tag: things i write

totallytracted  asked:

WHAT WHY ARE YOU STOPPING YOUR BLOG? sorry i just really love it. It's so cute and nice luv you

oh man thank you sm <333 i wanna archive the blog once it reaches 1000 prompts because 1. 1000 is a nice number to end off on and 2. its pretty hard to come up with prompts man!! like when i first started this blog i had SOOO many ideas, it wasn’t till around #500 that i really started relying on submissions. maybe i’ll keep with the blog after 1000 prompts, who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ for now, the game plan is 1000 prompts and then bam im done.

(maybe i’ll make this into a different kind of blog after 1000 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Dianakko~Instincts

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @chariotdunord 

The family computer is finally free so here’s your belated (ish?) present, hope you enjoy it! ^_^ 

Summary: Instinct is: 1-a natural or intuitive way of acting or thinking. 2- a natural propensity or skill of a specified kind. 3- The reason why Akko meet Diana. (Photographer!Akko, Modern Au)

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5

me too, plagg… me too.

Marichat May (Identity Reveal)

welcome to adrien inner mind theater (again-ish)

my headcanons are that this nerd reads a lot of shoujo manga and that he really does think he’s beautiful af so here you go—

vibrant words

immemorial (adj): originating in the distant past; very old.

visceral (adj): relating to deep inward feelings rather than to the intellect.

albatross (n): a very large oceanic bird related to the shearwaters, with long narrow wings. 

encroach (v): advance gradually beyond usual or acceptable limits.

drift (n): a continuous slow movement from one place to another.

presence (n): the state or fact of existing, occurring, or being present in a place or thing.

vast (adj): of very great extent or quantity; immense.

soliloquy (n): an act of speaking one’s thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers, especially by a character in a play.

lagoon (n): a stretch of salt water separated from the sea by a low sandbank or coral reef.

mirrored (adj): having a surface like a mirror; reflective.

phoenix (n): a unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.

inspiration (n): the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.

saturation (n): the state or process that occurs when no more of something can be absorbed, combined with, or added.

luminous (adj): full of or shedding light; bright or shining, especially in the dark.

phosphorescence (n): light emitted after exposure to radiation, or produced by something that doesn’t produce flame or heat. 

negligible (adj): so small or unimportant as to be not worth considering; insignificant.

arboreal (adj): relating to trees.

incandescent (adj): emitting light as a result of being heated.

so I’m kind of a sucker for Redemption Equals Death because it’s sad and I’m a sucker for sad. but I also…idk, sometimes I wish it weren’t such an overwhelming trend, not only because All My Faves Wind Up Dead but also because…I want to see more villains actually going through the hard, messy work of redemption, that it can’t just be done and over with, that it’s not as simple as One Good Heroic Act and everything is better. 

I want the awkward and painful and difficult aftermath.

like, what I really want is the villain seeking redemption who is genre savvy enough to go for a redemptive death, figuring that’s their best way out - and who survives, and has to live up to what they meant to be their last act. 

rather than death as the end of a redemptive arc, near-death as the beginning of one.

Sometimes I like to think about what utter awkward dorks Harry and Draco are.

Like come on guys Harry has no chill he is not suave. Can you imagine him trying to flirt with Draco in 8th year? Just sort of brash and bumbling but sincere and Draco has no fucking idea what to do with himself.

Because let’s be honest this is Draco Malfoy the boy who climbed a god damn tree to make fun of Harry so if you try to tell me in 8th year is suddenly suave and cool and a perfect flirt just…no.

More likely he does something equally awkward and ridiculous (but for the first time in his life utterly sincere) and Harry just stops dead in his tracks when he walks into his dorm room and sees it covered in hundreds of secret admirer letters.

And Harry just stands there shell shocked when Draco walks in (because it’s 8th year so of fucking course they are dorm mates) and Draco is not so subtly pretending to read his potions book.

“What’s going on?” Draco asks trying to sound smooth, and desperately hoping he isn’t blushing.

“What the hell did you do, Malfoy?” Harry asks, starting to laugh when Draco drops his book in surprise, staring at Potter with wide eyes.

