though i am mad the red has already faded a bit

i’m in love with the shape of you.
  • Summary: “It had been easy, for the first two or three weeks, to take things slow like they had agreed to when they started dating. (…) Now the problem was that even though Kara believed she had a good sense of self control, whenever Lena was around her, it seemed to run short.” Inspired by this tweet.
  • Pairing: Kara/Lena.
  • Rating: STRAIGHT UP SIN. +18
  • Beta’d by: Bia, who by the way forced me to write this. (@kinkylena)

It had been easy, for the first two or three weeks, to take things slow like they had agreed to when they started dating. Lena was chivalrous, gentle, sweet. All Kara could’ve wanted for in a partner. Most of their time together was spent in late night dates, drinking expensive wine and chinese takeout, maybe watching a bad movie, maybe playing chess (Lena insisted she wasn’t letting Kara win, that she had just improved but Kara didn’t believe a word she said), maybe just cuddling under a fuzzy blanket telling each other about their days. And of course, kissing. Now the problem was that even though Kara believed she had a good sense of self control, whenever Lena was around her, it seemed to run short.

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Zelda's Log #0: The Permanent Roomate

A/N: first chapter! Read the prologue first, if you are a new reader!

The morning following her arrival to Hateno Village, after giving him a kiss on his brow, Zelda left a deeply asleep Link to get acquainted with her new place of residence.

Clad in her more comfortable blouse, pants and boots, she wandered through the winding road up the hill, until she could reach a height at which she could observe the whole place.

The sight brought a satisfying smile to her face.

7:46 a.m.

It’s amazing how Hateno has changed! It was a small settlement a hundred years ago, now it’s bursting with life and activity. Link's​ house is one of the oldest ones - it was about to be demolished, can you believe it?

She kept walking, reaching the premises of the Laboratory, with the intention of greeting its colorful resident.

Despite her extremely youthful appearance, Zelda recognized the sheikah scientist - her glasses gave her away.

‘Goddesses, Purah, what happened to you?!’, Zelda gasped in shock, hands covering her open mouth.

‘Occupational hazards, Princess’, the tiny child-woman said, shrugging and giving her a cheery wink. ‘Good to see you again!’

'Likewise. I came to see​ how you were faring’, Zelda informed her, ‘and to ask if you could see how my Sheikah slate is working’.

Purah checked the device thoroughly while she explained the Princess her findings on the past century - she was not scant on the details of her accident.

‘It’s perfectly fine, but some upgrades wouldn’t hurt’, she explained, tapping the screen. 'Go back to Link's​ and see if he has spare parts’.

‘How do you know I’m at his house?’, Zelda asked.

'Symin went out and brought some gossip on how Hateno’s newest mystery resident arrived with a lady in a white dress on the back of his horse’, Purah explained, gesticulating with excitement. 'Besides the black fog at the castle faded in a burst of light the other day. You don’t have to be a genius to assume you both defeated the Calamity!’

'Which is true’, Zelda assured. 'I wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t, would I?’

'Sure thing! But in all honesty, I think people probably think you just got hitched’, she chuckled, with a cheery grin, 'white dresses can be misleading!’

The Princess’ face looked as a freshly mined ruby.

'Purah, I will return later with the materials’ - Zelda dashed to the door - 'I need to fix this misunderstanding!’

Zelda didn’t even have to open the door, for Link smashed it open. He waved to the scientists.

'I was looking for you’ - he grabbed her hand, taking her with him - ‘Come with with me’. He seemed a bit upset.

'I know I should have let you know where I was going’, she recognized, letting herself be guided by him. 'Where are we going?’

'You’ll see’.

Zelda looked to the village as they approached it. There was a small crowd gathered near the general store. Immediately an idea popped in her head.

'A-are you going to introduce me…’, she asked nervously. ’…to the people?’

He nodded, smiling widely.

'What are we going to tell them?’, she asked, trying to find the words to explain easily who was her and how she got there.

'The truth’.

She squinted at him, not sure if he was going to tell an abridged version of the facts, or actually the whole story.

Before she could even muster a word to introduce herself, Link surprised her.

‘This is Zelda’, he presented her, 'she is living with me from now on, as my permanent roommate. Be nice to her, please, she is new to many things’.

No more details. A very Link introduction for sure. Only one thing made her iffy.

People kindly greeted her, giving her a warm welcome. Some people even gave her gifts, mostly prepared meals and flowers.

Once she knew all the names, both returned home.  

'Permanent roommate? Seriously?’, Zelda asked, certainly upset, leaving the gifts on the table. 'What kind of concept is that?’

Link huffed.

'I’m sorry, but what else would I say to them?’ - he shrugged- ‘We’re not newlyweds​, like some people thought, and they already know mostly everything about you but your name’.

'What do they know about me?’, she asked startled, worried about his answer.

'I’ve been running around all the corners of Hyrule for months, talking more and to more people than I ever had in my entire life’, he informed her. ‘Most folks in Hyrule know about me and my mission’ - he sighed, drooping his shoulders - 'go figure out the rest’.

'And I was thinking how fantastic would be a life in anonymity, at least for a while’, she sighed in resignation.

