shriveled herring

“She had not understood what it had been like for him to live his entire life underground, chained and beaten and crippled—until then. Until she heard that noise of undiluted, unyielding joy.
Until she echoed it, tipping her head back to the clouds around them.
They sailed over a sea of clouds, and Abraxos dipped his claws in them before tilting to race up a wind-carved column of cloud. Higher and higher, until they reached its peak and he flung out his wings in the freezing, thin sky, stopping the world entirely for a heartbeat.
And Manon, because no one was watching, because she did not care, flung out her arms as well and savored the freefall, the wind now a song in her ears, in her shriveled heart.”

Urg, I was getting frustrated drawing people, so I decided to do a quick dirty edit/matte styled painting of Manon and Abraxos flying. 
Look at my two precious souls flying free. I love them. <3

8

MANON BLACKBEAK,
Queen of the Crochans
Wing Leader of the Thirteen

_____________

This witch had been crafted from the darkness between the stars.

_____________

They sailed over a sea of clouds, and Abraxos dipped his claws in them before tilting to race up a wind-carved column of cloud. Higher and higher, until they reached its peak and he flung out his wings in the freezing, thin sky, stopping the world entirely for a heartbeat.
And Manon, because no one was watching, because she did not care, flung out her arms as well and savored the freefall, the wind now a song in her ears, in her shriveled heart.

2

Hate to Love - Larry Stylinson Fic Rec

Saved Tonightobjectlesson (30.8k)

Harry is the world’s most persistent seduction-baker, a questionable dog-sitter, and Louis’s biggest fan. Louis hasn’t written in years, is trying to pass loneliness off as cynicism, and absolutely hates his fans. It’s probably destiny.

After HoursVelvetoscar (26.7k)

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are the bane of each other’s existences. Unfortunately, they’re already in love–even if they aren’t completely aware of this minor detail.

[A “You’ve Got Mail” AU]

Every story ever toldRearviewdreamer (54.4k)

Becoming a best-selling author isn’t as difficult as Louis would have guessed. It seems all you need these days is the perfect blend of alcohol induced philosophy, complete disregard for one’s dignity, a live blog about how fucked love is, and a bored publisher interested enough to offer him a deal.

Empty Gold rainbow_kings (148k)

AU where Louis Tomlinson attends the vigorous, demanding performing arts school: Guildhall in hopes to complete his theatre degree. He is a scholarship student, always having to work twice as hard to prove his worth which has caused him to feel resentment and anger towards his subordinate position.

Harry Styles is the wealthy, naturally gifted actor who effortlessly snatches all the main roles within the class. The complete contrast to everything Louis is.

Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles have had bad blood and despised each other for the two years they attended Guildhall together, making each task a competition between each other.

In the final year, when Guildhall produces and performs an original play, Louis is heartbroken to learn the lead role has been been received to Harry and he’s the second role. He’s mostly terrified, however, when he realises he has to date Harry in the play as their characters. They come together through awkward stage kisses that transforms to hate sex, heated arguments, rehearsal times after lectures and baking carrot cake together.

Libertélarriebane (18k)

AU. 1647. “Pretending you don’t have a heart is not the best way to not get it broken. It’s just the easiest.”

Or the pirate AU I always wanted to write

I love your demons (like devil’s can)ariadne_odair (60k)

“I am right here,” she says loudly, and she can almost hear the crack when Louis’ head whips around to stare at her.

Why?” Louis asks, and Harry feels her insides shrivel up and die.

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

Lips speak louderbravefortheboys (29k)

Pool water dyed blue, a deep hatred for R.E.M., shorts catching on fire, a karaoke night that somehow changes everything, an angering lack of proper communication—oh, and what’s camp without a bit of rivalry?

(AU in which Louis is a summer camp counselor along with a few other less-than-qualified people just trying to make it through the next four weeks in one piece. The curly-headed bloke from the camp sharing the campsite with them surely won’t let that happen)

That good girl faith (and a tight little skirt)ariadne_odair (43.7k)

“What the fuck did you do to my shampoo?” Harry shouts, brandishing the offending bottle like it’s a vial of poison. “Is this fucking mud? Did you honestly replace my shampoo with mud?”

“Not just your shampoo,” Louis says calmly, then cracks up when Harry visibly pales.

Harry and Louis are camp counsellors. They hate each other. The amount of sex they have in the camp showers probably contradicts that.

Malec: The Tale of the Forgotten Dagger. WARNING: SMUTTY

Summary

When Magnus returns a dagger to Alec at the Institute he ends up doing one of his favourite things: throwing Alec onto a bed.

So I have been off this for a while due to college work and I have returned to an inbox dotted with some lovely kind words- (THANK YOU!)- and absolutely flooded with requests for Malec smut. I don’t usually do this kind of thing but since there were just so many requests I figured why not give it a go. And hey: the world is always a better place with more malec smut, eh?

