tame curls


It had been going on for a while. Rival papers, rival journalists. Clarke would get the tip, Lexa would arrive first at the scene – or vice versa. She rather liked it when it was her getting the story first, but her victories were just as frequent as Lexa’s.

There had to be a traitor in her office – there was one in Lexa’s after all, with Niylah feeding Clarke scoop after scoop just as soon as Lexa got word of them. Was Lexa flirting with one of her co-workers too? The thought was… oddly unpleasant.

Of course, there were the times when their rivalry, known (and barely put up with) by all, took a slight… detour and things between them would heat up in a very different way than usual.

Even though she would never admit it to anyone, those were the times Clarke revelled the most. Those were the times that made losing a few first hand stories almost worth it. Lexa didn’t need to know that, though.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

The voice, softer than her own, pulled the corners of Clarke’s lips up into a smile. She lay her chin on the chest underneath her, blue eyes playfully meeting green ones.

“Thank God none of our friends know about this,” she admitted, placing a soft kiss between Lexa’s breasts. “Raven and Octavia would tease me endlessly.”

To Clarke’s surprise, Lexa didn’t smirk; she frowned. “You haven’t told your friends about us?”

Clarke laughed and got off of Lexa, opting to lie down beside her. “What, like you have?” The deepening crease between those striking jade eyes was answer enough and she didn’t know how to react. “There is no us, Lexa.”

Suddenly Lexa was up, throwing covers off her lithe body and searching for her clothes among the jungle of Clarke’s bedroom floor. Clarke, in turn, was utterly confused, taken aback by Lexa’s sullen behaviour.

“Where are you going?”

“What does it look like, Clarke?” Lexa snapped as she pulled pants up to her waist. “I’m going home.”

“Why? We were just relaxing, I don't– what the hell is wrong with you?”

Lexa finished buttoning her shirt and heaved an exasperated sigh, turning to Clarke with a cold gaze.

“I get it, Clarke. We are rivals, we steal each other’s stories, and then we fuck to keep the adrenaline pumping.” Lexa’s voice was as gelid and stoic as her eyes. “It’s just curious that you still see it as that when we have been staying the night for over three months.”

Feeling exposed all of a sudden, Clarke sat up and pulled the blankets up to cover her chest. “We agreed that it was easier if you caught the morning train to your place,” she said defensively.

“I’ve got a drawer in your wardrobe, Clarke!”

“Not my fault you leave your clothes here all the time,” the blonde shrugged.

Lexa’s eye roll was worthy of some Olympic back flip medal or something. Were there Olympic medals for back flips? Clarke didn’t really know a lot about sports.

“You call me aloof and emotionally constipated, but I am not the one who keeps believing those easy ways out after three months of mornings after,” Lexa claimed, a hue of hurt in the rainbow of feelings in her voice.

Clarke was at a loss for words, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “We fuck. What’s the big deal about that?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, for Lexa just turned away with a huff and walked out, making sure to slam the door as she left.


They hadn’t talked for a month. Lexa had been keeping her distance: not coming any close to her stories, leaving Clarke alone to make the most of her own scoops. It would have been paradise, if not for the gaping absence of teasing remarks, insufferable smirks – any words at all. Clarke kept trying to steal some scoops for herself, but Lexa was relentless, never letting Clarke win.

In a fell swoop, Clarke had lost her fuck buddy and her rival. Every time she got to a place, Lexa would either be long gone or never show up at all. Journalism just wasn’t as fun anymore.

Clarke had loved the whole enemies/lovers dynamic, sleeping with none other than your greatest rival. After every hustle, they would fall into bed together, releasing their frustration and satiating their rivalry in each other’s arms, mouths, fingers. It was something Clarke had never experienced before.

Clarke was snatched out of her thoughts by a binder falling violently on her desk. She looked up to find Octavia glaring at her.

“What now, O?” Clarke asked impatiently. “Too much paperwork for your lazy ass?”

“Wow, Lexa really left your panties in a twist,” her brunette friend chuckled dryly. “Can you two please go back to fucking?”

Clark’s bewildered gasp and choke would have been funny if not for the situation they were in. “You know? she choked out in a spluttering mess.

“Of course I do,” Octavia frowned. “We all know Lexa lets you get half of her stories and then you two go home and fuck each other’s brains out. Or, well, did. Now you two just mope around like you lost your favourite candy.”

The knowledge that Lexa was doing just as bad as her gave Clarke an odd hopeful feeling. “She’s moping?”

“Of course she is. How would you expect her to react to a break up?”

“This was not– We weren’t even together.”

This time, Octavia laughed heartily, taking more than a minute to gather her bearings and turn to Clarke with a mocking expression.

“Sweetie, like or not, you two were dating for the past three months. You don’t do the morning after with someone you don’t care about.”

There it was again, the morning after. Clarke didn’t understand what relevance it had to the case. “I still don’t know why the morning after seems to be so important,” she grumbled.

Octavia just shook her head in disbelief. “You may be blonde, but you’re not blonde, Clarke. Don’t lie to yourself just because you’re afraid to face the truth.”


Clarke was determined to get this right. This story was Lexa’s, Niylah had promised, and she was going to get there fast enough to catch the brunette before she could leave.

She would also steal the story, but that was another story. Pun fully intended, Clarke decided in that moment.

When Lexa showed up, she was the image of beauty. Long brown curls tamed in a ponytail, her face was clean and open and probably what heaven looked like. Emerald eyes didn’t hide their owner’s shock to see her.

“Clarke,” Lexa half breathed, half gasped, eyes wide and lips parted.

Clarke had to remember the speech she had practiced at home, in front of her mirror, like a romantic loser.

“Lexa, I– Can we talk?”

Lexa eyed her suspiciously, but eventually agreed, with a discreet nod of her head. They headed to another room, making the interviewee wait for its five minutes in the limelight.

“What do you want, Clarke?” The hostility of Lexa’s tone made her flinch. She had a lot of explaining to do. “I will not go back to the way we were before.”

“I know, I know,” Clarke rushed to say, promising her memories of Lexa writhing under her that she would give them full her attention once she got home. “I don’t want that either.” At Lexa’s frown, she ploughed on. “I don’t want to go back to the way we were before, because I want so much more. I thought what we had was just an easy rivals with benefits situation. We would do the rivalling during the day, fuck during the night. You kept clothes at my place so no one would ever see you leave with the clothes of the day before on. In the middle of all the lying I did to keep myself from panicking, I forgot to realise that you started staying the night because I asked you to. And it went on for three months because I wanted you to. And I would ask and want you to stay the night because I needed to fall asleep and wake up next to you, because there is no greater feeling in the world than that of spending every hour of your day with the person you love.”

Lexa’s eyes were wide like saucers, but Clarke couldn’t stop now.

“That’s the other thing I forgot,” she admitted, her voice small. “I forgot that slowly but surely, I was falling in love with you.”

Lexa pressed her lips together pensively, letting the silence stretch before she broke it. “Why didn’t you tell your friends?”

“The same reason for all my other fuck ups: I was afraid. Telling them would mean they would be able to give me the advice I was dreading: that all those mornings after did hold meaning after all and that I couldn’t hide from my feelings anymore.”

Lexa nodded this time, still not making a sound. “Will you tell your friends now?”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile. “Already have.”

Another nod. “Are we still rivals?”

