so she would be warm

Some “Class 1-A family dorm life” headcanons!

  • Kirishima is the designated spider killer, except he doesn’t kill them, he takes them outside. If someone freaks out they might bite him, he just hardens his hands and grins reassuringly.
  • If someone screams “KAMINARI” in a tone of pure panic, everyone else knows that the person’s laptop or phone is about to die and they haven’t saved their work. Kaminari will vault couches to get to them. It’s probably the most heroic he gets to be on a semi daily basis.
  • Bakugou and Satou are teeth cleaning fiends. They always scold or remind their classmates to brush.
  • It’s second nature for everyone to remove drinks or breakable objects from around Iida when he gets into talking. They don’t even notice anymore.
  • If Shouji isn’t around, Ochako is the second person they go to for getting things down from tall places because she can just float to it.
  • One time Ochako, Iida, Izuku and Todoroki were all out shopping, and Ochako found a great deal (like, great deal) on some kind of frozen food. But it was so warm out that she was worried it would thaw before they got back. Cue a puzzled (but totally fine with it) Todoroki keeping it cold on their way back to the dorms.
  • Bakugou has a little spot in the kitchen reserved for his hot sauces. Someone (read: everyone) keeps adding new kinds to it when he’s not looking. He’s secretly pleased even if he’s pissed he can’t seem to catch anyone in the act.
  • Momo makes fidget toys for everyone around exam times. She carefully personalizes them to stand up to everyone’s Quirks.
  • The boys love to go to Jirou for playlists to work out to. She makes the best ones.

cryptidsanonymous  asked:

I just read everything in your gods and monsters series and wow I am in awe. I am absolutely blown away by your writing it's beautiful the Icarus one had me staring at a wall for ten minutes afterwards absorbing what I'd just read. anywhoozle, I love everything you've written and not to rush or pressure you or anything but I was wondering if perhaps we could get more of the greek mythology stories?

a continuation of this

Caeneus has only ever had two loves in his life.

First is the sea. He’s loved her his whole life, heard her siren song from the time he had long curly hair and still tolerated being put in dresses and called a girl. He loves the sea like his parents go to temple, in an unmovable and inexplicable way that he no longer questions.

Second is Poseidon. Foolish, but so achingly kind. He’s a man who professes his wish to master the sea without ever really understanding it, and Caeneus smiles and kisses the stress lines from his brow but does not worry.

The sea has never loved him back, and it never will. She is power and coldness and loss, and her beauty is in her tragedy. Poseidon is warmth and thoughtfulness and strong hands on his hips. He is nothing like the sea, and he will never rule it.

Caeneus knows this, and he’s relieved by it. Poseidon loves him back. Poseidon is not the sea.

Then he wakes up to his lover’s lips on his neck, cold enough that flinches away from the sensation, and for a terrifying moment he doesn’t recognize the person touching him as the man he loves.

“I can do it now,” he whispers, and cool fingers splay against his waist, “I can make you the man you want to be.”

Caeneus wants the body that men usually have, wants people to stop looking at him and seeing a woman. But if Poseidon had asked, he would have told him – Caeneus would choose his lover over a new body, would rather live as he does now than have Poseidon harm himself for his benefit.

But he did not ask, so Caeneus closes his eyes and accepts the gift his lover is so eager to give him.


Amphitrite has never had a heart before.

She was the sea, and what she desired, she took. Men, women – she wanted, and she had, and then she moved on.

But the heart in her chest is softer, warmer. It turns her pearl hued skin pink and makes her swim to the surface to watch the sun set, makes something like empathy stir inside her when before all she had was selfishness.

The heart in her chest is in love, and she thought it was something she could control, something she could stop. It’s not. It will be one day, when she masters this heart in her chest, but not yet. She spends hours following Caeneus as he sails her seas, guides fish into his net and feels her borrowed heart beat that much faster whenever he pears into the ocean and she catches sigh of his gorgeous amber eyes.

So she says to Poseidon, “You spend too much time on the shore for a god of the sea.”

He glances at her, and his eyes are green just like hers, are cold and uncaring just like hers used to be. She wonders what her eyes look like now. “Caeneus is on the shore.”

“Bring him here if you’re so concerned with your mortal,” she says, focusing on weaving shells into her hair and giving the impression that she couldn’t care less what he does with his mortal plaything. “The palace is big enough.”

He stops and turns to her, eyebrow raised. “You do not mind me bringing him here?”

“Do with your mortal as you wish,” she repeats, and stamps down on the trembling joy in her chest, “It’s no concern of mine.”


Caeneus doesn’t know how to love a god of the sea. He knew how to love Poseidon – take him onto the water to watch the sunrise, feed him warm, sweet drinks, and let him curl around him at night and listen to his stories of his siblings, of impossible gods who do impossible things.

But now he sits in a palace under water, with his own room and the freedom to see the other side of the ocean he loves so dearly. There are no sunsets here, no cocoa to barter for, and Poseidon doesn’t tell him stories any more.

Poseidon still loves him. He kisses him and holds his hips when they sleep together and keeps him by his side while he crosses the sea and gains more and more control over this domain that he now commands. Poseidon still loves him, he tells himself when he itches to return to the surface and the home Poseidon build for him, and the life he built for himself.

He didn’t want to be a consort of the king of sea. He just wanted to be Caeneus, a man who loved a man and was loved in return, a man who loved the sea even though it would never love him back.

The sea will never love him back. He’s known that since he was a child, so the real question is – how much of the Poseidon he knew is left, and how much of him the depths of the ocean?


There’s a hurricane that requires her husband’s attention, and even he is not so foolish as to bring his lover to a place as dangerous as that. Which means it’s the perfect time for her to run into him in the interior gardens, as he stares up through the iridescent seaweed to the rays of sunlight that just manage to penetrate the water. “Do you miss it?” she asks him, and he startles, swinging around to face her and stumbling away.

“My lady!” he says, and falls to his knees before her, bowing his head. It’s what she expects of all mortals, but not from him, never from him. The heart in her chest loves him, and if it’s not her heart, well – the rest of her doesn’t know the difference. “A thousand apologies.”