***********************WARNING WARNING WARNING***************************

THIS IS THE SMUT-IEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN, IF YOU JUST WANT FLUFF OR IF YOU’RE YOUNG OR AT WORK OR WHATEVER, JUST PRETEND YOU DIDN’T SEE THIS AND SCROLL ON!

Keep reading

j.j | imagine | confession

[ aw i love it! thanks for requesting! hope you enjoy it as much as I did - writing it :) ] 


“For the last time, no!” 

Tonight was supposed to be a night of relaxation, video games and junk food. It started out that way, but it currently wasn’t sticking to that route. The boys rarely would get time off to just goof around and chill, so it being one of those times - Y/n thought it would be a good idea to spend the night with them. So far, she regrets even stepping foot into the dorm. 

“Oh, come on! Just tell him already, all of us are sick of you two practically undressing each other with your eyes from across the room. It’s unbearable!” Taehyung whined from her right. 

“It’s pathetic.” Yoongi deadpanned, not even looking up from his phone. 

“We do not ‘undress each other with our eyes’! And besides, why do you guys care so much? It’s just a little crush, no big de- Jimin stop cheating!” 

“Then stop sucking!” 

“That’s what he said~!”  Hoseok was quick to add in, stuffing his mouth with chips as he laughed at his own quip. “Y/n, just face it. We all know that this is more than some crush - plus, you and Kookie would look so cute together!” 

“Aish, you guys are so annoying! If you’re gonna bug me about this every time I come over, then I might as well just start being like Yoongi and hibernate all day.”  

“Why am I the bad option?” Yoongi scrunches his face, offended. 

Rolling her eyes, Y/n mentally thanks the man in the sky that Jungkook wasn’t in the dorms at the moment. Helping out Jin and Namjoon for whatever reason, it left the rest of BTS to basically plan out the love life between her and their golden maknae. It was true, Y/n did have more than a crush on the bunny boy, but she’d rather die than ever admit it. 

Especially to his hyungs. 

It never failed that whenever she was over, the teasing would then begin. Because of it, Jungkook never really hung around her as much, the embarrassment becoming too frequent to the point where - like explained earlier - he started doing tasks with Jin and/or Namjoon. This led Y/n to feel both relief and sadness. Why did they have to stick their noses in things? Why? 

“We’ll leave you alone when you confess, I hope you know that.” Taehyung used his non-playing hand - at the moment - to shove her shoulder, nearly making her player skid off of the racetrack. 

“Or you can leave me alone now - I vote for that option.” Y/n glares, clicking her controller rapidly to get back into first place. Suddenly, she felt something poking her lower back, hitting spots that made her whole body clench up awkwardly. “H-Hey! Stop it - who is that?!” 

Not wanting to lose her spot in the race, she couldn’t even turn her head to see who it was that was poking her. It wasn’t until a cackle erupted into the calm atmosphere that she concluded who it was.  

“Hoseok! Cut it out - you’re breaking my concentration!” 

“I’ll stop if you confess to Jungkook,” She could just hear the grin in his voice, as his poking wasn’t showing any sign of stopping. 

“N-No! Stop it, I’m begging you!” Now it was starting to make her laugh, his foot pressing into places that sent tickles all up and down her spine that made her wiggle in her spot on the floor. “Hobi! Please, stop, I’m crying!” 

By now, Y/n’s laughter had increased in volume and her sight was becoming blurred with tears. Having no choice but to drop her controller and coil up into a protective ball, that seemed to spark interest in the three out of the fours boys. Yoongi merely watched as the game was paused - shaking his head slowly as she got tackled. The tickles were coming in from all around her, there being no escape from the sudden attack that was unleashed upon her.

“Say it, Y/n-ah~” Jimin cooed, running his short nails up and down her legs lightly, grabbing at the ankles if she tried to pull away. “Say it, and we’ll stop!” 

“You know you want to!” Tae smiles, enjoying the sight of her face shriveling up, her laughs weren’t even making a sound anymore - as she weakly tried to push them away. All this for a simple confession. 

It was so not worth holding it in, anymore. 

“A-Alright! Alright, okay!!” Y/n finally snapped, regaining her strength and shoving at the three until they were no longer hovering over her figure. “You want my confession so bad, then fine:

I love Jeon Jeongguk! I have ever since he first spoke to me, fumbling over his words and not having a clue on how to ask if I’ve heard of your group before. He was the cutest fluff ball I have ever met, everything about him was perfect in my eyes. Never did I think we would meet again after that - and what do you know - three years later, and here I am confessing what I’ve felt for so long to his nosy-ass friends, in a dorm living room at 11 o’clock at night! I’ve wanted to tell him for so long how I’ve felt about him, but never had the balls because I was scared I would ruin the best relationship I’ve had with a guy since…since forever! Even if we are just friends, that’s still good enough for me. Because even though it’s not everyday - I still get to see him. And seeing him makes me whole…seeing him…feels like home. So there. Happy now?” 

