twisting the wind

Nothing More [ II ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst

Length: 11.1k

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Summary: Watching the man you love love someone else was the most painful feeling in the world.

Nothing More Masterlist

Originally posted by sefuns

A broken heart was a nuisance, an annoying leech that sucked the life out of you every moment you paused to think about the pain it was spreading through your limbs. Every second you spent with your mind not occupied you wanted to scream and cry. It felt like your emotions were burning embers and anytime you paused to give it oxygen the fire would grow and consume you til you were nothing but ashes.

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I just wanted to see what she’d look like in a more modern style and now I’m like who the fuck is this

“I’m just asking this one thing of you.” Her voice was calm, but it wasn’t enough to cover the storm that raged inside of her. He already knew what she was going to ask. To be frank, he’d been waiting for it, had thought it’d happen every time they locked eyes. But she’d given him the silent treatment, waiting for him to make the first move and explain. He hadn’t caved in, not to the coldness in her eyes or the stubborn tilt of her jaw. Yet. Apparently she’d run out of patience.
“Why do you keep pushing me away? Be honest with me.” Honest. That word alone drove a hundred needles into his skull. If there was one thing he sucked at, it was honesty, especially if it concerned people he loved. Especially if it led to him admitting to a weakness. Admitting to fear.
“Every time I think I managed to get through to you, it’s like you never heard me at all. It’s like you don’t even try to listen. You’re not making an effort.” How very wrong she was but that too was something she could not know. Something he could not say out loud because words had a funny way of backfiring and making things even worse.
“You’re right. I’m not making an effort. I don’t want to. I don’t care.” Her face fell and his heart sank. What kind of person was he to protect his own skin, to let her put her heart on the line and not give anything in return?
“I think you do,” she said quietly. “I think you see where this is going and you’re scared so you’re trying to make me leave on my own. But I won’t. I won’t leave you no matter how often you push me away.”
“You want me to be honest?” She nodded and straightened, throwing her shoulders back. Every inch of her was attentive.
“I fall in love hard and fast. It takes as much time for me to fall out of love. I open my heart, I get attached, everything is fine until it isn’t. Until someone ends up breaking my heart or I break theirs and it always ends in fights and screams and tears and I’m sick of it.” Without noticing his hands had balled into fists. Heat rose in his cheeks. Never had he meant to lose control like this. His tone softened. “If I don’t risk anything, I don’t lose. That’s it. It’s not your fault.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed, gentle but firm.
“But you don’t know how it ends before you start, do you? You cannot possibly know.” Every part of him wanted to pull away, had to pull away, but he couldn’t. He’d been running for so long, struggling so hard, twisting and winding and always escaping. But he was tired. His very soul was tired.
“Because if you don’t risk anything, you can’t win, either,” she whispered, pulling him closer and closer until the only thing he wanted to be was honest with her. Until he no longer wanted to escape.
—  I’ll risk it for you / n.j.

A weak afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, casting erratic rays of half-light over the ground, leaves glided listlessly across the damp grass, pushed and pulled this way and that by the breeze.

The world was a vibrant orange, muted by the occasional speck of green or yellow or brown, glowing in its autumnal effervescence. Birds chirped softly from among the tree branches, and leaves drifted down from the heavens, twisting and tumbling as the wind guided them to their final resting place.

Castiel brought his hand up to catch one such leaf that seemed to float past him on its descent, savouring the waxy and cool feeling against the tips of his fingers before letting it drop out of his grasp.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” From beside him, Dean spoke softly, sounding totally at bliss. He was almost slumped against the park bench, knitted scarf pulled tightly around his neck, warming his hands around a takeaway coffee cup and tilting his head towards the sky, watching the wispy clouds chase themselves through the air.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Castiel really meant that - in the hazy brightness, Dean looked as if his skin was made of stars, stitched together, twinkling from afar, his freckles nebulae against his tanned skin, and his shy smile a supernova, bursting with all the joy that emerged on Dean’s face at hearing that sentence come out of Cas’ mouth.

“Sap.” Dean accused him, humour and happiness lacing his voice.

“You made me into a sap, Dean Winchester.”

Dean chuckled, and the two of them drew closer together, hands brushing up against each other as their shoulders bumped gently. Castiel let his head droop sideways, nestling into the warmth of Dean’s body.

“Do you really think that?”

“Think what?” Castiel mumbled against Dean’s shoulder blade.

“That I’m… ya know… beautiful.”

Castiel raised his head. “There is nothing on this Earth more beautiful than you, Dean. I have lived for millennia, and never have I seen such an incredible sight.”

“Wow.” Dean lowered his gaze in an ineffective attempt to hide his growing blush. “You really are a sap.”

