tagged you because we talked about it

highpriestessbriyanna  asked:

➐ Are there any people you’ve been too afraid of approaching?

There are a LOT of people.  Many of which, I’m even too shy to tag them in this because I’m still recovering from years of conditioning (to put it nicely), and don’t want to look…whiney or stupid or something like that.

It’s usually a long time of sending in anons going “YOU’RE GREAT AND YOUR CONTENT GIVES ME LIFE” before I even dare comment or anything like that off anon.
The list of people where this happened with, but I have since finally started talking to normally with less, or no, anxiety includes but isn’t limited to:
@literalprush , @blackwellbrothers , @alphahusk , @tiny-snorlax ,
  @necroarchy@voibi and tagging @guardianshanarra even though we don’t talk a lot because whenever I think about Illidan things I always think of Shan ANDYEAH.

Like legit all these people have OC’s that whenever they pop up on my dash as either art or in threads I just start to scream internally and it took me for.ev.er. to come off anon. Because I didn’t want to waste any of their time with my stupid ass. 

THAT SAID. There are still a lot of people I’m still too afraid to come off anon to or even TAG HERE.

  • What people think ADHD is like: OMG I CNT FOCUS ON ANYTHING!!!WAFFLES!!!!MY MIND IS JUST SOOOOOO RANDOM AND I CAN NEVER HAVE SUGAR CAUSE IT MAKES ME CRAAAAAZYYYYY!!!!
  • What ADHD actually is: I'm having a conversation with a person and suddenly someone walks by with a cool shirt and I've completely zoned out of the conversation and forgotten what we were even talking about because now all I can think about is how damn cool that persons shirt was and how I wonder if I could find it on a clothing website if I used key words and oh look is that a raven? I love ravens did you know they help other birds out sometimes and like to bring humans gifts in exchange for food and like to play in the snow and can learn to mimic humans like a parrot and

Please stop hating on ships!! I see so much ship hate as of recently in Steven Universe and it’s really bumming me out. As a proud shipper of every one of these ships, it’s so annoying to browse any tag because of all the hate.

Liking skinny jasper isn’t fatphobic or butchfobic, but labeling ships such as pearlrose or jaspearl as abusive is, because we haven’t even seen enough to judge and its based solely on judging the small/big dynamic. Just don’t talk about the ships you don’t like and no one gets hurt !!!

These are certainly not all the good ships in steven universe, just some!!

Along The Boardwalk

Drabbles

Summary: They always said Kim Taehyung had a you-shaped hole in his heart.
Pairing: Taehyung | Reader
Genre: Fluff + light Smut, Skater Boy AU
Word Count: 12,819
Author’s Note: Inspired by those Taehyung left version concept photos and mainly sparked by a conversation I was having with @an-exotic-writer so naturally I drafted this as a token of my love and no I am definitely not writing this because talking to Missy certainly does not give me heart problems whatchu mean. I’m also tagging @kimvtae because we were screaming about the concept of a skater boy Tae together.

.

You’ve always had a very peculiar habit of being drawn towards the things you couldn’t even imagine yourself doing—although you could argue that’s exactly why you found yourself naturally gravitating towards them in the first place. Unlike most people, who might have been taken by an envious desire to take on certain challenges and obstacles that were most likely out of their league, you found a natural peace chasing after something you couldn’t quite obtain yourself.

Maybe it was your own self-awareness or the fact that you never felt confident enough to branch out towards something that was so clearly on the opposite end of the spectrum from what you were normally use to. You’ve always just been content watching other people take on their passions while you remained on the sidelines with your own hopes and dreams and aspirations. It always excited you to see people participating in their interests—so much so that friends would always humor you that it was always the people rather than the activity they were indulging in that drew you in towards them.

That’s probably why you accepted your best friend’s invitation to leave your apartment for once and drive down to the pier, taking refuge across one of the many skateparks that planted themselves across the oceanfront, beyond the cool sand and ocean breeze of spring. Jeon Jungkook always reprimanded you for rarely having the time to come out and see him perform his new spins and flips, which is probably why he seems much more animated than usual at the prospect of finally getting to show off these new skills to you.

Keep reading

furbyhater  asked:

Annabeth sleeping in on a Sunday morning (very rare for her but she's 3 months pregnant and always tired so she'll take the rest) and waking up to the faint sound of music coming from the kitchen. She goes to investigate and finds her beautiful husband Percy cooking pancakes with their beautiful 2 year old son in his arms, the two of them dancing as the radio plays something mellow. She stops to watch as their son periodically feeds his dad "booberries" and Percy peppers his son's face w kisses

(i want you to know that this killed me,,,im writing from beyond the grave)

their two year old, theodore, is wearing his favourite shark footie PJs which have blueberry stains around the sleeves and his collar. (it’s a laundry day anyway). he coos happily when he sees his mamma and is easily transferred to her hip when she leans in for a kiss from percy. (one of those easy we’re-gonna-do-this-for-the-rest-of-our-lives kisses which says hi, hello, good morning, and i love you all in one. it’s magic, really.) theodore feeds her a couple of booberries which she thanks him for before sitting him at the table. she makes coffee and percy serves them all pancakes and it’s just a really really great sunday morning.

Ugh, so apparently my most popular trending post at the moment is the one about racist homophobic “Karen” kicking her gay daughter out of the house. And the reason it’s trending is cause people are calling it fake, and citing the fact that I claimed “Karen” had been writing slash fic for over 30 years.

Newsflash children: You did not invent fandom, you are not even close to the ground level of fandom inception as you know it today. 

Yes, there was slash fic being written over 30 years ago, even longer so than that. They were called fanzines, and they were these things printed on paper, you had to sign up for them and theyd get sent in the mail to your houseAnd they were predominantly started by women over the age of 30 who wanted to talk to other people like them without the fear of ridicule for liking something for “silly” reasons like love and sex and all the other things we like about fandom.