Y/n expected them to be bombarding her with teasing by now, or getting her cheeks pinched while they tell her how ‘adorable’ she was being. But, after opening her eyes, she was definitely not expecting them to either be staring with wide eyes, or wearing the biggest smirks on their faces - to where it looked as if they might split in half. It wasn’t until a familiar voice finally spoke out that caused Y/n’s blood to run cold. 

“Uh…we’re back.” Namjoon spoke with uncertainty, making Y/n want to just vanish into thin air and never be seen again. She could just feel in her bones that they heard everything, no doubt about it. 

She inhales, “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” 

The three boys in front of her nod, while Yoongi chortles from his spot on the couch.

“It’s about fucking time.” 

Stitches

When I stay at my parents’ house I sleep in the room of a girl I’ve never met. I am called by her name. I see her clothes in the closet and her things in the drawers. They don’t fit me anymore. I hold up the dresses, the T-shirts—did they ever fit me? And if they did, what was that girl like? I run my hands over the smooth surface of her life in my mind. Every thread is in place, but my rough fingernails snag and ruin it.

I can play pretend at being her if I try hard enough. She has my nose, shares my favorite color, cross stitches the rhythm of her thoughts like me. During the period where she blurred into me, we learned to sew. X’s in neat lines, rows of prayers.

Embroidery starts with intricacies, stitches I squint to see. They are never the same color as I expect at the beginning, numbered skeins of embroidery floss organized before use. Three stitches like my mother taught me. Secure the thread on the fabric. One for an anchor, two for luck, three for insurance. Always leave a tail of thread. The stitches must be small and perfect.

My mother taught me to sew, her mother taught her, it’s the earliest form of female self-expression. Women teaching girls teaching their daughters to create in careful, useful ways. Whip stitches, back stitches, cross stitches, the secret ways that women learned to survive.

I am not a woman; still the craft has been passed to me.

People on the street call me miss and ma’am and remind me of my needle and thread beginnings, how the tail dangles from the piece I’m working on and gets tangled. My heritage is cross stitched and hanging on the wall in my childhood bedroom, sewn by my pregnant mother twenty years ago.

           I hear my mother cry through the thin walls of her house, she asks God why did I have to be like this. What happened to her daughter. I ask God to take the damage out on me instead, spare her from what my existence does to her. In her eyes, I am burning; in her eyes, I am not enough.

When I was thirteen a distant ER doctor sewed my tear-stained chin up. Fell off a bike that I was too small to be riding, growing up too fast, trying to fly away. Saw my bone for the first time, jarringly white, like I was free of sin. The doctor numbed it, I sobbed. I can still feel the pull of the thread, the butterfly needle, the this won’t hurt a bit. Couldn’t sleep on my side for a week, my chin dripped mucous and antibacterial ointment. The stitches tickled for three days. I still have the scar.

My mother sat me down in the kitchen two weeks later and cut them out carefully, sewing scissors, healing flesh. A different kind of pull, like a bad spirit leaving my body. I trusted her; twenty years of embroidery made her hands sure.

Two years later I came out to my parents, sitting on the same kitchen chair. I played it off as casual—there are worse things to be—and didn’t meet their eyes.          

When I stumble across my dad’s search history, I see articles with titles like “Trans-Trending” and “Why So Many Millennials Are Bisexual” and “Just A Phase?” and it’s been five, almost six years. I know he’s still trying to make sense of it. I wonder why he can’t just ask me. I wonder why I can’t ask him either, why I whip-stitch my lips together when I go home to him. He talks about his daughter with pride in his eyes. I bite my tongue at the she and silently replace it with they.

I’ve never said anything, and I don’t know if I ever will. I’m afraid of the response I’ll get, ashamed to be stripped down to bone.

I wake up in a cold sweat. I dream about my grandmother’s delicate hands quilting scraps of fabric while her husband went on strike and her family ate mostly love. I watched her hands shrivel and falter, caught the needle as it dropped. It pricked my fingers crimson; she was buried with her thimble. The fabric she stitched lays over me during the night. There are too many holes to keep me warm; the wind sings it to shreds. I shiver and she places her hands over mine, the last of her warmth.  

I am sewing her skin to mine; she is living through my young and trembling hands. Intricacies, keeping us stitched together. My mother did the same thing, I think. She has a bookshelf of patterns, some she’ll never sew. I silently leave a space in my home for the patterns to become mine. The empty spot gathers dust, yawning at me. There are pieces to be rearranged on my walls, beautiful, finished works of needlecraft.

I try to become the front of the embroidery, carefully created without a stray thread. The back is not supposed to show once it’s finished, covered with felt or a frame. I try to become the front; I am and will always be the wayward ends and the furled knots with their blurry shape and messy colors.

I’m not what a woman should be. I’m not even what a woman is. I stitch the confusion into my work, try to make some sense of it by organizing patterns. My thoughts grind against each other like transverse faults. Healing comes slowly, if at all. I let the fading light stream through the blinds of my apartment window and warm my face.

