sharp shock

some of my favourite bits/random thoughts from beauty and the beast (2017)

(Warning: spoilers ahead) (this is long and goes through the entire movie cause i need to talk about it alright

  • the pretentiousness of the prince at the beginning and his face when he handles the rose - amazing face by dan stevens might i add 
  • how the entire castle kinda looks like a rose and when it crumbles whenever the petals fall - that shit was wild man 
  • that the town was actually diverse??? amazing and beautiful
  • “she hasn’t made a fool of herself to gain my favour. What would you call that?” “Dignity” (same)
  • that mother fucking groan in ‘belle (reprise)’ that every woman can relate to
  • when cadenza had that ‘oh shit’ moment 
  • maurice trying to act all chill before freaking the fuck out 
  • lets be real - every moment between lumiere and cogsworth
  • “Who are you?” “Who are you?” - same adam 
  • why doesn’t this castle have any railings? like, i understand its a dungeon or whatever….but like,,,safety people???
  • “or as i like to call it, the only wing” nice save lumiere 
  • table dancing in gaston….so many feelings for it 
  • “You can’t judge people by who their father is, now can you?” YASSSS GIVE ME BACKSTORY I LOVE THIS SHIT
  • the fact that adam/the beast struggles with having a normal conversation cause he’s an idiot who hasn’t interacted with people properly in yearssssssss
  • the fact that mrs potts is okay with belle leaving. she’s so sweet and i loved her in this
  • also, the amount of extra lumiere was in this scene? amazing 
  • does the beast sleep in a nest or a bed? like….i have a lot of feelings about this okay
  • (dan stevens knocks me out every time he talks in this movie okay. SO MUCH EMOTION)
  • the fact that the castle has a doggy door????
  • The way that the beast fainted, was like… very human and i love it okay
  • do you think agatha was fucking tired of waiting for a girl to come around or do you think it’s destiny that led her there - too many rose motifs have forced me into these thoughts
  • how nuts is gaston tho??? like the fuck is up with him really??
  • “My favourite is romeo and juliet” *beast eyerolls for days* (like same dude)
  • (also, highly sure the library scene is where beast realises he likes belle) 
  • the beast imitating the horse; beautiful and adorable 
  • snowball scene
  • “What do you say we run away?” - YAS BITCH YASSSSSS
  • “too touristy?” - i love him 
  •  the water from the bath splashing on lumiere….brilliant
  • the dress was beautiful and i will fight everyone who says it isn’t great 
  • The bit where the beast sees belle run away, that sharp exhale of like shock and sadness 
  • in evermore where the beast closes his eyes to go with the line “i close my eyes and she’s still there’ - LIKE, THAT ACTUAL HEAD SHAKE OF HIM REALISING HOW IN LOVE WITH HER HE IS. FUCKING RUIN ME
  •  “I am not a beast” - YAS BITCH, YOU TELL HIM 
  • also…..adam fucking jumped across the castle to get to belle….goals 
  • the beast was shot 3 times in the back….i mean….tough as shit he is 
  • He just wanted her there, to say goodbye and he’s in love with her and i’m dead inside 
  • when all the servants transformed….i cried 
  • i love dan stevens so i will defend his ridiculous hair until i die 
  • plus that kiss was gold and i loved it 
  • (tho i do wish he had said something to her in that moment, just something) 
  • i loved lumiere and plumette - so cute (but also it should have been lumiere and cogsworth)
  •  that final dance tho….amazing 
  • the growl
  • i’m done. i am dead inside because of this fucking movie i swear to g 

this is my gift for @defractum for the @aftgexchange valentine’s day round! one of your prompts was an urban fantasy au and holy hell i am weak for it so here:

Modern covens aren’t like the old-fashioned ones, but the Fox Coven is more unconventional than most. For one thing, they don’t live in one giant den of iniquity in a backwater town, close to the trees and the moon and what-the-fuck-ever-else.

To be fair, Andrew’s lot does live in a small den of iniquity, forced into close quarters by promises drawn far tighter than blood. But it’s a city apartment, at least. Probably closer to the moon, and definitely further away from the wild animals covens attract like crazy.

What it does mean is travel. Covens are by nature tightly knit, and even the Monsters aren’t immune. That necessity is what sees Andrew - and, of course, Kevin - travelling three quarters of the way across the city to Renee and Allison’s townhouse on a bitter cold Tuesday afternoon.

Renee’s taste for pretty and Allison’s for pink means their two-bedroom in the suburbs looks just like a gingerbread house. It’s in contrast to the wards, which are blood-bound and harder than stone to anyone with the senses to feel them. Knitted in to them are Andrew’s own speciality, centred in the gardens and asleep with winter peace.

Except, when Kevin and Andrew approach, they aren’t asleep. The roses are whispering loud enough even Kevin can probably hear them, murmuring of their taste for blood underneath their repetition of Andrew’s command to wait and hold. They’re sentinels, all thorns and hunger, nurtured by Andrew from seedlings and planted here for just this purpose.

Allison’s in the doorway, confined to the front stoop by the sudden explosion of rose vines across what was a beautifully manicured lawn. The captive in the centre of the thorns has gone still - they never fight for long, with the threat of inch-long thorns aimed at eyes and all the other tender spots. They aren’t designed to kill, only capture, and maim a little if necessary.

They shiver and retreat from Andrew’s touch, quiescing. Like all plants, they resist against anything that isn’t growth, but Andrew never has to ask twice. Only the centre-most vines remain, curled around wrists and ankles like manacles, to reveal their prize ward-breaker.

And there - there’s a surprise.

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there is no law that the gods must be fair

*me, languishing in the angst pit 6 days after the finale with a glass of wine in hand* this is my home now and i’m gonna stay in it for the next 9 months

missing scene from 413. clarke radios in from the tower and bellamy hears her.

wc: 1.3k | ao3

Maybe some tiny, morbid part of her always knew it would end like this.

Not like this exactly; out in the snow all by herself, the words ‘manual operation’ somehow making no sense and yet sitting heavy on her chest at the same time while her timer continues to blink, unawares that it’s no longer tracking the time until she leaves for survival, but the time left until her death.

Clarke figures that a small part of her always knew since Abby’s vision that she wasn’t going to make it to space, but she’d be damned if she didn’t see to it that her friends got there.

That doesn’t mean she’s okay though.

The radio is clutched tight in her hand, trembling slightly and she decides to try one last time.

“Raven?” she asks into the nothingness, voice small.

There’s no reply.

Licking her lips, she brings the radio closer to her helmet until it’s almost touching the glass, hand wrapped in an almost vice like grip around it. “… Bellamy?” she tries once more, hoping in vain that he can somehow hear her.

Silence again, but just when she’s about to shove it back into the bag, there’s a burst of static followed by a crackle and then-


His voice is tinny, almost too weak to be heard over the interference, but she manages. Her eyes squeeze shut wanting to commit to memory the way his voice sounds like gravel, the way his tongue curls so gently over the consonants of her name as it’s the last time she’ll ever hear him say it.

“Bellamy I-,” she pauses to swallow heavily. “I’m not going to make it back in time,” she tells him in one breath, biting the bullet.

A beat. And then, “What the hell does that mean?” he growls.

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MariChat May: The Oracle’s Gift

Special thanks to @toukabunni33 for playing Beta for me!

Love Square

Rated: T

The Oracle’s Gift

MariChat May Prompts:

Aged Up! Chat

Aged Up! Marinette

Identity Reveal

One Shot

Adrien, in the guise of Chat Noir, had been enjoying one of his few moments of leisure at Marientte’s, laying down on her chaise, eyes watching as the girl fussed over a new design that she was making.