Castiel hummed a soft note of agreement, and took Dean’s hand in his, placing a kiss atop their interlocked fingers for good measure.

running buddies waiting for the train to pass

anonymous asked:

How would you fix Marvel comics?

Honestly?  A rollback.  10 years, at least.  Release a brand new main Marvel continuity like the Nu 52 from DC.  Basically end every book.  Period.  All storylines done.  And reboot the entire thing.

So now you have this blank slate.  You look at what people liked when people were reading Marvel 10+ years ago.  You take some inspiration from the movies, you take the best of things from old 00′s Marvel, you look at Avengers: Earths Mightiest Heroes, and you put it together.

You roll back every decision that led you down the road to Shitsburgh. Female Thor?  Gone.  Spider-Woman’s costume change?  Gone.  New wasp?  Gone.  Falcon Captain America?  Gone.  All of it.  The odd choice to focus on ‘webcomic’ style artwork, ala Squirrel Girl?  Gone.

Then you start adding stuff back in.  Some.  Stuff.  

Carol Danvers as Captain Marvel?  You need it for the trademark and the movie is already set.  So okay, she’s still Captain Marvel, not Miss Marvel, but you roll back everything else about her.  She’s no longer your ‘feminist icon’ character, she’s back to being an alcoholic, she’s back to being a leader and primarily an Avenger.

Kamala Khan was doing reasonably well.  Keep her.  The Miss Marvel title needs to be picked up, so go ahead and do that.

Agent Venom?  Perfect, keep that.

You use the last 10 years to actually see what worked and what didn’t.  It might’ve been a shitshow but it was 5-10 years of throwing shit against the wall.  Keep the stuff that stuck.

You now focus on your core, comic reading audience.  Not the movie going audience.  Not feminists.  Not activists.  You focus on creating excellent stories.  No more pandering, no more politics.  Superheroes being superheroes.  That’s it.

Then you relaunch your core brand.  Thor, Captain America, Spider-Man, X-Men, Iron Man, Hulk, Avengers.  You put your best artists and best writers on those books.  Hell, you go and fucking hire back some of the old artists and writers you LOST over the lat 10 years.  Frank Cho,  Kathryn Immonen,  Jeff Lemire,  Rick Remender, etc.  

So now you have your ‘core books’.  Start re-introducing some side books. Start with stuff people like; Daredevil, Agent Venom, Miss Marvel, Moon Knight, Punisher, whatever.  But PROMOTE it.  Promote it hard.  Don’t just let it twist in the fucking wind and don’t cancel it immediately.  Release new books in concert with movie releases to try and grab new audience members.

TLDR.  Marvel needs to roll back the last 5-10 years of bullshit, keep the good, toss the bad, roll back everything and restart.  They need to focus on good stories, meant for the comic buying audience FIRST, and use some of that MCU money to actually promote shit properly.

Could you fucking imagine if Marvel did a hard reboot and announced that Peter and Mary Jane were getting married again?  Hooooooooly fuck, do you not think that might turn some heads and get ex-Marvel fans interested again?


Angsty headcanon is now an angsty fic. Whoops

Kirishima had gotten plenty used to the yelling next door. Even with the wall muffling it, he could make out the cadence of different swears, peppered with banging, stomping, and the occasional contained explosion. His floor trembling and desk chattering and lamp wobbling were almost comforting reminders that he wasn’t living alone. Bakugou was safely next door, being angry about something.

It made Kirishima uncomfortable the night that nothing shook. He could make out a muffled something: hisses and mutterings and the shuffling of feet, all distinctly Bakugou, but this was different now.

Bakugou was trying to be quiet.

Kirishima toyed with the pages of his textbook, skimming to see how much was left of the chapter. His hair was down, just a bit damp from the shower, and he’d settled in, wearing sweats and an old t-shirt, planning to knock out as much homework as he could. His non-rattling lamp lit his desk, the rest of the room left in a cozy darkness. Kirishima ran his tongue along his teeth and weighed his options as he heard another muffled snarl through the wall. He closed the book, picked it up, opened his door, and knocked firmly on Bakugou’s.

“Yo Bakugou, did you do the math stuff yet? I don’t get the diagram with the triangle and the sine and cosine stuff.”

The muttering had quieted on the other side of Bakugou’s door. A brief silence sat between them.

“It’s easy. Go figure it out yourself.”

“Yeah but I’m stupid.” Kirishima twisted the knob of Bakugou’s door and found it surprisingly unlocked. He hesitated a moment, the door an inch cracked, before pushing it the rest of the way inward.

“Don’t–!!” was all Bakugou could shout before Kirishima looked up.