I make do—intricacies, French knots, squares in circular feminine boxes.

 My mother looks as me like my queer body is dirty sometimes, trying but falling short of understanding. I try to see nobility in my queerness where my mother sees sin.

2

When Georgina learnt that Joël was no longer with Mia she had felt like cheering; she didn’t know much about Anita, except that she was Jared’s mother and at least twenty years older than Joël, but the fact that she was not Mia was cause in Georgina’s mind for celebration. Georgina had never felt so dumpy and squat and brunette when Joël had shown her that picture of pretty slender Mia with the never-ending legs and fluffy halo of blonde hair! There was no way Georgie could compete with somebody who looked like that. And the best thing about Joël now being with Anita was that of course it didn’t matter what Anita looked like really, it wouldn’t have mattered if she was a retired lingerie model. Because Georgie was young, and Anita was old.

But now that Georgie is standing face-to-face with Anita on Roy’s lawn, all her previous convictions are falling around her feet like dying moths. Anita does not seem intimidated by Georgie or her youth at all. In fact, it is Georgina who is shrinking from Anita, and the hostility radiating from her. Georgina’s insides turn to water, the inane words that she was going to spout about it being a beautiful day shrivelling on her tongue. Anita takes a step towards her, and Georgina smells Chanel no. 5, and her own fear.

Anita: You might think I am an idiot, but I assure you, I am far from it. So keep away from me, and keep away from Joël. Because you do NOT know what you are dealing with. Trust me, little girl. You have no idea.

The Singer

There was a girl at Elsewhere once, they called her Ránaí. She was a music major who loved the old places of the world with all her heart. She sang to the crows and wrote music to play outdoors. She drew attention, and she responded as best she could. She left offerings outside the door, mixed iron dust into her nail polish and lipstick, set thick salt lines around herself and her possessions, and every movement clinked with iron pieces hidden under her clothes.

She was careful, so careful. She had to be.

Ránaí was a student of the Forbidden major. She attended every possible meeting, wearing a steel bucket over her head with eyeholes cut out. It was iron enough for belief to make up the difference. Ránaí wanted to speak to the Gentry – not in English, nor even in Irish, the language of their old haunts. She wanted to speak to the Gentry as the Gentry spoke.

So she made a deal.

She went into the forest one night, with her bucket on her head and her clothes laden with nails and washers and salt packets.

She came back, and no one understood her.

The sounds that issued from her mouth blackened her tongue and shriveled her teeth. Those who listened felt their ears burn – then blister – then bleed.

Ránaí’s teachers stopped calling on her. She stopped coming to class. Her roommate reported her missing a week after that. Sometimes, if you go too deep into the forest, you will hear snatches of impossible sounds that make your ears burn. Turn back – the years have not been kind, and she knows where you are now. Unless you have Favor, only the mockery of the crows can save you from the Singer.

x

“(HSAU) Maybe something where alex has to go to the school dance with max Lord cause she’s not out and elizas making her? And Maggie comforts her and says it’s ok? Idk I’m just having a really rough time lately” from @swift1d5sos


She knows.

She knows, because she knew pretty much the minute she first laid eyes on Maggie Sawyer.

She knows, and Kara knows, because she told Kara pretty much the minute after she first laid eyes on Maggie Sawyer.

She knows, and Kara knows, and sometimes she thinks Maggie knows. But Maggie is her best friend, so she hasn’t told her. Hasn’t told her because how can she tell her without telling her she wants to kiss her, without telling her that when they hold hands, she wants it to mean something it doesn’t mean now, without telling her she wants to be her girlfriend, without telling her that when she sleeps over in Maggie’s bed, she doesn’t sleep, because all she wants to do is touch, is kiss, is giggle, is cuddle closer, cuddle more, cuddle romantic?

She knows, and Kara knows, and sometimes she thinks Maggie knows, but she hasn’t told anyone else.

Mainly because she doesn’t want anything getting back to Eliza.

Eliza, who always expects perfection.

Eliza, who is kind to all the other kids – including and especially Winn Schott, the boy Kara brought home for dinner after he got a black eye for experimenting with nail polish – but Alex is the exception.

Eliza, who Alex could never stand to disappoint, especially now, especially since… her father.

Eliza, who can’t stop talking about that jerk Max Lord, that jerk Max Lord who came in second to Alex’s Intel entry, that jerk Max Lord who’s so smart and so responsible and oh, Alexandra, isn’t it so wonderful that he wants to take you to the spring formal? He has such wonderful taste, to be courting my beautiful, intelligent girl.

Alex doesn’t know how to tell her no.

Alex doesn’t know how to tell him no.

Because she can’t stand to be a disappointment. 

Because if she tells Max no, she won’t be rejecting one particular boy, one particular date. 

If she tells Max no, she’ll be rejecting Eliza’s hope that she can live a cookie-cutter life, a full life, an exceptional life… a perfect life.

