vibrant tattoos

Crowned Tattoo (Jughead x Reader Soulmate!AU)

Prompt: Hey could you do maybe a Jughead X Reader Soulmate AU? One where Jughead and the reader have a tattoo of a crown on their wrist, and they are best friends but neither of them had ever seen the tattoo on each other. (They were blind, but so where the others) But one day Jughead sees it and knows that they are soulmates, so they meet at pops and he kisses her and after it is really cute. They tell the group and it is really fluffy.

A/N: So I know I posted a different Soulmate!AU yesterday but heres another one! I took my time writing this because I wanted to be confident with it. (Also I’ve written and rewritten it like four times. FML) Let me know if you like it! I did change it a bit but bare with me xxx

Masterlist

Crowned Tattoo (Jughead x Reader Soulmate!AU)


Everyone’s tattoo is different. All in pairs.

There’s only one other person in the world with your tattoo.

Each one meaning something. Symbolizing something significant.

Some people showed off giant vibrant tattoos that the fates had graced them with.

Others hid theirs from eyes until they find their soulmates.

You knew most of your classmate’s tattoos. They were proud of their elaborate colors and symbols on their skin.

You were fond of yours yet you had no idea what it meant.

A small black crown. Just on the inside of your wrist.

What does a crown have to do with anything? You asked your parents when they explained the reason for the tattoos. But they didn’t know. It was unusual to have an actual symbol on your body.

Most had the colors and beautiful lines on them.

Yet yours was simply and black.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hello! Just dropping by to say that I check your blog religiously and worship you, the actual Scenario Writing Goddess of every century ever. I love your characterizations! It's like, they're not so obvious sometimes, they don't fall into the exaggerated stereotypes that certain idols have attached to them and it's so refreshing! Thank you for sharing all your lovely writing with us all! I was hoping you'd write a small wonho au if you have the time or inspiration? Thank you! 💕

that’s,,,,,such a nice compliment im ????? floored,,,,,thank you for liking my writing so much, it means the world to me~~

  • tattoo artist!wonho 
  • loves doing full color, vibrant tattoos,,,,,especially of animals
  • always pays great attention to detail and loves putting his own style into his drawings which make him really popular among younger people who are looking for something unique
  • and it’s kinda cute because his style is so so SO much more different from the kind of tattoos he has on his body
  • which is mostly black and grey quotes and flowers. some traditional korean elements incorporated in his sleeve
  • has got the intimidating, muscular tattooed guy look if he’s frowning
  • but the minute he smiles it’s like,,,,,sunshine???? pure angelic??? sunshine????
  • and he’s always so sweet and gentle with people who haven’t gotten tattooed before,,,,,he’s always got water ready and asks if they need breaks and tries to distract them with nice words
  • people don’t expect it, but he gets super embarrassed when people compliment his art he’s like,,,,,,i wish i could be better!!!!! and he hides his face,,,,,,this actual CUTIE
  • you’re actually an apprentice under another artist there and while your artist is kind of demanding and stern
  • and very very,,,,,,,,not rude but,,,,,,straightforward with his criticism
  • wonho is always there to motivate and encourage you about your own art
  • and he’s always staying with you even after everyone’s gone to go over your portfolio and to clean up your teacher’s station
  • and since the shop closes super late, around one am every weekday, wonho always offers to drive you home
  • and it’s just,,,,,something you two do. he’s being the considerate friend 
  • but one night as you’re making way to wonho’s car you run into a friend of his and the friend is like “where are you going with this cute person wonho?” and wonho is like “im driving them home”
  • and the friend winks and is like “you’re totally his type, i can see why you’re dating”
  • and you and wonho look at each other and wonho’s ears go supER red and he’s like “i-uh we’re no-”
  • and the friend is like “sure,,,,,,who else drives someone home if not a boyfriend? anyway, there’s another party across town i need to go to, don’t have TOO much fun tonight love bird~”
  • and with that they’re gone and you and wonho are on the sidewalk, two blushing messes
  • can’t even look at each other again until you turn and see his profile under the street light and ,,,,,,,, there’s no denying it,,,,,, he’s handsome
  • and the way he takes care of you,,,,the way his laugh brightens up anyone in the shop,,,,,,,,,,it’s,,,,,hard to not fall for
  • and wonho is like “im,,,,,,sorry about my friends they always-”
  • and you’re like “it’s ok,,,,but um,,,,,,”
  • and you shyly put out your hand and wonho looks at it before biting back his lip and taking it in his own
  • and silently you two walk to his car, holding hands like a couple for the first time
  • and it feels so right,,,,,like something that should have happened long ago,,,,,,
  • in the morning you and wonho arrive to work together and kihyun is like “they finally did it, the finally started dating” and the whole shop goes into cheers
  • until your artist is like love is great but GET OVER HERE AND DO YOUR JOB
  • and you’re like yikes, but lean up to give wonho a kiss before hurrying over (A kiss wonho thinks about the whole time he’s working and sneaking peeks over  at you)

@bitchycollectionfury-78be5e8b here ya go, thanks, this was fun to write ^-^ nice to write about people being dumber than you are to make yourself feel better