People wrote about Star Trek, Star Wars (my god the Han/Luke slash wars involved people throwing gay fanfic onto Mark Hamill’s lawn)—pretty much any popular show at the time in the same way we do today, except now we have the convenience of a place called Ao3 and not being sued for writing fan content because yes, that was a thing that also happened.

As for the people just tagging on “this seems fake but okay” for the hell of it and talking about how no one would take in a queer kid the way Aunt Bee did? I’m sorry you are that jaded. 

I didn’t know when I was bitching about something personal going down in my fandom circles, that it’d get tumblr popular. I never know what the fuck I am going to post on this hellsite that will take off next, but it was real, and it happened. M is still living with Aunt Bee who has always been a dominant figure in the OT Star Wars fandom, looooong before Ao3 and even fanfic net was a thing. And she is known in certain circles for her overwhelming kindness and generosity. She was an internet fandom mom in the days of dial up and before, and it’s not my fault if you’re not aware of your own fandom history enough to not know who the fuck I’m really talking about. 

And no I will not post “proof” or give you real names so you can go find them, the fuck is wrong with you. These are real people with real lives and I am not about to go rooting around on people’s private facebook feeds just to score fake points on the internet. I literally do not give that much of a fuck about my blog to even try that. I shouldn’t have even been bitching about it publicly in the first place but I needed an outlet to vent that one of my oldest fandom circles was dying and was going nova in a spectacular fashion and tumblr picked it up and ran. 

And in the midst of all that, there was one small moment of genuine goodness in the world where another human being said all right no fuck your bigotry and hatred, your kid can come stay with me and did it. And while that might seem unbelievable to you and your own selfish values, people do these kind of things.

I can name five people off the top of my head here on tumblr who have helped rescue someone else from shitty abusive situations, and taken them into their homes and cared for them like their own family. 

The entire sum of the universe is not shit and desolation. 

And I’m sorry that you think it is.

  • Tim: That was a bad idea...
  • Tim: But. We still did it. Because we make bad decisions sometimes. It's a part of life. You just have to accept that you did something stupid and move on, Tim.
  • Jason [narrows his eyes]: Are you talking to yourself again?
  • Tim: We have no idea what you're talking about.
  • Jason [through gritted teeth]: Why are you the way that you are?

anonymous asked:

how do i be a good ally. i feel so gross i feel like I'm not doing enough as a white person i want to do better please don't take this in a bad way

Well first of all you need to hit the #DELETE on the “good ally” rhetoric bc as a white person you will never truly unlearn racism and you will never truly be a good ally. Solidarity and Good allyism doesn’t actually exist and it was made by (surprise!) white people to give themselves pat on the backs for not calling someone a racial slur. It doesn’t exist and y’all need to stop with this “i’m not racist” and “i’m a good ally” crap because it’s unrealistic and further proves you don’t want to learn on your own accordance but on the emotional labor that POC have to give. 

There is a lot of things about racism that are so complex and you have to understand that you will never understand. You will never understand because you don’t have to actively fight something from birth to death. This isn’t an insult, but a fact that as a white person you will always be ignorant. Constantly. It’s ingrained in you and the structure your ancestors built to keep POC at the bottom. 

However, to be, yknow, not shitty is actually talking to POC. Like you can’t do anything if you don’t interact with POC. Listen to us, listen to our problems and rant posts we make in regards of racism. Reblog posts that talk about racism, i have a ton in my xx tag that are good. Realize that you are the problem and will always be a problem no matter how “not racist” you are.

If you can, actively protest. Actively go to BLM protests. Actively go to protests and know how to protest. Never organize protests that are racially charged like a white person should never organize a BLM protest. If you can’t protest, actively reblogging posts and consuming media by POC is good too.

You have to be active. You HAVE to be. There is nothing worse than a white person who is not actively fighting what kills people on a DAILY basis. As a white person you must be active in fighting the oppression you inherently emit or you are not helping. You simply are not helping and while it sounds tiring being actively involved in “”politics”” (racism and the fight against it is not and never will be politics but that’s another conversation for later) think about how many poc are fighting right now because their existence is hated. It’s tiring and I wish I could take a break but I have been fighting since I was born and the bare minimum is asking whites to fight with us.

Expecting POC to educate you in every little thing is a privilege. Expecting to be educated is not only ignorant but it also means you think of us as some tool to further an agenda. This is different but it’s true to the matter that you, as a white person, have to CONTINUOUSLY be researching. Educating is an emotional feat and it gets a bit tiring for POC to constantly have to educate. Everyday, we educate. Don’t be lazy. Before you ask your local coloured neighbor on if this is racist or not, look it up. If you don’t really get the basis of something, look it up first. I get that you can’t do that for everything but trying is key. 

On a further note, intracommunity issues STAY intracommunity. Do not get involved or put opinions in these things. They do not affect you (most of the time). 

Also have common sense? Think.

Sometimes all you can do is listen, reblog posts and research but that’s better than nothing. You have to do something in order to combat the racism you have internalized and will always have internalized. Racism is not unlearned but the ways you act on it can be. 

Can we talk about Shalluratt (is that the ship name??) because its so great and I love it??? Just imagine it

-Matt LOVES to brag about Allura and Shiro. They’re both so beautiful and badass, how do you not expect him to? They, in turn, brag about their super smart super amazing boyfriend.

-Shiro getting embarrassed by the Allura/Matt tag team. They made a pact to make him blush at least once a day. So far, they’ve succeeded. Shiro is dying.

-I don’t know if Allura/Matt would be romantically involved with each other or not but I can totally see hugs, cuddles and cheek/forehead kisses begin shared, platonically or not

-They all match with each other, its so cute.