This moment, this was one of his favorite moments of time. Where he was able to spend time with Marinette without her stuttering. He adored watching her work, playing video games with her. Everything seemed platonic between them. Adrien quickly and easily called her his best friend after all the time he spent with her as Chat.

Sadly, he wouldn’t tell her his identity. Not until he showed Ladybug. Marinette had an ever-growing spot in his heart, but Ladybug was there first, and her grasp was still firm. He hoped one day she’d have it completely as his partner, friend… and hopefully his girlfriend, maybe more one day.

He had few days like this. When he meant days, he meant daylight hours. It took much pleading and bribing, but he had convinced Nathalie to give him a couple days off just to hang out with friends and get his energy back. Between school, modeling, and all of his extra lessons—not to mention his time as Chat Noir—he was completely burnt out energy wise.

It was when his Baton sounded off with an Akuma Alert from the Ladyblog that he hissed in annoyance.

He heard a lighter hiss, Marinette shaking her hand, the sound having startled her enough that she stabbed herself in the finger with a needle.

“I’m okay! Just got my finger.” She moved the digit between her lips, looking towards him. “Go. Go save people, Chat. I’ll be here when you get back.” She said, pulling the digit away once the bleeding had stopped.

A small smile was tossed her way as he moved to go out the hatch that lead to her balcony.

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He’s Dangerous, But Not Around You: Part 2

A/N: Sorry for the delay. This is also kinda shitty.

Part 1

Masterlist linked in bio

Two months after Harry’s violent encounter with Niall, Y/n and Harry have been working on Harry’s temper. It wasn’t going so well, still coming home with bloody hands, cut knuckles, and covered in sweat. He was growing more frustrated with himself as time went on. He’s tried so hard to walk away from a situation that got him angry, but right as he’d walk away, every part of his body would go into fury and all he did from then on seemed out of his control. Y/n was always disappointed, but always stayed with him and defended him in any way that she could. She had never given up on him, not even for a second.

“You’re a peach” she’d always say, with the cutest fucking smile he’s ever seen in his life, “I’ll always love you, you just have to get through this.”

And oh, how badly did he want to. Not even just for Y/n, but for himself.

“Just a bit more scotch.” Harry grumbles to the bartender, sliding his glass toward him.

He hasn’t been drinking much, in fact, he really isn’t a big drinker to begin with. He only goes to bars when the guys ask him to. Of course, since Y/n wasn’t planned to be coming back from her sister’s for a couple more hours, he agreed.

“Yo, guys, look at that bird” Zayn says, grabbing the boys’ attention to a tall, slender blonde woman across the room.

The boys whistle, but Harry just simply turned his attention back to his refilled scotch. Other girls didn’t phase him, they didn’t do anything for him. Y/n is the only woman he’s ever loved, even looking at another woman didn’t feel right to him.

He sips on his drink as the boys are encouraging Zayn to approach her. Harry scoffs lightly, quickly diverting his attention to the vibrating phone in his back pocket. Quickly sliding it out, he sees Y/n’s name with a “Just left. See you soon, my love xx.” He smiles, immediately texting back saying that he’ll be waiting for her and how much he’s missed her.

It had only been three days without Y/n, but he misses her terribly. He’d spent nearly everyday comforted in her company for two years. He misses how he is with her, so delicate and true. She’s the only person to bring that out of him, how could he not miss that? How could he not miss the only person that brings out the best of him?

Harry is drowned in his thoughts until Liam snapped him out of his trance.

“Harry? Harry!” Liam says, pushing onto his shoulder.

Harry shakes his head slightly, “Uh- yeah? Yeah? What’s up?”

“Isn’t that Y/n’s ex?”

Harry’s head snaps to where Liam is pointing. He already feels his fingers clench to fists and his jaw becoming tense.

Hell no. Not him. Harry’s supposed to be getting better, he’s supposed to be making an effort to help himself. He hasn’t been doing that well, but he hasn’t fought since Y/n left and he wanted it to stay that way. What’s a better welcome back gift than for him to have not let her down again?

But he has to. Although her ex had stopped harassing Y/n since Harry stepped in, something inside of him is igniting with every passing second he spends staring at him. How dare he say all those things to her and threaten her like that? How dare he do that to his Y/n? She lived in fear for way too long because of Kurt. How could he not do something about it?

“Mate, mate. Calm down” Liam orders when he sees Harry stand up from the bar stool, “He hasn’t spoken to her in a while, yeah? That’s in the past, man. Y/n wouldn’t want you to do thi-“

“You think I give a fuck what Y/n wants me to do right now?!” Harry hisses, “He threatened her, you understand me? How would you feel if the love of your life was being harassed by a scum so much to the point where she can’t sleep at night?”

Liam swallows harshly, “I just don’t want you to lose her.”

Harry roughly grabs onto Liam’s arm, staring at him harshly in his eyes.

“I will never lose her” Harry snaps, “I’m doing this for her. If this were any other person right now I’d walk out those doors before I can blink. He ruined her life, I will never let him live that down. Now leave me alone.”

He rips his hand away from his death grip on Liam, quickly looking around the bar to see if Kurt is still there. He is. Drinking beer, chatting with some mates, seeming as though he hasn’t even acknowledged Harry’s existence.

He hears the boys muttering under their breath, only picking up a subtle “just let him be”, completely fixated on the man he’s been dying to see for months now.

His fist clench at his sides, body storming in his direction. This is it, this is what he needs to do. He doesn’t care about what Y/n would think of him, not now, because in all honesty, he’d feel more guilty if he were to let Kurt get away with what he did to Y/n than to beat him in cold blood.

Kurt looks up the second Harry approaches him, but before he has any time to react, Harry punches him as hard as he could. He drops to the floor, a loud groan leaving his lips once he’s out of shock. Harry doesn’t waste any time before lifting him back up on his feet by the back of his shirt, mercilessly ramming his back up against the nearest wall.

The bar falls silent, everyone’s attention diverted directly to the violence unfolding.

You didn’t stop!” Harry screams in his face, teeth clenched as he speaks, “She asked you to stop and you didn’t until I stepped in! You’re fucking dead, you hear me?!”

He throws another wild punch directly to his face. Kurt almost falls down again, but his loss of balance is no match against Harry’s raging grip. He spits out blood before lifting his head up. He’s panting, teeth covered in blood, cheek already bruised with his blood smeared all over it.

“You think you’re any better?” Kurt questions between harsh breaths. “Think you can keep her with you when this is how you act?”

Harry grips his throat, glaring at him in the most threatening way he ever has before.

“Don’t you dare make this about me.”

“You know you’re a monster, Harry, yet you still keep her with you. Why do you keep doing that to her, huh? Why do you do that to her?”

Harry roars, pushing Kurt’s body towards him before throwing it back onto the wall. Kurt groans again, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

I said don’t make this about me!

His grip is tighter against his neck. He watches as Kurt mildly struggles for breath, but he’s not giving up. Not just yet.

“You think I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, but you’re wrong.” Kurt chokes out, “you are.”

Before he says anything else, in the midst of his uncontrollable rage, Harry throws one last punch to him. He immediately becomes unconscious. Harry lets his body drop to the floor, strangled breath making his way into his lungs.

He looks around the bar. Shocked faces, people cowering away. He doesn’t care. All he can feel are unwanted tears piling in his eyes and his hands shaking against his thighs. Everything was right, everything he said was right.

“Harry, man” Louis walks up to him, everybody still staring shocked at him, “lets get you home, yeah?”

Louis throws a jacket around Harry’s shoulders, noticing the small nod in agreement before the boys lead him out of the bar.

“The boys told me what happened.”

