was just under the surface

Dream Drabble part 7

He can sense Will’s frustration it comes off him in waves crashing at Hannibal’s feet wherever he goes. Hannibal is unsure what it is at first, perhaps it’s just stress, Jack working him too hard. He is so caught up in his own burgeoning obsession that he doesn’t see it. He is blind to it’s obvious gleaming cause right up until he asks the question, a simple enough question “how are you sleeping?” It’s the tiniest glimmer, one most would miss. It’s a flicker across his eyes, a sheen appearing on his skin, a delicate blush. It’s the scent mixed with that aftershave, heady and thick just under the surface. It makes Hannibal ache from his bones through to his skin, a shared possible ecstasy lies between them just within their grasp. If Hannibal could reach out and touch it he is sure it would burn him but oh what a beautiful fire it would make. “Not well.” Will replies and Hannibal smiles serenely as Will pointedly looks away. “Perhaps I can help you with that.” …

Originally posted by helloyangmal

the signs’ anger as natural phenomenons

ARIES: lightening (a sudden destructive release; often well aimed and with few survivors)

TAURUS: volcanic eruption (with a build-up so slow the outburst is rarely expected, though they give lots of warnings; the destruction is vast and they can remain upset or hold a grudge for a long time after)

GEMINI: tornado (very messy and loud, they will verbally throw everything at you in the hopes that something hits where it hurts the most; could be harmless except when it’s not)

CANCER: tsunami (it’s usually very personal, they want you to feel exactly what you made them feel; they want you to drown in that feeling)

LEO: wildfire (one of the worst tempers, they take a lot and it’s usually one seemingly small thing that sparks it, from then on its loud and obliterates everyone in its path and doesn’t end until they’re good and satisfied or plain exhausted; no apologies)

VIRGO: earthquake (they’ve most likely been holding this in for ages just under the surface, hot and densely suppressed; it seems to happen without warning, the façade of control cracks, they release some of their most shattering critiques and observations; no one is exactly the same after)

LIBRA: hail storm (anger is usually communicated clearly, if not coldly and with a bit of passive-aggressive derision; they probably discussed it with themselves whether this anger is deserving or not, if it’s been deemed justified your verdict is final and penance is delivered without respite)

SCORPIO: maelstorm (this is definitely a palpable experience for everyone involved; they will hold back at first, more from fear of themselves than of you; the break can happen as suddenly as an aries, it is consuming and frightening for both of you, the depth of their contempt, even if exposed just a little, causing either of you back off least you fall in and never return; they usually regret not being the bigger person after)

SAGITTARIUS: solar flare (like scorpio, they are aware of the power of their temper which is why they seem to distance themselves or ‘run away’ when upset; if they can’t laugh it off, the flare is sudden and strong for them, throwing everything, like gemini but with grotesquely precise aim; then it’s over like nothing even happened)

CAPRICORN: avalanche/mudslide (their anger is like a higher power, even while they are feeling it they are still trying to distance themselves from it so that it becomes its own force with its own will, course and end; and the end is usually them never acknowledging your existence again. ever.)

AQUARIUS: thunder storm (slow to anger, when it happens all their positive traits are flipped, friendliness becomes cold, imagination becomes cunning, cool cleverness turns to a harsh downpour of criticism and ugly truths; they will make you doubt whether their brighter side ever really existed)

PISCES: geyser (for one fleeting moment they are so completely besides themselves it’s frightening for everyone involved; their deep, emotionally intelligent nature is flushed away in a destructive and scary display they didn’t even know they were capable of, rushing out of a deep chasm of turmoil they probably didn’t know was there)

where the lines overlap (m)

Originally posted by kths

jimin x reader red strings of fate soulmates! au

8.8k words

rated m for dirty talk, creampie kink, idk i just wanted to write a jimin soulmate au but whoops my finger slipped?? :/

recommended music: where the lines overlap by paramore! it’s my favourite paramore song EVER :)

Summary: there’s an ancient Chinese folklore of the red strings of fate that connect one person to another. These two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, and the magical, invisible thread may tangle or stretch, but it will never sever. You’ve never believed in these mystical threads of fate like everyone else, but one day you suddenly gain the ability to see the threads connecting the people around you.

The door slams shut, jolting you out of your peaceful reverie. If it had been anyone else, you’d be beyond annoyed to be interrupted while doing your weekly readings, but not when it’s him. The person in question knocks gently on your door before peeking his head in, strands of his bleached dove gray hair spilling over into his eyes, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him.

