that must be some chair

Does anyone here still remember the pre movie Les Mis and POTO fandom?

Bc damn son those were some good times

Of Dust and Irony

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader
Summary: Remus happens to visit the Reader’s antiquarian, but when he is stuck there during a storm, he finds what he was looking for, even though in a different way than he might have expected it.
Word count: 2666
A/N: This is my submission for Fanfic of the Year 2017, that you got to choose the pairing and an object of. I hope you enjoy and I’d be incredibly glad if you would leave some feedback.

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alltheluvharrys  asked:

Hello, how are you? Pretty please, can you do a blurb about Harry and (Y/N) planning their wedding? Thank you and have a lovely day

A/N:  Sorry this took so long to get posted.  It was swirling around in my brain for a long time.  I sincerely hope that this Harry fluff brings you joy.  I know that cuts in Asks don’t always allow you to read the whole thing on mobile, so I apologize if that’s the case for you.  

Wedding Plans

The parade of dresses is making your head spin.  Not only do you have to decide on a wedding dress from all of the designers who had submitted dresses to your wedding planner, but you have to choose a dress for the wedding brunch, the rehearsal dinner, the engagement party in London, the engagement party in LA, and the dress to change into after the reception.  You are exhausted with all of the choices.  Rodeo Drive was made for rich people who are used to being catered to in this way, but the champagne the clerk keeps refilling for you is giving you a headache.  

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anonymous asked:

Wtf is it me the only one who thought that it was weird that Mick was sleeping in a bed and Dean looked like he slept in the table all night?

I think what was more significant about that is how Mick collapsed on his desk when he was drinking on his own but actually went to bed in the Bunker. Because for Mick, being in the Bunker and being around people he sort of likes was enough to change the nature of his drinking - sure, still something to get that darkness and that guilt the fuck out, but also an occasion to banter and have fun (because they likely did, or they would not have stayed up with him in the first place), so much so he actually felt mellow and relaxed enough to sleep in a strange bed (I know some people think he intended to spend the night all along because he’d brought a change of clothes, but I always read Mick as a civilized person and the kind who’d have a ‘gentleman’s bag’ with him whenever - so, sure, maybe he was expecting to stay in the Bunker because he needed the distraction and wanted to re-establish some kind of dominance over, and kinship with, Sam and Dean, but a change of clothes is just what he has in his car at all times).

As for Dean - drinking and having fun with his brother and some kind of friend would only highlight the fact Cas is missing and they don’t know where he is. So that one evening away from hunting, well - I doubt it made Dean feel any lighter - quite the opposite. And trying to best Mick was, really, the perfect occasion to drink himself into a stupor and let go of that constant worrying and nagging and why the fuck isn’t he answering and why does he keep leaving and Jesus, why can’t we have just one damn week of peace and quiet around here and also -

(I love you, this is what Cas said, and why is it so damn hard to say it back?)

Unlike Sam, who wants to believe the best of everyone and was not trained from toddlerhood to be the man of the family, Dean is used to this - just sit in some chair and then slowly fall asleep - he must have done it countless times as a kid as he waited for John to come back, his eyes on the door, his hand resting lightly on the gun, Sammy sound asleep and making funny noises from time to time, the way kids do - so much so we’ve seen that it’s a kind of comfort thing for him (look at Dean falling asleep sitting on the toilet in that underground prison, for instance). So, you know - maybe Dean stayed in the kitchen because he felt too vulnerable in his own room as long as Mick was around, and maybe he did manage to lie down for a few hours and was simply up earlier than Sam (it’s bound to happen at least once, after all), and maybe he simply collapsed where he was because he was too drunk to get up on his own and Sam forgot about him and Mick just left him there, but as much progress as he’s made, something deep inside Dean is still that kid - the one who’s sitting at some motel table, waiting for someone to come back for him. So, no - as much as that hurts me, I don’t find it all that weird that he’d fall asleep like that, in his clothes, a bottle and a gun within reach, and his dreams full of dark, slimey things. 

(Sigh.)