“You are welcome here,” she says, and smiles. She’s never smiled quite like this before, she’s never felt quite like this before, fond and fluttery and so painfully eager that it would be embarrassing if she ever dared articulate it. It’s a wonder Poseidon managed to get anything done at all if this is what he had in his chest.

He looks up, hesitant, and she holds out her hand. He takes it, and she pulls him to his feet, pulls him closer until they’re nearly touching and he’s forced to look up into her eyes or be stuck staring at her chin. He’s warmer than her, she can feel the heat pouring off him in waves, and she wants him to hold her in his arms so she can languish against him like she would a sun-warmed rock.

Before she had a heart, she took who and what she wanted, when she wanted it.

Now she has a heart, and she takes his hands in both of hers and says, “Would you like to visit the surface? I can take you, and bring you back before my husband returns.”

He’s hesitant because he’s afraid of her. Caeneus will never love her, because although she holds the heart he loves she is not the person the heart belongs to. Not that he knows any of that, not that anyone will ever know the details of her and Poseidon’s arrangement. But she doesn’t want Caeneus to be afraid of her. She wants him to smile at her like she is a sunrise. “Yes, please,” he decides on finally.

She stands and watches as he walks through his home, as he touches the hearth and looks longingly at the bed, as he stands in the small cottage that he clearly prefers over her palace, over all the riches and adoration that comes with being consort to the sea.

Caeneus is a simple man, whose heart loves with a simple love.

He is a man whose heart loves someone who now has no heart, and Amphitrite can’t bring herself to tell him. She’s the one who took it away, and she won’t give it back.

She likes having a heart, and one day she will need to return it, but not now, not yet, not for a long time.


Caeneus lies besides Poseidon, curled up so his head rests on the god’s outflung arm and he can watch his chest rise and fall as he sleeps. There are bruises on Caeneus’s hips and down his chest, bite marks on his shoulder and up his neck. It’s not the first time his lover has been rough with him, and he doesn’t mind, like that Poseidon doesn’t touch him like he’s afraid he’ll break, likes that whenever he’s rough he’s careful enough with his strength not to ever cross the line from bruising to breaking.

It’s different than it used to be. It’s been different for a long time, ever since Poseidon somehow convinced the Lady to hand over her title as monarch, to share her power with him for no reason that Caeneus can see. It’s not love between them, because the sea does not love. But she got something out of it, something valuable enough to bargain away part of her power, and as soon as she did the man Caeneus loves ceased to exist.

He slides out of bed and angrily rubs at his eyes. He can’t do this anymore, can’t sleep and live with this man who has his lover’s face and memories and nothing else.

He knows this palace well, and everyone else knowns him too. The servants don’t question him, only offer shallow bows before hurrying on his way. He’s a fisherman who lives on the outskirts of society. He’s not any sort of person that people were meant to bow to. He stands in front of an ornate set of carved doors, the beautiful shimmering inside of a muscle shell of impossible size. Two guards stand at each door, but neither move to stop him as he pushes it open and slips inside.

“Lady?” he whispers. Large, bioluminescent carvings flare to life all across the room, bathing them in soft golden-green light. Amphitrite pulls herself out of bed, green hair loose around her and the rest of her on display, pale and flawless, as perfect an example of a beautiful woman as Caeneus has ever seen, and he averts his gaze. “Lady!”

“So modest,” she teases, and when he glances over she’s in a simple white robe and pulling her hair up behind her. She looks vulnerable like this, almost like his mother did when she would rouse him and his father from sleep in the darkness of early morning so they could catch the fish while they were still sleeping. “What’s going on Caeneus? I thought my husband had exclusive rights to your nights,” she winks, and he forces a smile.

He walks over to her, takes her hands in his because he knows she likes how warm he runs compared to her, and her smile slips off her face. “Please,” he whispers, “Poseidon is different than he once was, and I want to know why. Please.”


She shouldn’t tell him, but the heart in her chest loves him, and she loves him too, thinks she would even without Poseidon’s heart influencing her.

So she tells him, and when he starts crying she brushes away his tears and he doesn’t stop her. “He’ll never love you like he once did,” she tells him, “It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just can’t.”

“The sea doesn’t love you back,” he says, because he knows, because he’s a skilled sailor, because he’s one of the people who has worshipped her his whole life without ever expecting anything back, because that’s what an ocean gives back – nothing at all. “Can – can I give you my heart?”

She stares. “Excuse me?”

“Let me give you my heart,” he pleads, “so that I may hold Poseidon’s in my chest. You can have mine, I know I’m only a mortal–”

“You’re all mortal to me,” she says, because a hundred years, a thousand, ten thousand, what does it matter – she and Gaia were around long before gods and humans, and they’ll be around long after them. “If I give you Poseidon’s heart, you will become a god.”

He pales and flinches away from her. He’s not in this for power, this was never about power to him. It was always about love. “Lady, I’m not trying to – I don’t want that.”

“If you become a god,” she continues, because she loves him and that means she wants him to be happy, even at her own expense, “you will be alive when the time comes for me to reclaim my title of monarch. One day I will take back my heart from Poseidon, will reclaim the cold, black thing in his chest as my own, and when I do he will no longer be master of the sea. When I do, you can give him back his heart, and he will love you as he loved you before, as he will always love you.”

Caeneus has a hand over his chest and there’s so much hope shining in his eyes that it’s almost painful to look at. “Please, Lady. Please. I love him, let me carry his heart, let me have him back once you are done. I will wait.”

“It will be a long time,” she answers honestly, “Empires will rise and fall before I’m willing to give this up, before Poseidon will be willing to give up his power over the sea.”

“I will wait,” Caeneus repeats, “I love him. If you have my heart, maybe you will grow to love him too. If you have my heart, you will protect him, you will keep him safe.”

Amphitrite loves Caeneus, and Caeneus loves Poseidon, and Poseidon is incapable of loving anyone at all. “Very well,” she whispers, because a heart is a heart, and just like Poseidon she’s unable to deny Caeneus anything.