“I was joking,” Harry says quietly, staring at Draco with an unreadable expression.
“Did you really do this?”

“Don’t let your ego get too big Potter it was just a-” but Draco doesn’t finish his sentence because Harry is suddenly standing in front of him, his own face flushed and confused and before Draco can stop himself he’s grabbing Potter’s tie and tugging him forward into a kiss that’s equal parts desperation and perfection.

DannyMay: Emotions

Angela Foley, Maddie Fenton, and Pamela Manson stood in front of their children. The trio were leaning against each other; Danny was in the middle, while his friends sat on either side with a protective arm wrapped around his shoulders.

Maddie crossed her arms. “What do you three have to say for yourselves?”

Danny licked his lips. “Mom, I can explain-”

“You three have been helping Phantom!” Pamela cut in, “There is nothing to explain!”

The trio exchanged a look and moved closer to Danny.

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anonymous asked:

Mate/soulmate pretty please

AU/AH. So. Much. Fluff.


The funny thing about being a person, or the sad thing depending on your perspective, is that one was confined to their own vision of the world. No, really, this isn’t a matter of theoretical thinking only. This is also literal. It’s why one can never realize that they had weak eyesight till they tried on glasses. Or how one doesn’t realize that their hearing is impaired until they are given a hearing aid. The list goes on and on, really. And no shocking discovery to limited vision of the world was like Caroline’s.

It started ever since she was as young as four years old. Her mother, Caroline began to notice, had awful taste. She had no sense whatsoever of color coordination. Their house was an absolute mess of colors. Pinks were put with unflattering reds and oranges. The bedsheets were a combination of loud yellows and greens. The living room was dull greys and whites with a stark red couch. It looked like someone just put random things together. And her mother’s outfits? Do not even get her started on that. It’s like her mother had no sense whatsoever of color coordination. Caroline had no qualms over pointing that out to her mom, repeatedly.

“Why do you dress like that, mom?”

“No, mom, I’m not wearing those shoes with this dress, they don’t match!”

Her mother didn’t seem to give much thought into her daughter’s antiques, dismissing her as a stubborn child. She went along with whatever her daughter said but never really and truly thought of what it might mean. And, perhaps if she had, then Caroline wouldn’t have found herself shell-shocked at fifteen while shopping with her friends.

Bonnie was holding up navy blue high heels to a green dress, asking her what she thought.

“Bon, you need black shoes. Those are navy blue.” Caroline said dismissively, grabbing the same pair that Bonnie liked but in the right color. She turned around to hand it to her friend only to find her looking at her with eyes wide, mouth hanging opened.

“Care…” Bonnie said slowly, “when did you start seeing colors?”

Caroline blinked. “Umm… what?”

“Caroline,” Bonnie put down her items onto a nearby seat and coming closer to her friend with a grin plastered across her face. “Did you meet your soulmate?”

“Bonnie, what on Earth are you talking about?” Caroline, confused and slightly afraid, looked at her friend as if she was growing a second head.

Bonnie’s smile began to slowly disappear. “Did your mom not have a talk with you? Have you always seen in color?”

“What talk? What do you mean have I always seen in color? Bonnie, you’re sounding like a crazy person right now.”

Except, it turned out, Bonnie was not the crazy person. Caroline was. To an extent at least. It turned out, she wasn’t supposed to see in color until she met her soulmate. It turned out, no one saw in color until they met their soulmate. Parents, those who had time for their children and have actually found their soulmates, had talks with their children as early as when they turned fourteen years old, telling them how the world is actually in color. And when they see color, they’ll know they met their soulmate. And the first color that they see will be that of their soulmate’s eyes. But no one flaunted their ability to see color.  It was considered rude to do so, especially at such a young age. Finding one’s soulmate during their teenage years was rare. And there was no need to enflame jealousy. Eventually the secret would come out in any case, since those with soulmates stuck together instead of dating sporadically. The keeping it as a secret, though, did not apply to friends. Friends tell.

None of that concerned Caroline, though. What concerned was: first, how in heavens name did she manage to completely evade this information for so long; and, second, how could she see color already? She had never seen the world in black and white, not once. The world had been in colors for as long as she remembered.