Bulletproof (ch. 1)

OK SO REMEMBER WHEN I GOT PROMPTS AND THEN D IDNT DO THEM? this is why. this absolute frankensteins monster. I just. I had this human!au in my head, and… now it’s a thing. A very long thing. With a plot… help.
@velocifoxy @idk-and-idc-and-idr

Descrip:
Slow burn (not super slow to start w/ but it gets slower. Like. Really slow.) suuuper hurt comfort, probably gonna get nsfw in the future because. I hate writing easy things apparently. (There’s a one night stand implied that m i g h t not be the best decision the characters ever made. This does get addressed in another chapter, but not this one) really a lot of awful angsty metaphors that go on like 3 sentences too long I’m sORRY

Pairings:
Logince (eventually lamp but… yknow. slow burn.)


TRIGGERS:
Alcohol mention, emotional abuse, rebound, bad break up, poison/gun mention, v brief murder mention, gets a tiny bit nsfw at the end (they don’t even kiss, guys, Roman is just a big flirt who maybe makes bad decisions sometimes)


Prompt:
From @killerfangirl3
“I’m bulletproof, just don’t shoot me”

They say if you take little bits of poison everyday for years, you could one day be immune, if those little bits didn’t kill you first. Unfortunately, the same isn’t true for love.

Roman staggered out of the party early, words ringing in his ears. “Convenient.” That’s all he had been. “Convenient.” A step up to bigger things. He was famous, but not famous enough. Rich, but they had wanted richer. Soft, when they wanted useful. The casual voice over champagne clinking. “You didn’t think it meant anything, did you? People like you. Now, they like me! It was convenient to-”
Roman winced at the memory. He had to move. It was near midnight, and pouring rain, gold from the streetlights playing on every drop as they fell. His jacket and umbrella were inside, but his wallet and phone (dead, probably) still sat in his pocket, so he cut his losses, stepping out from under the porch of the grand, old house, still glowing with lights and people and noise.
He though little bits of love would be okay. But it never worked like that. He couldn’t just do a little. It was less like saying to take small doses of poison everyday, than it was getting shot everyday. The only way to be really bulletproof was to never hand someone the gun …He didn’t know where he was going. His dress shoes didn’t have the same satisfying click on soaked pavement as they did on marble or hardwood. His hair was flat, and clinging to his skull. He didn’t feel anything. So he kept walking.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but when sensation returned, it came in the form of being cold. Then his feet hurt.
Looking around, the only light on was shining from a dusty looking store front. He doubted anyone would be open at that hour, but the crash of heavy rain was weighing on his senses, and his last stitch of self preservation pushed him to the door. It swung open with a halfhearted jingle from a rusted bell.
At first, he couldn’t see anyone. Every wall seemed to be covered in books, as well as much of the floor. He could hardly see the ceiling, but the shelves went past where he thought a regular ceiling ought to be and then some. Stacks of ancient creaking leather bound tomes, dog eared paperbacks, and bent, stained hardcovers nearly covered every inch. It looked less like a store and more like a… hoard.
Roman stood dripping on the doormat in utter awe, until something moved in the back of the shop. Sure enough, a face was poking out from around a bookshelf. The man had large black glasses pushed up onto his forehead, making his hair spike in every direction. He had red marks on the bridge of his nose from wearing them too long, and was blinking at Roman like he’d just woken up.
“Oh, uh give me a moment.”
He extracted himself clumsily from what must have been a desk at some point and unfolded from a leather chair he’d been sitting in, adjusting his tie and putting his glasses back on their perch.
“Alright. My name is Logan, what are you looking for tonight?”
He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, his clothes crumpled. Roman was so shellshocked by the sight he nearly forgot to answer. He felt his cheeks grow red from more that just the cold. “I- uh- I’m not looking for anything in particular, I’m just… Browsing.”
He willed the man to leave it at that, he could pretend to look at books, warm up, call a taxi and go cry into his pillow without being recognized by a cute clerk at a weird bookshop. Logan squinted at him from behind the glasses, taking a step forward. Roman flinched instinctively back, shoulders bumping the glass door. /this is it, he’s going to recognize me, tell a some news site and get a picture as I run off or something. ‘Local star now local washed up wreck…’/
“Are you sure? We usually only get people looking for something specific… we only really have older, out of print books that people value as collectors… Sir? Are you alright?”
The clerks voice had nothing but honest curiosity turned concern as he walked closer. Roman realized his eyes where still closed tight, waiting for when he’d have to run. He opened them to find Logan much closer too him, inspecting him with a worried face.

