sounds like marbles in her mouth

Stars in the Night: Chapter 10

You are welcome friends. 

Let me know your thoughts. :) <– low key evil smile

Word count: 1,943

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Today was the day.

The day of the Rite.

Lady Lunafreya was to awaken the Hydrean in order for the Leviathan to give it’s blessing to the rightful King… Noctis.

The group of five had stayed in Altissia for a number of days, but it didn’t seem to be enough. They understood the Rite would put the people of Accordo at risk. Not only from the Imperial Empire, but from the Leviathan herself. The Imperial Army did not care about the casualties… they only cared about stopping Noctis from earning the Goddess’s blessing and gaining more power.

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Originally posted by harleyquinnoficial

Requested by anon<3
Prompt:  Imagine being a child and surprising everyone by calling the Joker ‘Daddy!’ (im both sorry and not sorry that all the Joker fans are about…)
A/N: i’m not lmao. love writing these but the only that pisses me off is that there are hardly any gifs!!!

MASTERLIST.

A three-year-old you yanked Harley’s hair, making the female yelp and fake laugh, sending an annoyed look Deadshot’s way. The man only shrugged, forced to sit by a tea table along with Mister Destructicon the Bear and Guts the Rabbit. Your giggle ringed in the semi-empty playroom, the puffy dress you wore dirty with paint splatters, as was  your (complexion) face.

“Pst,” Harley motioned at Deadshot, “Pst!” she saw the man roll his eyes. Quinn quickly turned to see where you were – getting tea ready – and hurried to Floyd “Why did puddin’ leave us here? Whose kid is this?”

“Does it look like I have any idea what’s going on?” Floyd growled.

The cracking sound of porcelain cups smashing onto the marble floor made both members of the Suicide Squad turn their heads to a beaming you, hands flown in the air with a glimmer in your eyes.

“Daddy! Daddy!” You exclaimed in joy, dashing across the playroom and jumping straight into your father’s arms.

“I’m here, pumpkin.” The Joker replied in such a sweet tone Harley through she was hallucinating. Her mouth resembled an o shape, her eyes as big as plates as she pointed a finger and the lovely father-daughter moment the two of you were having. She turned her head in disbelieve to Deadshot, wordlessly asking ‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?!’, finding him shell shocked.

“Were they playing nice?” the Joker asked you. You seemed to think for a moment, pouting and glancing at the two now terrified criminals.

“I don’t like Harley’s hair.” You declared, making the older female gulp. The Joker glanced from you to Harley Quinn and back, his hand reaching for his pocket and swiftly taking out a hunting knife.

“Well then,” he handed it to you, the same bright smile returning to your face “-you’re free to cut it off.”

Requests are opened!

littleblue-eyedbird  asked:

Fenris out of no where having vivid dreams of Hawke who was left in the fade, and he realizes it's her reaching out to him?

The sun is hot on his face, glaring down from an endless stretch of turquoise sky, and it’s like fire filling his lungs when he breathes. Beads of perspiration cling to his brow, only to trickle down his neck to soak the fabric of his fine shirt. Short-lived jewels holding no real worth, but then they’re all he’s ever owned. The marbled tiles are cool against the bare soles of his feet, and he catches the hurried song of running servants’ steps, and the familiar, lilting tones of the language that’s etched on his bones. The air drums with talk and movement, but always out of sight, as servants should be.

(As you should be)

The thought crawls with unease along his spine, attaching itself like a too-tight garment that used to fit, once. It’s like he’s suddenly too big for his skin, and he fidgets, restless and aching to run, but something keeps him from moving, some deep-rooted, unconscious knowledge he can’t put his finger on.

Then – a servant passes him by, a faceless shape refusing to meet his eyes, and it’s a sudden shock, remembering. And not just where he is but who, what–

(Little wolf, where is your pack?)

–and then he’s choking on the warm air, the pressure on his chest like hot, heavy coals. And there are no shackles around his wrists but he feels them regardless, pinning him down, keeping him in place, like a dutiful pet who knows the limits of its freedom, and does not need a physical reminder to stay put.

It’s wrong – it’s all wrong, he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t but he is, and he can’t remember how he got here or from where. And the more he thinks about it the harder it becomes, piecing together why it is he doesn’t belong, and if he’s not supposed to be here, then where? And–

A hand clamps down over his wrist, slender fingers gripping with enough strength to physically drag his gaze back up from where he’s curled in on himself, and it’s a different sky reflected in her eyes, staring fiercely from the sharp angles of her face.

“Fenris,” Hawke says, voice firm. Not unkind – she is not unkind, he thinks, remembers, although he doesn’t know how he knows. She is not his master.

Is she?

“Fenris!” she snaps, and it takes him a moment to realise he’s spoken the question out loud.

The fierceness bleeds from her face then, leaving something desperately soft, something that’s almost pleading slipping through the cracks of her hard countenance, and he wonders idly, not understanding, why his words should warrant such a visceral reaction.

“Fenris, it’s just a dream,” she says then, taking a step closer, into his personal space, as though she belongs there – as though she’s long since made herself comfortable, but how could that be? She’s not his master. He knows who his master is and it’s not her, with her too-blue eyes and her fiercely pleading face.

Then, before he’s had the chance to ask she’s got her palms pressed flat against his shoulders, and he’s too stunned to react to the touch, to the intimate closeness and the shock of warmth from her hands, fingers digging into his collar like she’s intent on imprinting her entire being on his.

“Listen to me! You’re having a nightmare.”

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So?

Sorry for the long wait anon! Here ya go and I hope you enjoy 😊

•••••


It wasn’t meant to be a party. Or at least you didn’t think it was anyways. But here you were, ten feet away from a girl who seemed like she was enveloped in crystals, wondering where he hell is Harry. It had been weeks even. Weeks since you’d seen him. Harry had evolved to your best friend. It was only through texts and a few skypes- which had deceased since his movie and your upcoming exam- and when the thick birthday invitation was sent from him, your mouth dropped when his scrabbled words asked you to come as his plus one. It was the semester break, and you had a few days to spare. It was confusing, for you had no idea who this girl was. Apparently it was an exclusive birthday party. You assumed she was the girl in the pretty dress. The length of it short, but flashy and elegant. All you knew was the words on the invitation where it said he was close friends with her.

