this has been in my drafts for so long i don't even remember what it was about

anonymous asked:

I'm not exactly sure if this is the right place to make a request and I also don't know if you even take requests, but I'm doing this anyway. I really really love your jikook writing, no matter what it is, and I was wondering if you could write something for the maknae line with jimin being the submissive one if you know what I mean, or jikook?? Whichever floats your boat. Please and thank you. ^^

fansigns are jimin’s least favorite events. as the famous singing duo VKook’s manager, he’s obligated to coordinate these events but he still hates them. 

“thanks baby~” he hears Taehyung coo at a fan crouching in front of him and he scrunches his face up. 

“disgusting,” he mutters to himself. “stupid, greasy, man-child.” 

“jiminnie, baby, open up for us hmm?” taehyung slides a hand down jimin’s stomach, eyes glinting wickedly. jimin shudders at the sensation, heat pooling in his abdomen. 

jimin shakes his head, gritting his teeth. 

“jungkookie!” he hears another scandalous gasp. he glances over to see jungkook grinning up at a fan who’s covering her mouth with her hands, face flushed. “you’re so perverted! don’t do that to noona’s heart!” 

“ah, but noona’s too cute not to tease~” 

disgusting. he hates both of them. gross. 

stop that!” jimin slaps away the hands trying to grope at his butt. “pervert!” 

“ah hyung is too cute, i can’t help it!” jungkook grins, pushing into jimin’s space until jimin’s trapped between him and the wall. 

oh yes, jimin hates fansigns. 

“no reason for you to be jealous,” he mutters to himself. “it’s only right that they be nice to their fans. you’d chew them out if they were mean.”

just…did they have to be so goddamn flirty?

of course they do, jimin reasons again. that’s what draws in the fans. both of them can act cute but what really gets the fans screaming is when taehyung licks his lips or when jungkook delivers a slick body roll. 

sighing, he pushes his clipboard at another staff member. “need some air. cover me for a bit?” she nods and waves him off and jimin steps outside the venue, sitting down and leaning against the wall. 

“don’t be dumb, park jimin,” he tells himself. “no need to get jealous over every little thing.” or so he tells himself. unfortunately, jimin’s always been an insecure person. he leans his head back, closing his eyes. 

“where’d jiminnie go?” taehyung asks jungkook. jungkook doesn’t even answer him, eyes already searching the venue. taehyung almost laughs. they’re both so whipped and needy for their tiny boyfriend slash manager. 

“taehyungie-oppa! look here!” taehyung flashes them a short smile but then he’s looking around again, searching for a head of orange hair. 

when he doesn’t find him, taehyung lifts the mic to his mouth. “sorry! we’re gonna hold a short intermission, kay? don’t want you to get tired of us too soon!” 

“never~” they chorus and taehyung grins, a tad guiltily because really, they’re not allowed to call an intermission whenever they want but jimin isn’t here to help them with their bad life choices so really, they’re justified in going to look for him. jungkook’s already out of his seat, looking for a staff noona to ask after jimin. 

“she said he’s outside in the back,” jungkook tells him when he comes back and they both head out to the back. they open the door cautiously, wondering if there might be fangirls who didn’t get in to the fansign waiting in the back. there aren’t any. instead, there’s a familiar head of orange hair, eyes closed, looking ethereal in the afternoon sun. 

taehyung crouches down in front of the figure. 

“there you are.” jimin’s eyes fly open, eyes widening when he sees taehyung. 

“taehyung!” taehyung grins at him, tongue between his teeth. 

“we were wondering where you’d gone,” jungkook says from where he’s leaning against the wall. he crouches down next to jimin as well. “we missed you.” he presses a short, chaste kiss to jimin’s lips. 

“i was only out for a few minutes,” jimin mumbles, staring at the ground. his pink cheeks are so cute, taehyung thinks. jimin glances up at them, eyes large and forlorn. “you really missed me?”

taehyung blinks, wondering where this is coming from, but then remembers that jimin is usually always moody during fansigns. “of course we did! we always miss you when you’re not in our arms.”

jimin flushes harder. “…ah…” he looks down at his lap, tiny fingers fidgeting. “is…the fansign over?”

“no,” jungkook says. “taehyung-hyung called an intermission because we were wondering where you were.”

jimin wrinkles his nose. “damn.” taehyung feels the same. all he wants to do is drag jimin back to their van and into their dorm so he can kiss and cuddle jimin for hours. maybe do naughty stuff. jimin’s lips are full and pouty. taehyung can just imagine them wrapped around his co – yeah. definitely naughty stuff first and then cuddles. “you should probably head back in. the fans are going to get restless without you there.”

taehyung whines, falling forward and burying his nose in jimin’s neck. the skin is so soft. taehyung wants to suck marks into it. “dun wanna!” 

without looking, he can see jungkook and jimin roll their eyes at each other over him. they always do. 

“go in,” jimin says. “let’s just get this done and over with.” he pats at taehyung’s back. “and then we can head home.”

“and do naughty stuff?” 

jimin smacks him lightly, face red. 

“i want to do very bad things to you, jiminnie,” taehyung says honestly. “very bad things.” 

“get inside,” jimin huffs, face red, but he doesn’t say no and taehyung stands up giddily. 

“you’re not coming in with us?” jungkook asks and jimin looks away. 

“not just yet. you go first.” taehyung pouts. he doesn’t want to go in without jimin. he’ll miss him more if he can’t see him. but there’s nothing he can do about it so he heads back in with jungkook. 

jungkook’s tired of smiling and talking. he likes his fans, sure, but only in concept. prolonged exposure makes him long for jimin and soft pretty giggles and eye smiles. 

a flash of orange catches his eye and his lips lift in a smile when he sees it’s jimin, grabbing his clipboard back with a small smile from the staff noona. 

(later, pics are going to come out of ‘jungkookie-oppa’s lovey dovey smile’ and jungkook will scowl and taehyung will laugh because that smile has nothing to do with fans and everything to do with their adorable manager. )

jungkook’s mouth  moves to autopilot as he keeps his eyes fixed on jimin while simultaneously trying to hold a conversation with a fan. jimin’s moving around, talking for a few minutes each to various staff members before he’s suddenly stopped by a man in a suit.

jungkook frowns and the girl in front of him ducks guiltily. “sorry! was that too personal a question?”


“ah…i…what’s your favorite color?”

“oh…no…i just wasn’t paying attention. it’s –” jimin’s laughing at whatever the man’s saying. jungkook feels something irrationally angry inside him. it suddenly occurs to him that he hasn’t answered her. “ – orange.”

“i thought you would say red or black,” she says. “i don’t see you wear orange much.”

“yeah…i guess…today i’m just feeling orange.” honestly, just get a move on. she’s distracting him. what had the man said that had gotten jimin laughing? jimin had been moody most of the day but he usually was during fansigns and he and taehyung could never snap him out of it.

jimin’s eyes are crinkled as he smiles, sweater sleeves falling over his hand as he covers his mouth with his hand. he’s adorable. jungkook wants to cuddle him, maybe rip the sweater off so he can see the rest of jimin’s soft skin.


jungkook jolts. “oh sorry. it’s uh…been a long day.”

after she passes, jungkook purposely knocks taehyung’s water bottle onto the ground. “oops.”

taehyung bends down to pick it up and jungkook bends down as well so they’re both hidden by the table. “who is that with jimin?”

taehyung blinks and raises his head slightly. his brows furrow when he sees. “dunno. why is jimin laughing?”


they both sit back up. any more time and it would look suspicious.

over the sound of fans screaming, he can faintly make out the sound of jimin’s bubbly, bright laughter.

((”how did you break your autograph pen?”

“i guess i…held it too hard.”))

in the van back to the dorm, jimin is once again sandwiched between taehyung and jungkook like usual. it’s surrounded by his two boyfriends that jimin always feels safest and most loved.