She breaks open her chest and takes out the warm, beating heart of Poseidon. She slits open Caeneus’s chest for him, and holds him upright while struggles to take out his heart and clumsily places in into her chest. She heals over instantly, and nestles Poseidon’s heart in Caeneus’s ribcage. He too heals over, and his eyes flash with power as the heart settles inside of him.

Caeneus becomes so much more than a mortal man in that moment.

This heart doesn’t feel too different, she still loves Caeneus because she’s capable of loving and he is worthy of it. “Go,” she says, “Say your goodbyes, and leave. If you stay, he’ll just continue hurting you, and in a few thousand years he’ll hate himself for it. Leave now, and spare both of you that pain.”

He leans forward and cups her face in his hands, kissing her on each cheek. “Thank you,” he breathes, and then he’s gone.


Caeneus can feel the power of a god flowing into him, but he doesn’t care about that, the only reason he’s glad he’s a god now is so he’ll live long enough to get Poseidon back, to get the Poseidon who loves him back.

He goes back to where Poseidon is sleeping, and takes a long, careful look. It will be a long time before he sees this man again. He kisses him on the lips, softly and carefully, the way Poseidon first kissed him when he thought he was sleeping.

Then he leaves, stepping outside the palace and using his newly gained powers to bring himself to the shore.


Poseidon is furious, bur Amphitrite won’t budge, says only that Caeneus left. He throws a temper, and half the palace is lost in the aftermath, but she does not care.

She doesn’t tell him that she no longer carries his heart. It doesn’t matter. Caeneus’s heart beats in her chest, and she sits on her throne amongst the rubble and does nothing more than sigh at the way he threatens to tear the world apart looking for his lover. It will pass. The depth and coldness of the sea is unable to sustain such fits of wild passion.

Years pass. Rumors reach them of a sea god, one who is known for rescuing sailors and fisherman from storms, one who they say used to be a mortal fisherman himself.

They call him Glaucus, and say that he swallowed a magical herb to become a god.

She smiles when she hears these rumors, and thankfully Poseidon has long given up trying to get her to explain herself. The rumors are only half right, but she likes hearing them none the less.

It comforts her to hear that Caeneus is well.

gods and monster series, part xiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

okay, so someone asked me about the fic I wrote, and how I said that Regina had tried to get to Emma (which is fine, cos I did say her actions were canon-compliant, and I haven’t seen anyone talking about this yet, so I wondered how many of you had caught it), and Robin held her back.

I finally found a clip of just those 2 seconds, and you can clearly see her step forward, and he wraps his arms around her, keeping her there. It almost looks like she’s trying to push him off.

Assassin!Harry (Part 1)

Harry is a trained, experienced assassin hired to kill Y/N but ends up, to his horror, starting to fall for her. 


He may be human, but he operates like a machine: identify target, plan, stalk, kill, collect cash, repeat. What one may consider sociopathic or psychopathic personality traits, Harry considers a blessing. After all, it is his lack of regard for human emotions and his own conscience that has made his career possible. The only proof he has that he is not, in fact, heartless is when he feels his pulse throbbing in his neck as he sprints between alleyways, hops fences, climbs walls, desperately trying to escape any chance of pursuit after the murder is done. Although pursuit is something with which Harry has become unfamiliar; he dealt with it in his career’s infancy, but as he has grown so have his skills. His eye for quick, accessible escape routes has grown keener, his aim tighter, and his remorse…well, nonexistent. He works alone, and he prefers it this way, but his work is so precise that many law enforcement officials cannot accept the possibility of the unidentified murderer being just a “murderer” instead of “murderers.” He’s lost track of how many kills he has made, yet, amazingly, he has yet to be caught or even identified. Nobody has ever suspected him of anything due to his brilliant planning, charming exterior, and cunning way with words; he comes off as a sweet, regular guy. All of this, coupled with the fact that he truly is heartless in the figurative sense of the word, makes Harry Styles the most successful, feared assassin on the planet. He never gets off track, never gets caught, and–most importantly–never misses. So, when he woke up and saw the folded yellow envelope lying on the floor under the windowsill of his first-floor, high-class apartment, it was just a normal day for Harry. He receives one to two requests every month, and as screwed up as it is, he can’t help but feel a rush of excitement whenever he wakes up to an envelope lying crisp and unopened on his tiled floor.

Harry picked up the folder, heavy with cash, and opened it to reveal 5 crisp stacks of 100 $100 bills each. Assassinations don’t come cheap, and Harry prioritizes the higher-paying customers. In other words, the sooner you want someone dead, the more money you should be willing to shell out. $50,000 isn’t much compared to most of his other offers, but because Harry wasn’t planning any other kills, he decided to go about prioritizing the operation. He flipped through the information, identifying the twenty year old college student that he was supposed to kill. He laid out the three included photographs of the girl and identified her address on a map. He read through her daily schedule, put together by the unnamed person who had hired him, and went about identifying the lowest-risk time to pursue and kill her. He ventured into the depths of his expansive closet, retrieving the black duffel bag that contained his gloves, his attire, his shoes, his ammunition, and his small, silver handgun as well as his perfectly sharpened steel knife. He never uses both the gun and the knife in one killing; he just likes the option. He grabbed the roll of heavy duty black tape from the bag and went about taping the bottoms of his shoes so that the patterns they would normally leave behind were masked. He put the bag by his front door and went about his day, eagerly anticipating nightfall.

Keep reading


Hello again! I wrote this in about half and hour and didn’t proof-read or anything, so it may be a mess, but hopefully it’s alright? This is a Peter Parker story about the reader having an awful day and Peter being there to help make it better. I got a request for an imagine about Tom comforting an upset reader, but I just changed it to a Peter fic, so I hope that’s okay!


    Peter and Ned rushed down the hallway, late for class as per usual, each boy faulting the other for the possible detention slip that loomed over their heads. Truthfully, they were both guilty parties.

Ned and Peter had gotten hungry after gym class and snuck off campus during their lunch break to grab sandwiches at the shop a few blocks down. They’d been so absorbed by greasy fries and vanilla malts that they had forgotten to check the clock. To make it to physics on time, the boys had needed to run down the street, which proved very difficult seeing as the streets were always crowded with too many people. You could barely bend over to tie your shoe without someone getting in your way and vice versa.