“You’re as much my enemy as when we started this whole thing.”

Lexa was sporting a small smile now, a crooked little thing that Clarke had always found adorable. “I would not have it any other way.”

“But Lexa, now you’re also my best friend and… If you give me the honour… My girlfriend.”

Lexa’s shy smile turned into a smirk. “Only if you admit that Polis is the superior newspaper.”

Clarke didn’t even gasp. “For you, I would quit the Arkadia.”

Lexa’s amused smile, however, showed she was just kidding. “No need. Wouldn’t want to end the rivalry, would we?”

In that moment – and the moment after, when she finally got to get reacquainted with Lexa’s lips –, Clarke knew that she wanted all the mornings after and the nights during and the afternoons before.

She wanted everything with Lexa.

1: june 3rd

“That was rude, Jess. I’m hurt.” He covers his heart with both hands, holding onto his peck through his tank top tightly. “I was going to invite you inside but I’m rethinking it now.”

“It is what it is.” Jessica shrugs like the excitement she felt fluttering in her stomach didn’t just churn into a tiny panic. “It’s not like I particularly wanted to watch you play Xbox anyway.”

“I had something else in mind.”

read below - story page - playlist - banner by @booksncoffee - word count: 929

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Quiet Village

Gaston x Reader

This is the second addition to my little series. Here is the first.

Thank you all for your positive feedback, this is now my second imagine I’ve ever written I hope you all enjoy. 

I’m also accepting requests so don’t be shy. Please be patient with me for I am busy with work and other social commitments, Part 3 should be out around tomorrow night (maybe). 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,280

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Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 6

Thanks again to @diversemediums and @outlandishchridhe for helping me polish this chapter up. It fought me a little, but we got it worked out. And there’s some epic stuff coming, just you wait. As always, I appreciate all of your comments and questions. I’m in love with this AU and your responses have been incredible. Thank you so much.

Read part 5 HERE

Jamie tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position to sleep. Had it really only been one day? Having a brief flash that she’d come back to see him, hearing a knock on the door, opening it to find those thugs come to steal him away, and then… Claire.

She closed the door behind her with a sigh. Her face was drawn and worried, like she had a million things running through her mind. She moved in front of the mirror and leaned against the counter, meeting her own eyes.

“It’s time,” she said.

At first, she looked sad. Whatever it was time for weighed on her heavily. And then her expression changed into something altogether different. She ran her hands through her hair and straightened up.

“I have to tell him.”

Jamie woke breathing hard, sitting up and wiping the cold sweat from his face. That was Claire. Claire Beauchamp. Not a woman who looked like her, from some distant past. But a Claire from the future. He swore quietly. Normally he’d have gotten out his dream journal and written it all down, but this was something he needed to speak about with Murtagh.

He stumbled down the stairs, replaying the scene in his mind until he found Murtagh and shook him awake. Ignoring the grumbling, Jamie explained the entire vision to his godfather in as much detail as he could. Murtagh’s countenance changed from one of annoyance to one of concern as he listened to the details of the vision. Both men were worried now.

“Who was ‘he’?”

“I dinna ken. Do ye think it could be…” Jamie was afraid to even say his name, as if it would conjure him.

Murtagh pinched the bridge of his nose.

“She didna believe ye when she came here, aye? Do ye really think her acting is that good?”

“If she’s working wi’ him, wouldn’t she have to be that good?”

Murtagh shook his head slowly.

“Nay, lad. I saw her eyes when she came here and she spoke true. I dinna think she’s working wi’ him.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“That’s no’ my job, lad. Ye need to gi’ it time. Go write it down like ye should have when ye woke. Remember what yer da said. It isna for ye to ken the reason for the vision, only to ken when to share it.”

Jamie nodded and ran a hand over his head.

“Ye dinna think he’s found me?”

“No,” his godfather said softly. “He doesna ken where ye are, Jamie. Go and get some rest if ye can. I’ll keep watch.”


Claire slept for the rest of the day after she’d come home from the Fraser’s. Most of her rest was dreamless, except for one moment that had been vivid.

She was outside herself, watching as she walked through her own flat. Her hair was a mess and she looked like she hadn’t slept in at least a day. When she made for the toilet, Claire wondered why she was dreaming about herself like this.

But then she was watching herself in front of the mirror, like she sometimes did before a surgery. Meeting her own gaze, determined to be her best.

“It’s time.”

The look in her eyes was a little sad, but not full of regret. Like she was letting go of something, and she knew letting go always brought some amount of pain. But then she ran her hands through her hair and straightened up. That look of determination was as familiar as her own home.

“I have to tell him.”

Then one corner of her mouth curled up in a smile.

Claire was jolted awake by her cell beeping at her. Glancing at it, she saw a text from Frank.

Remember we have a dinner party tonight. Please wear something sensible. And would you mind straightening your hair? It always looks so lovely on you that way. -F

With a heavy sigh, she got up and went to shower. It would take some time with her brush and flat-iron to get her curls tamed. Curls were unruly and unpredictable - spontaneous. When he took her out to a faculty function for his university, he preferred things to be neat and tidy. A simple, modest dress, and hair that didn’t look like she’d stuck her fingers in an electrical outlet.

Taking breaks whenever her arms got sore, she got herself ready for a night of boring conversation. One last glance in the mirror and she nodded to herself. She looked professional and put together, like Frank would be.

The dinner had soft music playing in the background, only loud enough to fill the silences. Claire sat down beside Frank and he dove straight into a conversation about some historical find. With nothing to really engage her, she let her mind wander. The dream she’d had bothered her. Usually when she had dreams like that, she didn’t see herself moving about. Thinking back, the only other time she’d experienced that had been…

Could it have been another one of those shared dreams? Like Jamie and I shared a few weeks ago?

But what had it been ‘time’ for? Was it some vision of her future? Perhaps she should go see him again and ask that he read her future. Or maybe she should just ask if he’d had a similar dream or vision. But if he hadn’t, what would that mean?

“Claire?” Frank whispered.

She blinked.

“Claire, are you alright? You seem distracted.”

She sighed, giving him an apologetic look and weak smile.

“I’m sorry. Yes. I am distracted. I was just thinking about… about one of my patients. Wondering how he’s doing.”

“So, Claire,” said an elegant woman. “Frank tells us you work at the hospital?”

Mustering up her formal smile, she nodded.

“I do. I’m a surgeon.”

“Oh my, that’s quite impressive!”

“Thank you.”

The man sitting beside her, presumably her husband, leaned in, interrupting the conversation.

“Say, Randall. Have you heard the rumors going about?”

“Which ones, Harvey? There’s dozens of rumors about all sorts of things.”

“The Scottish Revolution, of course! The White Rose, rising again.”

Frank laughed and took a sip of his scotch.

“They say that every few years, Harvey. You should know by now it’s a hoax. Scotland isn’t going to fight for independence again, not after the ‘45.”

Claire had begun to tune out again, but Frank’s mention of the ‘45 caught her attention. The book on the shelf that lead to Jamie’s safe room had been about the ‘45.

Harvey waved a dismissive hand.

“No, no. There’s a man who seems determined. Says he’s got something so powerful that England herself will be brought to her knees.”

“A Scottish revolution? One man with a weapon that powerful? Someone would have said something by now if that was true,” Frank said.