12.35 p.m.

I had a really eventful morning. Not only I was able to catch up with the findings of a very rejuvenated Purah - my Sheikah slate is in dire need of updates in comparison to Link’s - but I was also introduced to the villagers by my “permanent roommate” - a term coined by Link to describe our current living status, which I find uncomfortable, to say the least, considering all that has transpired between us.

After lunch, Zelda went to the Lab to upgrade her slate, and wandered around, trying its new features.

3.17 p.m.

I am amazed by the upgrade features! I am out of words by the compendium. I’m so eager to complete it; I might be able to add something new if I am lucky enough to discover a creature or a stone.

The rustle of grass took her eyes away from her writing. She already knew who it was.

'What do you want, permanent roommate?’, she asked, closing her notepad, not even turning to face him. 'I’m busy with my research’.

‘You aren’t. You always do that thing when you are mad’, he noted, 'You shut yourself away, not telling why you are acting like that’ - he sat on the grass next to her - ‘I’m not leaving until you explain yourself’.

‘Your poor choice of words when explaining our relationship to the villagers’. She cut straight to the point.

And then it dawned on him. Zelda heard the slapping noise of his hand against his face and a troubled groan.

‘I’m sorry’, he apologized in a pitiful tone, ‘I didn’t mean it; I thought it described well out situation’.

‘I know’, she acknowledged, turning to face him, ‘That’s why I went to be grumpy on my own. I can be petty if I want to’.

‘I do remember that’.

‘It’s not just that though… I thought people didn’t know who I was’, Zelda commented, playing with the grass blades. ‘I wanted a fresh start, to do whatever I wanted, specially researching’

'No one is telling you what to do now, but’ - he stroked her hair- 'you are who you are, and you can’t rub that off you…You can be a scholar, and still fulfill your royal duties’.

She nodded.

'Let’s go back home’, he requested, offering his hand for her to stand up, 'I made you cake’.

'Sounds like a good plan’, she observed, holding his hand.

They walked hand in hand back home, silently, stealing glances.

Once home, she realized that next to the cake was a beautiful notebook, covered in leather.

'I forgot to give you your birthday gift last night’, he admitted, handing her the item, 'I thought you might want to continue your research in a proper logbook’.

Her eyes widened, with a spark of glee shining on her emerald irises, and a wide smile graced her lips. Her priceless reaction made him feel extremely rewarded.

'Goddesses, it’s fantastic!’, she shouted, examining it, ‘Thank you’ -she held the notebook against her heart- 'this means so much to me’.

He just remained silent, cheeks tinted red.

‘I have a lot of research to do’, she told him coyly, tapping the hard-covered notebook. 'I consider you have the qualifications required to be my assistant… What do you think?’

‘As long as it doesn’t involve eating raw hot-footed frogs’ - he made a disgusted gesture - ‘I accept’.

His answer compelled her to give him a big kiss on the cheek.

7:33 p.m.

This is the first, albeit unofficial entry in this log. I have to catch up not only with a hundred years of research, but also with all the people who remain from our past and present. Link will join me in this quest, not only as my guardian and assistant, but also as something else - to my surprise, this logbook had a charming dedication, perhaps added after a misunderstanding we had during the day, related precisely about our relationship status:

May we never be apart ever again.

-Link (your permanent roommate, who loves you)

Missing Parts - 20.

Part 21
Missing Parts Masterlist

Originally posted by my-harry-potter-generation

In the next morning you woke up feeling exhausted, with the lack of sleep clearly visible under your eyes. As usually, your friends already left the Gryffindor Tower by the time you get up from the bed, so after a quick refreshing shower you followed them down to the Great Hall. One short glance at Harry’s face told he’s furious again, so you sat next to Hermione, not even trying to test his patience now.

Spending half of your night with thinking, you decided two things in the end. One: you’ll try your best and stay yourself; you wont be bitter, neither sorrowful. And two: you’ll talk to Harry again. But that part was more problematic, since finding the proper moment, when he doesn’t look like he could bite your head off in any moment, seemed nearly impossible.

“You look seriously tired.” – Ron said with furrowed eyebrows as Hemione handed the schedule to you.

Dropping the parchment to the table, you raised an eyebrow at him before poured some coffee into your mug. “Thanks Ron, every girl loves to hear this.” – But your cheerful tone disappeared as you started to examine which classes you have to attend to today. “Double potions! I’m so not prepared for Snape.”

“Have you ever…?” – Hermione asked with a tiny smile.

You shrugged. “No. But I haven’t slept much last night, so twice as much struggle…”

Harry squirmed on his chair and opened his mouth to say something, but closed quickly, turning his gaze back at his plate.

After an extremely boring History of Magic, you went down to the dimly lit dungeon, choosing a table at the back of the classroom. As every teacher, Snape started the lesson with speaking about the O.W.L.-s too, happily highlighting that most of you definitely won’t be in his class in the next year.

“What a loss.” – you said sarcastically, a little bit louder than you wanted. Ron snorted whilst Hermione threw a stern look at you.