Kirishima said nothing at first. He only looked, making sense of the scene. The central light was on, swamping Bakugou’s scarcely-decorated room. Bakugou sat on his bed, sheets still made, still wearing the UA gym pants. The shirt had been discarded, apparently in tatters, on the floor. Kirishima’s eyes were drawn to the awkward bandages, strung like rope around Bakugou’s shoulders and ribcage. Bakugou’s right arm glistened slightly, painted with amorphous patches of raw pink skin.

“Dude, did you burn yourself?”

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silverdragonms  asked:

Important question! Who gives the best cuddles out of all the skeles? And what's the order from best to. Worst at cuddles? It's for... science.

*This was a tough one!  I rearranged this list a few times, but here’s my completely unbiased take.  


Stretch:  His cuddles are comfortable because his hoodie feels so nice, and he’s content to just let you rest on his chest with his arms around you.  He makes you feel safe, even if he does smell of sweets and smoke.  It’s a surprisingly good combination.  He doesn’t move much in his sleep, either.

Red: His hoodie is super comfy, though he doesn’t wear it to bed much.  Still, he’ll hold you all night, although his hold will be much more possessive and protective than Stretch’s, with his body wrapped around yours.  He also doesn’t move much when he sleeps, and he’s a very light sleeper.  

Mutt/Rus: As a combination of the above two, he sleeps with his jacket on, so it’s incredibly soft and comfortable.  His hold is possessive and tight, and he likes to spoon, with his body wrapped around yours and your legs tangled together.  He smells like spice and smoke, and if you happen to twist around to wind your arms around him, he’ll wrap you up in his jacket.

Papyrus: His cuddles are secure and warm, and his hands don’t wander.  He’ll let you sleep on his chest, he’ll spoon you–really anything you’d like to feel safe and loved.  He’s a heavy sleeper, so if you move around, it won’t phase him.

Edge:  He’s a closet cuddler that enjoys feeling your skin. He likes to spoon, so he can have you securely in his arms, with your legs trapped between his.  His hold is both protective and possessive; he won’t let anyone come between the two of you in your slumber.  
Unless.. ya’know, he’s kicking you out of bed because his brother walked in during a tender moment.  Ugh.  

Blueberry: He’s a ball of energy, and he’s so excited to be cuddling you that he doesn’t go to sleep right away.  He likes to talk, and just as you’re drifting to sleep, he’ll wake you back up with a random thought.  He uses your chest or stomach as his personal pillow, and clings to you the entire night.  He may be a heavy sleeper, but he’s an early-riser, so you’ll likely be greeted by a staring, grinning skeleton in the morning. 

Axe:  He doesn’t really care one way or another about cuddling, but he’s content to sleep on top of you–or if he’s having a possessive moment, he’ll spoon.  Just don’t stick your fingers in the crack on top of his head.  He’s a little unhinged at times, so if he’s having a Bad Day, expect him to hold onto you tighter and probably not let you out of the bed.  He may even gnaw on your neck a bit.  He doesn’t move much when he sleeps, but he’s a super light sleeper, so chances are that he spends most of the night watching you sleep and trying not to think.  

Sans: He sleeps like a rock, and he’s likely going to end up with his head pillowed on your stomach/chest or sprawled across you.  If you end up sleeping on him, his arms will probably be out by his sides; he takes up most of the bed and moves around a ton in his sleep.  He also hogs all the blankets.  You’re liable to wake up cold while he’s in a blanket burrito, but hey–it’s Sans, so it’s worth it.  

Blackberry: He feels that you should be honored that he deemed you worthy of lying in the same bed as him, and he’s pretty tsundere when it comes to actually wanting to cuddle you.  He also prefers you to sleep on his chest, with one of his arms wound around your shoulders, keeping you close to his side.  It takes him a while to fall asleep, but when he finally does, he doesn’t move around much.  However, if you happen to stir and touch his spine of something in your sleep, he’s instantly going to be awake.  And he’s also liable to watch you sleep, in the rare moments when his brash facade can drop and he can just… think you look so lovely and peaceful.   

Crooks: Papyrus is a heavy sleeper with a crushing grip.  He’s so tall that he can bend over your body and engulf you, but he also makes it difficult to breathe because he keeps gripping you tighter in his slumber.  He also happens to think that you smell nice…. really nice.  He’s liable to gnaw on you a little in his sleep, and you may have to whack him in his face to wake him up.  

Light of All Lights - A Fairy Tale in Five Parts (1/5)

Notes: This fic would not nearly be what it is without @caprelloidea​‘s handholding, encouragement and keen eye. She’s the best, I think you all agree. Based on a picset posted by @bleebug, encouraged by @its-imperator-furiosa​‘s enthusiasm for the idea, and written with @queen-mabs-revenge​ in mind. There is nothing explicitly dominate/submissive about this, but there are borrowed elements of that dynamic.