-

McCree was…

He was…

Well, he was definitely not panicking, that was what he was not doing, because Jesse McCree was one cool customer that could take things as they came and laugh it off.  He’d survived the foster care system and his weird adopted father and his overly intense adopted sister.  He’d survived losing his damn arm, alright, and everything that went down that made it necessary to bundle a young Jesse up and whisk him away to the houses of strangers rather than leave him at home.  And by the end, he’d survived everyone that had thought they could make judgment calls about him without even trying to get to know him, every teacher that had shaken their head and decided some idiots couldn’t be helped, every classmate that had turned their nose up at his accent – a vestigial limb left over from a childhood in the south – or his manner of dress or his sense of humour.  After all, it hadn’t been as bad as all that.  He’d wound up with a great family (he’d die for Gabe and Sombra), and plenty of friends.  He’d learnt to let people go.  Some people just would never see past his shaggy hair or his loud mouth or the cowboy hat he refused to “grow out of”.  Fuck ‘em, that’s what Jesse had learnt.  Shrug your shoulders, turn your back, and go find people that matter.  There had been a time when he couldn’t do that.  There was a time when he’d been living back with his birth family that every disappointed look the teacher had sent him when he’d acted out in class had been like a slap and every report card returned home had been… well, not just like a slap.  There’d been a time when he’d hated everything about Gabriel Reyes, but mostly the fact that he was forcing him to confront a brand new school with people that stared and laughed and huddled among themselves in the cliques they’d formed years back, no space for a new, pushy, desperately loud kid.

Then things had changed.  Then he’d made friends, real friends, and found out what people could be like – what he could be like.  And suddenly the people turning their nose up didn’t matter any more.

R-ight.

And so that was why, as Jesse McCree sat in school library across from Hanzo Shimada, he definitely was not panicking at all.

Even if Hanzo Shimada was hot as sin, with long, dark hair cascading down his back, the most intense eyes Jesse has ever seen, and holy fuck those biceps.

The guy did archery apparently.  Archery. Who the fuck did archery unless they were preparing to run off in some goddamn fantasy movie?  Jesse had never even really given archery much thought as a thing people did – it only really existed in historical documentaries and the Olympics – but now when it was nearly thirty degrees outside and Hanzo Shimada was sitting two feet away from him in a tank top, Jesse was really, really thinking about archery.  And how it must take a lot of strength to constantly be drawing and holding a tense bowstring if you wanted to aim with any degree of accuracy.  And how that sort of strength made it look like your arms and shoulders had been carved from fucking marble.  Especially when one of said statuesque arms had a sleeve of vibrant, blue tattoos running all the way down it.  Jesse could get lost in a bicep like that, with or without blue dragons staring back at him, but the dragons definitely didn’t hurt.

The thing was though, it wasn’t just that.  Jesse had met hot kids before that were out of his league and it generally didn’t really trouble him.  Whatever, laugh it off, move on.  No, of course it had to be more complicated than that.  When Jesse had first entered this class he’d wound his way through the filling seats until he’d found himself sitting next to a boy whose name he would learn was Hanzo.  Jesse had then immediately had his smile met by a flat stare, and he’d figured, oh well, here was an uninteresting asshole.  A hot one, maybe, but an asshole all the same.  It hadn’t seemed important at the time because he’d already turned to the person on his other side – a girl named Angela who apparently wanted to be a doctor (or a researcher…? Something like that, which involved more of the human body than Jesse wanted to think aobut).  She was friendly and laughed easily.

Everything would have been so much easier if Hanzo had just stayed an asshole. The guy was quiet, sure, but Jesse sat elbow-to-elbow with him three times a week and he slowly began to realize that underneath the prickly, don’t-look-at-me-don’t-speak-to-me aura the guy projected, there was something far sweeter down there.  The guy chuckled at every single one of the prof’s bad jokes and Dr Winston had a lot of them, and they were always nonchalantly that most of the class didn’t realize they’d happened… heck, Jesse usually didn’t realize they’d happened until he heard a soft snort next to him.

(And yes, it was a snort. Absolutely and completely undignified and it made Jesse stare at Hanzo until he’d been glared back into submission by the man, who’d seemed flustered that someone had heard him.  How do you tell a guy that may or may not hate your guts just for existed that you thought his silly snort-laugh was cute?  The answer was you did not do that and focused back on your own notes if you value your life.)

As for Hanzo’s notes, well, they were painfully neat and precise.  But amid the sharp ballpoint and careful diagrams, Hanzo Shimada apparently had a habit of making snide details about the lessons in the margins (Jesse knew this because it was a two hour long lecture and sometimes watching your neighbour writes notes out of the corner of your eye was better than trying to listen to a prof drone on at the front of the class for another hour and a half).  It made Jesse start fantasizing about taking out his own pen and writing a little comment in the corner of Hanzo’s page.  Made him think about getting into some sort of stupid note-passing conversation with him like they were eight year olds rather than college kids.  Made him think about getting to have all those weird, witty little comments directed at him, and then seeing where the conversation took them.  (And, occasionally, it made him think about continuing that conversation out of class, possibly down towards a pub he knew for a chat and maybe, oh just maybe, a date.)

Jesse, however, did not dare try – to write the note, that is, entertaining anything else would have been madness.  Hanzo looked like the sort of person that might try to tear your head off if you messed up his notebooks.

Then, just to top it all off, during their lecture breaks, Hanzo often got calls from what Jesse could only assume was a brother.  And, against every expectation, Hanzo Shimada was sweet. Well, still a bit of a deadpan asshole, but no one who’s a hundred percent bad uses his ten minutes of free time to talk with his brother every single day.

“Don’t look at me, I am not playing wing-man for you in a class I need to ace if I wanna keep my GPA up,” Angela had said.  Jesse had pouted at that – he hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask her, had just glanced at her with maybe a slightly-too-hopeful gleam in his eye during one of the breaks Hanzo had left the room to talk with his brother.