“so who was that?”

jimin blinks. “who was who?”

“the guy you were talking to.”

jimin wrinkles his nose. “i talked to a lot of people today, jungkookie. you’ll have to be more specific.” jungkook frowns, jaw visibly tense, and jimin blinks, reaching up and touching jungkook’s cheek carefully. “is something wrong?”

jungkook ignores the question but doesn’t bat jimin’s hand away. “who was that guy that made you laugh?”

jimin hopes jungkook can see how confused his expression is because he has no idea what jungkook’s talking about.

“the guy in the suit, jimin.”

“oh! the…sponsor?”


“mm,” jimin says. “the guy in the suit? he said he wanted to sign a contract with us – you, i guess, for an advertising campaign.”

“but he made you laugh.”

“hm? oh…maybe? i don’t quite remember…oh yeah, i think he said i looked too young and cute to be a manager already or something like that.”

“we compliment you all the time!” taehyung pouts.

“it wasn’t really a compliment he was just joking!” jimin blinks. “are you guys jealous or something?”


jimin’s eyes widen, heat crawling up his cheeks. “what could you possibly be jealous of? he was a sponsor! he’s like middle aged and just a company spokesperson! you guys are – “ he gestures at the both of them. “ – you!”

“he made you laugh. we can never make you laugh on fansign days.”

“ah…that…um…” jimin looks down at his lap. his short, stubby fingers pull at each other. he wishes the conversation could just end now but even with his head bowed he can feel the weight of jungkook and taehyung’s eyes. “it’s because…you guys…um…”

“what? what do we do?”

“…you...flirt with the fans…”

“huh? what was that?”

“you flirt with the fans! and i get jealous, okay? that’s why i hate fansigns.”

there’s a pause and jimin buries his head between his knees, already embarrassed.

“aww jiminnie!”

jimin grunts as he manhandled onto a lap. he immediately buries his face in the nearest neck so he doesn’t have to see. it smells like jungkook. he can feel lips pressing into his neck and lips pressing into his hair. 

“you know that almost all of those lines are scripted, right?”

“yeah, jungkook couldn’t flirt with girls to save himself.” there’s a pause that jimin thinks is jungkook glaring at taehyung but he doesn’t deny it. 

“there’s nothing you have to be jealous of,” jungkook murmurs into jimin’s hair. “nothing at all.” 

anonymous asked:

Hi there! I understand that you already wrote something similar to this so it's ok if you don't write this, but can you do a Lucifer x reader where reader is just an ordinary day-to-day human who is aware of how painfully average she is and has low self-esteem. She's attracted to Lucifer, but doesn't think he'd ever feel the same bc she's plain and boring so she distances herself from him. Lucifer of course notices and gets fed up with her constantly avoiding him and and confronts her about it.

A/N: I’m super sorry this took awhile! I wrote a couple of drafts up as I decided which way I wanted to go with this. Finally I liked this outcome the most. I always entertain the idea that ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ we may think ourselves average/boring/etc, but to others, we’re everything they could want or hope to be. ♥ You’re a beautiful person regardless of what you think of yourself


He visits you in your dreams at first, curious as to why you hadn’t come home, concerned even. You laugh the thought off because Lucifer being worried for you was more than any dream could actually give you. Squashing down the longing and guilt because what could you offer Lucifer? Nothing. You had nothing to give him, except allowing him to stay in your house - but that wasn’t worth noting because he could have just taken it.

You had nothing interesting to give, nothing special and nothing unique about you to offer up to someone like him. He was an Angel and you.. You were average at best, average grades in college, average family, friends. Nothing really stuck out and screamed this separates me from the rest and that was something you struggled with, daily. Overlooked in class, teachers forgetting your name while they remembered others, you blended in with the background and that wasn’t even a talent. You didn’t want to be another piece in the background, you wanted to be special - stand out, but God had dealt you an average life and no matter how much you tried to change it never made a difference.

You were destined to be the background character for someone else’s story, never the lead of your own.

It hurt to think about sometimes, especially the more you thought about how delusional you had been in thinking that Lucifer would want something like you. You, who had only recently learned that Angels and Demons actually existed, that God was very much alive and Lucifer was very real, and just as beautiful as all the scriptures made him out to be. He had only come to your house because you were average at best, easily overlooked and the perfect place to hide away from prying ‘hunters’ who were on the look out for him.

You had indulged in the idea that you had stood out to him, but the longer time went on and the more you had stood beside him the more you realized how wrong you were. He chose you because of how easily forgotten you were, it was hard to suspect someone who blended in so easily to the background. Even in dreams the thoughts bring the sting of tears to your eyes, and you press the palms of your hands up against your eyes with a shuddering breath.

You know he arrives when the hard concrete beneath you changes into grass, and the cold air turns into a warm summer breeze. The warmth of the sun against your back and you peel your hands away from your face, ignoring the fact that your eyes are probably red along with your nose. You had never been a elegant or attractive crier.

“You’re avoiding me, and starting to hurt my feelings.” He says quietly, his fingers pressed together as he slowly makes his way up the hill he had placed you on. The blue sky casts a halo of bright white clouds around his head as he stands at the edge of your hill he’s placed you on and a forced laugh crosses your lips.

Drawing your knees up to your chest you wrap your arms around your legs, curling into yourself as if hiding your vulnerability. But that was a laughable thought, if he really wanted to know, no amount of curling into yourself would stop him.

“I am not, I’ve been busy with classes and exams.” You lie smoothly, a lie you’ve told your parents when you didn’t want to come home or a lie you’ve told friends when you didn’t want to hang out.

“I haven’t been alive longer than the entire human race to fall for such a lie,” He says casually and you skirt your eyes away from him, lacing your fingers together tightly until your knuckles are white.

“It’s not polite to invade my dreams,” You try to change the subject and Lucifer only stares at you with a bemused expression on his face.

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t avoiding me.”

You didn’t want to argue that you weren’t avoiding him because you were and he was right, you couldn’t lie to him and get away with it. But you didn’t want to face the truth, because you were still trying to come to terms with it - that you weren’t anything special to him. You were the average girl he’d leave behind once he no longer needed a spot to hide away in, not that he needed to hide.

A frustrated groan mixed with another sting of tears against your eyes and you untangle your fingers and thread them through your hair, tugging on the strands. It hurt to think about and you didn’t want to deal with your feelings - your inability to cope with the fact that Lucifer would never care about you, you were too average for that.

“[Name],” His voice is quiet, tilting his head down a fraction to look at you but you’re unwilling to meet his gaze.

This was still your dream and his visits had made you aware of how easy it was to manipulate them to get away. You didn’t want to face the truth, not right now.

“I have to go.” Your voice cracks, and Lucifer twitches, ready to stop you but the dream melts away and you wake up on the floor in your friend’s bedroom. A shuddering breath as you wipe away the stray tears with the palms of your hands, hoping you hadn’t made any noise in your sleep. Lucifer commented once or twice that occasionally you would mutter in your sleep, incoherent but things that bothered you that you were trying to work out.

The morning goes by quickly, quizzing yourself on the way to campus for the exams you have. The pencil feels heavy and so do your eyelids, the words on the test fill your head with cotton and you’re frustrated and exhausted all at the same time. So when the letters on your exam paper start to move around you blame it on your exhaustion and rub at your eyes, but they’re still moving.

Look up.

Your gaze slowly drags up and it’s only then that you notice the entire room is completely silent, no one is moving and your gaze falls on Lucifer standing in the front of the room. He doesn’t look pleased to say the least, and your stomach clenches and there’s a thousand lies on your tongue that you swallow down.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well you don’t give me any time to talk anywhere else.” He’s pressing his fingers together in the familiar fashion as he slowly makes his way up the aisle of desks toward yours. “Are you going to tell me why you are avoiding me?”

