this has been sitting in my fold

Humans are weird

Got hooked on this thread. Omigosh.

So imagine a ship with a mixed crew, Aliens of different origins and some humans. The humans have been chosen for their diverse talents in mechanics, pack bonding and general toughness when facing hardship.
Suddenly one of the humans sigh very loudly, drawing attention from their fellow mates.

Jenna frowns, which is a signal of confusion. “what is wrong Jack?”

“I got the news feed from Earth, about the 2028 election. Apparently my country is going to Hell. Again.”

Quartlar looks up from his display with mild curiosity. He walks over and folds his four legs to sit next the the two humans.

“Human Jack, what has been elected?” He asks, very intrigued by human culture.

“Some religious dumbass got a minister position in the educational department. He wants to reinstate creationism, ugh!”
Jack seems deeply disturbed and annoyed by the election of their minister and Quartlar doesn’t understand why.

“Religion is the human way of worship, is it not? I know little of this concept. You worship your leaders?” He asks, red eyes blinking. Human Jenna shakes her head, a disagreement.

“Maybe some did in the past, like Saints and Priests but they were just messengers of gods. Like the middle man, chosen to preach the word.”

Human Jack cut in.
“It’s bullshit, all of it.”

Quartlar had already learnt what that phrase meant, after some confusion and explanation from Human Sam. He also had a vague understanding of these deities some humans spoke off, either while they were being jokesters or when telling stories. Like how Human Jenna had told Wer'lac he was going to Hell for stealing her snacks. After some description of the place called Hell, Wer'lac had returned said snacks very quickly. Human Jenna had later on explained it was all more or less Earth fiction. Not that it helped to make more sense.

“What is this creationism? Is it perhaps the knowledge of creating by using your hands?” Quartlar asked, still curious.
Human Jenna scoffed but it was Human Jack who answered.

“They reject science and say the earth was created in 10, 000 years by their God.”

Quartlar made a clicking noise in surprise and blinked.
“That is not remotely possible, by either geographic or biological standards!” He said, another click following. Jenna shrugged.

“The flat-earthers are way worse.” She said. Jack smiled and looked at their Alien companion.
“They believe the Earth is flat. Like a disk.”

Quartlar looked between them, to see if it was perhaps a Human prank being played, but no. Jack and Jenna just waited for his response.

“They have satellite technology and space crafts… and still do not accept the concept of a spherical globe????!!!” Quartlar asked, very stressed.
Jack shrugged.
“Your words, not mine. But yeah, pretty much. But I guess they are few left, a couple of thousand?” He trailed off, looking at the news feed again.

Quartlar stood again, overcome with shock. The Humans, so brilliant and tough and smart… some were still that far behind? And refused science?! They thought their world was flat??!!

He later on wrote a message to the Captain, asking to add intel to the file they kept on Humanity. Asides from being terrifying creatures in battle and very valuable crew members it would seem some of them were just plain useless.

Byun Baekhyun//Psych - Part 4

Originally posted by dodyo

Summary: After a month of being broke at college, you finally find a place to stay, but the only con is that there is nine other people you have to share a house with - one in particular who makes it his mission to irritate you at every turn - but they’re hiding something from you. Something big. (1/ 2/ 3/ 4/ 5/ 6/ 7)
Scenario: Werewolf!AU, college!AU, series
Word Count: 5,765

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CP bachelor AU: part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

“If I tell Jokaste she’s going home, on camera, you can’t stop me.”

There’s nobody else in the production tent. Laurent has finally released the rest of the crew to craft services, where they’re probably cramming down pasta and cold sausage rolls, after eleven hours straight of shooting. The suitors are in their rooms, grabbing the nine hours of sleep that their contracts allow them. Damen is meant to be in his room, the one with the white quilted bedspread.

Damen is not in his room.

Laurent looks over his shoulder at Damen for a while, wondering if he misheard. The words were stubborn enough. But Laurent has been around this industry for long enough to recognise the opening volley in a bargaining match when he hears one.

“That’s true,” he says. He doesn’t move. Damen weaves between tables and shoved-back folding chairs, and comes to look down at Laurent where Laurent is sitting in front of the editing screens. The screens are empty, a blank and famished grey-black, showing only a dull reflection of Laurent’s hair.

“But you’ll find some way to make my life miserable,” Damen says. “And–not just me, either.”

“So there are some brains in there, alongside all the protein shakes,” Laurent says.

“You saw what Jokaste did this morning.”

Laurent shifts his chair so that he’s facing Damen directly. He rests his arms on the thin metal arms of the chair, crosses one leg over the other, and leans back. “And?”

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anonymous asked:

Your Scotty headcanon from last night had me emotional and I was wondering if when you have the time you could do the same or something similar for AOS Jim? Please and thank you.

Originally posted by leetya-blog

Jim Kirk loves boldly.

Jim realizes that there’s something different about Leonard McCoy right off the bat. 

Jim kind of wants to kiss him. Jim definitely wants to fuck him. There’s something about Leonard McCoy that holds him back. There’s something about Leonard McCoy that draws him in. 

Jim doesn’t spend too much time pondering it. He’s not a worrier or an overanalyzer, and besides, things usually seem to work themselves out, in the end. 

Jim realizes that he’s in love with Bones only after Gaila calls him on it. 

“I am not,” he opens his mouth to protest, but her words, and their meaning, sink in before he can deny it. 

“Huh,” he says instead.

“Huh,” says Gaila in return, because she’d only half-believed it anyway. She’d fully expected Jim to laugh her off, threatening to prove to her once and for all that Jim Kirk isn’t in love with any dude, thank you very much, but Jim actually seems to be considering it, and for the first time in her life, Gaila finds herself at a loss.

Jim’s not paying her any attention. “I’m in love with Bones,” he says absently, and that is that.

Jim realizes that this scares the ever-loving shit out of him. 

Jim ponders it for a solid week. He’s broody, silent, giving Bones subtle side-eye until Bones finally throws his PADD and says, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Jim?”

“Nothing,” says Jim, and then he bolts out the door, away from Bones and his discerning gaze.

He finds himself ambling across the quad, hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. Why Bones, of all people? Bones is his best friend. Jim cares about Bones. Cares deeply, in fact. His friendship with Bones is important to him. It’s simple, uncomplicated - or it was - and the last thing Jim wants to do is risk it all on a silly social construct like love.

He avoids the apartment for the rest of the week.