With that in mind, Bonnie took Caroline to her grams.

“It’s one of two things, dear,” grams said, “you have either met your soulmate as an infant or a child already. Or you are a strange anomaly and you don’t have a soulmate.”

“That’s not helpful,” Caroline muttered. “How do I find out which one it is? What do I do if I don’t have a soulmate?”

“If you have indeed met your soulmate already, then you’ll find out when you see them again. Your heart will tell you. And if you have no soulmate, then you’ll fall in love and be just as happy. It’s no bother, Caroline.” Grams smiled much to Caroline’s frustration. How could she act as if this was of no big consequences?

“What do I do now?” she demanded.

“Nothing. Just be patient.”

Patience wasn’t her strong suit. But she hadn’t much of a choice.

Seven years later, in her first semester as a grad student, an infuriating Klaus Mikaelson walked into her class. At first glance, he was handsome. At a second glance, he was an arrogant asshole who had no sense whatsoever of the word “no”. At third he was still frustratingly attractive. But the kind of attractive that warranted nothing more than a romp in the bed. And he didn’t seem to mind that one bit.

After many, many, many arguments over critical feminist theory, Caroline found him in her bed. For a long time, that’s the only way they associated with one another. Stress-relievers. Friends with benefits with too much benefits and not enough friendship. Call it what you will. Except, time after time there was more soft touching, more passionate whispering, more intense kissing. Until she caught him one time looking up at her with the gentlest look she’s ever seen anyone wear. His face was nuzzled in her stomach, leaving gentle, burning kisses, and his eyes were tracing every twitch on her face. So fixated his gaze was, so intent that she felt a nakedness beyond her physical one.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

He didn’t answer her, just continued his climb from her stomach, over her breasts, her shoulders, her neck, leaving a trail of fire behind him before capturing her lips in a slow kiss. He kissed her as if he was in no hurry at all. He kissed her like they had all the time in the world. He kissed her like his entire universe had just shrunk into her mouth and he was searching for his purpose in her.

After they collapsed together, finding a bliss that made her heart beat in a way that frightened her, he held her close. His eyes didn’t let up their search. His index finger traced her cheek, then her lower lip.

“Klaus…” she breathed, not knowing what exactly she wanted to say. She cannot possibly tell him that her heart is about to burst.

“Go out with me, love.”

She averted her gaze from his stormy blue ones to the tattoo spread on his shoulder. She reached out to him, tracing the ink gently with her fingers.

“Tell me first,” she began, realizing her nerves for the first time, “do you see colors?”

He chuckled. “I’m an artist, Caroline, of course I see color.”

She gave him a look, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he said. “I have always seen color.”

“Me, too.” She breathed.

“And I don’t believe in soulmates. Never have.”

“Then why are you asking me out?” she teased, unable to explain the relief that came over her.

“Because I believe that I’m falling in love with you.”

She blinked, then caught his lips in a bruising kiss. Suffice to say, saying “no” did not even occur to her.

-

“It is a pity that we have to leave this town.” Esther said, taking another sip of her tea. “But Mikael cannot refuse this offer.”

“The town will not be the same without you.” Liz said, smiling sadly at her friend. “I was hoping that Caroline would get to play with Nik and Rebekah.” She grinned at three-years-old Klaus with Caroline bundled on his lap. He was looking at the infant, wide-eyed with fascination. She reached out to touch his face. He responded by making faces at her which she laughed at.

“Indeed.” Esther chuckled. “It would appear Caroline had already charmed Niklaus.”

An hour later, as Niklaus walked beside his mother towards her car, he noticed for the first time that the car was a loud red.

epikegster 2k14 “Oh” au
  • in an au where parse never showed up to epikegster, i like to think jack had his “oh” moment in the hazy dark of that cold, loud winter night
  • (like, what could be more different than graduation? in the warm, bright day, scared but certain of his immediate future, speaking to his father in soft french while bells and birds sing overhead?)
  • it’s a different kind of “oh” – it’s not one last shot before everything changes, it’s one more layer of confusion and uncertainty as he enters his final semester at samwell
  • but it’s also…comforting.