“And besides,” entered a new voice. “What sort of weapon could bring England to her knees? And what man is this you think will bring on this so called ‘revolution’?”

Harvey leaned forward, pleased to have an interested audience for once.

“They say he’s called Mackenzie, sometimes Mac. He’s a crafty man. Determined to find this thing he’s been searching for. I’ve heard one rumor that it’s a powerful bomb, that he’ll use to threaten England. But some say… He’s looking for a psychic.”

The table around her erupted into laughter, but Claire’s blood ran cold. Could this man be the one Jamie was hiding from? She observed him out of the corner of her eye. He was a large man with broad shoulders and shoulder length brown hair. Overall, he didn’t look like a Scottish psychic kidnapping mastermind. But then, she hadn’t even believe in psychics before a few weeks ago.

The party got up from the table, eager to enter the part of the night in which drinking and gossiping were involved. Claire didn’t even notice everyone was leaving until Frank took her hand, looking at her with concern. So many thoughts raced through her mind that she couldn’t tell where one began and another ended.

“Should we go Claire?” Frank asked lowly. “You’ve been off tonight. We could go to my place and…”

He shrugged, eyebrow raised in suggestion. Part of Claire wanted to go very badly. To feel safe and hide from everything that had happened - was going to happen. Claire shook her head.

“No, you stay. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll go home.”

Frank squeezed her hand gently.

“Are you sure, darling? I can take you home right now if you’re unwell.”

“Yes, I’m quite sure. I’ll just call for a cab and go to sleep.”

“Call or text me when you get home, then?”

Nodding, she accepted his kiss on her cheek and watched him join his colleagues. Harvey was lingering on the edge of the group and Claire waited before leaving. She didn’t think he suspected her of having a connection to Jamie and she had no way of knowing if it was Jamie the man had been talking about. But both Scotsmen had put their faith in her and she wouldn’t let them down.

After calling a cab, she gathered her coat and went outside to wait. Harvey had been facing away from the door and deeply involved in conversation when she’d slipped out. Inside the cab, she took a breath and tried to shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

“Where to, miss?”

For a moment, she considered giving Jamie’s address, but decided against it. She had work in the morning and she really was tired. Besides, if someone was watching her, the last thing she wanted was to give away where he was. So she gave the driver her home address and sat back in the seat as he pulled away.


Claire went to work as usual, though her mind kept wandering to Jamie. Was he alright? Had his wound become infected? Were the stitches holding? She told herself that she needed to get back to her regular life, that whatever was going on with Jamie Fraser was none of her business.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to see him. No matter what she told herself, or how busy she kept herself at work, she felt a pull toward his home. Somehow she knew that he wouldn’t go to the hospital for anything, not even an infected puncture.

“He’s my patient,” she told herself three days later. “It would be a violation of my oath to not check on him.”

That was what she told herself as she walked toward his home after her shift had ended. She was simply being a good doctor. Over and over she repeated her reasons to herself, forgetting she was mumbling out loud when she knocked on the door. Jamie himself opened it, offering her a kind smile. He definitely wasn’t surprised she was there, damn him.

“I’m a good doctor!” she blurted.

Jamie blinked, then nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up again.

“I’m sure you are, Miss Beauchamp. You certainly saved my life. My godfather’s as well.”

Claire exhaled, feeling like some weight had been taken off of her. He was watching her, as if he expected something. Claire nervously fiddled with her hands, feeling suddenly self conscious for another reason.

“How are your injuries healing up?”

He stepped back from the door and waved her inside.

“About as well as can be expected, I think.”

As she’d expected, he took her back to the same room in which he’d read her tea leaves. It was strangely familiar now, somehow comfortable.

“Lift up your shirt, then. I need to check for infection.”

“It’s not infected, Miss Beauchamp. I promise.”

“Who’s the one with the medical degree?”

He sat down in a chair and gingerly lifted his shirt. She breathed a sigh of relief when she noted there was, in fact, no infection. The stitches held well and everything looked healthy. Her fingers lingered on his warm skin, unable to pull away. Images flashed through her mind of that erotic dream she’d had. Jamie’s skin was as warm as the dream man had been, though much more immediate. She wondered absently if he was as soft and warm everywhere.

“My godfather has been checking on it,” he said quietly, his voice gone husky.

She could feel the way his chest rumbled when he spoke. Forcing her hand away, heat rushed up her neck and she looked pointedly down at the floor. What the hell was wrong with her? She glanced around hastily, seeing that the door was behind her. Backing toward it, she kept her eyes off him.

“Wait,” he said, turning to catch her before she left.

As he did, he winced and clutched at his side. She stopped and moved toward him.

“Have you been taking any painkillers?”

Claire latched onto the new topic of conversation, eager to pull her mind away from where it had been going.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t like to take medication.”

“Why not? I can’t imagine that was comfortable.”

He sat down slowly and shook his head.

“It hasn’t been. But something strong enough to take the pain away dulls my Sight. It’s more uncomfortable to have that than to deal with the pain.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.”

The room fell into an awkward silence.

“I’ve, um… I’ve been worried that one of the stitches hadn’t held or that infection had set in. I’m pleased to see it hasn’t.”

“So you said.”

Settling into her chair, she began wringing her hands together.

“Have you seen my future,” she blurted, again, daring to glance up at him.

His brows lifted a little, but not in surprise, she thought.

“I haven’t specifically looked.”

That wasn’t an answer to her question but an evasion.

“Did you have another vision of me a few nights ago?”

His eyes grew wide and he leaned forward a little.

“Why? Did you have a dream as well?”

She nodded.


“I don’t know why this is happening,” he said slowly. “Even my godfather doesn’t know why.”

“How is he, by the way? His head?”

Jamie laughed, grimacing again.

“His head is nearly as thick as mine.”

Her hands wouldn’t sit still in her lap and she found herself unable to meet his eyes again.

"Why is it… that you weren’t there? In the other one… you were so…”

Jesus H. Christ she was blushing again. She glanced up to find Jamie’s ears had gone faintly pink.

“I, uh…” his voice cracked. “I’m no’ sure. The other was… Well, it… They…”

She felt as embarrassed as she had when her uncle had given her “The Talk”. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to find a safe place to land. Never, in all her life, had she felt this out of sorts.

Jamie licked his lips and Claire felt like time slowed. She remembered feeling lips on her neck, her heart racing. No, wait. Her heart was racing now.

“Bloody Christ,” she muttered under her breath.

“Miss Beauchamp? Is everything alright?”

“Ah…” she met his eyes for a moment and remembered the piercing blue from her shared vision. “I’m afraid I forgot I had plans this evening. I have to get going. It’s, um… It’s been a pleasure seeing you again.” Her face flushed again. “If you need anything, you’ve got my number still.”

Lurching to her feet, she began to back out of the room again.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Miss Beauchamp?”

“God, please just call me Claire. Um. Yes, I’m quite alright. I’ll see you-” she grunted when she hit the doorframe. “Goodbye, Mr. Fraser.”

Turning, she walked as quickly as she could out of the building. The air outside washed over her and she stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

“Get a hold of yourself, Beauchamp,” she scolded herself. “Whatever the hell is going on needs to stop.”

After a few more cleansing breaths, she started for her own flat. What was it about the redheaded Scotsman that made her feel like this? 