Jim realizes abruptly, during his advanced tactics class, that love is a risky game

He realizes that love is taking your body, heart, and soul, all that you are, and entrusting it to another person. That of course that other person is someone you care deeply about, otherwise it wouldn’t be love. That there’s nobody in this world that Jim trusts more than Leonard McCoy.

“Oh,” he says.

“You have something to add, Kirk?” Admiral Archer peers expectantly over his spectacles. 

“Fundamental in allowing for boldness is accepting the inevitability of chaos,” Jim answers automatically. 

“Excellent,” says Archer warmly. “The logic of calculated risk taking has no place in it for chaos,” he continues, rapping his cane on the podium. “There must be a balance between analyzing risks, ladies and gentlemen, and acting. That balance is boldness.”

And with that, Jim makes up his mind.

Jim realizes that wooing Bones is going to be difficult. 

The thing is, he’s not wooing Bones, not exactly. Wooing is Jim Kirk’s game, and he excels at it, but this, this is different. He’s not pursuing, charming, chasing, propositioning. Jim doesn’t have good words for what he wants with Bones. It’s a slower thing, a gentler thing, a stabler, tender, sensitive thing, and Jim’s not quite sure how to label it, let alone approach it.

Everything he tries fails horribly. 

Bones thinks nothing of it when Jim takes him to dinner. 

Bones thinks nothing of it when Jim hacks the call system on Bones’ birthday.

Bones drinks the expensive bourbon without a word. 

Bones just sighs when Jim crawls into bed with him. 

He elbows Jim hard when Jim reaches for his hand.

Bones quirks an eyebrow at the candles. “You’re gonna burn the building down if you’re not careful, Jim,” he drawls. 

Jim decides it’s time for the direct approach. He shoots Bones a message. “Meet me after clinic,” it says. “Need to talk.”

“Well,” says Bones, folding his arms across his chest and giving Jim The Eyebrow. “What did you wanna talk about first, kid, the fact that I’m all out of bourbon, or how a year and a half later, I’m still stumbling over your fucking shoes in the morning?” Bones nudges the offending item with his toe. “This one’s even got some of the quad left on it.” 

“No, asshat, I love you,” Jim blurts, because he’s already replaced the damn bourbon, if someone would be bothered to look, and honestly, how thick can Bones be? 

Bones whistles appreciatively. “That’s a good one, Jim.” He shakes his head and settles on his desk, half sitting, half leaning. “Save it for someone who’ll buy it.” 

“No, Bones, I’m serious.” Jim’s sick and tired of dancing around it. “I’m in love with you.”

Bones goes very still. 

Jim moves toward him. “Bones?”

Bones snaps his head up and just stares at Jim for a long moment. “You mean you want to fuck me,” he says slowly. His brow is furrowed.

“No,” says Jim, a little put out. Why does Bones make it sound like such a bad thing? “No. I mean, yes, god, yes, but it’s more than that, Bones. You’re more than that. I want… I want the dating, I think,” Jim pauses, shaking his head, because that’s not quite right.  “And I want us to sleep in the same bed -”  

Bones snorts.

“No, I mean really, not just because yours is closest to the door! And I want…” Jim’s voice breaks. He can’t find the words for exactly what he wants, and fuck, he really should have thought this through. He’s rambling now, panicking. “I want to touch you, Bones, not for any reason, just because, and I want to take you out, just us, like, together together, and I want this to be real, not some -”

Bones cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a sharp, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Nothing!” Jim protests, and Bones must believe him, because he lets it go, moving wearily to the couch and sinking down with his head in his hands.

Jim sits hesitantly beside him.

“Jim,” he sighs heavily through his fingers, and then he’s looking at Jim with eyes that are too dark, almost desperate. “You do not love me. You are not in love with me. Okay?”

“Bullshit.” Jim says firmly. He’s having to hold back a grin, because Bones’ tone is telling him a lot. 

He knows better than to push, though. Not today.

“Unbelievable,” Bones mutters, reaching for his PADD. Jim knows he’s going to bury himself in case studies for the rest of the evening.

That’s fine, though. Jim leaves the conversation feeling lighter than he has in a month. He decides he’ll just have to tell Bones every day until Bones believes him.

Jim tells Bones every morning as they’re brushing their teeth. He leaves handwritten notes around the apartment for Bones to find. He sends Bones messages on his comm at the clinic, and he bombards Bones’ PADD during his slow lectures. He tells Bones as they’re walking across the quad, and he tells Bones when he stumbles in at 2 am on Thirsty Thursday.

Bones grouses, rolls his eyes, mostly ignores him, until one day, he grips Jim’s arm tightly. “Jim, stop,” he says raggedly, and his eyes are dark, pleading. “Please.” 

So Jim does.

At least, he stops saying it verbally. But he’s careful to keep his boots under his bed, and he leaves the bourbon in Bones’ closet, where he can find it. He makes coffee, he folds laundry. He resolutely ignores Gaila’s suggestive gaze, and he makes a calculated effort to come home before midnight, particularly after Bones has been on call. 

It goes on for months. Jim’s about ready to give up on love altogether when he finds Bones sitting on his bed one afternoon.

“Jim,” says Bones in a raw voice, and Jim can see immediately that it’s been a terrible shift. Bones’ eyes are bloodshot, and he smells like cheap whiskey and antiseptic. “Did you mean it?”

And Jim knows, immediately, what Bones is asking. “With all my heart, Bones,” he says softly, gently prying the bottle away from his fingers. “And we’re gonna have the rest of this conversation sober, okay?”

Bones quirks his head in question, blinking blearily up at Jim as if he’s never seen him before. “Okay,” he says finally.

Jim realizes that even after they’re together, Bones is the one that’s going to hold them back.

It’s that risk-taking thing again, Jim knows. Once bitten, twice shy, the saying goes, and that’s Bones all over. 

Jim is patient. He tries his best to be gentle, not to push. 

When Bones wants to take things slow, Jim agrees. When Bones isn’t comfortable taking his hand in public, Jim understands. 

When Bones calmly introduces Jim to Phillip Boyce as his partner, Jim’s face breaks into a wide grin, and he thinks he’s never been more delighted in his life. 

Jim realizes, after the Harrison incident, that his death had shaken Bones, but his resurrection had shattered him.

It takes him a while to understand. Jim’s own thoughts are in turmoil, his own emotions bleeding and raw, and Bones had been so solid, so composed, that Jim almost hadn’t recognized the signs at all. 