You didn’t want to deal with this, not now, not today but he wasn’t giving you an option. The familiar sting against your eyes lets you know that they’re slowly turning red and you drop your pencil to rub at your face stubbornly. Your nose burns, your eyes burn, your chest hurts and the anxious butterflies manage to tie down your tongue.

But he waits.

“I-I don’t,” Your voice and lips tremble, and you fight back the tears that threaten to spill as you try to get how you feel out. But it’s not something you do, not something you’re used to. You’re the one in the background, keeping everything to yourself because you just didn’t quite fit in anywhere enough to express them. “Why do you even care?” You finally turn to look at him, the corners of your lips twitching down against your will.

It’s easier to just ask him, to accuse him, to throw the blame all at his face and though he knows that’s exactly what you’re doing he takes a seat on the edge of your desk. There’s no anger on his face, nothing like you were expecting - after all why would he give someone as average as you the time of day? Or allow you to accuse him?

“Why do you even want me around? I’m- I’m-” You inhale sharply and look away, glaring at the front of the room. “I’m just.. A nobody, nothing special. Not some.. Some.. hunter or demon, or angel. I’m one of the things you hate so- I don’t. Why?”

It spills past your lips and the tears make their way down your cheeks and you rub them away furiously. Clenching your teeth together because goddammit why did he have to come around and make everything complicated? Why did he come into your life if all he was going to do was make you aware of how small you were, insignificant and how much you felt you didn’t fit in.

He sighs and shifts on your desk, you glance up at him and he’s looking up at the ceiling with his hands folded in his lap.

“You humans are so emotional.”

If he was going to berate you, then you didn’t want to hear it. You had enough torture of being in love with him and knowing he didn’t love you back, but to hear him berate you? It would hurt a little too much, but your body won’t respond when you want to get up and you shoot him a pained glare.

“You’ve done enough running away from me,” He keeps you rooted to your seat and your face scrunches up as you look away.

“If you’re just going to make fun of me I don’t want to hear it,” Your voice cracks and the tears drip down but you can’t move your hands to wipe them away, he’s got you frozen in place.

“You’re avoiding me because you think I care that you’re not something else?”

Your lips tremble and you bite down on your lower one, furrowing your eyebrows and looking away from him. The only comfort you have since you can’t escape the situation, he was kind enough to allow you to look away from him, it was something at least.

“I’m nothing.. I’m, I’m human. I’m not- I’m not even a good one,” You laugh bitterly and you desperately want to rub at your face but he’s still got you frozen. “I’m nobody special, I’m.. I’m average in life. I don’t, I can’t understand why you are hanging around. Why do you even care?”

“Who says you’re average?”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you grit your teeth.

“I am average, I have nothing unique-”

“Says who?”

You floundered for words, why did it matter who said it?

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Says who?”

“Me!” You ground out, frustrated because why did it matter who said it? It was the truth and it didn’t explain anything you wanted- no, needed to know.

His hands gently press up against your cheeks and you flinch but he’s careful, making you look up at him as his thumbs brush against the stray tears.

“You’re not average, you are humble. You don’t think you’re special but you’re modest. You don’t look down on others, you don’t get angry when you think someone else is prettier or better than you. You are what God created perfectly.”

A sob makes its way out and you clench your eyes tightly because you can’t bring yourself to look at him, because he’s lying and it hurts in the worst way. He hated humans, so why was he being so kind?

“You are not how you see yourself, how I see you. You think you’re average, the sidelines - I’ve heard how you think of yourself. You are the only thing holding yourself back of being the star of your story, you are not forcibly on the sidelines watching. You are waiting until you are strong enough to take the lead, and that in itself is beautiful.”

“You hate humans,” You blurt out, opening your eyes to see his amused expression.

“No, I hate that I was to love them more- to bow to them instead of my father. You are his creations, and you are his perfect one.”

You were always an ugly crier, the tears and snot threatening to slip out and he releases the hold on you. Allowing you to furiously wipe away at your face and curl into yourself, his hand brushing against the back of your neck as you bury your face into your hands. Soothing circles rubbed against the skin there as you hiccup into your hands.

“Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

You can’t bring yourself to look up at him so instead you shake your head back and forth and hear him sigh softly. His hands slipping beneath your chin to lift your head up and leave you stunned as his lips gently press against your own for the briefest of seconds.

“I’ll see you at home?” His forehead is against yours and you give a weak nod, sniffing once and he smiles softly. A beautiful smile that melts your heart before the rustle of feathers and he’s gone - the entire room moving once more and you look down at your exam. Too exhausted emotionally to really want to continue it - maybe you can feign illness and take a makeup later. To your surprise the answers are all filled out, and at the bottom the small moving text catches your eye.

You’re welcome.

A laugh slips past your lips and you quickly cover your mouth, standing up to hand in your completed exam.

You had someone waiting at home, after all.


Keep reading

Camp NaNo Prep #1: STATION WRITING for the Plantser in All of Us

I see you there, pantsers and plantsers (and planners pretending they aren’t plantsers at heart come on now). You get going, you get lost in the world you are creating, and the next thing you know you are 20k in and the story has suddenly jumped genre, motivations have changed, and one of your side characters is now the main character and just- WHY.

What happened? Where did you go wrong? HOW DO YOU SALVAGE THIS? 

Originally posted by ofallingstar

Do you power through and hope it works out? I’m looking at you, pantsers.

Do you abandon the project, give up hope and start fresh? Planners, don’t even tell me for one second you haven’t scrapped multiple manuscripts because of this

Or do you sit back, reflect, and do a little flexible planning and shifting before continuing down this trail? Helloooo plansters, you may be on to something after all!

Well, I may have a solution for you– if you are an in process reworker like I am! I have been in all of these places and performed all of these writing faux pas, and through this, I have found a system that works for me. It allows me to fly through my writing like my pantser brain wants to, gives me structure that the planner in my heart craves, and offers the flexibility to switch between both of them and be the planster I really am.


So, what is station writing, exactly, and how does it work?

I made it up. That’s what it is. It probably already exists under some other name, but I haven’t seen it so here we go!

It’s a set of intermediate targets, like a relay race. You get so far and then you pass the baton to the other part of your writing persona and offer it a chance to have a say. Once it has worked out any kinks, you continue on like a frenzy toward the ultimate goal all parts of you have decided is the correct one. And the lovely thing about it is that you can have as much or as little structure as you want!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

What do you think of Riko as a character inside the books? (no HCs) / Any fave HCs you want to share? / Any pairings/ships you like with him? / fic recs? / art recs? / Kevin&Riko - do they have/had feelings for each other? / Thoughts on his finale scene? / Did you read Nora's extra content? // tag other bloggers you think have something interesting to say about him! (maybe someone we don't know yet??) #Thoughts on Riko Moriyama

What do you think of Riko as a character inside the books? (no HCs)
From a writer’s point of view? He’s a fucking tragedy. (and no, I don’t mean the pieces of background story we did get on him, that’s been said and discussed before) He’s kind of the worst villain a story can have - and here is why: 

Keep reading

im sad and bloated and boys are stupid and i hate my body and i wish i was talented and i wish i was smart and im working on loving me but im not there yet and the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and the freckles on your nose make me want to cry

devonnicas  asked:

Since I'm Jonrya trash for life too I've found your tumblr(I'm Mirealona). So, the numbers are 47, 76, 93 and 100. (Frankly speaking I would send you much more) BUT I just don't wanna be too bothersome aaaand I take my leave now :)

A ficlet for 93: “I like it when you smile.” 

(I’ll tag you when I finish the others!) 