Snape took a slow, deep breath, stopping his gaze at you. “But we have still another year to go before that blissful moment of farewell.”

“I can’t wait that moment.” – It was like a reflex, leaning closer to Harry and whispering into his ear; and finally he smiled.

The Potion Master leisurely walked closer, but as anger filled his eyes, his voice remained calm. “As I see some of you still haven’t learnt to keep their mouth shut, Miss Black. Maybe a detention will help you to remember how you should behave in my class. Today, five o’clok.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Hermione kicked you in the ankle, so only a low groan escaped your throat.

“Are you enjoying this?” – she asked strictly when you left the classroom, walking up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry silently walked between you, staring off into the distance.

“Honestly?” – you chuckled. “Yes. Annoying Snape worth every minutes of detention.”

Hermione huffed. “But you cannot do this! This year is very important, and he will made it harder for you! You should…”

“Can’t you just stop arguing?” – Harry cut her off suddenly, his voice loud. – “It’s enough to hear you and Ron fighting with each other. You really all trying to drive me crazy?”

Ron and Hermione taken aback, but exchanged a worried, almost regretting glance. Looking at Harry with raised eyebrows, you said calmly, “I’m really close to hex you.” He turned his head to you, fuming, but then his face softened, and smiled, though it was hardly noticeable.

The tiny hope you can talk to him later faded with the first class with Umbridge. You’ve seen Harry angry several times – especially in the last few weeks – but this was beyond everything; he was madly furious, he was shaking as he bellowed at the teacher, and you thought he could kill her with his eyes, but then she sent him out to your Head of House. You couldn’t blame him for standing up against Umbridge, but you really did worry about him.

During lunch, you considered to speak with him, but after he yelled at both Ron and Hermione for some small reason, you decided it’s better to keep your distance. The rest of your day has passed quickly, and you saw he started to calm down, but when you left the common room together later as both of you had detention, you haven’t spoke a single word with each other.

Snape kept you on detention longer than usual; it was late night, the corridors were empty, quiet, and almost completey dark when you left the chilly dungeon. Walking up to the dormitory, you found as everybody were already sleeping, but after you fetched some parchment, ink, and quill, you went back down to the common room. After what happened today, you definitely wanted to write to your parents about what kind of a teacher you have. Spending so many hours at the dungeon, you were still cold, so crawling up on a couch next to the fireplace, you threw a fuzzy, read blanket over yourself.

Half an hour has passed, but there were only just a few sentences scribbled down; your tired, sleep-deprived brain was too dull to make coherent sentences. You tore up the parchment and throw it into the fire when the portrait hole’s door swunged open and Harry stepped in, looking at least as exhausted as you. He took off his robes and loosened his tie and collar before collapsed on the couch in front of you. There was silence, but you felt his eyes on you. After minutes what seemed like an eternity, you heard his low voice. “What did you have to do?”

“Cleaning. Snape said I probably get used to it anyway… Very witty.” – you rolled your eyes and straightened up. – “You?”

He hesitated, staring into the fire. “Just lines.”

“I thought she’d give something more… horrible.” – you raised your eyebrows in surprise; Umbridge seemed a terrible woman, it was hard to believe she just made him to write.

Harry remained silent, and you had the feeling he’d get up and leave you in any minute, so you jumped up and sat down next to him with the blanket still over your shoulders. “Listen, I know you said we should stay away from each other,…” – you started calmly, fearing he’ll be angry again, but he cut you off.

“Yeah, it was stupid.”

Since you were prepared for every kind of reaction except this, you were taken aback, staring at him speechless. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Harry, you know I’m not mad at you. I’m just trying to help.” – you smiled at him kindly.

“Really? Earlier today you wanted to hex me.” – he laughed, and the sweet sound made your heart melted, finally seeing him like this.

“Well, you know I’d do it without hesitation.” – you said with a mischievous smile, and he just nodded, still grinning, so you continued almost timidly. You didn’t want to spoil his mood. – “So… will you talk to me now?”

“I don’t know what to say.” – he started with a weak, desperate voice. – “I’m just so angry, and I cannot even tell exactly why.”

After everything that happened to him you weren’t surprised at all that he’s angry without any special reason. But as much as you worried about him and wanted to help him, you had no idea how; you were only sure that you want to be there for him, even when he feels he doesn’t need anybody.

“I want you to know…” – you started, taking his palm between your hands, but stopping as he hissed. – “What is it?”

He let out a small sigh. “It wasn’t just lines.” – And he show the back of his hand to you, which was all deep red and irritated. He told about Umbridge’s quill and what he had to write for hours, which made you so furious, you felt as your whole head burned with anger.

“That old, stupid hag! I can’t believe it!” – you shouted, jumping up from the couch, but Harry take your hands, pulling you back down next to himself.

“You wake up the whole tower.”

“I don’t care.” – you said, but turned your voice down. Thoughts were spinning around in your head, you remained silent for a few minutes, staring at the wall. “There’s no point to tell to Dumbledore, is there? She’s working for Fudge. We don’t stand a chance.”

He just nodded slowly with a nearly defeated expression on his face. Loss of words, you leaned on his chest and he embraced your shoulder immediately, stroking your arm up and down. “Why are you so bloody cold?”