Harry is snapped out of his trance at the sound of her voice. He hadn’t even heard her enter the house. He hasn’t said a word since he left the bar, hasn’t even looked at anyone since as well. Something about what Kurt said affected him in a way he never thought was possible. It was like he picked on a weak spot for him, like he dug into his mind and told him that all his greatest fears have now come true. Y/n isn’t right for him, and she never will be.

Y/n sighs, sitting down on the chair next to where Harry’s sat. She grabs onto his hands softly, her thumb running softly over his knuckles.

“Don’t listen to him” she whispers, “he doesn’t know anything about us.”

Harry looks at her in confusion. How is she not upset with him? How is she letting him get away with this again? This should have been the last straw, the last chance she had given him. How could she be doing this?

“It’s okay, Harry” she smiles softly, placing her hand on his face, “you were protecting me. You shouldn’t have done that, but you did. Not because you wanted to, but because you felt like you had to.”

Harry’s vision clouds over with tears, slowly taking her hands off of him. He just can’t keep doing this to her.

“How are you defending me right now?”

“Because, Harry, you-“

“Why do you even stay with me, huh?” Harry growls, flinging himself off of the chair.

Y/n let in a sharp breath, not entirely shocked by the question, but by the way he asked it. He normally asks why when he’s his weakest, after a fight while Y/n’s cleaning him up, or in bed after love making for hours on end. He’s never said so violently, like he’d doubting the relationship they’re in. Like he’s doubting her.

“Harry, why would you even-“

“Look at you, Y/n, look at you!” Harry raises his voice, interrupting her "You have all your shit figured out, you’re pure. Do you not see that? You’re pure. The only part of you that isn’t is me. I’m the part of your life that is reckless and dangerous and you want me to live with that for the rest of my life?!”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow at his comment. A part of her feels guilty that he feels that way, like he’s the bad part of her that doesn’t belong. But a part of her also knows he’s right. Yes, of course he’s the part of her life that’s full of danger, but she doesn’t care. If anything, it makes her stronger, makes her want to stand up for herself and stray from the idea that she’ll never be anything more than a shy, weak girl she once was. He may see them as the worst thing for each other, but to her, it’s the best.

“No,” she speaks up, “No, because that’s not something you have to live with! I’m in love with you. You- You make me a better person, Harry! It doesn’t matter to me if you’re the dangerous part of my life, because no matter crap you pull, at the end of the day you’re still the same man I will forever love. The fact that we make each other better people, Harry, that’s what you have to live with.”

“I’m a monster, Y/n.” He speaks slowly, eyes filled with tears.

“You aren’t anything like that and you know that! You aren’t anything like you think you are, Harry, stop confusing who you really are with this image you want people to see you as!”

“That’s who I am, Y/n! Have you ever thought of that?!” His voice suddenly became louder, stronger, desperately trying to make her understand how absolutely wrong they are. But his eyes are bloodshot, filled with guilt and tears, overwhelmed by her seeing this side of him.

“I can’t be fixed! You can’t fix me because this is who I am! I am like this with everybody except for you. Wouldn’t you stop to think, even for a goddamn second that who I’m with you is fake?! Have you ever thought of that?!”

“Stop it, Harry! Just stop!” She yells, her hands gripping the sides of her head momentarily. "You’re drunk and you’re upset and I understand that but this is not who you are. You are hurt. You’re only 20 years old, your parents died, H. You didn’t have a home, your siblings left you because they blamed you for their death. You do this because you’re broken and you’re in pain and you want to push people away so that they don’t leave you first. I know this because you told me this yourself. How can I blame you, H?!”


His voice is animalistic, roaring in so much anger Y/n feels a vibration in the air around her. He throws a glass across the kitchen, the glass shattering onto the hardwood floor. Y/n’s body stiffens, never seeing him react so violently around her. 

He’s guilty the second he’s done it. He’s never acted this way toward her, but he can’t help it. He’s angry with himself. He’s had Y/n by his side for the past two years, always willing to help him and be there for him whenever he needed her. Seeing her reputation being ruined because of him, seeing how she’s been wasting her last two years hoping to change a man that can never be changed, it destroys him. She’s wasting her time with him. He’s a dead end, a false hope, and Y/n shouldn’t spend the rest of her life loving a man who could do this to her.

“Do you see that?” Harry whispers. “Do you see why this is a problem? I almost hurt you.”

Y/n shakes her head, slowly making her way toward his defeated body. She looks up at him, his eyes glossed with frustrated tears, looking at her the way he almost always does- with guilt. She runs her hands softly along his muscular arms in hope to calm him down.

“You’ll never hurt me.” She says softly, “I’m not afraid of you.”

Harry’s face scrunches in agony. He turns his head away from her, refusing to even look at her anymore. He can’t be weak, he can’t be right now.

“No. No, Y/n, stop.” He mutters, his hands pushing her away from him. 

He turns his back to her, not being able to look at her right now because of how much guilt he’s feeling.

Y/n shuts her eyes softly in attempt to rid the tears clouding her vision. No matter how hard she tries, he just keeps pushing her away. It hurts her- it hurts her to see him in war with himself. How a part of him is trapped, screaming, on his knees begging to be saved, and the other part of him so sure that there’ll be nobody listening to his pleas, finding it almost comedic that he’s lost all hope in his humanity.

“What else is there for me to do, Harry? I don’t know what it is you want me to do.”

Harry keeps his back toward her. Every atom in his body is pushing him to look back at her, hold her to him until the sun comes up, but he can’t. He can’t stand how heartbroken she sounds. Hell, she’s crying. Soft cries ripping out from her, and all he can fucking think about is how this is all his fault.

“All I want to do is help you, Harry. All I do is help you and you keep pushing me away.” She sobs- broken.

Her teary eyes are desperately looking at his tense frame, just hoping he’d turn around just so they can work things out- like they always do. She hopes he can see just how much he’s hurting more than he ever has before.

“I know what you’re doing. You do this with everyone else. I know you love me, and I know you love me more than anybody else in your life right now. You’re just pushing me away because you think I’ll leave you. You think we aren’t going to last because everyone made you believe that but you know I don’t know how to live without you. I’m not everyone else, Harry, this is different, we’re different.”

Harry lets loose tears fall down his face, his fingers fiddling with each other as he tries to understand her. But he can’t, he just can’t

She walks over to him, her hand reaching up to his shoulder. She massages his muscles softly as she presses soft kisses to his back. She’s still crying, soul shaking sobs still leaving her, but she can’t help but keep trying for him to realize she’s utterly and helplessly in love with him. There is nothing to lose between them, not if he were to just believe she would never give up on him.

“Just tell me what you want me to do.“

Feeling Y/n’s lips against his back makes him exhale a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It still amazes him how much she affects him. After two years he still never understood it. But all the good she’s done to him has only ever come back to harm her. Her friends leaving her, her having to come home to her boyfriend’s hands covered in somebody else’s blood, her having to leave her life with her family because every moment without her was another moment of danger, all because of him. And he can’t live with that.

He moves his shoulder away from her, feeling her detach from his body. He looks down, eyes squeezed shut. He doesn’t know how to do this. Especially to her.

“There’s nothing you can do, Y/n!” He cries out, flinging his body around so that he’s finally facing her.

“I would do anything for you, and you know that. But I can’t change myself just so that I can be with you. I can’t change who I am for you.” He whispers the last part, staring heartbroken in her eyes.

“God!” Y/n sobs out, punching her hands against his chest, “You know I’m not asking you to change! I just want to help you! And you won’t let me!”

Harry grabs Y/n’s wild hands in his, in hopes of calming her down. He feels like she hasn’t taken a fucking breath. She’s just so heartbroken, she’s lost and confused and on the verge of complete and utter desperation to have him stay with her.