-Cuddles, so much cuddles

-Matt is an attention seeking kitty, he’ll lay across Allura or Shiro’s lap whenever he’s in need of love. Allura finds it adorable. Shiro rolls his eyes but gives Matt what he wants.

-Shiro: The stars are beautiful.
Matt: Yeah.
Shiro: You know what else is beautiful?
Shiro&Matt: Allura.
Allura: *blushing furiously* Guys, ohmygosh.

-For Valentine’s Day, Allura bakes sweets with the help of Hunk, Shiro writes super sappy poems and Matt goes over the top by ordering a truckload of rose petals and dumping them on their lawn. It tools months to get rid of all of them. Matt still thinks it was worth it.

-All three are super horrible with sleep schedule so they stay up watching sappy love movies or conspiracy documentaries.

-Matt getting picked up by Shiro and/or Allura and him blushing everytime.

-Matt trying to pick up Shiro or Allura but falling to the ground because he has twig arms. He gets smooches for effort tho so its all good.

-Matt: *laughs*
Shiro: I get to kiss him first.
Allura: Over my dead body.

-They’re Team Older Siblings

-Matt: So when we get married, which last name are we taking?
Allura: Not mine, it’s too long even for me.
Shiro: If I take your last name, Matt, am I even “Shiro” anymore?
Matt:
Allura:
Shiro:
All three: Holy shit.

I’m not sure how many people have talked about, because I’ve LOOKED the best I can, but has anyone else pointed out the ink splatters at the holes in the wall?

Like, you first see it after Bendy peeks around the corner, before you get to the projector room to activate the ink flow.

Keep reading

6

from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (USA, 2017)
[x] the film’s tag

(Please excuse the crappy quality of the gifs, I will remake them once we have something better to work with.)

Can we please talk about how perfect Emma’s delivery of her lines is? In particular, her “I don’t know.” and later “I love you.”?

The whole post-dance dialogue is actually pretty amazing. The Beast clearly doesn’t want to tell her how he feels, certain she will refuse him. Then he glances back to the ballroom where his servants stood just a moment ago, the very same people who got into this shit because of him and still they help him and care for him, and he finally makes himself ask her if she could ever love him. And you can see that Belle is in no way dismissive of his feelings or his question, she knows by now that she cares for him, that there’s “something there”, but she cannot say she loves him back because she genuinely doesn’t know yet if what she feels is love.

And then, when the Beast dies in her arms, it’s plain from her face that her world just fell apart and she keeps calling him back, completely heartbroken, because her heart, her home, her everything is gone. And then she says “I love you”, it is a confession of a girl who just realized how deep her feelings actually are, she even sounds a bit surprised by it. Like I said, flawless delivery. <3

Writing is Hard, Part 3: Phone Sex

Summary: You and Dean try something in order to write about it.

Read Part 1 Part 2

Warning: Smut, dirty talk

Word Count: 3000ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! XOXO


“How many are we up to now?”

The phone rests warm between your ear and shoulder as you glance down at the screen. “Almost four hundred followers,” you tell him. “Not exactly famous yet.”

Dean pauses, and you picture him sprawled out on a motel bed very much like yours, just two states over, glass in hand and flannel shirt crumpled at the foot of the bed, undershirt clinging tight to his chest.

Keep reading

What if …

- Cinder was raised by Levana instead of being almost killed by her?

- Scarlet grew up on Luna rather than on Earth with her grandmother?

- Cress hadn’t been born a shell but inherited the gift from her parents?

- Winter never promised herself to not use her glamour but to serve her queen?

May I present:

Crown princess Selene Blackburn

Alpha Scarlet Benoit

Dr. Crescent Moon Darnel

Head Thaumaturge Winter Hayle

Tiny Tikes with Tears

Dean x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Daddy Dean fluff

A/n: I literally woke up at 5am because I had a dream about this and I instantly started writing it. So I hope you enjoy my 5am sleep deprived fic.

Forever Tags: @Freaksforthewin , @thewinhunter, @cambriacaneatnoodles, @brokennoone , @youtubehelpsmesurvive , @chrisevansthedoritobastard , @winchesters-favorite-girl , @we-know-a-little-about-a-lot @godh8salyssa @dean-baby-Winchester @straightasdeanwinchester@animexchocolate@fabulouslycassie@lizbeth-loves-bobear @nicolesyneah25 @lemonadegazeelle


“Try and get some sleep, sweetheart.” Dean reached into the backseat, covering your tiny body with his leather jacket.

“Daddy, where’s my Bubba?” Resting your head on the cool leather seat, you looked up at your dad in the most innocent of ways.

Dean sighed, knowing who you were talking about. Cas was the only one you ever referred to as “Bubba”. But Cas was gone. Not dead, just on the constant move.

Every angel and demon alike had their eyes peeled for his appearance. And the appearance of the angel tablet. He’d been gone for two months so far, but to the little five year old girl in the backseat…it felt like two years.

“Bubba’s out on a hunt.” Dean never knew how to reply to this question. It seemed every night you asked him about Cas now.

“Why is the hunt taking so long?” You half yawned, trying to fight off the sleep. “You and Uncle Sammy never take this long.”

“This hunt is…” Dean paused, letting out a deep breath. “it’s a hard one. The hard ones take longer.”

“But Bubba is a Feather.” Angles and demons confused you, so you just called angles Feathers. “Why doesn’t he use his special powers to fight the bad guys away? Doesn’t he want to come home to me?” The small break in your voice made Dean realize how sensitive this topic was. And how much you missed Cas.

With ease, Dean opened the back door and climbed in with you. Leaning his body against the door while you snuggled into his chest.

“Bubba loves you so much baby. Of course he wants to come home to you.” His hand rested on your head while his thumb drew little circles on your forehead.

“Good, because I love Bubba to the stars and back. His snuggles are my favorite.” You giggled slightly, remembering how Cas would let you play with the highest and least ruined feathers on his wings.