But now the night overcame your senses. The smell of food and the sound of people blabbering. It made it harder to identify the man clad in a rich colored suit. Vibrant in a color that when you did see him around the mystery girl, you tried not to gawk at its profoundness. It was Harry though, and the suit tailored his biceps impeccably. 

Swift quick of his hair starting to slightly curl at its intertwined ends, its length growing out the tiniest bit. You stared at its small shape before making your way over solemnly. The time that had taken his presence was something that put a sense of electricity between his and your body, sparking the second you step between a hug him and the girl shared. You heart beat shook in the ribcage that failed to contain its pounding. The pulse of it smothered your entire body. So much that as you opened your mouth to speak, only a fumbling gasp escaped. It sounded like a content sigh of excitement under the lights. They looked so pretty against the porcelain of his marble skin. Like an aurora to glow from his smile. A smile that covered his mouth as he broke from his embrace and looked you in the eye happily.

“Hey! Haven’t see yeh in.a while. How the doin’?” The words were mumbles just enough to notice that he was one his first drink. He was sober though. Sober enough to gesture towards the girl and speak once more.

“Love, this is Kendall. This is her party”

“Happy Birthday! Nice to meet you.” You spoke. Although Harry and you were just on a friendly basis, he was rather touchy when he was drunk,and something about the way his hands on her made you uncomfortable. You bit your tongue however as you hugged him and tried to suppress your feelings. Your hold on his body was tighter. Like only he was allowed to make butterflies in your stomach.

“Wanna drink?” He asked. But he already speeds off before you could answer.

And maybe it was the way her body was sculpted. Maybe it was the beautiful glint in her eye that drawers you in as well. Maybe it was her nimble fingers or flawless skin or silky hair that drifted down her back. Or maybe it was the realization that you stood here envious and jealous of her attention.

Your brows sew together the slightest when thinking about it. The feelings were becoming more prominent, but the thought of rejection sent your lips into a pressed line. Minutes passed by and you were about to excuse yourself. Kendall was nice though, and that seems like the small talk dragged on for ages.

Luckily, Harry returned before before it got awkward, and a red, fruity drink was placed into your hand.

Kendall had a glowing smile on her face, one that was mimicked in his own. He looked a little more sober from his trip to the bar. Perhaps it was the crowd you saw behind him that lessened the mischievous grin. His expression was a little more clouded. But the smile he held never once became diluted under his sight.

Before you could realize it, you jaw released and shoulders hung the slightest. The crinkles of your black dress falling the slightest against the skin of your barely visible cleavage. Your fingers unstuck themselves one by one and clamped back around the glass like links. You felt odd at the feeling, but Kendall’s presence put a sour taste where your sweet sangria should be. You peered down at the bloody red liquid for the first time and felt a lump in your throat. Whatever you were feeling was threading a glare at the lanky girl who did nothing wrong, prodding and poking at you temptation to kiss the man.

It was when you swirled down the remaining dribbles of your drink that she strolled away, her hips and sparkly dress swaying along her hips as she walked. You envied her ability to catch his attention like that. You weren’t aware however, of his beautiful eyes that gleaned at your body as your own pair followed her path away.

“Yeh look a lil’ tense love. Yeh alright?” You let out a shaky breath as his hands glides along your shoulder. His fingers linger a little too long and it’s a second of direct eyes contact before they drop to his side. They look a little stronger and bigger than the last time you saw them, and the tan skin stands bright against the smooth ink.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Little uneasy with all these people.” You sighed. He was such a distraction. A unwanted twinge of jealousy was along your skin and you prayed he wouldn’t notice your suddenly sour attitude. 

Before you knew it, he was leading through a merciless crowd of partiers and to a secluded section marked with a velvet rope. There was one person who had just exited the space, and now the leather couch was your’s and Harry’s.

“Harry it’s fine. I’m fine” You insisted. It was a straight lie. Here was a man you adored in every sense of he word, mumbling and becoming a little too friendly with a certain super model. You were definitely not fine.

“I know you. You’re not. S’wrong? Yeh actin’ pouty.”

Your eyes focused on your lap. He set his fruity drink on the nearby nightstand, then joining his hands together while they rest by your knee.

Your heart was crazy. A spontaneous blush erupting through your neck and cheeks. The words fumbling and indecipherable with tension, hanging on the edge of your quivering lips. It pained you to admit such weakness and vulnerability. Like it was disappointing to say that you weren’t confident enough to be comfortable around him. 

“It’s jus’….you and- her…..” You choppy words trailed on as they melted into a sigh. A sickeningly smirk grew on Harry’s lips.

He chuckled before grabbing your hand and saying,

“Aw love. Yeh jealous aren’ yeh?” 

You brought your head up with a scowl. He was taunting you. You were admitting your feelings for him and he was sitting here, taunting you with that devilish smirk.

“Am not.” You retorted. 

He cocked his head and and slouched his shoulders, pushing his body closer to yours. Green eyes wrecking havoc on your own as you two kept eye contact.

“Yeh jealous baby” He says. Your heart dies a double take. Although your emotions were going crazy at the moment, you never failed to notice his intoxicating affect on you.

“So?” You retort.

“So? Yeh feelin’ tha’ way yeh shoulda told me”

You purse your lips and twist your head to the side to look at him a little crookedly. A sad smile crawls onto your lips.

“I like you Harry. Too much. Too much to see you all flirty with a model.” You speak. The words sounded deeper and more dense when spoken out loud. Harry raised a hand to strike your cheek. Your heart soared like a million birds.

Without a warning, his mouth covered yours in a sweet kiss. Gentle and affectionate, but meaningful and there. Lips warm and pleasant along the sugary surface of your own. He was showing you his feelings because words weren’t enough. They would never be. The lengthy span of time between you two had shown that.