Keep reading

Hands and Bread

It has been so long since the last time I watched Peeta bake. Honestly, for awhile I thought I would have never seen this again.

Until recently, he had some problems remembering his father’s recipes correctly. His hands hadn’t been as steady as they were before the war, before the hijacking. He couldn’t measure the exact amount of the ingredients and even if he managed to get something even remotely similar to the dough he had been making for all his life, it never were how he wanted it to be. In the end he would throw it in the garbage, or against a wall in a fit caused by a new episode. Sometimes he would just curl up in a corner, crying silently because his family is gone forever. Because, had the world been fair, he would have been in the bakery working alongside them, not in the victors’ village of a district destroyed by the Capitol’s bombs.

That’s why I’m so surprised to see him at work this morning as I get back from one of my first hunting trips. Apparently we are both getting a bit better.

Peeta looks up at me when he hears me putting down my bag and smiles, a smudge of flour under his left eye. Actually, there’s flour everywhere, on the counter, on his clothes and apron, all over the kitchen floor. I don’t remember him being this messy. But it doesn’t matter right now.

I sit silently on the chair across the counter from him, prop my chin on my open palm, and look at him work.

He dusts a handful of flour on the dough in front of him and goes back at kneading. By the look of it, he is making raisins and nuts bread.

It doesn’t take long for me to space out looking at his hands. Those hands that used to held the signs of a lifetime spent in a bakery, now marred by the scars of a very different fire. But still the same hands. Big and strong, with long, talented fingers. Hands that could create worlds, both on paper and with food. If he can bake again, maybe soon he’ll start painting, too.

I focus on smaller details. His nails are short. Not as cured as they would be under the care of a specialized prep team, but very functional. His left pinkie finger is a bit crooked. Perhaps he broke it some time after the Quarter Quell and it didn’t heal properly. The smattering of blond hair on the back of his hands and on his forearms is covered in small residuals of flour and dough.

When my eyes are on his forearms, they travel back following the line of muscles and tendons straining against his skin. I see a particularly fluid flexing whenever he presses the heels of his hands against the dough, another as his fingers reshape it into its original form. It’s a mechanical, hypnotizing movement. He does it so effortlessly and with such a grace that it looks way more easier that it is. But I know, even without looking, that there’s a thin coat of perspiration under his hairline.

It’s so good to see his hands not betraying him. It reminds me of a time before the Quarter Quell, when his hands were one of the parts of him that I used to be fixated on. Because of how they could knead the perfect loaf of bread, just like now. Because of how they could flow over a page and bring to life the plants and berries my father described in his plants book. Because of how they could bring me back from the horrifying nightmares of the arena, drive away the images of death and sorrow, lull me back to sleep. Give me the serenity that I so much needed.

I wonder, would his hands have the same effect on me? Those hands that not so long ago wrapped around my throat in a feverish attempt to kill the mutt, that still could smother me if an especially bad episode reared its ugly head?

I think they might. I know things have gotten worse for both of us after a second time in the arena and a war. He was captured and tortured to the point of almost destroying every shred of the strong, beautiful boy with the bread, and that is something that I will never understand. The number of people showing up in our nightmares is much bigger now, and they’re not just dead children in the woods that we had to kill to survive. Now they’re also innocent bystanders, people caught in the crossfire, rebels, allies, friends, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters. But I think it will work. Perhaps it won’t be enough at first, there may be a lot of crying and fighting and yelling, but eventually it could be good. We could be good.

“What’re you thinking?”

I’m suddenly pulled back from my reverie by Peeta’s question. I don’t know for how long I was lost in it, but I’m sure that I was staring at Peeta’s hands all the time. The little smile on his lips tells me that he finds it somehow amusing.

There’s no stopping the blushing that I feel spreading all over my cheeks. I try to dismiss it. “Nothing. I can’t wait to taste your bread.”

“You know,” he says as he leans forward. “You can taste my bread whenever you want.”

Is this some kind of joke? If it is, I don’t get it. But Peeta is biting his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing, and a huge smile is threatening to split his face.

