this anon has been trying my patience or a long time now

anonymous asked:

Hey there! I was just wondering if you had a list for Sterek Breeding kink? Like Derek and Stiles both know that Stiles can't get pregnant but it doesn't stop Derek from getting off on trying

Breeeeeeeeding kiiiiiiiiiiink! WOO!  So here for it, wish there was more -Emmy

Obscene by ml0692 

(1,782 I Explicit I Complete)

Stiles can’t help but notice that Derek’s transition to becoming an Alpha is accompanied by a substantial increase in the size of his bulge.

Make a Sentence by badwolfbadwolf 

(2,189 I Explicit I Complete)

Stiles never feels more like a wrung out slut than when Derek has him spread out and gasping for it, dripping wet and moaning into the pillows. The rough words roll over him, ghosting along the peaks and valleys of bone and sinew, lodging in the base of his skull and the tip of his uncomfortably hard and untouched cock.

Takin’ Your Knot So Perfectly by myrandomnesslife 

(2,350 I Explicit I Complete)  *teen!derek

Stiles and Derek enjoy themselves while the Sheriff is away.

You’re My Favorite Kink by wafflesmakebabies 

(2,443 I Explicit I Complete)

Sequel to “Who Do You Think About?” (Completed)

Plushwolf by the_ragnarok 

(2,550 I Explicit I Complete)  *noncon/dubcon, underage

So suppose Stiles slept every night with his plush wolf doll, to ward off bad dreams. Only that doll was Derek under a spell, and he came alive in Stiles’ dreams. Specifically, in the type of dreams that involve coming.

Anything Goes Between You And I by hexthejinx 

(2,661 I Explicit I Complete)

Derek has a secret impregnation kink and one day Stiles discovers it. He’s not freaked out by this, though - quite the contrary.

No actual mpreg in this story! They just like to imagine stuff. :)

The Last Temptation by queerly_it_is 

(4,008 I Explicit I Complete)

Derek always gets stuck between making too much noise or just gasping silently.

He knows he’d been making noise earlier; when Stiles walked them both into the bedroom he’d been humming into kisses and mumbling dry responses to Stiles saying he “had plans”; when Stiles tugged at his clothes he remembers he’d said something meant to pass for controlled about patience that had made Stiles roll his eyes.

And when Stiles pulled his mouth off Derek’s dick with a slurp so lewd it had to be at least half on purpose and told him to roll over with his voice gone rough, Derek’s sure he’d breathed out, “Yeah. Yeah okay.”

Fever by Little Spoon (JaydenNara) 

(4,227 I Explicit I Complete)

Stiles was all for rough. He loved when Derek manhandled him, showed off his strength, and left marks on his skin, but Derek had always held back. Stiles had just never realized how much… until now. 

Give Me Everything At Once by SleepDepraved 

(4,366 I Explicit I Complete)

The missing sex scene.

or the one where Stiles and Derek have been drinking, and then there is filthy sex.

Briefcase by ColetheWolf 

(6,306 I Explicit I Complete)  *stepfather/stepson, also Derek/Sheriff (mentioned), infidelity

Derek comes back home to pick up his briefcase, but instead finds his stepson in an extremely compromising, yet arousing position.

Baby, Give Me Light by MereLoup 

(14,598 I Explicit I Complete)   *fake mpreg

“How long do we have?” Derek’s breath was husky and aroused, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ lingerie clad body.

Derek had a slight lisp from where his fangs had dropped down into his mouth, his salivary glands working overtime in his arousal, and his claws were extended, digging mercilessly into the mattress. Derek was so turned on right now and the Wolf was so close to the surface, Stiles’ didn’t know where he had found the restraint to sit there as still as he was. He sounded so close already, Stiles just wanted him to let loose.

“Until sunrise.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, too slowly and too meticulously to be casual. “That’s quite a lot of time.”

“Let’s make the best of it.” Stiles’ fingers brushed over his swollen belly and Derek growled in answering arousal.

anonymous asked:

pleeeeease tell me there's a story about nate and aj? ❤️❤️❤️

WELL ANONS (from this fic):

Andrew Joseph Minyard doesn’t know a thing about Nathaniel Wesninski until he’s sent to kill him.

That’s perhaps more unusual than one would suspect, knowing Andrew. His general disinterest is well known, but he has a personal stake in knowing the movers and shakers of the magical families on the East Coast.

Know your enemies, and all that. Andrew didn’t used to have those, until he met Kevin Day and finally picked a side that wasn’t himself and his best interests. Now he kills people for righteousness, or what the fuck ever.

“The Wesninskis have a new leader,” Wymack tells them, hands folded on his desk like this is very serious news. “It’s Nathan’s kid, apparently. He’s cleaned house. Or it might be more accurate to say that he wiped the old circle off of the map entirely.”

Like he always does, Kevin goes pale at the mention of one of those families. Wymack flicks him a glance before continuing, “It’s not immediately clear where he stands on the old family alliances, but it makes sense for us to move now while he’s unsettled.”

Andrew can see where this is going already. “I didn’t realise we were killing off children now.”

Wymack shoots him a level look. “He’s twenty-two. Barely younger than you.”

“Well, I suppose that’s alright then,” Andrew replies agreeably. “When do I leave?”

“Hold on. Didn’t he kill his own father?” Nicky cuts in. “Shouldn’t that require a little more investigation than ‘when do I leave’?”

Dan waves a hand. “He’s a mage. Killer or not, he won’t be able to protect himself against non-magical weapons.”

“Don’t worry Nicky. I don’t like to be too well prepared,” Andrew says. It’s not meant to be soothing.

That’s how he ends up crawling through an upper-storey window of the Wesninski mansion, cursing mages and rusted locks. The house is probably warded - Andrew couldn’t say. To him it’s just like breaking into any other house.

What he does notice is the complete emptiness of the building. While mages don’t often have non-magical defence - and Andrew would be a lot less successful if they invested in some attack dogs, or even burglar alarms - they do generally at least have people. But every room he passes - soundlessly, of course - has its door flung wide open to display its total emptiness.

Every instinct he has is screaming. For a moment, he wonders if Wesninski has cleared out of the house entirely. But, despite the limited information for this trip, Andrew knows Wymack wouldn’t send him on a wild goose chase. The mage is here.

He creeps down the stairs, sticking close to the wall. It’s a broad staircase, gaudy even in the near-darkness. Apparently the elder Wesninski had more money than taste.

The lounge is no more elegant, and still empty of people. Beyond it, though, light falls from the doorway. Andrew creeps towards it, palming one of his knives.

Apparently, all his quiet was wasted. The person through the door is waiting for him - and this, having met Nathan, is definitely his son.

Twenty-two he may be, but Wesninski looks like a kid. With his fair falling into his face as he slouches against the kitchen island, he looks nothing like someone who could have killed Nathan and the entire rest of his circle in one fell swoop. Any tracery of magic in him isn’t detectable to Andrew though - for all he knows, the air could be singing with it.

The only giveaway that this man isn’t as normal as Andrew is the curling tattoo emerging over the collar of his t-shirt. It’s a mage-mark, and it’s large. Even Kevin, the most powerful of the Foxes in terms of sheer strength, doesn’t have one that extends so far across his skin.

“You’re AJ Minyard,” Wesninski says. He looks excited about that. Andrew didn’t realise he was a groupie. It’s the danger of being a contract killer - being known by your signature. Andrew is Andrew, except when he’s AJ and earning his keep in blood.

“Usually, your kind is throwing spells by now,” he replies blandly. Not that it ever helps them.

“That would be a waste of time, though. Wouldn’t it?” Wesninski says. “You’re immune.”

Well then. “You’re smarter than you look,” Andrew informs him. 

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’re so successful,” Wesninski shrugs. “I need to send a message to Kevin.”

Wesninski isn’t following the script. Andrew glances at his watch - usually they’d have gotten past the initial failed attempt to blast Andrew off of the face of the earth with magic and moved onto either running - unusual, mages didn’t like to run - or begging. “Do I look like a messenger to you?”

That earns a thin smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that demeaning?”

“If you think I’m here for that, then you’re confused,” Andrew says. 

Wesninski throws his arms wide. “Well, go ahead then. You know I can’t fight you. And it’s not like I can run.”

Fuck’s sake, Andrew didn’t come here for a conversation. Still, though - he throws a glance at Wesninski’s legs. “Too lazy for it?”

“Not exactly. I know you probably don’t care for magical theory, so the short explanation is that right now I can’t leave this house. Hence wanting to speak with Kevin. The best I could do is hide in a closet, and I can’t imagine that would deter you.”

“As sob-stories go, you might want to try ‘but I have children and a wife’,” Andrew advises. 

“As if that would help me.” Wesninski rolls his eyes. “That’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you to help me for free. I’ll give you something you want in exchange.”

Andrew really should have just killed him instead of saying a word. Corpses are so much less trouble. He raises an eyebrow to signal that his patience is wearing thin.

“If you want a chance at getting anywhere near Riko Moriyama, you’ll help me,” Wesninski says.

That’s an interesting offer. “What makes you think I care about that?”

“Do you think it isn’t common knowledge in the upper circles about what happened between him and Kevin?” Wesninski says. “Plus you’ve been working your way through all the high blood families over the last year. I figured a Moriyama must be right up there on your wish list. Particularly that one.”

He isn’t wrong. “I’m not here to make a deal with you.”

“Are you sure about that?” That smile again. It’s really a wonder someone so irritating hasn’t been killed already. “I have access to the Moriyamas now, whether they like it or not. I think you’d like to make use of that. Better move fast, though - you aren’t the only one who wants to kill me.”

Riko would already be dead if he were easier to get to. And Nathaniel now has his father’s seat on the council, even if he killed for it - succession is muddy  and ugly amongst mages at the best of times. He’d hardly be the first to do it that way. 

He’s right. Andrew could use that. Getting into Castle Evermore is difficult, and Nathaniel has a free pass through the front gates. If he could smuggle Andrew inside…if he were willing to do so…

“What’s in it for you?” Andrew asks.

“What, you mean besides you not murdering me tonight and me getting out of this fucking house?” So sardonic. “I don’t like the Moriyamas any more than you do, Wesninski blood or no. I don’t care if I die, as long as Riko goes first.”

It seems their interests all line up. Andrew can deal with Riko at last, and might even get a shot at the other Moriyamas in the process. He smiles a little bit, feeling his face cracking.

“Well, Nathaniel. Looks like you might be useful to me after all.”

Wesninski makes a face. “I go by ‘Nate’.”

“I really don’t care,” Andrew tells him. “I would say ‘wait here’, but I suppose that’s irrelevant, isn’t it? I’ll come to you.”

The with a message or a knife is unspoken but clearly implied. Nathaniel - Nate - smiles thinly.

