silence without words

in 2012 and 2013 at least 60 (low estimate) different users orchestrated a big coordinated joke against tom preston, notorious deviantart art elitist and asshole by over the course of a year repeatedly contacting him as though we were vacuum salesmen trying to sell him vacuums and he endlessly blocked every post from his timeline literally seconds after every comment and we had no idea how he was so fast but so there were hundreds of ‘this comment has been hidden’ pages and many random ‘what’s going on?!’ comments

so unless you were actively doing it and watching you wouldn’t have known what was going on until after several months we conditioned him to feel incredible loathing to images of vacuums and suddenly he went off the grid for over a day without posting or deleting any of our messages and we were all waiting in silence and then without a word he made his header a picture of a vacuum and left it up there like a white flag for several months and it was bizarre actually

Give me Harry and Draco in the eighth year common room making eyes at each other.

Harry sitting near the fire while Ron and Hermione bicker over school work. Draco across the room, alone at a table pretending to read an advanced potions textbook while actually just staring at the same three words over and over again between not so subtle glances over at Harry.

Harry bored of listening to Ron and Hermione’s not so subtle flirting and secretly wishing he could flirt and bicker openly with his boyfriend.

Harry casually glancing in the direction of said boyfriend who is looking back at him and whose eyebrows raise and lower suggestively, yet so quickly anybody would have missed it except for Harry who knows it so well. Who knows exactly what it means.

Draco snapping his book shut and casually making his way up to his dorm. Lying down on his bed with his head propped on two pillows and opening up his textbook again and actually reading it this time. At ease knowing his boyfriend will be with him soon.

Harry entering Draco’s room a few minutes after watching him leave the common room.

Draco locking and silencing the room without a word.

Harry sitting down on the bed and leaning over Draco to give him a light peck on the lips. Turning away to take off his shoes before settling down next to his boyfriend, their shoulders pressed together and one of Harry’s legs resting on top of Draco’s, before picking up a Quidditch magazine from Draco’s nightstand and starting to read.

Give me Draco and Harry just wanting to hang out with each other.

Daddy Doesn’t Have to Know - Part 4

Title: Daddy Doesn’t Have to Know - Part 4

Characters: Negan x You/Reader

Synopsis: Negan discovers something about you which pushes him to ask you again to become his wife.

Warnings: SFW, swearing, Negan’s filthy mouth

Original Idea by: @babyblues915

Note: Surprise, surprise. No smut lol. Thought I needed to work a story into this since I decided to make it into a fic series. But just you wait guys, you’re all in for lotsa smut in the next part. *wink wink*


It was a peaceful morning when you woke up the next day, despite your father being out on a hunt with the rest. The Saviors didn’t seem to have any plans of leaving until Rick comes back with the shit Negan asked him to get. To be honest, you wanted them to go already. You wanted Negan to leave. When you got up from bed, you expected to see Negan’s men wandering around the community. However, when you looked out from your bedroom window, everything was peachy and not a Savior was in sight. You smirked, remembering that it was probably because you didn’t break your promise to reward Negan if he’d remind his Saviors to be at their best behavior.

When you went downstairs, Carl and Judith were already having breakfast in the dining area. You noticed the way Carl stared at you, ogling your every move as you went into the kitchen to prepare yourself some cereal.

“What’s your deal?” you asked annoyed, seeing that Carl was pretty much scrutinizing you.

“What’s your deal?” he repeated. “With Negan.” He emphasized.

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Privileged (12/?)

Originally posted by bellamygifs

“With *yn* and Bellamy back to square one, tensions at the camp are running dangerously high as the grounder invasion becomes inevitable. Murphy decides to enact his plan of revenge which forces both Bellamy and *yn* to admit things they never thought they would say out loud.” 

Warnings: Angst, torture (kinda), swearing, violence (hanging), some fluff

Notes: Based on 1x12 “We Are Grounders (Part 1)” of The 100. 

Series Masterlist

“Raven’s setting up a mine field.” Octavia explained to *yn* as the two both lifted up a small log to attach to the fence that was near completion.

“That’s good.” *yn* nodded. “But it won’t be enough.” 

“I know.” 

The two fell into silence as they continued to systematically work on the fence knowing that it might be what potentially saves them from the grounders. 

“Do you think they’re okay?” Octavia suddenly blurted out making *yn* immediately pause and look up at her. “Monty, Clarke and Finn I mean.”