“I just spent six hours in Snape’s sanctuary.” – you muttered in a sniffy tone, eyes closed. – “You could warm me up, you know.”

The only reason you said that so easily because you meant it as a joke, but he probably didn’t take it as he stood up, picking the blanket up from the floor that you dropped earlier. – “Give me some space, then?” – And he lied next to you, pulling you on his chest with his arms around your waist and shoulder and the blanket over you.  It was just so nice, calming yet exciting, listening his heartbeat, which was at least as fast as yours. You were glad he didn’t see your face because there was a huge smile on you that couldn’t disappear.

His bodyheat and the closeness warmed you up soon, but his fingertips running through your locks sent shivers down on your spine. “Still cold?”

“No, I’m okay now.” – you said, taking his hand out from your hair and intertwining your fingers with his. – “Can we just stay here?”

“If you let me to play with your hair.”

You giggled and let go of his hand which quickly find the way back, lost in your hair at the back of your head, and you stayed like this, falling asleep in each others’ arms.

Tags: @emmelineparker308 @aya-fay @thenerdylesbian @the-panda-jung @melorile @you-didnt-see-that-cuming @accio-procrastination @lafayettrash @ziikoraaviik @mega-mess @aknerdchick @independentgirl @raised-by-fandoms @perorulou @silencedsweats @lostxghirl @vrotki @ganesh1234 @anthonystoner @fayrizo @susie2710

Party in the Wavering Wood

Rating: T

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Word Count: 5427

CW: Alcohol

Summary: 15 year old Simon Snow gets an invite to a party, where his longtime crush will be. Unfortunately his longtime enemy decides to make an appearance too.
Based on “spin the bottle” kiss prompt

Read on AO3

AN: So sorry this one took so long! I wrote a lot of it at 3 am, and 3 am Theo is an even shittier writer than usual. So I had to go back and redo most of it, after building up the courage to even look at my terrible handiwork. It was still fun though. Enjoy! :)


“‘Party in the Wavering Wood, 9pm, definitely not dry’?” Penny reads the invite like it’s a written in an alien language. She’s sitting cross legged on Baz’s bed (Crowley I hope he doesn’t notice) staring at the paper with her eyebrows all scrunched up. “Simon why are you showing me this?”

“Because I think we should go,” I say.

“You’re serious?”

‘Yeah! It could be fun…”

Penny looks up at me with a single raised eyebrow. “Is Agatha going to be there?”

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Shattered Part II

Hey guys, here is the sequel to Shattered! Hope you don’t hate me.

Shawn and Jo have no kids in this one. It’s separate from the other imagines.

Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?  

He knows he shouldn’t do this but he can’t stop. His fingertips slide over the wedding photos Josiah took three years ago.

She looked beautiful.
His bride.
Flowers in her hair, a smile on her lips.

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Magnetic Chapter 15: Pleasing Crowley

Dean Winchester x Reader

1300 Words

Chapter Summary: After Crowley transports you away from your hunt, you try to escape, hoping that the Winchesters are out there, looking for you.

Story Summary:  After your Dad was killed, you were shocked to learn all about his hidden life. Deciding to follow in his footsteps, you turn to a life of hunting, surprised at how well you adapted. Then comes along Sam and Dean Winchester, turning your life upside down. You and Dean don’t get along at first, but then things soon start to change.

Catch Up: Masterpost

As soon as Crowley was gone, you rushed over to the door, pulling on the gilded handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Banging on the door with your hands, you screamed for help, but when your voice turned hoarse, you had to stop.

Rubbing your sore hands, you wandered back into the main area of the room, amazed to see how nice the room was. In a way you had expected the King of Hell to lock you into a damp dungeon, with mice for company. This room had a king sized bed, with a plump mattress and at least ten pillows. A large, jacuzzi type tub was the center piece of the large bathroom, and you had a little veranda at the other end. Stepping out onto the patio, you looked both ways, trying to pinpoint exactly where you were, and how far away from the Bunker you were. A place that had come to feel like home in such a short period of time. A feeling you had never imagined that would happen again after your Dad had died.

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Wedge - Chapter 4

This one might be confusing! Let me know if I need to clear anything up.

Summary: After being unsatisfied with their lives, Dipper and Mabel move back to Gravity Falls to reopen the Mystery Shack, and something scary and new starts bubbling under the surface. But the sudden appearance of a third party throws even their sibling relationship into chaos.

[Chp 1] [Chp 2] [Chp 3] [Chp 4] [Chp 5]


Chapter 4 – Material Cause

Okay, this is making me dizzy.

Mabel had been sitting on the living room couch in the shack for the past half-hour, picking at the vest her brother never took back, watching two Dippers, identical down to the fading scribbles on their cheeks, pace back and forth in front of her while they mumbled to themselves. They were mirroring each other, hitting two different ends of the room at the same time, and every so often they would look up at, give each other a glare, then resume their deep thinking.

They didn’t seem to like each other.

Their first interaction probably didn’t help.