With a heavy sigh, Jon puts down a piece of parchment reporting the current contents of the Night’s Watch stores. He had never been particularly good with sums, but he need not be to know that they did not have enough to make it long into Winter. He wishes for counsel from men who had served the Watch longer than he has, who had weathered winters and come out stronger for it—men like Lord Commander Mormont or Maester Aemon. He misses Sam, who would no doubt be able to find him books on the matter no sooner than he requested it of him. Fleetingly Jon thinks of his father; Ned Stark had taught him much of lordship, but he had been a greenboy back then who had not listened as closely as he might have. Then Jon remembers the men who are here with him now—his brothers—and thinks to call upon the stewards once again on the morrow for their wisdom on such matters.

After stretching to ease the aching muscles of his back, Jon reaches for a stack of letters to reread and draft his responses. He no sooner unfolds one when the door of his chamber opens and his sister slips through, shutting it behind her.

Arya has not long been with him at the Wall. Though her arrival had been a spark amidst the cold, Jon cannot say he is glad to have her here among the men. She had refused him when he had offered her lodgings in Mole’s Town. He did not want to part from her, but he caught the Brothers leering at her as many do when any woman steps foot in Castle Black. That Arya had somehow bloomed into a beauty in the years they had been lost to one another only added to his worry for her. His fears did not abate after she beat a man bloody for touching her waist, and Jon begins to think that nothing will ease this sickness in his stomach. Though she has proven she can handle herself, Jon still feels responsible for her though he will never say so to her face.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

She looks up at him from where she unlaces her boots, having already discarded her cloak on a nearby chair. Her gaze stirs something inside of him, something that Jon is none too proud of.

“Some. Your men must know every song in the Seven Kingdoms about bedding wenches. I think they mean to make me slick and hungry.”


It should not surprise him, the way she talks. She’s been around the small folk of Westeros and beyond by her telling. Once not long ago she had even admitted to him that she’d begun training as a courtesan, but he had stopped her. Jon had not wanted to know how far that had gone. Before, he might have attributed it to her being his little sister; now, he thinks it more jealousy.

The way she moves around him sets him on edge. There is a heaviness between them, thick with unspoken want. Oh, they have acted on it for certain. An emotional reunion spun into frantic need behind closed doors. He saw himself in her, laid bare. Her lady mother may have had a chance to tame her back then with time and patience, but Arya has been gifted to the wild now by Old and New Gods alike. Shame may roil in her belly when they touch, but Jon thinks she no longer cares. Much and more has been taken from them both, and Arya will not bear it any longer. She had started by taking him back. Though he had begged his vows, her eyes—their eyes, the same gray of the North—pleaded with him until he could not tell her no.

Jon does not stop her as she climbs onto him in his chair. Her look troubles him as she settles onto his lap. Once he would have known what ailed her as if he too had suffered it. Questions plague him—what happened to you out there, little sister? Tell it to me true as you always have. Jon does not ask though, not yet. Instead, he strokes her pale cheek with his thumb before he brings it to her plump, lower lip.

“I miss your smile.”

It occurs to him too late that he should not say such a thing, that it might make her feel as if he only wants his little sister back. While he longs to see her lips pull upward in joy, he will take whatever Arya has been given him. During his time Beyond the Wall, he had thought he would never see her again. That she is here with him and warm beneath his skin is a greater gift than he could ever have asked for.  

Arya presses her lips against the pad of this thumb, then opens her mouth to capture it between her teeth. She gives a little squeeze before releasing him, and Jon’s heart skips as one corner of her mouth twitches upward.

“I only bite now.”

They say he is a somber, brooding man, but it’s not so when he is with Arya. The feel of her teeth lingering on his skin makes him grin. The Arya of his childhood always claimed to be a wolf, acted the part, and had even bitten Robb once when he’d attempted to return her to Septa Mordane at his lady mother’s behest. Her playfulness now reminds him of then.

Perhaps his smile encourages her. Perhaps it reminds her too of better, unburdened days. Jon does not quite know what it stirs in her, but she leans down to capture his lips. It is hard and urgent, and the heat between her legs brings his own urgency to bear on him. His lip is soon caught between her teeth, and she is none too gentle this time.

Little wolf.


Gods how you’ve grown.

As he rises from the chair, her legs wrap around him, her lips and teeth still greedy. A fleeting thought reminds him that there should be great shame in this. He should feel disgust instead of the painful hardness tight in his breeches. He might have, once, if it had not been for time, for distance, for death itself. Their reunion ought to be an impossible thing, yet they are in one another’s arms. That first time, it had not been close enough, not with the clothes between them. They had both needed more, not flesh against flesh, but joined together as one. The Gods had treated them cruelly, had stripped them of nearly everything.

You owe us your forgiveness in this, Jon thinks as he lays Arya on his bed. The North remembers, and this debt you will pay.

anonymous asked:

I can't get Kent singing 'for good' from wicked out of my head for some reason. I don't even know why he's singing it but damn it won't leave me alone. Also Broadway Kent who can sing, does his own special version of Ariana grandes Into You for tater (I'll never be over that song). Also imagine tater by knowing much but Kent always talks about Hamilton and tater surprises him with tickets !! Or buying front tow tickets to the new show Kent is doing for like a week straight to show his support!

yes yes!!! to all of these!! (also unrelated but i got inspired so here’s an angsty meet-Jack-again backstory thing ive been thinking of for the broadway Kent AU)

Kent kind of got the idea that Tater doesn’t like musical theater as much as he does like watching Kent perform (although Tater is fascinated by ballet and can stay awake during the entire thing; Kent can’t stand ballet–there’s that one scene from The Mindy Project that he’ll always remember, where these two guys observe a ballet practice and one of them has to pinch his own nipple to keep from falling asleep–Kent knows which one he is). Point is, Tater shows a lot of support by buying him all these tickets and attending the same shows over and over, always ready at the end with a huge bouquet of flowers and the loudest, most boisterous claps. 

But Kent still hasn’t been to one of Tater’s games.

Yes, of course he wants to, and yes, it’s mostly because their schedules rarely match up, but he knows Tater wants to introduce him to the Falconers officially before he does the namedrop so it can be a fun surprise, like “Hey, I’m dating Kent Parson! He’s famous! He sings and has like a bunch of Tonys and once he voiced a character in a Disney movie. Yes, that Kent Parson!”, blah blah blah. Which is all good and well, since he knows Tater’s fiercely proud of his team and in turn, the Falconers are fiercely proud of Tater, so the problem doesn’t necessarily lie in Kent himself.

It’s Jack Zimmermann, their alternate. 

Keep reading

I’m Going to Talk About Keith For a Minute, Okay.

In episode four, Pidge is like “I found my family and I’m leaving” and we all remember what happens here. Keith argues against them leaving, but he has a specific argument that he sticks to:

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duns-fxr-hands  asked:

Hey can you please do one where Dylan and you are both famous but you've never met even though your fans ship you so hard and you finally meet and he's really suggestive and charming but you don't fall for it and he asks you out so you accept and fans go crazy? Sorry if that made no sense, thank you so much in advance

Request; ^^

A/N; Hey guys! I was super excited when I read this imagine to write it because it’s a really good request! If you have requested an imagine just know that it’s in my drafts and currently being worked on! I’ll have them out soon! Enjoy! Also keep in mind the TV show you star in is made up, so your co-stars will also just be fictional characters! Oh and one more thing! Y/L/N means your last name!

Warning; None

Word Count; 1,748


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I’ve never understood when people say that a fictional thing (a book, a show, etc.) has changed their lives.

A little over a year ago I wasn’t feeling great. I’d just finished a three year writing course at university, and a combination of essay writing about books I’m mostly not interested in (and ruining the ones that I am) and teachers saying that you have to get your work published in literary journals and apply for competitions because publishers won’t even want to touch your work if they can’t recognise your name. I loathe essays, and I don’t write literary fiction, the only kind of fiction this country seems to be interested in. I was losing the passion for the only thing I’d ever been passionate about, and the one thing I’d ever been half decent at.