“Hey, I got dinner on the way back,” Jimin’s cheeks round out into a smile that reaches all the way to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Every time he comes home he’s constantly sweaty and worn out, but it’s part and parcel of the life he chose as a dance major.

Tossing aside your notes, you follow him out into the small dining area of your shared apartment, still in your sweats. When he makes a move to sit at the table, you give him a playful swat on his chest.

“Shouldn’t you wash up first? If I’d known you were this gross, I wouldn’t have agreed to room with you two years ago,” you pretend to wrinkle your nose at his sweaty form, all while ignoring the way his shirt is moulded to his chest.

“Says the one still in her sweatpants. Looks like someone isn’t that hungry tonight,” Jimin smirks back, reaching across the table to grab the box of takeout that you were in the midst of opening. “I could totally do with those extra calories after Hoseok hyung cracked down on us today…”

“I’m just kidding Chim,” you hastily snatch back the takeout box just as he opens the lid of it, the delicious smell of hot noodles and fried pork slices wafting into the air. “Oh my god this smells so good, I’ve been starving all day!”

“Wait, Jinwoo didn’t come by? It’s your free day right? I thought he usually comes by to hang out in the afternoons,” Jimin pauses in his chewing to study your expression carefully, but you’re too busy inhaling mouthfuls of stir fried noodles.

“Jinwoo oppa said he was busy today,” you say around a mouthful of vegetables and noodles. “He has that huge midterm coming up next week, so I told him he should stay home and study.”

Jimin looks like he’s about to say something snide about your boyfriend of nearly 6 months, so you stuff a large piece of meat into his mouth instead.

“Yes I know, he was busy last week and the week before that too, but we’ve been dating for a while so we don’t need to see each other so often. We’re over that honeymoon stage already.” You say in a dismissive tone, focusing on chasing the remaining few strands of noodles around with your chopsticks and avoiding his gaze.

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(long post, sorry)

In spite of everything I love Harley Quinn but, damn, writers treat her so badly. I swear, the temptation to make her actually stupid must be terrible because it’s so often implied, or explicitly stated, that she slept her way through school. First of all, it does not work like that.  Second, she’s not a therapist or a psychologist, she’s a psychiatrist, she’s a fricking MD and a damn young one too. Managing pre-med and collegiate gymnastics that she relied on to keep her scholarship? Harley is fucked up, but she’s not the dumb blonde she plays. (also stop making her stacked, she’s a gymnast. she is 4’11” of pure muscle and is not top heavy)

If you want a good Harley backstory it’s simple. She’s ADHD but medicated and slightly robotic because of it. I want to take special care not to demonize meds but, rather, people’s disapproval of neurodivergence and a lack of focus on what is best for a patient rather than what is most convenient for others. So, maybe, around ten years old Harley is a hyperactive space cadet who’s brilliant at tests but sloppy at coursework, who would be a gymnastics prodigy if she could actually focus on technique and put in practice time instead of fooling around. Then the meds come and it’s actually really cool because she can do the things she needs to do instead of just wanting to do them, doing something else entirely, and getting in trouble. People are proud of her, she’s proud of herself. But now there are expectations. Family and teachers and coaches overschedule her, find worth only in her success and don’t care about her mental health at all as long as she’s performing and castigate her when she does fail. Fuck if you don’t internalize that. But she doesn’t look unhealthy and she’s doing amazing. She actually has to choose between the Olympic trials and continuing her grad studies. She probably has some issues with self-harm but it either doesn’t look like self-harm or is well covered up. 

When Arkham accepts her, fresh from her residency, it’s not a mistake. The woman is amazing. All they can see is a mountain of achievements rather than the seething ball of nerves, self-loathing, and imposter syndrome boiling just under the surface. That’s when Joker comes in. He’s got the Hannibal Lecter shtick down. Where everyone else sees an intelligent driven young woman he sees a frightened overwhelmed girl who is working her hardest to convince the world she’s anyone other than herself. Sending her into a nervous breakdown would be too easy so he doesn’t even bother. Instead he’s open with her, almost friendly. The other doctors are amazed, Harley is amazed, she’s not done anything particularly revolutionary but, for the first time in forever, it looks like the clown prince of crime is showing progress. He unravels her and it’s a challenge, she flinches back and gets very serious when he comes too close to the real Harley under the professional. Still, soon she’s questioning everything. She doesn’t even really like her co-workers. She hasn’t had a real friend in years. She’s forgotten how to have fun. Did she ever want this to be her life or did she just do it for other people? It starts so slowly that it looks, at first, like she’s getting better at self-care. Maybe something totally silly one weekend, a trampoline park where she can enjoy the way her toned body moves without stressing out over landings, a face painting booth at a street fair, some garishly colored downright tacky decoration that clashes with her sensible apartment. Suddenly she realizes how much she hates knowing the difference between cream and ecru. The beigeness of her life is repulsive. She hates the person she’s pretending to be even more that she hates herself which is really saying something.