/he’s cuter up close… wait no don’t do that bad idea/

“uh. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
“No, no you’re not. Your teeth are chattering. Follow me. Try not to get any books wet. If you have to, drip on the romance novels on the left. They never sell anyways.”
The clerk turned on his heel and walked further into the shop.
“You could also go back into the rain, if you want, but I would recommend accepting help. You look freezing and probably lost, and nothing else around runs this late.”
Roman shrugged. ‘Local star murdered by weird book seller’ sounded better than 'local star found frozen solid on side walk’ anyways. He followed Logan back into the shop. Two large bookshelves split the space in two, creating a doorway between them into the rest of the room. A rickety wooden staircase disappeared into shadows at the very back.
To Romans right was what could almost be called a parlor, a large, deep leather sofa sat facing several cushy armchairs covered in fading fabric, separated by a low coffee table. On his left was a workshop of some sort, incredibly tidy in contrast to the rest of the store, a bright desk lamp shone on a thick, dusty book, which lay naked with its leather cover to one side. A number of tools stood like a row of soldiers to one side.
Roman let himself be ushered onto the sofa, which reminded him exactly how sore his feet were. He let out a sigh. It might have been a terrible idea to crash at a random collectors book store because the sofa was comfy and the clerk was cute, but after a night like his it was danm tempting. Logan was mostly quiet as he moved about the space, up and down the stairs to fetch things, leaving Roman to his thoughts. He stared into space, trying not to think them, until something warm wrapped around his shoulders.
He looked up to see Logan pulling a wool blanket around him, tutting under his breath. “It’s never a good idea to soak yourself to the bone like this. It’s going to take a while to warm you up.” Roman nodded dully, remembering how much of a mess he must look. /that’s probably why he doesn’t recognize you. The longer you stay the more you’re risking…/ he ignored himself, watching Logan move around the space. His shirt, already rumpled, was pushed up past his elbows, showing his arms. His hands and his slacks were covered in ink stains that Roman hadn’t noticed at first.
The wool blanket smelled like peppermint. Maybe that’s what Logan smelled like.

He was too tired for attractive strangers, he decided. He was heart broken, metaphorically and literally lost, who cared if he wondered if attractive nerds smelled like peppermint or not. He settled further into the couch, wrapping himself in the blanket like a cloak.
/you’re so screwed./ his brain whispered. /so very very screwed./
The stairs creaked, and Logan came reappeared carefully balancing two steaming mugs. He set one down in front of Roman, then lowered himself into the chair and blew on his mug. When Roman didn’t reach for his immediately, he held eye contact and raised an eyebrow pointedly. Roman sighed and sat up, peering into it suspiciously. “It’s hot chocolate. It’s not going to bite you.” “I know what it is! I was just-” the eyebrow again. “Fine, fine. I’m drinking it. Happy?” Logan hummed and Roman tried not to burn his tongue. It wasn’t good hot chocolate by any means, but it was hot. And vaguely chocolate. So it helped, at least a little. They sat for a while, until both cups sat below half, and Roman had a pleasant glow in his stomach.
Logan set his mug down with a decisive clack.
“So. Talk.”
Roman immediately stiffened, and Logan backed up, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to tell me everything, or anything at all, really, but you clearly had a difficult night. I’m not sure what else you need right now, and some context would be appreciated. Besides.” Logan leaned back in the chair, eyeing him. “I don’t usually get that many mysterious customers on the nightshift, surprisingly. I’m curious.” Roman felt his cheeks heat up again, and scolded himself for being so happy for the attention. Most people assumed they knew everything about him. It was nice to feel… interesting, in a normal way.
/whatever./ his brain muttered bitterly.
/he’s probably just curious about the weird, wet idiot on his doorstep. You look horrible, anyways. Any chance at 'charming stranger’ was ruined ages ago./
he sighed, and cleared his throat.
“I… bailed on a party.” That was true, technically.
“I…”
/say anything/ his brain urged.
/you don’t need to tell him how pathetic your night was. You didn’t ask for his help/
“I had a pretty bad break up.”
/really?/ his mind was screaming.
But Logan just winced sympathetically.
“That must have been difficult… do you… would you like to talk about it?”
Every instinct in his head told him not to. But he felt… warm. Safe.
“I… was seeing some one who… was after something specific. After …they got that, I was unnecessary.” His voice sounded small and broken in his own ears, despite him trying to keep it steady. When he found the courage to look up, there was no pity or disgust in the other mans eyes.
“That sucks.”
It was the most casual he’d been all night. Roman couldn’t help laughing.

