the way she looks at him!!

A few reasons why Voldemort was clearly gay for Snape
  • Everyone in Voldemort inner circle distrusted Snape, but Voldemort still kept him by his side even though he’d kill others just because they dared worry about him
  • Bellatrix was extremely devoted to Voldemort and yet, he basically had Snape as his Right Hand Man
  • Voldemort was patient with Snape
  • No matter how many people Voldemort had around him, he’d always call for Snape
  • Snape asked Voldemort not to kill Lily - a muggleborn - and Voldemort actually agreed to spare her life. He told her she didn’t have to die - again, because of Snape - and only killed her when she refused to get out of his way. 
  • He actually looked hurt when he killed Snape

The scenes were fucking perfect man. Perfect. Daryl was holding back his feelings the whole time
When he was with her
And it was so clear
Like
The contrast
Between him with Richard and what Daryl said to him and to Morgan at the beginning, and how the whole episode was a love letter from him to her
And when he is in front of her he almost broke
The way he asked why she left
The way he had to break the hug because you can see that in the first one he was so broken and the second one he just wanted to
Melt
So it was beautiful
The way they kept looking at each other
While he ate

And dude
Carol doesn’t give two shits about zeke
She totally totally melted with him there
And it was fucking beautiful how she opened up to him
And she almost called him back
She almost went after him
And she nuzzled him while he put his lips on her shoulder.

This is me basically dying, I think you can hear the sounds.

I think men generally love women in one of two ways.
1. He loves her like he might love a nice car or a beautiful piece of art. He likes her as something to look at or possess. He sees her as an object.
2. He loves her like he might love a dog or a bunny. Something nice and deserving of care and affection, but with no agency of her own. He acknowledges that she’s a living creature, but sees her as a creature he owns that will obey him.

Just Couldn’t Let This One Go

A birthday fic for @the-captains-ayebrows. Happy Birthday dear Hollie! @lenfaz and I coordinated on this gift, so she’s going to be writing a second part. Double the pleasure, double the fun! This part’s a bit saucy, just the way you like it. Super special thanks to @seethelovelyintheworld for looking this over for me!

Summary: Emma Swan is all set to snag her perp and collect her fee, but something about Killian Jones makes him just too irresistible to turn in.

Rated: M for Most Definitely Smutty

Words: 9,000


Part One

Emma slid onto a barstool at The Davenport, conscious of the way her dress clung tightly to her legs as she parted them to take her seat. A quick glance to the other end of the bar told her she was just in time. Her mark was there, and he was alone.

Gotcha buddy. Now it was just a matter of time.

Emma smiled at Graham behind the bar, who acknowledged her presence with a nod and a look that said, “Give me a minute, Swan,” as he greeted some customers in front of him. While Emma waited for him to make their drinks she pretended to fiddle with her phone, casually making a more thorough perusal of her skip.

He looked broody, dressed all in black and bent over a glass of some kind of dark liquor, his hand clutching the back of his neck. And what a neck it was, her eyes noting the hollow of his throat and following up the defined tendons to admire the cut of his jaw, nicely peppered with scruff. His hair was black as night and looked touchably soft, even from a distance, perfectly disheveled and just a tad too long. As he dropped his hand and raised his head, the air became charged with that unnameable tension that seems to float through the air when someone can feel another person’s eyes on them. Emma knew she should look away, but she couldn’t, too curious to see what his eyes looked like.

Damn, they were blue. Shadowy, as if he carried secrets there, but framed perfectly by thick eyebrows, one of which he raised in her direction, a small smirk quirking up the corner of his too-red lips in a very knowing way when he noticed her staring.

Keep reading

Stop saying Damon didn’t rape Caroline

Caroline might have wanted to sleep with Damon first, but after she found out he was a vampire she wanted nothing to do with him. So he compelled her into not being afraid of him, and then he had sex with her, which is definitely rape. 