Continue to Part 7

The Queen’s Curls

For @queen-of-the-merry-men who wanted Robin to see Regina’s natural curls for the first time. Happy belated birthday! ❤️ 

In the Missing Year, Regina shows Roland her curly hair | 2.3K unbeta-ed words

The Queen was brooding.

Not that this surprised Robin, he had rarely seen her with anything but a scowl plastered to her face from the moment he met her. But it was the way the Queen brooded, silent and alone, hunched in on herself as she sat in front of the roaring fire, which took Robin by surprise.

He had heard many a story about the great and terrible Evil Queen, about rage that levelled villages and a burning magic that could turn a man to dust. He had expected fire and venom from this great sorceress, this supposed monster of a woman. But she surprised him.

She was often cold, and detached, and was made of far less fire than Robin would have expected. She rarely spoke, especially on outings such as this one, camping with Snow White and the Prince along with Robin’s band of Merry Men, in the middle of the woods on a mission to gather intel on the Wicked Witch. Usually, the only time she opened her mouth was to throw a snarky comment laced with venom at anyone lucky enough to ruffle the royal feathers.

The rare exception to this rule was Robin’s son, who had a rapidly growing soft spot for her Majesty. She would offer him half smiles when he ran up to speak to her, listened intently whenever he regaled her with one of his never ending stories, nodding and, on good days, laughing quietly for only Roland to hear, and she had even started letting him sit on her lap during meals. It warmed a part of Robin’s heart, a part deep inside and long gone cold, seeing the Queen melt in the presence of his boy.

Robin had found that he was becoming increasingly better at reading the Queen, at knowing when her mood was rather colder than usual, when it was best to keep his distance as to not make matters worse, and he prided himself on knowing her so well – though he’d never admit it.

It was Roland that held the Queen’s attention now as she sat across from Robin perched on a damp log, arms wrapped around herself loosely. Something was bothering her, enough that even Roland’s dance around the camp’s fire couldn’t seem to smooth the crease between her brows or the narrowing of her eyes. If Robin could guess, he’d say that she wasn’t really watching Roland, and instead she let her eyes fall on him while her mind wandered. But to where, Robin wondered?

He hadn’t realized he was staring at the Queen until Little John cleared his throat from beside him loudly, snapping Robin out of his trace and handing him a steaming hot bowl of broth. The scent hit his nose then, rich with meat and a hint of spices that Robin couldn’t quite name, and his stomach rumbled.

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anonymous asked:


We can indeed! Although… it’s angsty (per the prompt in question, of course)… ;) x

“Oh, it’s you.”

He wants to laugh at how flippant you sound, but you’ve already ushered him in and shut the door behind.

Looking at you now, his heart sinks. Your hair and makeup are done and your dress is… it’s perfect. It’s exactly something you would wear, and he can only imagine how long it took you to find, because he remembers how long it took his mum to find something when she married Robin. You look… beautiful.

“Thanks,” you say.

He hadn’t realized he said it out loud, and he clears his throat. You look beautiful, and he’s about to do this? You deserve better — you deserve a man who isn’t slow on the uptake and who doesn’t choke on his emotions after trying to stamp them out for the better part of… ages. Ages and ages… Christ. He’s felt this way forever and it took this wanker to put it in perspective for him.

His hands are shoved inside of the pockets of his slacks, balling in and out of fists.

Don’t be a coward, Styles. You either say it nor or you walk away. Don’t drag this out for her.


It’s a croak and he’s closed his eyes feeling like he’s just fired a gun in the dark. His heart is pounding and he feels like he’s just run a 5k in as many minutes.

“Don’t fucking marry him,” he clarifies. The room is so quiet the two of you could hear a pin drop, and when he opens his eyes you’re holding the back of the chair that sits in front of the vanity that has all your makeup strewn over it. Your mouth is open and your eyes, wide and almost frightened, are blinking dazedly.

“M’sorry.” He withdraws one of his hands from his pockets and pushes it through the tamed, wavy curls. “M’sorry, I jus’—“

A knock on the door announces the arrival of one of your bridesmaids.

“Are you ready?” she asks you before narrowing in on him. “You should get back to your seat.”

Harry hears you make some sort of sound — something like a gasp, maybe, but he can’t be sure — while he nods his head. “Right, yeah.” He doesn’t meet your eyes when he closes the small distance between you and he grabs your forearm instinctively as he leans in. “See yeh in there,” he says gruffly just before pressing a strong, puckered kiss to your cheek. He should have shaved, he realizes too late, but you don’t protest about the whiskery stubble scratching your skin before he doubles back for his seat in the pew.

Like the Deserts Missed the Rain

This started out as an attempt to fulfil the Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon week 3 prompt: “Taste”  but quickly spiraled into something else.  Thank you to @thebookjumper who encouraged me to go down my own rabbit hole and start writing; and thank you to  @nalla-madness  for reading, for the advise and because she taught me the meaning of “Saudade”

Felicity didn’t like to waste time.  She considered time very precious.  There was so much she wanted to do, so many books to read, so many programs to write, so much to decode, so many firewalls to hack into; she just didn’t have the time.

What little time she had beyond her work, she liked to spend it relaxing by taking care of herself, baths, mani/pedis, taming her curls, applying her makeup, and shopping, definitely shopping for shoes online!

Food did not factor in her time equation, she couldn’t be bothered to invest the time.  She usually either ordered takeout, stopped for Big Belly Burger or heated some canned soup or microwave-ready meals.  Skillets and pots sat in her kitchen as pieces of décor.  She couldn’t bare to waste the time on stocking a fridge, cooking, or dishwashing.  Her mind couldn’t reconcile the effort or time!

But, her taste buds suffered. She missed real food, she missed home cooked meals, she missed Olivers home cooked meals in particular..  how she regretted not thinking it through before breaking up with him two months ago, not because of Olivers exceptional cooking skills, but because she really loved him, and truly missed him, missed his warmth and his scent, and the little glance of domesticity their brief time together had offered; something she had never had before with anyone.

Although Felicity knew that she was right to have broken up with him, not a day went by that she wished that he hadn’t lied, that he had told her when everyone else found out, that he had trusted in their relationship, that he knew in his soul that he wasn’t going to lose her by sharing the truth!

She wished that this enforced separation was making a difference with Oliver, that it had shifted his perspective and allowed him to think about why he had chosen to alienate her instead of include her and share being a father with her? She had hoped that by now, he would have some sort of explanation for why he chose not to trust her. Felicity felt like the only thing she accomplished by walking out was a self-inflicted punishment; that she continues to pay a heavy price every night when she walks into that empty desolate loft space!

Sometimes Felicity would come home and imagine she saw his silhouette through the glazed balcony doors, but then whenever she would walk closer the silhouette would fade and disappear like a cold trick in the light.


Felicity touched her finger to the crease of her upper lip, recalling Olivers kiss, no other kiss had tasted like Olivers kiss!

She was starving, not just for real food or warmth, her soul was starving for Oliver.  Her palate was missing the salty taste of his sweat-slicked abs!  

As she walked into the loft after a long night at the comms, Felicity kicked off her heels and sank down on the couch. God she missed him. How was she going to ever be with Oliver again after her protestations of lies, islands, and trust? After all she had done to push him away after giving him so much time, and seeing no real change, how could she excuse giving him another chance in her own mind?