“This is so annoying!” Peter whined, “I can’t deal with a detention today, what if Mr. Stark needs me, or like, I don’t know, I’ve got to somehow figure out how to multiply myself so I can be about a thousand places at once so I can fight all the city’s crime.” He bent over for a second to wait for Ned to catch up.

“Dude, shut up,” Ned wheezed, “I think I’m just going to take the detention slip, I’m over this.” He braced himself with a harsh hand on Peter’s shoulder. “This is like taking gym all over again.”

“No, Ned, we’re so close! I’m sure that we can drag ourselves a few more feet.” Peter encouraged his best friend, while the pair moved sluggishly up the stairs.

Ned opened his mouth with a witty retort in mind, when Peter smacked a hand over his chest to steady him. “Do you hear that?” Peter mumbled.

The boys strained their ears and heard the soft pitter patter of heels clacking against the floor above them. The longer they listened, the more amplified the clicks became. “Shit,” Ned cursed, “we’re so getting caught. I am not down for detention right now.”

The boys fumbled on the stairs, unsure of which direction they should run in when the noise traveled nearer and nearer to where they stood on the stairs. “Maybe we’ll just get a firm talking to for being late again?” Peter said, doing his best to think positively in the face of defeat.

Ned groaned, slumping his shoulders, as he too accepted the fact that he and his best friend were about to be completely vanquished by whatever school staff member was about to bust them for their constant tardiness.

Peter moaned and leaned back into the banister, taking out his phone to text both Aunt May and Mr. Stark that he would be unavailable for a few more hours after class. The boys both lifted their heads up to meet the furious gaze of the teacher that never came.

Instead, the young girl that breezed past the boys was one of their friends, and Peter’s biggest crush yet. When Liz Allen hadn’t worked out, Liz had made sure to introduce Peter to her friend, who was in the same grade as Peter and Ned. She even shared more than a few classes with the pair of them.

She stunned Peter on a daily basis. Whether it was her ability to quote Shakespearean literature like it was a simple recipe that she’d learned over the weekend, drink eight lattes a day, manipulate chemicals to do as she pleased, or her capability to be the kindest person he’d ever met, Peter was always left breathless. She was nice to everyone, even to the people who didn’t deserve it and had never flaunted her beauty or brains in a way that hurt a classmate intentionally. Peter didn’t think he had ever heard her utter a mean word about someone in his entire life, even when people would say horrid things to her.

She comforted Peter on his lowest nights, even without being near him. She had a soft voice and he imagined cuddling up with her in bed, while she played with his curls and listened to him cry about the level of stress that he was under without ever making fun of him. Besides that, she was easily the most beautifully luminous girl in Peter and Ned’s entire high school.

Although, right now, she was wiping her eyes and trying to cover up the sobs that drifted past her lips. Peter’s eyes widened and he looked to Ned and then back at the girl that he desperately desired to make his own, and then back at Ned.

“Go,” Ned urged, pushing Peter in an attempt to steer him closer to her. “Go or it’ll be too late. She likes you and you like her, stop being a baby, Parker. Tony Stark can’t do everything for you.”

A few weeks ago, a rumor spread that she had gotten a little too tipsy at one of Liz’s parties and had accidently, and quite loudly, revealed that she harbored a massive crush on Peter Parker. Peter had been quick to brush off the rumor, claiming that it was only started to embarrass her, remained unaware that the rumor wasn’t just a rumor, and was an actual fact.

Before Peter could take offense to Ned’s statement, something clicked in his brain and he was tearing down the stairs, trying to make his way to her before she reached the school’s front door.

He called out her name just as her hand closed over the door’s handle. She turned, brown mascara smudged beneath her eyes and waved, her lips quivering into a soft smile that she aimed at Peter before she pulled open the door and walked through it.

“Shit,” Peter mumbled, breaking into a full run in hopes of getting to her before she drove off.

Her day had been so horrible, no matter how she tried to look at. All she wanted was for Peter Parker to wrap his surprisingly muscular arms around her frame, pull her onto his lap, and allow her to cry into his neck while he whispered soft words of reassurement to her. She logiticied that Peter hadn’t reciprocate her feelings, seeing as Liz had been his crush since day one, no matter what Liz said, so she would have to settle for her warm, pink bed, a tub of ice-cream, and a Harry Potter movie marathon.

Peter called her name out once again, nearly tripping over his own two feet to stand in front of her. “Wait,” he wheezed, all of his words crawling back down his throat when he looked upon her face.

Fresh tears glimmered in her eyes, her rosey lipgloss had been disturbed, her lower lip trembled and Peter was almost lost for words. He had never seen her look so sad before and he decided right then and there that he would find the person who did this to her and destroy them, spidey suit or not.

“What’s the matter?” Peter said gently, moving to hug her close, but then dropping his hands because she hadn’t said that he was allowed to touch her and Peter wouldn’t ever want to make her heart hurt more.

In reality, the girl knew that she was probably being over-dramatic and silly, but she couldn’t help it. Everything that she had worked so hard for was collapsing in on her and there was nothing she could do about it. It wasn’t even one in the afternoon and she had suffered through three anxiety attacks, and was currently on the brink of another one.

She opened her mouth to respond to Peter, but when she couldn’t make her mouth move past a strangled sob, she simply shrugged her shoulders and catapulted herself into Peter’s arms.

Peter reacted automatically, cradling the small of her back to him while he rubbed soft circles onto her spine. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered into her floral smelling hair, “tell me what I can do to fix it and I’ll do it.”

They stood like that for a while, Peter slowly rocking them back and forth, while he supported the meager weight of her shaking frame in his arms. He spoke to her tenderly, telling her that he would help her make whatever was hurting her okay before she lifted her head to meet his eyes.

“Peter, I’m going to get you into trouble.” She sniffled, “you should be in class, I know that you love physics.”

“If you haven’t noticed,” Peter said, raising his eyebrows, “I don’t give half a damn about physics right now, you’re the only one who brought it up. I want to be where you are so I can help.”