And then the fateful day of the class project had arrived.  Winston had told them just to group up with someone sitting beside them rather than running piecemeal through the class.  Jesse had, of course, turned to Angela only to find she had turned around in her seat and was quickly making plans to team up with a girl sitting behind them named Mei.

Frantically Jesse had spun around, but everyone else was making groups with the people to their left or right who they had been getting to know since day one.  With Angela breaking the system, that meant he had only one person left sitting next to him.

Hanzo Shimada was watching him with an unimpressed face and an eye brow raised.

Traitor, he mouthed at Angela.

You’re welcome, mouthed Angela, the Stealth Wing-man.

And so here Jesse was, sitting in the library with someone who presumably hated his guts and thought he was – what, loud? Obnoxious? Lame? – but who Jesse still pathetically, wistfully wanted to impress.  Life, sometimes, was enormous unfair.  At this point Hanzo hadn’t even given Jesse the time of day, he’d been sitting at one of the study tables since before Jesse had arrived, nose an inch from his phone as he texted someone.  Presumably someone cooler than Jesse McCree.

Jesse wanted to groan.  Or shove his pencil in his eye just so he could get out of this project.  Instead he mechanically started pulling out his books and waited for Hanzo to be ready to start on the project with him.

-

Hanzo Shimada:

WELL??

Obnoxious Little Brother:
oy give me a sec some of us are still in class and don’t want our phone to be taken away
again
besides i’m trying to tell zen about how i, the lowly highschooler, am helping my university-bound brother pick up boys

Hanzo Shimada:
Don’t you DARE

Obnoxious Little Brother:
too late
he wishes you luck by the way and says he has complete faith in you
goes to show which one of us  knows you better eh? not him!

Hanzo scowled down at his phone before he gaze flickered briefly up to the person who had sat across from him.  He’d been painfully aware of Jesse McCree since McCree had arrived in the library and pulled back the chair with a scrape that had made the hairs on the back of Hanzo’s neck stand on end.  So far McCree had made no acknowledgment that there was another person at this table, another person he was going to be forced to work along side for the next two weeks.

Hanzo didn’t know whether Zenyatta had faith in him or if Genji had just been trying to wind him up, but Hanzo certainly did not have faith in himself, not about this.  He had never been good at… people. He made, in Genji’s words, “seriously just the worst first impressions.  Like wow.  So bad,” which just wasn’t fair because when it came to a professional setting, when it was about work or networking, he was fine.  He could move effortlessly through the crowds, introduce himself, chat, plan, negotiate.  He’d been dogging his father’s footsteps since it had been decided he would one day take over the family business and he was a devoted student.  But as soon as it was real people in real life Hanzo may as well be carved out of wood; somehow he always managed to put his foot in his mouth.  Which was why he had fallen so low as to turn to his baby brother for advice, because at least Genji, if nothing else could be said about him, was good with people.

Too good with people, if you asked their father.  Genji was a social butterfly who wasn’t so much a butterfly as a housefly, flitting about around everywhere and getting where at lot of people would probably wish he wasn’t and really not caring who he chatted with or what they thought about him.

Obnoxious Little Brother:
look, just don’t do the Hanzo Special and you should be fine

Hanzo Shimada:
Excuse me??

Obnoxious Little Brother:
u kno, your patented Grunt & Growl technique
don’t do that and assume other people can actually understand you bc they can’t

Hanzo wanted to snap back that he did not grunt or growl, thank you, he was a mature adult unlike Genji, but he found his fingers hesitating on the keys.  Frantically he scanned his memory to figure out if he had grunted or growled at Jesse McCree.

God help him he probably had.  He had almost certainly stared stupidly at him.

McCree… glowed, though, and Hanzo wasn’t sure what to do with that.  He spoke so easily.  All it had taken was one glance from McCree on the first day of class for him to apparently decide that Hanzo was a lost cause.  Before Hanzo had managed to scrounge up a single coherent, reasonable thing to say to the sunshine bright, smiling boy who’d sat down next to him, said boy had turned his attentions to the much more receptive form of Angela Ziegler, the girl sitting to his right.

McCree was loud and raucous and ridiculous and he wore the stupidest hat Hanzo had ever seen but god help him he wanted to see McCree smile at him, rather than catch glimpse of it from the corner of his eye while he laughed with someone else.  He wanted to have McCree attention at some point other than when he’d made a fool of himself with his ugly laugh or by seeing McCree stare judgmentally at his notes.

Obnoxious Little Brother:
at the risk of sounding too much like a disney movie have you tried just…. being yourself???
(this was zen’s suggestion btw i’m personally pretty sure being someone other than yourself would be a step in the right direction but you never know maybe disney knows whats up)

Hanzo thought about what McCree had looked like when they had been forced to choose partners.  He had wanted to be anywhere than with Hanzo. The look he had shot Ziegler when she had found a different partner… the helpless, defeated look when he had accepted that the only person nearby not taken was Hanzo.

No, being himself was definitely not going to help him here.

Hanzo Shimada:
Never mind I’ll figure it out

What he was going to do was pretend that Jesse McCree was just some other random student, keep his head down, get this project done with the least amount of fuss, and move on to his next set of class next semester and hopefully forget that McCree existed.

“Shall we get started?” he asked briskly, pocketing his phone and pulling out his own book.

McCree’s face was despondent and it sat like a stone in Hanzo’s gut.  He would rather be anywhere than here.

“Might as well,” said McCree.