“Better hurry,” he says. “Offer ends if I’m dead.”

anonymous asked:

Hello! I've been a fan of your blog for a long time now, and I would appreciate it if you could answer my question. My oc got taken into a household but two years later a maid from there has made papers to adopt him as her son (At this point he is 15) . My oc is very sensitive and emotional. How should I write this scene and describe his emotions without it getting too cheesy? Thank you!

Hi, dear!  Thanks for your question and your patience <3

That sounds like such a sweet scene!  I love strong family themes – especially adoption, because it sends such a strong message of hope and fresh beginnings.  Those are good sentiments to focus on for this part of your story, and to use thematically with new phrases, new environments, and new plots.  Be sure to make the reader feel like they’re entering into an exciting new chapter of your OC’s life!

Originally posted by mai-fanblog

But you do want to keep it from being melodramatic.  I have a few tips for you to think about…

How to Write Emotional Scenes

  • Don’t try to write too many emotions at once.  Trying to capture the complex thought processes of something like adoption – fear, disbelief, excitement, self-assessment, assessment of potential parent, forming expectations – all at once will be as confusing for the reader as it is for the adoptee.  Instead, try to focus on one or two strong emotions – maybe (1) his disbelief, feeling as though the adoptive parent will change their mind or that this is all a dream; and (2) self-assessment and adjustment, feeling insufficient or adjusting his own behavior to seem polite/perfect/desirable as a potential adoptee.
  • Don’t tell when you can show.  When a character feels a strong emotion, you shouldn’t have to use the word “felt” – you shouldn’t have to over-explain it.  Instead, think of physical and verbal expressions of this emotion.  If a character is afraid, don’t tell us he’s afraid – make him tremble or hug himself.  If a character is happy, let him smile and laugh.  If your character is excited to be adopted, have him show gratefulness, happiness, nervousness.  But don’t say it.
  • Less is more, especially in this kind of scene.  Less dialogue, less setting description, and less setup in general – really just focus on the actions and whatever dialogue is most important.  Keep it poignant and pointed.  Even less seriousness and a little humor can help keep the scene light and not too dramatic.
  • Be honest.  Just think about how you would feel in that situation – and don’t lean too dramatic or too emotionless.  Ask yourself, “Would I really say this in my head?  Would I be this close/distant to someone this quickly?”  Write the scene as best you can, and then later, when you’re not in the heat of the moment, assess your decisions.
  • Get out quick.  Avoid the mundane details or the aftermath of this emotional scene.  Let the characters experience it, then start with something new in the next chapter.  Dwelling on it too long ruins the magic!

That’s all I’ve got for you right now, but if you need more help, you know where to find us!  Thanks again, and good luck :D

– Mod Joanna ♥️


If you need advice on general writing or fanfiction, you should maybe ask us!

anonymous asked:

"I'll never unsee that" Nessian please!!! :)


@squaddreamcourt , you asked me to tag you when the fic was done, and here it is! I hope you’ll like it! @feyre-cursebreaker  I am so incredibly sorry for making you wait for so much darling, and I hope you’ll like the fic even if it’s not what you asked for. @ the anons, I am sorry for the wait lovelies, but I hope you will like this💗





There’s nothing worse than being dead, one would think.

But a ghost would say otherwise.

There’s this thing with ghosts- or rather, with a very strange and particular kind of ghosts, that actually wins the prize for the most unfortunate supernatural entity worldwide; they don’t know who they are, they don’t know where they come from or how they got in whatever place they end up in, but there’s a couple of things they know for sure: they don’t have a body, they can’t be seen or heard and it takes a bunch of creepy tricks to get a message through, and they are most likely dead.

Or getting there.

And of course, the most important thing:

the first person they see in this strange existence of theirs is their soulmate.

It all started with Nesta’s cigarette disappearing; she started smoking when she was fifteen, after her Father said how much he hated the smell of it, and never stopped since.

So it annoyed her to no end when her apartment seemed to be hell bent on hiding her own cigarettes every time she bought a new pack of them.

Nesta groaned in frustration while throwing the pillows of her sofa in the air and she couldn’t help but mutter, her voice booming in the empty room, “Why do you keep hiding my cigarettes?

She knows that she may sound mad and that it’s impossible for her own house to hide anything from her, but she just-just needs to be alone on her balcony with a cigarette between her fingers to calm down the roaring in her head.

She sighs, trying to readjust the pillows before she loses her patience completely but the sharp sound of glass breaking makes her turn, her heart thumping in her throat-

Nesta’s eyes widen and the breath stops in her lungs as she reads the words upon her wall, written in a deep shade of red with jagged letters:

Because it’s bad for your health.

He doesn’t know many things.

He doesn’t know who he is, what he is or how he ended here, but he knows that the most beautiful woman that he has ever seen is in front of him- and, well, he didn’t see many people but does it even matter when she’s there, just in front of him and she-

She ignores him completely.

And it drives him mad.

At first he thought she didn’t see him, which would make sense because he can’t even see himself, which is something that he really doesn’t want to think about, but he tried to talk, to scream and shout.

She didn’t even turn to him.

He looks at her- not that he can do much else, though he is not complaining- always on that couch reading book after book- and he knows some of those books, knows the titles, knows the words by heart even if he doesn’t know how that is possible- not even flinching and for some reason that he doesn’t know, it drives him completely out of his mind.

And then there’s the smoking.

She smokes so much she creates little grey clouds above her head in every room she goes and he can’t help but think of how much that must be unhealthy since she’s so tiny and he cares, even if he doesn’t know why, but it must be reasonable to care for the first person you ever saw in your entire life, if one can call this strange, invisible, unnerving thing life.

Bonus points for the fact that she is so beautiful she can make his breath stop in his lungs, but luckily for him, he doesn’t fucking breathe.

And then there are those times, when she goes out on the balcony to smoke before she goes to bed and her blue eyes reflect the color of the stars and he just- just wants to touch her, because she’s beautiful, but she looks so lost and he wants to take her hand, wants it with an intensity that frightens him but he can’t reach her, he can’t move, he can’t do anything but watch.

But, for being something that he can’t even explain, he is smart.

After glaring at her pack of cigarettes for three hours straight when she wasn’t home- and while asking himself relentlessly where the hell she was- he saw the damned thing move, and move, and move again until he finally managed to throw it out of the window.

He has never been more proud of himself.

And he did it again and again with various objects and in various occasions, like bringing her the hairbrush in the morning when she left it in her bedroom the night before or keeping her stash of books from falling over, or trying to give some sense to the utter mess that is her house and of course, his personal favorite: raising the temperature - that, well, that happened as an accident: one day he saw her having a discussion on the phone with someone and there was something, the look of complete delusion on her face but the complete lack of emotion in her voice, it made him want to scream at the person who was talking to her.

And suddenly the room was a oven- the first time was an accident, yes, but then it became a wonderful way to mess with her and it didn’t take him long to decide that sweaty and bothered was one of his favorite looks on her.

She never noticed, mostly because there wasn’t a logical explanation for the sudden change of degrees or to the never falling books, and maybe it was better like this.

He doesn’t know what happened or what was told to her during that phone call, but something did happen because she is smoking twice as much now and she’s so nervous her hands shake and what was a five minutes smoke on the balcony turned to her sitting in the cold for hours, staring at nothing.

And he honestly doesn’t care what he can or what he can’t do, he won’t stay here without trying to understand, without trying to help her.

So when she is trying to dismantle the sofa in her desperate chase after her damned cigarettes and wondering to herself why they always disappear, he takes a bottle of wine and smashes it against the wall, the soothing sound of glass against bricks, and tries to write with the dark liquid and even if the result is complete shit, the message is loud and clear.

Because it’s bad for your health.”

He sees her beautiful eyes go wide, but she doesn’t scream.

She falls back on the sofa, gripping the armrest like a lifeline and he- he moves as if he wants to catch her, which is stupid because he can’t, but he tries.

He looks at her and at the wall and wills the wine to move again “Are you alright?”, he asks, and thinks of how dumb he is only when it’s already done.

How can he ask if she’s alright when an invisible something is writing on the wall of her house?

He hopes at least that the wine was of shitty quality.

She shakes her head and he feels a pang of guilt; the room warms slowly, without him even noticing but she- she looks less scared but it lasts a second and then she does it, the thing he hates the most in this house that means the world to him: she straightens her back, her chin high and hides herself behind that icy façade, the one he watched her use in countless phone calls and in the brief encounters with other people, looking in front of herself like whatever is happening is nothing of importance.

The wine moves on the wall creating an angry splash of red.

“What are you and what are you doing in my house.” she says, her voice cold and steady like she’s talking about the weather with a stranger.

I-” he tries to write, but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know a thing, he knows absolutely nothingand you? Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding childish even to himself, and maybe he shouldn’t but he wants to know her name and the fact that he didn’t get to hear it in all this time bothers him endlessly.

She opens her mouth and closes it like the question surprised her and it breaks her mask for a second and if he could smile, he would.

“I am Nesta Archeron, and I happen to live here.” she says while her eyes scan the room.

Nesta Archeron, he repeats the name in his mind, savoring word for word and it sounds like music.

Nice to meet you, sweetheart.” he replies and there’s this adorable outraged expression on her face before she runs to the kitchen and comes back with a bag of salt, tearing it open and spraying it everywhere in the room, trying to do fuck knows what.

The pavement of the room becomes a white mess and she looks satisfied, as if she’s thinking she drove him away.

He starts to doodle in the salt.

She jumps in surprise “The salt- doesn’t it, doesn’t it banish things like you?” she asks and he wants to laugh, or chuckle, or make any kind of sound.

I think that you watch too much of that thing over there, sweetheart.” he writes, drawing an arrow toward her television.

She recoils and he notices how her hands shake “This- this isn’t possible. It isn’t happening. You’re not real.” she whispers, like she’s scared someone will hear the fear in her voice.

This is actually happening, sweetheart, and I happen to be very, very real.” he looks at the words, and then adds “More or less.

She looks lost in disbelief and he doodles a smile in the salt, hoping it would help, but judging by the expression on her face, it only makes it worst.

“Are-are you a ghost?” she asks, and the word resonates in him.

Ghost.

Maybe?” he writes, and that’s the best answer he can give her.

Nesta-ah, how he loves her name- inclines her head, making some strands of golden brown hair fall on her face and he aches, suddenly, with the need to tuck it behind her ear.

“I have a doubtful ghost in my house.” she says, like she is trying to make peace with the fact that, in fact, she does have a doubtful ghost in her house. Or maybe she’s just trying to find some logic in this situation.

It’s not like I can go somewhere else.” he writes, and he doesn’t know if he’s trying to make her understand all of this or if he’s desperately trying to understand it himself.