It’s when Harry pulls her against him where she completely breaks down. He holds her head against his chest while she sobs against his black t-shirt. His fingers comb through her hair softly, chin held up by the top of her head. Harry hasn’t said anything, just listening to Y/n’s desperate pleading as she pulls at the back of his shirt.

“Pl-please don’t do this to me.” she cries out, taking in a harsh breath due to her lack of breath. “Please don’t leave me.”

She feels Harry tense against her body. He shuts his eyes softly, sighing out as he removes his hands from her.

“It’s over, Y/n.” He says softly, “Everything about us is wrong. It’s over.”

Y/n has never felt so much pain in her life. She pulls away from him, her eyes searching for any sign of remorse on his face, but there is none. He’s staring at her emotionless, but every part of him is breaking. The way she’s looking at him, he has never seen her look like that before. She just looks so- so defeated.

Just like that, everything she believed she had a purpose for has been ripped away from her. She doesn’t say anything as she lets go of him. Without a word, she half-heartedly makes her way up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Harry flinches when he hears the door slam shut. He wishes he could cry, wishes he could go onto his knees and beg for forgiveness. He wishes he could be angry, punch a wall, curse at himself, blame himself. But he can’t, he feels nothing. Isn’t that ironic? How the man who mostly feels the most dangerous feeling in the world now can’t feel a thing?

He stays in the same place he was left for what feels like eternity before he hears Y/n make her way down the steps. He turns around and rounds the corner that leads to the front door. He watches Y/n as she sets down her duffle bag, opening the closet door to grab a jacket. She grabs everything she needs before she finally opens up the front door. She can’t go back, she can’t turn around to look at him. She doesn’t have the strength.

She’s still crying. She still hasn’t said anything.

“Can you say something, please?” Harry croaks out, wanting nothing more than for her to at least say something to him, at least acknowledge his existence.

She stops walking, hand still on the doorknob. She sucks in a breath.

“You did it, Harry” she whispers, “you’ve finally hurt me.”

She turns her head, but not enough for her to be able to see him, but enough for him to know how much she means what she’s about to say.

“I never want to see you again.”

Starling: Chapter Twenty-Nine

«First Next>

Kenna pulled over on the shoulder somewhere more dust than sidewalk. She killed the ignition and half-leaned, half-crawled into the back seat to stare at Roy’s screen. Elliott and Alex had both abandoned their sulks to look too, which totaled three enormous people craning into his space, reading and rereading Laura’s message over his shoulder.

“What does that mean, rescue will be complete by dawn?” said Kenna, jabbing a claw at the phrase in question.

“Before sunrise,” Roy rephrased, unsure if that was what she was really asking, but unable to understand anything more complex about it himself. His voice sounded flat and distant even to him.

“Did something happen?” demanded Elliott.

Kenna withdrew to the front to fiddle with her own comp for a moment. "Nothing in the news,” she reported.

Roy sank slowly in his seat and let the conversation flow over his head.

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KHR Prompt

When Tsuna was little, Nana had to be on guard against kitsune trying to kidnap Tsuna because hello there fire child clearly you belong with us. The sealing inadvertently kept Tsuna from being spirited away, so they relaxed a bit.

Then Reborn came and unsealed his fire, and to centuries old foxes a few years isn’t that long at all. Reborn is wondering what’s with all these foxes popping up in odd places. Nana’s reaction when she finds out, well, it’s always the nice ones.  

- OpalIstas


The kitsune come when Tsuna is little more than a toddler, playing around outside in the sunny weather. He’s smiling and clapping as he runs about and Nana watches him beneath her sunhat while she gardens with a fond smile. Occasionally his bouncy ball (a last-minute gift from Papa) will roll her way, and she’ll have to put down her trowel and bounce it back, but she doesn’t mind.

The real trouble starts when the next door neighbor’s dog, a tiny little terror that he’s named Akane, gets loose and rushes over, slipping through the fence and rushing up to Tsuna to bark at him. She doesn’t try to play with him, just bark. Nana hears the sound of her collar tags striking each other and turns just in time to see the little dog get through her fence, run up to a terrified Tsuna, who has stopped and is backing up, and begins to bark.

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4. “I just had to see you.”

A/N: Hiya. Sorry I’ve had super bad writers block lately, and it’s kinda late, but i was supposed to go out with my roommate tonight and well she fell asleep so here I am writing instead. Apologies for any typos, I’m exhausted and finals killed me. Again: all my ish is tagged under “ficshit” 

Here’s the list
1. Oh my God, you’re in love with her
2. You’re too good for this world
3. It’s about damn time

Chloe had gotten an internship. Chloe was leaving. Chloe was leaving Beca for six months and there was nothing she could do to stop her. Chloe was LEAVING FOR SIX MONTHS and Beca hadn’t told her how much she loved her, let alone at all.

It’s not like she didn’t try to tell her. She did the cliche flowers randomly sent to her last class of the day and the buying of the coffee and literally everything she’d learned from all the movies the girls forced her to watch and yet, nothing.

“Amy, I can’t just go tell her! She’s leaving! She won’t leave if I tell her and I can’t do that to her. She’s worked too hard to get where she’s going, I’m not gonna be that girl.” Beca practically screamed to Amy over the phone. She was driving home from her own internship and Amy had called her because she saw that Chloe was almost done packing up her things. 

“Beca, come on! She won’t. She probably already knows.”

“I’m not willing to take that risk, I can’t lose her entirely. It’s only six months, I’ll make it work.” she sighed and rubbed her hand over her face. Six months. Six months of no Chloe, of no late night cuddles where Beca pretends she hates when Chloe does that thing with the little curls on the back of her neck, and no Chloe telling her how much she loves her - even if it’s just platonically.

“Well, you’re the one driving her to the airport tonight - so just get home, ya?”

“I’ll be there in five.” she hung up.

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Natsume, had he thought about it, would have expected their class trip to go somewhere more exotic, like Okinawa. He had forgotten to revise his expectations based on the new place where he lived. To kids who grew up in the countryside their entire life, perhaps Tokyo was exotic.

He’d lived in Tokyo with a few foster families before, but since they were doing the tourist thing – hitting things like Tokyo Tower and the Imperial Palace - Natsume wasn’t too worried about running into them.

With that worry officially reason away, Natsume found himself trailing at the back of their group, trying to smother laughs at the way Kitamoto, Nishimura, and Tunama kept craning their necks back, trying to see the tops of Tokyo’s skyscrapers.

They stopped on a corner because Nishimura insisted the map said to go one way but Taki, having visited Tokyo before, said that he was wrong and getting them lost. Natsume , having lost track of where they were actually headed and therefore having no opinion himself, found himself wandering further down the street. He caught sight of Tanuma and Kitamoto doing the same as passersby began to turn to look.

Because was Tokyo and Natsume wasn’t worried about getting lost, he didn’t pay attention to where his feet were taking him until he turned into a building and a sharp shock shot up his spine. Nyanko-sensei hissed but didn’t leave his shoulder.

Natsume knew a barrier when he felt one at that point.

The building in front of him did not belong in downtown Tokyo. Unlike the buildings on either side, it was short and traditional with (for Tokyo) a sprawling garden out front. Had it been anywhere else, Natsume would have assumed it was someone’s house.

Then the door opened and two young girls peaked their heads out. And Natsume started to panic.

“I’m so sorry for intruding. I was just wandering and my feet took me here by themselves. I’m sorry, I’ll just be going-“

“We have a customer!” one of the girls, the one with pink hair, said.

“We have a customer!” the other, with long blue pigtails repeated.

And before Natsume can protest, they take him by the hands and drag him inside.