“The tattoo of the snowflake with stars.” soulmateAU

SOULMATE AU SERIES // Title: “The tattoo of the snowflake with stars.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (FEM) Reader

 Requested by: @12-kay-kit-kat  asked: #10 Bucky x reader please :3”

 Prompts: #10 “Soulmates aren’t real” (mine) AND Colorless tattoos that get color when you meet your soulmate AND Soulmates where you can communicate via thoughts. Both of the soulmate prompts are from that amazing blog that I’ve linked you to.

Word count: 2248 HOLY MOTHER OF MY CAT I GOT CARRIED AWAY

Warnings: THIS IS REALLY LONG. Swearing and swearing and fluff???? But just a little bit.

A/N: I combined my own prompt with two that I found about soulmates, because it’s been a while since I wanted to write about it and those two seemed cool. BUT OMFG I REALLY EJOYED WRITING IT AND GOT CARRIED AWAY AND WELL WELL. I really hope that you guys (and you beautiful person that requested)

Pietro’s Part || Steve’s Part. || MASTERLIST

|| I don’t own Bucky or any of the Avengers, they belong to Marvel. ||


“We all born with a colorless tattoo with a particular design that will only get color if you meet your soulmate, before that you’re available to talk with your soulmate through your thoughts. It’s a bond that will never be broken.”  Y/N read out loud, looking at his friend eyes.

They were at the public library doing some research for an essay. And of course her friend had to choose a topic as silly as Soulmates: real life or just a state of mind?” Seriously it as awful.

“Continue please” he said smiling kindly at her.

Keep reading

Nest Moot

A continuation of something I didn’t actually think anyone would read. Enjoy, nerds.


The sol had come. Plans for travel were set, dates agreed upon, alternate sleep spaces arranged for in case of an…unfavorable outcome. The meeting was upon us, and I had never been more afraid in all of my zir-cycles, Tormund-mine. I could only hope that upon our imminent and violent ends that we would find ourselves together once more in the dead lands of the tenth realm.

“Rex, sweetheart, you’re white. Like, my lily-white ass white. I’ve gotta say, I find myself worried when my big, bad-ass, warrior-raised, significant other is worried.”
“I am not-”
“Listen here, asshole, you don’t lie to me! And you had better not try, you big fucking mood ring!”

I had chosen not to respond to your, colorful, exclamations. You were visibly tense, and excitable in your fear. The only color you seemed to possess were the faint outlines of the inked replica of my personal markings atop your shoulders and neck, which were also white in that moment.

“Tormund-mine. Nearest my hearts, I am worried yes, but you should not concern yourself with my own misgivings.”
“Misgivings? That’s the word you’re going with? Riddle me this, R’Xniir, are the misgivings towards me, or the reactions your parents will have to me? When were you going to share these ‘misgivings’, before or after your daddy-boy complex kicked in and their disapproval meant you breaking up with me?!”

“Only six cycles and you have already caused your partner to be so angered? To have such doubts in you? I had thought we had raised you better, R’Xniir.”
“Warm winters, Duir’nt, Dair’nt.”
“Warm winters, errant-egg. Bring your other inside, he appears frozen stiff. Did you not counsel him on the climate, or think to prepare him at all?”

I was scolded by Dair’nt as Duir’nt led you inside with a firm grip on your shoulder. You were dwarfed by his four meter stature, large even among our kind. You had looked backwards to me, angry and pleading both. I could do nothing, with Dair’nt demanding to know how they had raised such a mistake in my raising that they had produced a Glortarn capable of such neglect. I assure you, my future desires for communication and openness stemmed solely from this event.

“Be seated here, please. The rocks are heated most centrally in this den by the subterranean hot springs.”
“Thanking you kindly, Sir. It was a mite bit chilly outside.”
“I will speak with R’Xniir on this matter. His oversigght will not be repeated.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Sir. Your husband seems to have him well in hand at the moment.”
“You may address us as our hatchlings do. I am Duir’nt and my other is Dair’nt. Second and first sire, respectively.”
“Are you sure? It seems a bit like jumping the gun, don’t you think?”
“I do not, think of us as your own sires henceforth. In all of his zir-cycles, R’Xniir has never brought a partner home to us. Never. You are special to him, and therefore to us, and we want to acknowledge and encourage the trust and faith he has shown in us.”
“You have to realize how rare it is to find parents so accepting, even now-a-days.”
“T’Xrein and myself have always strived for an open and safe home to raise our clutch in, especially after their Beir’nl left.”
“I didn’t think Glortarn left bindings? Something about souls and changes in hormones and base physiology?”
“If the bind is even, equal, and loving, then such a thing is impossible. Unfortunately, Y’meir faded from our bond of her own choosing. T’Xrein and I have tried to fill the void left by their brood-bearer, but we can never really know how well a job we have done as ‘Nt.”
“…I think you’ve done a wonderful job.”
“Thank you, Tormund, that warms my hearts to hear. Now! Do you require nourishment? We do not usually receive human guests, unless Slaa’rn has returned with a bedmate.”

By this moment, I had escaped Dair’nt and his disapppointed ranting. I stood for a moment in the archway between dens while you two conversed, glad to see you comfortable and warm and open with someone besides myself. Duir’nt was charmed even then, and you would never lose his regard, of this I felt assured. You had not even noticed that by this point in our visit that he had covered you in a homespun blanket, placed a mug of warm spiced aitle milk in your hand, and had nested you closer into his glittering side. Truly, there was no end to his sire-fussing.