“You kissed me.” You acknowledged out loud. You had to. It didn’t sound true in the screaming of your mind.

“I kissed you” He replied. A Cheshire grin took over his face and planted two deep dimples at his rosy cheeks.

“So I’ll do it again” He whispered, already leaning in and fluttering his eyes to a close when your mouths met.

Veela | A Dramione Ficlet with a Lucissa Epilogue

“Son.”  Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway of Draco’s rooms, looking unwontedly ill at ease.  “May I come in?”

Their relationship had been strained since the war.  Draco found he resented his parent’s slavish early devotion to the Dark Lord while simultaneously being grateful they’d broken free at the end.  They were grateful he was alive and resented his surly attitude.  It made for uncomfortable mealtimes and they tended to avoid each other between those meals.

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Metal Torture - Chapter 7

Author’s Note: I took a little different approach in this chapter, writing Mister J’s perspective in.  This won’t be the last time it happens. 😆 I really enjoying writing from his point of view and I hope I do it justice.

Thank you for your continued love and support.  This chapter isn’t quite as long as some of my previous chapters, so I’ll be updating Chapter 8 later today.  So much love and appreciation for you all. ❤❤

Warnings: Lots of language and smut. 😉

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Let’s play a game.”

I clapped my hands in agreement, my eyes twinkling excitedly. I sat cross-legged on the bed, his form slumped in a chair by the fireplace.

“You go hide,” Mister J began. “And if I find you, you have to give me a treat.”

It was silly and ridiculous and I was just delirious and bored enough to be game. I was running from the bedroom before he could say another word.

“Count to fifty and come and find me.” I yelled over my shoulder, pulling the door shut behind me. I turned back, popping my head back inside. “No cheating.”

Mister J gave me a mocking look of hurt and I ran off giggling and giddy.

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Can You Think Yourself Into a Different Person?

by Will Storr, Mosaic Science

For years she had tried to be the perfect wife and mother but now, divorced, with two sons, having gone through another break-up and in despair about her future, she felt as if she’d failed at it all, and she was tired of it. On June 6, 2007, Debbie Hampton, of Greensboro, North Carolina, took an overdose. That afternoon, she’d written a note on her computer: “I’ve screwed up this life so bad that there is no place here for me and nothing I can contribute.” Then, in tears, she went upstairs, sat on her bed, and put on a Dido CD to listen to as she died.

But then she woke up again. She’d been found, rushed to hospital, and saved. “I was mad,” she says. “I’d messed it up. And, on top of that, I’d brain-damaged myself.” After Debbie emerged from her one-week coma, her doctors gave her their diagnosis: encephalopathy. “That’s just a general term which means the brain’s not operating right,” she says. She couldn’t swallow or control her bladder, and her hands constantly shook. Much of the time, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. She could barely even speak. “All I could do was make sounds,” she says. “It was like my mouth was full of marbles. It was shocking, because what I heard from my mouth didn’t match what I heard in my head.” After a stay in a rehabilitation center, she began recovering slowly. But, a year in, she plateaued. “My speech was very slow and slurred. My memory and thinking was unreliable. I didn’t have the energy to live a normal life. A good day for me was emptying the dishwasher.”

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A Happy Birthday ficlet for hippymamalove  (FF.net)

“Son.”  Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway of Draco’s rooms, looking unwontedly ill at ease.  “May I come in?”

Their relationship had been strained since the war.  Draco found he resented his parent’s slavish early devotion to the Dark Lord while simultaneously being grateful they’d broken free at the end.  They were grateful he was alive and resented his surly attitude.  It made for uncomfortable mealtimes and they tended to avoid each other between those meals.

“Of course,” Draco said with as much graciousness as he could muster.  “It’s your house, after all,” he muttered as his father stepped across the threshold.

Lucius grimaced at that but didn’t say anything, just settled himself in one of the arm chairs Narcissa had had covered to match the green bedspread the year Draco had decided he wanted only Slytherin colors in his room.  “Draco,” he began, “when a boy grows up he may experience certain… changes.  You may begin to feel urges that – “

Draco cut him off.  “Father,” he said, his voice tight with embarrassment, “I’ve known how to do a contraceptive charm for quite some time now.”

“That’s… that’s good but it’s not,” Lucius stopped and shook his head.  “Have you actually…” He trailed off.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Draco said, his arms crossed as he glared at his father, “but no.  The war kind of made that impossible.  But you don’t need to worry about me coming home with a half-blood embarrassment.  Hogwarts made sure we all knew how to –“

“It’s not that,” Lucius said.

“- And I’ve known for years that masturbation doesn’t make you blind and – “

“Draco!”

“ – And I’m eighteen years old so don’t you think this little sex talk is a tiny bit late?”

“You’re a Veela.”  Lucius just got the words out as quickly as he could

Draco’s mouth had been open to continue talking but just gaped at his father and no words came out until, at last, he said, “Not possible.  We’re purebloods.”

Lucius nodded.  “Of course, but Veela blood isn’t considered impure, and once you find your mate it won’t even impact your life that much.”

“Find my what?”

Lucius took a deep breath and, now that Draco was really paying attention began to explain.  Malfoy men were Veela.  It wasn’t well known outside certain select families but it was true.  When they matured they began to experience intense cravings for a single sexual partner.  The bond was irreversible and absolute.  At the mention of ‘marking’, a term that made Draco cringe, he stopped his father’s horrifying monologue.

“A Mark?” he said.  “I think I’ve had enough ‘Marking’ to last me forever.”

“You won’t be able to…” Lucius sighed. “It’s not like what happened with…”

“You mean it won’t seem like a good idea at the time only to turn into a bloody chain tying me to what is not a good idea at all?”  Draco demanded.

“When you find your mate –“

“A mate.  Like a fucking swan.  Or an albatross.  Great.”

“ – You’ll understand.  When your mother and I – “

“No.  I refuse to think about you biting mother in some hideous, animalistic bonding ritual.  That is just… no.”  Draco looked like he wanted to throw up.  

Lucius sighed again.  “Draco,” he said, trying to be as patient as he could.  “You don’t have a choice.”

