

The amateur geneticist who surprised science (long read)
Kim Goodsell has two rare diseases. Doctors blamed coincidence, but was it? She taught herself genetics to find out, and discovered something remarkable
By Ed Yong

Kim Goodsell was running along a mountain trail when her left ankle began turning inward, unbidden. A few weeks later she started having trouble lifting her feet properly near the end of her runs, and her toes would scuff the ground. Her back started to ache, and then her joints too.

This was in 2002, and Kim, then 44 years old, was already an accomplished endurance athlete. She cycled, ran, climbed and skied through the Rockies for hours every day, and was a veteran of Ironman triathlons. She’d always been the strong one in her family. When she was four, she would let her teenage uncles stand on her stomach as a party trick. In high school, she was an accomplished gymnast and an ardent cyclist. By college, she was running the equivalent of a half marathon on most days. It wasn’t that she was much of a competitor, exactly – passing someone in a race felt more deflating than energising. Mostly Kim just wanted to be moving.

So when her limbs started glitching, she did what high-level athletes do, what she had always done: she pushed through. But in the summer of 2010, years of gradually worsening symptoms gave way to weeks of spectacular collapse. Kim was about to head to Lake Superior with her husband. They planned to camp, kayak, and disappear from the world for as long as they could catch enough fish to eat. But in the days before their scheduled departure, she could not grip a pen or a fork, much less a paddle. Instead of a lakeside tent, she found herself at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.

Continue Reading.

anonymous asked:

Wolfstar prompt: hot dad syndrome *wink wonk*

Ok, nothalleberryjusthayle. (you’re so slick *wonk wink*)

Fatherhood should not look as good as it did on a man with 7 visible tattoos and an obvious smoking habit as it did on Sirius Black.

The only reason Remus knew the man standing by the refreshments was named Sirius Black was because Remus knew Harry Potter; knew as in taught him English for the better part of two months now. The same Harry Potter who had filled out a basic information sheet on his Parent/Guardian the class before this night.

Open House night. 

Remus stood with the rest of Hogwarts’ English Department; between Gilderoy and Alastor, both of whom were otherwise engaged at the moment, giving Remus time to inspect (read: stare) at Sirius Black.

Sirius’ name fit him, Remus decided minutes after seeing him. It sounded a little rebellious and aloof, which the man obviously tapped into considering he was the only man wearing leather in a sea of brown and black sports jackets. There was the recognizable constellation Canis Major peaked out under the sleeve of the button down shirt Sirius was wearing underneath a leather jacket. Subtle, Remus thought wryly. 

Sirius, however, didn’t seem to care that he was attracting a lot of stares from the rest of the aristocratic people who sent their children to Hogwarts, and some of the parents of scholarship students as well. Sirius just had a arm wrapped around Harry’s shoulders, Harry who was grinning and laughing along to something Sirius had said and wait one fucking second he was coming over here act natural Lupin.

“Moody!” Sirius beamed, coming to shake Alastor’s hand. Moody grunted, but looked generally pleased to see the younger man. 

“How’re you?” Sirius said, grinning from ear to ear (as bright as the star in the sky he was named for, Remus wanted to say, but decided it would come across as too tragic-poet for comfort).

“Better that you’re off the streets and behind a desk.” Alastor said with finality. Right, Remus always forgot that before he was a teacher he’d been a policeman. Sirius laughed again, opening his mouth to say something else before Harry cut in, “Oi, Sirius, come meet my teacher.”

Before he knew it, Sirius Black was standing before him, smiling and putting a hand out to shake, “Sirius Black.”

“Remus Lupin,” Remus said, pleasantly surprised he’d managed to pronounce his name correctly. “I’m Harry’s English professor.”

“Yeah, I gathered as much, Professor.” Sirius said. 

"Ah, yes. Of course. Um.”

“You know Professor Lupin has celestial tattoos too?” Harry prompted, “Like, what are the odds of my godfather and my teacher, you know?”

“Really?” Sirius asked, eyebrow raised in question. Remus wordlessly unbuttoned one of his cuffs to show off the lunar cycle that ran the length of his forearm. Sirius actually looked impressed for a moment before he pointed to Canis Major on his arm. “Constellation home to—”

“Sirius, yes, the dog star.” Remus said, “Clever.”

“You think?”

“No, a bit expected really, but very nice just the same.”

Sirius threw his head back and laughed a barking laugh that fit the rest of his personality. “Jesus, you’re a cheeky bloke, Remus Lupin. You smoke?”


“Don’t we all?”


Before Sirius could ask anything else of him, a voice Remus recognized of that of Hermione Granger came, shouting, “Harry, Sirius!”

Sirius turned away for a second and then back to Remus saying, “Well I suppose that’s it, Professor. If you’d like to continue this, and damn, I hope you do, you know where to find me.” He patted the cigarette carton in his shirt pocket and turned to follow his godson who had waved goodbye. 

As soon as they had gone, Remus easily diagnosed himself with a bad case of Hot Dad Syndrome.