I can’t help but smile back at him. My heart flutters. He is happy, I am happy.

“Shut up and keep kneading, or we’ll never taste that bread.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He salutes me, leaving a new line of flour above his right eyebrow.

I shake my head as I get up to get back at my haul from hunting this morning.

Maybe tonight, when my screams will wake us both and he’ll rush to my room to help me, I should ask him to stay with me.

((I don’t know if this has been done, so if it has please tell me.))

So I’ve seen a lot of those ‘Humans are Space Orcs’ posts and I think those are really cool, but unnoticed they all consist of one thing: humans traveling with the aliens.

So there are a lot of ways you can do that, right? You could go all Star Trek and make it to where the humans and aliens all live together in harmony and travel space together and things like that. But I have a different idea and I think it’s pretty cool.

So humans don’t really know aliens exist. Obviously you have your conspiracy theorists and loons and the occasional 'abducted’ person, but for the most part it’s just generally accepted that aliens are fun and all, but they’re not /real/.

And then there’s this kid. He/she/they don’t really have a happy life, but they can’t really do anything about it. You can make them whatever you want, have any or of disorder or disability or just make them an angsty teen that comes from an unhappy home. They want to leave, but they’re too young, so they have to stay.

Then of course, the aliens come. But instead of crap like Independence Day (I say crap in a loving way, the movie was pretty good and I like it), the aliens just take one look at the kid, pick them up, and leave. That’s it. Nothing else. Just take the kid and go.

Of course the kid is terrified at first, but after like the first day or so they calm down because the aliens are treating them like gosh-darn royalty. They put the kid up in the nicest room on the ship, give them the best food they can muster from their rations, and provide for any kind of entertainment the kid might want. It’s like paradise, and the kid is happier than they’ve been in a while.

So the kid travels with these aliens on all sorts of cool adventures and throughout this period is when we get the 'Humans are Space Orcs’ discoveries. Like the kid will go up to random giant furry beasts and just glomp them and coo at them while the aliens are like “No that’s deadly it will kill you oh my god what is this kid doing?!?!” Or, if the kid has a uterus, come time for their period the aliens freak out because “Oh holy shmarda, the child is bleeding!! Why is the child bleeding?!” Hilarious antics and shenanigans ensue and the child is so happy with their new life that they never want to go back home.

Also included: drama when the aliens return to earth to find a human companion for the child (even though they didn’t ask for one you guys don’t have to do this really it’s fine) and the parents of the kid demand they be returned immediately. The kid doesn’t want to go back of course so the aliens have to fight for custody over the kid in court (I guess idk but something along those lines. Maybe the humans try to kill the aliens because the kid was “abducted” and that causes a lot of angst and problems.).

Idk just something that’s been floating about in my imagination for a while. I think it would be a really cool show though tbh like someone hire me.

OC Questions: Meta Edition

4th wall breaking, fandom/creator interpretations, self inserts, etc. As always, I’ll be splitting some of these questions up into separate posts, so don’t worry about answering all of them here (unless, of course, you wanna). Enjoy!

  1. Which OC is the most likely to break the 4th wall?
  2. One OC will protect you, and the others will try to kill you. Which OC would you pick to be your defender?
  3. Would you rather live in your OCs’ universe or this one?
  4. Your OC finds out that you are their creator. How do they react?
  5. What is your noncanon nickname for your OC?
  6. What is/would be the fandom nickname for your story?
  7. What is/would be the nickname for a fan of your OC?
  8. Which OC is most likely to be called “son”/ “daughter” / “child” by fans?
  9. Which OC is most likely to be called “husband” / “wife” / “spouse” by fans?
  10. If you could tell your OC one thing, what would it be?
  11. What kind of advice would your OC give you?
  12. Which OC is/would be “woobified” by the fandom?
  13. What song would you sing to audition for the role of your OC?
  14. Your OC finds themselves in your universe and you are their only contact. How well do they handle the adjustment and how would you try to help/hinder/contain them?
  15. f/m/k: OC edition
  16. Who would you cast to play the part of your OC in a TV show or movie?
  17. If you could choose to meet one of your OCs in person, who would you pick?
  18. Which OC would you absolutely NOT want to be a real person?
  19. What is your dream medium for your story (book series, video game, comic, movie, cartoon/anime, etc)?
  20. Which OC is the most likely to become a “mascot” for your story?

klarolineforevermine  asked:

rain :D

AU/AH extra fluffy.