She prayed that she wouldn’t regret what she was about to ask Peter, “do you wanna come home with me? We’re both going to get detention if we stay out here for much longer. I promise I’ll compensate you with warm chocolate chip cookies and coffee,” she trailed off, refusing to meet Peter’s hopeful gaze.

“Okay,” Peter said, “but I don’t know if you should drive right now,” he pointed to her shaking hands. “I don’t want you to get hurt by accident.”

She nodded her head, planning on ordering an uber and just leaving her car at the school.

“If you want, I can drive us home, I swear I know how.” Peter offered, a cherry blush spilling over his cheeks.

The girl dug through her purse before retrieving her car keys. “Okay, Peter. I trust you.”

Peter smiled at her before taking hold her keys and leading her into the parking lot. He couldn’t believe that she still looked so pretty after having just sobbed into his sweater.

“Peter?” She asked softly, tugging at his sleeve to make him look at her. “Thank you for being so good to me.”

He shook his head and leaned in, and before he could stop himself, he pressed a loving kiss to her forehead. Peter’s eyes widened, but before he could have his own panic attack, she flashed a real smile at him and pulled Peter forward, through lanes and lanes of parked cars.

here’s a concept:

mike, will, lucas, and dustin helping jane and max create their dnd characters so they can join their campaign


Happy 83rd birthday to the beautiful Maggie Smith! (28th December 1934)

Growing up with Auntie Maggie has been amazing. Her dry sense of humour has me in stitches, especially when dancing with her in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire! My first proper scene in a film was with Maggie. To say I was nervous would be putting it mildly, but she was so warm and kind she put me at complete ease. I love the old witch!”  ~ Rupert Grint 

when alex was 16, she never got why people liked cuddling. she would lay with her best friend and she couldn’t explain why her stomach was in knots so tight even her new, super strong alien sister wouldn’t be able to break them, why she felt like there was a weight on her chest, why her skin would become so uncomfortably warm when vicki would let go.

she assumed these feelings were about disgust. she assumed she did not like to be touched. she assumed only the taste of cheap alcohol and grinding in a dirty, hole-in-the-wall bar would be able to get her to, at best, tolerate it.

now, just over ten years later, she lays with her best friend and loves being held in strong arms, loves feeling warm hands with a touch of cold where a ring would rest, has come to understand that the feeling in her gut were butterflies, not wasps, and realizes that the feeling she had wasn’t the feeling of being touch-full, but touch-starved.

game on

He was sick of it.
He was so damn sick of it.
This was Betty Cooper, gorgeous, smart, talented and the most giving female he had ever met in his entire life.
And she definitely deserved better than this shit.

She didn’t love Archie he didn’t even need to speak to her to know she wasn’t in love with that idiot.
She was confused, she’d spent so much time trying to impress him that she hadn’t noticed exactly what she was worth.
Boys watched her, admired her. Every boy in riverdale wanted a date with Betty Cooper.

jughead wasn’t into girls, at least not any girls.
But Betty, God betty.
She was beautiful he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was gorgeous.
She smelt like peaches and she was always so warm and the girl would risk her life to save anyone in trouble.

So that’s what brought him here today, he watched her from across pops the pain etched so clearly across her face as Archie declared Valerie his newest love interest and how he really thought she could be the one all the while smiling at her from the booth.
Had he not remembered Betty spilling her heart out to him less than four days ago?

Jughead wasn’t one for gossip but he always managed to listen in when it regarded the pretty blonde, and the story of Betty’s heart break was front page news.

Before he even realized his feet were moving he was standing in front of Betty and Archie and sliding into the seat next to Betty throwing his arm around her shoulders. Both the teens looked suprised but he smiled at Betty’s look of relief.

“Hey bets, I heard about your pet project, starting up the blue and gold again? That’s risky business don’t you think?”
Betty instantly perked up grabbing onto jugheads arm.

“Oh juggie, it’s amazing. You have to join, you’re so good at writing and the team could really use you!”

“The team?”

She blushed slightly
“Okay I’m the team, it’s just me. Hence why we could really use you.”

Archie coughed from across the booth drawing both the teens attention.

Jughead glanced over quickly
“Hey arch.. so anyway bets I don’t know do you really think the school paper is right for my voice?”

“Oh totally! You can have complete freedom on your articles, obviously I’ll help , and edit, and suggest but other than that it’s all yours!”

He glanced at the red face of Archie and he way his jaw tensed at the sight of jugheads arm around Betty and he smiled.

“Alright I’m in.”

Betty practically pushed him over pulling him into a bear hug squeezing him so tight he could hardly breathe.
Connecting eyes with Archie across the table he smiled at him.

Let the games begin.

Bloody Kisses- Chapter 4

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 5797

Warnings: Little angsty, freak outs

AN: Feedback is appreciated!

Originally posted by alexhoghsource

“The hunt has ended,” was all that she had to say when Kristen picked up at the other end of the line.

“Details, girl! Where’d you find him, how’d you run him down? Did you trip him to the floor and have your way with him or what?” Kristen crowed into the phone with triumph and glee.

“Definitely ‘or what.’ And I’m not sure who found whom.” Her voice was pensive as she sketched the details of the attempted mugging and Ivar’s ever-so-timely arrival. After assuring herself that she was okay, Kristen focused on the important parts.

“So, when do you see him again?” she closed her eyes, seeing Kristen as she was likely posed, head back, brown eyes glittering, phone between chin and shoulder.

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I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 120 - Is Daddy getting all protective?

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she’s certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit….


Chapter 120 - Is Daddy getting all protective?

[Negan looks forward to spending some alone time with Blake, as the two adults and Mia spend some time relaxing in bed.]

N.B. I would like to thank @qhbr2013​ for her prompt for this wonderful chapter. Thank you!

The afternoon slowly slipped into evening and Blake and Negan were currently reclining on the dark-haired Saviour’s large four poster bed, as the tiny and ‘not at all tired’ Mia bounced around on the springy mattress near to their legs.