Two kids should not be that strong, he thought to himself, even as he continued to apologize. His first instinct was to assume they were some form of youkai, but Nyanko-sensei was still perched on his shoulders. He hadn’t attacked the girls, so they had to be human, right?

“A customer for the Master!”

“For the Master!”

Natsume was struck by their similarities to the Chukyuu. Finally they stopped outside a paper sliding door. They dropped his hands and, each taking a side, pulled the doors open.

Whatever it was Natsume had expected, it wasn’t what he saw.

There was a boy, not much older than Natsume himself, setting two places at a round table. Even from there, Natsume could smell the delicious food. The boy’s back was to him. When he turned around, Natsume was startled by his eyes – one blue, one gold.

“Please have a seat,” the boy said with a gesture to the closest chair.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to come here you see.”

“It was no mistake,” the boy said, taking his own seat and a sip of tea. “It is always hitsuzen.”


“Mm.” The boy took another sip of his tea. After a moment, he said, “You have a wish, don’t you?”

A wish…

Not long ago, Natsume’s greatest wish was to stop being able to see youkai. But now he had more youkai friends than human ones and Natsume couldn’t imagine his life without Nyanko-sensei or Misuzu or Hinoe or any of his other friends.

Nor did he wish for foster parents who wouldn’t hate him. The Fujiwara were the best and most wonderful people Natsume had ever met. Even though he was not their blood son, they continued to worry after him and take care of him and make him bentou to take to school.

He even had human friends! It was not something Natsume had ever expected but Tanuma, Taki, Sasada, Nishimura, and Kitamoto were always at his side if he ever needed them. He had even met Natori-san, who could see the same world that Natsume could. It was almost like having an older brother (especially the annoying, won’t-leave-you-alone part).

No, what Natsume wanted more than anything…

“There are people who I want to be able to protect,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I see,” the boy said. He set his tea down and leaned forward, looking up at Natsume over the rims of his glasses. “And are you prepared to pay the price for that power?”


“Yes. This is a store after all,” the boy said. “A store that grants wishes.”

“For a price.”

“Yes. The bigger the wish, the more it will cost. I’m afraid that’s just common sense, wouldn’t you agree?”

This boy was setting off all of Natsume’s warning signs. And still, Nyanko-sensei was sitting silent on his shoulders. Natsume longed to ask what his protector thought, but it hadn’t been confirmed yet that this boy could see spirits. Someone else could have put up the barrier after all.

But if the boy could do what he claimed, wasn’t it worth the risk? To not have to worry about his friends and the Fujiwaras? To be able to protect his youkai friends from exorcists like Matoba?

“What would the price be?” Natsume asked.

“What you are seeking will take some time,” the boy said. “You will need to come back every few weeks for lessons.”


“No one could afford the price of instantaneous power,” the boy said. “No, you’ll have to work for it.”

“What kind of lessons?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that.”

It was impossible to try and get a straight answer out of the other boy. Like trying to catch mist, he kept dangling Natsume’s answers just out of reach.

“And the price?”

“Now that is the interesting question, isn’t it?” the boy said. He got up and came close, stopping a short distance in front of Natsume. “What do you think you might have that is worth the kind of power you are seeking?”

And just like that, Natsume knew. From Nyanko-sensei’s sudden claws digging into his shoulder, he knew too.

“I can’t give you the Book of Friends,” Natsume said. “I’ve already promised it to someone.”

“There aren’t many names left in there at this point, are there?” the other boy said. “Certainly not enough to pay for your wish.”

“There will be nothing at all by the time I get it,” Nyanko-sensei grumbled.

Natsume hushed him on instinct, but the other boy didn’t seem surprised at all to hear a weird cat speak.

That answered the question about the wards then.

“I propose a trade,” the boy said.

“A trade?”

“Of knowledge. You are more famous than you know, Natsume Takashi. Your name is known throughout the spirit world as one who can be trusted. It is rare that a human is trusted in such a way.”

“Then you’re not…” Natsume couldn’t bring himself to finish.

“I am simply myself,” the boy said. “And what I propose is this – you will share with me the stories of your contacts with the spirit world. And in turn, I will teach you what I know about spirit and the rules that govern them.”

Natsume thought about it. Was there anything that would be dangerous to share?

“Okay,” he said after a moment.

“Well then, let’s hash out a schedule,” the boy said. “My name is Watanuki, by the way.”

I Can’t Breathe - Loki x Reader

Requested by @grinsekatzesworld

This is kind of short because I didn’t know what to do I’m sorryyy!

Originally posted by the-do-that-girl

The building was collapsing around you. The ancient columns falling left and right, dust billowing all around. And you were frozen. Feet rooted in place, eyes glued to the cracks in the ceiling above you.

“(Y/n)!” A male voice barked, jerking you out of your trance.

You glanced in the direction of the voice, seeing Loki, arm outstretched to you as he stepped towards you cautiously, he knew the ceiling above you could collapse at any moment.

“(Y/n),” he repeated, taking a step forward, “Take my hand.”

You shook your head, a tear rolling down your cheek as you felt the fear build up inside you, why couldn’t you move?

“Please.” Loki said, green eyes glancing up to the ceiling. “(Y/n), now!”

The dust crashed down around you and there was a loud popping, whooshing noise as you were thrown backwards away from Loki with a dash of green. A dull thud as your head hit the wall, the wind knocked out of you. You gasped for breath, watching the ceiling collapse between you and Loki.

“(Y/n), (Y/n)!” He called, stepping around to you. 

“Are you alright?” He asked in his smooth voice, hands cupping your face.

“I can’t breathe.” You gasped, clutching your chest.

“Sit up.” He straightened your shoulders. “Just take it slow.”

But you couldn’t, your breath came in short panicked gasps, only making you hyperventilate more.

“(Y/n), (Y/n) you’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Loki shook your shoulders gently, but you wouldn’t look at him.

“(Y/n)!” He yelled but you barely heard him. Next thing you knew he was kissing you, and you were forced to stop your sharp breaths in shock. He kissed you gently and slowly, you started to relax, breathing again.



Sir William Schwenck “W. S.” Gilbert (18 November 1836 – 29 May 1911) 

English dramatist, librettist, poet and illustrator best known for the fourteen comic operas (known as the Savoy operas) produced in collaboration with the composer Sir Arthur Sullivan. The most famous of these include H.M.S. Pinafore, The Pirates of Penzance and one of the most frequently performed works in the history of musical theatre, The Mikado. Lines from these works have become part of the English language, such as “short, sharp shock”, “What, never? Well, hardly ever!”, and “Let the punishment fit the crime”. (Wikipedia)

From our stacks: Illustrations by W. S. Gilbert from The “Bab” Ballads. Much Sound and Little Sense. By W. S. Gilbert. With Illustrations by the Author. Fifth Edition, Revised. Philadelphia: Porter & Coates, n.d.

TrekFest 2017

Word Count: 1000
Tags: @outside-the-government, @pinkamour1588
Prompt & Author’s note: So, last night, I found the amazing miracle of panties with pockets (photo at the end of the story), and well… it made my day, and yeah… so @pinkamour1588 requested a fic featuring the panties with pockets. Here it is…

It was an away mission from hell, as far as you were concerned. The weather had turned on you, you and Jim had somehow become separated from the rest of the team, comms were out, and night was falling rapidly. A night that Spock had told you before leaving would last 68 hours and had the potential of a temperature drop of 80 degrees.

You were going to freeze to death with your captain. Not your idea of a good way to go. At least you could huddle for warmth before you died? At least then you’d get in on some of the legendary Jim Kirk action you’d been hearing about since you were assigned to the Enterprise. A last request, as it were?