“What the fuck is wrong with this city?” Caroline muttered. She tried to pull her limbs closer to each other, searching for warmth that no longer existed. “Seriously what the fuck?” she repeated under her breath.

It’s not that she did not like London, not at all. She actually really liked London. Most of the time it felt like she lived in a museum. She loved the history and the feel of it and her job and all the greenery. But she didn’t love the rain. And she didn’t think she would ever learn to love it or to deal with it. At all. After four years of living in Los Angeles, she just got too used to the Sun and the nice weather. It utterly spoiled her. And now she has to learn to live with the rain. And it was going awfully, awfully bad. She bought four umbrellas since her arrival a month earlier into the city. And had lost each one of them in a different location. Her fifth is in her apartment. Stuck behind her apartment’s door. And, of course, London couldn’t settle to being bitterly cold. It has to, it absolutely must, rain. She could feel the first few droplets fall on her cheeks. Probably about to mingle with her tears. She was so cold she could cry at the idea of getting drenched.

Looking around, Caroline weighed her options. She could duck underneath a store’s roof until the rain stopped. Except there was no telling when the rain would stop. It might take hours. And she couldn’t really be late for her appointment. Her professor will be waiting for her to discuss her dissertation. Caroline would not allow that. She was too punctual and her professor did not appreciate tardiness. But she really, really, sincerely did not want to walk in the rain. She was cold enough as it is. She lost sensation in her face, she couldn’t feel her toes, and her hands were ice cold underneath her gloves. A walk in the rain guaranteed nothing short of a flu.

Scanning the street once more, she spotted a lone pedestrian walking a few strides down the road from her. The pedestrian had an umbrella. A lightbulb went off in her head.

This is crazy, Caroline, this is crazy.

She muttered as she began to jog towards the stranger.

This is how you die, Caroline. They’re just gonna kill you.

“Excuse me,” Caroline called over the noisy rain. The audacity of water sometimes. “Hi, excuse me.”

Just then, the stranger, a man, realized she was talking to him and turned rapidly to his right. He was gorgeous. Blond curls sitting atop his head as if he’s ran his fingers through them several times, full, lush lips begging to be kissed. In fact begging so much Caroline felt guilty that she was not kissing them. A light stubble. And those eyes. Sharp blue. Filled with something between cool indifference and a passion that she sensed was perpetually clinging to them.

Caroline swallowed, taken aback by his handsomeness and the look in his eyes. Sharp, intruding. As if stripping her of her most intimate secrets.

“Excuse me,” she said once more, clearing her throat, to which he just cocked his head to the side, “I don’t mean to bother you but….uh…”

“Yes?” he sounded annoyed. But the depth of his voice shocked her all the same.

“But I’m really cold and the rain isn’t helping and I have an appointment I need to get to and I still have to have a few more blocks to get to it and I really, really, really don’t want to get wet and I was hoping you could share you umbrella with me?”

Caroline’s speech was blurted out all at once. Words mixing together. The moment they fled from her mouth she wanted the ground to open and swallow her. The redness of her cheeks were no longer simply because of the cold.

He looked at her for a moment, then blinked at her. She expected him to either turn around and disregard her as a crazy person or, worse, to laugh at her and then leave her out in the cold.

“Well, sweetheart, then why aren’t you standing a little closer?” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What?” she asked.

“Love, you’re about to be drenched.” He didn’t wait for her to respond this time, taking hold of her forearm and tugging her closer to him.

Only when she entered underneath the soothing roof of the umbrella, did she realize that the rain was smattering against her.

“Oh.” She said. Her eyes fell on his buttoned coat, hugging wide shoulders. They moved upwards, scanning him until they met his gaze. Now soft. Curious but soft. He was taller than she initially thought, even more handsome up close. And he was very close. A lot closer than Caroline had anticipated. She didn’t realize that they would have to be this close when she came up with her plan. Not that she had much of a plan to begin with.