Almost ten months ago I was becoming depressed. I couldn’t find a job - in editing, in writing, or even in hospitality or retail - and the government decided that if you want to be getting money for them you either had to be studying full time or applying for 20 jobs a fortnight. I’d only finished studying and there was nothing else that caught my interest, and there’s barely 20 jobs to apply for every two weeks, and that’s with me living in a well populated, urban area (I’d hate to imagine what it’s like for people living out in the country, where there’s five stores and nothing else unless you want to drive for half an hour). And of course coming into this depression was making the heaping amount of anxiety I already have much, much worse.

I was just losing the will to go on as I was, and I was mostly doing it for my friends and family.

At the end of my course I started reading Skulduggery Pleasant and my god, it was the best thing I’d read in three years. It made me smile, it made me laugh, it made me cry, and it made me went to throw the book against the wall (but I’d paid like $20 for that book, so I couldn’t). It made me remember all the reasons I love reading and writing; to illicit such emotion is an amazing skill to have.

This made me feel great about writing, and I began my own novel as part of nanowrimo 2015. As of today I’m in the rewriting process (second draft), and the first draft had approximately 40,000 words; the most I’ve ever written for any project.

But of course we still need to fast forward a bit. There’s this whole, like, six months filled with some kind of depression and some awful anxiety and that one time I had a job for like a month but it made the whole thing worse and let’s skip over that part.

Let’s skip to now. Because of Skulduggery Pleasant I remembered my passion for my life’s craft. And if I’d never started reading that book and writing my novel, I’d never have applied for a screenwriting course at another uni, which we’ve been told is extremely difficult to get into; there’s countless applications every year, and there’s probably about fifty people in the (first year) class; I was part of the mid-year intake, and there’s ten of us, maximum.

Without Skulduggery Pleasant I wouldn’t be writing a novel I adore, or planning another one for this coming nanowrimo. I wouldn’t be planning my own show and slowly tapping away at the pilot, and I wouldn’t be planning two more with a friend I’ve made in this course that I’m enjoying so much more than my other one. I don’t know where I’d be.

I’ve never understood when people say that a fictional work has changed their life but now I do, because Skulduggery Pleasant has legitimately changed mine for the better.

Bucky One-Shot "Don't Go"

Summary: (Y/N) has nightmares and Bucky has a crush

Charaters: Reader (Y/N), Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Original Character, Steve Rogers

Notes: Well I’ve decided to do one-shots while I think of another fic plot, hope you like!

It was the third night in a row I’d had these nightmares and I couldn’t even remember what they were about, I just know they were terrifying and I needed them to stop. Staying in the Avengers’s tower had become something of a routine, but I’m still new to the whole thing. I was hired about a month ago as a lab tech for the Avengers and my job was to make sure all of their armor and equipment was working properly and suited them well. This meant I was in close contact with each of them every day. I was one of four people on the equipment tech team, so my workload was fairly steep, but not unmanageable.

Like all of the lab personnel, upon being hired I was invited to live in the tower and I was one of the only ones who took the opportunity. I had nowhere else to go, especially given that I was hired out of a completely different state.

“Hey, are you alright, (Y/N)?” Tony asked me when he came in for his daily checkups. “You seem a little tired.”

“Yeah, I am a little, but I’m okay,” I lied. I was absolutely not okay. I was bordering on zombie status, but I wasn’t about to tell my Iron Man boss that. Especially when he had been so kind to me and allowed me a basically free place to stay (I paid for any food and other necessities I needed, but there was no rent and that’s what counted).

“Alright, well, if you need anything let me know. Can’t have my littlest elf all tuckered out,” he joked. Yes, I was the youngest, being in my early 20s and everyone else being in their upper 30s or 40s, so that put a little it of a social strain on things. When Tony hired me he said my work in Chicago was impressive (I had made several promo type suits for the National Guard, I guess Tony liked them), despite my young age.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” I said and smiled.

“Alright, so who do we have today?” my coworker, Kathleen, asked me.

I looked at my chart and my heart jumped. On there were 3 names, one of which I had butterflies over-Bucky.

“Um, Steve, Bruce and um, Bucky,” I stammered.

Kathleen and I got along very well, she was very nice to me and didn’t treat me like a kid the way our other teammates, John and Andrew, did.

“I’ll take Bruce. You can have Steve and Bucky,” Kathleen smirked, knowing of my slight crush on the brunette super soldier.

“Thanks..” I said almost sarcastically and handed her Dr. Banner’s file.

Before long, the three men walked into the lab, my stomach knotting at the sight of Bucky Barnes.

“Alright, you two can go with (Y/N) and I will take you,” Kathleen said and guided Bruce away to her office.

I smiled and held back a yawn at the two very tall men that stood before me. “So who would like to go first?”

“I will, I’ve got a date later,” Steve said. I smiled and brought him into my own office for his measurements and fitting.

“So, how are things?” he asked as I looped the tape measure around his waist.

“Oh, they’re good, thank you. How are you?” I asked, jotting down the numbers.

“Very good. You like it here so far?” he asked.

“Yes, definitely,” I said smiling, then yawned.

“You tired?” Steve chuckled.

“I guess so,” I giggled back and handed him the draft of his armor to put on over his undershirt.

“Wow, this is great, (Y/N),” he said, easily sliding it on.

“You’ve shrunk in the waist, though. I’ll make that adjustment before the next fitting,” I told him

“Thanks. Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Steve said.

“It’s okay. It’s why I’m here,” I said and took the garment from him. He smiled and waved as he left and soon Bucky came in.

“Hello,” he said and smiled at me as I pulled out the measuring tape once again.

“Hi,” I said yawning.

His face fell slightly and he asked, “You alright?”

I looped my arms around his chest to measure it and brought the tape snugly around his toned chest and nodded, not trusting my voice. Being this close to Bucky was slightly overwhelming, what with my somewhat major crush on him. Over the course of the month I had spent here, I had seen Bucky almost every single day. I considered him a little more than an acquaintance, probably even a friend. We had numerous conversations about things we had in common that we liked and he actually was very charming.

“Yeah, just tired, I guess,” I said, knowing full well that it wasn’t just a guess, and Bucky smirked.

“You guess?” he speculated. Bucky would often see right through me, unfortunately. I could fool everyone but him.

I sighed and wrote down all of his measurements then handed him the vest I had for him.

He slipped it on and it fit perfectly, being snug around his perfectly toned body. He examined himself and smiled lightly at me. Oh, that smile sent my heart into a frenzy.

“How does it feel?” I asked, trying to ignore the suddenly quickening pace of my heart and the knots in my stomach.

“Feels great, (Y/N). Thank you,” he said and took it off, handing it back to me.

“Good, I’m glad,” I said, letting a yawn escape my lips once again and placing the vest back on the table.

“You should get some sleep,” Bucky told me, stepping forward to place a hand on my shoulder.

I nodded and smiled, unable to have a functioning brain with his hand on my shoulder. He gave me a small smile and left the room, closing the door behind him. If my heart didn’t stop doing these stupid flutters and skips when he was around, I’d end up having a heart attack.

“So how did it go?” Kathleen asked once our work day was done. I often walked with her to her car in the parking garage. It started off as just finishing up business, but then she continued to invite me to walk her out and we had great conversations, becoming friends quickly.

“It was a good day, I got a lot of work on Thor’s chest plate done, Wanda’s sleeves are proving more difficult, but I think it’ll be easy once I get the hang of the stitchery,” I said and noticed her eyes rolling and a smile plastered to her face in disbeleif.

“Not that, silly… How did it go talking with Bucky?” she inquired and placed a bin full of Bruce’s expanded shorts in her back seat once we got to her small cruiser.

“Oh.. Um, fine, I guess…” I said, my stomach knotting at the mere mention of his name.

“You know, if you asked him to hang out with you, I bet he would,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and try to get some sleep?”