So she bites back tears and she swallows bile and she programs a yes into the robot he made and sent to her locker – she can’t help but think Winn would have done a more elegant job – and she accepts Eliza’s hugs and discussions of what dress she’ll buy her and oh, do you want to get your hair done? I’ll pay for it, Alexandra, you’ve been working so hard, you deserve to be pampered.

She bites back tears and swallows bile and tries not to watch Maggie’s fists clench. Tries not to watch Maggie’s jaw set, her eyes water, her nostrils flare.

She tries not to derive any hope from those things.

She tells herself it’s only because they’re friends. Best friends. And they were supposed to go to the spring formal together. As friends. As best friends.

“You have to tell her, Alex. You don’t have to go with Mr. Yucky Pants,” Kara tells her as they walk the beach together that night. Alex scrunches her face up and Kara adjusts her glasses.

Alex’s heart tugs, as the gesture still makes her think of Jeremiah.

“What? He’s rude. And he’s arrogant. All the bad English words you’ve been teaching me.”

Alex can’t help but smirk, and she tosses her arms back in her trademark shrug.

“Yeah, he is, but even if he was the nicest guy – like, James or Winn or something – I wouldn’t…”

“I know. Because you’re a lesbian.”

“Shhhh!!!”

“No one’s here, I’m sorry – “

“I know, Kara, just… just…” Alex groans and holds out her arm, offering it to Kara, who steps eagerly into her embrace. “I’m scared, Kara,” she continues, in a small voice.

“I’m with you,” Kara tells her, and she wraps her arm around Alex’s waist, so they’re walking as close as they can be. Alex sighs and lets herself feel safe.

For now.

For now, until she sees Maggie the next morning on the steps on the side of the school. Until she sees Maggie and she wants to scream, because she still looks sad and she still looks hurt and she still looks like everything Alex wants.

“I don’t wanna go to the stupid dance with that stupid Max Lord,” Alex huffs without preamble, collapsing next to Maggie unceremoniously.

Maggie sits up straighter, and the ghost of hope flashes across her features.

“Oh. Well, you said yes, so I thought you did.”

Alex rolls her eyes. “Ew, no. He’s gross. And even if he weren’t gross, I wouldn’t wanna go with him, I…” She stares and she forgets how to breathe when Maggie’s expectant eyes meet hers, when Maggie’s fingers graze her own so light it almost tickles.

Her best friend. Her best friend. Her best friend.

“I wouldn’t want to go with any boy.”

Maggie’s breath hitches and Alex licks her lips.

“Neither would I,” Maggie whispers like she hasn’t spoken in years. 

Alex’s eyes are stinging, and Maggie’s are wet, too.

“Why are you, then? Going with him?”

“I’m scared,” Alex admits.

“Of?” Maggie asks, and Alex gulps.

“Of what would happen if I went with the person… with the girl… I really want to go with. Instead of some boy.

“What are you scared of?”

“My mom. Not so much the world. But my mom. Disappointing her. And… and you. Losing you.”

Maggie shrivels, and Alex shakes her head, reaching out to take her hand.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t feel the same way. Or if we tried to be girlfriends and it didn’t work and I lost you as a friend.”

Maggie blinks and a tear spills onto her cheek.

“You won’t. Lose me. Not ever. And your mom… she can deal, Danvers. She can deal, because you… you’re perfect.”

Alex gulps. “Perfect for you?”

Maggie grins, and Alex thinks that maybe, just maybe – with her little sister, with her best friend, with… herself – she can do this.

“Yeah. Super perfect for me.”

Not So Bad // Kim Taehyung

-

the prompts: you could do a taehyung fluffy/comedy scenario, please? i was thinking something like he goes to the hospital dressed like a clown and the girl get afraid of him and he’ll try to show her that clowns aren’t that bad (the girl will be older sister of one of the patients)

words: 1288

category: fluff

author note: this is a really unique and cute request but clowns are still highkey scary. I made a few small changes I hope you don’t mind; also for the sake of the story your little sister’s name is Tina bc it’s a cute name okay?

- destinee

Originally posted by kpopfordays

-

Keep reading

Dropping a Surprise Fic:)

I know it’s been a looooooong while, but it’s late and I’m feeling inspired and sentimental so I thought I’d surprise you all with a little somethin’ somethin!

Alright, here we go!

In Amy’s experienced opinion the absolute hardest thing about loving Sonic The Hedgehog was that he hadn’t loved her back.

Yes, that had hurt. 

Actually, it had slowly killed her.

So then why did she still love him? Why did she put herself through the hurt again and again?

She supposed it must be that she was addicted to pain.

Or, more accurately, she was addicted to Sonic.