He tried, he really, really did, but he couldn’t walk out the door- not that he can walk, but, you know- and finding himself splattered against her bedroom window is not an experience he is dying to make again.

And Nesta manages to land her icy blue eyes right on him, and the fact that she’s looking right through him it’s not only words: he feels real, in the few seconds in which she looks in his direction before turning away, he feels real.

Please look at me again.

She climbs on the sofa, slowly, as if she’s scared he’s going to attack her, but then she stands up again, muttering “I am going to bed, I am going to bed and tomorrow I will realize this was all a dream.”

He watches her go, looking at every inch of her, and slowly writes

Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The next day, he is still in Nesta’s house, waiting for her to wake up.

He knows the exact moment her feet touch the floor, and even if he thinks that it is kind of creepy, the moment she enters the living room with her hair a mess and sporting a striped violet pajama he does it again; he burns up, without being able to stop it, trying to keep the burning to himself without making the room seem like a chimney, but the vulnerability in her eyes the moment she wakes up is something that makes him feel, and he feels this, whatever it is, so strongly every part of him burns with it.

She looks around, trying to find some proof of what happened last night, but he cleaned everything up, because it seemed like an incredibly shitty thing to do, to leave her house a mess with salt and wine and broken glass.

“Are-are you still here?” she asks quietly, and he can’t help but love the look on her face, like she can’t believe she is seriously doing this.

She notices the notepad on the table the moment he takes the pen to write on it.

He finds out with a strange sort of satisfaction that he very much likes the color red.

Good morning, Nesta.” he writes and cringes when he notices that, no matter his attempt at being suave, his calligraphy is utter shit.

She walks to the table, her eyes narrowed and probably trying to decipher what he wrote.

He wants- he wants to shout, wants to scream that it’s just a good morning note, that his calligraphy is shit because he is probably dead and didn’t got the opportunity to check his writing skills and honestly he doesn’t know why he feels so flustered and he is stupid, fucking stupid because for some reason the fact that she maybe won’t be able to read his good morning note since he is the most idiotic ghost ever makes him feel- makes him feel wrong.

She passes a hand through her hair and whispers “Good morning, ghost.” and- this, this is strange, because he honestly doesn’t know how he ended up on the ceiling, but he is, he’s like floating, soaring or maybe flying and it takes him a few seconds to realize that he is simply happy- but then she exhales, her hands on her hips “I understand that you can’t go out of this house, but this is my house and you’ll do as I say. No more tricks like last night and no more wine on the walls, Casper.”

Casper?” he writes, because damn it, he doesn’t know what his name but he sure as hell isn’t named Casper.

“Yes. So you’ll act nicely from now own, because I can and will find a way to kick you out if it comes to it.” her voice is like steel against ice and even if her words should maybe get a different reaction out of him, he still can’t get down from the ceiling.

Got it.”, he writes and he should really, really practice writing because a five years old would totally do a better job at it than him.

She just nods and heads for the kitchen and he knows she wants a cigarette because she is grinding her index and middle finger together, but he also knows she isn’t going to ask him.

He watches as she prepares her breakfast, looks as she opens the cabinet of the kitchen, every movement quick and efficient but almost angry.

As she sits on the chair she looks for him, he can feel it, so he moves the cereal box toward her, as slowly as he can.

Her eyes go wide like she isn’t used to the simple kindness.

“Thank you.” she whispers, her eyes behind the cereal box, exactly where he is, and he aches.

She eats quickly, her morning going with the flow f the routine and when she moves to the bathroom and her bedroom, he stays planted in the kitchen, trying to remember that privacy is an actual thing that should be respected and stares at the wall, finding interesting patterns in the crack of the paint.

Luckily he hears her entering the living room before he sets everything on fire and it’s strange, how every time he looks at her, with her fresh clean clothes and her perfect face and the posture of a queen ready for battle he feels concrete; it lasts a bunch of seconds, a short span of her heartbeats, but it’s enough for him.

He takes the notepad again.

Where are you going?”  he asks, and the letters are incredibly tiny, because he doesn’t want to pry but he absolutely wants to know.

She looks at the sheet of paper, her eyebrow raised.

“I am going out.” she answers, and with that, she walks out of the house, not even looking back.

The edges of the notepad burn.

The thing with being a ghost, he thinks, is that it is a very, very boring business.

He doodles-a mockery of Nesta and her damned eyebrows and her damned hair and her damned perfect everything- he tries to read some of her books-she studies law but has a love for romantic books, which he keeps well in mind for future teasing material.

He readjusts her ever growing pile of biscuits, all of them in different flavors of dark chocolate, but he doesn’t go near her bedroom because he perfectly remembers how just seeing her underwear on the ground led to thoughts and thoughts led to him nearly setting the sofa on fire.

But he’s no good with waiting and ends passing most of his time near the window, waiting for her to come back like a complete fool, moving as much as he can until he ends plastered to the window, again.

When he hears the sharp sound of heels- click,click- he moves away from the window as fast as he can, as if she could see him and the big idiot that he is.

She’s holding a brown grocery bag and the usual whirlwind of questions barrels through him

Is it heavy?

What did you buy?

Is that soy milk?

What do you like?

Are those instant noodles again Nesta Archeron I swear to god-

She places the bag on the kitchen table with a huff, strands of hair falling on her face as she stretches a bit, her face open and vulnerable and he doesn’t know if she’s being so human because she forgot he is there or because she doesn’t care, and he honestly doesn’t know what hurts the most.

And it’s a funny thing, being hurt when you’re dead.

Just his luck.

But she turns, her eyes and their ability to land right over him.

Hello”, he writes.

She smiles.

He flies.

And from his advantaged view from the ceiling he looks at her as she prepares her tea, slamming cupboards as if the last moments never happened, angry with the world again.

She takes a bright pink bag, not the black tea person he suspected, Nesta, but a fruity tea lover.

He snorts, and is for once happy that he makes no sounds, just a quite rattling only in his head.

What starts the discussion is the incredible amount of sugar she drops in her tea.

What are you doing?” he asks after the third sugar-cube drowns in the dark pink liquid.

“Sweetening my tea.” she says, her pale hand moving the teaspoon slowly and he’s mesmerized by the action before he replies “What you are doing is wetting sugar with some tea.”

She reads his answer but doesn’t reply right away, as if she’s looking for the perfect answer and when she does, her smile lights up with cruel delight “And how would you know?”, she asks, doesn’t need to add another word for the point to come across and he is silent, fuming with rage only he can feel and that he can’t express and trying to keep it inside him, to not let her see how deep her words went but he sees a bead of sweat above her upper lip and even as the temperature goes higher, she smirks.

He tries to write something and the pen melts into the invisible grasp, and Nesta drinks her tea, her knees drawn to her chest.

He could tell her, tell her that all the sugar in the world won’t make her any sweet but he sees as she searches into the pocket of her jeans for her cigarettes, so he writes “I might not know, but that’s not really my choice.” he sees as she brings a cigarette to her lips, soft and red and so- “Do you do something that isn’t smoking, sweetheart?

She doesn’t stop, just looks right through him as she lights her cigarette but he can see it, see it in her eyes how annoyed she is.

“I don’t see why I should explain myself to you, since you don’t even exist.” she answers, taking a long drag of smoke, like time doesn’t matter to her as long as she can hide behind the smoke of the cigarette.

He can only think of how her mouth would taste.

I do exist, as you well know. I am just not visible.”

“What do you remember? Don’t you know your name? Something?” she asks, her innocent curiosity so at odds with the smirk of just a few heartbeats ago.

I remember you.” he writes “This house. It’s like I’ve always been here.”

Her eyebrows knit together and just when her mouth opens to say something else, her phone rings.

“Elain? Oh, yes. Oh,no, I-” she looks at him, for a moment and there’ so much in her eyes he feels full “Come here,” she says, “with Feyre. Yes. It’s been too long.”

Nesta looks nostalgic, almost happy, like she’s seeing something, another opportunity, a new beginning that she always wanted.

He imagines fingers-his fingers-on her cheek, tries to imagine Nesta leaning into the touch, vulnerable and open and trusting.

Are we having guests?” he writes. Nesta didn’t let go of her phone and is still looking at the screen.

“My sisters.” she says, but the tone of her voice is full of doubt, like the relationship with her sister is flawed, or crooked and she already thinks it beyond repairing.

“I need to call a restaurant, to get the orders in-”

You are not getting take-out, Nesta Archeron.” he writes.

There’s something that disturbs him about the idea of getting food prepared by someone else for your own family, for someone you love.

“And what do you suggest that we do, then? I can’t cook.” she asks, her phone on the table.

He tries to form a reply while his nonexisting body tries to get over the fact that she said we.

We cook, that’s what we do.”

She raises her eyebrow, disbelief showing plain on her face.

Show me your worst, Archeron.”

It turns out that Nesta Archeron really, truly can’t cook to save her life.

But he can.

How much salt are you throwing over there, sweetheart?” he writes for the third time and Nesta looks at him like she is going to kick his ass even if she can’t see it.

They prepared the table, did the dishes and tried to create a soothing atmosphere with Nesta’s incessant fidgeting.

She takes the salad to the table, her eyes scanning everything as if she’ll find some imperfection that she could use as an excuse to postpone the whole thing.

“I should have never said that. I should have kept my mouth shut.” she murmurs, but the doorbell rings, and she goes quickly to the door and he can hear her counting her breaths.

1, 2, 3

When her sisters arrive there are no big hugs, not shouting and loud kisses, just a sort of understanding of how things are, and things are not very good, in his opinion.

One of the sisters, Elain, brought flowers, and Nesta rushes to the kitchen for a vase, which he lets her find ready near the sink alongside a note that says “You are so lucky to have me.”

She doesn’t sneer at the note, just searches for him before getting out of the room.

The dinner is quiet, aside from the how are you and the what you have been doing and while Elain looks over the moon with joy he can’t seem to understand the tension between Nesta and Feyre, but he sees as the younger reaches out between the passing of the salad which dressing Nesta fucked up more times than he can count, doubt on her features, gripping her older sister wrist like a death grip or a call full of hope.

She says something about starting over which he doesn’t listen as carefully as he probably should, which he feels a bit ashamed of, but he is too busy looking at Nesta, at the crease between her brows, at the way she looks at her sisters fingers around her arm and he knows, he knows exactly what hides behind her eyes, the battle within her heart and pride, the need to hide and sneer and belittle as an armor, second nature, or to let something new and tender grow.

“Fine.” it’s all that she says and he tries to remind himself that this has nothing to do with him and he has no reason to be happy or to be floating toward the ceiling like the most idiotic ghost-balloon ever, but he is, he’s happy for her, for the way the tension quietly shifts to content, for the quiet laughs and for the little clinking of glasses to the new beginnings, courtesy of Elain.