“Yeah.. Okay, see you tomorrow,” I said and waved as she drove away.


I wasn’t sure if it was the crack of thunder or the nightmare I was having once again, but I woke up with a start, shaking and sweating, a few tears had fallen onto my pillowcase.

I held my pillow close to me, finding moderate comfort in hugging it tight to my chest. Once my heart rate had slowed and I stopped sweating, an obnoxious growl emitted from my stomach, signaling to me that I was really hungry.

“Right…” I said, sighing. I got up and put my lounge pants on even though I’d most likely not run into anyone at four in the morning on my way to the kitchen. Still anxious and slightly fear-striken, I padded my way through the darkness, repeating to myself that I was okay in my head.

I immediately was drawn to the fridge in search of anything that was quick. Upon finding nothing that I didn’t have to prepare, I shut the door and went to the pantry, not happy with needing to leave the lit area.

“(Y/N)?” I heard a low and groggy voice ask from behind me.

I jumped and spun around to face where the sound came from, my heart pounding. I was already jumpy and whoever it was that decided to startle me only made it worse.

“Whoah, hey, it’s just me.. You alright?” the voice said and I could clearly identify it now as belonging to the certain brunette super soldier I had a crush on.

He turned the dimmer up to where it was light enough for us to see each other, but not light enough to hurt our eyes. In the dimness I could see that he wore only a pair of dark grey sweatpants, his top half completely bare. My sympathy for him only amplified upon seeing the pink and raised skin around where his vibranium arm was attached.

My stomach turned into a bundle of knots at seeing his half naked body come closer to me and look at me with such concern.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry,” I told him, feeling guilty that I might not have been as quiet as I thought.

“You didn’t, the thunder did and I was hingry. What are you doing up?” he asked, reaching past me for the bag of chips, giving me an excellent view of his toned arms and chest.

“Oh, um.. I was hungry too,” I said. I mean, it wasn’t completely false. I was hungry after all.

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping well? You get hungry at 4am?” he asked, placing a chip into his mouth.

A bolt of lightning flashed, followed closely by an extremely large boom of thunder that shook the windows. I jumped forward more and closer to Bucky, then heard him chuckle.

“It’s just thunder, doll,” he said and continued to eat more, then offered the bag to me.

“No thanks, I’ll have some cereal,” I said, reaching for the box of Oat Squares.

Bucky shrugged and continued to eat as I made my bowl.

“So why are you really up?” he asked after I had taken a few bites, breaking the silence between us.

“I told you, I was hungry,” I said and sat down at the table. Bucky sighed and put the chips away as I took another bite.

He sat next to me and looked at me with a look I couldn’t quite identify.

“You know, you can talk to me. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I’d like to consider you a friend.. So, if you ever need me, I’m here,” he said. He reached for my hand and took it in his and squeezed it gently. My cheeks grew hot at the contact and if the light had been any brighter, he would have noticed my cheeks had turned a shade of pink.

“Th-Thank you, Bucky…” I stammered, my brain swirling around in my skull.

“Good night, (Y/N),” he said and left the kitchen. I finished my cereal and exited the kitchen as well, my head still in the clouds from being touched and so close to a shirtless Bucky.


After a few nights of nightmare-less sleep I felt pretty good. That was of course until that night when I woke up actually screaming.

My door flung open and I felt arms around me- one flesh and one a cold metal.

“Hey, hey, (Y/N), it’s okay,” Bucky soothed. I stopped screaming and clung to him. I had tears streaming down my cheeks and a thin film of sweat covered my forehead, but Bucky held me against his smooth and bare chest. After a few minutes, I looked up at him and he wiped the hair out of my face and my tears away.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing I said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Doll, if you were having nightmares you could have just told me…” he said and stroked my hair, comforting me.

“I didn’t want anyone to know.. I didn’t want to bother anyone or them think I’m weird or something…” I confessed, his eyes calming me and forcing the confession out.

“Oh, (Y/N)… We’re friends now. Nobody would think you’re weird for having nightmares. Almost everyone here gets them…” he soothed, rubbing my back in slow circles.

“Well you guys have scary lives, protecting the world and all, of course you would.. Me, I’m just a seamstress who also knows a lot about armor,” I said, casting my head down.

“So what?” he said, ducking his head down to meet my eyes again.

“So, I shouldn’t get nightmares and I definitely shouldn’t need help, you guys need it more,” I said, my voice low.

“You think just because we have more violent and life-threatening situations in our lives that belittles your problems?” he inquired, his voice disbelieving.

“Well… yeah,” I told him

He scoffed and shook his head, smiling a bit. “That is so not true. Your problems are just as real and relevant as ours. They’re just different, is all.”

I looked up at him and he looked at me, reaffirming his statement.

“Alright…” I ceded.

“Are you going to be okay, doll?” he asked and gently placed a hand on my cheek, causing a blush to appear.

“Uh.. yeah.. Thanks, Bucky,” I said and half-smiled.

“If you have a nightmare again, please come and get me. I’m just down the hall, ok?” he offered.

“You don’t have to take care of me, it’s alright,” I told him, not wanting to be a burden or a bother to him.

“Promise me,” he said, his voice unwavering in resolve.

I sighed, knowing only a promise to alert him of my misfortunes would satisfy him. “Okay, I promise.”

With that, he smiled, bid me good night and left my room. A large part of me wanted him to stay. His arms felt so nice around me and his hand on my cheek was lovely. But I knew there was no way he felt the same, so I silenced that part of my stupid crush on him. The crush that was quickly becoming more than that.

After that night, Bucky visited me in my office every day and on the weekends when I didn’t have to work, he would come to my room and we’d watch movies and hang out. He always showed up with a smile on his face and greeted me with a hug. Who knew Bucky Barnes, the great Winter Soldier, loved hugs? Not that I was complaining- Bucky gave the best hugs.

“Oh wow, it’s so late, Bucky..” I said one Friday night, glancing at the clock that showed 12am.

“Yeah, you should head to bed,” he said, sighing. Was there.. disappointment in his voice?

“No, I was gonna say you should. I’m alright,” I said, smiling.

“I am too, so let’s keep watching Gossip Girl. You’ve got me hooked on this show,” he snickered and put another handful of popcorn in his mouth. As the night wore on, we both became more sleepy and thus, more handsy. Eventually we both watched the show with my head on his shoulder and his arm around me.

Before I knew it, I was being carried onto the mattress and laid down, unaware that I had dozed off and missed half the show. Before Bucky could get too far away, I said words that my more awake filter never would have let me utter.

“Don’t go,” I said in a small voice.

I heard him chuckle and then he slid his body under the comforter with me. He wrapped his arms around me and held me against his chest.

“Thank you, Bucky,” I told him and drifted off into sleep.


I startled awake and my room was pitch black, not even the clock was on, telling me that the power had gone out. What with it being the stormy season, it wasn’t exactly an unlikely thing.

Before I could even begin to react to my own actions, I shot out of bed and ran towards Bucky’s room. Ever since the night we spent cuddling, he and I had been bordering on inseperable. I gently knocked on my door before it was too late to turn away. The fear and shakiness hadn’t subsided since I had woken up, so I wasn’t sure I could even form words to say to Bucky. Bucky, who I was definitely falling for.

The door opened and there he stood, his eyes puffy and hair a mess.

I felt a rush of powerful emotion run through me as I gazed over him. Him being so near comforted me, but I still felt terrified.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” his groggy voice said, opening the door for me to come in.

I couldn’t form words, I could barely move, so I just stood there, my eyes wide and staring at his gorgeous form. I was overwhelmed by the fast beating of my heart and I started to cry with a small sob.

“Oh.. oh, doll, come here…” he said and pulled me to his bare chest, cradling me and holding my head.