Felicity knew that when she walked out the night they found William, that she had done the right thing, her mind was at total peace with all her decisions concerning Oliver, but her heart was breaking. Two nights had passed since they got drunk and she had asked him for lessons on the salmon ladder, and even after that small reprieve, her heart was still breaking, every night she saw him in the bunker and held herself back from touching him, from tasting him, her heart shattered further!

99% of the time she just wanted to throw it all to the wind and call him to come over and as soon as he walked through that door she just wanted to throw herself in his arms and taste those lips she was starving for!

Felicity missed him so much, she missed him like a Sade song, she missed him like the deserts missed the rain, so for a person who didn’t like to waste time, why was she wasting precious time now?  Life was short, and she already had so much regret! She knew that Oliver had even more regrets!  

What if she came back to the loft and Oliver was real, what if they tried to work it out, what if they tried to find a way to heal? What if there was a little bit of hope for them yet?

“Fuck it!”

She yelled out loud.  

Felicity couldn’t walk away from Oliver a second time, she couldn’t continue to yearn for him and pretend that she didn’t leave a part of herself back in the bunker every time she left.  She couldn’t suppress her own pain anymore.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed his number, she didn’t have to wait too long, on the third ring, the phone picked up.

“Felicity.” His voice laden with sleep had that sexy gruff that sounded like his Arrow voice. How she missed hearing his voice whisper in the middle of the night! 

“Is everything alright?”

He sounded concerned because Felicity was not in the habit of calling him after hours!

Her decision was made, she didn’t want to go back. Her soul needed him more than her mind could justify the need to keep him away!

“Oliver, I miss you.”

She heard him inhale. 

“I miss you too, Felicity,” he whispered.

“I am ready for that talk now, could you please come back home?”

ichigobunnybun-fairy  asked:

Hi! Do you have any advice on curly/fluffy hair and what kind of hairstyle would look good for fairy kei?

I think it depends on how curly your hair is there are lots of cute styles! 80s inspired styles are also a good way to go~ (they didn’t have hair straighteners back then!) Buns, side-ponytails, half-styles, buns… You can try all sorts of looks♪

Curly hair usually has a lot of volume, so you can use that to your advantage!

Here is some cute, curly inspo!

@bundiesss​ has wonderful, curly hair and she leaves it her natural colour! Her coords have an adorable 80s feeling and her hair really finishes the look off ♡

Solarkid_ on Instagram! She has short, fluffy n curly hair which is sooo dreamy! It’s naturally curly and she works it to her advantage to make these adorable styles like twin buns and half buns!

Peco’s hair isn’t naturally curly, but it’s a trademark part of her look! Her style is inspired by 1980′s American preppy style, so again we’re going back to the 80s~ While her hair is obviously more “tame” compared to natural curls, it’s still great for style references!

This character by Manamoko (Fancy Surprise) @fancysurprise has long, curly hair~ It’s always held back with cute lil grips which would be fun to try!

If you’re after more afro-hair inspo rather than curls, check out my “natural hair” tag☆彡

I hope that helps!

anonymous asked:

Hi, in the Sheevson prompt we haven't see full Obikin in action. Maybe you can do something fluffy or maybe they having their way and Ahsoka finding them?

For once they have time and its the best thing in the world Anakin decides.

Obi-Wan is pressed against him, a line of warmth against him, his face buried in Anakin’s neck with the surprisingly soft beard tickling the skin as his fingers gently knead the blonds thigh, Anakin’s own arm wrapped around his shoulders with his fingers resting in copper hair to tease them around his fingers.

A holo drama was on their viewscreen, the plot exaggerated to the point of hilarity with several moments of extreme emotions and even song numbers.

Its almost a comedy yet not when the emotions turns passionate.

But its not the holo drama that matters.

Its the warmth against him, steady and comfortable as Obi-Wan takes steady breath, the others mind a buzz of comfortable emotions. Of peace and fuzz and just a soft whisper of ‘Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.’ brushing out from under Obi-Wan’s relaxed shields.

Its enough to make Anakin tilt his head and press a soft kiss to the others temple, smiling when Obi-Wan gives a content hum.

He smells faintly like vanilla, most likely from attempting to bake earlier.

Distracted from the holo drama, Anakin used his grip on the others hair to gently tilt Obi-Wan’s head back from his neck.

“Ani?” Obi-Wan mumbled, voice faintly confused and a bit tired before he sighs in pleasure as the knight started pressing soft kisses along the now exposed neck, sniggering a bit when the other paid special homage to a little cluster of freckles along the tendons. “Hey…”

“Want me to stop?” Anakin murmured against the pale skin.

“Please don’t. It feels nice.” Obi-Wan hummed, sliding his hands up the others stomach, chest and around his shoulders to hold on.

Slowly pressing the other down against the couch cushion, Anakin placed his mech hand by Obi-Wan’s head for support, not wanting to utterly pin the other down as he smiled down at his lover. “Damn…you look beautiful Obi-Wan.”

And he did look beautiful, hair tussled out of its usual style, eyes half lidded both from relaxation and pleasure and his tunics faintly ruffled out of place.

And there’s a flush climbing up his neck now that is even more intriguing and wonderful as the other glanced away in faint embarrassment.

“I adore you.” Anakin murmured, leaning in, feeling all the ways their bodies slotted together as he rested more of his weight on Obi-Wan.

“And I love you.” Obi-Wan whispered, feeling the blond freeze on top of him before Anakin gave a breathy laugh of relief.

Their lips meet again, a tender and slow touch and Anakin felt a light tug to the bun that held his hair back before curls fell forward around his face, Obi-Wan’s hands sliding into it to rub his scalp as they slowly kissed.

Chastely to begin with, noses bumping before Obi-Wan opened his mouth and Anakin took the invitation, gently licking at the seams of the lips before dipping in to taste the other. His former master shifted beneath him, one leg slowly wrapping around Anakin’s hip and not one to resist the second invitation, Anakin slipped a leg between the others thighs, feeling like they were puzzle pieces slotting perfectly together. Nothing hurried but just gently fitting together.

“Hey Skyguy, can you help me with something!?” Both jerked at the voice, Anakin and Obi-Wan giving each other wide eyed looks before Anakin slowly sat up to peer over the couch where Ahsoka was removing her boots by the door having come in while they were snogging.

Quickly he ran his hands through his curls to tame them somewhat even as he sat up, fully aware of his kiss swollen lips and ruffled tunics. Obi-Wan meanwhile slid to the floor, sitting with his back against it as he desperately tried to fix both hair and tunic, licking his lips as if he too was fully aware of their plumped state.

“Yeah, you got a problem? Is it homework?” Anakin questioned in what he hoped was a casual tone but obviously Ahsoka heard something in it that made her pause and look at him, brows raising slowly before she glanced about.

“Yeah but…where’s Master Obi-Wan, thought I felt him too?”

“Here.” Obi-Wan raised a hand, the tips of his fingers barely seen over the back of the couch. “Watching a soppy holo drama Ahsoka. Do you want my help too?”

“No, no Skyguy should be enough, its navigational.” She was still peering at Anakin and he could feel sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

But she didn’t say anything, not even when she came around the couch and saw Obi-Wan’s equally swollen lips and the flush the other man couldn’t quite contain. Not to mention the ruffled hair.

Anakin shifted and leaned towards her, looking over her navigational homework, working out her problem with her even as he felt Obi-Wan lean against his legs and a hand slowly snake around his ankle, rubbing ever so slowly.