Summary: When his ship crashes onto a secluded island after a storm Killian “Deckhand Hook” Jones finds himself the unlikely companion to the dark “goddess” who inhabits it. A fairy tale in three parts. 

Rating: Explicit for whoa smut in the later chapters. Some mild violence.

Word Count: 15K+



Thunder cracked in the sky above, the entire ship tremoring and shuddering with the force, and not a blink later purple silver lighting flared brilliant white in the crew quarters. The storm was upon them.

Starkey crowed as Hook threw up an arm, his hammock swinging violently, almost pitching him to the deck, the flinch happening before he could check himself.

“Oh no not the raaain,” came a high pitched mocking voice from somewhere in the black darkness of the cabin. Probably Evans. Loud raucous laughter followed, but Hook ignored it, their mocking jeers the least of his concerns as the thunder boomed again, the ship pitching with the force of another wave.

Hook squeezed his eyes tighter, his hand clenched at his side to still the shaking.

It wasn’t that he was scared of storms persay, but bumpy seas always meant no lanterns could be lit, all fires must be extinguished, and the crew quarters were pitch black save for the flashing lighting in the portholes. It wasn’t that he was scared of the dark either, but he definitely preferred the light. He was also quite sure they were all going to die, and like most things in his life, he was terribly afraid of death.

“‘Maybe ‘e’s worried ‘is hook will rust,” came another voice. “Then how’ll he lay about scratching his arse the useless twat?” The laughs came again, the pounding rain at least drowning them out a tad. Thunder cracked once more, and in unison the men all shrieked in mock terror.

“Not me hair!” Came a cry.

“B-b-b-bloody hell,” came another. They laughed again. It was an old game, the same old insults, the same mocking jeers.

Hook continued to ignore them, a decade and then some of practice helping him along, focusing on his breath, on maintaining his place in the swinging hammock as the ship rocked and swayed beneath him. If he fell on his face in front of them again, it would only make it worse.

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Basically, time is a big circle, a loop. Everything is predetermined, and the three-eyed raven knows all the events in this big loop and how they are connected.

So the three eyed raven knew Bran would make the mistake of touching the wrong tree root and will end up in front of the white walkers. He also knew that once that happens, his time will be up and Bran will have to “become” him. He knew then, that the white walkers will come for Bran, he’ll be killed by the wight king and Hodor will ultimately help Bran and Meera escape by holding the door.

So the three-eyed Raven takes Bran to Winterfell in the past, where Bran can come face to face with Hodor of the past. Time is a big loop, and by taking Bran in the past, the raven connects the present and past to each other. 

Bran is somehow, in the middle of the past and present. When the appropriate time comes, the three eyed raven encourages Bran to “listen” to Meera. So Bran does. He understands he has to warg into Hodor so that Hodor can help them. Bran’s act of warging into Hodor, connects Hodor’s past and present selves. Making the loop something like this:

So when the present time Hodor, hears Meera say “hold the door”, and starts to stop the door from opening, the past time Hodor can hear her too. And not just hear, but sort of experience it. Warging definitely has a toll on the person, but this warging is extreme, as it is across two different times. The extremity of it, screws up with Hodor’s brain in the past, who is somehow experiencing his last few moments without really realizing what is happening. He keeps hearing ‘Hold the door’ and the extreme experience of holding the door against the white walkers as they hurt him, has such a psychologically damaging effect on Wylis, that he ends up saying ‘Hodor’ for the rest of his life, and the growth of his brain stops, and he basically goes kinda insane.

anonymous asked:

Random KakaObi prompt that won't get out of my head. "You are a storm constrained by human skin." (Obito, referring to Kakashi.)

Somehow it turned into Akatsuki!Kakashi, only not. Evil overlords KakaObi? I don’t even know anymore. *dumps it here*

Kakashi finds him in the Mountains’ Graveyard, six months after Rin dies.

It’s strange, jarring, to turn the corner and find a fragment of his old life waiting. Obito stops dead, caught unmasked and unawares, and stares at Kakashi with one of the eyes they share, not entirely able to believe what he’s seeing.

The silence stretches for a long moment, and then Kakashi laughs, sharp and ragged, and pushes his slanted hitai-ate up. The Mangekyo Sharingan darts across Obito’s face, practically drinking him in, and Kakashi breathes, “I knew I wasn’t just going crazy.”

It’s the wording, more than anything, that makes Obito pause instead of reaching for a weapon or giving in to the tempest-lash of rage that splinters through him. He looks Kakashi over, takes in the unwashed clothes, the limpness of his hair, the bags under his eyes. It’s like he hasn’t slept since Rin died, half-manic as he trembles under Obito’s stare.

A part of Obito wants to burn him alive. Another part, deeper and far more desperate, wants to throw his arms around Kakashi and sob the way he hasn’t been able to these aching, festering months, caught up in the throes of grief with no outlet to be had. The rage helps, sometimes.