Jim led you toward a sheltered copse of trees and set about industriously clearing a spot, digging a small hole with his hands, and ringing the hole with rocks. He then used his phaser to start a fire with the dead undergrowth he’d collected from around you. Not to be outdone, you started cutting down branches from the soft evergreens and making a lean-to. You became aware that Jim was staring at you and stopped, turning back to face him.


“Where did you get a jack knife and twine?” He asked, a look of complete confusion on his face.

“My pocket?” You replied. He continued to look baffled, but said nothing, returning to his chosen task of collecting more firewood.

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Kenny|Daydream Away|Omega

Title; Daydream Away Part ½

Pairing; Kenny Omega/Reader

Summary; We never stood a chance out there, shooting love in real time.

Words; 5099

Warnings; NSFW, bathroom sex, sex with relative strangers, semi public sex, hair pulling, choking

A/N: This was hard to write for a couple different reasons. I’m hoping that this translates the way I really wanted it to. There will be a part two, bring your tissues, because I’m captain of Team No Happy Endings. Please leave some love and/or constructive criticisms. Heathens pt. 2 is on the way.

The tag train:

@alexablss  @emmarablack
@fuckyeahbulletclub  @lunaticfringe216  @charlottexrp
@covergirlcollarbones  @thedeboniardevistation  @amaranthine-reign
@alexispoo  @wwelover22
@wwesmutdonedirtcheap  @grungegirlmo
@screamersdontdance  @wwe-smutfics
@alexahood21   @legitlunatic
@darnoam   @daintymissdevitt
@realtrudy    @charliesxora
@mistressbalor   @ilovesamizaynn
@nickysmum1909   @daddynicki
@wwewritings   @mgswdw

Originally posted by leelakoiwolff

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guess what i have gone through an entire ao3 tag once again and as a result i give you all these beautiful fics ur welcome

And Then There’s You by grantairas (3/3 | 1,303 | General)

Achilles’ father owns a diner. It’s nothing special, until Patroclus starts working there.

The Hunter’s Season by thechandrian (3/3 | 28,963 | General)

Achilles is a nereid, a mythical sea creature, and Patroclus is the prince of a country that is famous for hunting them. They meet and fall in love.

Your Eyes Outshine the Stars by rokuxotax (1/1 | 261 | General)

As he watched him dramatically retell the story of how the famous soldier won the battle, Patrclus could only smile and think, “Your eyes outshine the stars”.

Ode to Patroclus by AchillesPatroclus (deansamcas) (1/1 | 680 | Teen)

Patroclus once revelled in silence.
Now, he can find no silence. It is as if when he met Achilles, someone pushed play.

Heartbeats by patroclilles (1/1 | 1,639 | Explicit)

“Of course. It’s the music that plays in my head when I watch you sleep. I needed the world to hear it.”
I laughed, knocking his shoulder with mine. “The world? I am the only one here,” I joked.
“Precisely,” Achilles responded, looking at me through his eyelashes, and my breath hitched.

Flour Fights by beccaphillips (1/1 | 663 | Not Rated)

Patroclus was new to the baking scene and thought the best place to start was cake, it couldn’t be that hard, surely?

Fire-like by actualarmin (1/1 | 1,651 | Teen)

They all called him Pyrrha, or fire-like, a name which was just as beautiful as he was as he danced in front of the watchful observers. With each movement, he was on fire.

Will You Forget About Me? by grantairas (1/1 | 592  | General)

Patroclus chooses to remember a simpler time, instead of talking about the future.

Love Like This by AchillesPatroclus (deansamcas) (1/1 | 437 | Teen)

Achilles had not felt love before this.

The Shadow of Your Heart by champagneboyband (1/1 | 2,681 | Teen)

I feel my breath catch in my throat when he reaches a hand out, tentative, and wraps loose fingers around my ankle where it rests near his head. A sharp shock of recognition runs through me, and my skin feels electric with it. I’ve known these hands before, I’m sure of it.
According to Greek mythology, five rivers run through the Underworld: Styx (the river of hatred), Acheron (the river of sorrow), Cocytus (the river of lamentation), Phlegethon (the river of fire), and Lethe (the river of forgetfulness). Those who wish to live again may be reincarnated, but not before they drink from the water of Lethe, erasing all traces of their past lives and selves. Reincarnation AU

It Could Not Have Been Any Other Way by Palebluedot (1/1 | 789 | General)

Where one went, the other would follow. That was plain from the start. 

he remembers (but oh, how he tries to forget) by patchilles (1/1 | 728 | Teen)

this and this and this.

good god, let me give you my life by hoech (1/1 | 836 | Teen)

word prompt for patrochilles: entwine, graves, dawn, soul, taste.

at least as deep as the pacific ocean by ninjee (1/1 | 5,166 | General)

It’s not that Patroclus somehow has not noticed that his new favorite coffee shop seemed to only hire possible models, but, well. There’s a thin line between noticing and admiring a person’s looks and being fucking creepy about it.
(aka the very, very cliche coffee shop au.)

All The Walls Dissolve Away by Brenda (1/1 | 1,265 | Not Rated)

He follows the voice on instinct. He knows that voice better than his own, knows it deep in the darkest crevasses of himself, in the space where nothing else exists. He would follow that voice into Hell itself. Perhaps he is already there.

all kinds of gold by makunahatata (1/1 | 635 | General)

Achilles drags Patroclus out of bed to view the sunrise.

the moirai sees and you move still by sunflowerbright (1/1 | 370 | Teen)

  Achilles dances for Patroclus. And only for him

The Ends by lonelylibrarian (1/1 | 2,912 | Teen)

Everything seems to happen at the ends of months for Patroclus.

Set Fire to the Rain by lottielovebuzz (1/1 | 549 | General)

imagine your otp: one putting their ridiculous music on in the car and singing along while the other sits in the passenger seat with their head in their hands

If Something Should Ever Happen To Patroclus by Palebluedot (1/1 | 822 | General)

He had always been told he was the fastest boy in the world, but never before had he so desperately needed this to be the truth as he did then, thin branches whipping his face as he ran through the trees, clutching Patroclus tight to his chest.

the fire is so delightful by achaiion (1/1 | 1,242 | Teen)

“It’s 42 degrees, Pat. 42 degrees.” He hisses, when Patroclus comes him from his shift at the hospital to find Achilles wrapped up in an unbelievably large jumper, a blanket, his hat, scarf, and gloves. With the thermostat turned right the way up.
“You’re ridiculous,” Pat tells him, pressing a kiss to Achilles’ forehead.

Right Within Your Heart by ShowMeAHero (1/1 | 3,357 | Teen)

Patroclus is in the Christmas spirit. Achilles needs some urging.

Our Joy Was So Bright by grantairas (1/1 | 613 | Teen)

We were like gods at the dawning of the world, and our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.

Meet Him Again by prouveyrac (1/1 | 1,545 | Teen)

The first time I fell in love with him, both of us were destined for death. I fell because I made the mistake of testing the Gods. He fell because he was enraged at my death; he was blood thirsty.
The second time, I never met him.
I wish I was able to say that third time was the charm. But it wasn’t; he was in love with someone else. An attractive boy, better than I ever was. Though, whenever I did see the two together, he never looked happy.
The fourth time, I knew him, he didn’t know me.
The fifth time is right now.

It’s always perfect with you by deadheartbeats (2/2 | 1,571 | Not Rated)

Patroclus watches as Achilles jogs down the hall back to his class and he finds himself thinking that winter mornings are ridiculously warm when Achilles is around.