In that moment, nothing else mattered then Obi-Wan against his leg and Ahsoka by his side.

Not the war, not Sheev Palpatine, not Obi-Wan’s parentage, just the soft warmth of their quarters.

randomnesstwo  asked:

hi, um, if you're still doing that one shot request thing, and if it isn't a bother, could you do angsty Jamilton? Pls, thx. Love your blog. Sorry, I'm awkward. Thanks! <3

My child, I too, am an awkward turtle. Just so we’re clear, I am now the tumblr mother to you all, and you all my adopted children. Any problems? No? Okay good.


Alex was bitter. Well, he was normally, but this was a different kind of bitter. Since freshman year of high school, he and Thomas had always been at each others throats. Whether it be in debate class, or just in general. Only in the end of their senior year - thanks to Laf’s ideas of seven minutes in heaven - their feelings were resolved. They began dating the summer before freshman year of college, and though they weren’t roommates - probably for the better - they’d been dating for two years.

But here he was, sat next to John and Herc gush to each other, talking about how cute Laf and Peggy’s Halloween costumes were, talking about how they were proud of their ideas. They knew how Alex was feeling - who didn’t? - but knew better than to interfere at this point. 

He and Thomas were, of course, dressed as one of the famous couples as were basically every other couple at the party. Thomas had the grand idea as coming as Adventure Time characters - so here he was sat, dressed as Marceline while Thomas was dressed as Princess Bubblegum, flirting with some bad dyed, fake boobed Fin. 

So yeah, he was bitter. Thomas, being the charmer he was, was flirting back. His curles were tamed, the crown sitting neatly on his head. Alex watched as he said something, the flirtly twinkle in his eyes as the girl blushed, giggling, hiding her face behind her cup.

Alex wanted to be mean, wanted to think harshly, but he didn’t know this girl. From what he could tell, or, you know, had snooped about, she was visiting, a cousin of Samuel Seabury. She may not have known Alex and Thomas were dating, but Thomas sure as hell did.

He had watched it for about ten minutes, watching as the two grew closer, until his heart couldn’t take anymore. He gets he and Thomas didn’t always get along, but hell, once they had started dating it was going amazing. Their political views were still basically polar, but they loved each other.

Or atleast, Alex loved Thomas. Watching this, Alex wasn’t so sure how Thomas felt. Knowing his friends were expecting him to blow up, he surprised them, a broken sigh coming from his mouth, he put his cup down, eyes brimming with tears as he left the building. John called after him, Herc glaring daggers at Thomas.

Lafayette and Peggy - dressed Belle and Adam - walked over, having seen Alex leave. “What is wrong with out dear Alexander?” 

Herc said nothing, but Laf, following where he was glaring, turned, seeing Thomas still chatting - flirting - away with the blonde. Laf felt his blood boil. He and Thomas were close - well, as close as twins could be - but he cherished Alex just as much.

“Excuse me, mon cheri.” He kissed Peggy’s cheek, hiking the yellow dress higher, he stormed his way over to his twin.

“So, why is Laf, Belle and you’re - “

“Don’t question Lafayette and let me enjoy seeing his legs on display like this.” Peggy held her hand up, shutting John’s mouth.

“Pardon me, madam, but I need a word with my dear brother.” The blonde frowned, but nodded, sending a small smile to Thomas as she walked away, probably going to try and find her cousin. Thomas opened his mouth but was shut up, Laf’s hand smacking him across the face.

Gilbert what the hell - “

“No, you what the hell?!” Thomas said nothing, holding his cheek, “What the hell are you doing? No! Don’t answer that - what you’re doing is clear as day! To everyone! I had convinced everyone else to give you a chance when you and Alex began dating and I’m really regretting that seeing as they were right.”

“What do - “

“You don’t have the right to question what I mean! Here you are, attending a party, dressed as a couple with your boyfriend, and you’re flirting with someone else! So consumed in looking at the breasts of some girl you didn’t even notice Alex left the God damn party!” Thomas looked to where Alex had been, seeing Herc, John, Peggy, Eliza, Angelica, Burr, hell even James, but as Laf said, no Alex.

“No no, Laf listen - “

“No you listen Thomas - “

“Laf please! I wasn’t doing this intentionally! I - I know Alex gets jealous and it’s always funny - not funny, but like, you know how he is when he’s jealous, and he gets jealous over simple things! I just,” Thomas blushed, “I don’t know, we’d been arguing and I was getting scared of where our relationship was going and this was my dumbass way of seeing if he still cared.”

“Yes, he still cares about you. He does so much seeing you flirt with someone else right in front of him drove him away. So you better stop stumbling over your words and go make it up to Alex, cause if I hear about one more tear coming from Alex that isn’t because of pleasure, twin or not, I can and will ruin your life.” Laf turned, skirt sweeping dramatically behind him as he walked back.

God what had Thomas done? 

~     ~     ~

“A-Alexander?” Alex sniffled, wiping away his tears, throwing his outfit into his hamper. 

“What Jefferson?” Thomas flinched, hating the anger laced in Alex’s voice.

“Baby, look I’m so sorry - “

“Thomas, just, don’t, okay? Look I - I know I’m not perfect, I know I may not be good enough but please, if you’re going to - to be like this, just dump me. Don’t string me out, don’t - don’t break my heart and leave it, please.”

Thomas felt his own heart breaking, shattering beyond fix as he watched Alex look at him, eyes full of hurt, full of fear. Thomas was pissed at himself.

“God, no, Alex, I love you. I do.” Alex scoffed, “Yeah, but loving someone doesn’t mean flirting with other people.”

“No no I know I know I just,” Thomas pulled the crown off of his head, “I love you so much. More, than words can describe. And, with the stress we’d both been under, the arguements, I was scared. I was scared you were losing interest, that you and John were going to be picking up where I lacked, and I wanted to prove to myself you still cared.” 

“You were always so cute jealous and I thought - if I made you jealous, you’d storm over, you’d do your cute rant, your face would turn red and we’d come home, and I’d stop doubting myself. I never meant to hurt you - but, you know I don’t think things through!” He ran his hands through his curls best he could.

“Alex, I would never cheat on you. I’d never hurt you like that. I swear on my father’s grave, what I did was beyond stupid and I don’t know why I thought it was smart. But, Alex please, I love you so, so so much.”

“I love you too…” His voice was quiet, “You could have talked to me, you could have asked or - or said literally anything!”

Thomas nodded. “I know, I know. And - And I regret what I did, talking to her, flirting with her, I felt so uncomfortable. She’s just like Sam, she agrees with anything I say, changing her opinion to match mine, she doesn’t even live up to even the slightest bit of you. The whole time I kept picturing you, how you’d respond, how you’d act and what you’d say. I got so distracted thinking about you I - I hadn’t noticed anything wrong, really.”

“Thinking about how I’d act? Act to what? Your dumbass pick up lines?”

Thomas feigned hurt. “Dumbass pick up lines? Excuse me, I am amazing.”

Alex snorted. “Okay sure, your pick up lines suck worse every time you use them.”

“I have a good one in mind, and now I don’t even want to use it.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Then don’t.”

A pause.

“Okay you’ve convinced me.” Alex’s breathy laugh made him smile, and he sauntered up, arms lacing slowly across Alex’s shoulders, “You’re a fox, looking pretty good in your frocks, how ‘bout later we strip down to our socks.”