It nearly breaks them.

Jim’s got to get back on his feet again, and then there’s the whole fiasco with the medical board of ethics that leaves Bones fighting for his license, but when the dust settles, Jim acts. He’s desperate to save his relationship, to save Bones, Bones who’s saved him so many times, in so many ways, and nearly lost himself in the process. 

So Jim pulls all the strings he can, and nearly burns some bridges to do it, but he finally gets ‘fleet approval for an extended leave of absence for both himself and for Bones. 

He takes Bones back home, home to Georgia, away from rank and regulations and responsibilities. They spend long lazy days in the hot sun, rebuilding, relearning. 

Jim realizes after Yorktown that he wants to marry Bones.

It hits him suddenly, with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs and sends his emotions reeling. 

He’s at a press conference with the bridge officers. Ben comes to stand beside Hikaru, and the Sulu’s are met with a flurry of questions.

“My husband,” says Hikaru, reaching up to place his hand on Ben’s arm. His wedding band glistens in the light.

My husband.

My husband.

The words reverberate incessantly in Jim mind. Simple words, effortless words, but powerful, profound, absolutely earth-shattering to Jim. 

My husband.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Bones says over dinner that evening. He shoots Jim a questioning little glance.

“Just thinking,” says Jim distractedly. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bones drawls through a bite of replicated new potato. He lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Jim.”

“Shut up,” says Jim, but his words are without heat. He’s in the middle of a personal paradigm shift, mind far too occupied to engage in playful banter over the dinner table. 

Bones shrugs, rolls his eyes, and leaves Jim to his thoughts. 

Jim’s never really considered marriage. It’s never been on his bucket list, it’s not something he’s ever needed, or wanted.

Until now.

He looks over at Bones, oblivious, gorgeous Bones, gnawing on dry, tasteless chicken with a disgusted little snarl on his lip. His hair’s in disarray from where he’s run his hands through it one too many times. He’s barefooted, still wearing his ‘fleet issue blue scrubs from rounds that morning. 

We can’t get married, Jim thinks, turning over the fraternization policies in his mind. Their relationship isn’t secret, not by a long shot, but it would be hard for the brass to turn a blind eye to holy matrimony. Jim shakes his head. The Captain and the CMO. It’s a ridiculous idea. 

Archer’s words come back to him suddenly, from years ago. 

“There must be a balance between analyzing risks, ladies and gentlemen, and acting.”

Boldness, Jim remembers. The balance between acting and analyzing. 

He smiles. He’ll find a ring tomorrow. 

Off The Menu

The kitchen was too small for two chefs: especially when one was an arrogant flirt who was after HER job.

Also on FF.NET and AO3

@chasingawaythefoosa wanted a chef au. Part of my series of tropey fics that I’m currently working on (open for more prompts for a little longer).

I got totally carried away and this ended up 4.7k. Oops.

Killian Jones had a lazy smirk, perfectly disheveled hair, questionably tight dark jeans and a way of undressing you with his eyes that was all too appealing when one’s guard was down. Not that Emma Swan ever let her guard down around him. From the moment she met him she saw him for what he was: an arrogant skirt chaser who was also chasing her job.

When Archie Hopper, head chef and owner of ‘Archibald’s’ had announced that he would be taking on a another sous chef, Emma had been furious. She’d spent three years working her ass off to climb the hierarchy at Boston’s best French restaurant, sacrificing anything resembling a social life to achieve her dream of culinary success. Six months ago when she had been promoted to second in command she’d been elated.

The next step would be her own kitchen. She knew if she continued to show her dedication that Archie would notice; he’d already hinted about opening another restaurant and she knew she had a shot at the head chef position.

But when Archie had formally revealed the opening of another outlet on the other side of town, instead of looking to hire (or promote) another executive chef, he instead employed a second sous chef to work at the original restaurant and began to split his time between the two businesses. Which was completely demoralizing when she was the one who should be in charge. To make matters worse her new ‘co-chef’ (as Archie had called them) was an arrogant Brit who thought he knew everything about French cuisine;‘I’m European, darling,” he would drawl.  In addition, he was an incorrigible flirt and he spent far too much time with the waitresses - and waiters.

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@athos-silvani you gave me an idea. an adoribull idea

“I can’t believe I’m being held hostage in my own home by a bird.” Dorian stares bitterly out the window. The day is perfectly warm and sunny, but there are swans in his garden.

Bull comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s waist. “Were you planning on leaving?”

“Not a second sooner than I have to, Amatus.” He accepts a kiss on his cheek. “It would just be nice to walk outside without having my ankles snapped at by a bad-tempered feather duster.”

“You just need to give it some time. At least they don’t let burglars anywhere near the house.”

Dorian sighs. “What heroic creatures they are. We should buy them golden collars and name our villa after their flock.”

Bull laughs. “You could change the Pavus crest to be a swan instead of a peacock. Hang a portrait of Melvin in your house in Qarinus.”

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I struggle to define myself. I struggle to derive the meaning of my blackness today. I love it, my blackness, that is. The world wants me to bend, fold, shift and shimmy just so they can be comfortable. They’d rather have you believe that your presence causes fear, rather than embracing the light that you harbor. Do not dim yourself for the comfort of someone else. The transition from black boy to black man is to shed yourself of anything that can be perceived as weakness. Some nights, I simply sit and stare and wonder if i have forgotten how to cry. I hope to remember. I am trying to reconnect with a part of me that has been snuffed out.

I want my brothers and I to live without boundaries. Spread the wings that you have hidden for so long and reach heights you were afraid to imagine. Take pride in the power of self expression. I will never be ashamed to tell you that I love you. They will tell you that it is weakness, but there is strength in showing love. There is strength, in respecting and uplifting black women. There is strength inside of you. As I write this, I feel as if I’ve forgotten that there is strength inside of me too. I struggle to define myself, and that is okay. I am too complex of a being to be deconstructed in a paragraph. Black men are not a monolith. We are as unique as snowflakes, beautiful as a sunrise, and as strong as the pull of the ocean.

I pray that we recognise this.

I love you.

- Seunfunmi Tinubu for GreenInc.

anonymous asked:

I love your writing and am in need of some major FS fluff after that episode... could you do 68? Thank you so much!

Anonymous said:

Fitzsimmons 68 please?

Hi there, anons! “You didn’t have to ask” coming right up!  Prompt list here if you want to send me one!