Episteme by scarlett_the_seachild (1/1 | 645 | Teen)

It is times like these that you are not sure whether you admire him or whether you are repulsed by him.
The incident that leads to the whole Achilles/Pat relationship. All from my twisted, absent mind.

…as the poets say by Palebluedot (1/1 | 607 | Teen)

“Do you know the story of how people came to look as they do now?”
Patroclus shakes his head. “Will you tell it?”

(History Is) A Pattern Of Timeless Moments by Brenda (1/1 | 3,179 | Teen)

Achilles knew his truest triumphs would never be strung together in verse to be sung at campfires, knew that no poet or aoidos would ever know his greatest success. No, these conquests – the huff of Patroclus’ laughter against his throat, the sharp, sea-salt taste of Patroclus’ skin after a swim, the way Patroclus’ eyelids fluttered after every kiss – those were Achilles’ alone to cherish.
Or: Four times Achilles and Patroclus were truly happy.

your name like a song by sarahyyy (1/1 | 1,108 | Teen)

“Patroclus,” he sighs again into the dark, and means I wish I could, means I wish I dared, means I wish you wanted me too.

When Rome’s In Ruins (We Are The Lions) by metwithdarkness (1/1 | 6,596 | General)

So far, Patroclus has learned the following about Achilles:
- He doesn’t get along with either of his parents, but
- he lives with his dad when he’s not at school, and
- his dad pays for college and
- the frat house he lives in was named by his dad
- (but really, does Achilles want to follow in his dad’s footsteps?)
- (honestly, he’s not sure he does, but)
- (what would he do instead?)
Patroclus suggests being a male model and Achilles laughs so hard he snorts soda out of his nose. It’s humanizing, which is both awesome – after their runs, Patroclus was half-convinced Achilles was secretly a god – and terrible – god, if he’s human, he’s touchable, now isn’t he?

roused his drowsy blood by orphan_account (1/1 | 758 | Teen)

The day the two lives converge is dull, clouds covering the sun and rain on the horizon. Patroclus has changed schools, again, another incident forcing him to run, and he feels drawn to the music room, the tune drifting from a window so very familiar.

Ruins of Troy by HailMary (1/1 | 5,425 | Teen)

Achilles waits for Patroclus in the underworld, but Apollo has other plans.

Recognition by captainskellington (1/1 | 8,456 | Teen)

Patroclus didn’t need to ask who “he” was, he knew full well.
He’d been living for this day for eight years now, some twisted cocktail of hope and dread seeping through his body every time he thought of it, which was often.
He was back.
He was back.

Philtatos. by achaiion (1/1 | 3,994 | Teen)

They lie on Achilles bed, entwined. It’s a nice feeling, tangled lambs and Achilles’ head on his chest, the steady thump thump thump of Achilles’ heart against his body. Patroclus runs his fingers through thick blonde curls, and he hears the boy they belong to hum in contentment. Achilles looks up, resting his chin on Patroclus’ chest. It’s a funny angle, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He meets Patroclus’ honey brown gaze, and he smiles.
“There’s a word for you, you know. Philtatos. It means beloved. That’s you.”

i shall but love thee better by Cordelia (2/2 | 4,192 | Explicit)

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.

Breathless by ElDiablito_SF (1/1 | 1,665 | Mature)

Separated from Patroclus after death, thanks to Neoptolemus and his bratty tantrums, Achilles is left alone in Hades, waiting to be reunited with his beloved.

as the poets say by jinkandtherebels (1/1 | 1,526 | General)

I am missing half of my soul. 

a lesson in love by achaiion (1/1 | 3,207 | Teen)

“You have to go.” Achilles says, and his hands are on Patroclus’ chest, but they aren’t pushing. No- he’s doing a lot of things, but he’s not pushing. He’s memorising the feeling of smooth skin beneath his hands, and he’s counting the pulse that thuds beneath the right, committing that to memory too. He’s feeling the rise and fall of his best friend’s chest - best friend, boyfriend, lover, whatever; they all feel like synonyms now - and he’s meeting those dark brown eyes with his own. “If my mother catches you here she’ll kill you.”
“I know.” Patroclus murmurs, but he makes no move to go.

anonymous asked:

What would UF papyrus and US sans reaction be to them saying something really mean or hurtful to their S/O out of anger and their S/O shuts them self in their room crying.

Underfell Papyrus

You stir the jasmine tea in the mug absent-mindedly while reading your book, absorbed within the author’s melodious words. Taking a sip, you make sure the tea is the right flavor, then decide to add in a scoop of sugar. Satisfied, you pick up your mug, your eyes still trained on your novel and make your way toward the couch, but suddenly, you slam into a large force, spilling your hot tea on yourself and the tall skeleton. You yelp and flinch back from the tea scorching your skin while Fell angrily screeched in shock, his sharp teeth clenching in fury. 

“MY BATTLE BODY! I JUST WASHED THIS!” Fell’s voice booms in anger. 

“Papy, I’m so sorry!” you grab a towel and before you could help him wipe off the accident, he snatches it away from you. 

“COULD YOU BE EVEN MORE USELESS?!” the words fly out of this mouth before he could even stop them. 

Your blood runs cold and your body freezes, your mind unable to accept his harsh words, “W-What?”


Shit. That was harsh, even for him. Fell knows that. He knows that it was an accident. But why did he say that? Why can’t he apologize? Why does he keep going? 

“I-I’m sorry,” is all that you could say before you turn away and rush to your room, closing the door behind you. 

Grabbing the nearest pillow, you scream, your heart shattering in two. 

Meanwhile, Fell stands outside your door, his fist raised, prepared to knock as he hears your cries from inside. Sighing, the monster lowers his hand and crosses his arms. It’s better to just leave you alone for now. But guilt consumes him as the image of you heartbroken expression burns in his mind. Unable to stand around and do nothing, Fell goes into town.  

An hour later, you calm yourself down, reducing to only a few sniffles here and there, but your chest still aches. Looking at the time, you notice that it’s only 7 pm, but you decide to just go to bed anyway, just to get this day over with. Crawling out of bed, you change into your pajamas and hear a sudden knock on the door. 

Not wanting to see the skeleton, you yell, “Go away, asshole,”

You expect some kind of response from your boyfriend, especially if you just insulted him like that, but none came, peaking your curiosity. Waiting a few moments, you make sure that he’s actually gone before you open your door. When you do, you find a gift basket stuffed with two bottles of fancy wine, a small white teddy bear, and two heart shaped chocolate boxes, all wrapped together with a cute bow. You pick it up and bring it inside, placing it on your desk, expecting some kind of note of apology. You find none. You scoff at the gift, but can’t bring yourself to toss it in the trash. Does he really expect that he can win your forgiveness with this? Yeah fucking right. Setting out what you originally intended to do, you take a shower and brush your teeth, falling asleep on your cold bed half an hour later. 

You wake up groggily the next day, rubbing your temples with your fingers as you remember what happened the day before. Great. Maybe you should take a page out of Red’s book and just stay in all day. You do not want to see your boyfriend today. After going through your morning routine, you make your way downstairs, following the surprisingly delicious smell of pancakes and syrup. 

Fell silently flips the pancakes in the kitchen, noticing your arrival. You take a seat, confused, but wary. The skeleton sighs and swallows his pride, bringing a large stack of pancakes to you. 

“I MADE THESE FOR YOU,” Fell sets them down, kisses your head, and massages your shoulders. 

He doesn’t even bring up what happened yesterday. You look at the set up around you, the warm breakfast, with a glass of milk and a single rose in a vase, you realize that this is his way of apologizing. You heart repairs itself, glowing in forgiveness, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to take advantage of this. You wonder what it’s like to have the Great and Terrible Papyrus as your servant for the day.  