Alex stared at him, before bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, Thomas, what the hell?”

Thomas grinned triumphantly, “There’s that smile I fell in love with…”

Alex shook his head, wiping a few stray tears away. “Why do I date you?”

Thomas shrugged, “You love me.”

~     ~     ~     ~    ~

Too cheesy of an ending? I was going to make it sad but I couldn’t do that to my poor baby alex 

waitingforeleven  asked:

Hello, my friend! For your ficlet giveaway, how about FS + THE CROWN :D (any scene/moment you want!) Thanks for doing this! <3

@whatlighttasteslike​ *heavy sigh* do I thank you or scold you for enabling me? XP I had so much fun writing this - but now it’s gonna end up being a full (if shortish) fic at some point when I finish my vastly delayed FSSV present. <3
{Much of this scene includes dialogue from the first episode.}
Anniversary Ficlet 3/8.
Rated G. FitzSimmons. “The Crown” (Queen Elizabeth & Prince Philip) AU.

The room’s familiar gilding served as no distraction for Jemma as she paced the elaborate carpet that adorned the floor. Her dress swished around her legs, and she resisted the urge to curl her fingers into the cream-colored fabric. That would not be ladylike. Voices droned on in the room across the hall, and although she knew that it would be seen as very improper for her to be present or even eavesdrop, the latter was precisely what she was trying to do. It just didn’t seem fair for her to be excluded from such an important occasion; but, that’s just how things were done, and Crown Princess Jemma Simmons was excellent at following royal protocol. She’d been an expert ever since she was a child, and she wasn’t going to stop now. Still, she paced back and forth in front of the drawing room door, managing to catch a handful of words:

…From henceforth, he will be known as Lieutenant Leopold James Fitz, Royal Navy. Leopold Fitz, I grant you and the heirs, male of your body, lawfully begotten, the dignities of Baron Greenwich, Earl of Meioneth and Duke of Edinburgh, and Knight Companion of our Most Noble Order of the Garter.”

Reserved applause sounded through the hallway, and Jemma realized that she was grinning in an entirely unseemly way, but she couldn’t convince herself to stop. When she accidentally caught the eye of a nearby butler, she quickly tried to school her face into an expression of polite contentment, and gave him a nod. Then she turned on her heel and paced back to the other side of the room, wholly impatient for the men’s congratulating to finish so that she could finally, finally see her fiancé.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Maybe A jeggy/leggy( Laurens x Peggy because, janthony lol) where Peggy likes John fluff but, he Likes Alex

I think it’s “Jeggy” cause I think Leggy is Laf and Peggy <3

Okay so haven’t really done a ship like this yet so let me try this now!


Soft music played in the background as people chattered amungst themselves. Lights were dimmed and Peggy, arm linked with Eliza as they walked through the crowds, watched as children ran around, couples danced and saw as Mr. and Mrs. Washington were sat, looking as in love as it can get.

“Oh I think I see Laf!” Eliza’s voice brought Peggy from her gazing, and turning her head she saw Laf and Herc stroll in, both dressed in clothes she’d seen Herc working on - but Laf clearly created the styles and ideas.

“Bonjour my two princesses!” Laf kissed both of their cheeks, the two girls falling into giggling fits, “You two could put any Disney princess to shame!”

“Thank you Laf!” Peggy smiled at the taller man, while Eliza blushed and playfully curtsied.

“Well look at you!” They splayed their arms out dramatically, “You look like more than a billion bucks!”

Laf and Herc laughed as Herc put his arms around Laf’s shoulders, kissing their forehead. “They wanted something simpler but with looks like this? Laf deserved more.”

Eliza and Peggy aww’ed, jumping as Angelica and Alex strolled out, seemingly out of no where. “You know I never thought George would go through with the ball idea…”

Angie rolled her eyes, waving to Thomas and James as Alex glared. “He loves Martha too much to say no to her wishes. Besides I think it’s cute - I mean a ball for you wedding anniversary?”

Alex nodded, smiling at Laf and Herc. “Elizabeth and Margarita!” He teased and the two scrunched their noses, as he took their hands, kissing the back. “Two of the most beautiful women I’ve seen in my life.”

Angie hit the back of his head as Eliza laughed. “Alexander you flirt!” He shrugged but smiled.

“So, where’s John?” Peggy’s heart skipped a beat at Angie’s question, trying to hide the hopeful look on her face.

“He should - ah there he is!” John strolled over, curls tamed to not fly away as they usually did, today he tried to make sure there were no fly away frizzies. 

John smiled as he approached the ground, leaning down as he kissed Alex softly, eyes fluttered shut as blush darkened the freckles that painted his cheeks. Peggy smiled, trying to hide the feeling in her chest as he heart screamed.

The two pulled away from each other, both of their faces flushed as John laughed at the look Angie gave him. “I don’t like seeing my little brother make out with his boyfriend ya know?” She teased, ruffling Alex’s hair.

“Oh shut up.” No real malice laced his voice as he fixed his hair.

“Eliza, is that Maria?” Herc pointed over her shoulder, and the middle sister turned, a smile lighting up her face.

“Yes! Do you mind if I - ?” The others shook her head and she grinned, heading over to her girlfriend. 

Peggy was left feeling awkward, hands nervously smoothing her dress. John turned his attention to her, smiling and she almost started crying. “Don’t you look beautiful Peggy - you’d put Belle to shame.” 

She blushed and curtsied, mimicking what Eliza had done. “Thank you Johnathan,” He playfully frowned at the nickname, “I believe you’re going through a goth faze? Complete black suit?”

He laughed, and Peggy’s face mimicked the love sick one Alex was giving him, and she tried hiding it, but her heart wouldn’t let her stop. “What can I say? Black…’suits’ me.”

Alex slapped his chest playfully. “I swear you’re more puns than you are anything else.”

“I find the puns…punny.” Peggy said lamely, but John smiled, a half smile, one dimpled winking lightly at her.

Why does he have to be so beautiful?

“Yeah Lexi, you love me why not love my puns?” Alex rolled his eyes.

“I believe you promised me a dance Mr. Laurens?” John put out his arm, Alex linking with him.

“That I did Mr. Hamilton. Ladies, gentlemen, Laf.” He nodded as the two walked over to the dance floor.

“You wanna dance?” Herc asked, laying his palm out and Laf smiled, taking his hand.

Angelica was left, staring at her youngest sister, who was staring, a sad, longing look on her face at everyone dancing. At - she followed her gaze.


Turning back she cleared her throat, Peggy turning her head towards her. “Are you alright Pegs?”

Peggy smiled, a tight lipped smile as she nodded. “Yeah course. Just,” She waved her hand awkwardly, “Lots of people. Overwhelming a bit.”

Angelica nodded, not believing a word. “Do you wanna dance?”

Peggy laughed, “With you?”

“Who else would have said it through me?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe you’re possessed?” Angie laughed.

“Well shit you’ve learned my secret.” Peggy smiled, shaking her head.

“You go ahead, I’m gonna head to the bathroom and get some food. Angelica nodded, pulling her sister into a hug, kissing her cheek.

Peggy smiled, hands clasped together as she headed to the bathroom, head held high. She nodded and waved to a few people before finally making it to the bathroom, locking the door, back leaned against it as she held in her tears.