This is somewhere between canon compliant and an AU. Bendy canon, I call it.

“You didn’t have to ask,” he says one day as he sits on her dorm room floor, sifting through pages of notes. “I was going to come over anyway. I know you’re worried about this exam.”

She hopes he doesn’t see the way she smiles in relief, because really, they haven’t known each other that long. She’s never actually had a friend before—not the kind who wants to spend time with you outside of class—and she’s still not sure about the rules.

“Thank you, Fitz,” she manages. He doesn’t even look up from the textbook in his hand.

“Do you have any pretzels here?”

She smiles. “Of course I do.”


“You didn’t have to ask,” he groans, ducking his head into his folded arms. “Why did you ask?”

She leans back in their booth and takes a sip of her milkshake.

“Really, Fitz, it wasn’t that bad.”

“But you had to know that if you even hinted at having any curiosity about my childhood, my mum would likely bring out the whole blasted scrapbook. You didn’t have to … say it out loud and make sure of it.”

She swallows and grabs a chip (a french fry, as they’re called here), and dips it in the shake. “Fitz …”

“I don’t even know why you asked! Who pokes her head into her friend’s Skype session with his mum and asks, and I quote, “Has our Fitz always been such a handful?” He sits up, folding his arms with a defiant scowl. Jemma frowns.

“I hate it when you use that voice,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says, “well, I’m not a fan of everything you do, either.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him, especially when he’s so embarrassed. Jemma doesn’t think about it that way as much as she feels it in her gut, as if there’s a piece of her that hurts when he hurts. If she ever dwelt on the hows and whys of that feeling, she might come to a startling conclusion. Instead, she acts on instinct, getting up to sit in his side of the booth and putting a hand on his shoulder until his grumpiness fades, and he covers her hand with his.


“You didn’t have to ask,” he says as he dries his legs with a towel. Jemma’s attention is on Antoine Triplett, who’s smiling broadly when talking to Skye, and she’s almost startled at the question.


“You didn’t have to ask if I was Hydra,” he repeats. He retrieves his socks and shoes, following her eyes to where the their friends chat by the pool. “Didn’t you … aren’t you worried?”

She smiles, partly because she thinks Skye might be blushing, and partly because her best friend is a ridiculous man.

“Of course not,” she says. “I know who you are.”

She expects some kind of stubborn retort, but she turns to look at him when she only hears silence. It wounds her a little, to see the doubt in his eyes, like he’s not sure who he is. The world might have fallen apart, but can’t he see that he’s the one constant she has? That all of this is a little easier since he’s going through it with her? She can’t let him lose sight of the hope they have left.

“Don’t you think they look nice together?” she asks, nodding towards Trip and Skye. “I think so.”

Fitz’s eyes dart towards their friends, then back at her, then down at his shoes.

“I suppose I wouldn’t know,” he says. She gives him a teasing smile.

“Well, at long last, we’ve found something.”


“You didn’t have to ask,” he says when he finally comes back, still clad from head to toe in battle gear. She’s still cleaning up after taking care of Coulson, but she knew it was him the moment he walked in the door.

“You didn’t have to ask,” he repeats, and she’s sure it’s because she’s so silent, but what do you say to a man after you’ve told him you might love him back?

“I would have been careful,” he says.

She tucks some hair behind her ear and smiles at the floor. “That’s not what you told me.”

“Yeah,” he says, “well, I—”


They both turn towards Mack’s booming voice to find him leaning against he doorway.

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

Fitz turns to Jemma, then to Mack, then back to Jemma.

“I … well, actually I have to …”

She smiles, shaking her head at him. “Go,” she says, “I can finish up here.”

He looks over at her medical equipment, then blanches. “Um, yeah, I’ll just … I’ll go. But we’ll talk later?”

She nods, knowing a blush is spreading across her cheeks and finding she doesn’t care. “We’ll talk later.”

He watches her a second, like he’s sure she’ll change her mind, but turns to leave when Mack calls for him again.

“I’ll be careful, Jemma,” he says.

She watches him go, beaming. “I know you will.”

She’s still smiling when he’s out of sight, feeling something rise in her chest that she wants to keep to herself. She’ll share it with him, too, when the time is right. For now, though, she savors their secret.


“You didn’t have to ask,” he whispers. She swallows as she sidles up behind him, wishing she could just put her hand on his arm, his shoulder, his chest. He gave her his whole heart, and she ruined it.

“Fitz, I—”

“He’s an innocent man trapped on a desert planet,” he continues. “Wouldn’t be right to leave him there. Of course we have to go back for him.”

She tries to speak, but the words get caught in her throat. How can she tell him that the guilt is eating her alive? The longer she stays on this planet, on her home planet—with a shower and a bed and a gravitational force that’s not pulling her down—the more she realizes that her time in that other world lead her to a certain insanity. She doesn’t know how to tell him that the closer she is to him, the closer she is to feeling right in her own mind.

“Fitz,” she says, inching towards to him, “I knew you’d do the right thing.”

He looks up at her, and his eyes are so clear and so blue that she thinks she could dive into them. This is what true love is, she thinks, not one heroic act, but a thousand small ones. She tries to do a heroic deed of her own by placing her hand on his arm and rubbing her thumb up an down with intent. He has to know that he’s the only thing that’s real to her.


He looks so young when he says it, younger than he was when she met him. All his ego has leaked out of him by now, leaving him like a deflated balloon. All she wants it to send him back in the atmosphere where he belongs. He watches her hand for a moment then covers her hand with his. A smile breaks out on its own, spreading across her face without effort. There’s a part of him that still belongs to her, and she’ll never let go of it. She only needed to learn that lesson once.  

“Yeah,” she says.


“I’m sorry,” he says. Jemma lifts her head from his shoulder and blinks the sleep out of them, not quite sure how long she was out. She looks down at the papers scattered across the floor and tells herself that she’ll be better at fighting Hive in the morning.

“Mmm,” she hums into his shoulder, “sorry for what?”

She expects him to lay his head on top of hers, but instead, his muscles tense.

“For kissing you.” She feels his cheek brush against her hair and his head hangs down. “Both times, I just went for it. I should have asked first; I didn’t mean to—”

“Fitz?” It feels like her head is made of lead, but she raises it anyway. “Fitz.”

That’s enough to get him to look at her, his clear blue eyes still shining in the darkness.