When they leave he can’t help but notice how the house feels warmer-and for once for a reason that isn’t his inability to control himself- and can’t help but love the soft pink on Nesta’s cheeks and how happy she looks in this four walls of theirs.

He can see that she’s tired, so he turns off the lights, makes the house just a bit warmer and when Nesta is already in her bed he hears it.

“Thank you.”

And in the end, he thinks that the view from the ceiling is not so bad.

The day after he discovers that when he laughs, he rolls around, which makes him wonder if he will ever do something even remotely graceful, but when Nesta comes out of the bedroom in a red pyjama full of pink polka dots and little panda bears and a green mask on her face, that’s when he loses it.

He starts to roll around, like he’s a little ball, like he’s trying to roll the head he doesn’t have back toward the ceiling, creating a never ending motion.

I’ll never unsee that.” he writes, but he’s writing is just a mess of overlapping letters that look like a roller coaster, like he’s having too much fun to see where his pen lands.

“There’s nothing to laugh about.” she says, going straight to the kitchen for breakfast, happier than he ever saw her this early in the morning.

You are always a sight to behold, sweetheart.” he writes and she smiles while taking down her biscuits and it all speaks of routine, of being used to each other in the best way possible, of companionship, of being equals of some sort and he can’t help but think that if this is his life, he is grateful for it.


He also discovers he doesn’t like the cold.

It latches at him, goes through him, leaves him restless to right a past that never was.

But within all the things he doesn’t like there’s one he truly hates, and that thing is seeing Nesta cry.

She’s out on the balcony, an unlit cigarette between her fingers, the rain wetting the paper, making the tobacco fall, her mascara pooling under her eyes.

She doesn’t talk and makes no sound, her tears mix with the rain and he doesn’t know what he can do so he gets closer, rustling the leaves of long dead plants to let her know he’s there.

“My mother died ten years ago. My mother died.” she says, like she wants it to sink in, to let it be real because she still can’t believe it.

“And he didn’t care. My father didn’t care and I want to go- I want to go to the cemetery to see if he brought her flowers, a note, something. Did he even love her?” she asks, and she’s looking at him and he aches, wants to comfort her, so he just tries to touch her and by the look she gives him she feels it, feels him and as happy as he is he forces himself to stay on the ground, with her.

“He let her die,” she whispers, her lower lip trembling “he let her die and he didn’t care, didn’t care to call the doctors even when I begged him to, didn’t care for her, didn’t care for me, for my sisters, he hid behind Feyre like a spineless, useless, heartless coward and-”

She hides her face behind her hand, little sobs escaping her lips.

Don’t hide from me, he wants to say, but he tries to soothe her, to make her feel calm and loved and warm and he hates that for all the things he can do he can’t dry her tears or stop the rain from falling.

“It wasn’t right,” she says, finally “it isn’t right.”

He nudges to her a bit, drawing soothing circles in the palm of her hand and thinks of things to write along the lines of if I could make you tea, I would.

And he is surprised beyond belief to hear her snort and answer “You would never get the sugar right.”

He sees Feyre and Elain more frequently since that night.

Feyre brings some paintings, saying that the apartment lacks colors and when Nesta asks her to paint something red, his emotions and heart and everything he is goes a bit all over the place.

He still swears that the book that went into flames is in no way his fault.

Nesta buys a book of names, all blue and pink, designed to help young parents chose the name of their children, and reads it to him to help him remember his name.

Nothing came out of it, other than a strange call to names that start with c, a nostalgic wave for a certain Reece and a strange affinity for Jewish mystics.

In the end, he asks her to read it two times, but it’s all because he loves the sound of her voice; it’s low, but not cold or empty, the kind of voice that sings to lure sailors off their ships, but loving enough to be as sweet as spring.

When summer comes, he feels like he’s been in her house for a lifetime.

They pass evenings on the balcony, Nesta’s skin covered under layers and layers of sunscreen and he can’t forget the smile on her face when she splashed him with ice cold water, like a child, laughing like crystal bells.

Well, he did take his revenge with switching sugar with salt, and the face she made while drinking her tea after was priceless, and this- this are all the moments he will never be able to forget.

Until that night.

They are on the couch, the same couch she tried to climb in fear of him all those months ago, watching one of her tv series, but neither of them is giving the show much attention.

Him, on his behalf, is too busy looking at the freckles on her face, gently visible thanks to the summer sun, and she is looking at him.

Or rather, at the space he would occupy if had a solid body.

She looks away, but her eyes land on him every now and then and he feels a strange sort of anticipation, like waiting for fireworks to light up the night sky.

That’s when she moves, faster than a blink and stops just an inch away from where he is and he knows, he knows-

He knows that Nesta wants to touch him, to see if he’s really there, if he’s real and he wants to beg her, he would kneel before her, just to feel her skin on him, just once, but when she tries, her fingers moving toward him, she goes right through him and he can’t feel her, can’t feel her fingers or her skin or her touch and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t- can’t look at the sadness on her face, can’t deal and live with the fact that they will never touch, that he will never tuck her hair behind her ear, will never touch her, will never-

But he will, he will see her smile and tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her until they are drunk on one another, he will hold her because she is the reason he wants to be alive and real and concrete,  he just needs to-

He just needs to wake up.

                                                 —

It’s been three months without her ghost.

She doesn’t smoke anymore.

Nesta still doesn’t know what happened: a moment the ghost was there, on the couch with her, its warmth all around her and then it was gone and her house has never been so cold.

When she took her degree, she wanted to rush home, to tell to her ghost that she made it and when she came back home she realized that no amount of blankets in the middle of August would ever replicate that warmth.

Nesta didn’t think that she could miss so much someone who was never really there in the first place.

She sits on the balcony, the place full of memories of her ghost like the rest of the house when she hears a knock on the door.

She debates on answering, but the knocking becomes more insistent and she gets up, opening the door with an annoyed look on her face, but then-

There’s a man in front of her, long black hair flowing around his incredibly handsome face, hazel eyes that look right through her and trembling hands.

“Do you still like all that sugar in your tea, sweetheart?”

anonymous asked:

Thank you for talking about your concerns re: Sony/Columbia and Rob Stringer. I thought I was the only one who felt sick to my stomach at the thought of the man who has been friends with Simon for years, and was head of the US label that helped to closet H & L, being the one to sign H. I don't know why people are excited, because the power dynamics are really messed up now, and there's no guarantee that the stunts are going to stop for L anytime soon. Trying to have hope, but it's hard. :(

It’s very hard, and you’re perfectly welcome, anon.

I thought I had posted about Rob Stringer in the fall, but all I can find is some articles I uploaded, so I’ll revisit now. Stringer has spent his career at Sony, he’s been running labels there since the early 90s, and his brother was a main exec and CEO of Sony Corp (not music) for quite some time. Stringer has headed Columbia since 2008, and he’s done extensive business with Simon Cowell in that capacity. Indeed, Simon was the first quote in the Billboard article announcing Stringer’s appointment as head of Sony this October. Their working relationship has been extensive, as far as I can tell. He has credited his work with Simon on XFactor acts as his gateway to success for getting Glee to work, which was hugely responsible for his success turning Columbia around. [Adele as well, and he’s partly responsible for a lot of a resurgent trend of U.K. artists’ US success.] He has called Simon the “best A&R guy he knows” in multiple interviews.

One Direction signed to Columbia in 2012 as they were breaking the American market; the closet clamped down during this time.

Sony purchased controlling shares in Syco in July of 2015 – paying £85 million total for it, and absorbing the £70 million debt it had accrued. While making £45 million from it personallyis somewhat pathetic for Simon, that’s a far better fate than being jettisoned from Sony and declaring the company bankrupt within five years. The buyout was, it would appear, the best possible outcome for Simon given the failures of his television series, losing One Direction, and being unable to produce a suitably earning substitute.

Rob Stringer was announced the new head of Sony mid-October 2016.

I say all this to suggest that thinking of a ‘fresh start’ for Rob Stringer or Harry is not logically sound. Rob Stringer has been involved in their business since 2012 – but even say for argument’s sake that perhaps he didn’t determine their marketing. But Rob Stringer has been calling the shots at Sony since this fall (and potentially had input before that official announcement). And we know Sony now holds the Syco strings and has since July 2015, a date we are all very aware of – so Rob Stringer stepping into the office in the last six months has certainly had power to ameliorate the situation, and he has not done so.

Harry has been constructed as the big fish, the Justin Timberlake, almost since the beginning. It seems Sony’s going to be damned if they don’t get what they’ve always angled for, by hook or by crook. Given what we have seen, they’ve been successful at backing Harry into a corner, as well as Louis, with profound effects for Liam and Niall as well.

Columbia and Sony are sure to promote Harry’s music thoroughly, because it could make them a great deal of money. But that is the equation. It is very much in their best interests not to help Niall, Louis, and Liam or One Direction, as that would distract dollars and time from Harry’s solo work, which will make them a fortune. It is quite evident by now that Sony has had the power to step in but have not, because such an extreme power imbalance in negotiating is much more expedient for their bottom line. They’ve been monstrous and it’s gotten them Harry’s contract, which is what they wanted.

Hope is not any easy thing in such a situation. I think patience will continue to be the watchword. 

Welcome to the Land of Kaylor/ Gaylor Swift

Are you a new Kaylor/ Gaylor Swiftie? Do you feel like you know NOTHING when people make references to 2014 events? Or like you have SO MANY QUESTIONS but are scared to ask people? Did you just discover Kaylor and don’t know where to start? Or are you someone who’s been quietly blogging but still feels like they have stuff to learn? 

Well, you’ve stumbled upon the right post! I’m going to share with you all the tips, tricks, info and blogs to follow if you’re still getting used to this whole “Taylor Swift isn’t straight” thing. 

Okay, I’ll get into it!

Keep reading

shadowedsoulforever  asked:

Regency AU: So, now that you broke our hearts with the angst of Bucky being injured and Tony having his feelings hurt, how does it get better again? Please!? 🙂

definitely-nope said:Alright now we got angst in the regency au but how do they fix it?! P.S. I love YOU, I love this BLOG, and I LOVE this AU

Anonymous said:Omgggg do they chase after Tony after he runs out?? Do sarah/natasha have to intervene? Does Steve hunt down the person who threw the dagger?

Anonymous said:To the anon who asked for more angst in the Regency au: you, good sir, are a dick (even though someone else would have eventually asked for it anyways) Please, mother owl, tell us how it gets better!