“What?” Dean acted half offended. “My snuggles are the best.” His voice ran into your ears and vibrated your laugh even more.

“No, Daddy. Your snuggles are the stickiest.” You laughed, covering your sides as Dean tickled the small ribs that held your frame.

After calming down the two of you just lie together in the backseat. Drifting further and further away into a dream land.

“Daddy?” Your voice was slow and steady like your heartbeat. “What’s S.W and D.W mean?” You recalled where the long forgotten memory sat. “I saw it in the door when you were fixing Baby.

“It’s mine and Uncle’s names. Because we’re family.” Dean spoke with his eyes closed, yet a hand still unconsciously rubbed your back.

“Bubba and I are apart of the family too, right?” You innocently asked, yawning and rubbing your heavy green eyes. “Can we put our names in Baby like you and Uncle?”

“When Bubba gets back, Daddy will help you put your name in there.” Dean smiled lightly. Opening his eyes for a second to envision the scribbled in letters.

Glancing down at your your dirty blonde head he realized you were fast asleep. But he realized so much more than that. No doubt you were a Winchester…no doubt you were the best damn thing that could’ve ever happened to him.

Moments of Memories

written by momentofclarity

Main pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Rating: Mature

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:
And that’s when his heart stops.

It stops only to a second later flutter like the wings of a hummingbird against his ribcage. The noise of the crowd melts into an intangible buzzing in his ears. He stares at the picture and he knows he should question the reason for why his body has suddenly gone haywire, but he doesn’t.

Because he knows those eyes, would recognize them anywhere, and now they are staring back at him from a picture on a wall.

Reunited AU. Harry Styles met Louis Tomlinson at the age of 6. At the age of 23 he lost him. What happens when he meets him again 36 years later?

Princess

Peter Hale x Reader

(NOT MY GIF)

*requested

Imagine: You have a major crush on Peter Hale, but, because of the Pack, you have to keep it a secret. One day, when he comes to your house injured, you are not able to hide it any more and comes clean to him.

Word Count: 1560


Being ordinarily human in a town crowded with supernatural creatures could be pretty boring sometimes; especially when all of your friends saw you as a fragile thing who could get broken if exposed to a high amount of shit. It was stupid, though. You were not a doll or anything related, for God’s sake; plus, even though fighting was not your thing, you could help on other stuff, like cleaning and bandaging the injured. Your aunt Melissa had taught you a lot of medical stuff, making you perfect for this task. However, bone killer Scott shut you out entirely, pledging you were too young to be on this life.

“As if I cared!” You snorted, angry. “Fucking Scott. Fucking rules. Fuck! Fuck!”

You threw, bored, the remote control on the couch’s corner, giving up on finding a decent show to take your mind away from the horrible powerless feeling you were experiencing. People needed your help and you were stuck at home, not able to do nothing about it. Why did you let people manipulate you like that?

“This calls for some booze”, you thought, standing up and heading to the kitchen. Sure, drinking would never solve entirely your problems, it’s not like it’s magic, however, you would at least calm down. Otherwise, it was very likely that you would rip Scott’s throat with your bare hands.

While trying to reach the highest shelf to grab the tequila bottle, you could not help but giggle, suddenly imagining what the pack would do if they discovered your secret crush on Peter Hale. Poor tiny human Y/N falling for a monster. It was ironic.

Finally getting hold of the bottle, you took a sip straight from it, not bothering to get a glass. The liquid went down burning and you smiled, enjoying the sensation. It was damn good, as usual.

Taking short steps, you went back to the living room, ready to put on some music and swirl your hips to it. All of that was probably due the alcohol excess, you were never a strong drinker. Yet, whilst you set up the stereo, you heard odd noises. As if someone was walking clumsily through wood sticks, breaking them with its feet.

“Shit.” You muttered, approaching the window and slyly looking through a brief shaft. There was nothing there. “I’m going crazy. That’s it.”

As soon as you returned to the room, you heard it again. This time, though, the door was swung open and a bleeding light brown haired man leant against the doorframe. What the hell was Peter doing here, at your place? Has he lost his mind?

“Hey, princess.” His voice was weak and he coughed, blood staining your carpet. “Care to help me a little?”

Your thoughts were mingled and confusing, but you propped up and went to help him. You pushed the door closed behind you and dragged him to the couch, staring deeply at his eyes. He seemed so defenseless!

“What happened?”

“Kate is back in town.”

“Kate as in Allison’s aunt?” Your eyes were widened as you quizzed him worried. “Fuck, wasn’t she dead? How did she come back?”

“As it seems, she was not killed. She was turned.”

“Into a werewolf?”

“Not quite, princess. We still have to figure out that part.” You could notice him struggling to talk and it shattered your heart the mere sight of your beloved hurt.

You always had a thing for bad boys, that was true; however, when Peter tagged along, you knew he was different. Sassy, slightly bossy… Heck, a perfect match for you. Still, you had to keep it a secret from him and everybody else. No one was allowed to know about your feelings, because it would turn out to be a major problem, considering how overprotective your cousin could get. Argh! You hated it. All of it.

“Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure I am.” Your reply came out with a fake laugh and a awkward gulp. “I think I should be asking you the same thing.”

“Uh, I’ll be okay. I only a need a shower.” He smirked tenderly, reaching to touch your right cheek. “Your heart is beating like crazy.”

Yes, this you could not hide or disguise. Seeing him hurt and in pain made your heartbeat go crazy. More than it would normally get when you were around him.

“I’m just…” You licked your lips, fighting to keep it together. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Uh, I’m sorry.” Hale seemed disappointed, which made you bit your bottom lip. “You were the only person who came into my mind.”