The terror of telling things like that to strangers returned somewhat after that, and the conversation moved on to lighter things. Mostly about Logan. He found out Logan slept upstairs, for convenience sake, and that he worked part time as a substitute English teacher, when he wasn’t restoring books. Logan tapped his fingers on his chair like he was playing a piano when he was thinking. Logan snorted when he laughed, if you could get him to do it. Logan didn’t think he was very good with people.
Romans eyes were raw from crying, but he felt like the full effect of the night hadn’t even started to hit him. It was terrifying. Almost everything was. Tomorrow morning felt like some kind of deadline. Some kind of cliff.

Fortunately, it wasn’t tomorrow morning yet. Logan coughed politely, bringing him out of his thoughts.
“As nice as this is,” ('he thinks it’s nice!’ Part of him said. 'Shut. up.’ said a larger part) “my shift is about to end.”
Romans heart sank.
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
Logans voice was soft, almost… nervous.
Romans heart was on a danm rollercoaster.
“I… technically, yes.”
There was the eyebrow again. “Technically?” Bile rose in Romans throat. “I would… rather not go back in this state, but I do have somewhere to go. If you lend me your phone I could call a cab-”
“No! -I mean.”
Logan cleared his throat, less gracefully this time. “That’s not necessary. You can stay here. If you want, that is.”
This was familiar ground. Roman could feel his feet under him as Logan got more and more flustered. “And who’s bed would I be sleeping in, exactly?” Roman knew he was grinning at this point.
“Uh- t-there’s a spare couch upstairs, I suppose you could have my bed if you-”
“Not quite what I meant, gorgeous.”
Roman pulled himself up off the couch, and stalked over to the armchair Logan was sitting in. He was close enough to see the other man swallow nervously. Getting no signal to back off, he planted both hands on the arms of the chair, caging Logan in, and waited for him to make a move.
Throw him out, or…
One of Logans hands grabbed the back of his neck. “I suppose” he muttered, pulling Roman towards him “I wouldn’t mind sharing.”

2

Vocatus

8

I sat sobbing on my kitchen floor.
Literally, sobbing. My throat was tight and my cheeks were soaking wet. I tried to hide my red eyes with my hands, uncontrollable tears drowning me like they had been doing for the past ten minutes.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” I heard Mo burst through my front door. “I HEARD YOU CRYING WHAT HAPPENED?”

He ran into the kitchen, though I didn’t reveal my face to see him do it. I could just tell he had by the sound of his footsteps, and the groan he emitted once he realised the reason behind my tears.

“For fuck sake, Ren.” He tutted. “Are you crying over the slug?”

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Crush - Chapter 11. Corruption

Pairing: Eric/OC *Abbey*
Fandom: Divergent
Rating: M

A memory from Eric’s past plays tricks on him. And it’s all about the girl, Abbey Ainsworth.

A/N: I think this chap will sate some peoples thoughts. Thank you all! Enjoy!

Tags: @iammarylastar  @badassbaker  @pathybo@mimigemrose@frecklefaceb  @beltz2016  @ariwolff14  @lauraaan182 @kenzieam  @tigpooh67@elaacreditava@equalstrashflavoredtrash@murmelinchen


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Received my commission by @tomowowowo and @boomchickfanfiction today and I couldn’t be happier. or sadder. or any more overcome with stupid misplaced paternal feelings and the desire to curl up in a corner somewhere and rock myself back and forth silently wishing things had turned out differently

Give the pieces some love!

Thanks girls for your hard work! I love the pic and fic both so much; you’ve made an old man very happy indeed. :)


Sephiroth was unmoving. He sat in the simple white bed, shirtless but not chilled, and did nothing. The clock above the door marked the passage of time. He tried to breathe at the right pace to match his heartbeat to its ticking. There was no reason not to. He had nothing else to do.

He couldn’t match his heart or the clock to the IV drip hooked up to his left arm. He’d tried to explain to the medical staff that it was unnecessary. Even if his body was still recalibrating after the burns it had taken, it was more than capable of fixing itself without external input. He had been summarily ignored, and had given up on reasoning with the stony­faced staff. They were under orders, it seemed. And once the Shinra machine was in motion, it was rarely stopped by reason.