Anonymous said:How are Bucky and Steve going to fix their marriage? Tony would be well justified if he never wanted to see them again, but I know that’s not how he is

Sarah is deeply disappointed in her boys but she can understand. Joseph had been–stubborn–as well when he was injured. Sarah had to throw a bitch fit for Joseph to allow her to hold his hand as he died. She assumes it’s an alpha thing, to not want to look weak in front of your mate when they depend on you. (She thinks it’s incredibly stupid though.) It was just her luck that her son had gotten stubbornness from both she and her husband but tenfold. And it was just her luck that her alpha son-in-law would be just as stubborn. And It was just her luck that her omega son-in-law was turning out to be just as stubborn.

“Tony, I order you to open this door!” she snarls and pounds on the door to his room. The heat is the same but the hope isn’t; she’s tried talking, wheedling, and even outright begged him to open the door. When there’s no answer, she turns and smacks Steve’s chest with the back of her hand and hisses, “Why was I burdened with such bullheaded children. Was it not enough that you were a sickly child? You have to try my patience in good health, too?” Steve grimaces the same even though this is far from the first time she’s scolded him for being stubborn.

“And if James wasn’t injured I would smack him too,” Sarah hisses, and Bucky winces from the door he’s hiding behind. “I’m sure it’s hard enough coming into a relationship where you are the odd one out but then to have it thrown in your face like this? Do you two never think? This boy has offered himself to you and you shut him out because you’re embarrassed to be weak? Who would you deem worthy of your weakness then? If not your omega, who can you be weak in front of? He vowed through sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer. Do you think those vows meant nothing to him? Who are you meant to trust if not your omega?”

Steve and Bucky look down at their feet, ashamed. Sarah nearly jumps out of her skin when the door opens. She sees Tony’s tear-stained face first. Then she sees the hand resting on his stomach. “Tony,” Steve begins, voice dripping with contrition. “GET OUT,” Sarah shouts, flailing, and then shoves her way into the room with Tony and slams the door. She hears a muffled “Ma, what the flaming hell” before she locks it, and spins around to face Tony, horrified. “How long?!”

“I was looking for Steve so I could tell him, and I couldn’t find him, so I was going to sneak in and tell Bucky because I thought if I had good news he wouldn’t be mad at me for seeing him,” Tony whispers, lifting his other hand to rest on his belly, fingers trembling. “I thought–I thought I was wrong.” Sarah’s hands flutter at his stomach before she thinks better of it and settles them on his face, carefully wiping away his tears. “What could you possibly be wrong about, dear?” “I thought that–that I was being selfish, or pushy, for trying to force myself in, trying to see Bu–James. But I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t. You said I wasn’t.”

“Honey, no, you weren’t wrong,” Sarah assures him. “Of course you weren’t. But maybe–Maybe James wasn’t wrong either. James isn’t just–It’s not just a wound that will leave a scar. He’s missing an arm. He’s not going to be able to do a lot of things he’s always done, and he’s angry and sad about it, and James has always wanted to deal with his problems himself even when he should really be asking for help.” Tony sniffles. “And Steve?” “Steven has always been very good at making very bad decisions,” Sarah points out. “With the arm wrestling thing.” Tony giggles reluctantly. “Yeah, the arm wrestling thing.” “I think Steve was being pulled in two different directions,” Sarah adds quietly. “And he didn’t know which one to turn to.” “James was hurt very badly,” Tony agrees softly. He doesn’t blame Steve. Not really. He was just… very hurt that Bucky hadn’t allowed him to see him, and had blamed Steve for not trying hard enough even though he knew Bucky was just as stubborn.

Tony rubs his hands over his stomach again, face falling. “Do you think they’ll be happy?” “I think nothing would make them happier except the chance to grovel for your forgiveness,” Sarah tells him gently. Tony frowns. “Oh no, James can’t do that, he could get dirt in his wound!” “Honestly, your mother must have pulled strings wherever she is to send you to me, you are just too precious,” Sarah tells him seriously. “And we are lucky to have you.” Tony lifts a hand to wipe his cheek, sniffling quietly. “Really? You mean that?” “Darling, I consider you my son just as I consider James,” Sarah informed him. “Which means you may absolutely have the hug you’re too afraid to ask me for now.” Tony doesn’t bother swallowing down his resulting sob as he wraps his arms around her.


Tony does eventually shuffle out of the room to see his husbands. Steve looks down at his feet, ashamed, then swallows and lifts his head to look Tony in the eye. “I hurt you. I made a bad decision and I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” Tony has always liked that about Steve. Steve is stubborn as a mule but when he’s wrong he admits it with amazing dignity. And Steve always keeps his word. He thinks that more than makes up for the fact that Steve isn’t very good at courting or mediating things. “Okay,” Tony tells him quietly. “…You’re not forgiving me,” Steve said, just to be sure. “No, not yet.” Steve smiled a little. “Good. I don’t deserve it yet.” Tony cups his cheeks, draws him down to press a kiss to his jaw. “But you will.”

Bucky presses his door shut again and leans his forehead against it, then lets out a frustrated growl and jerks it open again. He’s been hiding long enough. Tony should be able to see what’s left of him. He tries to keeps his head up like Steve did but it’s–hard. His chin trembles. He feels ashamed. He wants nothing more than to run and hide and never show his face to his precious omega again. He fights the urge down though, because–he deserves this. He hurt Tony. He deserves this.

Tony stares at him, wide-eyed, because he hadn’t really gotten a chance to look when he’d been so upset. Bucky’s chest is bare, showing off the bandages wrapped around the remains of his arm, cut off in the middle of his bicep. The bandages had probably been a crisp white before, but now they were loose, tinted a rusty red. Bucky didn’t look as muscular as he usually did, either, probably from the stretch of time he’d been on bed rest and unable to do much of anything.

Tony steps up to him, and tries not to feel hurt when Bucky flinches away, trying to tuck his injured side back out of view as possible. He presses in anyway, fingers pressing to Bucky’s collarbone, trailing the tips over and up to his shoulder, hesitating when Bucky shudders. But Bucky just sets his jaw stubbornly, so Tony steps closer, fingers stopping where the bandages start, unwilling to possibly cause him pain when he can’t see where the wound begins. Bucky’s different, but the same warmth is under his hand, the same thump of his pulse under Tony’s hand. Tony leans in and brushes a kiss over the bandages, light as air to try to keep from hurting him, then drops his hand to smooth it down Bucky’s side.

Bucky stares at him for a moment, speechless, before his face crumples and he starts sobbing, dipping his head to press his face into his omega’s neck, wrapping his remaining arm around Tony’s waist and clinging to him. He hadn’t known how much he’d missed this, missed Tony’s soothing, gentle touch. He feels like a wild animal being soothed and he can’t even find it in himself to feel ashamed because he just wanted Tony.

Tony can’t bring himself to tell Steve and Bucky about the baby that night.


Steve doesn’t go after the Red Skull. He doesn’t have a chance. Bucky had been his main focus. The Red Skull escapes and keeps his head down. The Rogers’ people are livid one of their beloved princes is injured and are ready to stone anyone they think might have done it.

anonymous asked:

Ken, the paparazzi who spoils things correctly, is going around saying that olicity has moments post 520 but that they don't end the season officially reunited (that second half was said in DMs). People are speculating they'll end it in a good place like 223, but I think they're making a big mistake because another hiatus where they're not together is too much for me. Even if in a good place, by 601 months will have passed. I don't think he's lying, so what do you make of this?

Whoa nelly! I just took a peek at my inbox and I have at least 30 asks regarding this.

So I’m going to answer this now. Just so I can get to other questions on Thursday or it frees people up to ask me something else if they’d like. SPOILERS AHEAD!

So, I disagree with your assertion that Ken or Canadagraphs spoil things correctly. 

Yes, they do spoil things correctly sometimes. Especially when accompanied by photographic evidence. However, they don’t spoil things correctly ALL the time. They get it wrong just plenty.

I read the exchange on Twitter. Ken was pretty clear that he was making an assumption based on what he’s seen so far. He literally used the word assumption folks. This is not concrete information. This is just what he’s cobbled together from whatever he’s seen.

In another ask I received the Anon said Ken and CG get scripts. Uhhh… I don’t think that’s entirely accurate. I’m not sure what the technical term is, but I’m just going to make one up. I think what CG and Ken get their hands on a lot is a shooting schedule. I think there’s a brief description of what’s going to be shot/ the overall scene, location etc, but I don’t think they are walking around with complete scripts. That is just my assumption based on what I’ve cobbled together.

Ken spoiled the 2x23 kiss before we knew about it. That’s true. However, I think he confirmed he got it from the shooting schedule and the scene description. It was the same for the 5x20 love scene. He got that off a shooting schedule and scene description, but he wasn’t looking at the script. Ken also said FOR SURE that the 5x20 love scene was in present day. There was nothing in the scene description to indicate otherwise. But he was wrong. It is not a present day love scene. It’s a flashback. Confirmed by Marc Guggenheim. 

So… do I think his assumption is right? No. I do not. I don’t know what information he has. I don’t know what he’s basing these assumptions off of, but here’s how I look at the paparazzi. I am skeptical of pretty much everything they say unless they back it up with photographic evidence - like LL’s death. There’s been multiple times they’ve whipped the fandom into a frenzy and the information was inaccurate. There’s been times they have been accurate, but they are not the only source of information I go off of.

Let’s just put aside all the evidence on the show, which as you all know I believe is the most important piece. We’ve had other confirmations of Olicity’s reunion. I’d encourage everyone to read my HFVV Chicago post if you haven’t. David Ramsey flat out said Olicity reunites before the finale. No, Laura did not misunderstand him. I did not misunderstand David when I spoke to him at HVFF. When has David ever lied to us? Umm… never. David tells it like it is. Given that he has read all the scripts, I feel like David Ramsey is a pretty reliable source.

Marc confirmed back in JULY at SDCC they are rebuilding Olicity. That’s honestly the only spoiler I needed folks. The rest has all been extra. From my perspective that’s exactly what they are doing this season, but we’re going to dig deep into the rebuild in 5x20. All the spoilers for 5x20 seem to indicate that Olicity addresses their issues. This is NOT something they did in the fourth season when Arrow had every intention of putting them on pause. You don’t have the characters address the issues and then pause. That’s illogical from a narrative perspective. The reason why Olicity’s issues haven’t been addressed until now is because they didn’t want to reunite them until the end of the season. It’s just that simple. It’s a television show. May Sweeps is still a thing. The whole reason Arrow is circling back to these “issues” is to reunite them. I have zero doubt.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Fraaaaan, Sero so handsome. What about BakuSero ?

A good ship I might draw something for in the near future! :D if inspiration doesn’t leave me again, that is

Anon said: I don’t know if you said anything but is there a reason you haven’t drawn anything haikyuu related lately? Not complaining but just interested why?