The three of them having eaten dinner over on Negan’s leather couches, consisting of three large and delicious sandwiches, had, after an hour or so of Mia boring Negan with the need to show him every single animal she had learned the name of in her picture book, moved over to his enormous king sized bed. The caramel-blonde woman stripping out of her pants and lying there in just a black sweater, bra and panties.

Blake was sat up against the headboard with Negan lying with his head resting against her torso, one of his knees cocked up, eyeing Mia as she babbled away to him about nothing and everything all at the same time.

“An’ wen I growd up I wil av’ pwetty hair liak Bwake,” she said bouncing up and down on her chubby legs, with one chubby hand resting on his knee. “A-An’ av’ bwoobies laik Bwakey!”

And with that, the teeny girl pointed towards the two mounds upon Blake’s chest, resting just above Negan’s head.

The dark-haired man gave a sudden chuckle, cocking an eyebrow at the toddler.

“Well if you are anythin’ like Peaches here,” Negan said in a bemused tone. “I guess I’m gonna have to start beating those boys away with Lucille, ain’t I, Beansprout?”

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kittys-arts  asked:

Hi there! Um can I request Team Voltron's reactions to a rather fat/chunky S/O who thinks they don't deserve to be with each voltron members (Including Coran and Allura, please and thank you!)

sure! these hc’s will be shorter since it’s so many characters ahah sorry <3 enjoy! (sorry it took so long fffff-)


> He wouldn’t see anything wrong with it since he himself is on the bigger side even though he isn’t necessarily chunky. But even so he would make sure that they know it’s okay and they shouldn’t let their body image get to them.

> Always sure to use the same reminder that they’re in space and everyone looks different so it’s alright! No one would judge them harshly since everyone doesn’t have the same beauty standards as Earth.

> Hates when they feel so low about themself and voices how they think they don’t deserve Hunk. He genuinely feels bad and does anything in his power to make them feel better. Most of the time it’s making healthy meals that they can share.

> Helps them find a good balanced diet so they feel happier about their body but honestly even then he doesn’t think that they should change themself. They’re cute the way they are and he wouldn’t give them up for anything! 

Originally posted by auxias


> Even though he can’t necessarily relate to the insecurities of his body image, he knows what it feels like to be down in the dumps every now and then and whenever his s/o is upset over it he’d do a lot of goofy things to make them feel better. 

> Appearance of his s/o doesn’t matter to him honestly. He only cares about his own appearance and that’s mostly just hair/skincare which is totally different in his opinion. Speaking of hair/skincare, he’d take his partners mind off of their sadness by also doing face masks together and listening to music.

> Would constantly reassure them that they belong together whether they’re feeling unhappy or not. He’d definitely use his pickup lines to do it to. “Now that I’ve traveled across the galaxy and seen all the different people, I know in my heart that you’re still the one for me. 

> Lance would hate having to watch his s/o breakdown and sometimes he’d sneakily get them to Blue, pull them into the cockpit with him and have them sit on his lap for a calming ride in space.

Originally posted by auxias


> She’s most likely shorter than her s/o and to be perfectly honest this will be the one time she loves being short. She thinks her s/o gives the best hugs like they’re so warm and they feel like home!!

> She would have some trouble trying to understand the body image insecurity and the two often end up talking it out. She gets a better understanding of it with each conversation and she’s thankful that they’re willing to open up to her.

> Would do cute nerdy tech things to make them feel better about themself. It mostly includes Rover drifting over to them with sweet notes attached by a string if she’s feeling a little shy. 

> Pidge would only love to cuddle with her s/o and them only. She would hug them in any way possible, hold them close whenever their near each other, keep their hands always locked together, and so on and so forth. She would hold onto them and never let go for hours.

Originally posted by undinelance


> It would be kind of hard for him to help his s/o get over their insecurities because he deals with a lot of emotional damage himself but slowly, steadily they would help each other in little ways. Him telling them their the best that’s happened to him. Them saying that they feel like there’s no one else meant for them. It’s small but sappy.

> He would hate not being able to do anything so he goes to the others for advice and they all tell him contradicting things which only makes him even more unsure of what to do. He decides to hype the hell outta his s/o in whatever they’re wearing.

> He’d be sure to do it privately most of the time though or whispers it in their ear and makes sure that they’re feeling happy and confident with themself no matter what.

> Keith loves when they show off and makes sure that they always feel that way. He knows that they don’t think that they belong together and it hurts him but he understands why. He feels the same way but they come together and make each other feel more secure about themselves.

Originally posted by cryopcds


> He would notice the change of behavior almost immediately without having to have his s/o tell him. Even so, he would ask what was wrong and find a secluded place to talk, most likely his room. 

> He’d hate to have to watch it happen but he’d offer a lot of physical comfort and wise words in hopes that would make them feel better. He’d reassure them that he wouldn’t want anyone different. He’d keep them with him as long as they needed to as well.

> Shiro wouldn’t want to leave them alone when they feel so low but would if they needed some time to themself.

> He would litter his s/o with kisses whenever he could just because he loves them so much and wants to show it in anyway possible. This is his absolute favorite way to do so and would do it constantly. It usually ends in the two of them giggling like idiots but it’s too precious so no one stops them.

Originally posted by mordantmechanic


> He really wouldn’t understand what beauty standards are in the first place. But, it would still hurt his heart that his partner would think that he should be with someone else because he believes they were just made for each other.

> Hates it when they’re feeling upset over their weight because it’s just a number to him (but if it effects their health then he would do the best he could to help train them and make good meals).

> He’s known for his wise words but he would be so speechless to hear what his s/o thinks of themself when he finds them to be so perfect. He’d offer them some very sincere words from his heart in hopes of making them feel better.

> Coran genuinely would do anything in his power to help his s/o because he holds them so dearly.

Originally posted by kiguroomi


> Like Coran, she wouldn’t understand the beauty standard concept either because that’s not how her people were raised. Just thinking of being so judgmental makes her incredibly angry and she’d argue with anyone who agrees with the high expectations.

> Allura would adjust to helping her s/o feel confident and happy 24/7 but would also be there for them when they aren’t feeling at their best.

> She’d be very quiet about it though, only offering a physical touch or two before showering them with sweet and innocent affection. She wouldn’t stop until a smile comes to their face.