Compulsion IS NOT consent. 

^ Seriously, does that look like consent in any way, shape, or form to you? Because if it does, I’d be concerned. 

And let’s not forget he abused and fed on her, multiple times. He threw her around like a toy.

And he even verbally abused her, brought down her already fragile self esteem. 

All this when she was SEVENTEEN, a MINOR. He raped and abused a minor. 

Don’t dare even try to say Damon didn’t rape Caroline, because it’s insulting and triggering from real life victims, and it basically shows what our society has become by normalizing things such as nonconsensual sex. I know it’s hard to see that one of your favorite characters is a rapist, but it’s true, and if you still stan Damon after this I question your life choices.

Misery Needs Company

it sounded like @copperbadge was having One of Those Weekends, so i asked if he’d like some fic and he requested someone with a headache getting coddled

feel better!

“Tony!” Pepper calls and he flinches.

A headache going on day three is sitting like a pulsating rock in his frontal lobe and the pitch of her voice is enough to send a needle point of pain inward.

Pepper pauses, looks at him for five seconds, and then says, voice lowered, “When did it start?”

“On the way home from NBC?” Tony tries because he honestly isn’t sure.

Pepper stares at him. “That was two days ago.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs.

Tony,” she says, sounding appalled.

“What?” he replies defensively. “I’ve gotten six hours of sleep the last four nights, I’ve eaten regularly, I’ve only had like four cups of coffee per day, and I haven’t gone over the recommended dose of over-the-counter painkillers even though I know you can go over that and be fine!”

“Tony, that wasn’t criticism,” Pepper says, her expression sympathetic and her hand light on his arm.

“Oh,” Tony says, and deflates. “I’m tired and I’ve been sleeping,” he whines. “How is that fair?”

“It’s not.” She nudges him forward gently and Tony moves as directed, reaching up to dig his knuckles into his forehead. If he presses hard enough, it briefly dulls the pain. “Come on. We’re done for today.”

Tony should protest. There’s still a lot to do. But it feels good to have someone take the reins and he doesn’t have it in him to fight when he wants to do what she says so badly.

Keep reading

I need Shini to just drag Leo’s ass. just fucking drag him hardcore. there is no way she doesn’t look at this cocky teenage boy and think anything other than “ugh.”

basically just imagine Shini and Karai having tea in their super secret lair for Morally Ambiguous Ladies, and Shini going

“That boy was my competition? Really?”

“It was a phase, Shini. A phase.”

“Couldn’t you have at least picked the intelligent one?”

and somewhere, Donnie shudders right down in his soul. he feels he dodged a bullet somehow.

The forehead kiss,the hugging,the glances,the long loving looks while talking to Gabriel Rick was giving her making her blush and look away smiling,her being worried about him,her having his back even when he stuck in a trash pile and she all the way on the other side and her only way of communicating with him was trough a hole in the trash pile, giving him instructions on how to beat Winslows ,him replacing her cat showing that he been admiring her since the prison since Clear.

oh-my-magnets  asked:

Headcanon: Seraphina was a year or two above him at Ilvermorny and never thought one of her best friends would be a short, serious first year in Wampus - but when he single-handedly takes down two third year bullies with the Jellylegs Curse (and bodily jumps on and drags down another), she is quickly reminded why he is.

dghjklg yES I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 

Seraphina and Graves going way back as friends or maybe more is one of my fav headcanons. 

“I’m going to be President,” Seraphina says to him one day, matter of factly. They’re sitting outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun after a long period of exams. Graves raises his head from the book he is reading and looks up at her. 

“I know that.” 

“I want you to be by my side, Percy,” she insists. “When I’m up there. I need someone to rely on, and I need that person to be you.” 

Percival nods, a silent agreement. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. Silence falls, before Seraphina speaks again, smiling. 

“Don’t go get yourself kidnapped and impersonated by a dark wizard while in office. Imagine the paperwork!” 