“Duir’nt, I love you with all of my three hearts.”
“The pot is on the warming stone. Prepare it yourself.”
“You cannot be angered with me still, Duir’nt?”
“Permit me to recall, then, the past eleven cycle’s worth of transmissions to ourselves, and their contents. Tormund, Tormund, and Tormund. When the much anticipated meet was to come, I discover that my nestling has been negligent in preparations for his more susceptible partner. Reproachful in itself, I am also made aware that my nestling does not even trust his Dair’nt or his Duir’nt to be civil, much less welcoming and genial, towards him and his chosen. Have we failed you that dearly, that you have lost your faith in us? Were we so wrong in teaching you of expected patterns of behavior when dealing with a partner that you did not even offer him a coat when the subject of temperature reached you space-addled brain?!”

“Do not pout, R’Xniir. Your Duir’nt is only hurt that you believed him unable to accept you unconditionally. Make your drink and make your peace with him.”
“Dair’nt? I did not truly believe that, of either of you. I was scared, irrationally so. I do love you. You are assured of this?”
“Of course, R’Xniir. Everything will be fine. Let us warm ourselves in the gathering den, yes?”

With my Dair’nt beside me, standing with his own head yet above my own, and with one strong limb around my shoulders, I was safe. Yet a hatchling. Duir’nt would not be upset forever, and no irreparable harm had been done to our own partnership. Yourself and Duir’nt had progressed to discussing my clutch-mates. Slaa’rn and his escapades amused you greatly, the mood reflectant ink of your tattoos a vibrant green and gold as you spoke. I had hastened to nestle into Duir’nt on his unoccupied side. He did not turn to face me, but his outer casing softened as I leaned into his body and his hand toyed gently with the lines of frills atop my head. Much the same as he had in my youth. I was forgiven.

Duir’nt loved you, even then, Tormund-mine. He loved you and yearned fiercely for you to love him as well. To come to him as any hatchling would in need of support and comfort and security. I had not spoken much of my ‘Nt to you by that point, but they knew much of you. They knew that my Georgia-love of Earth did not have sires or bearers who loved beyond reason and doubt. They knew that your own had given you up after kissing Jimmy-once-yours in first grade.

You had not known it then, but Dair’nt had already seen to their ruin by your first meeting. Duir’nt could not comprehend a conditional sire. He grieved for you, then, and I believe that he had decided to love you and make you his own hatchling as soon as he knew of what had passed.

We spoke for some time in the gathering den that first evening. I stayed curled near Duir’nt, you attempted to spend time bonding physically equally between Duir’nt and Dair’nt. They were amused and charmed by your attempt, you are not an especially gregarious person by nature, outspoken only when truly comfortable with a person, always willing to listen and enter in a conversation when prompted. You soon fell asleep against me, your own 2.13 meter frame nestled completely into my own 3.4. Curled entirely into my lap, warm and full from the evening meal, Dair’nt and Duir’nt left for their own den soon after, whispering well wishes and warm nights.

The remainder of our sojourn to Glortar passed much as we had hoped for. Slaa’rn was accepting, cavalier, and brought home a different bedmate for each of the fourteen sol of our stay. Lir’nuu terrified and inspired you. I assure you, this is most everyone’s reaction to her. I am positive it stems from her position as chief interrogator for the Glortar Intergalactic Intelligence Agency. I was struck with dread upon realizing that you and Tir’lt should never have met. Two dangerously experimental engineers, too smart for anyone’s peace of mind, with no thought to whether something should be done, only whether it could be? Lix’tt, the only other Glortarn with personal experience concerning your personal projects, cried upon your first collaboration. Salt and liquid leaked from all four of his eyes, Tormund-mine.

Regardless, my clutch-mates accepted you, Dair’nt and Duir’nt adored you, and we had survived the visitation unscathed.

“Do you remember this, Rex?”
“What is ‘this’. Tormund-heart. I am preparing our luggage for our journey to Slaa’rn and Natalia’s binding.”
“The three page journal entry you wrote after our first visit to Da and Du.”
“Ah. That. Yes.”
“Yes, that. You did remember to pack my coat from HotH.4.2, right?”
“I am going to bury you in the thrice damned thing if you continue to speak of that incident, Tormund-mine.”

Watercolor-Chanyeol Soulmate AU

A/N Hey everyone! I decided to write a soulmate AU for each member and Chanyeol is the first one! I hope you like it. I put a lot of thought into this one and I’m really proud of how it turned out. Image credits are in the photos. We don’t own them. Thanks and I hope you enjoy- A

From the moment he turned 16, Chanyeol had been searching for his soulmate. When he was young, he watched his parents, and loved hearing the story of how they met. His eyes would always be drawn to the matching vibrant watercolor tattoos his parents had on their wrists, and he loved hearing the story of how that came to be.

When he was a boy he would gather round and listen to his father as he told the story of how his tattoo used to be colorless, and how one day, he bumped into a total stranger at a nearby coffeeshop, and it changed forever. His father depicted the story of how his tattoo changed little by little the closer he got to his soulmate. As he got close to the person he was meant to be with, color would appear behind the black part of his tattoo, and as he got closer to that person, the color would intensify. He watched intently as his father described in vast detail how when he met Chanyeol’s mother, his tattoo gradually went from a simple black saying to a saying with a vibrant watercolor pattern behind it. The same happened with his parents, and his grandparents, back the generations. When they found their soulmates, that’s how they knew.

On his 16th birthday, he woke up to a black tattoo sprawled across his forearm, a saying that was unfamiliar to him. He knew exactly why it was there, and he was bound and determined to find the person that was meant for him.

Years passed, and he still hadn’t come close to finding his soulmate. He was beginning to get disheartened, but he hadn’t given up hope. He was touring with EXO and traveling from country to country, spanning the globe in a few weeks time. He was having a particularly down day and the members took notice.