“I’m flattered you considered me as an option.” A sarcastic remark slipped. “People tend to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

“What?” Peter sat up straight, wincing in pain by doing so. “You’re so tough, princess. So resilient. I bet you would make a badass werewolf.”

“Damn, this is so good to hear.” A smile curved your lips, for you were genuinely satisfied. “Now, enough with this. You need to shower and I’m going to find you clothes.”

“All right.” Hale nodded and tried to get on his feet. You could nearly feel his ache to walk and, once more, made your poor pumping organ skip a few beats. “Where is the bathroom?”

“I’ll take you there.”

Right then you realised how hard this situation was going to be. You cared too much about him to keep your shit under control for that long. It was a true challenge for your sanity; one you hoped to win.


Twenty minutes later, you found yourself lying lazily on your bed, staring at the white ceiling and pulling carelessly the soft fabric of your denim shorts while waiting for him to come out.

You took a deep breath in order to relax; yet, before it made any effect, the door was opened and a shirtless dripping water Peter walked through it, looking refreshed. This tore apart any chance of relaxation. Matter of fact, it made you more tensed up than ever.

As you sat upright, your gaze locked on him and you licked your lips, nervous. Hale must have found it pleasing to watch, for he chuckled, delighted, leaning to grasp the bundle of clothes that were by your side.

“Do you like what you see, princess?”

“I would appreciate if you call me by my name.” You retorted, looking away. “Why don’t you get dressed already?”

“Does my nudity bother you?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Why would it?”

He traced your jaw with his long slim fingers, getting you to look at him. Once you finally gave up and rose your chin, meeting his eyesight with yours, you found them soaked with tenderness. His blue eyes engulfed you like a high strong wave.

“Confess.”

“Huh?”

“Confess.” The raspy voice requested, his thumb stroking leisurely your cheekbone. “Tell me you love me, because I can hear your heartbeat from miles away.”

“Please, don’t make me do this.” You did not break the eye connection, no matter how quivery your voice were. “I don’t want to say it.”

“But you do love me.” He knelt in front of you. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Why?”

“Why I find you beautiful? Because you are! So perfect and freaking gorgeous.”

“No.” You shook your head, giggling. “If you know how I feel, why do you want me to confess it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself by falling for a girl who wasn’t in love with me as well.” A sinking feeling hit your stomach as you slowly understood what he was saying. “Oh, fuck! Did I scare you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“So kiss me, please.” Peter asked, smoothly. “Go on, princess.”

A smug smirk enlightened your face and then you crashed your lips onto his, tasting all at once. He grasped your waist and pulled you closer, whilst you tugged his hair, wanting to release all the tension built up. It was so much better than you had imagined! His tongue fought with yours for dominance, the whole kiss heating up the place.

“Easy, tiger.” You whispered, splaying your hands on his chest as Hale was inches away from popping your shorts open. “I didn’t think you were this excited to be with me.”

“Ever since I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were going to be my doom.” Peter pecked your lips and continued. “The worst was that I didn’t care at all. I wanted you to crush me with your love. I wanted you to break my walls.”

“Did I?”

“Damn hell you did.” Both of you chuckled. “What about me? Did I crack Mrs. Y/N Y/L/N?”

“You know you did.” Your voice was soft. “I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Peter Hale hid his face on your neck, smiling against it, half surprised half glad by your statement. He stayed quiet for awhile, just sucking on your skin and leaving love bites behind. When he finally reached your ear, he could not help but mutter the words you wanted to hear:

“I love you too, princess.”

Your heart warmed up upon hearing that and you sealed your lips once more, realising how deep were your feelings towards each other. You two were meant to be. Definitely a love written on the stars.


#NO TRIGGER WARNING KS

I’m sick of it. Sick of acting like I’m treading on glass because of KS haters. Are they too stupid to distinguish fiction from reality?? Are you going to go bash Edgar Allen Poe or Stephen King now for creating such controversial pieces of Literature???
Listen folks, even If people are fetishizing or shipping Sangwoo x Yoonbum they don’t obviously support such relationships outside fiction, because IT IS WRONG. Everyone realizes that, we’re not stupid impressionable 5 years old. We understand that’s why we are in this fandom.
Such pieces of Literature and art are very important because they make us think and understand so much.
We can understand how mental disorders work, how emotional manipulation and gaslighting works, and as a writer and an artist it is very important to be versatile and open minded about even such concepts.
THE MESSAGE YOU HATERS ARE GIVING IS ONLY THAT WE SHOULD ACT LIKE EVERYTHING IS FINE AND STAY MUM ABOUT OTHER WISE VERY IMPORTANT ISSUES LIKE ABUSE AND MENTAL DISORDERS.
Fiction is all about creating and exploring situations. In case of killing stalking we learn what goes in the mind of a murderer and how trauma affects people.

You know who is really committing crimes here? YOU HATERS. By threatening murder and telling someone to kill themselves just because someone likes killing stalking. By demeaning and using vulgar language against us WHICH IS AGAINST CYBER LAW.

You talk about us supporting bad things and here you are actually trying to talk someone into killing themselves. You know what, we can actually get you persecuted for saying that.

#NoTriggerWarningKS
Because I’m done with being afraid for liking Killing Stalking which is a marvelous work of fiction.
You won’t find me giving a trigger warning for my killing stalking posts.

Please spread this tag #NoTriggerWarningKS in support of the Killing Stalking fandom, even if you aren’t in the fandom but know it’s okay to like any form of fiction and being part of a fandom.

Later

Steve x Reader

Word count: 1308

Summary: Fluffy, reader comforting Steve… that’s it really

A/N: HEY guys!!  I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything in awhile, just nothing has been coming to be writing wise, but I’m so happy I came up with this story!! I really enjoyed how it came out and hope this was the beginning of a writing streak lol. Anyway I really hope you enjoy this fic <3

Originally posted by esgaroths

Walking onto the quinjet you where exhausted. It had only been a few weeks since Tony and Steve came back together and got the Avengers initiative up and running again. In those weeks you had had 10 missions, all varying in length and with those missions there had been countless more arguments. Everyone had their turn, you had yelled at each of them once most of them time to get them to stop arguing and focus on the damn mission.