Keep reading

Some text I’m cutting out due to nixing nessa and oliver’s childhood friendship. thought i’d share it at least so it’s not totally gone :)

::

Nessa’s thoughts snag on that name. “Lord Breckett is here?” she asks delicately. At his most charming 12 year old self, Nessa believed Oliver Breckett to be downright insufferable. He had a know-it-all attitude and stated his opinions like there was room for no other truth. It didn’t help that he was right most of the time, or that he seemed to know how to get under her skin. Just thinking about him is enough to make her skin flush with annoyance.

Will shifts uneasily as Adam stiffens but ultimately remains silent. “His name is Oliver Kenton now, Princess.” Will’s expression closes off. “His father died six years ago and the duchy went to his cousin, Richard Lancaster.”

She feels her eyes widen in surprise, feels her gut shrivel like a piece of meat left out in the sun for far too long. She thinks she is far too removed from her childhood memories to feel any sadness for Mr. Kenton, but her curiosity is, as always, a hungry thing. “Kenton?” she questions lightly. “Was that his mother’s name?”

“He is nothing you should concern yourself with,” Adam says, almost defensively. His tone reminds her that Oliver has been best friends with these Stark boys for most of their lives.

Will nods. “He has taken a job in the city. While he’s staying in my suite here in the palace, you will not see him much.”

Now that they’ve dangled this strange information in front of her, she wants to devour the truth. Oliver is only a year older than her, and no matter his young age, he should have been named duke after his father’s passing. Why would he come to the city to take a job, if he has been denied his inheritance? Does he have no sense of shame?

“If he isn’t here for me, then why is he here at all?” Nessa asks, unable to help herself..

Will’s expression is blank. “Do not spare him a thought, Your Highness.” The words are hesitant, as if he’s testing them out or unsure of their meaning for himself. They roll around in his mouth with unpracticed wariness. “You won’t even know he is here.” Seeing her skeptical expression, he adds, “I can send him away, if it would please you.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No. No, I don’t care what he does. Let him stay.” How very nonchalant of her. Still, knowing that he’s not a choice at all for prince consort is a relief. That’s one less man she’ll have to pretend she wants to impress. She shifts her weight, trying to consider a world where she would have to pretend with Oliver. He may have been infuriating, but he was never a liar. She wonders if he is still the same.

3

Roy doesn’t even stop to talk to Damo. He’s run down the street so fast he can hardly see through the perspiration pouring down his face- time is of the essence because he isn’t 100 % certain that Sonia isn’t going to forgo lunch completely to march down here and rip him a new arsehole for buying drugs, provided that Georgie has told her that’s what he’s doing. Which of course Georgie would have. Dear sweet, gullible Georgina.
The warm weather has tempted a lot of people out of their homes and it’s a lot busier at the pool than it was yesterday. Claudia is sitting in the same spot, wearing the same expression of terminal boredom. Roy pauses for a few moments to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his face. His stomach lurches with disappointment as he stares at her. Damn.
Roy: Claudia! Hey!
Her neck swivels and she bestows a beatific smile on him, which makes his stomach fall onto the wet concrete and shrivel up. Her smile disappears as she stares at his face.
Claudia: What? What is it?
Roy: Can you step down from there for a second? I really need to talk to you-
Claudia: Are you fucking kidding me? You’re cancelling? AGAIN???
A few MILFS have turned to stare at him. He tries to gesture at her to keep her voice down.
Roy: I’m really sorry, Claudia. Really, really sorry. Look, I can explain-
Claudia: Really? This had better be fucking good because I bought a new dress! It cost me §80! And I got a full fucking Brazilian! That cost me nearly the same!
Roy: Oh, man. I’ll give you the money. Please just talk to me. I feel terrible. I really do.

Even more so now he knows about the Brazilian.

something’s missing

soma week 2017 day 2: family. have some albarn family feels, as told by soul. this is ‘au where everything is the same except maka hugs her dad’. 


Spirit’s daughter isn’t blonde and bright eyed. She isn’t like something out of an eccentric dream where death isn’t terrifying, and when she wields Soul and swings him around like the lethal weapon he is, she is not beautiful.

Soul Evans doesn’t beg himself to dislike her. Nor does he remind himself that he’s nothing special, because he doesn’t want to lose any more sleep over that thought ever again. There’s no point of thinking too much about her or the fact that she likes to drink tea before bed and leaves the hallway light on for his sake. He’s not afraid of how her strength inspires him to become more, or that her
smile makes his heart flip distantly. He doesn’t worry about his inadequacies deep into the night, and he doesn’t fear that one day he will make a fatal mistake and let her down when she needs him most.  

No, Soul doesn’t do or think any of that. He’s cool.