“What?”

“If you don’t find a mate – your mate, because you’ll fixate on one woman – you’ll waste away.”

“This just gets better and better,” Draco said.  “So, find a nice girl, explain I’m not a pureblood but some vile creature, and, oh, by the way, would she mind if I started gnawing on her shoulder because if I don’t I’ll pine away into nothingness.”  He slouched into the armchair that matched the one Lucius was in.  “Any more bad news?  Do I have to drink blood or do I turn into a wolf at the full moon or anything?”

“No, no werewolf,” Lucius said.  “No vampire.  There are the wings, of course, – “

“Wings?”  Draco lifted his head.  “Wings?

“- And claws but only if you aren’t able to control your emotions.”

Draco mouthed something that might have been ‘fucking great’ but didn’t say anything else out loud; he just slumped lower in his chair and buried his face in his hands.  

“You’ll know your mate when you meet her,” Lucius said in a tone that was probably meant to be encouraging. “Now that you’re an adult and the… the urges… are going to start happening you’ll know her the moment you see her, even if you’ve walked past her a hundred times before and never noticed anything.  We’ll have a party, invite everyone we can, you can just mingle and you’ll find her.”

“Because if I don’t I waste away,” Draco muttered.  “And then I get to convince some girl to let me start chewing on her.”

“You’re a Malfoy,” Lucius said, a hint of the familiar arrogance back in his voice now that this painful conversation was almost over.  “And the old pureblood families all know about Veelas.  No one will – “

“Object that I’m some filthy magical creature.  I get it.”  Draco shuddered.  “Could you get out now?  Please?”  

After Lucius nodded and left Draco raked his fingernails down his arm, over the Mark he couldn’t get rid of, couldn’t hide, leaving a series of long red lines before he bent over and tried not to sob.  “Why couldn’t he just been talking about wanking off?” he muttered to himself.  “Why?”

… … … .

The party was a success, even by Narcissa Malfoy’s high standards.  Despite their family’s questionable social standing after the war she’d managed to convince enough people that this affair – supposedly a fund-raiser to help rebuild small businesses in Diagon Alley – was not to be missed that both ballrooms had been opened and people flowed from one to the other, champagne glasses in hand, while house elves bobbed in and out of the crowd balancing trays of starters on hands held above their heads.

Draco moved through the crowd a smile plastered to his face, sleeves down to hide his Mark.  He’d begun to feel the urges his father had discussed and the need to find this woman had started to feel all-consuming.  They weren’t even sexual, which was what he had expected.  He just needed to find her and smell her, touch her.  He’d sit at her feet and ask nothing more if she’d just let him.

Assuming he could find her.

If he couldn’t it became clearer with every passing day that his father hadn’t been exaggerating when he said, “waste away.”

He’d walked through the party for hours, making endless small talk with his mother’s friends and their boring daughters and felt nothing.  Not a spark.  Not a flicker.  Nothing.  He’d had a brief, truly horrifying moment, when he’d seen Ron Weasley and Harry Potter and felt something churn in his stomach but it had been some kind of false alarm.  The three of them had exchanged tense pleasantries and Harry had mentioned that that Mudblood friend of his would be along later with Ron’s little sister.

Draco hoped, the strangest hope he’d ever had, that it would be Ginny Weasley.  His father had told him, in a second equally awful conversation, that his mate would be equally drawn to him.  “Like a bee to nectar,” he’d said.

“Or a moth to bloody flame,” Draco had muttered but he’d been grateful to realize that he wasn’t going to have to actually court this mystery woman.  She might be as unhappy about the entire situation as he was but she’d no more be able to control her urges than he would.  

Ginny Weasley was pureblood, at least, and taking the Chosen One’s girlfriend would give him a certain malicious amount of pleasure even if she was a blood traitor and kind of irritating.

“I’ll be so good to you, whoever you are,” Draco whispered under his breath as he made his way to the foyer to try to breathe in a little cooler air before he reentered the fray.  “I’ll do anything you want, just make this burning need for you go away.  Just keep me from dying.  I know I’m a… just…”

Ginny Weasley came out of the small lounge, her head turned to talk to someone behind her, and Draco felt nothing.  Not her, then.  Well, that was to be expected.  Hundreds of girls at this damn party and not one of them was his mate.  Not one of them was his lifeline.  He turned to trudge back into the ballroom when he felt a hissed intake of breath behind him followed by the sound of glass shattering on the marble floor.

He turned.  Hermione Granger was standing there, her hand to her mouth and a broken champagne flute at her feet.

“You’ll ruin your shoes,” Draco said stupidly as he stared at the splashes of wine on what looked like satin high heels.

Ginny looked from one of them to the other, her confusion evident.  “Hermione,” she said, “are you okay.”

“I don’t… I need to sit down,” Hermione whispered.  

Draco rushed to drag a chair across the floor to her, the Weasley girl staring at him as if he’d grown a second head – or sprouted wings, he thought with a frown – the whole time.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as she sat down.  “I just… I’m sorry; this is very embarrassing.  I just felt suddenly faint.  I’m sure…” She put a hand out as if to steady herself and Draco leaned down to kiss the back of it.  She jerked when his lips brushed against her skin and he felt his own stomach lurch.

“Granger,” Draco said, then tried again, “Miss Granger.  I have something I need to tell you.”

By the time he was done Ginny Weasley had dragged over a chair of her own, ordered more champagne from a passing house elf, and peppered him with questions while Hermione sat there, as if in a state of shock, her hand nervously playing with his hair.  She’d run her fingers down a strand and then let it go, only to pick it up again.  Draco knelt in the puddle of champagne at her feet, bits of glass cutting into his lower legs, as he explained and re-explained the situation.

“This is not fair,” Hermione said at last.

“I am aware,” Draco said, fighting the urge to rest his cheek on her knee.  He expected her to rail against her own unwelcome bond to him, to the boy who’d made her school years unpleasant with taunts, who had thought of her as a Mudblood not an hour ago.  