Hmmmmm there’s a few reasons I’ve talked about on various occasions in the past, stuff that goes from “the manga isn’t all that inspiring atm” to “the fandom isn’t responding in a way that makes me want to share more” and also “reposters sure are a pain aren’t they”, but lately I’ve been thinking that I really wouldn’t mind drawing some hq’s again so! Don’t think about those too much, consider it just a temporary hiatus :D

Anon said: Rude quiestion i know and im sorry but, will you draw some haikyuu stuff again or…?

I will! Can’t promise my focus won’t shift on other characters once I’ll start again, or generally be more spread out through everyone instead of focusing on a couple like I was doing before, but I will!

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Dylan Larkin # 1

Requested by Anon: Dylan Larkin imagine where he and the reader move in together and they’re both not used to being a serious relationship so they have to do all this cute domestic stuff and Dylan keeps messing up simple chores and it’s just goofy and cute

Warnings: cussing, doubt, sexual innuendoes 

Word Count: 1756

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience! I’m sorry it took forever! I tried really hard with this but I don’t feel like it’s very good so I apologize  :( Any way enjoy what you can! And please don’t be afraid to request again even though it isn’t my best work! 

Originally posted by dyllarkin

Your feet were tucked under your boyfriend’s legs. You had a book in your hands while Dylan was watching hockey on your TV. You two finally got to spend some time together after a long three weeks of not seeing each other. The reason? Your boyfriend played professional hockey for the Detroit Red Wings and you had your own busy working life causing both of your schedules not to match. But finally you got some time together.

Dylan let out a large sigh indicating he wanted your attention. You rolled your eyes, placed a bookmark in your book, and looked up at the boy. “Larkin?” you questioned. He began to comfortingly rub circles on your lower legs. “I was just thinking how great it is to be with you,” he stated. You rose your eyebrows in surprised. “It’s great to be with you too,” you responded happily. You returned to your book thinking that the conversation was over. “I like this. Being here with you,” he continued, “I was thinking…” he stopped and waited to get your attention. You once again put your book down. “Uh-Oh Dylan thinking? This can’t be good,” you sarcastically replied. He rolled his eyes at you. “Listen,“ he commanded. “okay you have my attention, Larkin,” you moved yourself so you were closer to him with your feet tucked under you. “I think you should move in with me,” he admitted. At first you laughed, thinking he was joking. He kept his face straight. “Oh my gosh, you’re serious,” you noticed. You were skeptical. This was a huge step in a relationship. As much as you love Dylan, moving in could possibly kill the relationship. “I don’t know, Dyl,” You speculated. “Just think about it. Your rent would be cheaper. And we would see each other so much more,” he said. “Dyl,” you started. You were cut off by Dylan’s lips on yours. The kiss was passionate and left your head foggy. Dylan came at you with so much force he knocked you down into the couch. He was laying on top of you. You tangled your hands into his beautiful dark brown hair. You pulled him closer to you trying to feel every part of him. He pulled away quickly. The sudden lack of Dylan’s body heat left you shivering. The fact the kiss was heating up and now he was gone, left you uncomfortable. You gave him a confused look and he smirked at you, “So will you move in with me?” he asked. Instead of answering the question you went in for another kiss. You needed to feel the passion again. He turned his head just at the right moment so your lips met with his cheek. You pulled back and glared at him, “What are you playing at Larkin?” you questioned. Once again he gave you his signature smile that took your breath away. “Will you move in with me?” he asked again. You still didn’t respond. “Will you move in with me?” he asked for the third time moving closer to you. “Move in with me,” he stated. His lips were almost touching yours again. Your breath hitched, hoping he would plant his lips on yours again. “Dylan,” you whined, needing the kiss. “All you have to do is say yes,” he whispered. “Fine, yes,” you officially agreed. You grabbed his face, and finally pulling his lips to yours.

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anonymous asked:

bellarke, 8

sorry this took so long, anon!! school and homework absolutely kicked my ass this weekend and then i had a major case of writer’s block, so thanks for your patience darling <3

bellarke + 8. oh my god, i thought you were going to die. please don’t ever scare me like that again.

Clarke is perfectly relaxed until her radio crackles to life.

She hears Bellamy’s voice coming from it - garbled, but clear enough that she can distinctly make out the words, “Come in, Clarke.” Panic seizes her, because Bellamy wouldn’t be trying to contact her unless something was wrong.

She fumbles for the radio, fingers trembling so much that she has a hard time unhooking it from her belt. “Come in, Clarke,” Bellamy says again, and the urgency in his voice terrifies her.

“Bellamy, what’s wrong?” she says into the radio. He doesn’t answer right away, but she hears a harsh sound in the background, a dull roar. “What the hell is that noise?”

A crackle, and then: “Black rain.”

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anonymous asked:

how do you think doumeki and yashiro's relationship will pan out when they eventually get together? how their dynamic will be?

Anon I LOVE this question, because it is my fandom life’s work: all my fanfiction is centered on the “after” part of their inevitable joining as a couple because I just love contemplating it so much and I think there’s so much left to explore between them that goes well beyond a Happily Ever After ending. This is the majority of what I think about when I think about Saezuru, and now I get to share some of my hyperspecific thoughts with you!! YAY!!!

I also have to split this up because it’s literally taking me forever to write down all my thoughts cohesively, and it’s becoming super long and burdensome. So I’ll start with the “bad” stuff that I see happening (fun!!).

-       It’s going to be incredibly rough at times, especially in the beginning, with a lot of miscommunication making heavy bumps along the road. No blame on either of them, and without becoming too much of an armchair pseudo-psychoanalyst on two fictional characters, trauma and neglect doesn’t disappear when you fall in love with a good person. Yashiro will have to deal with a lot of new, weird, likely uncomfortable experiences since he has never been with someone like this before. Relationships are really fucking hard, even when you’re older or have been in a million of them before; there are going to be a lot of things that he simply doesn’t understand, or ends up becoming confused or angry or frightened by. Big relationship goalposts, like moving in together, and super little mundane shit like “I don’t like it when you don’t answer your phone.”

-       Their first real domestic fight will probably devastate him and convince him to try and abandon ship before he’s too hurt, and Doumeki will have to wander around Tokyo looking for him. I anticipate that happening a few times, lol. Luckily, Doumeki isn’t going anywhere, ever, and has no end of patience.

-       I think Yashiro’s insecurities will be truly exposed since his childhood and he’ll be in a special kind of hell for a while. He will question everything that Doumeki does or wants with him, and be constantly wondering if (when) Doumeki is going to leave him or become tired of him. He’ll probably throw out too many “tests” for Doumeki to pass, not even realizing what he’s doing because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’ll ask Doumeki about a pretty brunette, or porn, or having children, or marriage, and then try to distance himself from the conversation. He’ll get angry and cold at seemingly nothing, and then cling to Doumeki in the same minute.

-       Doumeki will overdo his possessiveness and need to learn how to rein it in. He doesn’t like people flirting with Yashiro, and he’ll likely cause avoidable problems because his temper is up. And unless something is resolved with Kageyama, like verbally acknowledged between YxD, I anticipate Doumeki being unhappy with any interaction that Yashiro has with his long-term unrequited love. And by unhappy I mean like quietly incensed by it.

-       The next reblog of this will have way happier, cuter stuff, but I wanted to address some of my thoughts about this beforehand and also encourage anyone else to jump in as well 😊

anonymous asked:

Hey could you do that list of requests thing you mentioned? That would be awesome bc I'd love to read your stuff

For sure! Alright, here’s what’s upcoming:

Jeff x reader 

anon:  this sounds weird but i love dragons and i love jeff so could you write something about jeff and dragons?

This is going to be posted today I promise 

Monty x reader 

anon: Montgomery De La Cruz x fem reader where they like each other secretly. But one day he is speaking spanish/other language and she loses it and kisses him? I feel like it could maybe work if he is tutoring her in the class cause she can’t speak the language

I’m working on it right now, I’m not very far in but it’s going well :)

Justin x reader

anon: Can you write a Justin foley imagine where you walk into Justin getting choked by meth Seth

I am so excited to write this you have no idea. Prepare for some very sad backstory you didn’t ask for

Jeff x reader

@senrensaretavirtuemama: reader is hard of hearing, and Jeff works hard to make sure they can communicate

This is such an amazing request (there’s more to it than what I put here), and I’m sorry it’s taking so long to get to but I’m already planning it so don’t worry 

Alex x reader

anon: Alex Standall imaginewhere he sleeps over the reader’s house for a project together, but then he confesses his feelings for the reader

I’m excited to get to this one! not too much planning done yet, but I have a nugget of an idea

Justin x reader

anon: drunk Justin

Ooooh I already know what I’m gonna do for this one! (It’s possible this will come out a little early cuz it’s not going to be as long as some of my other ones, but I’m so excited!) (Can you guys tell that Justin is my son?)

Jeff x reader

@girlinmanyfandoms123: Jeff imagine where reader has been dealing with stress and anxiety because of upcoming exams and Jeff finds her crying and tries to cheer her up/make her happy and be friends

Not much planning done for this one, but since exam season isn’t really too far away I think I’m just gonna channel how much I want a Jeff to help me while I’m stressed. It’s gonna be good :)

Jeff x reader

anon: jeff x Reader where she’s like a bit of a hippie and earthy and whatnot and Jeff is who he is (popular jock etc) and she’s doing a protest at the school about not building a new building where the baby saplings are and he’s always rlly admired her for standing up for herself n stuff and they have small talk in class so when he sees her protesting he’s like fuck it n joins in

I love this idea so much! I know it’s gonna be a while before I get to it but I’m very excited to write this one

Jeff x reader

@w-hunting: More Confident Jeff, confused reader. She thought it was a one time thing didn’t know he liked her. 

This one is gonna be cute, I can already tell

Jeff x reader

anon: “I thought ignoring the way I feel would make me fall out of love.” From the list you reblogged. W Jeff pls? Cute at the end?

EEH! Hell yes, so excited to write this! It’s gonna be a bit before I can get to it, but I’m looking forward to it

Jeff x reader

@w-hunting: more sad/confused Jeff trying to figure out what he did to make her want to dump him w a stressed reader who doesn’t notice how Jeff is feeling cause she’s so preoccupied by making his birthday perfect

Gonna be so fluffy!

Jeff x reader

@w-hunting: Ooooo one sentence prompt w oblivious!Jeff :
Jeff is so busy trying to get Clay and Hannah together, he doesn’t notice reader has been trying to make her and him a thing for the past month

I love this! Oblivious Jeff is my jam

Jeff x reader

@w-hunting: Jeff prompt based on Perfect by Ed Sheeran

Gonna have to listen to the song, but I’m excited!