I sobbed into his chest and just let myself feel all of my feelings. He carried me over to the bed and cuddled me there, stroking my hair and saying kind words to me. I felt his lips connect with my hair and I felt my heart pound at the contact.

“Bucky..?” I whimpered and looked up at him.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said and placed a warm hand on my cheek.

“Thank you, I’m sorry,” I apologized.

He chuckled. “It’s alright. I told you to get me when you’re having trouble sleeping…“

I said nothing, but buried myself deeper into his embrace, my sobs subsiding.

“You know I care for you, don’t you?” Bucky said abruptly.

My head shot up and I looked at him with wide eyes. “You.. do?”

“Yes… Very much so,” he said, his hand caressing my face gently.

“I care about you, too, Bucky,” I told him, smiling.

“Let me take you out.. Please?” he asked, hope evident in his voice.

“Sure… But right now, I want to sleep…” I said and nuzzled back into his chest. He chuckled and held me securely to him, his grip making me feel safe and protected.

“Hey, Bucky?” I said, resting my hand on his chest.

“Yes, doll?” he responded.

“I feel safe with you,” I told him, knowing how much it meant to him to make someone feel safe. He kissed my head and I drifted off into blissful sleep, not wanting to ever spend a night alone again.

Love Paint This Wall

pairing: Tsukishima Kei / Yamaguchi Tadashi 

dedicating to @leona-dracontisinspired by x.

By accident and a twist of fate, Tsukishima Kei finds his muse.

He has just finished speaking with his professor who told him that his drawings were too “boring” and “stiff.” He has to loosen up and draw with emotion. Her comments piss him off and he’s decided to sit on a random bench on campus with a coffee and his sketchbook – which is when he sees him.

Keep reading

Tauriel still hears his laughter, in every rush of leaves of the lonely forest. She, who once loved to walk under starlight, now cannot help but agree that it is a rather cold light. Because it is memory; pure and precious and painful, and it reminds her of the things she’s loved and lost. She favors sunlight now, warm and bright like him, as she walks alone among the trees.

She watches the ages twist and pass. She sees the dwarfs, thousands of them, come to the mountain. There’s always food in the path of the traveling companies, never a single spider, and they pray their thanks for Mahal.

When the lonely mountain is abandoned, Tauriel weeps. So much was lost because of its stone halls - so much sacrificed for nothing. It was yesterday, it was eagons ago. She watches Esgaroth flourish and decay, from afar. She senses the evil awakening in the west. She hears rumours of war and she wonders if they know. That war is useless, worthless. That all war ever does is take those you love away. It’s what she tells Legolas when he comes begging for her to join him in battle. He argues that millions will die at the hands of the dark maia. She catches herself repeating the same words Thranduil once said to her; that all mortals are bound to die, that fighting for them is fruitless.

She’s no longer a warrior, she figures; her daggers long lost, her bow long forgotten. She wonders if she’s even an elf still, so long since she last belonged among her own folk. But she feels it; the call for the immortal lands. The need to leave this world that no longer belongs to her kin. She refuses to part. She refuses to leave the land that gave her the only thing she still holds close to her heart. She can still hear him singing to his brother in the murmur of the rivers. He’s everywhere.

And that is probably the reason why she cannot just let herself lie down and die, she believes. Because Mirkwood is so full of him - the whole Arda is filled with memories of who he was, the things he’s done, the places he’s seen. She cannot close her eyes and miss it. Because seeing him in everything hurts, but not seeing him at all is a fate worse than death. Because she’s the very last one who remembers him, and once she’s gone, all memories of him will be gone from this world with her. And then Kili will be dead again.

The second time Legolas finds her, Tauriel is contemplating the sunset. He talks of departure; the end of the time of elves. He talks of the last ship to Valinor, and a last chance of reaching home or dying in the land of Men. But he also talks of hope, of dwarves allowed in the halls of Manwë, of Beren and Luthien, Elessar and Arwën, and a kind of love so strong that could speak to the heart of the mighty Valar. That could grant a chance of happiness.

Tauriel flees to the grey harbors. Her feet barely touching the carpet of leaves, his voice more alive in her ears, her eyes eager for his face, her heart lighter than ever, she - daughter of the forest - leaves the forest behind her. For if, indeed, the Undying Lands were the paradise she heard about since childhood, he would be there. For Tauriel could not ever picture a kind of heaven where Kili would not be at her side.

anonymous asked:

Why don't people ever write stories about Bitty's bad baking days? When he's bought everything he needs and cleared his schedule for a whole day, and he's going to try the new recipes that he's been gathering. Fun! But then the bread dough just doesn't rise. And the cookies burn. And the scones are half raw inside. And then he's like "Hey, I'll make a pie. At /least/ I can do that," but the dough is melting because the room's too warm from all the baking. His scream can be heard down the block.

1. im so sorry that i left this buried in my inbox/drafts forever. for some reason it just fought me every step of the way.

2. heck yeah i stole an idea from the replacements.

3. ‘liza’ is short for elizabeth (which is long for ‘betsy’). bitty is very particular about his oven names.

4. i hope you enjoy this ;n; im so sorry it took me forever

Bitty doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s no stranger to baking accidents–but it’s usually a lid not being all the way on when he goes to add a dash to the bowl, or maybe being in such a rush that he leaves a pan far too close to the edge of the counter and bumps it with his hip later on.

But he can’t explain what’s happening to him now. It’s like he’s been cursed and everything he touches is doomed to an inedible fate. He can’t blame it on trying out a new recipe (though even that would be a reach, Bitty hasn’t been bested by a new recipe since he was thirteen), because everything he’s tried to bake so far today has been tested, tried-and-true for months if not years.

First, the bread that Jack requested for his games next week doesn’t rise.

Then, the cookies Bitty promised Alicia burn. Burn. Bitty can’t remember the last time he has honest-to-god burned something. He has to sit down and focus on breathing for five minutes before he can gather up the courage to apologize to Liza for putting her through that.

Finally, Bitty tries to make scones for breakfast the next day. At first, they look perfect. The ideal shade of golden brown and the smell in the kitchen is heavenly.

Then he bites into one.

He spits out the half-raw dough and lets out a noise of pure frustration before throwing the entire plate of scones into the sink, ready to tear his own hair out.

Fine, he thinks. Fine. He’ll just make a pie. Pies are easy. Pies are simple. Pies won’t betray him in his time of need.

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Title: Anatomy

Rating: T

Fandom: Les Miserables (Modern AU)

Characters: Enjolras, Grantaire, (Combeferre)

Note: Inspired by this.

He doesn’t think he is trying to seduce him. He wouldn’t know how to begin to do such a thing, but there is a want in him that means to get some kind of reaction other than this… politeness. This odd professionalism that seems out of place between them. He wants something closer to what occurs between them regularly but without the bitterness, without the bite. Or… at least slightly less of a bite, and he doesn’t know how to get it and he is embarrassed all over again for wanting it in the first place especially from Grantaire because Grantaire doesn’t like huge pieces of him, pieces of him that are important and there are pieces of Grantaire that he doesn’t like either, but that suddenly seems utterly irrelevant because neither of them are wearing those pieces like armor now. There’s no battle here. No harsh words, scoffs, dismissals. 

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twsunnyday  asked:

Hey!! I saw a gif post recently of the scene where Scott bites Nogitsune!Stiles and Kira stabs him, and I realized that Kira's katana wasn't covered in blood or anything else. I don't know if this was already talked about or not, but I was just wondering if it meant anything. Thanks in advance!!

I just watched that entire scene just a few days ago and you’re right, there’s no blood or anything.

And i think it goes together with the fact that his body just crumbled and broke into dust instead of collapsing like a normal body would. There’s something to it, i’m sure. 