“How can you be just trapped like this,” was, however, what she said.  “You… no one even told you?  Not until you were on the cusp of dying because you had to find… is this party really about Diagon Alley?”

“I can assure you,” he said, “a not insubstantial sum has been raised to help businesses rebuild.”

“But this was to find me,” she said.  

“The Malfoy family is matching all donations,” Draco said helplessly as he wiped his sweating hands on his trousers.  

“Was it the war?” she demanded.  “Did no one warn you because of the war?”

Draco looked at her, confused, but Ginny was beginning to smirk.  “The bond really does go both ways,” she said.  “Well, Draco Malfoy, welcome to having Hermione Granger outraged on your behalf.”  She stood up.  “I need to go find Ron.  This is the best thing ever.  He might actually turn purple.”

“Shite,” Draco looked at Hermione. “You’re with Weasley.  I…” The earlier idea that he’d enjoy gloating on getting to steal the Chosen One’s girlfriend was replaced by horror at the idea Hermione might be made upset in any way at all.

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “We realized almost immediately after the war that… are you bleeding?”

Draco looked down at his knees. The blood from where her broken glass had cut him had seeped through his trousers and was tinting the puddle in which he was kneeling.  “Just a little,” he said.  “It’s not a – “

“Do you lack any sense of self-preservation at all?” she asked in an aggrieved voice.  “Merlin, get up and let me heal your knees.”

He pulled himself to Ginny’s chair and flinched as the witch next to him yanked broken glass out of his skin with one incantation.  “Thank you,” he said right before she leaned over and, as if unable to help herself, pressed her lips into his.  He groaned and pulled her forward over the heavy chair until she was half in his lap, her mouth on his, his tongue licking uncertainly at hers.

That was how Harry Potter and Ron Weasley found them.

For years whenever Ginny told the story of how she was there when Draco and Hermione Malfoy realized they were meant to be, she ended it with, “And Ron did turn purple.  Three different shades.”  She always sounded so pleased about that.  “Three,” she’d say, shaking her head with pleasure.  “Three shades, if you can believe it.”

(More dramione drabbles by colubrina on FF.net)

scrawniest-calamity  asked:

Prompt: super close to hooking up but not yet or super new Bechloe together. Drunken Beca (not as drunk Chloe) are in the kitchen and Beca starts singing/rapping "remix to ignition" complete with lewd hand gestures and sloppy body rolls. "I'mma take my key, stick it in your ignition..." "Give me that toot toot, let me get that beep beep!" You know. Also, this results in good things.

It started innocently enough.

If you considered entirely too much peach vodka “innocent” enough. 

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On Pearl’s view of humanity

“Oh, Steven. Humans just lead short, boring, insignificant lives, so they make up stories to feel like they’re a part of something bigger. They want to blame all the world’s problems on some single enemy they can fight, instead of a complex network of interrelated forces beyond anyone’s control.” -Pearl, in Keep Beach City Weird

“Everything I ever did, I did for her. Now she’s gone, but I’m still here. Sometimes, I wonder if she can see me through your eyes. Oh, what would she think of me now?” -Pearl, referring to Rose Quartz, in Rose’s Scabbard

These two lines really, really need to be addressed together.

Line #1 was an offhand, casual shutdown of the nature of humanity, when Steven was upset at hurting Ronaldo’s feelings. She was seemingly trying to comfort him, as if he shouldn’t worry about it, it’s better this way since he’s being realistic now. She doesn’t care that Steven is depressed about it, or that Ronaldo is apparently heartbroken. Humans are better off not being disillusioned- which is probably why she’s willing to say those things about humanity to Steven, who is half-human. It’s better, she thinks, that he not have any false ideas about his people: humans are insignificant and take great, pathetic lengths convince themselves that they matter.

But Pearl isn’t exactly a happy individual. We see throughout the series that she has a lot going on that we don’t know about. As realistic, logical and rational as she is, it doesn’t make her any happier, and- as she acknowledges in line #2- it doesn’t make her a better person in the eyes of the one she so desperately wants to please.

It’s really important to acknowledge the hypocrisy in her spiel about the nature of humanity. She even uses the word “insignificant.” It sounds like something we would hear out of Peridot’s mouth, or Jasper’s. Rose Quartz would absolutely never have condoned or accepted that attitude from one of the Crystal Gems.

I think Pearl realizes that. I think her attitude is part of the reasoning behind line #2. She’s trying so hard to live up to the legacy Rose Quartz left behind, and she tries so hard to empathize and care for this planet and its creatures, but the truth is she’s tired. And it isn’t getting any easier. Rose’s Scabbard occurred right after Marble Madness, the episode where we met Peridot for the second time, and it became clear that another war against the Gem Homeworld was coming. Pearl is scared and unsure and she’s constantly trying to look like she knows what she’s doing. She left everything to be with Rose Quartz on this planet she didn’t particularly care for, and now Rose is gone. The resulting bitterness, confusion, resentment are probably a source of shame for Pearl. She knows Rose Quartz wouldn’t have wanted Pearl to harbor negative feelings toward Earth, but she can’t help it. That must be so painful.

But that doesn’t make her attitude any less problematic. It doesn’t change that that line was mean and unfair. It doesn’t change the fact that those humans are allowed to live their insignificant lives and make themselves happy- which is everything Rose Quartz fought for.

I can’t describe how disappointed I am when people agree with Pearl’s speech. It needs to be acknowledged that Pearl is a great character with many flaws, and that proves it. I can’t wait to see the show explore them in the future.

so what if Peggy and Angie are both kind of new to this girls-with-other-girls thing and they start doing research

(no, not that kind of “research” – well, yes, that kind too, but also the other kind)

and one night they go to a lesbian bar in Brooklyn that they heard about after some very careful inquiries among the Griffin Hotel’s inmates (most of whom are in a position to know) and it’s fun, but they notice that the couples tend to be one woman in a dress and one woman in men’s clothing

“Well, surely it isn’t a requirement,” says Peggy, back in Angie’s apartment.

“I dunno, English,” Angie says. “It might be kinda fun.”