As you guys can see, I have a lot of Jeff requests, so if you guys request stuff for some other characters (especially Justin) I will probably get to those a little quicker and shuffle them into the above list, so I’m not only posting Jeff. These should be posted in this order for the most part, but I can’t give you specific days as of yet. Things are going kind of slow, but I’m working on them, don’t you guys worry. I appreciate your patience so much, and I’ll try to get through these as quickly as I can. 

Originally posted by picture--sex

anonymous asked:

if youre taking requests, enjoltaire + truth or dare

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt anon! I actually wrote this about three times because I kept forgetting to save! Here are our boys being silly with a guest appearance from everyone’s fave plot device: the art of Miscommunication. I hope you enjoy !!

P.S I’m still taking prompts if anyone has any they’d like to send!!


Grantaire knows it’s all about to go downhill the moment Éponine gets that smile on her face.

There’s a lot you can learn about someone through their facial expressions- the example in question, Éponine, is currently wearing her ‘I’m about to fuck shit up and I know it’ smile.

Enjolras, who is on the receiving end of said smile, looks nowhere near as terrified as he rightfully should do. Everyone who’s ever played truth or dare with Éponine knows you do not, under any circumstance, ever, choose dare. Enjolras either doesn’t know this or doesn’t care, sitting up proudly and condemning himself to what Grantaire knows will be his end.

He’d always assumed Enjolras would die a martyr, nobly refusing to concede in the face of his enemies. He’d never dreamt that Enjolras would meet his end at one of Courfeyrac’s hastily thrown parties because he was foolish enough to choose dare at the hands of Éponine.

“Enjolras,” Éponine begins slowly, pronouncing every syllable in a way that sounds unmistakably dangerous- a trick she surely learnt from Montparnasse. “I dare you… to kiss Grantaire.”

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anonymous asked:

Ive had two dreams involving Osiris, and in both, it feels like He was trying to help me confront my OCD-induced phobia of death. The most recent one has me kind of shaken up, esp. since I dont know much about Him. Can you describe what He's like?

(Osiris dream anon) I ran out of space but when I say “what He’s like”, I mean personality-wise if that wasnt clear 0u0 Thank you!!             

Osiris in bullet point format:

  • Quiet
  • Creepy uncle vibe
  • plays the long game. the very long game.
  • patient. because long games require patience.
  • coy, doesn’t do things directly. 
  • will kick your ass to make a point. might not know its him doing the ass kicking, though. 
  • largely incoherent/non-sensical in how he talks. if he talks.
  • can be very kind and understanding. is definitely more understanding than Set.
  • big-picture oriented
  • sometimes a bit out of touch
  • old man that hands out werther’s originals to everyone.
  • “i used to be a young whipper snapper, too, you know”
  • feisty when he wants to be. obstinate when he wants to be.
  • doesn’t move until he wants to. once he starts moving, you’re fucked for stopping him.
  • “look at this thing i made you. doesn’t it make you feel better? oh it doesn’t make you feel better? i am sad now.”
  • “what is personal space. what do you mean i can’t get 3cm from you.” 
  • “duck shoe canoe. bird shell cat swing. orange.”

I will also add that my experience has been that by the time you realize he’s got his fingers in your stuff, its already too late to really break away from him. That’s not to say that you can’t, but to say that it will be hard. He plays the long game, as I said above, and as such, he usually doesn’t show himself until after he’s already got you. That being said, if he comes on too strong, you can usually talk to him and he’ll back off a bit.

There is also this, which may be helpful.

Make time

Oneshot Requested by Anon: J has been super busy lately and you understand, but it starts to get really annoying bc every time you need him or want him around he can’t be. So you call him and tell him you just can’t do this anymore. He’s a while away so he starts freaking out and you just pack your things and wait for him to get home to say proper goodbye. She tries to leave but he wont let her. Begging her to stay

 sidenote: thoughts

Your name: submit What is this? 

Author’s/Reader’s P.O.V

The Joker was a business man, as well as generally a busy man. Of course, he was, he didn’t become the king of Gotham by just sitting around, and waiting for the money to come to him. However, being the girlfriend of such a man wasn’t any easier. Most days, you’d wait around for J to come home, so you two could finally spend some time together. On the rare occasion that he actually got home during a reasonable hour, he’d still lock himself up inside his office going over some heist plans again, before joining you in bed around midnight. Then of course, if he was in the mood, you’d have sex. More of a quick fuck really, and afterwards he’d just turn to his side, and fall asleep. Only for you to wake up in the morning and find his side of the bed empty once again.

It wasn’t always like this. At the beginning of your relationship, the Joker truly treated you like a queen. Always making time for you, never leaving you alone for too long, making sure you had everything you could ever desire. He’d steal the most expensive diamond necklace on a Sunday morning, just because he felt it would look perfect around your neck. You’d never thought that the only thing you would ever truly want, was him making time for you again.

Over the past few weeks it had become so bad, that you constantly battled with yourself about whether you should leave him  or not. The way it was now…it just wasn’t a real relationship any more. Just two people living their lives next to each other instead of with each other.


Mr. J was out of town to meet up with some new up and coming gangster want-to-be, and to make it clear to him who was calling the shots around here. When he left, he said he’d be gone 2 days max, but it had almost been a week since the last time you saw him. The Joker didn’t even bother calling you once during his absence, and it riled you up the wrong way, giving you the last push you needed to come to a final decision.


Despite all your obvious issues, you loved the Joker, and wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye. But you still didn’t want to wait around another week, so instead you called him.


“Doll, whatever you have to say, can you make it quick? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”, the Joker growled into the phone, after only picking up the third time you rang him.
“Hello to you, too. Actually, it’s important, so you might want to excuse yourself, and take the time to listen for 5 minutes.”, you snapped back, hoping he’d get the hint. “Fine.”, he grumbled, and then you could hear him yell something at the people in the background. 


“Alright. I’m alone, what is it?” Trying to calm down, and get your thoughts together, you took a deep breath, “J, this isn’t easy to say, so please don’t interrupt me.” When he didn’t say anything back, you assumed he understood, and continued. “J, I love you, and I’ll probably always love you but the way things are now…I just don’t think we work anymore. You’re hardly ever home, and I feel like your business has become more important than us…than me. I wish it didn’t have to come to this but I’m leaving you. I’ll start packing my stuff now, and I’ll be gone by tomorrow night. I was just calling to let you know. Maybe you could -” Click! He hung up… “- come home before then, so we can say our goodbyes.”, you mumbled now to yourself, a single tear rolling down your cheek. He didn’t even have the time to listen till the end. Shaking your head, you threw your phone onto the bed, and began retrieving your bags, filling them up with your clothes and other essentials.


The Joker nearly crushed the phone in his hand. 

She was leaving him, the woman he loved was leaving him. And it was his fault. Quickly, he left the house the meeting had been set in, and got into his Lamborghini. With one swift movement, he put the right gear in, and pushed down on the gas-pedal, leaving the scene with screeching tires. Mr. J rushed through the traffic, not caring who was affected by his careless driving, not that he ever did, and rushed to your still shared apartment.  


Out of breath from running up the stairs, he didn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator, the Joker stood in the door-frame to your bedroom. “Stop!”

You jumped, not expecting anyone to be here right now, especially not him. After taking a deep breath, you slowly turned to face him, “Why?”
He ignores your question and moves to stand beside you, and starts unpacking your bags. “J, don’t. I’m leaving.”, you sigh, grabbing everything he had thrown to the side and putting it back into the suitcases.
“No, you can’t do that!”, he shouts, sounding like a five-year-old, who’s toy has been taking away and has just been told, that he wasn’t allowed to play with it anymore. “Yes, I can.”, you say softly, hoping to calm him down. You didn’t want this to end in drama, you wanted to simply say goodbye, and hope that he would soon forget about you, and you about him.

Mr. J stops messing with your things, and finally looks at you. “Please don’t leave me, kitten.” 


For the first time in a while, the Joker’s true emotions were displayed on his face. Right now, he was the most vulnerable he had ever been. “I get that I fucked up, I do. I’ve been busy, and I should’ve paid more attention to you.” You nod, confirming that he hit the nail on the head, although this was what you had already told him on the phone, but you didn’t think he had listened then.


“I’m not ‘boyfriend-material’, although I guess you knew that already. But I’ve tried in the past. Like when I said those three little words, you insist are so important. Bit ridiculous, but I did mean them and still do. I can try to be better again. I’ll do anything for you, just please don’t leave me!”, his voice cracks, and he quickly looks down, fighting back tears. Stupid feelings, he thinks to himself, before taking a deep breath, and staring back at you, his eyes silently begging you to say something.

“I want to believe you, J, I do. But for the past weeks, you’ve basically ignored me. I can’t just glance over that. What you are doing now, is making empty promises, you say one thing, and in the end, nothing changes.”, you sigh, crossing your arms.
“No, you’re wrong. Y/N, when I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it. How about, you and me leave right now and go on a vacation somewhere, anywhere you choose. No business, no heists, no club; just time for you and me to be together. What do you say, doll?”, he asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

“You actually believe, you are able to leave Gotham and stay away from your business for at least 2 weeks?” 
“Yes.”, he states, no hint of doubt in his mind and voice. 
You uncross your arms, a shy smile on your lips, “So, I can continue packing now?” 
“Only if you put my stuff in there, too.”, he grins at you, making you chuckle.

“I think we’ll need bigger bags then, because I doubt your clothes will fit in here.” 

The Joker rolls his eyes, taking a few steps towards you, closing the gap between you, and kissing you passionately.

“I love you, Y/N, and I’ll be better.”, he promises, kissing your lips again, only this time more gently. “I love you, too, J. Just remember to make time for us, okay?” He nods, and lets his hands move to your waist, pulling you against his chest, hugging you tightly. “Anything for you, kitten.”

I Like You The Best [ Bang Yongguk ]

Originally posted by gukkielover

B.A.P - BANG YONGGUK | 1489 WORDS  | ANGST+FLUFF

Rating : PG-13  | Pairing : Yongguk x Reader  |  Warning : none

Summary: [Requested] Jealous boyfriend! Yongguk (ft Best friend! Yoongi)

A.N : I kinda change it a little bit so i hope it’s okay. Thank you for requesting this, anon! <3 Let me know what you think! Request are still open too so feel free to request a scenario :) not edited yet so there might be some mistakes.

REQUEST


Yongguk stared at his slightly dimmed laptop screen, willing himself to stay awake to listen to his girlfriend’s story about her day, smile slowly slipping off his face as he heard the familiar name over and over again.

“So, I told Yoongi that he was being stupid and he had the audacity to shove my book off the table. Who does he think he is? A cat?”