More often it doesn’t.

“How did you know I was alive?” Obito asks, and it comes out steadier than he expects, less like he’s cracking to pieces on the inside, falling apart now that such a clear reminder of his past is in front of him.

Another ragged breath, and Kakashi reaches up, pressing a hand over his Sharingan eye. “We see the same things, sometimes,” he says. “I just…followed.”

For the first time, it occurs to Obito to wonder if Kakashi is alone. He looks past him, down the tunnel that leads to the surface, takes a step to go and check—

“No!” Kakashi catches his arm, trips and stumbles and falls to his knees. He buries his face in Obito’s robes, clutching at him, clinging like a small child, and says, “Don’t leave, please, don’t—”

That tone sends a shock right through Obito, almost as much as the contact does. Carefully, hesitantly, he lifts a hand to Kakashi’s hair, lightly rests his fingers there and feels as much as hears the sob that shakes through his former teammate. It’s…familiar. Painfully familiar. How many times has Obito wanted to break just like this, over the last few months? More than he can count, really, and the only thing that’s stopped him is a complete lack of people he can trust to catch him when he falls. He hadn’t really thought there was anyone like that left in the whole world, with Rin gone.

Now he has to wonder if Kakashi’s world is a black hell right now, too.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, and the words crack in his mouth. He frees himself from Kakashi’s hold for just long enough to drop to the ground in front of him, their knees pressed together and his hand still in Kakashi’s hair. “I just—why are you here?”

“Where else would I be?” Kakashi asks, and he sounds honestly bewildered by the question. “You’re alive, and you’re here, so where else would I go?”

Obito can’t even begin to make sense of that answer. “But Konoha—and Minato-sensei—”

Kakashi raises his head, meets Obito’s gaze with one of the fiercest stares he’s ever seen, and suddenly his short, skinny teammate looks like the jounin he is, deadly and determined.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, like it’s as simple as that.

Maybe it is, but hearing the words like that—

Something inside of Obito cracks right down the center, and it’s like the ice at his core is finally giving way. The heat of rage and the pain of grief aren’t welcome, aren’t pleasant, but—

Surely it’s better than feeling nothing at all.

Somehow his hands are curled around Kakashi’s, holding so tight it’s like he’s daring the world to pull them apart. There are tears on his cheek, sliding crooked and uneven down his scars, but Kakashi makes a quiet, shattered sound and reaches up, brushing them away.

“I want,” Obito starts, but his breath hitches, he shakes, and an instant later Kakashi is dragging him into a hug so tight it aches, desperate fingers in his hair and hitching breaths on his ear. Kakashi’s cheeks are wet, too, and Obito curls his fingers into worn cloth and says, “I want to destroy the world, for what it did to her. For what it did to us.” And maybe it’s the first time he’s acknowledged it, that this isn’t solely for Rin but for himself as well, selfish grief and self-centered anger directed at everyone and everything, but with Kakashi right here, suffering just like Obito is, he can’t do anything but admit it.

Kakashi doesn’t immediately recoil—doesn’t even loosen his grip, upon hearing that. He pauses for a long, long moment, and then whispers, “Rin would hate that.”

A sob tears from Obito’s throat, and he shakes apart, the ice falling away to leave the gaping wounds beneath visible. He hasn’t said her name out loud since the night she died, hasn’t allowed himself to think just how much she would hate him for this plan, how he doesn’t care as long as she’s back.

There’s no way to block out those four little words, though.

Kakashi clutches him tighter, drags Obito in until it’s hard to figure out which limbs belong to whom and where each of them definitively ends. “She would,” he says, almost an apology. “But…if we can’t destroy it, we can save it. So there’s never another story like hers.”

Obito swallows, wants to pull back to look at Kakashi but doesn’t quite dare in case this all shatters into a dream. “I—yes,” he whispers. “We have to change it. We have to—I just want her back—”

“There has to be a way.” Kakashi’s fingers are tight in his robe, and Obito can feel him swallow. “There—somewhere. Someone must have a way.”

If they do find it, they can’t bring her back to this world, though. Can’t bring her back just so she can face more war, more death, more children slaughtered. Something that’s almost a laugh shakes through Obito, and he wonders why he never thought of his alone. Too much time spent listening to Zetsu, probably, and his devotion to Madara’s plan. Obito isn’t devoted, though, and this is Kakashi.

“We’ll save the world, and then we’ll save Rin,” he whispers, and feels Kakashi’s slow, steady breath against his cheek, the faint tip of his head in agreement.

“Together,” Kakashi says, and somehow, when he pulls back and kisses Obito hard, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to kiss him back.