“Their fighters and more importantly their survivors, especially Clarke. I’m sure-  I know that they’re alive.” 

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AU #2: Telepathy Isn’t Special (1)

this one i titled Telepathy Isn’t Special. Ain’t that fun? ITS A KURT FIC GET EXCITED

Also it’s pretty much another soul mate au sorta thing but this soul mate thing is a presence in the mind, like you’re linked and can access each other whenever you want but it’s not always.

You grimaced, the weight of another mind pressing against yours and your fingers clenched around your pen.

I’m busy. You shot to the sudden presence and you felt it wince, the unhappiness at being forced away. Your heart twinges and you send begrudging affection toward the presence, feeling it light up.

I missed you. The presence answers and your stomach flips, your lips turning up helplessly. You let the presence bath in your matched feelings before you remind it that you really are busy. This time, it recedes happily, wishing you good luck and you return to the page feeling settled, easier than you were before.

Your pen touches the page before you remember your drink, your eyes scanning the area around you for it only to see it resting, sweating, on the kitchen counter all the way across the room. Your nose wrinkles unhappily and your fingers twitch, the glass disappearing from the bench and reappearing to dampen your fingers.

Taking a sip, you set it off to the side and return to your work, your hand writing out the words as if it was your native tongue and not a long dead language.

“It’s got what we need.” Scott mutters, his face upturned as he glares at the building. Beside him, Jean runs a palm over his shoulder and down his back, easing him and he smiles at her.

“I think the it you’re talking about is a person.” Storm glowers, always displeased with his attitude and Peter nods along with her.

“And why don’t I just go get it?” He adds, offering the girl beside him a goofy grin that she reluctantly returns. “I’m no professor but I can move it.”

Kurt snorts at the half joke, the group recalling the previous nights dance party where most of Quicksilvers moves had been blurs.

“We need the person. They’re a mutant. Their mutation isn’t important, though the Professor told me we need to be careful of it.” Scott butts in, talking over the beginning of Kurts sentence and Storm shares a look with the young man.

“The professor told me.” She mouths to him, poking her tongue out obviously and Jean sighs, the entire group able to feel their leader grind his teeth.

“Here’s how it’s going to be-” Scott begins, the words the same at every debrief, no matter what was happening around them or where they were. Last time, someone’s bullet had just grazed Storm and she was about to go nuclear when he’d cut in with a mission update and calmed the group enough to take down those against them. “Jean’s going to the door, she’s inconspicuous and actually nice.” A pointed look spears Ororo and she growls softly. “Once she’s got the girl talking, she’s going to blank her. From there, Kurt needs to grab her and put her in the car. Then we go home.”

“Why’re we here then?” Peter hums, drumming a rhythm on the street light they were all congregated around.

“In case anything goes wrong. It’s a flimsy plan but it’s the quickest and simplest. We don’t want a fuss.” Scott answers and the group nod, easy understanding filling them.

“Off we go.” Jean grins, bumping her shoulder against Scotts softly, his eyes soft on her, as she turns and heads across the street. Her hands fill her pockets, head down and just slightly nodding, as if she can hear music.

Come on Eileen!” You sing laughingly, sliding and bouncing from spot to spot as you prepare dinner. Your hand flies out, salt appearing in it and suddenly becoming your microphone. “Toora Loora Toora Loo- Rye Aye!”

A knock sounds at the door just as the presence pushes against your mind and you stumble, the salt slipping from your fingers as you catch the counter. The smash echos and you jump, worry pushing against your mind, almost chafing.

“Just a minute!” You try and call over the din, hoping your voice carries over the music. Waving a hand, you dart for the record player, the salt and glass shards disappearing to reappear in the bin behind you.

Panting, you open the door and smile at the red headed girl before you.

“Hello, sorry. I… Uh, was cooking.” You manage, brushing off the fumble with a smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for a girl named Emily?” She asks, voice clear and precise. Very precise for someone who’s supposed to be confused.

“She lives on the floor below. Exactly below actually.” You answer with a furrowed brow, suspicion in your voice and her cheeks colour.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She answers almost instantly, your words barely out of your mouth. Her cheeks get a little redder and you’re about to question her when the presence shoves against your mind and you make a small sound of fury.