Dipper ran over to the other Dipper as he was picking himself up, and shoved him backward, hard. He stumbled and fell butt first into the pool of calm water behind him. He looked shocked.

“Did you seriously just push me!?”

“Water melts clones!” He looked at the now wet Dipper. “Wait, you’re not melting.”

Wet Dipper shot him an angry look. “Then maybe YOU’RE the clone!” He scooped up some water from around him and splashed it at the other.

The water hit Standing Dipper and he shrieked, cringing away from it like it was boiling, but after a few seconds he noticed nothing had happened. He patted himself down.

“HA! I’m not a clone!” He paused. “Wait, I already knew that.”

“That’s exactly what a CLONE would say!!”

“No, THAT’S exactly what a clone would say!!”


It kinda went on and on like that for a few minutes, her watching silently the whole time. A little bit because she had been pretty freaked out, but mostly because she couldn’t figure out which one to make fun of.

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Flickers Of Gold

Yah, I’m not even sorry, I straight up feed off of daddy wrestlers and were-wrestlers. And I mean. Baron is the love of my life. So. HERE WE GO FRIENDS. Spoopy boopy.

Oh yeah, I should add. Warning. There’s gonna be smut. And cursing. And lots of clumsy space noodles. Mostly because I myself am a very clumsy, spacey person. Yeah. Nsfw. Like. Serious nsfw. So. HAPPY HALLOWEEN BABES.

Also tagging @hardcorewwetrash bc thirst party Saturday and Halloween. PLEASE LET ME KNOW HOW IT IS, I AM NOT 100% CONFIDENT IN MY SMUT WRITING, THANKS BUNCHES.

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Scattered: Part 4

Notes: mentions of smut, kinda fluffly, angsty as well.

Tags : @cozetty  @yellowtheremarvelfan @just-me-kaitie @gingerrootknits

@labadiejessica @queen-of-woodland-realm @sexyvixen7

@banieldryan @c-x-v-h-iii @unlikelycupcakequeen @laurenxyz

@animeroses318  @annadier @just-another-fangirl777 @buckymetalarmbarnes

@learisa @feigningintrest @spottedclouds  @writemesome @han35

@daryls-littleasskicker @12-kay-kit-kat @canikeepit-imkeepingit @starstar1012

@ma-petite-kat @disconnected-dialtones @pretentiousaf @labadiejessica

@i-jus-wanna-writehappy @just-me-kaitie @smileedejbl

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Everything is shattering (and it’s my mistake)

Neither of them knows exactly how it started, but suddenly the air around them is filled with anger. Will is looking at Nico from the other side of the room. There’s a storm raging in his eyes. Usually blue like a summer-sky. His fists are clenched at his side and his whole body radiates frustration.

And it’s all Nico’s fault.

If he didn’t have to be so damn proud, Will would’ve never gotten mad at him. If Nico could just act like a normal human being for once, none of this would’ve happened. He isn’t sure how exactly it has come to the point of yelling at each other, but he knows that it’s his fault. He knows that Will only tried to do what he thought was right. He knows Will only wanted the best. He knows all that, but he just can’t help it.

‘Why do you keep pushing me away?’, Will asks him. ‘I thought we were past that.’

We’ll never be past that. Nico is fucked up and he’ll never change.

Nico doesn’t answer so Will keeps on talking. ‘I just – I don’t know if I can do this. Not if you don’t want me in your life. Why can’t you just trust me?’

‘Don’t take it personal, Will.’

‘But that’s the problem! If you act this way towards everyone, how can I know that I actually mean something to you?’ Will runs his hands through his hair and looks at Nico. ‘How do I know I’m not just wasting my time?’

It feels like he’s been stabbed. This hurts more, though. And pain never made him stronger. It only makes him weaker and messes with his head. This is the reason he has trouble getting close to people. Because then they can hurt you. And Nico has probably endured more than one person does in a lifetime. And it is enough. He doesn’t want to give people the power to break his heart. He let things go too far with Will and now here he is. Getting stabbed by invisible swords.

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tomhardyaf  asked:

Hi, this isn't one of the four word prompts but i haven't been able to stop thinking about dexnursey and bodyshots?? at a kegster or smthing and theyre wasted and someone yells bodyshots and dex gets all blushy and idk if you wanna take a crack at it

I legit screamed when I saw this prompt. I am so mad at myself for not thinking of this earlier?? Body shots are my JAM HOLY CRAP. 

(canon typical alcohol abuse below)

Dex is getting ready to win a game of beer pong for the first time in his life. He’s poised and ready, fingers curled around the only slightly dented ball. He can do this. He can beat Caitlin Farmer at beer pong. 

“BODY SHOTS!!!” Out of nowhere, Ransom slams Holster down on the pong table, knocking several cups of beer over in the process. He doesn’t seem to care, too busy shoving Holster’s t-shirt up towards his arm pits. Dex watches with a mix of fascination and horror as Ransom drags his tongue across Holster’s abs just a little bit too slow. He might crush the ping pong ball in his hand. (He’s buzzed and Ransom and Holster are hot. Sue him). 