So now he sat frozen by ‘bedrest’ orders in the mind­numbing dullness of the medical wing. He could hear the soft, meaningless music playing down the hall, piped through speakers in an effort to make the wing ‘comfortable’ to visitors. Somewhere nearby, someone had turned on their room’s television, letting Shinra propaganda spew into the air. To Sephiroth, it was a distant hum of meaningless noise.

Sephiroth listened to the clock instead, and focused on timing his heartbeat. His burned thigh was healing with what felt with small pops, as if his body was slowly boiling itself back into place. The pain had been engaging enough for a while, but he was bored of it now.

He would not be receiving visitors. Angeal and Genesis were long gone. They would never again bother him with their concerns for his health. Zack would have come if he had known, but Sephiroth did not care to enlighten him. He was content alone. He had to be.

And then the rhythm or his clock and his heartbeat and his loneliness was broken as the door opened and someone scoffed.

“Well,” Hojo said in lieu of greeting. “You’ve made a fine mess of yourself.”

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As I walk into the forest I had noticed a beautiful woman with big soft natural breasts sitting on a set of stairs. Something was weird with me, it felt like I couldn’t move as soon as I made eye contact with her body. It was like I was being hypnotized… controlled by her body. I couldn’t stop staring at her big beautiful tits. I walked up to her feeling like her body told me to walk up to her…. then she had spoken to me…

“My… what’re you doing walking around my sacred forest alone? Are you lost? Would you like River to help you find your way?”

I couldn’t speak any clear words to her from the sight of her big tits so I nodded my head in agreement..

“You must be exhausted from all that walking around and you want to stay here with me do you? You don’t want to go do you pet? You want to stay here with River. You want to belong to River…”

Again I couldn’t speak any word to her from being mesmerized by her beautiful body… as I tried to say something she had walked up to me and place her finger on my lips and said to me…

“Sssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhh…. it’s okay pet. You don’t need to say anything. Your mind and eyes speak for me telling me that you want to belong to me… ;) Come inside pet… come stay with River…”

She had take my hand and had me follow her to her beautiful home where I may live for Goddess River.

As I walked inside she brought me into a room with a chair in the middle of the room. Goddess looked into my eyes and asked of me…

“Sit down onto the chair my pet… Relax onto the chair for me.”

I had responded saying, “Yes Goddess River… I must obey…”

As I sat down onto the chair, Goddess River grabbed some silky rope and tied me down onto the chair and made it very tight. She wanted to make sure that I was tied comfortably before her.

“Comfortable my pet? I sure hope so… You’re not going anywhere for a while…. You’re going to go deeper for your goddess…”

“Yes my goddess… I obey only to River….”

“Very good my pet… now I want you to stare at my beautiful soft breasts… watch as I touch them… squeeze them… sway them in front of your face…”

Goddess River made me stare deep into her breasts for two hours and I felt such full of lust, deepness, and mesmerized by her big tits that I had forgotten who I was…

“Who am I? What am I? What is my reason for being here?

Goddess River answered me back…

“You are Goddess River’s pet, her slave, and most importantly you reason for being here is that you belong to River… You want to stay here and worship your Goddess forever. You want to make River happy and in return you will become happy too for pleasing your goddess. Now… say it pet. Say that you belong to River.

Without question I responded…

“I belong to River, I am here to make River Happy, River is my queen, the only woman that I must worship. I want to go deeper and come to her beautiful big soft breasts always…”

Pleased Goddess River had said to me…

“Mmmmm very good boy… You belong to me and you cannot resist my tits. Why would you want to? It makes you feel so good to make your Goddess happy pet..”

Losing control of my lower body, I orgasmed at the thought of Goddess River’s tits controlling me and going deeper for her.

Squirming into the chair that I’ve been tied up in, Goddess River came to me and said…

“Hmmmm someone had made a mess in their pants haven’t they? At least this shows how much power I have over you pet ;) *giggles*”

“Now… let me get you out of that so that you can begin your long journey for you Goddess River pet.”

She had removed the silky rope bondage off of me and had taken my hand again and had me follow her to the light…

This was a dream I had during the middle of night. After that I couldn’t go back to sleep again, I had to share my thoughts for my Queen River. I belong to River. River is my addiction.