“Chanyeol, what’s wrong?” Sehun asks as he sits next to him on the stage at practice, placing an arm around his shoulders.

“I thought I’d find her by now. I seriously thought I would have at least come close, but I haven’t” He pouts, looking down at his tattoo.

“Aish Chanyeol, it’ll happen, you just have to give it time.” Sehun says as he squeezes his shoulders tightly before going back to his mark, getting ready for the next choreo set.

Chanyeol looked down and ran his finger along his tattoo, sighing deeply. He decided he’d let it go for now, and not worry about it too much. He got back into position and finished practicing with the rest of the members.

A few hours passed and he’s now backstage, getting dressed and getting hair and makeup touch ups before the show. He pushes his hair back from his face and looks in the mirror, and is incredibly surprised when he sees his tattoo in the reflection of the mirror. There were multiple splotches of different colors spanning the entire length of the tattoo where there was once blank space. He looked into the mirror, slack jawed, before rotating his arm to look at his tattoo.

His heart started racing slightly. His soulmate was here, at this show. Quickly, he runs to Sehun, screaming his name the whole way there.

“SEHUN SEHUN SEHUN LOOK!!! LOOK!!!” He shouts as he shows Sehun his forearm.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!! She’s here? What the hell? How are you going to find her in thousands of people?” Sehun asked, freaking out with Chanyeol.

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD HOW AM I GOING TO FIND HER” He says, panicking.

He thinks for a moment and finally decides to take a photo of his tattoo, texting it to staff.

‘I need you to send this to security, and I need you to find the person that has this tattoo. I need you to find them.’ He texted his manager.

His manager replied back in agreement and said he would get right on it.

You were nervous. This was your first EXO concert and you ended up coming alone after your friend got sick.

It was okay, you were fine with doing it, but you weren’t used to being in a strange city alone. You walked to the venue from your hotel, your hoodie held tightly around your face to protect yourself from the cold rain that was coming down.

You stood in line, chatting with a few fans and listening to music before being allowed into the venue. Once you got there you quickly found your seat and sat down, placing your belongings under it.

Time passed and the show began. You screamed at the top of your lungs during the opening number, and pretty much all of the songs after that as well. All of the boys looked amazing and you couldn’t believe you were finally getting to see them live.

You were standing at your spot, enjoying yourself when you noticed something on the screen. A tattoo almost identical to yours was plastered across the big screen, except it was colorful unlike yours. You hadn’t actually looked at your tattoo since before you left he hotel, so you thought nothing of it until you saw the tattoo on the screen.

You rolled up your sleeve and  sure enough, there was the same Black ink, the same wording, but this time, it was surrounded by incredibly vibrant, incredibly colorful watercolor splotches. The vibrancy and colors of yours were an exact match for the colors on that particular member’s arm.

‘What member does that arm belong to?’ You thought to yourself as you sat in your seat. Within moments the screen flashed and the next image was of all of the members together, sitting on the stage singing their acoustic set. You spotted the tattoo immediately once it panned back to all of the members.

“Chanyeol” You whispered under your breath.

You got up, still completely in shock, and headed down towards the lower section, just to see if you could get a better look. You were stopped abruptly by security who asked you for your ticket and denied access for you to venture down farther.

“Sorry miss, we’re just trying to do our jobs” the security guard said before noticing the tattoo on your forearm.

“Wait a minute. Can you stay here for a second? I need to check something.” He said as he pulled out his phone to look at the photo his boss sent.

“I’m going to have to ask you to go back to your seat just for the next twenty minutes or so, until the show is over, but as soon as it’s done I need you to please come find me again. There’s someone you need to meet.” He said, smiling politely at you as you returned to your seat.

The concert soon ended and you were escorted down to the front of the stage and were told to wait. You stood there quietly, your hands clasped together as you waited for the arena to clear.  

Your heart began to race when you heard footsteps coming from backstage. You weren’t completely surprised to see Chanyeol walk out, but something about seeing him up close made your heart skip a beat.

He dropped down off of the stage and walked to the spot where you were. You tried to speak but the words just weren’t forming like they should’ve been. Chanyeol looked at you and then looked down at your forearm, noticing your vibrantly colored tattoo. He got excited and smiled widely as he lifted his own arm up to show you his.

“We match” he said, chuckling as he tried to lighten the mood.

You stood there in awe of what was happening. You knew exactly what was going on but you were having a hard time wrapping your head around everything.

He looked at you for a response and signed deeply before placing your face in his hands. He brought his face close to you and rested his forehead against yours.

“I can’t believe after all this time I finally found you. I finally found my soulmate.” He whispered as he ran his thumb against your cheek.

He rubbed his nose against yours gently, trying to illicit a response from you without overstepping. You gently lifted your face and brushed your lips against his and he kissed you back, gently at first then with a bit more passion.

He stepped back and looked at you once more, still in complete awe that he found the person destined for him. He hugged you tightly and you stayed like that for what seemed like ages, your bodies relaxing into each other’s embrace.

anonymous asked:

fluffy stephew au where one of them works at a flower shop, please?

Matt thought the new tattoo parlour across the street was… odd at best and completely incompatible at the least. The neighbourhood was about as edgy as one expected a place that boasted a cafe, bookstore, and Matthew’s flower shop to be. All in all, it lacked the kind of mood he’d associate with a tattoo parlour. But ever since the place opened last week, he’d seen countless people walking in and out of the building as he set about arranging bouquets and, well, spying on his new neighbour. Sue him, it was the closest Matthew had ever been to anything that didn’t directly relate to pastel flowers and satin ribbons. So clearly it had to be doing well?