“I kissed you back, each time,” she says, reaching out to cup his jaw. He closes his eyes, and she knows he’s remembering. “I’d like to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”

He nods, somewhat sheepishly, and she grins as she returns to her place on his shoulder. They’ll have a real talk in the morning, but until then she can bask in the comfort of being next to her best friend, just as she’s always wanted to be. As she drifts off, she feels a pleasant exhaustion from her hard-won battles, knowing her greatest victory is the hand that holds hers.

“Fitz,” she says, and it’s true that he’s her favorite word. It’s true that he’s her favorite everything.


“Fitz,” she repeats, “You didn’t have to ask. You never do, with me.”

She thinks that he smiles into her hair, and it’s just as possible that he’s already asleep, but she’ll tell him again of she needs to. For now, she drifts off wrapped up in the memory of him, of how he used to be and how he is now. She’s been in love with him a long time, she realizes. There’s no need and no time for questions when their hearts have been entwined this long.

Besides, she thinks as she slips into her dreams, they have too many kisses to make up for.




REQUESTED BY @ladyoakensheildmalfoypurdymanson

Lips brushed and skin tingled as Draco Malfoy kissed Y/N, concealed in a hidden staircase in the western wing of Hogwarts. With their bodies pressed together, Y/N could feel Draco’s hot, minty breath mingling with hers. His soft lips mumbled some incoherent words against her mouth, sending shivers down her spine. She pulled Draco’s body even closer to hers, her fingers lingering on the warm skin of his neck.

Neither of them heard the footsteps approaching.

Severus Snape sauntered up the stairs, sneering when his eyes fell on the young couple. “Mr. Malfoy, I would appreciate if you would do this somewhere - Y/N?” 

Swollen, pink lips were yanked apart and eyes were widened as they stared at the shocked Potions professor. Draco’s green tie was loosened around his neck; the top of Y/N’s collared shirt was unbuttoned.

She had never seen her father at a loss for words.

Her heart hammered inside her chest as Draco mumbled, “Hi, Professor.” His blonde hair stuck out in haphazard directions, as a result of Y/N’s fingers.

Snape narrowed his eyes, swallowing hard. “My office. Both of you. Now.” He then turned around and rapidly walked away, not waiting up for them.

Draco and Y/N slowly faced each other. “Well, it was nice knowing you,” Draco said, kissing her quickly on the forehead. He opened the window behind him and threw one leg over the windowsill.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Don’t worry,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “Once I’m settled in a foreign country with my new identity, I’ll do my best to write to you.”

Y/N couldn’t suppress her laugh, even given the circumstances. “Come on, Draco. We can handle him.”

He sighed, swinging his leg back inside and planting both feet back on the stairs. “Okay, yeah. You’re right.”

“Besides, this could be worse,” she said. Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. Y/N shrugged and said, “At least you’re not Potter.”

All the muscles in his face suddenly relaxed, and he stared at her with an annoyed expression.

“Okay,” she said, her lips forming a thin line. “Bad time to make that joke.”

Draco simply nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching to grab her hand. He squeezed her fingers just for a moment, then abruptly let go, mumbling, “We probably shouldn’t hold hands.”

Y/N sighed and nodded, bringing her bottom lip in between her teeth.

They walked to her father’s office in silence, their shoes hitting the stone floor being the only sound reverberating off the walls.

When they reached the closed door, they both faced each other, taking a few deep breaths.

“Wait,” Y/N said, reaching up to carefully fix Draco’s loosened tie. The fabric was smooth under her fingertips as her hands traced down his torso. She met his eyes.

“Oh,” he breathed. Draco’s shaking fingers attempted to button up the top of her shirt, but he fumbled so much and couldn’t get it right.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, gently pushing his hands away. “I’ll get it.”

When she was done, she looked up at Draco, whose face had become quite pale, his eyes leaking worry. “Hey,” she said, causing him to look into her eyes. “Just relax.”

“Okay,” he replied, before leaning down and kissing her hard on the lips.

“Draco,” she breathed, pulling away, a small smile on her face. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Yeah, well I’m afraid your dad might murder me in there,” he said, grabbing her hand.

She shook her head. “He won’t. Come on.”

Y/N cautiously pushed the heavy door open and they gingerly walked inside. Severus Snape was sitting at his desk, his hands folded tightly in front of him, a grimace on his long face.

“Why, thank you for fixing your shirt and tie for my benefit, children,” he sneered. Y/N sighed, knowing her father used the word children in attempt to talk down to them. In that moment, she despised his attention to detail.

“Sit,” Snape said, coldly.

The two of them sat down in the two chairs facing the desk, Draco looking down at the floor and Y/N anxiously looking up at her father.

Professor Snape cleared his throat. “So, how long has - whatever this is - been going on?” His eyes drilled into them like a fork sinking into a piece of tart.

She swallowed before quickly saying, “Um, six months.”

“I thought it was seven?” Draco blurted, then instantly shut his mouth as both the professor and his daughter shot daggers at him with their eyes.

Snape looked back at Y/N. “And what made you think it was a good idea to keep this from me?”

She bit her bottom lip, and Draco nervously pulled on the ends of his blonde hair. From the way Snape was talking to them, they felt like two toddlers that had gotten in trouble for drawing on the wall with permanent markers.

Y/N hesitated before mumbling, “We didn’t know how you would react.”

“Well, look how well that turned out,” her father replied, looking between both of them, his face full of many emotions: annoyance, anger, disappointment.

Draco sat up straighter in his chair. “With all due respect, sir, I’m very sorry that you had to find out this way,” he said, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice.

Snape sighed before saying, “Thank you for the apology, Draco, but that does not make up for this.”

Draco looked down, fiddling with his tie. “Of course, sir.”

The professor turned his attention back to his daughter. “Y/N, I am incredibly disappointed in you for keeping this from me.”

She swallowed, attempting to demolish the lump in her throat. “I’m really sorry, Dad. I wanted to tell you, but I was… scared,” she admitted, her hands fidgeting.

Severus Snape sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening and rubbed his fingers against his left temple. “I understand.”

Draco’s head snapped up. Y/N let out a breath.

Snape continued, “I’ll admit, Draco is a… respectable boy. So, I may be able to adapt to this.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up in complete surprise. Draco raised his eyebrows, struggling to believe that those words had left Snape’s mouth. 

“Thank you,” Y/N said, a smile plastered on her face. Snape simply nodded, attempting to hold back a small grin.