The question then becomes - did it turn to dust because it had been dead for a really long time and without the fly there was nothing holding it together any more? Or because it wasn’t a “real” body in the first place? Or is the reason simply because Scott bit him and “changed the body”? That didn’t happen with Satomi - she wasn’t an alpha at the time either and simply held Rhys steady using her claws to his back - much in the same way that Peter and Derek did to Jackson actually come to think of it… 

As soon as he was stabbed the fly that was animating him escaped and that was when the body turned to dust. Compare it to what happened to Rhys and it’s a whole other story. His bandaged body was also animated by the fly and when it was driven out his body also fell to the floor, but it didn’t crumble. In fact Noshiko hid it in the wall and Stiles and Malia found it decades later where it looked like it had been decomposing in a normal kind of way.

I’ve been thinking for a while that there’s something strange going on with Stiles and perhaps there’s been more of him throughout time. Lots more. Like Orphan Black more.

I’ve been seeing him next to cyclones all  through my season 2 rewatch. Cyclones in itself is interesting and there might be a connection there but what if it’s a double meaning. Or a meaning plus a clever play on words? cyCLONE.

This image from the 2006 yearbook has been haunting me for ages

Let’s zoom in on number 24 right under that cyclone. And with the lacrosse ball right under it, it looks like an exclamation point. and the word “cyclone” has been cut so it basically says “clone”. 

Home of the Beacon Hills Clones… what if it literally is just that?

That looks an awfully lot like Stiles. but this is the 2006 yearbook. In the episode 2x08 where this is shown the year is 2011 and Stiles is a sophomore and 16 years old. If that is Stiles he might have been at school at the same time as Derek. The fire was six years ago that is true, but what if the stiles in this photo is a sophomore or older then he would have been in high school at the time of the fire. Is this why he remembers it so readily when they first meet Derek? And also why he recognizes him? And could this also explain the comment about “he’s just a few years older than us”. Is it residual memories of a previous clone-body? I know that the pilot script had Derek described as 19 years old, so this is probably way off base, but it amuses me and gives me all kinds of fun fic ideas that i will never turn into anything other than a rough draft. </ramble>

calicokat-teenwolf​ actually touched upon clones in a post the other day as well, so i know i’m not the only one playing with thoughts on this (and that is strangely comforting because sometimes i do think i’m taking things to far. but at least i’m not alone in my madness :))

Callie also mentioned that Lydia added Stiles to that list of Eichen House patients that died by Brunski’s hand ten years ago, which i think is a very good point that could support this.

Then there’s the strange occurrence of Stiles creating a second body that just materialized from the floors at Scott’s house. Is this the work of Stiles? Whenever he “dies” or his body is destroyed beyond repair he somehow just creates a new one. 

And look at nogi!stiles in the background. He’s the one animated and controlled by the fly, and he was also the one to spew out all the bandages, so it’s easy to assume it’s something he wanted to happen. But he looks surprised and scared. 

Stiles’ body has at that point been cut open with a knife and ridden hard by that fly, and the wound is not healing according to Deaton so clearly dead or in the process of dying. Is that what Stiles does when he’s about do die? He clones himself?

It sounds far-fetched i know. Not really sure i believe it myself, but it’s a fun theory to explore. 

And while i’m at it - could this be why he never seems to get hurt? I mean aside from that time when Gerard gave him a beating and he crashed the car in 3x12 we’ve never seen him with any cuts of bruises. Even when his face is slammed into steering wheels, he’s hit by car parts, he tumbles down stairs or is knocked over by berserkers. If he’s a clone or not really in a normal kind of body, that might be why he doesn’t get hurt the way you expect a perfectly normal human to be. 

And he has a strange knowledge of drowning and what it feels like, ref his conversation with Morell. We have Lydia hearing the echo of a mom drowning her baby at the Glen Capri. Stiles was standing right next to her at the time. 

I’m going to quit now before i dig myself too deep into something i can’t get out of. But to answer your question, yes it’s highly suspicious that the host body just crumbled like that and there wasn’t any blood on the sword. Also the sword didn’t shatter this time. That might also be a clue?  

Or I’m just seeing non-existent patterns. Not ruling that one out either :) 

For @keanus90s

Prompt: *gives you a noticeable hickey on your neck to create problems in your household*

Patty grabbed the hem of his shirt and gently tugged him back into the apartment, a devious gleam in her eye. She undid the first two buttons on Barry’s plaid shirt, letting her fingertips trail down his warm skin. Goosebumps popped into existence under the chill of her admittedly cold fingers, but she didn’t care. 

“We have to go,” he said, his mind on something other than her body, his focus on something other than her lips hurriedly pressed against his cheek. “We’re gonna be late.”

Oh, screw being late. It was a dinner at her partner’s house, to which she would usually be very punctual, but Joe wasn’t going to be there and Joe’s daughter was preparing the meal. Not that Parry didn’t like Iris, of course; but if she wasn’t required to help, and if there were going to be other people there, then she and Barry could afford to be a little late. It was apparently the in joke for their household, anyway. Barry was always late. What was a few more minutes?

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Sciles soulmates AU

If you’re going to have a name then it’ll show up sometime between thirteen and eighteen. Sometimes they hurt and sometimes you don’t even notice until someone else points it out.

Sometimes trauma makes it come sooner or even years later. Your body’s way of figuring out what it needed most.

Sometimes even if you get a name, there’s not always a match.

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trip-and-stumble  asked:

Prompt yo; can you do like a combination of the snowed in and animal shelter volunteer AUs? Like there's these weather reports of this snow storm coming and everyone else who volunteers were like shit I have to worry about family (I don't know okay) and the girl who runs the place has young children and Kurt and Blaine (who barely know each other) were all "we'll sort it out, you go home to your kids" and then Klaine locked in bc snow storms and cute animals? (If any of that makes sense oops)

Oh it does

Of all the things he is doing in New York, his two afternoon-a-week at the “Little Shelter” are Kurt’s biggest source of pride.

Twice a week, he gets to take care of puppies who have been abandoned, mistreated, abused, and it gives him a sense of purpose.

At least he’s doing some good in the world, you know?

He already has favorites–even though he knows he really shouldn’t–and the two dogs love him right back.

Betty and Wilma are old enough to know how to behave when he arrives, but the moment he brings their leashes, all bets are off and their tails wag away.

Kurt loves to walk them–even as the weather slowly turns into the biting New York Winter–, and to brush their soft coat, and their scratchy kisses.

All the advantages of a dog without submitting them to the smallness of his teeny, tiny apartment.

This morning, he got ready with the vague knowledge that the weather might be too harsh to take his two ladies out, but still: warm shoes, his biggest, fuzziest scarf and his pair of “mitoves”, half mitten, half gloves.

What he didn’t expect, though, is the absolute mayhem waiting for him in the shelter.

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anonymous asked:

What about: I'm a broke college student and my roommate is having sex but I have nowhere else to go so I'm sleeping in the hallway and the hot RA catches me?

Stiles doesn’t really mind seeing the sock on the door for the fifth night in a row. It’s just. The librarians are keeping a close eye on how long he’s there after telling him that they’re not really allowed to let students sleep in the library for the night. Regulations aside, Stiles doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. He’s too far from Beacon Hills to crash at home. Scott is in Beacon Hills doing his internship for Deaton and going to community college down there. So Stiles has no choice.

He lies down on the floor next to his dorm room and stares at the ceiling. He can smell the weed and other things he doesn’t want to name that are seeped in the carpet and all he can think of is how pathetic his life is. This is where he’s at. This is what he’s spending thousands and thousands of dollars for. To sleep on the floor in front of his room because his roommate has a very active sex life and apparently can’t have sex anywhere else.

Okay, scratch that. He does mind seeing the sock on the door again. In fact, it fucking pisses him off. He’s seconds away from pounding on the door and letting himself in so he can sleep anyway. But he’s reluctant to piss off the dude he has to live with for the next three months. 

So he just curls up on the floor and tries to sleep.

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