Thirty is approaching old age for a shinobi, but Kakashi wears it well, Obito thinks, still sprawled out on their bed. Kakashi moves through the half-dark with even more grace than he had as a child, or a teenager, and a self-assuredness that doesn’t come from all but ruling half the world, though Obito supposes that can’t hurt.

In the slanting light of the full moon, Kakashi is a thing of starlight. His hair is the silver of distant clouds, and his eyes are the deep, dark grey of rain breaking. Easy enough to look at him and see the lightning he hides away in his bones and the fire he keeps in his veins, the only man who can challenge Obito and the only one he’ll ever surrender to.

The world is theirs. Fire Country, Earth Country, and Lightning Country might not know it yet, but they’ll learn. All the other countries have already.

(Minato looked at them with grief and bitterness, the last time they met on the battlefield. He didn’t seem to notice that none of the shinobi on their side were under sixteen, that no children haunted the lines even at the very back. Didn’t seem to know or care that under Obito and Kakashi the smallest nation has exactly as much say as the largest. They’re emperors, but they’re not despots.

If they were, half the countries they rule wouldn’t have accepted their banner without even putting up a fight.)

“You’re looking thoughtful,” Kakashi murmurs. He drapes black and crimson cloth over Obito’s back, bending down to lay a kiss to the bare skin between his shoulder blades.

Obito shivers with pleasure at the touch, feels his breath catch at the sweep of Kakashi’s hand down his flank. By all rights they should be sleeping, gathering strength for the politics and power-jockeying that will come with the morning, but a little indulgence makes the whole day sweeter.

Rolling over, Obito lets Kakashi’s Akatsuki cloak pool beneath him, twists to wind it partway around him just for the hunger it puts in Kakashi’s eyes. In a moment, Kakashi is sliding on top of him, bracing his elbows on either side of Obito’s head as he leans in to kiss him, and it sparks like heat lightning through Obito’s veins.

“You’re like a storm,” he says, and can’t tell if it’s its own thought or an answer to Kakashi’s implied question. “A storm constrained by human skin.”

Constrained by him, he sometimes thinks, in the darkest parts of the night. He isn’t one to doubt, to waver, but sometimes he thinks of Minato, of Kushina bristling with fury at his side and Jiraiya behind him, and thinks that there’s an empty place that Kakashi should be filling. One of the resistance, a hero of Konoha, a pillar of the Will of Fire instead of this…tyrant Obito has turned him into.

Kakashi is his everything, is all the bits of Obito that he can’t quite bear to lose, but sometimes he looks at him and wonders how it would be if things were different.

With a light, thoughtful sound, Kakashi kisses him again, slow and deep and filthy, more intimate then some sex they’ve had. Obito moans into his mouth, and Kakashi chuckles, nipping his lip as he pulls away.

“That means you’re a wildfire,” he murmurs, right into Obito’s skin. “Always burning, always my light, scorching the earth but leaving fertile soil for new growth.”

“That’s all I can hope for,” Obito says, a little wry. He hesitates, and then offers cautiously, “Minato thinks my eye corrupted you.”

“Minato can think whatever he likes,” Kakashi says flatly, and it’s a sore point that Obito usually tries not to pick at, but—

Kakashi’s kiss stops his next words, and he gives in gratefully to the distraction, wrapping a leg around Kakashi’s waist and flipping them easily. Kakashi makes a low, intent sound as Obito settle astride his hips, and Obito shoves down the vague shadows of doubt that linger.

Kakashi is a storm in the moonlight, and the world is theirs. They’re saving it, even if some people would call it conquering.

Obito’s never been afraid to stain his hands, and neither has Kakashi. They’ll do what they need to in order to bring a brighter future, even if it means that ruin comes before redemption for some of the countries.

Between a storm and a wildfire, the world can be remade, and there’s no one who can stop them.

He kisses Kakashi, and it tastes like rain and lightning on his tongue.

Something Different

Request: Taehyung fluff where you guys are both in college and Taehyung sits behind you in class but never says anything, but one day he sees u dozing off in class and he decides to buy coffee after class

A/n: So I was planning a one shot, but you guys asked for a mini-series instead, and I’m such a hoe for Taehyung anyways. most of the request is in this chapter, but I have plans you guys… stick around -Kaitlin

Genre: Fluff
Members: Taehyung x Reader
Word Count: 1219

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You’re normal, and you like living your normal, quiet life. But when you meet someone new and exciting, your tastes begin to change…

Originally posted by jxnhyungs

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Devil’s Advocate - Chanyeol x Reader AU - Prologue

Vampire!Chanyeol X Angel!Reader

Genre: Action, fluff, angst, thriller

Warnings: Violence, blood, language, sexual situations/sexual tension, mentions of abuse, possible triggers

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 |

The thunder and pelting rain drowned out every other noise, and emphasized the menacing black storm clouds that engulfed you as you continued to plummet to your untimely demise below. The empty pit in your stomach grew larger and larger with every second that you continued to free fall down to the foreign entity below you. Your arms grasped uselessly at the open sky surrounding you in a futile attempt to gain balance. The harsh strike of lightning was accompanied by the contorted flapping of your dead, birdlike wings, feathers being twisted by the wind. At most you had thirty seconds before you would be reduced to an undignified pile of blood and feathers on the earthen floor below you. 