“Stop.” You whisper harshly to it, the words escaping your lips accidentally and you’re the one to blush this time. Your eyes meet the girls in the doorway awkwardly and she grins at you.

“Soulmate?” She asks with ease and you know she’s had practice with it, more than likely that this girl has met hers already.

“Yeah. Likes to butt in all the time.” You answer gratefully only to blush again. “He’s great, he really is. Really nice.”

She nods and the tension eases in your shoulders, your momentarily bitter slip having brought a tenseness to them. You hate when people hate him, when he vents to you.

“I’m so sorry for kidnapping you like this. It was advised that we stretch our legs after last weeks incident.” The strange girl offers apologetically and you rear back. Kidnapping? Incident? You’re inside your home, you have no idea about an incident. What is-

The world goes dark.

“Now Kurt.” Scott orders, the dark skinned boys face drawn and unhappy, but he disappears all the same, reappearing moments later with Jean who supports the stranger in her arms.

“Jean.” Scott chides, moving forward and taking the load from her with an unhappy expression and she smiles at him warmly, opening the car door to settle the body in the back.

The team grumbles as they settle into the seats, Jean taking her place beside a driving Scott and Storm at her side. In the back, Kurt rests his head against the window, worry etched in the lines of his face while Peter makes smart comments that have Scott grinding his teeth.

“It’s okay.” Jean promises, turning to face Kurt, who meets her eyes momentarily before turning back to the racing landscape, the tree’s giving way to a stone wall.

“We’re home.” Scott announces, another ritual, as they drive through the gates.

“Y/N.” The wheel chair guy before you greets and you scowl at him. You’re well aware of who he is. Renowned mutant activist, Charles Xavier and by his side- Raven Darkholme. If it weren’t for them, their entirely recognizable faces and more recognizable acts in support of Mutant rights, then you’d be ditching this joint.

“Mr Wheelchair Guy.” You greet cordially, the scowl almost set into your face by now and Mystique matches it.

“Read this, if you could.” He smiles, ignoring the name calling, and offers you a piece of paper.

“I could. But what’re you going to offer me?” You smirk, taking the page and scanning it. Words highlight themselves before you and you flinch from the page, holding it like a bloody knife. “What the hell is this?”

“That’s what we would like to know.” He answers cryptically and you nearly snarl, wanting to throw the page away.

“I’ll tell you what it looks like then.” You snap, barely holding the paper now and knowing if there was a stiff breeze you’d lose it, not that that would be too terrible. “It looks like a signed confession to mutant genocide. And it’s descriptive as hell.”

Ravens brows furrow and she glances at Charles, who meets her eyes for a moment before looking back at you.

“If you could read it? Aloud?” He asks gently and you hiss a breath, inhaling sharply.

“They’re like the wild sheep in the hills.” You begin, teeth clenched between sentences. “Unclean creatures muddying the bloodlines we’ve fought to maintain. Like the sheep from the hills, we clear them. Like the sheep from the hills, the stones are stained with their blood and we paint our houses with the rich colour. The sheep scream, though never as satisfyingly as those plaguing our streets.”

You pause, looking up at the pair as they watch each other. “I don’t want to read this.”

“You’re the best translator in the country, we must ask you to continue.” Charles says with a blank expression and you wonder what he’s hiding, what thoughts are nestled in his mind.

Your heart stutters uneasily and the presence returns, pushing against your mind nervously and you welcome it. Your longing and affection reaches for it, colliding with it’s own and a smile settles on your face.

I’m sorry I snapped earlier. You apologize and warmth fills you, assurances bleeding through your thoughts. Your heart picks up at the attention and instant forgiveness.

I am sorry I pushed so hard. You flinch from the words, denials bursting from your mind to his and you can feel the small laugh that leaves his lips.

“Please continue.” Charles pipes up, ignoring your moments of silence without a word and you change positions before continuing, a thrum in the back of your mind keeping you warm and safe.

“Talking to your lover?” Storm pipes up from beside Kurt and he jumps, popping out of existence and right back on the other side of her. A laugh tinkles from her lips and he watches her dazedly. “A very lucky girl? Boy?”

Kurt hums at the question, he’d never really cared. You knew he was a boy but he’d never pestered you for that kind of information on your own. He doesn’t even know your name.

“You don’t know.” Storm frowns, a pause after her words before she nods understandingly.