He laughs and shakes his head. “What are the chances of that happening?” 

“Pretty slim. Who would want to wear your face anyway?” 

“Well, I am pretty.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Sure as hell am. That’s why you love me.” 

She rolls her eyes and gets up. “Come on,” she says, lending him a hand. “We have to get to class.” 

better than anyone - 4

He woke up with a snort, not remembering how he came to be asleep on the library sofa or where the blanket covering him had come from.  Sherlock blinked and wiped at his eyes, eventually focusing on the yellow glow emanating from the fireplace and the silhouette of his partner sitting on the ottoman before it. He studied the slope of her back, her hung head …

“One of those nights?” His voice husky with sleep startled her. Joan turned around and looked at him.  She cocked her head to the side, shrugged a shoulder and resignedly nodded.

Sherlock turned on his side, scooted closer to the sofa’s back, picked up the blanket and motioned for her.  She had accepted his offer of solace in the past and now did so again. Joan stood and made her way towards him.  She sat and swung her legs up, silently nestling her back into the warm crook of his body.  He placed the blanket over her and lightly placed his hand at her upper arm for reassurance. They quietly adjusted, allowing their bodies to fit, to arch in protection and acceptance of the same.

His voice came to her ear in hushed tones. “Shall I tell you a story? The Tale of the Three Detective Bears and how they thwarted the plans of their evil blond nemesis? Hmm?”

She couldn’t help but smile, “Sherlock …” she chided his silliness.

He felt her shoulders lose a little tension and he continued.  "It’s quite a tale. The handsome, virile, debonair British bear saves the day, with bravery and intelligence, bringing Goldiarty down with his ….“

"Excuse me?” Joan smiled and moved her head back closer to his, “I believe it was the beautiful, alluring, highly intelligent Chinese American doctor bear who solved her with insight and saved the …

"Yes, yes … well, that’s one version of the story…” he happily held her a little closer, letting his cheek brush her hair, his arm moved around to encircle her waist.

Joan drew a satisfied breath; her hand moved over his arm . “So who is the baby bear?”

“Clyde.” He answered without hesitation, drawing a small laugh from her.

The fire crackled and a peaceful quiet settled between them. He listened as her breathing slowed and felt her eventually drift off to sleep. He followed her.

anonymous asked:

If Mary's death was anything to go by, John must have been haunted by Sherlock for two years, poor thing

Oh Jeez, even thinking about this makes me sad.

I think people often gloss over what a bad time it probably was for John. He watched his best friend commit suicide by jumping off a building. That’s got to be rough for anyone. That one moment in MHR where Lestrade asks him how he’s been, John says fine and Greg just gives him that look. For me, that look tells it all about how John handled Sherlock’s death.

After seeing some of how he reacted to Mary, what if he also kinda hallucinated Sherlock? Maybe the reason he didn’t tell his therapist is because maybe he told Ella about Sherlock and she brushed it off, or didn’t take it seriously. So there was no way he was telling his new therapist about Mary. It would explain how normal he is acting with her. He is used to seeing someone who isn’t there.

Ahhhhhh, there are so many feels. Post-Reichenbach fics are my favourite. All the angst!

An Angsty Scamander Family Headcanon That No One Asked For

Newt couldn’t help it - sometimes when he looked at his son Phoenix (dark-haired and brown-eyed like Tina), he couldn’t help but see Credence instead. When he dreamed, it wasn’t Credence being fired at or killed, but his oldest son.

Sometimes when he looked at Linnet, he remembered the Sudanese Girl - he remembered how she had trusted him, how he had tried to save her but failed. He remembered her suffering - and he had nightmares about Linnet crying and screaming the same way.

At times when Tina looked at Leo, she remembered the state Newt had been in after being tortured in the subway station - shaking, twitching, in agonising pain. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to protect him - just like she had failed to protect another young boy once.