Someone hands Ransom the giant container of salt out of Bitty’s kitchen, and he dumps some into his hand, sprinkling it across the area he just licked. Holster giggles, the table groaning under his weight. This is going to end badly. 

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pastelbuck  asked:

jimstiel where they meet on a lookalike site but then start chatting and fall in love uwu

“Cas, did you check out that lookalike site again?”, Anna shouts from the kitchen, over the sound of a screaming teapot. A whispered curse is heard, and after a minute she walks into Castiel’s room with hot tea.

“Hasn’t occured to me, actually,” he says, smelling it and smiling in delight, “it was just a joke, Anna. I didn’t really mean to find my lookalikes; that would be, to say the least, creepy." 

"Oh, but wouldn’t it be creepily-amazing, though?” she smiles. “Half of my friends swoon all over you, and if they do, the world surely needs more people with those stunning eyes of yours.”

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The Triwizard Tournament

Characters: Dean x Reader, George x Reader

Words: 2134

Summary: The secret of the year is revealed, and things change even more. 

Part 14 in the Magic Series (Harry Potter AU).  Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here,Part 4 here, Part 5 here,Part 6 here, Part 7 here, Part 8 here, Part 9 here, Part 10 here,Part 11 here, Part 12 here, and Part 13 here.

Enjoy!! ;)

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Type: Fanfiction (two-shot)

Status: On-going

Pairings: NozoEli, KotoUmi, NicoMaki, RinPana (minor), TsubaHono (minor)

Summary: Eli, Umi and Maki try to solve a mystery that could probably save the life they had known up to this point.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance/Friendship

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Anonymous prompted: “Fenris/fem!hawke; Hawke is trapped in a coma post-Fade. Her mind is still shackled there, but her body is found by a new rift. Fenris arrives to Skyhold for her funeral, but what he finds is even more unbearable. Cue angsty bedside Fenris– stages of grief. Mad at her, pleading for her to wake up. Hawke can hear it all and after a time, she returns to him.”

  • Fenris/fem!Hawke, angst/stages of grief
  • ~ 2500 words
  • On AO3 here

         “The living tell the dying not to leave; and the dying do not listen.”


When he arrives at Skyhold, Fenris is not surprised to learn there will be no funeral after all. He is unsurprised because he knew it could not be true, that the world could not still exist if it were true: Hawke could not be dead.

What he finds instead is, somehow, almost worse.

Hawke has been found. But she is not—whole. She is not awake. Her body came back from the Fade after all; discovered crumpled and twisted by a new rift. The scouts who stumbled upon her couldn’t tell how long she’d lain there; what unknown magic might have allowed her to pass through the Veil almost physically unharmed. But whatever allowed her through, it did not bring back all of her. She lays still and silent, as though sleeping, but unwakable.

Her body has returned. But her mind is gone.

No one knows quite what to do. The healers have done almost nothing for her, barely keeping this shell sustained. They have moved her to a room of soft pillows and white sheets; gentle sunlight streaming in through high windows, and she cannot appreciate any of it. They do it for themselves, because there is nothing else to do but grieve, and wait.

Fenris sits beside her. Her hands are have been folded atop her chest, a picture of stillness. He wants to take them, to tug at her until she wakes up and comes back to him, but he is terrified. Terrified that if he touches her, she will collapse, like so much else he has shattered. He has only ever been good at killing things. It’s what he was made for, twisted into, and many would be surprised at how accustomed he has grown to this fact. Long ago he stopped dreaming of the enemies slain; instead, his nights are haunted with visions of his bloody-blue hands turning against his will, tearing into those he loves. He did it once, in a land of mists and shadows. Who is to say he won’t fall again?

But this nightmare is real, and even if it was not he who tore from Hawke her soul, he cannot bear to touch her. Instead, he sits, and watches her chest rise, fall, rise.

He thinks: This cannot be real.

He thinks: Let it be me who wakes up.


But when he does wake, numb and cramped in the stiff wooden chair he has dragged into her room, nothing has changed. This is no Fade-terror he is trapped within, and there is nothing he can do. Hawke’s face is blank and empty, and his own twists with pain as he stares at her.

“Wake up,” he whispers. “I can’t bear—”

Suddenly, the room is intolerable. Too tiny; too still. Despite the light and the space it feels to him like nothing so much as a crypt: a tomb they have sealed her away into. A problem the Inquisition couldn’t solve and so set aside instead. Dust motes drift through the slanting sunbeams and he can feel the white heat of rage building within him. He flees the space before his anger can fill him, bare feet flying across the flagstones of the Keep.

It is not fair. It is a ludicrous thought—what in his life has ever been fair, what has fate ever dealt him that it did not eventually snatch away? He was a fool to ever believe he could have found happiness. He was a fool to let her go alone, slipping from his side and refusing his help.

You take unnecessary risks, she had told him. You would throw your life away for mine. I won’t let you do that.

She was right, of course—he would have sacrificed himself in her stead in a heartbeat. She was the Champion, the savior, and what is he? Nothing but a slave, a marked toy who managed to tumble into freedom and has hardly known what to do with it now that it is his. He stalks the halls blindly, not seeing the guests and soldiers who hastily step out of his way; not noticing the icy bite of wind that cuts across the flesh his armor didn’t cover.