I’m going to die like this.

Tears combined with the relentless onslaught of rain to blind your vision. Your lungs began to fight for air as the chemicals in your brain were released to instill a fight for survival. The suffocation of panic quickly overcame your consciousness, and a shroud of darkness enveloped your mind as the world below you began to close the distance.

“I told you I don’t play games" 

The grip around the man’s throat tightened as his attacker threatened him, baring his thin, sharp canines that identified him as a latent monster.

"I- I said I wasn’t lying. I- I swear,” the hostage choked out, clawing at his assaulter’s wrists in a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure against his throat.

“You willingly came here, among the den of vampires, risking your life to tell me a shitty, useless piece of information like that and expect me to believe it?” The inhuman eyes narrowed as the attacker raised the man against the wall, his shorter legs kicking in desperation.

“I- s-saw her with my own eyes” the man strained his voice as he wheezed for air.

“Too bad for you I don’t believe something until I see it for myself.” His grip tightened in an attempt to fatally suffocate his victim, but seconds before the oxygen was cut off entirely, a panicked knock came at the metal door sealing off the abandoned, empty room.

The grip around the victim’s neck released as the taller man sighed disappointedly and ruffled his neon crimson hair.

“What in God’s name is it now?” The man turned away from the gasping heap on the ground as he walked to the door, “I thought I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed unless the place is on fire or money is falling from the sky." 

"About that sir,” the recipient on the other side of the door croaked nervously. The red-haired man swung the iron door open as the henchman continued.

“we’ve found her.”

The vampire’s face morphed from one of mischievous anger to one of seriousness in an instant.

“We located the fallen angel.”

Originally posted by eubilla-empress-of-suburbia

A/N: So this is my first series! I’ve written a few drabbles here and there that I’ve posted to my old blog but I’ve decided to begin anew! (rip me) Things are somewhat complicated/confusing in the beginning but I promise everything will be explained in due time. (Thought the world could be made better with s’more vampire!Chanyeol, enjoy~) <3

UPDATE 6/2/17: holy moly guys, can you believe it’s been half a year since this series started? I can’t thank you all enough for sticking with it for so long and for keeping faith in me as an author <3 I’ll continue to work hard for you all~


Long Live - Chapter 3

Guys, i have to say your kind messages make my day. Thank you all so much for coming back and keeping up with this fic. Would you guys be interested if i uploaded an chapter schedule or not?

Summary: Virgil was everything a future prince shouldn’t be. The quiet, antisocial kid at school who was the last person anyone ever expected to be the future leader of a faraway country. Luckily, that’s what Roman was there for.

Pairing: Prinxiety 

Words: 2441

Tag List: @eternal-sanders @eternalsavvyskies @generalofthefangirlarmy @ireblogstuff-andineedalife @isnt-that-wizard @de-is-me @fander-berb @deadprinxietywalking @datonerougecookeh @aaliyahadams1738 @hetaliagurl5 @ilovemyspoopydad @ai-logical @thegreatdot @protecterofalltheaus @fandomsandanythingelse @cutie5780 @bleebtheweeb @justanotherpurplebutterfly @wizxrdscorbus @imnotcrazy-i-swaer @thekwhale @worthless-dude @averaillisa @soulydyingalone @alright-cupid @kuwata-kun @gaysonofjafar @breckein-blog

If you wanna be tagged just let me know or like or reblog this post: here!

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7 Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12

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The Raven Boys is wonder- old woods and changing and magic. It’s desperate, the world pulling you outwards when you want to be in. It’s waiting for the weekend, waiting for signals, for signs, for something different. It’s a beat that catches, that swirls in the air, that twists and turns and winds it’s way into spaces you never realised were empty. It’s wide eyes searching skyward, mouths ajar, feeling new. It’s the promise of something bigger, dust in your lungs, breathless, gasping, help me’s into silence. It’s being saved without wanting to be, reproachful, I don’t know what to do, abandoning somewhere you thought was home. It’s reaching out and finding nothing to touch, things you can’t explain, I’ve been dead for six years, that’s all there is. It’s whispering questions into freezing air and finding the world tumbling in your breath.