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Dirty Sights Taint Pure Minds

So hey guys. Ik, i haven’t really been active on Tumblr in a million years so I want to apologize. I felt that I needed to take a break from Tumblr because it was putting unnecessary pressure on me to get new stuff out everyday. Which is something that is IMPOSSIBLE with my schedule. All in all it was stressing me out and making my anxiety flare up, something I’ve been working for the last two years to get under control. I still LOVE Tumblr, but I don’t know if I will be returning until the summer starts and my schedule relaxes. I love you all I just want you to know that, but I feel that my mental health is important. So, on a happier or smuttier note, here is my fic for Ash’s 2nd Writing Challenge. Please everyone go follow her and read her stuff. She is a really big inspiration to me just because she is an amazing writer and a supercool, openminded and understanding person. If everyone on Tumblr was like her than Tumblr would be better like magically going to school with Harry, Hermione and Ron and being their best friend. And who the frick can top that? Anyway, enjoy. I wish I had put more time into this, but I’m trying not to be a perfectionist so here is my un-perfect fic. Luv ya all! @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash

Request: Me because I wanted to join in on the smutty fun of Ash’s challenge

Summary: Read whats in bold ;)

Characters: Negan, OC - Amara and OC - Anita (Negan x Amara)

POV: Third POV

Warnings: Smut. Negan’s cursing. Age Difference. Unprotected sex. 


Dirty Sights Taint Pure Minds

“You want me to make you feel like a woman, baby girl? You want me to touch your body in all the places your father told you to never let anyone? You want daddy to make that succulent cunt squirt all over my sheets over and over and over again? Do you want daddy to show you what fun we can have blind? Tell daddy you want him to fucking destroy that tight little virgin pussy of yours, baby girl.”

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rowanofferelden  asked:

Hello~ Blaise/Ginny - Let it burn. please & thank you

Ginny had kept the diary.  It had taken more than a little stealth to get it back,  but the youngest Weasley could sneak her way past six older brothers and one very attentive mother.   One enchanted headmaster’s office was trivial.

She didn’t quite know why she’d wanted it.  She hated it, hated what it represented, hated what Tom Riddle had done to her.  As the war dragged on and she became more and more familiar with what he’d done to himself, she hated the diary even more.  She still couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.  

Every time she moved she pulled it out of the box where she’d shoved it, looked at it, and put it back, better books, safer books, stacked on top of it.  IT stayed in that box when she left Hogwarts.  It stayed in that box when she left The Burrow.   And it almost stayed in that box as she packed up to leave her fifth flat in three years, this time to try her hand at an Italian villa and its charming, maddening, captivating resident.

“What’s that?” Blaise asked as she pulled it out, sighed, and got ready to put it back.

“A book,” she said shortly.  Her fingers shriveled back from touching the cover with the rotten hole piercing through the rotten core.  She really did hate this thing.  

Blaise’s eye rested on the name of the book’s original owner.  She’d told him the whole thing - the only one of her many boyfriends to have gotten that much honesty from her.  Something about the way Harry had managed to forget she’d gone through that made her reluctant to talk about it. Maybe the nightmares and whispers she heard in the corners of her brain were just drama.  Maybe she wasn’t as scarred by the whole thing as she thought she was, or maybe that scarring was a sign of weakness.

She needed to just get over herself, she’d always thought.  Her self pity about the whole affair would bore anyone and so she’d kept it quiet and kept Tom Riddle tucked up against her heart.  

“You kept it?” he said. It was half a question, half a very carefully neutral statement.  He hadn’t been bored by her story. He’d been horrified, and then angry, and she’d had to threaten him to keep him from apparating right to her parents’ house and speaking to them in that cold, calm voice he got when he was truly angry.

There was, after all, a reason she was willing to move in with him.

“I did,” she said.  

He nodded, too understanding.  Too damned insightful.  She wasn’t sure what she expected him to do.  Recoil, maybe, or get a nervous, worried squint in the creases between his eyes.

Instead he twitched his wand at the fireplace and the half-charred log they’d sat in front of the night before flared into life.

“Let it burn,” he said.  She hesitated and when she didn’t toss it right in he said, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder, “Let it go, Red.”

The leather cover smelled terrible as it caught and burned.


My other stab at blinny is on FFN (x)

Popcorn Ceilings

Happy really, really, really, REEEEEALLY late Birthday Alisha! @rivendell101

This was inspired by you and B’s Natsu and Gray brotpcop! AU with private investigatorLucy! …as well as that one fic of yours where drunk Lucy crashed in Natsu’s bathtub! 

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His wet boot soles screeched on the polished tile, his shoulders tensing at the cacophonous noise. In his grip, the gun shifted, aim dropping lower by inches. “Oops-”

“Quiet, flamebrain.”  His partner, Gray Fullbuster hissed at his side, his own pistol still held up and ready. He had his jet black hair greased back, looking more like a misplaced business man than a cop but at least he had a sharp eye and a quick draw. Especially helpful when the power to the building was off, save for a few flickering emergency lights on a generator.

They were both going blind into the hornet’s nest so to speak.

“I was quiet!” Natsu hissed back, readjusting his pistol as if his lack of attention never happened.

Gray’s lips quirked, but Natsu knew it wasn’t from amusement. “I was talking about your yapper. Every time you open your mouth, you’re loud…and stinky.” he added as an afterthought, “Do you ever brush?”

