time to do my monthly clean ups to start a new one for march

12 Days of Christmas Day 12: Jealous

Request:  May I request one where Alpha!Bucky visits his omega on her work in a far away country for Christmas but when he gets there he sees her having a lot of fun with and Alpha and Bucky gets jealous?

Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Warnings: curse words, angst

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: #SpongebobForever

Heads up: @missallpony1234 @thecynicalnerd @heismyhunter @waywardimpalawriter @misspadfoot02 @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x @rachelle-on-the-run @i-had-a-life-once @lilasiannerd @transdadlovesyou @aenna-4 @buckyb-avengers @amrita31199 @shamvictoria11

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

Bucky checked his watched while standing in line for airport security to stamp his passport and let him through. He had just gotten off a 9 hour flight and was dying to see you. For the past year, the CIA had moved you to a different country for work. As much as Bucky wanted you to stay, he knew that you really wanted to do and he didn’t dare hinder you from your dreams. So Bucky swallowed his pride and allowed you to go. A lot of your friends that it was crazy what you two were trying to do. They insisted that and alpha and omega couple couldn’t live away from each other for longer than one month. You suggested that Bucky move with you to the new country, but he refused. He knew that he still had some Avenger work to do back at home but he promised to visit often. You agreed and were off. The first few months were the hardest. You both had to maneuver around your respective monthly heat and rut, but as time passed you became pros at dodging unwanted attention and keeping the integrity of your relationship.

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anonymous asked:

6 & 2 for Erik (Phantom of the Oprea), pretty pleases??

6. Hugging headcanon

Resistant to them. Goes in tandem with the touching aspect. Erik does not know how to express positive physical contact. He WANTS to, but it’s a completely foreign concept. If someone, like the Daroga, offered him a hug, Erik would stare at them, look down at their torso, then look back up to their face and then walk away. That, of he would explain that position leaves the person utterly exposed for a stab wound.

Now if it were Christine offering a hug, he’d probably start hyperventilating and make a quick, panic induced getaway. If she thrust herself upon him in a hug, he would be stunned. His arms rigid by his side, turmoil ricocheting in his mind of how to respond without this timid creature fleeing like a stricken deer, when he himself feels like a trapped animal. Does he move? Does he stay still? What are the proceedings for this? Slowly, his arms would raise and envelope her, ever so gently. Just the slightest pressure. If she made a sound of contentment or in anyway proved that was a successful move, he would probably crush her to him and he would start sobbing. If Christine flinched, then he would immediately push her away and excuse himself because he would feel he clearly overstepped the boundaries.

2. Cooking Headcanon
Since I already answered this one, and I’m sitting bored in an airport, I’ll write a short story for this. I apologize in advance for any autocorrections I miss, I’m typing this on my phone. And finishing it whilst at Disneyworld.

“This book is unimpressively droll..” The words hung in the empty house below the opera. Often Erik would speak to himself, sometimes in the third person- although that was on the occasions when he was particularly upset and trying to shift the blame from himself but still acknowledging he was terrible.

In truth, it was not droll, but Erik wanted to convince himself otherwise. He longed to be above reading love poems, and yet, here he was: aching for a feeling he never felt.

A turn of the page contradicted his statement, and he was about to read another simpering tale of love when the siren released her wail. Erik’s scowl deepened and he snapped his book shut.

“What is it this time?” He grumbled haughtily, unfurling his spindly limbs and rising to his full height. He placed the book of poems back on the shelf and strode over to silence the siren. He turned a mechanism, and the screaming alarm stopped. He twisted a hidden knob and out from the wall emerged a peculiar pair of opera glasses, attached to the wall. “If Joseph Buquet is trying to explore this area again..” he adjusted the sights, “he will make a grave error..” His expression went blank as he spied who the culprit was across the lake. Erik released the glasses and they sprung back into the wall. His head snapped around and he looked at the time. 5:05 the clock read. His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

“Daroga..” he growled in annoyance.

In a flurry, he grabbed a nearby white mask and stormed out of his house, dressed in his lounging Persian robes.

Erik marched to the edge of the lake and stood with his hands on his hips.

“What do you want, you great Booby?” He shouted across the lake.

The Daroga lifted up a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine.

“Erik, you know this is our monthly dinner together,” Nadir replied calmly, his voice carried over the lake without effort.

Erik kept his fists balled at his side, irritated at the entire situation.

“I brought chicken,” Nadir offered, gesturing to the bag he held, “it’s already been plucked and cleaned.”

“FINE. But you need to row yourself!”

“We both know your gondola is on your side of the lake,” the Daroga retorted without missing a beat.

Erik muttered curses under his breath as he unhitched his gondola, not taking great care with it at all, and trying to get this little rendezvous over as quickly as possible.

“Get in,” he ordered when he expediently maneuvered himself to the other side of the lake.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Erik,” Nadir commented dryly.

The boat ride back to the other side of the shore was slower and filled with silence. It was a silence Nadir Khan found himself familiar with when he wasn’t faced with biting sarcasm from his friend.

If you could call their relationship a friendship.

The boat docked and Erik left Nadir, sitting in the boat, but he snatched the groceries from him. The bundle was heavy with the assorted vegetables and chicken carcass. In his rush, he did keep a mind to leave the door open for his visitor.