An explanation for the success came in the form of a customer. A man had come in two days ago to get some flowers (soft blue daisies with baby’s breath, a nice choice in Matt’s opinion) and had shown him the tattoo he’d gotten at the parlour a few days earlier. Even with his limited experience, Matthew could tell it was beautifully done. The sketchy outlines of the crows seemed to flap off the man’s skin, their eyes were dark and full of intelligence and he half expected the feathers to rustle as he leaned in to take a closer look. ‘Maybe I should get a tattoo.’ He’d quietly mused after the man left, only for a ringing phone calling for a birthday arrangement to steal his attention away from the mysterious tattoo parlour.

Speaking of, Matt found his scattered midday thoughts whisked away as his front door opened and the cheery alert bell went off. “Welcome to The Garden, how may I-?” His usual mindless greeting was cut short as he saw who had walked in; she was about his age, dressed in paint splattered jeans, a black tank top, and leather boots. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun and studded with pencils. Almost immediately, Matthew was captivated by the vibrant tattoos that covered her arms and arched across her shoulders. Carefully coloured drawings of Zelda characters and beautiful swatches of backgrounds he recognized from the franchise decorated her skin and drew his eye to the triforce emblazoned on her collarbone that was so detailed, it almost looked as if she has somehow inked herself with actual gold.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” The gentle tease made Matt tear his eyes away and he felt the floor under his feet shift as he saw dark red lips quirked in a smile, a nose wrinkled slightly from the strong scent of pollen and soil that he barely noticed anymore, and two brown eyes outlined in thick, smudged eyeliner that were brimming with laughter. ‘Oh.’ Matthew thought, his heart beating a little harder and his palms sweating.

“Sorry! I don’t mean to stare I just… I like your tattoos.” He managed to stammer out, his heart rate skyrocketing as she approached his counter and seemed to lazily sprawl her upper body across it. “Zelda fan?” The woman asked, raising an eyebrow and resting her chin on the palms of her hands. It was all Matthew could do to nod mutely as she nodded in approval. “Cool. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Stephanie Cordato, I run the new parlour across the street and I wanted to come grab some flowers to spruce the place up.” Stephanie held out a hand and Matt took a moment to admire her red nail polish and multitude of rings and bracelets before he shook it, praying she could feel how sweaty it was. “Matthew Patrick. Nice to meet you.” He said, his mouth going dry as she smiled wider. “I think I have some cool coloured roses you might be interested in.”

What Happens in Hawaii...

I’m meh about the title; open to suggestions. A messager on tumblr requested a smut fic with a heavy, curvy woman of colour reader. And I managed to write some damn not smutty plot instead for the first 1500 or so words. Part 1 is the set up, and the plottiest I’ve been in imagines. The current bf/ex bf is abusive, but it doesn’t go into it in depth. I’m thinking this is late 08/early 09 timewise.

ummm… @sinning-urie @prettyoddfiction anyone else wanna get tagged when i post? @kinkybden ?

—–

You’re on vacation with your boyfriend when you meet him. You’re on a walk, cooling off from the upteenth fight you and asshat have had lately, wondering why the hell you thought shit would get better if only you’d go together to Hawaii to “reconnect.” You’d rather reconnect the door with the door frame as you left, slamming it shut. You go to the beach, calming down as you watch the sunset, sun still keeping you so warm, covering your brown eyes with your hand. You forgot your damn sunglasses. Prick.

You hear a man and a woman, realizing they are a couple as their whisper-shouting argument gets clearer as they come closer; she almost shouting, him far quieter. “Brendon, I can’t believe… I thought those were jokes!… You can’t seriously expect me to be ok with that.” You’re instinctively on her side–he probably fucked up big time, pulled some entitled male bullshit and hurt her seriously.

But as they come closer, you can hear him, too. “I’ve never lied… Remember that….I told you then…last year.”

“Come the fuck off it. I mean, maybe it’d be one thing if it were just in your early teens, but you… last month?!? You can’t expect me to be ok with you being a faggot.” With that word, the sympathy you had for her largely drains away, replaced with a slowly bubbling anger towards her instead. It sounds like he cheated, which obviously is not ok, but it seems like that’s not really what she’s upset about: the homosexuality or bisexuality is.

She shouts, he talks a bit more, but you’re too busy thinking to pick up on it all, and besides, you’re feeling like an…auditory voyeur. You don’t want to hear his humiliation, and you wonder if she’ll regret her words later, or feel righteous. You breathe a sigh of relief as she storms off, unsure if you should just pretend you heard nothing, or give him a concilliatory smile, or what.

You see him on the verge, then he tips over into it, and ok, you should try to help: it looks like he’s having a full on panic attack. You pull the hairband off your wrist, pulling your black hair into a ponytail as you walk over to him. “H-hey, you ok?” you say awkardly; he sure doesn’t seem so, that’s why you’re coming over, and you feel like a bit of a dunce. He looks too white to be native, but you wonder if there’s some Hawaiian heritage there when you get close enough to see the flower tattoos on his arm, and take in his features, the wide nose and…whoa, those lips. Those are way too plump for a white boy.

He gets even more flustered, embarrassed, which just sets his anxiety of more. “Hey, B–” you cut yourself off from saying his name, worried that the knowledge you heard a lot will just make it worse for him. Your heart hurts when you see how hard he’s trying not to cry. “Let it out, but try to breathe, nice and slow, ok?”

“Shitshitshit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you–”

“Honey, it’s no bother, why don’t you just breathe with me. Would that help?” He nods, back of his hand wiping away tears, and you breathe deep and slow, wanting to take his hand but worried that that would be too weird.