The next time Peggy walks into Angie’s room, ready for a night on the town, she finds the little waitress decked out in the very finest from Sol’s secondhand store down the street: unfashionably narrow trousers rolled up twice at the cuffs, boys’ wingtip shoes, a too-big khaki uniform shirt bloused out at the waist. Angie’s hair is tucked up under a newsboy’s cap, her thumbs are tucked under a pair of bright red suspenders, and she’s grinning like the tiniest, snottiest, trouble-makingest punk kid who ever got in a back-alley scuffle over a game of marbles.

“Heya, hot stuff,” Angie says, trying to pitch her voice deep and sounding like a twelve-year-old with a cold. “You wanna go dancin?”

And for a moment Peggy remembers another tiny, smart-mouthed punk kid: always swimming in his uniform, always falling behind, earnest and deathly awkward but with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes for all that. The memory surprises her with its uncomplicated sweetness; there’s a flash of pain, but it’s faint, and for the first time pushing it away doesn’t feel like betrayal.

“Yes,” Peggy says, and smiles, slipping her hand into the crook of Angie’s proffered arm. “Yes, I do.”

Curiosity [Outlaw Queen Prompt]

Prompt provided by melazon. Thank you :)!

She’s chasing after Roland in the woods (thank God she switched to more sensible shoes after the weekly town council meeting), darting under low-lying tree branches and skirting around particularly juicy-looking patches of dirt and leaves plastered to the ground. She hears his giddy laughter grow louder in the diminishing distance and it only makes her go faster, eager to tickle more laughs out of her little monkey when she finally catches up to him.

“Papa?” his voice is carried by a gentle breeze from somewhere off to her right and she charges impatiently forward, a stupid smile lighting up her face.

“Papa,” she hears him call again, “what’s that place? Are you going to go in?”

Regina comes to an abrupt halt as her long strides bring her to an all too familiar clearing in the forest, the break in momentum nearly knocking her off her feet, and then the sight before her brings her to her knees.

In her carelessly carefree state she hadn’t realized how close they’d gotten to her family crypt, the collection of hearts hidden within vibrating straight to her core with their tandem beats—it’s positively creepy how well she can sense them now that she’s trying—or is that her own heart now, pounding violently in her chest? She’s paralyzed with fear, she should’ve known this day would come but why did it have to be now, or ever, as Robin takes his son’s hand and together they examine the wrought iron panels with an inquisitive touch, fingers closing around the handle of the door.

“Shall we see what’s inside, my boy?” he asks Roland, who claps excitedly, always eager for a new adventure.

“No,” Regina starts to say, but it comes out faint, she’s too far away, and then she’s too late. She watches helplessly as they disappear into the mausoleum.

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anonymous asked:

MORE DORIAN AND MANON KINK

HERE WE GOOOOOO (imma just insert some fluff at the end forgive me, I’ve waited too long for these two idiots to be together in any way)


SET POST WAR AND MANON AND DORIAN’S RELATIONSHIP JUST STARTED GETTING SERIOUS. LET’S ASSUME MANON AND HER THIRTEEN ARE STAYING AT ADARLAN FOR THE MEAN TIME AS THEY WATCH OVER THE REBUILDING OF IT UNDER AELIN’S COMMAND.


Manon leaned down deeper into the bathtub, the water reaching up to her shoulder and above her breasts. 

Finally. Finally time to just relax.

Before Asterin put some sense into her years ago, she had only been a mindless soul following her grandmother’s orders. Now, after escaping her and teaming up with Aelin, she could say that she finally knew the meaning of relaxation. 

“Manon?” She heard a deep voice call out from her bedroom. The voice of her newfound lover.

After defeating Erawan and putting him back to his realm, Dorian had finally had time to straighten out his emotions. He had learned to live with the fact that Sorscha was gone and that it wasn’t his fault. But he only managed to do so with Manon. As hardheaded and vicious looking as she was on the outside, she had a heart of gold in the inside. After spending enough time with Aelin’s court, she had finally learned to put down her walls and to simply enjoy. She reminded him everyday that it wasn’t his fault. How he even managed to fight through the Valg prince was amazing in her eyes. 

“I’m in here, Dorian,” he heard her voice call out from their bathroom. 

A mischievous smile grew on Dorian’s face as he undid his sword belt and let it drop on the floor. He made his way to the bathroom and leaned against the threshold. 

Manon was sitting there in the water, her head leaned back against the porcelain of the tub and her white hair free of the usual braid for once. 

Dorian walked over to her, his clothes leaving his body one by one. Manon opened her eyes when he heard his steps approaching her and her eyes widened from the sight of her lover shirtless. He had the body of perfection in her eyes.

Dorian grinned at her when he was standing next to the tub, only in his undergarments. 

“Hello, witchling.”

She gave him a smile back, her iron teeth gleaming against the light.

“Hello, princeling. Care to join me?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

Dorian quickly got rid of his undergarments before settling himself in the tub. He was sitting behind Manon, her back to his front and his legs bracketing her small body compared to his. He felt the Crochan Queen shifting closer to his body as his one arm wrap around her front and the other dangerously close to her heat. 

Manon arched her back against Dorian’s large hands as she looked over her shoulder at him. He had the same smirk on his face when he first showed up in her room on that ship. Manon gave him back her own smirk as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Dorian kissed back with as much fervour as her as his hands slipped down and rubbed her opening. She gasped quietly against his mouth, which he took to his advantage and slipped his tongue inside of her. They’re tongues moved together like they have done this their entire life. 

Dorian slowly rubbed his fingers against her slit as her moans sounded throughout the bathroom. The water sloshed around them while drops fell out and onto the marble floor. Manon grinded against Dorian’s fingers, willing him to put one inside her.

“So impatient,” he mumbled against her lips before kissing down her cheek, her jaw and to her neck. He sucked her soft skin there, making sure that he left multiple marks for everyone to see later.

“Get on with it, Dorian.”

He chuckled against her skin as he pushed in two of his fingers inside of her. Manon closed her eyes, leaning her head back against his shoulder. She tilted her head to the left to give Dorian more access to her neck. She loved the feeling of his lips sucking her skin.