“I went through that, for a while. It doesn’t matter who they are on the outside, just the person they are on the inside. The one that your soul recognises.” She explains and his shoulders droop at the confirmation, an agreement with something he’d never been able to voice.

“That is exactly it. Thank you.” Kurt smiles, Ororo copying it without hesitation before she launches into another topic, his famous mutants education.

there you have it. number oneeee

Someday Never Comes

Summary: You describe a little bit of your life with your love, Bucky Barnes. 

40s!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 2742

Warnings: Angst, Death, Seriously, this does not have a happy ending. 

A/N: Okay, So I didn’t really know how to summarize this, I got an idea and I just went with it. It’s 40s Bucky! It’s also very sad.. I think.. If you want to be tagged or untagged in anything please let me know!

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anonymous asked:

I submitted this a while ago but idk if you ever saw it but could I get a scenario on how the Horsemen, Azrael and Samael react to finding a deaf human on the ruined earth?

I’m so sorry, it most likely did :S I’ll try my best xoxo

Death: (I absolutely headcanon that Death can read sign language, having spent the most time around humans) He suspects that you can’t physically hear him when he calls out to you from behind. When you don’t even jump but just continue on your way, he thinks ‘Ah, they must be either deaf, or dense…’

He makes his way to the front of you, keeping a large distance so as not to startle you too much. When he emerges from the next street before you, he quickly makes very exaggerated signals with his hands that he means you no harm. Although you’re certainly shocked at the sudden appearance of this odd humanoid, the fact that he you can understand him is vaguely reassuring. Death slowly approaches you, making placating gestures and signing ‘friend’ again and again. 

He knows you won’t last for long, even if you could hear demons sneaking up on you, and something about leaving you alone to fend for yourself sits wrong with the old horseman. He tells you to come with him, refusing to take no for an answer. 

War: You spot each other from a distance, each with equal surprise. You turn and bolt. He gets frustrated when he shouts that he won’t hurt you, he just wants some answers, but you refuse to stop. War catches up easily and grabs your shoulders, spinning you around to face him and lifting you clean off the ground. 

“Why did you continue to flee?” he growls, frowning in confusion when you lift your hands frantically and perform odd symbols in front of his face. He drops you to the ground, albeit softly. Then, in a far gentler tone, he asks, “Can’t you speak?”

You press two fingers to your right ear and he blinks widely in understanding. “You can’t hear…” 

War grumbles, realising that this complicates things and he won’t be getting the answers to questions he needs to ask you. With a grunt, he holds your arm, even as you try to pull away. Ever so carefully, War leans down and pushes his forehead into yours, ignoring the way you smack at his wrist whilst trying to squirm away. After a while, you realise that the man has neither hurt you, nor actually tried to. His grip on your arm is gentle, if strong and his head is still pressed against yours in an oddly familiar fashion. You open your eyes and regard him curiously. 

Despite not having the faintest idea on how to communicate with you, War seems determined to keep you close. 

Strife: He’d been following you for ages. Amused that you hadn’t noticed him, even when he deliberately scuffed his boot or coughed loudly. Eventually however, he got bored and curious. 

“Hey? Human!”

No response. 

Strife frowns at the implication that you might be blatantly ignoring him. “HellOOoo?” You still don’t turn and he almost just says ‘stuff it’. But he’s far too inquisitive about you to let alone. So, Strife strides right up behind you and tapping you sharply on the shoulder with a huff. 

The poor horseman recoils with shout, as though he’d been stung when you leap an impressive 3 feet into the air and give a strangled cry. Immediately making to scarper, you bound forward only to have your shirt snagged and you soon find yourself lifted high off the ground, dangling helplessly in front of a masked giant. 

He balks when you start to cry, soundlessly, so he lowers you to the ground again. “Hey, what gives?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, “Why the waterworks?” But without being able to see his mouth, you can’t even hazard a guess at what he’s saying. Strife sighs in defeat, scratching the back of his helm and peering down awkwardly. Without another word, he bends down and grabs you under one arm, lifting you against his side and ignoring your feeble protests. The horseman carries you, chatting all the way, to his destination, deciding it best to wait until you calm down properly before he tries to get you to talk to him again.. .

Fury: She found you when you were being stalked by a trio of phantom guards. They advanced and you turned when a large shadow fell over you, mouth opening in a silent scream. Fury wasted no time dispatching the demons easily and cleanly. You’d fallen to the ground and stared up at her fearfully as she approached you with a smile before holding out her hand for you to take. 