After her weekend of freedom she would have called in sick if it wasn’t so suddenly important to see him. The relief she feels at talking to one of Gotham’s most infamous supercriminals is disturbing but it is relief and she’s been swallowing a slow-motion panic attack for hours. She admits, though she shouldn’t, that she took his advice about doing something fun and he teases her, what would straight-laced Doctor Quinzel do for fun? Did she realphabetize her sock drawer or buy a new clipboard? It’s not important to impress him, it’s really not. He’s dangerous, cruel, and he looks so proud when she admits that she bought a lamp shaped like a lawn flamingo. The only mistake, he says, is that she should have stolen it. She hopes the wicked thrill it gives her doesn’t show on her face. It does. She almost even laughs. He likes it when he can make her laugh and she likes it when he likes things.

It’s wrong and unprofessional, the relationship she develops, and she knows it but her whole life she’s been so high strung. Nothing she’s done has been for her, she’s not sure she knows how to really do selfish things anymore, but he knows the selfish things she needs to do. It feels good when she follows his advice even when it’s small things like the rainbow striped socks she wears concealed under her very bland slacks and sensible shoes. She’s so happy, almost giddy, and he loves her happiness, he loves her, he loves the real her that she’s had to beat down and hide for so long, the her that even she isn’t able to love. She is able to love him, though, and since he loves her she’s able to love herself for him, to protect and nurture something so important to him.

When the choice comes between her old self, the tedious endless labor of making the world proud, and Him, the spectacular man that brought color into her life, it’s not even a question. She kills Doctor Harleen Quinzel, she throws away the version of her that let herself burn just for medals and hollow accolades. She embraces Harley Quinn and it’s so much a part of her nature she can’t even see that she’s still living her life for someone else’s approval, except this time that person is a murderous clown. She hasn’t let her hair down, she’s just put it in pigtails instead of a bun.


July 20, 1969: One Giant Leap For Mankind ☽ ☾ ●

Apollo 11 was the spaceflight that landed the first two humans on the Moon. Mission commander Neil Armstrong and pilot Buzz Aldrin, both American, landed the lunar module Eagle on July 20, 1969, at 20:18 UTC. Armstrong became the first to step onto the lunar surface six hours later on July 21 at 02:56:15 UTC; Aldrin joined him about 20 minutes later. They spent about two and a quarter hours together outside the spacecraft, and collected 47.5 pounds (21.5 kg) of lunar material to bring back to Earth. Michael Collins piloted the command module Columbia alone in lunar orbit while they were on the Moon’s surface. Armstrong and Aldrin spent just under a day on the lunar surface before rendezvousing with Columbia in lunar orbit.

Image credit: NASA x | x | x  Read more


“She devoted her life’s energy to creating the character of Joan Crawford. Always beneath that is Lucille LeSueur, and that became what was so fascinating to play, whether it was just under the surface, just in a gesture or a glance behind the eyes or whatever, that character was always there….She was a great beauty, but she really worked hard. I don’t know anybody that worked harder than Joan Crawford. To be Joan Crawford and to sustain this career and to create this kind of iconic mythology? There’s a lot to admire about her, especially when you think about what she had to overcome, where she came from….I’ve never seen her as being monstrous at all. We did all that research–I read the four biographies, her own books, and hundreds of interviews–and no one ever said anything but kind things about her. I don’t want to comment on mothers and daughters [and the relationship described in Mommie Dearest], because within any family there’s always a part of a relationship that no one outside can ever understand. But from everything I’ve read, it seems impossible that the woman was as monstrous as she was made out to be.“ –Jessica Lange

We Are Young: Chapter 8

Throne of Glass High School AU

Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.

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“Stop.” Aelin’s hand shot out, landing on Lysandra bobbing knee. “It’s going to be fine. It’s just an ultrasound.”

Lysandra let loose a shaky breath, her knee bouncing again the moment Aelin removed her hand.

“I know,” She said, glancing nervously around the room. “But, this feels more real now, you know? Before, the only proof I had was some stick I peed on. Once a professional confirms it…”

“Everything is going to be fine.” Aelin took Lysandra’s hand, giving it a light squeeze as a smile pulled on her lips. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Lysandra could only offer Aelin a small smile in return. She hated to admit it, but she was slowly letting her nerves get the best of her. She liked to think of herself as a pretty strong person, but sitting in this waiting room, she couldn’t help the fear and jitteriness that overcame her.