Draco obnoxiously cleared his throat and repeated, “Thank you, sir.”

“Drop the sirs, Malfoy,” Snape grumbled. “It’s getting on my nerves.”

“Yes sir,” he blurted, awkwardly looking down at the ground when Y/N and her father both stared at him. Draco knew Y/N was holding back a laugh, without even glancing at her. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Snape cleared his throat before saying, “There is one more thing I need to talk to you two about.” He leered at the nervous couple.

Y/N stared at him, anxious as to what he was going to say next. Draco furrowed his eyebrows.

“I am not oblivious to what kids your age are doing nowadays,” Snape drawled, avoiding eye contact. “I should hope you two are using… contraception.”

Draco’s cheeks turned a nice shade of pomegranate red, his blue-grey eyes wide, staring at the ground.

“Oh my god,” Y/N whispered, burying her face in her hands.

All three of them would’ve rather been anywhere else in that moment.

“Just be responsible, please,” Snape mumbled.

She reluctantly looked up at him. “Yeah, of course.”

A thick silence protruded the air; Draco began to chew on his thumbnail.

“You can go now,” Snape stated curtly. The couple stood up immediately.

“Thanks,” Draco said, as they started to walk to the door. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to say anything else.

Once back in the hall, the office door shut far behind them, they both let out the  breaths they had been holding. “Merlin,” Draco breathed.

“That was painful,” Y/N said. “Physically painful.” She placed a hand on her chest and looked over at Draco.

He snaked his arm around her shoulders, and she bent her arm in order to hold his hand. With their sweaty palms pressed together, Draco joked, “Now we just need to tell my parents!”

She laughed. “I don’t know if I can survive that.”

Draco grinned down at her before placing a kiss on her right temple.

thanks for reading!! this was fun to write :) xx

Post-It Notes, ch.2

on Ao3

ch1 | ch2

So this was supposed to be a oneshot, but I refuse to listen to my own advice and now this fic is kind of consuming my life. But anyway, Marinette continues to be a nerd. How this girl functions, the world will never know.

Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to continue this fic!! It’s a lot of fun writing it!

Enjoy!! <3

At this point, Marinette could literally implode.

Adrien has been avoiding her eyes all day. When she walked into the classroom, he simply buried his face in his history textbook, but not even that could hide the bright red blush on his face from her. Marinette runs her thumb over the carefully folded post-it note in her pocket.

She sits down at her desk and pulls out her own textbook, but she can’t bring herself to pay attention. She stares dreamily off into the distance, tracing the words out on her leg:

I love you.

The words are burned into Marinette’s mind and onto the back of her eyelids.

I love you.

She wants to take that post-it note with the fateful I love you and superglue it to her heart.

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The Cardigan

Wow, that’s a dumb title. So today I tried to write some angst, I hope you guys like it.

Summary: Jeremy finds out his mom left



I get home from school; today has been just awful. I slam the door and stomp to the kitchen when I am stopped by the sight of my dad. He’s sitting at the table clutching a letter with tears streaming down his face. “Dad?” I ask with concern. “Wha- Oh Jeremy.” He sounds so sad and broken and that’s when I see mom’s cardigan, sitting on the table folded neatly with a card saying: To Jeremy. Something inside me drops. I feel realization hit me. “Dad, she’s not coming back is she.” It feels like a part of me has been ripped out. “No son, no she’s not.” He breaks out into another wave of sobs and I can’t take it. I grab the cardigan and run up the stairs. I hold back tears while I pack my bag. As I run out of the door I tell my dad, “I’m going to Michael’s.”

I’m running, I’m running away from my dad, away from the sadness, hoping that it won’t catch up with me. I almost bang on Michael’s door. I knock. The sadness catches up. I feel wet, hot tears stream down my face because I can’t hold it in any longer. “Jeremy!” Michael says excitedly. Then he sees my face. “Jer, hey what’s wrong.” I shove my body into his and wrap my arms around him and start sobbing, big ugly snotty sobs. Michael wraps his arms around me and rubs circle into my back. “Mom Jeremy’s staying over tonight”

“Okay don’t get too loud.”

“Hey bud, we’re gonna move down to the couch in the basement”

“Oh-okay.” I separate from Michael and walk down the stairs. The sobs keep coming and as soon as we reach the couch I wrap my arms back around Michael. We sit there for a bit while I keep crying. Michael has moved to smooth my hair down. After my sobs turn into tears Michael clears his throat “Um, Jeremy you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but why are you crying?” I take a deep breath in.

“She- my mom she’s not coming back.” Once I say it all becomes real, why she left.

“Oh god, it’s all my fault.”

“What no why would you say that.” He pushes me away from his chest so he can get a better look at me.

“B-because she was always saying how sh-sh-she didn’t really want kids a-and mayb-b-by she wouldn’t have left i-if I wasn’t alive.”I break out into another wave of sobs.

“Oh, Jer I’m sure that’s not true. If anything I need you alive please don’t die, I and your dad need you here.”

“Michael, you know I’m always Heere.” I laugh humorlessly. That’s when I remember the cardigan.

“She left me something.”

“Oh?” I pull it out of my bag. I’ve stopped crying but I feel as if the tears would come back at any moment.

“Yep, it was her favorite.” I put it on, and I realize my twelve-year-old body is way too small for the thing.But it’s soft and I breathe in her smell. Michael is watching me with concern.

“Wow, dude I know this sucks for you and, I’m um I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, do you want to play Pac-man or something? “ I pull the sleeves up and try to fill some of what she’s left.

“Sure Michael let’s play Pac-man.”


Jeremy cried several more times and I don’t really know how to handle it. I just hold him and hope that it’s enough.I just want him happy again but I know that won’t work, his mom left him. I don’t know what I would do without my mom. I’m suddenly filled with anger at her. Why did she leave why did she choose to do this? I doubt anger is what Jeremy needs right now though. I look at the clock and it’s eleven-thirty. “Hey, Jer do you wanna maybe go to sleep?” I say with a yawn. He gives me a look of uncertainty.

“Um yeah could we uh maybe sleep next to each other I’m afraid of uh you know what nevermind, nevermind.” He turns away with his hands crumpled inside the cardigan.

“No, Jeremy that’s fine let’s do that okay?” He gives me a weak smile and I know that I will say yes to anything that makes him feel even the least bit better. We set up the sleeping bags. Jeremy lies down, still wearing the cardigan, and instantly falls asleep. I lay on my back and watch his chest rise and fall.