“Fancy not noticing your enemy until it is right on top of you!” she teases. “You must be more careful, human.”

At your look of total misunderstanding, Fury hums thoughtfully. “Hmm, perhaps this is not your native dialect?” She then begins to cycle through several greetings and phrases in different languages until you work up the courage to wave at her, gaining her attention and signing that you can’t hear her. Fury’s eyes light up with recognition and she wraps an arm around your trembling shoulders. 

“That’s alright,” she grins reassuringly down at your confused face, “We’ll figure out some other way to communicate.”

Azrael: He’s surprised, to say the least, when he comes across you. He gently floats up behind you a smile kindly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You freeze at the light touch, allowing yourself to be physically turned around and find yourself staring up into warm, pale eyes. It’s his soft features and reassuring expression that stops you from panicking and lets you find the nerve to shakily sign at him. Azrael cocks his head slightly in confusion before nodding in understanding, concluding that this must be the only way you can speak to him. You would have said something out loud, otherwise.

The angel doesn’t know a lick of sign language, but he’s determined to learn for you. He uses every resource he has at his disposal and exhausts his efforts, and finally, he manages to get his hands on some old human texts that contain visual references to your unique language. It takes him a couple of days, but with your help, he manages to near enough master sign language. 

A few angels ask him why he bothers, so he verbally sits them down, politely but firmly with a tight-lipped smile and a sharp tongue. He takes you, quite literally, under his wing. 

Samael: You’d wandered into the Scalding Gallow aimlessly, failing to notice the enormous demon erupting out of the ground behind you whilst you turn slowly to take in your surroundings. You do however, notice when a large fist suddenly clenches around your waist and you’re hoisted into the air by an unheard assailant, squirming desperately when you come face to face with a monstrous figure, reminiscent of the devil himself. 

Samael snarls fiercely down at you, but with your arms pinned to your sides, you can’t even beg him not to eat you. So you just start to cry, sure that this is it. It surprises you when, instead of tearing your head from your body, the beast begins to speak. At least, you assume it does, because it’s mouth is moving. But you can’t even begin to fathom what it’s saying to you. The creature huffs hot air over your face and you see it’s lips working slower, more deliberately over the words. 

“What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Domain?” Samael grits out, after you fail to answer him the first time. A long stretch of silence ensues without a word, so the demon prince rolls his eyes and lowers his hand, dropping you the last few feet onto the floor. Briefly, you make to run, but his tail sweeps behind you and he bares his teeth as a brief warning. It translates well. 

‘Don’t even try…’ 

With your arms now free from the tight confines of Samael’s fist, you try and salvage the situation, raising your arms and pointing to yourself, then pressing your fore and middle finger against your ear. He just stares down at you, flicking his tail impatiently. You try again, more frantically this time, tears streaking down your face, shaking your head. Suddenly, it clicks. Samael’s eyes widen in astonishment and he rests his chin on his knuckles, regarding you with renewed interest. He makes the decision to keep you around, if only to make his time trapped on the ruined Earth a little more interesting……

How To Love A Girl With A Mental Illness:

1. The meaning of “unconditional love” will be made clear to you the first time she turns away and shuts you out, shaking and volatile and shattered and impossibly out of reach for someone so close. She is a windstorm in the Sahara— a tornado that only spins in one place, do not take it personally when the force of her wind flings you away. Instead, begin the long, lonely walk home. Do not falter in your love or trip on your own ego— the walk is longer and more lonely for her, trust me. 

2. In the middle of the night, when you find her on the kitchen floor staring at the clock with the kettle long-over-boiled, do not ask questions. Just join her in silence: try to convey without word or touch that you’re not going anywhere. Mean it. Sit until the clock ticks past 3, 4, 5, 6 a.m. Brew the cup of tea, bring her her jacket and scarf. Take her hand and walk until the sun rises. Watch it in silence. Hope she understands that this will happen every morning; she does not need to watch the clock to keep the world going. Remind her that, even when she feels its weight on her chest in the dark of the night, the planet can take care of itself. Understand that you will need to repeat this often.