It didn’t take long for a nurse to walk out and call her name. With Aelin holding her hand, the two followed the nurse down the hall and into a room.

Honestly, Lysandra was so lost in her nervousness at that point, everything became a blur. And before she knew it, she was lying on the examination table, Aelin standing next to her. She tried to calm her racing heart as the doctor squirted the cold jelly on her stomach, moving the ultrasound to get a clear picture of the baby.

“Here we go,” the doctor smiled, using a finger to point out the baby on the screen. There wasn’t really much to see at this point, but what she could see caused Lysandra’s heart to skip a beat.

That was her baby.

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“Ted... I’ve got a serious question.”

Ted the Animator: “Huh? Wait, what’s wrong?”

Carl the Animator: “Nothing huge, just… do you have a second?”

Ted the Animator: “…I’ve never seen you like this before. Did someone die?!”

Carl the Animator: “No, no, chill, I’ve just got something bugging me right now. Can we talk?”

Ted the Animator: “Yes! Yes. The pen’s down, just say it… goodness, you’re freaking me out, here.”

Carl the Animator: “Ok, well, here goes…. I think I can do it. Deep breaths, staying calm… just need to–”

Ted the Animator: “JUST *SAY* IT!”

Carl the Animator: “…speaking of staying calm.”

Ted the Animator: “Sorry, sorry… suspense about seemingly-bad things always freaks me out.”

Carl the Animator: “Well, uh… to put it simply… when I was a kid, I’d watch Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and–”

Ted the Animator: “…wait, what?

Carl the Animator: “In Rudolph, they have this song, and–”

Ted the Animator: “What on earth does this have to do with anything?”

Carl the Animator: “The song the elves sing… why do they sing abou–”

Ted the Animator: …wait, all that wind-up was for a question about freakin’ Rudolph? I thought you were seriously traumatized over something!”

Carl the Animator: "This is a very serious and traumatizing matter.”

Ted the Animator: ”…huh?”

Carl the Animator: “Have you seen Rudolph before, Ted?“

Ted the Animator: "Like, meaning the ‘60s Christmas special? Uh… yes?”

Carl the Animator: “Do you remember the elves’ song?”

Ted the Animator: “l think? Sorta?”

Carl the Animator: “Have you ever really thought about it?”

Ted the Animator: “…no. No, Carl, I haven’t.”

Carl the Animator: "I envy you. There are darker implications hiding just under the surface.”

Ted the Animator: ”…”

Carl the Animator: “Part-way in, the elves perform their big song for Santa. Not just any song, mind you – one praising and extolling the virtues of Santa, and how their lives revolve around him.”

Ted the Animator: “…uh-huh?”

Carl the Animator: "Doesn’t it seem just a little weird to sing a song like that directly to the subject? Either they have an unhealthy adoration of their employer, which is creepy, or Santa requires them to sing it, which is even creepier.”

Ted the Animator: ”…hm.”

Carl the Animator: “And it doesn’t end there. Oh no, that’s just the beginning.”

Ted the Animator: “Uh-oh.”

Carl the Animator: "During their song, we see all these reactions where Santa’s irritated…” 

Carl the Animator: ”…even unwilling to mask his disappointment and boredom.”

Ted the Animator: “Not exactly his jolly old self, huh?”

Carl the Animator: "Not at all, Ted… not at all.”

Carl the Animator: "And to top it all off, at the end, he just says ‘Well, it needs work. I have to go’…”

Carl the Animator: "And just leaves, slamming the door on his way out.

Ted the Animator: ”…oh.”

Carl the Animator: “No thank-you given. No ‘Gee, elves, I really appreciate this tribute you’ve practiced all year for me.’ Santa gives them nothing but a reminder that they don’t hold up to his standards, and further neglection.”

Ted the Animator: "That… wow.”

Carl the Animator: "In that moment, as a kid, I realized the true villain of the story wasn’t the Bumble… it was Santa all along.

Ted the Animator: ”…I had no idea Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was an allegory for emotionally-abusive relationships.”

Carl the Animator: “We can only guess as to what Yukon Cornelius and his sled dogs might represent.”

This is for the beautiful @stylesforinfinity who is an absolute babe and who yesterday was super sweet about my writing, so this is the only form of thank you that seems adequate. 