@rivernixie

Way to Attention

Summary: Jyn feels as if Cassian has been ignoring her because of work and gets a little carried with drinks one night. It leads to an interesting conversation in the morning and revelation that maybe she has much simpler means than passing out straight in his arms to get his attentions.

A/N: Response to @dogtorbones prompt, because she’s such an enabler. Anxious about characterization, but thought I’d share it anyway. Also @radiojamming come and look at the mess!! :D

Links to FF.net and AO3 if you’d like to leave a review, kudo or comment. (All are appreciated and loved)


For people who do not know if they will see next day, Rebels sure party a lot. Or perhaps that’s exactly the reason why. Though ‘party’ is a mightily stretched term for groups gathering together in the makeshift cantina and drinking until they sing or drop. (Or both.)

Usually, Jyn does not join them, still feeling like there’s invisible wall between her and rest of the rebels. With equally invisible ink words 'Galen Erso’s daughter’ are written on it and she isn’t sure if there’s any door in this wall that would lead to them occupying the same space. Doesn’t really care to find it, either. She has her Rogue One team. That’s more than she could ever imagine.

But tonight she’s angry and either she will drink it away or punch it out of her system. Probably the latter. It’d be best if she could hit Draven, for making Cassian so busy he has been basically ignoring her for a week now while she’s forced to sit back and do nothing. Baze and Chirrut have each other for endless bickering and Bodhi’s busy learning to be X-Wing pilot, but no one is teaching her that, as she’s too unpredictable in field.

Bantha assholes. Every last of them.

So, if she can’t touch their precious ships, she’s at least going to peruse their booze collection. Especially since this is a larger gathering they’re all suggested to attend. Even Cassian is here, in middle of small crowd, most likely discussing something work related. The bottle in his hand looks half empty, not that she’s checking or anything.

Jyn downs another glass (or two) of something sweet and suddenly, he’s by her side. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Cassian asks with a frown she wants to slap off his face. Who gave him right to-to…

The thought floats away, as does lights and the next thing she’s aware of is metal ceiling above her and dryness in her mouth that would make Jedha jealous.

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As You Are Now

Pairing: Post-Soldier!Bucky x Female!Reader

Prompt: Bucky keeps thinking about a name, and how it connects to daisies. He can’t remember anything else. He finds the name on a grave and visits on his off-days.

P.O.V: Third-Person

Warnings: Fluff? Angst? Idk??

A/N: Hope I did alright for writing something other than SPN, because this little shithead (excuse my foul-mouth) has been in my head for weeks and I had to do something. I do want to start writing Marvel stuff, though. :) Hope you enjoy xoxox - Me

Your name: submit What is this?


           It was late in the evening in Manhattan, and the loud sounds of the city were distant. A man in a dark jacket, and black-faded baseball cap, picked his way across recently watered grass. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he kept his head down as he moved past aged tombstones. The cemetery was empty at this time, it always was.

           The area was quiet and the man could hear a dog barking from one of the apartment buildings nearby. He glanced up as he slowed his pace to stop in front of a simple tombstone that blended in with the surrounding ones. A guarded look past over his eyes as he stared down at the grave, standing alone in the silence.

           He lifted his head when he heard someone making their way over through the grass. He had forgotten he brought his hands, out of his pockets and he gripped a single, crumpled daisy. His left hand made of metal, and glinting in the fading sunlight.

           “Those were her favorite flowers, you know.”

           He slightly furrowed his brow and looked at the daisy, before he leaned over and placed it against the headstone. The voice was from a young woman, and the man was slightly alarmed that this young woman knew that fact. He kept his left arm tucked close to his side, hidden from view.

           The young woman asked, “Who was she to you?”

           “Why does it matter?” His voice was quiet, but held a dark tone. He finally lifted his head and looked at the young woman, before his eyes widened and he felt the breath leave him. His lips parted and he was at a loss for words.

           The young woman smiled at him and her voice was soft. “Hi, James.”

            He finally managed to make his mouth work. “You’re supposed to be dead.” 

           “She is, but not me.”

           Bucky glanced at the tombstone and clenched his hands into fists. This must be some kind of sick joke HYDRA was playing. He must be back in that chair, being tortured. Everything that has happened must be some sort of torture. This must be some nightmare. “Whatever sick joke HYDRA is playing at, I know about it. So, you can leave before I do something I’ll regret.”