3. There will be good days. Days where she sings in the shower, sings in the car, sings in conversation because the hummingbird in her chest has taken flight, however temporarily, and her ribcage is finally free of its panicked, beating wings. Be exactly as present on these days as the bad ones. Offer to take her out— when she says yes, pick somewhere quiet and calm. Understand that a good day does not mean a cure. Understand, too, that a good day will feel like a cure to her. Hold her hand regardless.

4. Learn to become comfortable with the silence, however awkward it may seem to you. This is not about you. Understand that, sometimes, everything that needs to be said can be found in silence. Understand that, sometimes, nothing needs to be said.

5. Some mornings, she will wake up already drowning in the ocean of herself. Some mornings you will wake up to her nails digging into your skin, clinging to you for dear life while she fights off the waves that nobody else can see. Some mornings will look like dark skies, and her mood swings will feel like right hooks to your jawline, and everything is grey and bruised and purple-black and your lips will clamp shut under the weight of everything you don’t know how to tell her.  Take a breath. It’s okay. You don’t have to have all the answers.

6. When you come home from work or grocery shopping to find all your shades drawn and all the lights off, don’t panic. When she finds herself imprisoned in your bed at 3, 4, 5, 6pm, she doesn’t need you to tell her it’s a bad idea. She already knows— she’s been there since she woke up, she’s had plenty of time to think about it. Instead, leave the shades down. Leave the lights off. Sometimes the only way to deal with the sadness is to sit with it. Kiss her forehead, remind her that you love her. Leave the door open a bit. Brew a pot of coffee. Watch all ten seasons of How I Met Your Mother and keep a tally of Ted’s awful jokes. Do a jigsaw puzzle with your eyes closed. Write all of your worries into a journal. Wait it out. Depression doesn’t give a damn about you or your schedule but, eventually, it will pass. Everything will pass. When she comes out of your room and offers you a sheepish smile or a terrible joke, take it for the apology that it is. Take her hand and offer her a cup of coffee. Do a jigsaw puzzle with your eyes closed. Watch all ten seasons of How I Met Your Mother and kiss her every time Ted makes a terrible joke. Remember that a bad day doesn’t always mean a bad life or a relapse.

7. Understand that victory doesn’t always come with trumpets and banners and fanfare. Sometimes, victory is quiet and subtle. Sometimes you won’t even realize it’s a victory. Some days, victory will look like remembering to take a shower, wash the sheets or pick up bread and milk from the 7/11 two blocks south. Some days, victories will look minor to you. Remember that they are victories nonetheless. React accordingly. 

8. Even the worst days only have 24 hours. This too shall pass. 

The May Queen and May King?


“Don’t say anything, please.”

The touch of her bare skin, sweet and cold, electrified his palm and his fingers. Geralt’s back shuddered under Yennefer’s nails. Shouting, singing, whistling reached them all the while from the fires, in a distant whirlwind of sparks and purple smoke. Embraces, caresses. Him, her. Chills. And impatience. He touched the slender thighs closed around his hips that shook like a leaf.


Breaths and sighs began their ballet; lightning flashed before their eyes; the scent of lilac and gooseberry enveloped them. The King and the Queen of May, was it the expression

of a sacrilegious joke? Of oblivion?

It’s Belleteyn, the night of May!

A piercing groan from Yen or from Geralt; black curls covering their eyes and mouths; trembling fingers entwined in their tightly-grasped hands. A cry; black lashes, damp; a groan.

Then silence. An eternity of silence.

Belleteyn… The fires on the horizon…

Andrzej Sapkowski - “The Sword of Destiny”

They did not realise when May came. They first noticed at night time, when they saw the bright, distance fires of Belleteyn. When Ciri, with strange excitement jumped onto Kelpie’s back and galloped towards the fires, Geralt and Yennefer took advantage of the intimate moment.
After removing the necessary clothes, they made love on a sheepskin on the ground. They made love urgently, in silence, without words. They made love quickly, however.
And then along came the climax and fulfillment, trembling and kissing each other’s tears, amazed at that fate had given them time to express their love.

Andrzej Sapkowski - “Lady of the Lake”

Okay, it may sound a bit cringy but I’m totally in love with the amount of information you can drain from simple love scenes. First, I thought the sudden flush of affection in the second scene was the result of long separation and disbelief that everything would end the way it did, but I now I think it’s the date that mattered more. 