This isn’t how Andrew expected the day to go…

The day starts normal enough. Or as normal as it can with house guests. He and Neil picked up Nicky and Erik from the airport yesterday, and with the jetlag, both are up especially early. It’s them puttering about in the kitchen–the gurgling of the coffee maker, the clinking of mugs, and their whispered voices–that wakes Andrew. Andrew opens his eyes to Neil still fast asleep beside him. The striker’s cheek is creased from where it’s pressed into the pillow, and his bangs have curled over his eyes. Andrew’s fingers twitch to fix it. 

It’s only a few moments before Neil’s eyes flutter open, the blue of them softened by the early morning sun bleeding in through the curtains. 

“Morning,” Neil mumbles, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. 

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Love Lost

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of separation, fighting, little bit of angst

Word Count: 852

Summary: A big fight leads Chris to move out, but is this the end of your marriage ? 

A/N: I couldn’t help but start this already, the ideas been bugging me !!

You stood just inside the school lot, waiting for the final bell to ring along with all the other parents. Today was Friday and you’d been dreading this afternoon for the last week while your six year old son hadn’t stopped talking about it; you knew how excited he was to see his Dad, you weren’t going to make it any harder on him; even though the whole prospect of seeing Chris right now was causing your stomach to tie itself into knots.

It had been two weeks since you’d last seen him, since the blow out fight that had him moving out of the house you shared and onto one of his friends couches. You hadn’t spoken to him at all since except for the two minute phone call four days ago where he had asked to have Luke for the weekend; after your hesitant agreement the conversation had lapsed into cringeable silence and the call was promptly ended. Now that weekend was here however and you weren’t all that sure on how you felt about the situation.

You loved Chris, you always would but you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the end of anything the two of you had. The fight had been there, just under the surface for so long now that you weren’t the least bit surprised it blew up in both your faces.

The bell sounded through the school and you squashed all thoughts of Chris and your marriage to the back of your mind, forcing a smile onto your face as you saw Luke running across the asphalt to meet you, his backpack swinging widely on his back. You collected him into your arms seconds later, placing a kiss onto his cheek.
“Hey bug,” You greeted. “Have a good day today?”
“Ahuh,” Luke nodded, a wide smile on his face. “We played baseball in class today Mummy and I got to hit the ball!”
“Aw that’s so exciting,” You replied, dropping him back to his feet so you could take hold of his hand.
“I can’t wait to tell Daddy!”

“I’m sure Daddy will be just as excited bug.”


When you pulled up into your driveway Luke was still chattering from his car seat in the back, telling you in depth about every class he’d had that day. Sometimes you wondered where an earth he got that kind of energy.  
“Is Daddy gonna be here soon?” He asked, his eyes - replicas of Chris’ - filled with excitement.
“Sure is,” You answered, feeling your heart clench. “So you better get upstairs and make sure all of your stuff is packed alright?”

Luke beamed at you, nodding his head enthusiastically as you unlocked the front door. As soon as it was swung open he was off, yelling out a hello to Dodger as he ran up the stairs.

It didn’t seem like that much time had passed but half an hour later there was a knock at the door, Dodger getting up off his bed to whine against the old wood. You took a deep breath and opened it up, Chris standing on the other side with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

He was looking a little worse for wear then you were used to, the prominent bags under his eyes letting you know that at least he was having as hard a time sleeping as you were. His clothes were rumpled and his hair looked more unkempt; but despite all that he still caused the breath to hitch in your throat.

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anonymous asked:

Can you do pynch for the ship thing please <3




who is more likely to hurt the other?

I mean. Adam doesn’t usually get hurt by ronan so much as he gets annoyed. disappointed. pissed. He never lets ronan’s venom actually get to his veins, he’s too busy telling him how unnecessary the flash of fang is. ronan on the other hand. like. he’s easy to hurt. adam would never in his life want to hurt ronan (it’s his honest to god nightmare) but I think ronan works himself into such a despair at the smallest jealousies and perceived injustices that adam could make one careless comment and ronan would fixate on it

who is emotionally stronger?

ohhhh adam. it’s adam. He’s been dragging so much emotional rubble for so long that he’s built up a tolerance. strong is like The Most adam adjective that I can think of. ronan never had to get to adam’s level of detachment and dissociation bc the first 15 years of his life were gorgeous and easy, and he’s still growing into his protective shell. Adam had to be born in his

who is physically stronger?

it’s ronan tbH he has the upper body strength of a boxer and the broad shoulders of a lynch (but also adam has clever hands and muscular thighs from years of biking everywhere and he can handle himself)

who is more likely to break a bone? 