It would have been better, he mourns. It should have been me. He is nothing, and she was—everything. She was a glorious flame, a quick laugh and a quicker tongue, her sharp edges fitting into his like pieces of a puzzle. She was where he finally realized he had found a home: not in a place, but a person.

His hands are shaking, and he slams them into the walls. The stone does not move, his blows as ineffectual as raindrops. He would tear through mountains to bring her home, but the door she stepped through is the one place he can’t touch. He does not know the Fade; has never cared for dreams.

Later, exhausted and raw, he stands at her bedside. The Inquisitor’s apostate had told him it was as if her spirit still wandered, unable or unwilling to return to her body. But it was still hers, and some part of Hawke must still be tied to it, for it to still draw breath. It was possible she could hear every word they said. But even though she cannot reply, he still can’t bring himself to ask the question frozen on his tongue, the one he was too terrified to ever ask when she had been here and whole:

Did you want to die?

He does not know that he could bear to hear the answer.

He’d known it in his heart when she left, even if she did not admit it herself. She had fought and fled for so long; he had seen the exhaustion dragging at her soul; the deep weariness that pulled her down ever since Kirkwall burned. She had lain in bed for days, sometimes, and when nothing he could do or say drew her out of whatever dark corner of herself she’d fled to, he would lay with her. But then just as suddenly, she would come back, vibrant and laughing and fierce. Each return was a relief, and worrying: ever more, there was a giddy madness creeping into her voice, the manic gleam in her eyes that had only grown brighter.

She was too damned stubborn to give up; give in. Every time she sought more ferocious and furious foes; daring them to finally best her; seeking out the monster that would finally prove strong enough to bring her rest. It had only been at his insistence she’d resisted the Inquisition for so long, and part of him will never be able to forgive Varric for finally allowing her to go to them.

“You should never have come here,” he tells her now, his voice as bitter as bark. “You already gave them everything, in Kirkwall. They did not need your life here, too.”

She does not reply, of course, and his anger beats in waves against her stillness, rocking his rage into a frenzy. But there is nowhere for it to go now, without her to draw it out of him with a sharp reprimand or a gentle touch. Their fights have always been loud and passionate, some violent mixture of anger and love neither is good at expressing, but recognized in the other: two cracked mirrors; breaking but not broken, reflecting back upon each other the last dim shards of light. But all her brilliant vivacity has fled her husk of a body, and it knocks him unstable, his anger swallowed back into his throat like burning poison, acrid and sharp.


After the first week, his anger fades into desperation. He talks to her for hours, begging her to return until his voice is as ragged as his heart. He does not know if she can hear him; if there is anything left inside her to hear him. When he runs out of words, he repeats himself. When even that deserts him, he sits in silence, mind as blank as fog.

For the first time since gaining his freedom, he wishes he’d been born with the curse of magic, so that he might find a way to reach her. Even if it took the sacrilege of his own flesh, a deal with a demon—it is for the best, probably, that he cannot be so tempted now. All mages can fall, he knows. He’d never realized how much he could wish to himself.

But the only mage he would trust to chase her for him also fled when the cities and skies began to burn. He can see her sad green eyes now; for all her naivety, she would know how much it would cost him to ask. She would have done it, too; if not for him, then for Hawke—as fierce as his love is, he was never the only one to hold her in his heart. But Merill is oceans away, in hiding herself, and he would not know how to reach her.

It is for the best, he tells himself, and his bargains are only inwards, tumbling inadequate and ineffectual from bruise-bitten lips to no one at all.


When the torrent of pleas finally runs dry, it is as though they have taken every one of his emotions out with them. He feels only a dim and numbing pain; his body an aching shell filled only with a deep, throbbing sorrow. When he is not at her side, he floats dream-like through the Keep, a ghostly wolf of steel and grey.

He finds himself staring at his hands. He can see the red that stains them through the years, even dried and clean when no one else can. It is no mistake that the bright sash he bears is red, too—but this time, it is his own blood, his own heart. He has torn so many from the chests of his foes that he can still hardly comprehend how Hawke managed to draw out his—gently, so gently, cradling his name on her tongue. It came out not with a wound but a whisper; the sigh of his name from her lips, even when he could not bear to hear it and fled. When he could not deny his feelings to even himself, he set the sash upon his wrist—a reminder, that not every touch needs to break.

But his hands bring only death, and he can’t reach in and rip her out like he does so much else

“I can’t promise you happiness,” he tells her. He has never known where to find it himself, least of all now. “I can only promise I am here.”

She does not reply. He waits at her bedside, and sometimes, he feels as empty as she must be.


Fenris is calm.

Hawke rests, her limbs arranged like slowly wilting flowers. Someone has been here, tucking the crisp sheets in just a bit more, plumping the pillows back to fullness. The woman lying in the bed is unchanged, her face pale and wan. Already, the work the healers have done is fading, her body wasting away despite their efforts to keep her alive despite her absence.

He is calm because, finally, he has accepted the only truth that can be possible: she will not die.

He will not allow it.