As “The Sword of Destiny” unfolds, we witness Geralt go through different stages, from slow acknowledgment of his feelings and desires to the bleak realization they may never be fulfilled and there’s little he can do about it. “Something More” is definitely the saddest stage to watch, as we see Geralt and Yennefer reach the very climax of decay. We find them stuck in the middle of impasse, in a cold and hopeless place from which they don’t know how to escape and which existence begins to feel like something intrinsic and unavoidable.

And then comes Ciri: Geralt and Yennefer’s something more, and along with her another Belletyen. A Belletyen that wasn’t supposed to come. 

* It’s funny that Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship follows the same protocol ships from sitcoms do. The second scene looks a lot like an opportunistic roll in the hay because the kid finally isn’t looking.

ji chang wook x reader (request)

POV: Reader
Pairing: Ji Chang Wook x Reader
Rating: G
Comments: I’ve never been pregnant so this is probably inaccurate as fuck. Oh well. I have no idea who Ji Chang Wook is either. I’m off to a great start today. Hopefully, it still turned out alright, and you enjoy it. c:

Summary: “Ji chang wook scenarios when you’re pregnant but the baby make you feel not at your ease cuz of his/her position. Your husband try to make you feel better ^^” - Anon

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Bare (Part 26 of Faking It)

Read Faking It, Just Breathe, Sex Hair and Blindfolds, Cold as Ice, Rough Around the Edges, Sticky Sweet, Slow Burn, Adult Film 101, Date Night, Hell on Heels,  The More, The Merrier, Even More, Even Merrier,  Hunter’s Aftercare, and Under Arrest, Flexibility, Melting,  Anger Management,  Tight Spot, Under Control, Still Under Control,  Not Faking Anything, Elbow Grease,  Soaking WetArt Lessons, and You’re Mine.

Warning: SMUTTY SMUT, you shave Dean’s face, and Dean shaves your…not your face

Word Count: 3000ish

“Morning,” Dean mumbled, nuzzling into your neck.

You smiled without opening your eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips on your skin, as well as the scratch of his beard. It had been several days since he had last shaved, and the thicker than usual hair on his face felt pleasantly rough as he worked his way down to your collar bone.

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What if, on the show, there was an episode where it was Alec’s birthday and like in the books, Magnus is the one to mention it. Imagine if Alec and Maryse get into an argument and Alec storms off upset and closes himself in his room. Imagine he slides down the wall onto the floor,hugging his knees. Out of nowhere, Magnus joins him. He doesn’t look at him or comfort him but instead simply says “happy birthday Alexander”. Alec doesn’t show any emotion; “thanks for remembering”. Then imagine that Alec just gently rests his head on Magnus’ shoulder and they sit in silence, comforting each other without words.

But just IMAGINE

Just a bit of seasonal fluff in which there is pining and misunderstandings and awkward car rides in the snow on Christmas Eve. Happy Holidays!

(Now also on AO3)

“What,” Stiles says, and he’s aware that he doesn’t quite make it a question, but he currently can’t feel his toes so he figures he’s allowed.

“Do you want a ride home or not?” Derek huffs impatiently, each word forming a visible cloud in the cold night air as he digs around in Stiles’ trunk to grab as many bags as he can carry and transfer them to his own car.

“No, but seriously. What.” Stiles has got his arms wrapped around himself against the chill, bouncing on the balls of his feet to try to keep warm, and he can’t stop glancing surreptitiously at his stalled Jeep like he can make it start running again out of sheer desperation. When he called his dad to tell him he’d broken down thirty miles out of town on his way back home for winter break, the last thing he was expecting was an equally surly as he is scruffy werewolf to come and collect him.

Derek throws the last bag into his car, closes the hatch a little too roughly, and sighs at Stiles in exasperation. “I am doing you a favor right now. The correct response is, ‘thank you, Derek, please enjoy the next two hours of my shutting up.’”

“Yeah right,” Stiles snorts.

Derek mutters something up at the sky and then gets into the driver’s side. Stiles would argue more, but he’s not an idiot, so he scrambles to get into the passenger side before Derek decides to leave without him.

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…she thought with pity of all the men and women who were not light-hearted when they loved, who were cold, who were reluctant, who were shy, who imagined that passion and tenderness were two things separate from one another, and not the one, gloriously intermingled, so that to be fierce was also to be gentle, so that silence was a speaking without words.
—  Daphne du Maurier