Newt looked at their youngest, Wren, and remembered seeing Tina in the Death Cell - he had had nightmares for years of not catching Tina, but then they were replaced by nightmares of not catching his youngest daughter when she needed him. Tina looked and remembered Queenie - and she worried that the war would leave their daughter (all of their children really) in the same position of being orphans in a difficult world.

Newt and Tina both had their scars, physically and emotionally, and it affected them for life.

anonymous asked:

Okay, let's start with something small. Grillby and Gaster relationship headcannons? Separately, by the way.

Mmm whatcha say.

Grillby:

  • Grillby is the saltiest person on the planet
  • but he’s also the quietest
  • so you are literally his vent. the only person besides his daughter that gets to see him like how he is
  • classy romantic
  • hums while he works really quietly
  • likes to just look at you and appreciate you
  • is really appreciative if you bond with his daughter because he’s been trying but she’s a teen and it’s hard
  • will make you all the food

Gaster:

  • talks enough for both of you about the things he loves
  • will watch shows with you but will also low-key work on the side while doing so
  • if you don’t get something he’s trying to tell you about he’ll either draw a (poorly drawn) picture or show you a Bill Nye episode on it
  • so easy to fluster him
  • PDA is pretty uncomfortable for him though outside handholding and the occasional kiss on the cheek
  • super adorable

anonymous asked:

Some fluffy fluffyness with Apostasia and a female s/o? :3

He’s sitting on a circle of black runes above the dewy grass, seemingly oblivious to the chill of the night.  She sits down beside him.

“Something on your mind?”

He stays silent, eyes locked on the night sky.  She shifts her position and looks up at the night sky with him.

For a long time, they stay that way.  She slowly leans on his shoulder as time wears on, and he finally sighs, floats closer to the ground, and wraps his arm around her.

“I knew all the names of the constellations at one point.”

She looks up at Ain, then at the sky again.  “Hmm?”

“I lived among them, so I knew them.”  Ain sighs and looks down from the sky. “Now I can never go back to heaven.  But I’m glad Ishmael has no control over me anymore.”

She blinks.

“If I were still following her, I wouldn’t have you,” Ain says flatly, then leans down to kiss her before she can react to that.

“I never want to leave your side.”

i think i wanna marry you (jane/kurt fanfic)

Summary: Three times Kurt asked Jane to marry him and one time he didn’t. A series of Jeller vignettes.

A/N: Some sweet moments for Jeller. This got pretty long and somehow got fluffier and fluffier as it went on, hopefully you won’t mind. Fountain scene in iii. loosely inspired by Sex and the City.

i.

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked across the bullpen to the desk of one of the junior analysts. His eyes were always on her these days, he barely let her move two feet without an offer of assistance or word of caution.

Keep reading

Worth Waiting For: Carter Fanfic

Summary: Carter realizes he’s seeing Jess (Party Twin) as more than just a fling. But as much as he wants to be honest with her, he can’t help but think she’s holding something back. 

Author’s note: Whether you ship Blake x Jess or Carter x Jess, it’s okay - you can read this fanfic. ;) It’ll work out however way you want it to, but it’s worth diving into the mind (and heart) of Carter, even for just a bit. Enjoy this piece inspired by one of the recent chapters from “Rules of Engagement”.

Worth Waiting For

She was distracted. He could tell. Her walk was brisker than usual, and she was fidgeting with her shirt buttons. They wiped and arranged wine glasses in silence, then proceeded to stack the cocktail plates.

“Is everything okay?,” Carter finally asked, breaking the heavy silence. Jess looked at him with glazed eyes, her hands moving mechanically as she wiped the plates down. She gave him a half-smile and shifted her gaze back to the plates.

There was something off about her today, he thought. She would always be the first to greet him in the kitchen.  He’d grown accustomed to her lively morning chatter, her brown hair bouncing as she moved around the kitchen with ease. He looked forward to seeing her every morning. She gave him such a morning rush he didn’t even need coffee anymore.