With a sigh, Nadir pressed his palms against his knees and sat up in the boat, feeling his age and wondering how long Erik was going to play this charade of faux irritation.

As he crossed the threshold of the surprisingly quaint home underneath the opera house, he already could hear the busy chopping of carrots and onions from the kitchen. Nadir quietly shut the door behind him, and carefully removed his jacket, setting it onto the nearby coat rack.

“I cannot fathom why you incessantly persist in this monthly meeting,” Erik called from the kitchen. A rush of sizzling sputtered from a pan. The house was perfumed with the smell of onions, cinnamon, and cumin.

Nadir shrugged, knowing full well that Erik couldn’t see him, and busied himself pouring Erik a drink. Nadir wouldn’t touch the wine, but he knew Erik liked to partake. Leaving Erik alone to his vices was bad enough, but if alcohol could be traded for any of the other vices he once had, all the better for it. He continued to set the table for two, knowing full well Erik would not eat, and he would not drink.

“You know I enjoy pestering you,” came his reply.

“Evidently.”

A rich smell of searing chicken made Nadir sigh in pleasure, the kind only good food could bring. He took a seat at the neatly set table, and unfolded a newspaper he had tucked away. Old habits die hard and the Daroga was still interested in knowing all the goings on in Paris. Several minutes passed in silence as each man was taken in with their own interests.

“Hmmm… new chorus auditions this week,” he remarked coolly.

“Yes, and they’ll all be abysmal. I wouldn’t be surprised if the foundation was shaken to its core by their mediocrity and I perished in an unspeakable collapse,” Erik called from the kitchen nonchalantly.

Nadir pinched the top of his nose in irritation, eyes closed. “Must you always be so morbid? Can’t you just say you’re not looking forward to it?” He added in growing irritation.

Erik emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of polow. Nadir eyed it hungrily and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation for the delicious meal he was about to partake.

“No,” came Erik’s stiff reply setting the food down on the table. He took a large spoonful and served his guest before sitting down at the opposite end of the table with the solitary glass of wine.

Nadir shook his head and began to tuck away into the chicken and rice dish.

“You know Erik,” he said in between mouthfuls, barely restraining himself from speaking with his mouthful, “you really ought to try some of your own cooking. Even though you take-” he took another bite and swallowed the mouthful, “-liberties with it, you do make the best Persian food in Paris.”

Erik gave him a stiff nod and swirled the wine in his glass, smelling its heady and dark aroma.

“Thank you.”

CSJJ Day 1 (Part 2!): 12 Ways to Make 2017 Your Best Year Ever

Surprise! It’s a double feature for @csjanuaryjoy to start the New Year! Both @warning-epic-nerd and I tackled the same prompt “Character A makes a list of things to do to make 2017 the best year ever.” Check out her beautiful take on the prompt here. (And thanks to her for the beta job for me!)

Emma Swan isn’t going to let a magazine dictate how she lives her life. But the challenges in this article sound fun and could be the start of something wonderful. Particularly when they lead her straight to Killian Jones.

Word count: 10102

Fic on AO3

12 Ways to Dramatically Improve Your Year: Monthly Challenges to Help You Embrace Life, Grow As A Person and Make 2017 Your Best Year Ever!

Emma stares at the title of the article in the cheesy magazine. She is equal parts irritated and hopeful (and then annoyed at herself for feeling hopeful) at the ridiculous statement.

As if a magazine is going to fix my life!

She doesn’t want to read on, but then she’s stuck waiting to see the dentist and really has nothing better to do. It wouldn’t do any harm to see what it said. She could tell Mary Margaret about it later and mock the ridiculous suggestions it had.

Because really, how could it suggest anything that would help her recover from the mess that was 2016? Not only had her almost fiance Walsh proved to be as too good to be true as she’d always worried, but also her ex Neal had reappeared wanting forgiveness for sending her to jail back when she was a minor and he was old enough to know better.

She had become Sheriff of Storybrooke, which really she should count as a win, but it had come at the cost of Graham’s life. He had been a good friend to her and getting ahead in such a way had never sit right with her. So even the best thing about her year was tinged with sadness and regret.

And there was the added insult that being Sheriff had meant more time with Mayor Mills. She was still trying to work out exactly what it was she had done to the high strung woman to earn her such contempt. It hardly seemed like a week went by without the mayor intruding or calling her abilities into question.

All in all, on a personal level, 2016 had sucked balls. Emma couldn’t even begin to consider all the political horrors that had happened and role models she had lost in the year.

Maybe letting a cheesy magazine dictate how to improve her year was a really dumb idea. But then, she hadn’t been doing all that well of having a good year on her own terms, so maybe it wasn’t the worst idea ever. She’d at least read the article. If the challenges sound fun, she might give them a try. Where’s the harm?

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8

Personal Space: Jade Taylor, Senior Beauty and Grooming Editor at NYLON magazine

We’ve been obsessed with Jade Taylor’s style for a while—those bangs, that lipstick, those tattoos. Throw in the fact that she has the coolest job ever, and you’ve got a serious girl crush on your hands. We stopped by NYLON’s office in New York, and talked to Jade about feminism through beauty, hungover Saturday mornings, and how she’s going to start scribbling on her Vans with a Sharpie again.

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