My Heart Can’t Go On

gif is not mine

Title: My Heart Can’t Go On

Pairing: Balthazar x Reader

Word Count: 1,236

Warnings: Angst and bit of fluff

A/N: This was requested by an Anon! I loved writing this! I hope you all enjoy this! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! *you can still request headcanons, imagines, and oneshots!* I love you all! <3

Balthazar walked through the bunker, feeling an uncomfortable emptiness.  It had been months since he came to the bunker.  Sam and Dean couldn’t care less, but for him it was a hard thing to do.  He stopped outside your old bedroom door, opening it slowly.

He could still smell the faint scent of your perfume that still lingered inside your room.  He picked up your mp3 player, smiling down at the song that popped up.  My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion.  You knew how much he hated that song, but you had always loved that song.  Balthazar never understood how you could love such a heartbreaking song.  Then he remembered the talk you both had that one night after watching the Titanic.

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Control - Chapter Two

On Your Mark

Cowritten and Proofread by @aoimikans

Surrounded by warmth and slow, quiet breathing, Toshinori sighed. As pleasant as the warmth was, a steadily growing ache in his neck and back pushed him further from sleep. He shifted slightly and opened his eyes when someone snuggled close.

Ah, Toshinori smiled softly at the mop of pink hair pressed against his arm. He blinked in the darkness, easily making out the sleeping figures around him. Glancing at his watch, he grunted. It was nearing two in the morning.

Toshinori brushed his hand along his student’s back, half embracing her, “Young Ashido…” He chuckled as she shook her head and muttered a soft protest, “Ashido, your bed would be much more comfortable than my shoulder. Come on.“

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and mumbled sleepily, “W’lcome back, ‘ll Might.”

Affection warmed Toshinori’s chest, and he patted her head, “Thank you.”

He looked around again and spoke softly, “Do you think you could help me wake your classmates? There’s no need for everyone to end up stiff from sleeping on the floor.”

Ashido nodded and, yawning widely, moved to wake Hagakure who slept next to her on the couch.

Toshinori grinned, the tip of his tail flicking happily. Or at least, it made a valiant attempt. He looked down, gaze following the line of his tail off the couch and over Izuku’s shoulder. The boy was deep in sleep, using Toshinori’s tail as a pillow and clutching onto the tufted end.

Toshinori smiled and bent lower, giving Izuku’s shoulder a soft shake.

“Come on, my boy,” he goaded quietly, gently tugging at his tail, “Time to go to bed.”

Izuku stirred, and his grip on the tuft tightened marginally, mumbling, “F… Five m’ minutes?”

“Midoriya,” Toshinori snorted, resting his hand against the boy’s warm, curly locks. He shook with suppressed laughter as he tried and failed to free his tail. Finally, he sat back up and ruffled Izuku’s hair.  

“My boy, I need my tail back, and you need to go to bed. Up you get,” he chuckled with a grin, pushing Izuku up to stand. The boy dropped the tuft and swayed briefly, still half asleep, before nodding and wandering toward the elevator with a few of his classmates Ashido had been able to rouse.

“G’night All Might,” he yawned. “See you tomorrow.”

Toshinori’s tail swung contently as he pushed himself to stand, “Good night.”

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radiantpeaces  asked:

Hi Roxane hope you are having a good day. I was wondering if you could do more posts about your daily life? like the stuff you enjoy doing besides writing? Please and thank you, when you have time ^__^

My daily life is not very interesting. Today, I woke up in a hotel room in Columbus, Ohio because last night I was the keynote speaker at the Antioch Writers Workshop. This morning, I had to wake up so early and it was miserable because I had gotten to the hotel relatively late. It was fairly easy enough to get out of the bed because it was a double bed because when I checked in there were no more rooms with king beds available and I was too tired to make a fuss because prior to giving my keynote speech I had driven 180 miles. After the speech there was a signing line where I met a lot of wonderful people, but it takes a lot of energy, as an introvert, to be so open with people. Basically, by the time I got to the hotel I was done and honestly, I was still done when I woke up this morning but there was work to be done. In the elevator on my way to the lobby, there was a nice young man who started talking to me, which was weird because people rarely spontaneously speak to me. He was from Philadelphia and even though it was 7:45 in the morning, he had already been outside. “It’s a beautiful day,” he told me and so we talked about how pleasant the weather has been, not humid, low 80s. Weather, it seems, is what unites us all. I got my car from the valet and drove back to the workshop. I taught a workshop on writing difference because after the past week, it felt especially timely. Then drove 180 miles home, stopping once to get gas which I needed because the emergency light had come on. See, I hate getting gas so I am known to procrastinate filling my tank. While the gas was pumping I went into the Love’s Truck Stop and bought a bottle of water because I am trying SO HARD to kick soda, an ongoing project and at the cashier, this woman in front of me was a trucker and she had a strange tattoo on her lower right calf. I was mesmerized. When I made it back to my neck of the woods, I ran some errands (Walgreens, Sally’s, car wash to get all the gross bugs off my car). I did some laundry. I wrote an essay for a magazine. I made a large pile of clothing that I am going to, at some point, pack for a two week trip to California. I wrote an email to my person. I had a boring, unappetizing dinner, the kind that made my jaw tired from having to chew food I did not really want to eat. In the background, a Law & Order SVU marathon on USA. I tried to play Pokemon Go even though I don’t fully understand the game and there are no Pokemons in my apartment. I stared at my inbox and decided to avoid answering most of the emails in there because they will require some thought. I did some calisthenics. Calisthenics is such a funny, formal word, but I hadn’t been to the gym in three days, so I wanted to get at least a little exercise in as the week winds down. There is some unfolded laundry that has been sitting on my couch for weeks now and I am absolutely not going to fold it before I leave tomorrow. I don’t particularly enjoy living alone but each time I stare at that pile of laundry, I think, “I pity the person who marries me and my horrible housekeeping.” I think, I do, mercifully, have other things to offer. 

anonymous asked:

Fallout New Vegas companions (+ Vulpes and Benny) reacting to finding out that the courier use to be a very young single parent, but one day lost their child?-Author needing inspiration

(Tbh I think Vulpes’ reaction would kinda be “huh well thanks for the info that sucks for you” )

Benny- He’s left a string of illegitimate children behind him as long as his string of broken hearts, so Six’s confession doesn’t bother him at first. Having a child, losing it, he sympathizes with them to a point. He’s never been a fount of human kindness, and has little to offer them in the way of condolences. Not like it would matter much. It’s only when they trace the scars in their head, muttering as more of an afterthought, “I used to remember their face a lot clearer.” that he stops and casts his eyes their way. He’s taken a lot from them. Likely more than they’re willing to even admit. He slicks his hair back, his hand resting at the back of his neck. He remembers hearing once that someone lives as long as someone else remembers them, and feels a pang of guilt, like he might as well have put a bullet in both their heads himself. “Well… what do you remember of the little tyke?” he asks. They have a few stories, Benny is much more interested than before in even the mundane ones about teething.
Though it makes Six’s eyes mist, for a little while, their child is not truly lost.