> Each time it happens she reminds them that they’re together for a reason and that she wouldn’t cut them off for such a silly reason. She’d cup their cheeks so they’d pout and call them cute until they giggled, she’d laugh too and give them more light kisses.

Originally posted by amirnizuno

Dating Malia Tate would include:

anon ask: Dating Malia Tate would include please?  

warning: mention of sex

Masterlist / Prompt List / Fandom List / Ask me anything!

Originally posted by teenwolf--imagines

  • such an overprotective girlfriend
  • everyone is a threat if it’s too close to you
  • you have to deal with confused malia 24/7
  • it’s cute though

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Jonerys Week: Day #2 - The One That Was Promised

A Note: I’ve decided that I’m going to link all seven days together as chronological pieces that could stand alone but fit together nicely. If you want to read them together, you can do so here.

This isn’t the right time, and Dany knows this. A warning, this is very dark, so if mentions of death disturb you, this might not be a piece you wish to partake in.

    When Melisandre had informed her that she believed the both she and The King in the North had something to do with the Prince or Princess that was promised, she hadn’t put too much thought into it. She didn’t much care for, and especially did not trust, people who wielded magic. Magic had killed her Rhaego, her son that she’d never even gotten to hold, and for that she hated even the thought of it. Though magic had given her her dragons, deep down, so deep she could barely admit it to herself, she would have rather had stone eggs and her little boy back. He would have had his fifth name day by now. She could have taken him across the narrow sea, far away from anyone who may kill him for being the son of a Khal. They could have lived a quiet life together with no one around who knew who she was.

    Since then, she had hoped to have a babe of her own, one she could hold and love and watch grow old. Just when she’d come to accept that she couldn’t have that, that she was to be the Mother of Dragons, never a man, and her legacy may die with her, she’d met him. He’d planted a small seed of doubt into her mind that maybe she could have that. Maybe that witch had been wrong, because he had said it, and he was so honorable. He couldn’t lie to her, or anyone else. If he said it, he believed it, and that had ignited a spark of hope inside her, only to disappear again. Jon had barely spoken to her since he’d learned the truth of his parentage. She’d told him it didn’t have to change anything. He didn’t have to tell a soul who his father was if he did not wish it, though she knew he was far too honorable to lie about something as big as that. “I don’t want the damn throne, I didn’t want any of this,” he’d said frustratedly, looking up into the leaves of the godswood tree he was leaning against. She had taken his head in her hands, told him that he didn’t need to take it. They likely wouldn’t even survive, and if they did, she could legitimize him as a Stark, the blood of his mother. She’d tried to kiss him, to press her lips against his until he stopped his brooding and calmed down, but he’d pushed her away. “You’re my blood, your grace,” he said it slowly, like he didn’t wish he’d had to say it at all. “We can’t continue on as we have been.” Tyrion had been right all along. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to fall in love with this man, especially now in the midst of war. There was too much going on for her to nurse a broken heart, and so she’d resolved to crush it instead. Bury it under layers and layers of herself like she had the death of her little boy until she could fit her queen’s mask firmly back on and hide it all away.

    She been ill as of late, not as ill to suspect she had been poisoned, but enough that she didn’t wish to partake in large amounts of food or drink. Her body ached and she often felt dizzy, but that was to be explained away. The new foods in the north were unfamiliar to her stomach, cold could easily settle in your bones, and perhaps her balance was off from spending too much time on Drogon and not enough on the ground. Soaking in a bath, warm from waters in the hot springs below Winterfell was quickly becoming her favorite time. Finally she could feel light again. Her feet wouldn’t ache so much, and her stomach would settle a bit as she stayed still. The warm water beckoned her to sleep. She was so tired as of late, but there wasn’t time for that, and when there was, she found her bed too cold to offer much comfort at all.

    Sitting enveloped in the warm water felt almost like she was being held again. Like she was being held in a warm bed as the sea rocked beneath her. Like Jon was holding her tightly as he had for over a moon on her ship as they sailed here. She missed Jon. She’d see him daily, in small counsel meetings, on the war front as they went on raids with the men who followed them, even sitting, alone for a moment under the godswood where he had told her they couldn’t continue. She hated herself for it, but try as she might, she couldn’t help wishing that he may knock on her door and tell her he had been a fool and he wanted to spend what could be their last few nights together. He might be with her, in the bath, his hands rubbing the pain in her back away. Kissing the bruises between her thighs from too much time spent on dragon back. Giving her something to fight for beyond her duty to her people. Duty was important, but it was cold, and for the Queen in her alone.

    She had sent everyone away but Missandei, who was helping her to undo the braids in her hair so she could wash it more thoroughly. The rhythmic tugging and pulling as her hair was slowly undone was familiar were so little else was. That’s when she felt it, a flutter in her stomach that had her leaning over the side of the tub, afraid she might be sick. Her stomach had been upset for long enough that she could never quite tell anymore whether or not she would be, and resigned herself to quietly hope whichever of the new foods upset her stomach, she would eventually get over it. Missandei moved to grab a basin for her, but she stopped her. She had had this feeling before, so long ago she was almost surprised to remember it, and yet how could she not? She moved a hand over her lower stomach, closing her eyes tightly and trying to focus only on that feeling. She could hear her friend asking what the matter was, but it was a far away sound as she felt the same little flutter. It made perfect sense but none at all. Her extended illness. The dizziness. The aches all over her body. She’d felt it all before, but she had been so sure that it couldn’t be that she’d dismissed it. She couldn’t any longer, not when she could feel her womb quickening under the palm of her hand.

    She could feel her cheeks dampening with tears and she didn’t even fully understand why. She had wanted a human child of her own so, so badly, but she had already made peace with the fact that she could very well die just days from now. She would die, and so would this life she was carrying within her. This innocent babe, half her, and half the man she couldn’t help but love, no matter how he had distanced himself, would die along with her. Her belly barely had a swell to it. She hadn’t been eating enough, had she? What kind of mother was she, to starve her baby before the child was even born. To condemn the babe to die along with her as it grew, tucked away and unaware. She had wanted this so badly and now it felt like a cruel and sick joke. Missandei was trying to get her attention, she knew it, but she couldn’t even sob. All she could do was let her tears run down her face in a stunned and heavy silence. The Red Woman had been right. This baby, was the child of her, and of Jon, the two pieces that had to fit together to give raise to the one who was promised. Promised to be conceived but not to live.