Dorian slowly pulled his fingers out of her before inserting back in. He heard the Crochan witch in his arms let out a growl at his teasing. He continued to lazily suck on her neck, making sure his marks were dark enough that it would last at least a week. He continued moving his two fingers in and out of her, each time more agonizing than before. He made sure that his thumb was resting on her clit, flicking it every once in awhile which was rewarded with a soft gasp from her. 

“How long do I have to do this until you beg, Manon?”

“Dorian, please,” she moaned out, not even objecting to his demands.

“Finally, witchling,” he smirked against her neck as he pulled his fingers out of her and gripped his hard shaft. He slowly rubbed the tip against her slit, knowing it was soaked even when they were underwater.

Dorian felt her hand grip his shaft and inserted it inside her. He groaned against her skin, his one arm tightening around her waist and the other rubbing her sensitive nub. He heard Manon’s quiet moans fill the room from his hand. 

“Take the lead, Manon.”

He heard a soft growl of approval leave her lips before she gripped the sides of the tub and moved up and down against him. The water spilled all over the sides, wetting the marble floor beneath. Dorian leaned back against the tub, his arms resting on the edges of it. He watched as her glorious white hair brushed her shoulders and back while she moved against him. He couldn’t resist stopping her and shifting her around so she was facing him. She smirked at her lover.

“Couldn’t resist?”

Dorian grinned, “Never, sweetheart.”

He leaned in and smashed his lips against hers as she started to circle his hips. It gave him the most pleasurable feeling he had ever felt. Dorian once again trailed his kissed down her neck as it ended up finding purchase on one of Manon’s peaked nipples. He sucked the delicate skin softly while his other hand squeezed her other breast. He massaged it softly while his lips sucked hard enough he was sure there was going to be a bruise there the next day. 

Manon tossed her head back from the feel of Dorian’s lips all over her body. His hands had moved from her breast and waist to her butt where he squeezed and kneaded. She grinded harder against him, making sure that she hit the right sports everytime. Dorian’s hand suddenly gripped her butt cheeks harder than before as his lips left her skin. He buried his face against her neck and grunted.

“I’m going to come, Manon.”

She leaned in and nipped his ears, knowing she was going to break anytime soon.

“What’s stopping you, princeling?”

Dorian growled before it quickly turned into a moan as he climaxed inside her. Manon followed after from the raw sounds he was making. She faintly felt his hands turn icy while he clutched her underside. She saw bits of ice start to form on the surface of the water as he broke apart underneath her.

Dorian was panting when he came down his high, his face buried in Manon’s neck and his hands now on her waist. He kissed her skin there softly, each bruise getting a soft kiss before he leaned back against the tub. He smiled when Manon collapsed against his chest, her soft pants heard through the quiet bathroom except for the water that was sloshing around them. He pulled out of her slowly, making sure that she wasn’t too sore. Dorian wrapped one of his arms around her shoulder and the other in her hair as he pushed back the sweaty white strands from her face. He kissed her forehead softly before giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Manon could only nod as Dorian drained the water in the tub and refilled it so it was clean. He grabbed a rag from the cupboard that was an arm length away from the tub and wetted it. He set Manon back in the tub and told her to turn around so her back was facing him. He started washing her back, leaving a few kisses here and there. 

Manon had never felt this cherished before in her life. No lover she had had ever wanted to do something like this for her. She felt the rag shift to her front and washed her there. Dorian left a soft kiss on the back of her neck before tossing the rag aside. He grabbed one of the hair tonics nearby and massaged it into Manon’s white hair.

“Thank you for doing this, Dorian.”

He laughed quietly, “You know I never minded.”

Manon chuckled in response, “I know but no lover of mine ever wanted to do this for me.”

Dorian’s hand suddenly stopped, “None of them?”

Manon looked over her shoulder at him before turning back forward. 

“None.”

She felt Dorian’s lips kiss her neck softly before pulling back and massaging her head once more.

“Well, I’m glad to be your first, sweetheart.”

She felt her cheeks redden for the first few times in her life. She had never liked being called names by her lover. But for some reason, Dorian made her love it.

Sadly, Dorian stopped massaging and tilted her head back. He poured some water over her head to wash out the soap while running his hand through her hair. 

“All done. Go get dressed first, I’ll just clean up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Manon teased as she stood from the tub and wrapped a towel around her. She quickly dried her body before taking some time with her hair. She watched as Dorian cleaned himself up. It was a sight to behold, something Manon thought she would never get the chance to see.

“What are you staring at, Manon?”

She gave him a smirk, “Not bad, princeling,” was all she said before leaving the bathroom.  

Dorian couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as he drained the tub. He quickly dried himself up and left the bathroom. He saw Manon lying on her side of the bed, dressed in one of his older tunics while playing with Wind Cleaver. He never thought she would want to wear his clothes to sleep, but he never objected when she did so. He had also realized recently that some of his older tunics seemed to go missing while Manon suddenly wore them the next day. When he asked if she had been taking them, she denied it while obviously wearing one in front of him.

Dorian pulled on his sleeping pants before getting into his side of the bed. Manon immediately set down Wind Cleaver on her bedside before tucking herself underneath Dorian’s chin and in his arms. She had never felt the need to be close to a male’s warmth. But, sometimes, that one person would change how you perceive everything. 

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked his lover, brushing away her still damp white hair.

She nodded as she leaned up and kissed his lips softly. He let out a whine when she pulled away. His lips slowly turned into a pout, something Manon could bet he didn’t realize, from the absence of her lips. She only gave him a smile before resting her cheek on his bare chest. Dorian’s one arm wrapped around her waist as the other rested on his built stomach.

“Manon,” his voice suddenly turning nervous, “Would you join me tomorrow to look over Adarlan?”

Manon rested her chin against his chest and contained any emotion from her face. That only made Dorian more nervous.

“I’d love to,” her straight face slowly turning into a smile.

Dorian smiled at her and brushed his hand through her hair once more. She shifted over and rested her cheek on his chest like before. 