ouch. They’re both capital R Reckless when they’re together and they have some brutal years under their belts. adam has some poorly set knobbly fingers and ronan has an old snapped clavicle that took forever to heal and constantly bruised knuckles so like. idk. In the future, when adam parrish has escaped from his childhood prison, I’d like to think that they both get ugly minor injuries from doing joyful ramp and dolly and shopping cart type activities only

who knows best what to say to upset the other? 

surprisingly difficult question to answer bc I mean. It’s ronan. but is it? he systematically winds people up and adam is so deeply irritated by him that he straight up walks away, but also adam can be ice cold?? it’s so easy to get to ronan. They both fumble and call each other mean names when they want to compliment each other it’s a big mess

who is most likely to apologize first after an argument? 

holy shit would you believe neither??? the most stubborn humans on this earth!! record holders!! we got some emotional repression folks! hooooo boy

adam never starts arguments for no reason so he’s always thinking it through and coming to the conclusion that he’s in the right?? surprise he ain’t apologizing

meanwhile ronan can’t stop being cruel even though he knows it’s hurting people, it’s this vicious self-protective instinct that hurts so good and so wrong. and then his pride gets in the way once he’s cooled down. but he will come to st agnes on his knees and grab adam’s hand and try to make it clear that he’d step on his own pride on the way to adam’s door

who treats who’s wounds more often? 

sad & unfortunate :(( adam treats ronan’s solely bc ronan doesn’t know how the fuck to treat an injury and also ‘none of them wanted to hurt adam parrish’, so ronan’s got his stupid pointless anger related scrapes and adam’s got his anti-bacterial gel and they are a dream team

who is in constant need of comfort? 

neither of them come out on top here man. They’ve had some shared harrowing experiences, and some separate trauma that they’re trying to tell each other about (if their stories could just stop. sticking. when they try to say them out loud). in v different ways, neither of their families are families. Ronan doesn’t let himself fall asleep, and he doesn’t let himself go through things, and the repression starts to calcify into cruelty like it did right after his father died. adam can’t stop thinking about gansey on the roadside, and he can’t be touched some days, most days. he can’t stop swimming or he’ll die. He can’t keep swimming or he’ll die. The gangsey is a critical support system made of so many weak beams

who gets more jealous? 

are u fucking serious,,, it’s both of them pal. remember when every combination of his friends that didn’t include him made adam like. sick with jealousy. remember when ronan saw gansey talking on the phone with adam and wanted to put his hand through a wall. or when adam brought blue along on their quest and he spouted nasty shit the whole day. they both deeply want each others attention and they don’t seem to realize that they already have it? always?

who’s most likely to walk out on the other? 

ohh god. oh man. oh boy. Here’s the thing. adam’s gonna walk away from ronan, but he’s not gonna walk OUT on him. he’s going to walk away because he’s not on a leash, he’s gonna spread those beautiful fucking self-made wings. And ronan is too!! in his own time he’s gonna build his own spaces that aren’t the barns and he’s going to realize what home means to him and they’re both gonna walk out the door and back but never close it behind them

who will propose? 

a controversial topic! I’m on team adam for this one pals. I was on team ‘adam’s gonna kiss ronan first’ for a while before trk like a FOOL and I realized the error of my ways bc ronan is physical as fuck! and a risk-taker! of course he kissed adam smh. But a proposal? That’s a contract. That’s a speech. That’s a chess move. Ronan wouldn’t corner adam like that. Adam knows how ronan feels and more importantly he knows how HE feels himself, and I think one day ten years into their relationship the practicalities are gonna beckon and he’s gonna look ronan in the back of the head while he’s sleeping and roll over into the curve of his spine and tell him he wants a ring on his finger 

who has the most difficult parents?

omg… fuck off

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? 

tactile bastards! both of them! ronan especially wants adam’s hands…., any which way he can get them. I mean. He will kiss adam’s hands when they’re at dinner at nino’s and he’ll hook their fingers together even for the 20 second walk from the BMW to monmouth’s front door like he LIVES FOR IT (adam feels nervy and exhilarated every time it’s gay)

who comes up for the other all the time? 

i mean they’re always together so they don’t really bring each other up. if they’re not together they’re with gansey/blue/henry or even fox way babes/vancouver crowd etc and those ppl get real tired of it real quick. adam usually keeps his ronan related musings to himself though like he has self-control unlike… R.N.L. himself

who hogs the blankets? 

ronan does tbh adam has never hogged anything in his life and ronan is a shit

who gets more sad? 

an unfair Q, man. They’ve both had a super rough time, especially right post-trk?? those few months are hard. Ronan cries a lot. Adam gets numb and far away a lot. They have a lot to be sad about. (But more to be happy about. They made it. They honestly just stare at each other and laugh breathlessly and touch foreheads and hands and scars and can’t believe their luck)

who is better at cheering the other up? 