Gently, softly, he reaches for her, his fingers trembling against her skin as he brushes loose strands of hair from her face. They trail across her brow to rest at her temples, her face cupped within one hand. The soft warm skin of his palms is nothing like the cold, spiky outer armor of his gauntlets, as finally he holds her.

“Hawke,” he tells her in a whisper, and her name on his tongue is a prayer, a plea, a promise. “You will wake up.” He was made for reaching into things, and pulling them into the light. He cannot help himself as emotion wells up, the familiar pain searing across his skin and there is no point to fighting it.

And now, he reaches again, with his heart instead of his hands. White lines gleam blue, brilliant and dazzling in the dimness of the chamber; a lyrium ghost and his husk of a lover. He does not know what he is doing. He only knows that there is no other future but one with her in it, and he stares at her face, tears splashing onto her hair and the pillows as he calls her back.

“You do not need to be their sacrifice,” he tells her now, his voice breaking on the words like glass. “You are good for more than dying, Hawke. You can stop fighting. You can come home.”

The room is still and quiet in the stillness of morning, the only sound the constant muffled wail of wind along the stones. Soft rays of light scatter through the low clouds, gently suffusing the rafters of the room as thebright lyrium glow chases away the darkness that pools along the floor. Somewhere beyond the walls of the chamber, the Inquisition slowly wakes, the members who comprise the great entity stretching and resuming their duties. Beyond that, somewhere, Corypheus waits and plots, as his army swarms across Thedas.

But the world still spins. Snow drifts higher in the mountains, just to be blown away by the breeze. Over eons, mountains rise, crumble, rise. Far away, a man in hiding hesitates for a moment as magic crackles along his fingertips, listening in confusion for a trace of voice he thought he almost heard. On the Waking Sea, waves crash and break against ships, and a pirate queen sailing into the horizon stops to look back at a shore that is long out of sight, for no reason she can explain. An elf, a dwarf, and a lost lonely prince all pause inexplicably in their morning rituals, while a tired and dusty guard-captain closes her eyes in reminiscence after a long night patrol. Scattered and broken, a family of lost souls all falter, waiting.

He had only ever been good at killing, Fenris thought. The white-hot slashings of his tattoos fade, receding to a dull ache, and shadows slowly creep back into the room. He can barely make out her features in the dark, half blinded and dizzy.

Around Skyhold, endless winter rages. The winds blow and buffet against the bricks. But somewhere far out of sight, soft green grass slowly turns the damp black soil; reaching for the light.

The chamber is still and silent.

Hawke opens her eyes.

Thanks for the prompt! I hope you enjoyed it. I do so love Hawke-in-the-Fade things.

More of my writing can be found here.

didbucky  asked:


1. “Oh my God. You’re in love with her.”


At 3:17 pm on a Thursday afternoon, Kate Marsh was introduced with a thought about the girl in front of her that had been so blatantly obvious that she was disappointed in herself for not recognizing it sooner.

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Amaranthine (5/6)

Summary: Modern soulmates CS AU.  In which soulmates are rare, and those that have them stop aging at adulthood.  Rarer still – and dangerously conspicuous – are those that have special abilities.  Immortality and powers alike fade when soulmates come in close proximity with their other half.   In which Emma’s touch heals, and Killian’s kills.

Rated: M

Warnings: Language, violence, blood

Words: ~6200

Part: One, Two, Three, Four

Notes:  I want to say again how much your comments mean to me.  Every message has me desperately hugging a pillow.  Just one more part after this!  As ever, my love and devotion to @seastarved for her help with early drafts and for that edit up there.  And to @is-that-what-it-is and @high-seas-swan​ for reading through the final draft.

Also on ff and ao3

Weeks pass, and the landscape settles into a particularly harsh, though beautiful, winter.  Ice storm after ice storm coats the bare branches and the pine needles in crystal.  It traps the lot of them at home more often than Emma would like. Not that she’s keen on going back to the city anyways.  And neither is Killian, the both of them content to test their fate-bound relationship where no one can see.  

The peace that’s settled is surreal, though it’s punctuated by odd little events.  For instance, every Friday evening, Killian – plied with rum and caramel candies and Emma’s fingers pressing gentle promises into the base of his spine – tests his power on David.  She makes light of it best she can, but a shadow still passes over his eyes when, inevitably it seems, David throws himself dramatically on the couch after the test fails.  

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Harry Potter AU.


Prompt- Harry Potter AU.

Pairings- Destiel, hinted Sabriel, past Megstiel.

Warnings- Minor cursing, child abuse, character death, copious amounts of whumpage.

Universe- Harry Potter AU.

Summary- From the moment he saw the boy with the bright green eyes, Cas was a Gryffindor and nothing but.

Author- I’ll give you three guesses.

This fic may seem long, but it’s my baby, and it’s taken months to write. I’d appreciate it if you gave it a read!




Michael’s voice shot through the fog in Castiel’s brain, past the sleep coated over his senses. Cas felt like he hadn’t slept in a week and, even leaning against Gabriel at the entrance to Kings Cross, he felt like he was about to fall over if not for his older brother’s steadying hand.

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