           She was taken aback at the threat. “Bucky, this isn’t one of those messed up games HYDRA did to you. It’s really me…”

           Bucky clenched his jaw and looked out at the cemetery, trying to fight the rage that was building. He closed his eyes and tried to wish this away, but a warm hand grasped his forearm and her light touch made him tense up. She watched the troubled man with sad eyes, the ache in her chest forming as he rejected her touch. She had to somehow prove it to him.

           “1942, The 5th Avenue Bar,” she watched as his eyes opened, fixing onto her features, “I was out with my girlfriends and we all wanted to have a good time. Two young men were seated at the bar and one had caught my eye. He was already looking at me when I saw him, and he had such a charming smile, and blue eyes that could make a lady melt.” The young woman swallowed the lump that was in her throat as she relived the memory. “Another hour went by of me trying to steal looks, but… you were always looking at me whenever I tried. You came over and it surprised me, all my girlfriends gushed over you, but your eyes were only on me. Y-You offered to buy me a drink and…” The young woman broke off, the emotions too much to handle. She blinked rapidly, fighting the burning sensation that brought tears, before she turned away from Bucky. She pawed at her eyes, trying so hard to not show she was crying.

           Bucky stepped toward her and hesitantly grabbed her shoulder, he turned her to face him and saw the tears that were falling down her face. He moved his other arm and the metal glinted in the setting sun, before he gently grasped her forearms with his hands. She flinched at how cold the metal fingers were, but she finally pulled her hands away from her face.

           Bucky said softly, “It’s okay, Y/N. I believe you.”

           She nodded her head and let out a choked sob, before tightly clutching onto Bucky. He took a step back and was shocked at the action, before slowly wrapping his arms around her figure. Bucky closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of her head, realizing how right it felt to have Y/N in his arms.

           He hated how he couldn’t remember this feeling; the warmth of her body tucked against his. He hated how he couldn’t remember that night they met, but he knew what she said was true.

           Bucky hated himself for not remembering.

           She eventually relaxed in his arms and her voice was steady when she spoke. “What HYDRA did to you that kept you alive, is also what they did to me.” She felt his body tense at the mention of HYDRA.

           “How did they get to you?” Bucky asked, as they pulled away from each other.

           Y/N sighed, “They found out I had strong ties to you and tracked me down, before they…“experimented” on me.” She looked up at the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago. She saw the helpless and dead look that reside in his eyes, and how he was no longer cleanly shaven. His hair was long, and kept underneath the ragged cap. Bucky Barnes had changed so much.

           “I can promise they won’t be doing anything else to you, Y/N.” Bucky said.

           Y/N smiled at his attempt. “I got HYDRA off my tail a long time ago, Buck.”

           He furrowed his brow, but his features slackened when she reached out to gently cup his scruffy cheek. Bucky’s eyes softened and he stared into her eyes, welcoming the gentle touch of Y/N’s thumb tracing his cheek bone. The youth drained out of her gaze and she whispered, “I missed you so much, Buck.”

           Bucky leaned into the palm of her hand, before he reached up and gently pushed her hand away. He felt the cell phone in his pocket begin vibrating and an unfamiliar feeling settled in his chest. 

           He didn’t want to leave.

           Y/N stepped away and blinked a few times, understanding what was happening. She shouldn’t have forced those feelings onto him, when he couldn’t return those feelings. He could hardly remember the first time they met and she realized how stupid her hopes had been. Except, Bucky had pushed her away because he didn’t want to drag Y/N into his mess of a life. He knew she felt feelings towards him that he could only assume that he had felt too. 

           Bucky felt his phone start vibrating again and knew Steve would come looking for him if he didn’t reply. He looked around before stepping forward and gently grasping Y/N’s cheek with his normal hand. Bucky pressed a soft, quick kiss to her lips before he backed away.

            “I need to leave.” Bucky said, then he turned and began walking away. His hands pushed back into his coat pockets and his head tipped to look at the ground. His heart pounding from that small kiss.

           She lifted her fingers to her tingling lips, the buzz that ran through her body still there after all those years. Y/N watched him leave, hoping she could find him somewhere in this massive city again.