“Hi.” She muttered, averting her gaze from his eyes.

“Hello, love.” He said, a smile breaking out across his face, revealing deep dimples.

“Caroline.” She said. “Name is Caroline.”

“Caroline.” She shivered as he almost seemed to moan her name. “Of course. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I’m Klaus.”

“Klaus?” she tilted her head to the side. “A strange name for a strange man?”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. And Caroline had a hard time catching breath in that moment.

“Perhaps you should find out for yourself,” he paused, then drawled, “Caroline.” She had the unexplainable urge to hear her name escaping his lips as he falls apart in her bed. He would be a passionate lover, she could tell, maintaining impeccable control. Until he had no reason to hold back. He would be … delectable.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Assuming you don’t kill me or something. Who’s to say you don’t prey on cold unsuspecting women?”

He put a hand up to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, love.”

“Prove me wrong, then.” She said, arching an eyebrow at him.

“How so?”

“Walk me to my appointment?” She asked, giving him a winning smile.

He mirrored her expression. “Anything for the lady.”

They walked in silence for a minute before he asked her what her appointment was in regards to. She explained that it was in regards to her dissertation, then promptly explained her project. The passion in her eyes intrigued him. He listened intently, fascinated. For the first time in his life he felt himself being pulled forward by an invisible force. If he wasn’t careful, he will plunge into oblivion, his heart falling and flying simultaneously.

When she stopped in front of a coffee shop, declaring that this was where she needed to be, he felt his heart sink a little. It scared him. He didn’t understand it.

“Thank you for walking me, Klaus.” She said, smiling at him.

He nodded, too baffled for a moment to say anything. She began turning around to leave when he snapped out of his unusual state.

“Caroline, wait.” He reached out to grab her hand. “Wait.” He said again, clearing his throat before he looked into her eyes, holding her gaze intensely. “Let me take you to dinner, Caroline.

She bit her lower lip. “Meeting someone underneath the rain? A bit cliché don’t you think?” she teased.

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Honestly, I thought you might find it romantic.”

She shrugged. “I never really liked the rain.”

“Is that so?” he said “would you agree to go out with me in spite of it then?”

She beamed. “Yes, Klaus. I would. Meet me here tomorrow at seven?”

He grinned, nodding. “It’ll be the longest wait of my life, Caroline.”

She shook her head, chuckling. “You are strange, Klaus.”

“You don’t even know the half of it, love.”

Klaus watched her walk inside. Perhaps she didn’t like the rain. But he did. Perhaps she didn’t think it’s romantic, but he did. Perhaps she never fantasized about meeting the love of her life underneath the rain, but, ever since he was ten years old, and in spite of all disappointments, in spite of all pains, in spite of all the cynicism that had dumped itself on his shoulders, he still did. He still wanted, hopelessly, irritatingly, to meet the love of his life underneath the rain.

Well, there was no need to tell her that. Not yet. The perfect time presented itself a year later, when he proposed to her.  

A Knock on the Door. Epilogue.

The epilogue is here!  

It’s very short , but I just wanted to give some closure to this story. Hope you like it.


Haymitch’s eyes glimmer with mischievous determination as he talks. In a hushed whisper, he shares everything he knows about the rebellion. From District 13’s involvement with the rebels, to the group of disgruntled victors who have decided they can no longer stand idly by as President Snow plays with their lives.

His hushed words ring in Katniss’s ears, making her heart soar with every new confession.

“We’re done being pawns. We’re ready to fight back,” the mentor finishes.


Want to keep on reading? You can find the rest of this story on AO3 and FF.net

daffodil

The problem is that Eren is ridiculously handsome these days.

Sure, Levi had always acknowledged that the kid was kinda cute, especially after he’d started growing his hair out and learned to control his temper better. That had been it, though, and since back then Levi had still been his Captain, he’d never really even allowed himself to dwell on such things. But now when he’s retired - and growing soft with age, as Eren himself had claimed once with a twinkle in his eyes - he’s become painfully aware of just how attractive he finds Eren.