I sorta said this with ronsey but I think ronan is THE BEST at doing dumb shit to take his mind off of things. Like all that stuff about making adam quiet and turning off the lists and anxieties in his head so that they can do smth mindless and dangerous? yeah that. memes and songs and poor decisions. depression whom?

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

this never happens wtf they’re not really ‘playful slappers’ HOWEVER adam will glare at ronan so hard that it probably feels like a slap

who is more streetwise?

it reeeeally depends on your definition of streetwise?? Like if we’re talking survival it’s unquestionably adam. He can fix your car and bandage your wounds and figure out your taxes and make himself invisible and blend his accent into whoever’s around him. He’s wicked sharp and fast on his feet. But i mean. he can’t quite drive stick. and he wouldn’t be caught dead in the sort of underground that ronan ends up in. ronan is streetwise in terms of the actual street, and he knows the most brutal avenues a person can end up on, the real life nightmares that feel closest to the ones in his head. Ronan is smart enough to navigate the chaos, but adam is smart enough to avoid it altogether

who is more wise?

adam. easily. ronan is intelligent and instinctive and talented (or adam wouldn’t get him as well as he does) but adam is a genius and that look behind his eyes….. he’s lived about 1 billion times more than he should’ve by age 19

who’s the shyest? 

neither of them are shy exactly they’re just buried under 9 surface level personalities that you have to crack open with your bare fuckin hands

but if you met either of them in the hallowed halls of aglionby you would think adam was shy and ronan was a rampant fuckwad so based on appearance?? adam. he keeps his head down.

who boasts about the other more? 

as soon as adam is officially his bf ronan takes a ten year long victory lap he’s so embarrassing

who sits on who’s lap?

y’all. we all know ronan sits in adam’s. it’s a fact of life. he probably had a sexy dream about it when he was 17 and took his morning shower in holy water

bkfstclubmember  asked:

Would you consider writing wolfstar for #19 in 100 Ways to Say I Love You? I love your little drabbles.

Can I hold your hand?

The five times Sirius asks to hold Remus’ hand, and the one time he doesn’t have to.


Remus wakes shivering, every part of him covered in sweat, and freezing. He sits up too quickly, breath escaping shakily out of his lungs. For a moment, though his eyes are open, he can’t see the room at all, or what had woken him. All he can feel is fur, all he can smell is blood and foul breath, all he can hear is sick, sick laughter. He flinches against nothing, trying to rid himself of the feeling, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

One, two, three, four, he says in his head, one, two, three, four, onetwothreefouronetwothreefouronetwo-

“Um. Remus?”

Remus freezes, counting ending at two, and looks up. He doesn’t have time to be embarrassed by the tears in his eyes before there is a face clouding his vision, all soft, sleepy eyes, frown etched with concern. It’s the boy, Sirius, the one he had met on the train that day, sitting on his bed, criss-cross and worried. His hand is outstretched, lightly resting on Remus’ knee, and Remus realizes what had waken him.

“Hey. It’s alright, I get them too.”

Nightmares, Remus thinks.

Sirius offers him a loopy grin, “Only yours probably aren’t of your mother, right?”

Remus blinks, startled by the comment and how calmly it had come out of Sirius’ mouth, “Oh. Um, no. Not my mother.” He hates the way his voice hitches with the tears in his throat.

Sirius nods, pressing his lips together and to the side, thinking. After a few moments, he, very tentatively, holds out his hand, “Can I…” He bites his lip, then sticks his palm out more insistently, “Can I hold your hand?”

Remus just blinks at it.

Sirius inches it closer to Remus’ hand that is clenched around his sheets, “It’s just that… Whenever my little brother has nightmares I always hold his hand. Or he holds mine. It just, I dunno, helps. To know someone is there.”

Remus feels tears pricking his eyes again, for an entirely new reason. He can’t remember the last time someone asked to comfort him, to be near him, much less hold his hand.

Sirius reached forward a little more, the tips of his fingers touching Remus’ knuckles, “’s okay, you know…”

And Remus bit his lip, taking, for the first time, the hand that would be there for him for years to come.


Remus sort of hated Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts. The sentiment was okay enough (it would probably have been better if he himself had someone to direct his sentiment towards), but he could do without the flowery scented charm hearts floating around the halls and popping directly in front of the recipient’s face. It caused many a giggle and a far too strong scent to linger about. It was frankly annoying. Although, and he’d never admit this, he wouldn’t be opposed to receive one himself, something that he never expected to happen.