She’d take long, deep sighs now and then, he observed. Was she reprimanded by Blake this morning? He had seen them in the hallway on his way to work, talking in hushed voices and standing across each other awkwardly. It was impossible though, he thought. Jess had been performing really well, earning the respect of even the oldest kitchen staff. That was quite an achievement for a cruise noob.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?,” he told her slowly. He watched her pull her shoulders back, lift her chin and close her eyes. It pained him to see her like this, and he didn’t expect his heart to feel this heavy. He wanted to help her, but didn’t know how.

Keep reading

regret

“Do you ever regret…”

Joan was putting honey into her tea at the kitchen counter, her back to Sherlock. She kept stirring, waiting for Sherlock to continue. He didn’t. She turned to look at him, picking up her mug with the spoon still in it.

“Regret what?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep. She leaned back against the counter, watching the way Sherlock moved his hands to his lap, a sure sign he was nervous. He knew how much his hands revealed about him.

“Moving back. To the brownstone,” he said, studying the grains of wood in the kitchen table, his forehead heavily wrinkled.

She took a sip of her tea. Too hot. She set it down on the counter, so she could fold her arms across her chest and pin Sherlock with her hard stare he didn’t want to meet.

“Why are you asking me this right now?” she asked, careful to keep any peevishness out of her voice. She wasn’t annoyed, but extremely perplexed. And wary. Sherlock did like to be straightforward with her, but only when it suited him. He had deduced something about her and was seeking to confirm. It was an improvement on the early years of their relationship, when he had simply spat out his assumptions, couching them as scientific deductions in order to make it seem his view was completely logical. It had taken quite some time to get him away from that habit.

The way his shoulders moved she knew he was twiddling his thumbs under the table. His eyes did not move from the wood grain. “Your restlessness in regard to being unable to help others heal…you seemed to have adapted by applying your skills to Shinwell, and his training. But I question if that is enough for you. Do you regret remaining here, with me? Does it make you feel obligated to keep most of yourself tied to our work, rather than pursuing something more…” Here he struggled for words, struggled to keep his hands almost motionless. His mouth twisted.

“…Something more related to your original passions? Those to do with medicine, healing,” he finished, glancing up at her quickly before looking back down.

She had raised her brows without realizing it, and now fought to relax her features. He was throwing a lot at her, she took a few seconds to consider what she did feel. All she knew is that he was wrong. The very suggestion that she regretted anything made her do the mental equivalent of a knee-jerk reaction. No, of course that’s not how I feel. She almost said the words. But the look on Sherlock’s face kept her silent a bit longer.

He looked almost…heartbroken. Whether from her lengthening silence or the fact that he must have already accepted an imaginary truth in his mind. There was a heaviness to his shoulders, a different sort of anger in his features that reminded her far too much of a time on the brownstone roof not so long ago, before Morland had come to New York to wreak more havoc.

“Sherlock, I’m not still here out of any sense of obligation to you. I’m here because I want to be,” she said, knowing if she didn’t say that much Sherlock would begin internalizing more toxic falsehoods than he already had.

“There isn’t more that you want?” he said, finally looking up at her, his shoulders shifting again.

“Are you talking about me returning to medicine? Because even if I had considered it, I wouldn’t be leaving the brownstone to do so. I want to be here, Sherlock,” she said, keeping her voice only gentle enough to carry her sincerity. In truth she was angry. That he still doubted her, still questioned her. But showing her anger wouldn’t do her any good, so she kept it concealed.

“I fear I have made you accept that view, by encouraging your conclusion that this was the best place to dedicate yourself to life as a detective,” he said, looking at her longer this time, searching her face for any confirmation of his words. She blinked at him, hoping the strain she felt around her eyes looked like confusion and not anger.