Her bottom lip wobbled, and she cupped her hands over her cheeks, breathing heavily. She spent too long on her makeup to cry and ruin it all.

Walking to the mirror she stared at herself, curly hair styled out of her face. Her lipstick had long come off, her eyes popping with the style Eliza had done. She felt her heart begin to break, and covered her mouth as she shut her eyes.

She’d met John before Alex had even come to America. She had been thirteen, in the coffee shop with her sisters when a group of four boys walked in, three laughing loudly while one seemed to be annoyed with the others.

Angie and Eliza knew them, having classes with them in school. With Peggy only being an eighth grader she wasn’t sure who they were. Eliza had introduced them and Peggy gave a small smile, braces still making her feel awkward.

Laf had such a thick French accent Peggy had all but fallen for them - platonically of course - and Laf grew a strong love for her, they saw each other as siblings. Herc played for the football team, he was buff and big. And he was a teddy bear. He was sweet, kind and gentle, making Peggy feel more comfortable.

Aaron was sweet too, though more reserved than the rest. Peggy didn’t have much a first impression on him, but knew they’d grow closer.

But John?

John was this beautiful, dorky teenage boy, hair too big for his head, freckles covering more than his skin even did, eyes so beautiful you could get lost in them, a smile so beautiful you felt Cupid’s Arrow hit you.

Peggy had fallen for him right then and there, hearing his first awful pun and being the only one to laugh. She was thirteen and he was fifteen, almost sixteen.

They had all grown closer over the years, and Peggy had years of pinning and crushing, watching as he matured and got more perfect.

Finally, the day she turned sixteen, she bucked up as much confidence as she could. She had met with him and the others in the coffee shop, wearing a new outfit she’d bought on her shopping trip with Laf. 

Her plan was full proof, she was gonna bring up a movie she wanted to see, something she knew her sisters didn’t want to and the others had seen while John was away. She’d ask if he wanted to see it with her, and while they were there she’d tell him she liked him.

Maybe he’d like her back, maybe he wouldn’t. But she was going to do it.

She remembered the nerves as she entered and saw everyone sitting and talking. She walked over, her new shoes already drenched on the inside with sweat. Upon seeing her John got up, pulling out a chair and smiling at her.

She sat, smiling at the others. Her eyes fell on a new person - someone she hadn’t seen before, but her being her, smiled kindly at him. He smiled back, hand holding a coffee cup.

“Hello, I’m Peggy. I don’t believe I’ve met you?”

“You’re not the only one.” Herc rolled his eyes, “He and Jacky boy have known each other and apparently for a while. Says we’ll love the, quote unquote, little spitball of a child.”

“Of a child?” The new guy laughed, playfully glaring.

“Well yeah,” John smiled, sticking his tongue out some and Peggy’s heart fluttered.

“Okay so we’re all here, proper introduction.” He stood and the new guy got up, standing next to him.

“Guys, gals, nonbianry pals. This is Alexander Hamilton, my boyfriend.”

Peggy opened her eyes, wiping away the few tears that had fallen, running a paper towel under her eyes, riding of the fallen makeup.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head. “No time to dwell Margarita…” Her voice was soft, shaky even.

Looking once more in the mirror she unlocked the door, making her way back to the ball. She looked to where Alex and John were slow dancing, laughing and talking and smiled.

At least he was happy.

Sleep Well

Cullen Rutherford X Demetra Trevelyan
Beware: wild fluff after this point

He sighed happily in his sleep and she had to restrain a chuckle, gently passing her fingers through his hair as she had done in the last minutes. Cullen could protest as loudly as he pleased when he was awake, but the truth was that he slept better when she caressed his hair.
Not that he didn’t like to have it touched by her during the day too, but he was ashamed if others were present, for he couldn’t restrain his pleased humming. And oftern others were always present, since for the Inquisitor and her Commander obtaining some privacy would request months of scheduling.
She traced paths with her fingers, from his nape to his temple, enjoying to feel his body heavily laying on the bed, his head on her lap.
Demetra bent slightly, kissing his forehead.
The dark circles under his eyes spoke about sleepless nights, and the stubble a bit longer than usual meant his hands hadn’t been steady enough to shave him properly. She pushed aside her worries, knowing he didn’t suffer from a withdrawal - or Cassandra would tell her, as she requested exspressly before leaving Skyhold for the Forbidden Oasis.
More probably, Cullen had pushed himself too much, working a lot, taking care of himself a little.
With her free hand, she framed gently his face, tenderly studying his features. In the occasions in which he was so peaceful during his sleep, he seemed younger. He resembled more the man she had learnt to love than the Commander who intimidated her at the very beginning, before starting to look beyond his frown and his personal shields. The wrinkles near his eyes almost disappeared, his jaw relaxed, his mouth slightly open.

He should laugh more, she thought pushing away from his face a rebel curl. He did laugh when they were together, though, but she just wished for him to have more and more occasions to do that. 
Demetra wanted for him to be safe and happy and free to laugh when he wanted to. To play chess more often and maybe adopt a Mabari - even if he would scoff at her that Mabari couldn’t be adopted, because of the bond.
To visit his family and find out he could still be part of it, because it was clear they loved him very much - his correspondence with Mia was more regular now, and the other two siblings had started to acclude notes for him. They seemed nice people who were sincerly happy to have him back in their lives.
To spend his free time reading all the books he wanted to, but didn’t have enough time for - except for the time he stole from what was meant to be time for food or sleep. But she did the same, so she couldn’t blame him.

She looked up at the night sky, the moon high there smiling back at her. It was really too late to be awake, and Demetra suppressed a yawn. Still five minutes, she said firmly to herself, knowing that probably she was going to look at him for a bit longer than that. Maybe it was a creepy or a weird thing to do. She wasn’t sure and she hadn’t dared to ask anybody for an opinion. It was truly too personal for sharing around, even during the quiet chats she and Cassandra had around the fire, in the camp, during their watch.
But Demetra did like looking at him in his sleep, and daydreaming a bit. Their relationship was fairly new, Maker, they started to sleep together just a few weeks before and she hadn’t imagined she would have loved seeing Cullen in such a private situation. Well, she hadn’t imagined a lot of things she would have liked about him and private situations. She silently laugh to herself, sensing her cheeks blushing. 
He sighed happily again, leaning against her soft belly, pressing himself closer to her.
She continued to caress his head gently, marvelling how soft his hair actually was, knowing the faint scent of the lotion he - abundantly - used to tame his curls would probably stick in her own fingers.
She smiled.
She was okay with that. More than okay.

anonymous asked:

how does their hair dry after it's gotten wet? like does it get curly, wavy, straight, frizzy, etc.?

Iceland’s hair is pretty thin so when he is finally done washing it, nothing happens. Like, seriously, makes everyone jealous with how easy it is to tame.

Denmark gets wild curls. It sticks up and curls in all different directions. Then if he brushes it, the frizz happens. If it’s a lazy day you’ll actually see him with his natural hair

Sweden’s hair just sticks up in odd directions. On random occasion, it curls at the nape of his neck but that’s about it

Norway doesn’t have frizzy hair, much like his brother. Except his is a bit wavy and it’s kinda cute

Finland, oh poor Finland. Frizz + a mix of curly/wavy hair. He gets so annoyed with it so he straightens it all the time

(Tag yourself, I’m actually Denmark??)

Mod Sheila