Boone- He finds a picture of Six (a much younger Six it looks like) and someone bearing a striking resemblance to them. They’ve always had a bad habit of nosing through his personal effects, be that his backpack or his backstory. It’s rare for him to have anything close to personal history on them.  But this is something extraordinarily private. He doesn’t bring it up for awhile, though he’s honestly curious. He’s got enough respect for them to not to mention it until they do. “What was their name?” Is his first question. They give him an odd look, and he clarifies, “Carla and I, we always fought over names. Never did settle on one.” They tell him. It’s oddly nice to put a name to the face, and he thinks it suits them. In truth, he’s envious they got a chance to be a parent, even after learning what happened. He never thought he’d ever be father of the year material, but he was excited, as was Carla, and neither of them got a chance to hold the little son or daughter they’d fallen in love with. He never even got to see them. As much as he knows it must have pained Six, having someone and losing them, it was better than what ifs and dreams, and he can’t help but feel spiteful.

Arcade- It’s strange imagining Six with a kid. It’s strange imagining anyone with a kid in the Mojave. He’s seen too many stunted little balls of cells, too young to even be called babies, being delivered at the Fort. To him, having a child make it past infancy is a rare thing to be celebrated, but not really expected. When they reveal they suffered the fate of many parents in the wastes, he clears his throat, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket. “Ah… I see. Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Obviously he should say something more, an “I’m sorry your kid died” seems like a vastly underwhelming thing to say in the face of this new information. “But, I mean, you have some memories of them. That’s good, isn’t it? I’ve seen a lot of young parents who aren’t so fortunate.” It’s perhaps not as comforting as he might have hoped, but it’s enough to coax a smirk out of them and a soft, “It’s something to be thankful for.”

Veronica- She leans against Six’s shoulder when they tell her. Procreation was and still is one of the Brotherhood’s top priorities within it’s ranks, yet it’s never been something she saw an appeal in. Still, imagining Six with a little baby all bundled up in their arms, she can’t help but smile. “I’m sure you were great at it. Being a parent, I mean.” She slips her arms around theirs and hugs them gently. She won’t pretend to know the pain, or give them hollow apologies for what they’ve gone through, but she’ll stay at their side as long as they need her to.

Cass- “I lost one too.” Cass tips her bottle of whiskey back, then forward by its rim. She squirmed a little under Six’s gaze, but she had let the information slip, might as well press ahead. Too late to really take it back. “Yeah, I’d say it’s only been a few years. Feels a lot longer than that. There wasn’t much of it developed to really miss, but I do sometimes.” She scrunches up her nose. It was something she dealt with, moved on as much as she could from such a thing, but putting it into words is cumbersome, and she’s unable to take the flowery, nuanced approach the subject deserves. So she huffs and slides her bottle towards Six. “It hurts and it never really stops hurting. But as with most ailments, it’s nothing a little booze won’t cure. So salud.” They both raised a glass to the children they’ve lost, but the sorrow tinged night is as much a celebration of what they’ve both got now as it is a remembrance of everything they had.

Raul-  He takes them by the arm and pulls them into a hug, whether or not they need one. All the years he’s been alive, and nothing hits him harder than the loss of a child. He’s long been convinced there isn’t a thing the wasteland can throw at a person that can rival the pain of stealing their hope for a future. His voice is thick and wavers a little after he pulls away, “I’m sorry you had to go through that, boss. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” A crooked smile plays on his lips. “My mother used to say that Santo Niño de Atocha looked after the little ones with an especially close eye when they make their way to him. God knows it’s been a long time since anyone has gone to church, but I think it still holds true.” It’s been ages since he prayed for anything, but once Six goes off to bed, he folds his hands together and asks that, wherever she might be, Rafaela take a moment to look after Six’s child.

Lily- She sits Six down, but she doesn’t express sadness, or tell Six she was sorry. She smiles as wide as a Nightkin can, and brushes the hair away from their forehead. “Tell me all about my great grandchild. I want to hear everything.” She might not remember a word of it by tomorrow, but Six tells her anyway. Every story they have and every moment they can think of, and Lily is smiling warmly through it all. “I can’t wait to meet them someday, deary.” Six is left to wonder if she says this in earnest or delusion.

anonymous asked:

Can you write AgeGap!Everlark? :*





There’s a quiet knock on my bedroom door.

“Katniss, Peeta’s in the living room… he said he needs to talk to you.” Prim’s voice comes out muffled, like it’s been shoved through a sock, but the innocence there makes me roll onto my back with a groan.

Fuck Peeta. Of course he sent Prim to do his dirty work, rather than just fetch me himself, because he knows I have a soft spot for her. I used to have a soft spot reserved only for him, too, but over the past week it’s hardened to stainless steel.

But how else was I supposed to act around him? I naïvely bestow my long-guarded virginity on him, only to have him tell me the next morning that he can’t be with me like that anymore, and I’m expected to shrug it off like he’s announced we’re changing soap brands?

Hell. No.

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Daddy’s Girl

Character(s): Sam Winchester

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,390


           Her first word was ‘da’. Upon saying this, she would point at Sam, sometimes repeating the word until he picked her up. The short form soon evolved into ‘da-da’, and from there into ‘daddy’. It took her several weeks after the initial ‘da’ to get around to saying anything having to do with you, her mother. That was probably not helped by the way Sam fussed over her excessively whenever she said any of these three words. It’s not like she’s picking favorites, Sam just had the luck of the draw when it came to his daughter’s first words.

           She’s definitely a daddy’s girl though. The little girl absolutely adores Sam, and he feels the same way about her. There isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for her. She just turned five and knows she’s got her daddy wrapped around her finger. Even Dean has trouble resisting his niece.

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