Keep reading

When Michonne was about to climb that tree… I didn’t say anything but my husband was like

“And no Rick is NOT looking at her butt, ‘cuz I know y'all (my fellow Richonners) are gonna make a million posts on tumblr talking about ‘he was looking at her butt’”…

I still didn’t say anything. Then Michonne actually started climbing and Rick was looking up at her… I still didn’t say anything, because before I could, my husband quickly corrected himself all defensively…

“Okay. Okay. Now he is looking at her butt… y'all be pressed.“😂😂😂

*and for the Record: Rick be pressed, not us.*

*ok. we be a little bit pressed*

*but you saw him clock that booty tho*

*we don’t gotta make up this stuff*

*no fake news in the Richonne tag boy*

Originally posted by sneakz

the-moon-loves-the-sea  asked:

t'pura or mcspirk :)

Oh, I am so glad you asked for this one, my dear. TOS McSpirk is the ship that is nearest and dearest to my heart. I have so many feels, and so many headcanons, but I’ve always been a little intimidated of voicing them, because these three are just so damn important. Bear with me as I try my very best to do the triumvirate justice. @gracieminabox, I’m tagging you, too, solely because we’ve talked about some of this (or you’ve listened to me ramble at length, you wonderful person, you) and I am just drowning in my feels - throw me a life preserver, will ya?


Who said “I love you” first

None of them use the words.

It’s not something that needs to be spoken. 

Carrying another’s soul changes a man. Everything, everything Spock’s ever seen and known and done, Len’s right in the thick of it all. 

It’s as horrifying as it is mind-boggling. Len’s a deeply private person, and having someone else in his head, a rival, a friend, giving him a front row seat to all of his flaws and doubts and failings, well, that’s almost more than Len can bear.

Turns out, their minds are remarkably compatible. The man Len had sparred with, served with, depended on, fought against, and trusted with his very life becomes so deeply intertwined in Len’s consciousness that he can hardly separate where Leonard H. McCoy ends and S’chn T’gai Spock begins. They are one and the same, a duality housed in a single vessel, twin souls sharing a fragile human body.

Len’s shocked to find that Spock… still is, for lack of a better term. The living soul of another - katra, Spock corrects him pointedly - is just that, living. Spock is in the present; he reacts, and he thinks - boy, does he think, Len realizes - and Len very quickly has a hard time distinguishing between the thoughts that arise from his own mind, and those that are of Spock.

There’s no way to block it, either. 

 Len learns a very many things, seeing the world through Spock’s eyes. 

He learns that Jim is Spock’s t’hy’la (he’s not surprised at this, not a bit, he just hadn’t realized that “bromance” was an official Vulcan relationship with an official Vulcan name).

He learns that Vulcans feel emotions. Vulcans feel emotions very strongly, in fact. 

He learns about Spock’s past. About his childhood, about his home.

And he learns about himself.

It’s harder with Jim. Len catches the shadow of Jim’s essence through the fragile t’hy’la bond, like echoes in an empty room, but it’s dimmed, somehow, and Len can never be quite sure if the snatches of emotion and bleeding of thoughts that seem to emanate from Jim come from Jim-of-the-moment or memories of past-Jim supplied by the Spock who lives only in his head. Time seems to shift and bend, swirls of before looping over glints of today, Spock’s unfettered desire for Jim Kirk mingling and compounding with Len’s own until Len can hardly hold himself back (but he must, he must), and the whole situation is enough to give him a pounding migraine that lasts for months.

Later, when Len wakes up on a stone slab with a throbbing head and a clawing emptiness in his soul, he realizes that he can still feel Spock.

Or rather, he can feel where Spock’s not

There’s a gaping hole in Len’s mind, where there should be the swirling thoughts of another. It’s a devastating, godawful feeling. Len’s known heartbreak before, countless times in countless ways, but this is different, starker, more absolute. There’s a piece of him missing, a whole other side of him gone, and Len feels as if he’s slowly breaking apart, as if everything that’s ever made him the man he is is slowly crumbling around him.

He hardly even recognizes himself.

Spock seems to be shutting him out. 

Spock, for his part, doesn’t know what to make of it. There is t’hy’la, his face so well-known and well-loved, the face that colors so many of his memories - “Your name is Jim,” - but there is the other, too. He has a bond with the other, the other whose face is so familiar and so beloved, the other who evokes such strange and bewildering emotions from his vulnerable heart. Their bond is wide open and blazing, like fire, like the sun, blinding in its brilliance. His memories are muddled and unexpected, colored by a lens that is not his, and Spock has a deeper understanding of the world and all that is in it than he’s ever remembered knowing before, a new, strange, human perspective. His knows a grief that is not his own, failures and triumphs and fierce pride and love, love, love, and a heartbreak, a loneliness that keens and blends with his own loneliness, thoughts that pulse and thrum and churn and break against his own thoughts.

“Remember.”

Spock snaps his barriers up with a force that very nearly sends him reeling.

It takes him time to sort it out, to tease apart the trappings of his own mind and to separate his own experiences from those of Leonard McCoy. 

“I’m gonna tell you something that I never thought I’d ever hear myself say. But it seems I’ve missed you. And I don’t know if I could stand to lose you again.”

It is only later, treading water in the tiny whale-tank on a centuries-old Earth, that Spock comes back to himself. 

“I am Spock,” he tells her. 

And he knows, then, that he is Spock, and that Jim is Jim, and that Leonard is Leonard, and that together, they are something new.

He waits for the opportune moment. 