It wasn’t jealousy, he tried to justify himself while he focused his attention back to the screen. He had been through this for countless times and he knew they were just childhood friends, nothing more. But some days, on days like this, every mention of her best friend’s name felt like stabbing dozens of dull knives through his heart. It was a vicious cycle he had come to loathe and he felt worse than he had before once he pushed back the dark thoughts to the back of his mind, struggling to pretend that nothing was wrong in the first place.

“Yongguk? Are you okay?” Yongguk startled at her voice, eyes wide in surprise when he realized he had been lost in his thoughts for god-knows how long, and now his girlfriend was staring at him with worry in her eyes.

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anonymous asked:

you made me start shipping bakugou, kaminari and Kirishima (i forgot their ship name). They're sucha good ship and your drawings for them are amazing!!!!!!!

Oh man thank you!!! I’m super happy I could make you like them!!!!!! They got amazing dynamics, don’t they? :D

Anon said: Your ocs are always so cool and cute i love them??!? Do u have more information about them?

THANK YOU!! And yesssss I do, actually! And I’ve also talked about them a while ago already!!! If you’re looking for more info specifically about Josh and Chris I blabbered about them here!!! <3<3

Anon said: I love your art ! And I love your Bakugo, but, have you ever thought of a undercut Bakugo ??

I sure have!!!! Tho I guess I do draw him more often with a side shave haha

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anonymous asked:

Could you write 81 for Moriel for the dialogue prompt thingy ? I love your writing!

First off, thanks nonnie! For the compliment and the prompt. :) It means a lot! I really loved this prompt so much and had an idea right away, which is why you are getting this kinda quickly. I was totally grinning while I wrote this, so I hope you enjoy it.

Prompt: “Obviously you can’t tell a woman you just met that you love her, but it sucks that you can’t.” 

*****

When Mor shows up at Rita’s, the last person she expects to see is Azriel. It had taken her so long to get him to go with her that when she sees him there (and without her) she blinks to be sure that her vision isn’t deceiving her. But it isn’t, Azriel is here, sitting at the bar with Rhys. She would be slightly hurt, if she weren’t delighted by the fact that he has taken some time off for himself.

She begins to walk towards them with her usual confident swagger when she overhears part of their discussion.

“Obviously, you can’t tell a woman you just met that you love her, but it sucks that you can’t,” Azriel is saying, and the words cause her to stop mid-stride. She quickly finds a seat close enough so she can keep listening to them, but far away enough that they hopefully won’t notice her before she wants to be found. She doesn’t know whether the person in love with a woman is one of them, but either way she feels the blood rush to her face.

“You wouldn’t do that anyway, Az. Even if it wasn’t completely inappropriate and creepy,” Rhys replies.

If it’s Azriel who has fallen in love with someone… her face blanches and her stomach turns at the idea. Her mind begins to race, trying to think of who they could be talking about, the women Azriel has met recently. There was that woman the other evening who had been ogling him while they were all at dinner. Or the woman from the Winter Court whom they had gone to visit a few weeks ago, trying to get her to agree to trade. They are always coming and going, who knows who he could have met while he was away on a mission. Her heart starts to drop as the implications of that become clear.

When Azriel starts talking again, she forces herself to stop thinking and listen.

“There are a lot of things I wish I could have done differently. Telling her right away is one of them. It might have saved us all a lot of trouble.” If she strains her neck a bit she can see them across the room, and she watches as he looks down at his glass.

“Even when you were a kid, Az, you were more the broody, silent type. The impulsiveness of youth would have done you no good. You just didn’t have it. And besides, it wouldn’t have worked then. Too much… there was too much going on for her, then. Even if she would have said yes.” Rhys pats him on the shoulder, and it moves Mor to see them like this together. Even if inside she is silently screaming at the implications of what they are saying.

“I suppose you’re right,” Az concedes. “I wonder though, what if I met her now, instead of then? What would I do, if I saw her walk in this room and didn’t know her?” He looks up at the door she has just entered from as if it were a possibility.

“Well, it’s a good thing you see her nearly every day. That she is always there when you return from missions. Isn’t it?” Rhys looks at Azriel pointedly and finishes his drink as if there is nothing more he needs to say.

Mor begins putting pieces together, and as she does her distress grows. They aren’t talking about someone he has recently met, but someone he met a long time ago. When she heard them talking her mind had immediately gone to someone else because surely, Azriel wouldn’t be talking so openly to Rhys about how he felt about her. But that seems to be exactly what he is doing, and she isn’t sure if she wants to run and hide or confront him.

She looks back up at the two men sitting at the bar, and makes a decision. Standing from her table, she puts on a bright smile and approaches the two. She falters for a moment when Az starts speaking again, but persists.

“Morrigan is…” he is saying as she gets near enough for Rhys to notice her, and at his surprise Azriel turns to look at her.

“Mor, we didn’t expect to see you here this evening” Rhys starts. “I was just leaving. You’ll have to make do with Az for company.” As he leaves he winks at his brother, and the transparency of the gesture has them both rolling their eyes.

Once they are alone, Mor takes Rhys’ seat at the bar. Az has always been a bit taciturn, but right now he seems unsure of himself, not just quiet. Given what she just overheard, Mor is even less sure of how to handle this conversation, or where he might take it.

“So, what were you two talking about,” she asks, giving him an opportunity to cover for himself. The bartender sets down her usual drink order without asking, and she clings to the glass.

Az clears his throat. “I just wanted some advice on something. Nothing, really.”

Mor waits for him to continue, and when he doesn’t she asks if she can offer her assistance.

“No. Well… maybe.” She squirms in her chair a bit at the possibility that he might open up to her, but bites her tongue so he can continue.

“I want to tell someone something important. And I’m just not sure how to do it.”

“Well you are normally an open book, Az…” She grins at him.

“What would you do, if someone cared for you, and didn’t tell you? If you cared for him, too?” He isn’t looking directly at her as he speaks, but rather at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

She is facing him, watching his profile as she speaks. “I think… I would wonder, after a while. Why he hadn’t said anything. I’d probably doubt myself and try to move on with other men. Even though it never would never work out in the end, with the others.”

“Because of this other guy,” he confirms.

“Mm-hmm, this other guy. But you know, women don’t have infinite patience, Az. So hypothetically, this other guy, the one with feelings, who she cares about, too, should really, really say something. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” he repeats.

A few moments pass in silence while he contemplates her response. “Would you like to have dinner with me, Mor? Just me?” He finally turns to look at her, and his expression has her wanting to take his face in between her hands to kiss him, to reassure him.

Instead, she smiles gently at him. “Of course. I would love to.”

Turning back to the bar, she catches his gaze in the mirror, and their small smiles gradually turn to uncontrollable grins as they finish their drinks.

*******

Dialogue prompts

Blood vs Water, part 2

Requested

Part 1

______________________________________________________________

You’d been on the receiving end of your father’s icy stares many a time before. But this one had to be the worst.

“How dare you,” your father finally hissed. “How dare you sneak off when I forbade you to leave? And to hear that you’ve gone and joined forces with this scum?”

“They’re not scum, Father.”

“Do not argue with me. Go to your room. I can’t bear to look at you.”

“You can’t order me to my room. I am a grown woman.”

“You are back under my roof, and you will listen to me.”

You turned, finding Thorin standing behind you. “Let’s go. There’s no hospitality to be found here.”

The dwarf king studied you but eventually nodded. As the Company turned, Gandalf held a hand up. “Thranduil, it would serve you well to give this group some food and shelter for the night. They shall leave in the morning.”

“Gandalf, do you honestly think you have any room here to order me around?”

“I’m not ordering. But if you feel it best to argue, I can strengthen my side.”

Your father stood, tight-lipped. “Fine. Nourishment will be provided in the kitchen in an hour.”

“Not the Great Hall?”

“Do not press your luck.”

Gandalf gave a slight bow. “Come, Company. I believe there’s a place to freshen up down the hall.”

You tried to follow your newly found friends when a hand enclosed around your bicep. Turning, you saw Legolas holding onto you.

“Take her to her room,” Thranduil said, turning his back on you. “Do not let her leave.”

“Father,”

“Now.”

______________________________________________________________

“You should change.”

“Excuse me?”

Legolas pulled your closet open, retrieving a fancy dress from the back. After living in the wilderness (and wearing pants!) for such a long time, all you saw in his hands was a giant constricting snake.

“You cannot be serious.”

“If you want to get Father off your back, you’ll change.” Legolas sniffed. “And bathe.”

You rolled your eyes. “Leg, please. I’m a grown woman and–”

“And Father will never let you leave again if you keep up this attitude.”

You scoffed. “I escaped once. I can do it again.”

“Not after the increase in security.”

You had noticed more guards on your way in. “Gandalf will help me get out.”

“He’s already tested Father’s patience. He may be old, but he knows his limits.”

“Then Thorin will get me out.”

“Please. That pesky dwarf is no match for Father.” Legolas handed the dress to you. “Now. Go change.”

“Leg,”

“Don’t make this worse for yourself, Y/N.”

You sighed. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew Legolas was right. And the smallest part of you couldn’t help but remember how well that dress fit you… you wanted to know what Thorin would think of it.

______________________________________________________________

Legolas agreed to persuade your father to let the company eat in the Great Hall with you. The dwarves looked out of place in their furs and traveling gear, but you were happy that your father had allowed them out of the kitchen.

Even if he made you sit at the far end of the table, next to him, instead of next to Thorin.

But there was a plus side to this seating arrangement.

From this vantage point, you could see the gazes Thorin kept sending your way. His eyes sparkled and the smallest of smiles was on his face.

You hoped your father couldn’t see.

______________________________________________________________

The Company was relegated to the kitchen for the evening, given potato sacks for beds. At least it would be warm.

When you were sure your father was asleep, you crept down to the kitchen. The dwarves were all snoring lightly (well… some of them. Some of them sounded like a heard of elephants).

All except one.

“What are you doing down here?”

You spun, finding Thorin behind you. The flames from the woodfire stove threw shadows on his face. “Did I wake you?”

“No. I’ve been up.”

“Why?”

“I was wondering if I should try and find your chambers in this maze of a castle.”

You felt your cheeks heating, thankful for the shadows hiding their true color. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I miss having you in close proximity. I feel better when I can see you, know that I can protect you.”

You smiled, sitting down next to him. He was warm and solid as you leaned against him. The two of you were quiet for a few moments.

“I’m only sorry that tonight… is our final night,” Thorin said in a quiet, gruff voice.

“What? Why?”

“Your father will not allow you to travel will us any longer. Now that he has you back home, he will not relinquish his grasp on you.”

“He cannot stop me.” You reached out and took his hand in yours. It amazed you how much larger his hand was than yours. His thick fingers intertwined with your delicate ones. “I want to be with you. With this Company.”

Thorin gave your hand a squeeze. “I want nothing more.”