“I am not here because I convinced myself it was the only place I could be happy, if that’s what you’re implying.” She waited. He didn’t say anything, looking at some point over her left shoulder, every muscle in his body tense. It reminded her how tense she was, but she couldn’t relax.

“I’m here, I’m still here, because doing the work we do, alone, away from you, it—it made no sense to me. I would rather do our work here, with you. The only reason I wanted my own place before was because I needed to know I could work away from you. I needed to find some sort of place for myself, because I only knew this work as it existed beside you, always. I wanted something different, for me. But Andrew taught me that…that wasn’t fair. To him, to me. It wasn’t what I wanted forever. It hurt too much to keep that solitude, Sherlock. I couldn’t…” The words fell out of her like some racing, wild animal, and only when the memory of Andrew lifeless in her arms took hold could she stop talking long enough to think. She bit her lip, took up her mug again. Sipped. It was still hot, but not too much.

“I couldn’t go back to living that way, even if I wanted to. It would be saying that Andrew’s death…meant nothing to me. He didn’t die for me to ignore what his death meant. For the work I do, the work we do. I stay with you because I need it, too. It’s not just for you.” She said the last words softly, almost whispering them into her mug, lifting it again to her mouth as some sort of shield. It wasn’t enough, but it was all she had to hold between them.

Sherlock was now turning her hard stare back on her, his eyes unwavering on her face. She returned his stare out of sheer stubbornness, though she felt suddenly tired and wanted nothing more than to finish her tea in her bedroom alone.

“You admit that you remain here because you feel you deserve nothing more,” he said, his strong emotions apparent in how the words fell, staccato, abrasive against her. She refused to show any response, holding her mug still in front of her chest.

“What I deserve and what I need are two different things,” she said, ignoring how her hands wanted to shake. She took another sip of tea.

“I don’t think they are,” he said, shifting his shoulders back as if he would rise, but something about her stance kept him seated. She was relieved, as much as she could be.

“You don’t get to decide what I need, Sherlock. I do.” And before he formed his response, she pushed herself away from the counter and left the room. He would try to continue the conversation later, she knew. As she pounded up two flights of stairs, berating herself for every word that had left her mouth, the memory of Andrew’s cold skin made her completely forget the mug of tea in her hands. Once she got to her room, it sat forgotten on her nightstand.

Sherlock went up to check on her an hour later, and found her asleep. Her comforter was pushed nearly completely off the bed, and her sheets were tangled almost beyond recognition around one leg, the rest of her uncovered. Only her red cardigan served as any real barrier against the cold. He softly crept in and pulled the comforter off the floor, draping it over her. He took the cold mug of tea on his way out.

Gem Boy would love to give Fae a purple pansy! He really likes Fae’s lovely dress and would love to chat more!

Purple is Fae’s favourite colour! She worked very hard on this dress, so she’s happy that he thinks it’s lovely! She thinks that Gem Boy’s outfit is very dapper and suits him well. She’d love to be friends with him!

3

Guild Wars 2 Fashion Week 1/x: 

ACHAERAIZUR
Revenant (prev. Warrior) / Nightmare Courtier

After joining the Nightmare Courtier when he was merely a sapling, Achaeraizur continued to make his way through life head first. Quick-tempered and abrasive, he had a tendency to polarise, even among Courtiers, which would lead to his inevitable downfall. In a ploy that would make him question his lovers (Teneshà) trust and loyalty to the court, he tragically met his demise at the ends of an assassin. A few years later, he has escaped the Mists, and is looking to seek revenge on those that wronged him. Believing, it was Teneshà who was responsible for his death she sits at the very top of that list. 

ARMOUR: 

  • Mistward Headwrap
  • Nightmare Court Pauldrons
  • Oaken Coat
  • Oaken Gloves
  • Mistward Legguards
  • Oaken Boots

WEAPONS: 

  • Bolt
  • Astralaria
  • Bifrost (not in the images)

DYES: Shadow Abyss, Bloodstone Violet, Bloodstone Coral