He’s sitting amongst tall grass and wildflowers, more focused on admiring the line of Eren’s broad shoulders than paying attention to what he’s doing with his squad. Since he can’t deny a single thing from Eren, he’d naturally agreed to come along and watch them train. It would be really helpful, Eren had said, worrying on his bottom lip with his teeth in a way that had been horribly distracting to Levi, because even though he’d now officially been promoted to Squad Leader, he could use some feedback on his training methods.

They’ve been at it for what must be hours now, and Levi’s quite impressed. Maybe he really is old and soft, because he’d have allowed at least one break somewhere in between. Eren’s more strict than he would’ve imagined, even tense at times, and Levi’s not at all envious of his squad members.

It’s quite nice, in a way, sitting in the sun and merely allowing time to pass. That’s a luxury in and of itself, he thinks, being able to stop and smell the flowers, both figuratively and literally. He’s plucked a freshly blooming daffodil from the ground and is twirling it in his fingers when Eren seems to have decided it’s finally time for a break.

Without hesitation, Eren comes to him, leaving his squad to cool off amongst themselves. He plops down on the ground next to Levi, a little out of breath but still no less gorgeous. There’s a small frown resting over his features and Levi wants to kiss it away, to press his lips against the crease in his brow and the downturned corners of his mouth.

“Hi,” Eren says and manages a wry grin. “How am I doing so far?”

Levi tears his gaze away from the shining green of Eren’s eyes and instead turns to watch his squad members, most of whom are also on the ground, trying to catch their breath. “Well,” he starts off and intends to go on, but apparently that’s already enough for Eren.

“Really? I don’t know,” he sighs, taking a hand through his unruly hair. He’s discarded his jacket long ago and rolled up his sleeves, and Levi finds himself hopelessly transfixed by the firm muscles in his arms. Not to mention his hands, dear God, those broad palms and long skilled fingers that Levi’s imagined touching him all over so many times that he’s lost count by now.

To top it off, Eren towers over him by now, having grown several inches over the years. That’s completely unacceptable to Levi. This is Eren, his Eren who’d he’d vowed to protect, the perpetually angry and squeaky-voiced kid who’d looked at him like he’d hung the damn moon. His Eren is not allowed to be this attractive, because Levi honestly cannot handle it.

Eren is in the middle of rambling about something when Levi realizes he hasn’t been listening at all. He’s fidgeting in place, that much Levi registers, hands clenched into fists and his stare darting back and forth from Levi’s face to his own feet as he talks. There’s something trapped in the green of Eren’s eyes that reminds him of a panicked animal, and Levi wants nothing more than to soothe him and tame him.

“Hey,” he interrupts, making Eren stop abruptly. “It’s okay. Breathe. Relax.”

It’s a horribly clumsy attempt at comforting him, but Eren’s shoulders do drop a little. “Yeah. Okay,” he repeats with a long exhale. “Sorry. It’s, uh, you being here just makes me a little nervous.” It’s all said in one hasty breath, almost fearfully.

Levi blinks. “It’s okay,” he repeats, and having ran out of things to say, reaches out and hands his daffodil to Eren. “Here. Take this.”

It’s silent for a while, but Eren does extend his hand and pluck the flower from his hand, his face questioning but also a little hopeful. “What?” he asks, as if he hadn’t quite heard right.

“It reminded me of you,” Levi says and opens his mouth to explain further, but when nothing comes to mind, he closes it again. “Make sure you don’t crush it, though. Maybe train your squad a little less intensely.” He’s not sure if Eren can manage that for even a fraction of a second, being less intense than he usually is, but for the sake of his overworked squad members, Levi sure hopes so.

“Thank you.” Eren’s lips are curving into a tiny smile, and it’s the most beautiful thing Levi’s ever seen. “I’ll try to take good care of it.”

“I know you will,” he says, more to himself than to Eren since the kid is already up and ready to continue,  newfound enthusiasm in his voice.

One of the members of his squad outright whimpers when told to get up and resume training, another one actually has the gall to talk back at Eren, but none of them even mention the delicate daffodil now tucked behind his ear.