Wifi Soulmates - University

Ok so here’s a soulmate AU for you. Basically when you turn 18 a symbol appears on the back of your wrist. It’s like the wifi symbol, but just the outline. When the eldest of the two turn 18 it’s completely blank. When the younger turns 18 both have the circle filled in. The other 3 bars show you how close you are. Blank=distance apart the two were when the second turned 18. First bar fills in when they are half that distance apart. Second bar at a quarter the distance and the final bar is within 100meters if each other.

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A Fou-l Matter

@motherfuckingsanechaldeamaster reblogged for a starter

Lily looked down at the table, a mixed look on her face of confusion and disgust.

“Y-You can’t be serious, Master.”  She was starting to hope that this was just some sort of joke. Some kind of twisted prank. On the table, there were multiple Fous lined up, row after row. They looked so calm and unsuspecting to her.

And there she was, sitting down before all of them.

“These- I can’t eat these! I would feel so guilty if I were to!” She looked down once more at them all. They looked so cute. So helpless. How was she to possibly eat one, even if it meant she would be stronger?

She couldn’t help but reach out as she thought, picking one up. As she held it, she marveled at how soft it was. Immediately, she pulled it towards her chest in a hug. She then stared up at Gudao, her eyes filled with concern.

“I know that I want to be stronger, and to be of more use, but…” There were tears beginning to well up in her eyes, and she tried her best to hold them back as she continued to talk. “There must be some other way to go about it!”

Pushing the chair back she stood up, still holding one of the Fous in a tight hug.

“I just can’t! I’ll save these poor little creatures!” As she spoke, she looked down at the table in front of her. She was ready to grab them all and run if she needed to.

damonasalvatore  asked:

alright but hear me out. kingsman training. (think alternate scene instead of the train test). the kingsman all "kidnap" their respective recruits and put on ski masks & sunglasses & voice scramblers so that the recruits don't know it's them. harry's got eggsy tied 2 a chair. harry interrogating eggsy. pistol whipping eggsy. eggsy realizes it's harry after he notices a certain tic that only harry has? starts playing with harry. harry doesn't like it. puts gun in eggsy's mouth. eggsy sucks it off

Haha heehee wow ok yeah

completely unbeta’d accidental (not really) minific under the cut

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Fic: Something Real

Length: 2K

A 5.12 reaction fic inspired by januarium’s prompt: “Someone write me fic of Blam holding a meeting with the newbies while Will shows off the plaques to the people who aren’t or soon won’t be at the school any more plz.“ 

For two other fantastic responses to this prompt, check out ficdirectory’s “Not the Only Ones” and adampascalfan’s “We Got Us”. This fandom is truly an embarrassment of riches.

Thanks to my betas amongsoulsandshadows and gluttonouspenguin!

Read on AO3

*******************

“Can we go home yet?” Blaine hears Kitty before he sees her.

He and Sam find the sophomores and juniors draped over the chairs like disgruntled puppies. At some point, Ryder and Jake must have given up on the chairs entirely and sprawled across the floor, their heads resting on lumpy piles of backpacks and jackets.

It isn’t until Kitty sits up in her makeshift bed of plastic chairs, that Blaine can find a body to go with the voice. “Hello?” she asks again. “Are we allowed to leave, or do we have to keep pretending to worship the great and mighty original members of a defunct club?”

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accidents are meant to happen in the emergency room

“we both got in separate bar fights downtown and now we’re waiting in the ER comparing stories” au + PruHun

Waiting in the emergency room was a dreadfully unawesome thing. Something that didn’t befit the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt. The awesome, rather intoxicated Gilbert Beilschmidt who was subjected to the punishment of waiting in boredom for his terrible French best friend to get patched up for the broken nose and broken arm he felt complied to bestow said best friend at the bar just 20 minutes ago.

Yes, they were and will always be best friends. (As long as Francis’ face remained undamaged in the long run, he will always be forgiven after a minimum amount of groveling done right.)

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The Undeserving Pt. 5

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Pt. 4


They were separated almost immediately, and Clarke felt herself strangely adrift. A silent Lexa was ushered off by healers into the deepening dusk and Clarke was politely, but insistently, led to her own quarters; a two room villa that smelled like hot stone and incense, a bowl of oranges on the table, flowers drying from the rafters. The geometric metalwork on her windows was beautiful, but Clarke knew about gilded cages from Mount Weather. There would be time to test her locks later; Clarke lit the brazier in her sleeping quarters and fell into bed, dreaming of the steady pace of a horse and the Commander tired in her arms.

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