    Should she even tell Jon? He’d made it so clear that they couldn’t be as man and wife while she was his blood, and he hers. He was still so pained over learning the man he’d idolized as a boy was not his father, that the sister and brothers he loved were cousins by blood. So much had been taken from him so quickly, and it had made him cold to her where he had been so warm. How could she give him this burden as well? She herself was crushed under its weight. She didn’t want to crush him too. She loved him. She loved him so much that she couldn’t force this on him. If he managed to live through the battle, and she did not, he wouldn’t have to live with the grief of knowing his son or daughter had died along with her.

    “I am fine, Missandei, just an upset stomach,” she said absently to her friend. She couldn’t take her hand away from her belly.

to be continued

totally-not-anya  asked:

Yo! How would the inquisition companions react to a very clumsy inquisitor? Like they fall down a lot and they get tripped over things. (( I like your blog! ))

Varric is mildly amused, but also a little bit nostalgic. The Inquisitor’s clumsiness reminds him of Merrill and his time in Kirkwall. The good part is that he’s been through this before, so he knows how to deal with it, how to help make the Inquisitor’s life a little easier, and has tons of patience around them.

Cassandra is not as patient at first. She begins to question the notion that the Inquisitor is truly Andraste’s Herald. Why would the Maker choose someone so gawky? After she warms up to them, she starts seeing the Inquisitor for who they are as a person, and their lack of coordination becomes strangely endearing to her.

Solas takes notice of the Inquisitor’s ungracefulness soon after they first meet, but he doesn’t point it out to them or comment on it. Instead, he tries to help by suggesting subtle training adjustments, and even offering to mentor the Inquisitor himself.

Sera thinks it’s funny and she doesn’t see it as a flaw or weakness. It makes the Inquisitor all the more pleasant to her. If they’re clumsy, if they trip and fall and make mistakes, then they’re people. Real people. She likes that and wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Blackwall is concerned. For the Inquisition’s fate, but mostly for the Inquisitor’s own safety. He tries his best to be there for them and support them as well as he can, although he’s often unsure what to do or say. He offers his own advice about balance and posture, and keeps an eye on the Inquisitor to make sure they don’t hurt themselves too badly.

Vivienne isn’t surprised by the Inquisitor’s lack of grace. In truth, she didn’t except much from them. As she gets to know them better and sees they’re a capable leader, her opinion changes, and she even offers a few tips and tricks. Her experience with wearing high heels even in combat without stepping on her robes certainly comes in handy.

The Iron Bull doesn’t think much of it. As long as the Inquisitor gets the job done and there are less demons and less holes in the sky, he’s happy to tag along. He jokes that the Inquisitor wouldn’t make a good Ben-Hassrath agent and always tries to make the situation as non-awkward as possible. 

Dorian jokes about it too, and on occasion he might even hurt the Inquisitor’s feelings with the things he says. He doesn’t mean to and when he realizes, he tries to make amends by putting his magic skills and knowledge to good use. He comes up with spells and enchantments to help the Inquisitor with daily tasks and protect them from accidentally hurting themselves.

Cole doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal. The ground can be anywhere in the Fade, but the waking world has an up and a down, and the Inquisitor seems to get confused about which is which. That’s okay; Cole gets confused too. If the Inquisitor trips over and falls, he sits down next to them, “I didn’t know you fell. I thought you wanted to sit on the ground. It’s nice down here.” 

done chasing ;;

Summary: How do you chase after someone who’s chasing someone else? 

Word Count: 3,192

Tags: Bridgette/Felix ; Identity Reveal

ao3 won’t post this right now; will add link later.


There was never a doubt Bridgette loved Felix.

She loved him more than anything; he had been kind to her when no one else had, made her feel welcomed and to an extent, loved. She wanted nothing more than to return the favor; let him know he was wanted, had someone he could depend on.

Sure, she came on strong but Bridgette wasn’t one to back down easily.

Not when he rejected her offer to go to the park; or the library; or the music festival; or the café down the street. Not when she got doused with water from that puddle; when she burned her tongue on the tea she had gotten to impress him.

She kept going on; telling herself that it was all worth it if he ever said yes. And Bridgette believed he would; as long as there was even a chance he’d say yes to her - just once, if only to get her out of his hair - she would keep charging on.

That’s what she did; leapt into action and let her heart guide her.

So why was she hiding behind a column, listening to her mind for once?

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Blend In - Part V (Finale)

Originally posted by bucha-nan

Summary: Y/N had always been an expert at blending in. That was until Bucky found out her secrets and encourages her to deal with all her demons.

A/N: Thank you all for your support on this little series! It means the world to me! If you have any requests or anything, feel free to send them in!

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, self harm, eating disorders


It had been 3 months since Y/N’s shocking reveal to the rest of the Avengers team.

Immediately afterwards she had regretted ever confessing any of her secrets and wished she had just remained quiet and stayed out of everyone’s way, but now, finally on the other side of things, she was happy she was found out and forced to face her demons.

That following morning, she had packed up her things, with the assistance of Bucky, and was sent on her way to a rehabilitation facility a few hours away in the countryside of New York. Tony had, of course, pulled a few strings and gotten her a spot at one of the best facilities around. After her bags had been packed and taken out the car, she said her goodbyes to everyone, holding back her tears. She was worried about how things would be when she returned; would they treat her differently, would they even want to work with her anymore?

Y/N turned to Bucky and gave him a small smile and wrapped her arms around him. He felt so warms and solid; she knew she would miss him most of all. A few tears spilled over and she made to wipe them away quickly but he beat her to it, gently wiping them away with his thumb.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she confessed as he rested his forehead against hers. She inhaled deeply, trying to remember his warm scent.

“I’m going to miss you too,” he agreed, “but it won’t be forever. You’ll be back before you know it.”


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