You want to hug him as he calms down, gulping for breath slowing to almost normal, shaking leaving him, a few tears flowing over, but stemming. He seems so tough and frail at the same time; it’s strange. He’s not a short guy, average height, but slim, and his state makes him seem smaller. Once he’s relatively calm, he seems vaguely familiar, but you can’t place why. He’s a gorgeous boy, a really beautiful young man, at any rate, and the thought makes your cheeks heat up.

“Well, that was an awkward first meeting, huh?” you joke, smiling shyly at him.

He nods. “I feel like a dick.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. I was feeling peckish, if you wanted some company still?” You nod towards the nearby cafes and restaurants lining the street.

“Yeah, sure. I’m Brendon.”

“Y/n.”

“Where’d you want to go?”

“This is my first time here. Is it yours?” He shakes his head. “Do you have any recommendations?”

“I know a few places we can try.”

He points out a couple and you go with his second suggestion, and sit inside by the window.

“Those are Hawaiian flowers.”

“Yeah. Hibiscus and plumeria.”

“Are you part-Hawaiian?”

“Yeah, my mom’s side is half-Polynesian. She was born in Hawaii. I’m mostly white though.”

“Can I?” you ask, bringing your hand near his arm. He assents, holding his arm out, scooting closer to the table, and you reach out, stroking.

“They’re so vibrant for a tattoo. They’re really beautiful, Brendon.” He beams at that. “My parents are both biracial,” you add. “My mom is white–Scottish, and Carribean, and my dad is Jamaican and Japanese.”

He smiles, looking over you again, as if your skin and features make sense now, but it doesn’t feel weird.

You also run over the piano keys after looking back at him for the ok, getting a smile in return, that you give back twofold. You tell him you used to play as a kid. He did too, and still does, he says, in a band in the states, but they’ve toured a lot of places.

It finally clicks. “Panic at the disco, right? I thought you seemed familiar. That closing the goddamn door song?”

You look again at his tattoos, thinking about what you’d get to show your backround if you got tattoos yourself, as he starts humming the song, and you join in. You don’t know it well enough to sing the words, but you know the tune, and remember the video. He was so campy in it. His fingers start drumming on the table, and you follow him for a bit, then brave placing your hand over his. His hand feels way too soft for a musician–you think guitarists would have tough hands. He gives a sly smile, entwining your hands, and you start to feel warm, fluttery.

Your phone rings, and you figure you should answer it when you see it’s your boyfriend. It’s late, and he’ll just get more pissy if you don’t. You try for a cheery “Hey, Dan-” but he cuts you off.

“Don’t you ‘oh hey, Daniel’ me when I can see you all over that guy, y/n.”

“What the fuck Daniel, are you spying on me? And I’m not all over him, we’re just talking.” You’re not one to be a doormat, and you hate how he’s the guy to try to make you one, but he had gotten close to getting away with it before tonight.

“Not spying, I’m *concerned* about my girlfriend. Who, apparently, is too busy slutting it up–”

You hang up before he can finish. “Brendon, can we get out of here. Like, now?” Now it’s your turn to feel anxious. You so don’t want to deal with dickhead’s shit anymore, and you’re worried about where he is. You want to grab Brendon’s hand again, but you don’t want to start anything, when he could be anywhere, in any mood.

“Yeah, sure. What’s wrong?”

“Ummm…my ex, he’s here, and I want to get the fuck away from here.”

He looks concerned. “Yeah, sure…has he–nevermind, we barely know each other. You don’t have to tell me.”

Has he hurt you? Yes. Not in the way most people would get: he’s never hit you in the face, punched you, used a weapon, or anything like that. But his words, attitude, possessiveness, and how he treated you in bed–but you can’t tell Brendon any of that. You don’t want to lay it on him, let alone feel like telling it to a near stranger. Your best friend didn’t get it, didn’t see the problem, when you tried to tell her, so what was the point?

You’re wondering about Brendon, as he hails down a taxi, about the fight you overheard between him and the woman who probably is an ex now, hopefully, for his sake if nothing else. He seems…he really puts you at ease. It’s hard to put your finger on it–he seemed almost absentmindedly flirty with you at the cafe, and he’d come here with a girlfriend, but apparently… You think he’d come across as gay to a lot of people, but he seemed to swing both ways.

PART 2 https://warmbeebosoftbeebo.tumblr.com/post/165590339240/including-boyfriend-talk-filthy-thoughts 

Devotion - Chapter One

Summary: Dan is a ballerina who’s practicing for an audition at Julliard, but he’s afraid of performing in front of other people. He meets Phil, who’s gathering photos for his art portfolio, and Phil helps Dan come out of his shell in an interesting way.

Genre: fluff, angst, and smut. you’ve gotta wait a bit for it, but i promise it’ll all be there. this chapter is kind of angst, but only slightly.

Warnings: this chapter has mentions of bullying and injury. the warnings will be specific for each chapter in the future

Word Count:  1.4k

A/N: i’m so excited for this fic! i’ve got so many ideas, and i’m really confident that this is going to be a good story. this chapter is probably the shortest and most boring of them all, so hang in there! it’ll get better.


Dan sat alone in an abandoned dance studio in uptown New York City lacing up his ballet shoes and running his routine through his head for the millionth time. His audition at Julliard was only a month and a half away, and it was coming at him like a bullet. Dan had always dreamed of becoming a professional ballerina, and getting an education at Julliard would give him the biggest shot at achieving that dream that he could possibly get.

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