UnderSwap Sans

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO COME TRAIN WITH ME AGAIN?!” Blueberry cries, his face turning bright blue as he clenches his fist. 

“I’m sorry, Blue, but I’m not up for it today. I’m not like you were I can do rigorous exercise everyday,” you stretch your sore arms. 


You frown in guilt. Last night you promised you would train with him today, only because he kept insisting and bugging you until you gave in. It might be childish to not keep up your promise, but you don’t know if your body can handle it. 

“I’m sorry,” 

Blue rarely gets mad, but seeing how you rather spend your being lazy than spend time with him, he lost control of himself, “I HATE YOU!” 

You flinch back away from him, never seeing him this angry before, especially directed toward you. His words hits you with full force and before you know it, your tears stream down your face and you’re slamming your bedroom door behind you. 

Realizing what he just did, Blue runs after you, calling your name over and over, knocking on your door. 


Crying into your pillow, you shake your head, refusing to let him in. Eventually, your emotions drain you, and you fall asleep with Blue calling your name over and over again. You wake up two hours later in your dark and quiet room, your cheeks dry from your tears. Sighing, you heave yourself out of bed. You’re still exhausted, but anymore sleep would just ruin your sleep schedule. Thinking about what Blue said to you, you know that you overreacted, but the words still stung. He was upset and wasn’t thinking, which isn’t like him, but you realize that his training sessions weren’t just about making him stronger, but a way to spend time with you. feel like the scum of the earth. 

With your stomach rumbling, you remember the leftover tacos from the day before are still in the fridge. You open your door and find Blueberry still waiting for you outside, but in a nice suit and holding a bouquet of flowers, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. 


“That’s a little…creepy isn’t it?” you can’t help but giggle, even if you are mad at him. 

“AHH I’M SORRY! I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!” the skeleton apologizes profusely, but then his expression darkens, “But I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.” 

Blue doesn’t meet your eyes, but his usual, cheery self remains hidden in the darkness. You can’t stand to see your boyfriend like this. Leaping into his arms, you instantly forgive him, while he cries about how sorry he is. 


“I’d love that,” you smile, and wrap him up in a kiss.

You are definitely looking forward to tomorrow. 

moonlight calling

(a brief gay mermaid love story)

Stars around the lovely moon
hide back their brilliant figure
whenever she, waxing full, shines
[on all] earth
Sappho (Gallavotti 15)

The men are drowning. It is of little consequence to her, but she watches anyway. The remains of their ship list helplessly to the side, hull splintered into fragments, canvas sails bowing under the weight of the lapping waves. Jagged rocks bite sharp through Macedonian pine, planks eviscerated by stone and sandbank, the bow lost in the choking eddy of brine.

The men who escaped the wreckage flounder in the water, heavy clothes and boots dragging them below the surface. Those in armor sink faster, delicately sculpted bronze forcing them under the waves, the weight of their swords dragging them into the murk. She thinks it suits them to die at the hands of their own vanity.

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La storia di oggi ci porta in un piccolo festival folk del Texas nel 1986. Pete Lawrence, titolare di una piccola casa discografica indipendente inglese, la Cooking Vinyl, scova tra le decine di artisti presenti una ragazza che canta un folk delicato ma potente, dalle forti tematiche sociali, pieno di sottile creatività musicale. L’artista in questione riversa nelle sue canzoni tutta la sua adolescenza difficile, dopo che a 16 anni scappa dai rigori della comunità mormone di Gilmer e si sposta a Dallas. Li il padre le insegna a suonare la chitarra e le fa conoscere Woody Guthrie, Doc Watson, il blues di Leadbelly. Maree Johnson si trasferisce in California, dove partecipa a numerose azioni politiche (per il diritto alla casa, l’ecologia, i diritti politici e sociali). Cambia il nome in Michelle Shocked ed inizia a suonare con sempre più convinzione. Si esibisce dovunque, anche su quel palco in Texas in quel festival. Lawrence è così colpito che pubblica quel concerto aggiustando solo di poco il suono povero e amatoriale che il suo registratore Sony a nastro aveva carpito. Tra grilli che cantano, clacson, risate, The Texas Campfire Tapes esce nel 1987. E fa scoprire il suo talento, tra ballate dolorose (5 A.M. In Amsterdam, Fogtown) ma anche momenti più allegri come (Don’t Mess Around With) My Little Sister. Sia la critica che il pubblico la premiano, cogliendo di sorpresa persino Lawrence. Che infatti dopo una serie di concerti della Shocked in Europa, uno persino al Festival di Glanstonbury, non può impedire che Michelle passi ad una major. La Polygram le offre un contratto importante, ma la Shocked richiede il totale controllo sulle scelte stilistiche e rifiutò persino una mezza dozzina di famosi produttori country e folk per il suo primo lavoro con una grande casa discografica. Ma Short Sharped Shocked (1988) è ancora più bello del primo. Il folk dell’esordio diviene più rock e più elettrico: la splendida Anchorage descrive il suo stato di grazia come cantautrice di struggenti ballate. Ricordi d’infanzia nella dolce Memories Of East Texas, l’intensa V.F.D., When I Grow Up, dal suono swing, aiutata da una band di musicisti roots, spesso semi professionisti e reclutati nella sua spericolata vita sulla strada.  Il disco è di una varietà musicale esemplare: c’è country nella bella Hello Hopeville, folk puro in The L&N Dont’ Stop Here Anymore di Johnny Cash che è un piccolo classico del folk moderno. C’è persino un languido blues di If Love Was A Train. Il disco si chiude nella infuocata Graffiti Limbo, dedicata a Michael Steward, un pittore di murales ucciso dalla polizia. Non accreditata appare come ghost track una versione metal di Fogtown, presente nel disco d’esordio. In copertina mette una foto di un giornale locale delle proteste durante la Convention del Partito Democratico a San Francisco nel 1984, che ritraggono la stessa Michelle alle prese con la polizia: la foto è ironicamente simile a quella che appare sulla copertina di un album dei Chaos, leggendaria band harcore punk inglese, che nel 1984 aveva pubblicato un disco dal titolo Short Sharp Shock. Album meraviglioso, che apre una piccola trilogia sulle radici della musica americana: il successivo Captain Swing (1989) anticipa di 10 anni la moda di rielaborazioni sonore swing-big band e Arkansas Traveler (1992) con una stellare lista di artisti ospiti (da Taj Mahal a Levon Helm e Garth Hudson della Band, a Alison Krauss fino agli Uncle Tupelo) ripercorre la strada del bluegrass, la musica di Memphis, il vaudeville e la musica cosiddetta “degli Appalachi”. Nel momento di massima forza musicale, una crisi spirituale che la porterà alla conversione al cristianesimo e una durissima battaglia con la Polygram, insieme ad un mandato di arresto per evasione fiscale la tengono ferma per anni. Ritornerà solo nel 1996 con il validissimo Kind Hearted Woman, e continuerà la sua carriera musicale attraverso la sua propria etichetta musicale Mighty Sound. Rimane una delle personalità più stravaganti e convincenti della scena musicale americana più impegnata, con un talento notevolissimo, che però non ha saputo esprimere fino in fondo secondo il mio parere. ma vale la pena scoprirla.

anonymous asked:

Can I ask for a prayer request? I don't know if you do them, I'm just asking people for prayers because I'm TERRIFIED: I've been diagnosed with Trigeminal Neuralgia where every time I speak, chew, yawn, laugh, smile, or even nod my head, a sharp, quick, VERY painful, shock-like sensation shoots through my lower jaw and teeth. I need a delicate surgery to fix this, and I have to be awake for some of it. Could you pray for me to have the courage to go through with it? Thanks, and God Bless!!!