Asterin would be flipping with joy if she ever saw her this way with Dorian, Manon thought to herself.

“Go to sleep, Manon.” Dorian said when he saw her eyes drooping. He kissed her forehead softly.

She rolled her eyes but nodded.

“I know.”

Dorian laughed quietly at her words. Only she would say she knew she was sleepy but stayed awake.

Exhaustion finally hit Dorian after his day as he held Manon tighter against him. 

“I love you, witchling.”

He felt her smile against his skin.

“I love you too, princeling.” She muttered before dozing off. 


No more for now, please. Thank you!

Dance With Me (2/?)

Previously

Chapter 2! Leggo!!! More angst


Zendaya follows Val out of the garage into the house she hasn’t stepped foot in in over a year. He’s hauling her suitcases toward the stairs, leaving her to wander by herself. She counts each step he takes - it’s like everything he does is a dance, on beat, in time. She wanders around the large house, watching her feet glide across the marble floors. She ends up in the threshold of the kitchen. She smiles at his parents.

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The Dying of the Light (AOS)

AN ~ Ooh, Clara, I hear you say. This sounds cheery. Yeah. Yeah it is. Blame Interstellar.

-

It throws her against the floor, knocks the wind out of her. Chokes her scream. It’s cold and wet against her skin and it sucks her in like the water did. She can’t breathe or see or move and it’s everywhere – it’s everywhere – She tries to stick her head above it and it’s too much like that day. She can’t breathe, but she can feel the oxygen in her throat, telling her to hold on. Just hold on.

It feels like forever.

But suddenly, there’s a surface.

Gasping for breath, she tumbles out onto the floor.

The rock – or whatever it is – relinquishes her limbs and she shivers, curling up as she pulls herself into a sitting position, and looks around. She can’t quite put her finger on what is different. Perhaps the way her stomach remembers its nausea is keeping her from seeing things straight, but she can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

She stands up. Looks back at the rock. It’s as silently imposing as ever, biding its time. She’s a little afraid to turn her back on it, but it’s worth it to get out of the room.

The door beeps, and slides aside for her.

Yes, something is definitely off.

“Fitz?” His name quivers from her lips into empty space. She follows it into a dark hallway, and frowns. She follows the hallway to another room, possessing a single desk, with a plainness that suggests it is trying to be hospitable. Some kind of reception area, perhaps? Not a popular one. But they weren’t at the Playground. They must have moved the box.

A young woman moves away from the desk, and hesitantly, Simmons steps up.

“Excuse me,” she says, though he’s already looking at her. “This might sound a little strange, but…could you please tell me where I am?”

“The north wing of the Vaults at Sci-Tech, ma’am.” He seems unfazed. He glances at the doorway she’d come out of, and smiles. “Can I ask your name, ma’am?”

“Simmons. Doctor Jemma Simmons.”

“Of course.” He stands up and heads toward another door, beckoning her to follow. “Come with me. The Director’s been waiting to see you for a long time.”

“Coulson?” She follows him into an elevator, and finds her heart starting to thrum in her throat. They’re not at the Playground. She’s been gone a long time. How long?

“No, ma’am.” They step out of the lift. “If you’ll just wait here, the Director won’t be a moment.”

Simmons isn’t sure she could have followed if she’d tried. Her knees shake. Her eyes are drawn to the walls, stretching high above them, dotted with rows of eagles the size of her hand-span, bearing names. She follows them around like trail of breadcrumbs.

Agent V. Hand

Agent I. Hartley

Agent A. Triplett

Agent K. Palamas

And then one, glanced out of the corner of her eye, makes her catch her breath.

Director P. Coulson

She edges towards it, heart racing. She’s come halfway around the room by now. She’s almost reached the most recent names. And Coulson’s is not the last one there she knows.

Agent A. Weaver

Simmons takes a deep breath.

Agent M. May

She lets it out, and it fills with tears.

Agent L. Hunter

A smile touches her lips. So he did commit after all.

And then she sees it.

Like when your eyes skip to the bottom of a page she sees it, and never has she wished harder in her life to unsee something.

It’s just one letter. Not even. Just the corner of a letter.

But she can’t shake it.

And suddenly she forgets about the rock and screaming and the lift and the receptionist guy – was it one of the Koenigs? She hadn’t been paying attention. Suddenly all that matters is Dinner. You and me. Somewhere nice? Suddenly it feels like she just saw him five minutes ago. His sparkling eyes are still looking into hers and away again. They had a date.

She reaches out and runs her fingers along it.

Agent L. Fitz.

“How long..?”

She can’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t know how it ends – how long has she been gone, or how long has he? The tears start slipping down her cheeks.

Heels clip on the marble floor and she hastily wipes her face and turns.

“Skye.”

She looks almost the same. A few years older, a little taller. Perhaps a little bulkier, stronger, but maybe that’s just the way she carries herself.

“Hey Jemma.” Skye smiles gently. “Got some catching up to do?”

“You look just like…“

“Yeah, Mum’s genes I guess.”

“No, I was going to say, you look just like…May.” She hears how foolish it sounds as it comes out of her mouth, and glances back at the wall, where May’s name rests. She still can’t quite believe- “How long have I been-?”

“A century. Almost to the day.” Skye steps up beside her. Her eyes run across the names they know, and she lingers on Fitz’ too. Then she sighs and says, “Follow me.”

They go down another short corridor, and into Skye’s office. It’s big. Comfortable. Well-lit. Lined with books and memorabilia in a Coulson-esque style of interior design.

There’s a lot of space between them.

There’s so much to say.

“He lived long, Jemma,” Skye finally tells her. “He retired from field work about ten years after you disappeared. He came back here. Helped Weaver rebuild the school. He was a really good teacher.”

Simmons presses her eyes closed. She just saw him. They had a date. What if they’d stuck with it – got a house? got married? had kids? What if they’d come back here together? Rebuilt the school together?

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Jemma asks. “Why now?”

“I don’t know,” Skye replies. And finally, she hugs her. “But I’m glad you’re here.”