What a dick.

“Do you ever hear the stupidity that comes out of your pea brain?” Natsu retorted in a whisper, pausing at a corner to cock his gun up. Gray followed suit on the other corner, the two of them mirroring the other in image and breathing. The first time they were truly silent and one unit.

3…

     2…

1…

They moved as one, twisting to point their weapons down the hall in opposite directions. Their eyes scanned and pinpointed all possible threats, index fingers poised to fire.

“Clear.” they both muttered, relaxing.

Back up just entered the opposite side. If our guys are still dumb enough to be here after we pulled the power, we’ll catch ‘em.’ A voice buzzed from their earpieces, stern and hardened from working the beat.

“10-4 Captain.” Gray murmured into the little radio on his shoulder, unable to hear any reply since it was muted. “We got the first floor almost clear. Proceed to the second.”

“Ass-kisser.” Natsu teased with an emotionless face, although the humor in his tone was hardly hidden.

“Shut it. We got this already bagged. They can take the rest.” Gray snapped, already moving down the right hall, careful not to let his boots squelch on the floor. Down the left hall, a single window offered a glance outside. Rain was still pouring down, keeping the outside light away.

Every so often, thunder rolled, shaking the very walls of the building. It shook Natsu down to the bones too, stirring up the thrill with every quiver.

“Steady. Two more rooms and we can stake at the stairwell.”

Gray huffed, adjusting his grip on the weapon. “Shouldn’t I tell you that? You are practically bouncing.”

Of course, he was also thriving with energy, his heel twitching. Not even his partner missed it. They were both ready for action, wherever it may happen.

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anonymous asked:

GREAT! Genderswap fics to give a shot are definitely: together alone by littlelostpieces, that good girl faith (and a tight little skirt) and I love your demons (like devils can) both by ariadne_odair, safe and warm in your coat of arms by frenchkiss, the mighty fall by minimangafan and sink into tomorrow by brainwaves (all ao3)! I hope you love them!

thank you my love! these all look so fabulous! i used to have reservations about reading girl direction but i think this rec may have just pushed me into the right direction! thank youuuu 

Together Alone 18k

It hasn’t happened in what feels like forever. Between Harry’s fashion blog taking off about six months ago, leading to a popular YouTube channel and a book deal, and Louis preparing to teach again, they’ve barely had a minute to themselves. Even when they’re home, they’re too busy to hang out like they used to when their lives were simple and unencumbered by stupid things like responsibility, careers and homeownership and the like.

“So,” Harry starts, eyes darting to the ceiling and back to Louis again, “what do we do with all this free time?”

Louis shrugs. “I have no idea.”

Six years into their relationship, Harry and Louis remember just how much they like spending time together.

I Love Your Demons (Like Devils Can) 60k

“I am right here,” she says loudly, and she can almost hear the crack when Louis’ head whips around to stare at her.

“Why?” Louis asks, and Harry feels her insides shrivel up and die.

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

That Good Girl Faith (and a Tight Little Skirt) 43k

“What the fuck did you do to my shampoo?” Harry shouts, brandishing the offending bottle like it’s a vial of poison. “Is this fucking mud? Did you honestly replace my shampoo with mud?”

“Not just your shampoo,” Louis says calmly, then cracks up when Harry visibly pales.  

Harry and Louis are camp counsellors. They hate each other. The amount of sex they have in the camp showers probably contradicts that.

Safe and Warm In Your Coat of Arms 54k

If she’s being completely honest with herself, Louis didn’t want a girlfriend. She had fully intended to head off to university, fuck around a bit, and be the lesbian that her hometown hadn’t let her be.

Too bad fate wanted to throw a spanner in the works. A tall, curly haired cherub of a spanner who tends to answer to the name Harry, to be exact.

The Mighty Fall 60k (UM IM DEFINITELY READING THIS RIGHT AWAY)

“I want Harry to be my captain,” the dragon says after a long moment, and Harry can feel bitter disappointment radiating from the women.

“I’ve never even seen a dragon before,” Harry tells it, somewhat gently.

“I’ve never seen a human before today,” the dragon counters. “I want you as my captain, or I won’t have one.”

Or, Harry accidentally becomes the captain of a rare dragon, Louis is assigned to train her, and dragon racing is a popular sport.

Sink Into Tomorrow 13k (AND UM IM READING THIS TOO)

For the past five years, she’s been tiptoeing carefully around the subject, steadfastly refusing to talk about the possibility, and putting up a front to hide what she was always terrified of feeling. Maybe it’s been a long time coming. Maybe Louis was just the final push she needed. She tries to see this less as a death sentence and more as an opportunity to tell the truth for once.

Harry is the new (supposedly heterosexual) freshman who gets convinced by pretty blue eyes and soft skin to join a club about body positivity and self-image. Louis is the definitely-not-male upperclassman who makes her come to terms with some things she’s been denying.