It’s a… surprisingly difficult discipline, the waiting.

He manages it until the council hearing, and then he can resist it no longer, moving to stand next to Jim and dropping his barriers just for an instant, hardly even glancing up to meet Leonard’s gaze.

He doesn’t have to - Leonard’s answering thrill of wonder and anticipation is like the rising of the sun, blazing and blinding in its brilliance, and its all there, magnified exponentially between them, joy, joy, joy, and love, love, love.

He finds them together that night, waiting for him in his own cabin.


Who would have the others’ picture as their phone background

There aren’t many photographs of just the three of them.

The background of Jim’s PADD is a picture of David.

The background of Len’s PADD is solid black. Spock and Len are remarkably similar in that (and in many other) regard. Len, in any universe, prefers not to let anything distract him from his work, and it never occurs to Spock to personalize an object that is so clearly intended for his professional use.  

Spock, though, is the one who collects objects of sentimental value.

It is only logical to do so. Jim and Leonard are human; he will likely outlive them both by at least a century. A broken marriage bond can easily drive an otherwise healthy Vulcan into insanity, and once failed, the Kohlinar is no longer an option - Spock knows, deep in his most secret thoughts, that he would not make another attempt at purging his emotions, even if he could.

It is far, far too late for that.

So he stores away small things, a photo of the bridge crew, a scrap of napkin that Jim has scrawled on, a snapshot of Len smiling under the Georgia sun, mementos, moments, little glimpses of a life well-lived. He keeps them all carefully hidden in a tiny box - “This is my logic,” -  saving them for the day when memories are all he will have left of Leonard and Jim, these two extraordinary human men who have captured his heart so completely.

It is but a small price to pay, or so Spock tells himself.


Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

Len scrawls their names in the traditional vanu-tanaf-kitaunin, fingers tracing the elaborate loops and curves with a muscle memory that is not his own, the mirror squeaking softly as he writes.

Spock stands at his shoulder as if to correct him, never speaking, only watching. 

At length, Len pulls back. “Well, what do you think, Spock?” he asks, and Jim can see by the glint in his eye that he’s pleased with himself. “Not too bad, for a first try.”

Spock leans over him without a word, trailing one long finger at the edge of Len’s handiwork. “A satisfactory attempt,” he murmurs, flicking deftly to adjust the curve of serif that Len had neglected. “For a human.”

“Very pretty, Bones,” Jim reaches around them both, making his own mark on the glass. 

JTK was here.

Len lifts his eyes heavenward and sighs. 


Who buys the others cheesy gifts

Jim Kirk buys the cheesy gifts.

An “I <3 NY” shirt for Spock.

Red suede cowboy boots for Len (who wears them proudly).

“World’s Best Husband” mugs for all three of them.


Who initiated the first kiss

Len and Jim have kissed several times before the initiation of their relationship. 

Len and Jim have been each others’ best friend, drinking buddy, and wing man for years. They’ve participated in more than a few wild nights - most notably that one exceptional shore leave on Argelius - and neither of them are adverse to a little inebriated physical affection.

After all, what’s a kiss between friends?

Spock and Jim, at the time of Spock’s death, were only beginning to explore their physical relationship. Spock had initiated a few superficial melds, but Jim, for the most part, remained aware of the t’hy’la bond only in passing, and Spock had only briefly introduced him to the Vulcan ozh’esta. 

Never a full, proper, human, lips on lips kiss.

Later, after the fal-tor-pan and the awful excursion to the 20th century - whales, really? - and the revelation of Jim’s council meeting - “Mr. President, I stand with my shipmates,” - Len knows it’s time.

He doesn’t need to approach Spock. For one glorious moment, Spock had dropped the barriers between them, and the bond had flared to life, singing in Len’s mind, an all-consuming joy so sudden and fierce that it had very nearly brought Len to his knees.

He manages to keep himself upright, but only just, basking in the glow of Spock’s presence against his, so long-missed, so absolutely vital. They share the moment, both an instant and an eternity, and when Spock pulls back, Len has the sensation of falling into himself. He’s left with a new understanding and a contentment like he’s never known, save for the dull ache of desire in his deep in his chest.

He finds Jim, and he lays it all on the table.

Jim’s intake of breath, after Len finally runs out of words, is sharp, harsh, and Len is afraid, for one terrible moment, that he’s misjudged things horribly.

“Oh, Bones,” Jim breathes, and then he’s kissing Len for all he’s worth, taking Len by the upper arms and pulling him onto his toes.

Jim’s lips are warm and soft and familiar and right on his, and Len realizes, suddenly, that this is only the beginning. 

It’s the most joyful thing he’s ever known.


Who kisses the others awake in the morning

Not Jim.

Otherwise, it depends on who wakes first.

Typically, this is Spock. Vulcans require less sleep than humans, so its typically Spock tracing the curve of Jim’s jaw or the edge of Leonard brow, with his lips, with his fingers, with his tongue.

Sometimes, though, it’s Len. Len is a nuzzler. Len likes to bury his face in the crook of Spock’s neck and to curl his body protectively around Jim’s. Len kisses the hollow of Jim’s throat, the soft patch of skin behind Spock’s ears, running his fingers down their chests and shoulders, paying special attention to the sensitive spots on the inside of Spock’s elbows.

Jim’s a little more passive. On the rare occasion that he’s up first, he likes to lay beside his husbands and watch them. Len, early bird though he is, is a total bear when he’s woken from a dead sleep, and it is so rare to catch Spock unawares that Jim feels as if he’s obligated to savor the moment. Spock’s face is relaxed, the tension and sharp lines fallen away, and Bones, though he’ll deny it to his dying day, snores softly and smacks his lips in his sleep. 

Jim wouldn’t wake them for the world.


Who starts tickle fights

Jim is typically the instigator of the tickle fight.