The Dream Thieves is smashed glass, blood splattered floors, dialling a number that won’t pick up. It’s sunlight falling through air, hiding hurt behind shaking hands and averted eyes, broken, shattered, fix me. It’s dark water, dark laughter, dark eyes, dark hearts- children dragged into existence, into life, into more. It’s smashed fists and dirt-caked finer nails, secrets kept and moments analysed. It’s creation, madness, impossible, longing, enchanted, I don’t want your pity. It’s brothers, the ones you choose, chaos and shielding arms, what would they do to me? It’s clenched jaws, blood stained smiles, hooded eyes, the world as a nightmare. It’s falling through broken air, claws at your throat, fire at your feet, engulfing, scorched rooftops, rain falling from the earth and up and back down again. It’s releasing the controls, open eyes, empty lungs, restless hearts. It’s darkness, I’m always brave- braver than that.

Blue Lily Lily Blue is a light kicking in after a blackout, flickering shadows, dancing your hand out the window. It’s circles under your eyes, aching, something over your shoulder, I will be your hands, I will be your eyes. It’s caught breath, suffocating, thoughts becoming things becoming fears. It’s light, the absence of dark, how could you ever be lonely again, wonderful, dreamful days. It’s talking in circles, dreaming in riddles, walking down tunnels that lead to nowhere. It’s hands on a steering wheel, fingertips on fingertips, this was not allowed. It’s flowers and rosebuds and ripped skin and you let me believe, tuning everything on it’s head. It’s eyes closing into exhausted knuckles, sitting alone in the dark, finding, changing, wondering, for your hands. It’s your heart stopping or beating too fast or not at all. It’s intention, wanting, desperate, untameable longing. It’s your voice cracking in the dark and knowing someone’s beside you, ready to heal.

The Raven King is maps spread out across the floor, pin points and coordinates that don’t exist. It’s decaying, losing your grip, your own breath in your ears, rushing, drowning, running, whimpers and putting your faith into the unknown. It’s secrets kept and facts pulled out of thin air, something’s wrong, something new, something different. It’s overflowing, raging, crashing into each other, the ocean would catch fire, magic. It’s a storm made of anything but rain, alcohol soaked laughter, futures beginning, reaching for something, fining something new. It’s trembling tears, grief choked sobs, dreaming cures for tragedies that haven’t happened yet. It’s dissonance, cracked sunlight caught on sharp bones, heaving, dreadful, wonderful, panting, make it save, make it safe, make it safe. It’s endings and beginnings and fearful happiness. It’s being sick of a world without them in it, thumbs pressed into soft skin, stop me, stop me, stop me- stopped. It’s saving yourself, bending truth, unmaking, undoing, unhinging. It’s holding your hand up to the sky, longing, do you dream of the stars, slipping quietly from existence, wake up. It’s hopeful, it’s forgiveness, an endless, unwilling war. It’s impossible light, beginning and ending, beginning and ending - make way for the Raven King.  

Seraphim and Natural Disasters

So, I’ve been thinking lately how Seraphim might react to natural disasters.  On the one hand, if a natural disaster threatened humans or settlements, I am certain they would be called upon for aid, and most likely would be willing.  Something of that magnitude could cost a lot of lives, and create a lot of malevolence.

On the other hand, if a natural disaster occurred somewhere that it would not cause damage to human settlements (and was truly naturally occurring, not brought about by malevolence) I’m not sure a seraph would see it as inherently bad.  After all, things like forest fires renew the forests, and earthquakes and volcanoes reshape the land.  As well, would a being who is much more an elemental force than not view other forces of nature as malicious?  More likely, I think they might be fascinated, to watch their elements in motion on such a scale and intensity.

Thus, imagine:

- Lailah walking through forest fires as they burn, flames licking at the edges of her dress
- Edna knowing impending earthquakes in her boots, and then dropping to the ground on her back in glee so she can feel the earth’s breath under her fingertips and spine
- Lailah and Edna observing volcanic eruptions together, and then having fun (rather at Lailah’s insistence) using their combined artes to shape wonderful patterns in the lava flows
- Dezel and Zaveid tracing the warm and cold air currents that form tornadoes to their collision, and then riding the violent winds like some kind of massive birds of prey
- Mikleo standing in the path of avalanches and tidal waves, enclosed in a bubble of his artes, so he can watch and study the ways the water and snow move.
- Mikleo and Zaveid following the eyes of hurricanes together, to feel the twist of water and wind into a storm, and see the path it carves through the land


T’əq’ədiʔac or kʷaləgʷac, in Lushootseed. (Or, tsuga heterophylla: the western Hemlock pine.) 

I love this tree. Specifically this one. It’s right outside my window. Finches, by the tens and twenties (of different species), come to perch and chatter and visit in this tree during the spring. The deep green of their branches and needles practically shimmers on a sunny day, and the way they hang and twist in the wind always makes me think of long, intricate braids ended with equally intricate beads.