Len’s got a tiny spot just at his inner thigh that sets him giggling until he can hardly breathe, red-faced and panting, tears running down his cheeks.

Jim lives for these moments.

Len’s retribution, when he can finally manage it, is swift and brutal. Jim may be bigger and stronger, but Len is fast. He sprawls on top of Jim, long fingers extracting their revenge with all the precision and finesse of a highly skilled surgeon. 

Jim Kirk begs for mercy.

Spock watches it all impassively from the corner of the bed, the gentle thrum of satisfaction that filters through their bond the only evidence of his amusement.

Until Len exploits his superior knowledge of Vulcan physiology, that is.


Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

Surprisingly, this is Spock.

Jim doesn’t ask if he can join Len, not that Len expects it. He pushes his way through the sliding glass door, and automatically Len shifts to accommodate him, without a word.

Jim, though, is remarkably efficient with their shared time in the shower. He hops in, does his business, and hops out, dripping little puddles all over the bathroom floor and humming softly under his breath.

Len takes his sweet time. There’s something wonderful about the thrum of real water on his bare skin, and despite the environmental control systems on board the Enterprise, the vastness of space leaves him feeling cold and hollow. A hot shower is a comfort, and he savors it.

Spock is strangely drawn to Leonard during these moments. It’s as if something in the water melts whatever subtle barriers remain between them, and Spock finds himself dumbstruck by Leonard, Leonard with his eyes closed and his face upturned, lips parted just slightly, Leonard who’s completely oblivious of Spock’s presence, just standing utterly still and letting the water fall over him like rain.

The words, May I join you, are hardly out of Spock’s mouth before Len’s breathing a harsh, “Yeah,” and Spock is shedding his cloak and climbing deftly into the shower with his bondmate.

Jim finds them a long time later. “Well, thanks for the invitation,” he manages just before Spock yanks him into the downpour, shirt and all.


Who surprises the others at work with lunch

They all eat lunch together, when they can.

It’s actually an old habit. During the five year mission, Jim would often have his lunch with Bones in the sickbay, or with Spock, when they could both leave the bridge. Occasionally, when their schedules allowed it, they’d all take their lunch breaks together in the mess hall, Bones sassing at Spock, Spock snarking at Bones, Jim indulgently running interference between them (and often subtly egging them on).

Now, years later, the pattern hasn’t changed. Bones still sasses Spock, Spock still snarks Bones, Jim still looks on in besotted amusement.

Some things never change.


Who was nervous and shy on the first date

There’s not a first date, necessarily. 

After the kiss - it’s a particularly long kiss - Jim can hardly find words. 

“Bones,” he breathes, eyes wide and a little bit desperate. “Are you sure? He’s -”

“Jim,” Len takes Jim’s hand in his own. “I’m sure.”

They wait for Spock together.

Len’s certain, this time. The look Spock had given him across the council chamber had said enough.

The bond had said everything.

The door opens, and there’s a beat of silence.

It all hangs in the balance. The past, the future, literal lifetimes shared between them.

“Spock,” Jim bursts. He takes half a step forward, then stops suddenly, as if reminding himself, “Be gentle, don’t press.”

“Jim. Leonard.” Spock nods toward them, utterly serene, his dark eyes giving nothing away.

Len feels as if his heart’s about to burst.

Enough, enough.

“Oh, god, c’mere,” he chokes, throwing his arms open wide and shoving all of his love, his wonder, all of himself toward the Spock-shaped hole in his heart.

Spock moves, the barriers fall, and the bond sings.


Who kills/takes out the spiders

Spock is the best at catching the spiders. 

Len’s too busy harassing Jim. “Haven’t seen you jump so high in years,” he laughs.

“Could be poisonous,” Jim informs him primly, stepping lithely down from the dresser only after Spock has relocated the offending critter outside. “Better safe than sorry, you know, Bones.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Len tells him pointedly, “the next time you decide to scale a goddamn cliff face with no safety gear!”

Jim does not honor this with a response.


Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

Len is the tactile one of the three, and this is only exaggerated when he’s drunk. He worships his lovers with his hands and with his body, litany of murmured praises falling like honey from his lips.

Spock is seldom inebriated. In fact, he’s far more likely to act as a keeper to Len and Jim, silly humans with their silly love of recreational cognitive impairment. He keeps a watchful eye on the two of them, carefully concealing his indulgent amusement at their drunken antics.

Rarely, though, Spock will have a piece of Jim’s chocolate pie, or accept Len’s offer of a drink (Len never fails to offer).

Then, Spock becomes a wild thing, a Vulcan of the days of old, a physical being in the most inherent sense. Making love is an art and a science, and Spock, particularly when he loses his inhibitions, excels at it. The somatosensory cortex of a Vulcan brain is exquisitely complex, and that, coupled with the ingenuity and innate intensity of the human experience, renders Spock completely powerless to his own desires. He throws himself into his task, flooding the bond wide open and laying waste to his mates’ bodies with a fervor and ferocity that borders on primal, delighting in the heat of their skin under his.

Len, for his part, can never quite contain his thrill of anticipation when Spock’s fingers subtly brush his as he passes Spock the bottle of Saurian brandy.

Jim is the romantic. 

Jim, when he’s drunk, serenades his husbands with classical literature, and sometimes, with old-earth love songs.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you

Len joins him occasionally, when he’s had enough that the long forgotten lyrics come easily and he forgets the warble in his voice. 

Like a river flows 

Surely to the sea

Darling so it goes

Some things are meant to be

They join hands, swaying a little with the rhythm of the music and the alcohol. Jim reaches toward Spock, drawing him in, holding him close, and Spock allows it, allows his free fingers to slip into Leonard’s, allows the glow of the moment to wash over him, allows himself the simple joy of just being here, with them, together, these two humans who he loves more than life itself.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can’t help

Falling in love with you


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