That’s why he found himself choking on his pumpkin juice when, at lunch, he received a burst of flowery scent and a slightly translucent bubble heart zooming towards him from outside the great hall and popping directly in front of his face. He blinked, blinked again, choked a bit, and when he opened his eyes, Sirius was right there, grinning mischievously at him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Moonykins.”

Remus rolled his eyes, pressing his palm to Sirius’ wiggling eyebrows and causing him to let out a loud laugh, James smirking beside them, watching the exchange.

“Fuck off, Pads.”

Sirius pressed a hand to his chest, right above his heart, feigning hurt, “What?” He reached that same hand out, palm up, “You’re not gonna hold my hand, woo me back? I did send you a heart, you know.”

Remus just rolled his eyes again, looking at Sirius with a bit back smile, chest aching a little. He pushed down his wish that Sirius wasn’t joking, that he was sending him a heart because Remus actually had his heart… Sirius’ certainly had his. He gave a dramatic sigh, dropping his hand in Sirius’ and squeezing, causing Sirius to let out a triumphant woop. He managed to hold their hands up above their heads for a second before Remus was shoving his shoulder and letting their hands drop. He swore his palm stayed warm all through the day.


Remus was breathing hard through his nose by the time he got to the top of the astronomy tower. Whether it was from the stairs, or from the effort to keep the tears at bay, he didn’t know. He pressed his palms to the railing, letting the cool, spring wind ruffle through his hair, calming his nerves. Embarrassment burned through his chest, leaving him even more breathless. He’d never drink anything again, ever, if he could help it. Not after tonight. He pressed a hand over his mouth, feeling slightly sick, and slightly like he could run a mile. His lips still tingled from when he’d leaned forward, without much warning, and pressed them to Sirius’. Why, why had he done that?

“Merlin.” He breathed, letting his hand drop to the railing, his head following, forehead resting on the backs of his hands. He wanted to disappear, he hoped desperately Sirius hadn’t followed-


Remus closed his eyes. He had nothing to say. No excuse, no reason, except the truth, and he definitely wasn’t about to say that.

Hey Pads, I love you. I have for four years now. Did you know?

“Remus, what the fuck, why’d you- you can’t just run out like- I mean, not after…” He sounded just as breathless as Remus felt, but not angry. Remus thanked god for that. Not angry, “Hey, would you look at me?”

Remus sighed, “Must I?”

Yes.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked around, eyes stinging.

“You don’t have to pretend- I didn’t-“ Remus ran a hand over his face in frustration, embarrassment. Heartache, “We don’t have to talk about this, please, let’s just forget it, I’m sorry-“

“Shut up, Remus!”

Remus blinked, mouth closing abruptly. Now Sirius sounded angry. He took a step back to the railing, feeling the metal dig into his lower back.

Sirius sighed, stepping forward, palms out in surrender, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t… You just, you didn’t even- you don’t even know what I think. You didn’t exactly stay long enough to find out.”

Remus’ heart pumped faster, unsure, but starting to mingle with the tiniest bit of hope all the same, “I- Oh.”

Sirius took another step forward, the smallest of smiles finding his face, “Yeah, oh.”

Remus tilted his head slightly, hope simmering just under the surface now, threatening to appear in a smile of his own.

Sirius was so close now that their chests were brushing, and Remus felt tentative fingertips brush his wrist, “Can I hold your hand?”

The smile broke through on Remus’ face. Although the first time had been asked in all seriousness, ever since that Valentine’s Day it had become a bit of a running joke, “You want to hold my hand?”

Sirius pressed their foreheads together suddenly, like he just couldn’t help himself for another second. Remus politely ignored, and secretly adored, how he had to press up on his toes to do it, “Yes. Yes, Re. I want to hold your hand.” Then quieter, as he laced their fingers together, he added, “I want to kiss you again.”

And Remus let Sirius part his lips with his own, let their fingers twine together. They didn’t let go for a long while after that.


Remus was terrified. He was trying to be strong but he was terrified. The light of spells flashed all around him, freezing him in place and telling him to move all at once. He crouched, dust and stone all around him, filling his nostrils and the cracks in his lips. His eyes stung, his lungs burned, his hands shook, making his casts unsteady. After he’d misfired more than once, he’d took to hiding for a moment, trying to gather his strength.

“Hey-“ Remus jumped, head turning sharply towards the voice, “No, shh. It’s me, Re.” Sirius’ voice quickly slowed Remus’ picked up heart, and he felt his muscles start to relax. Sirius crouched next to him, both of them hidden, just for a moment, behind a large piece of rubble, and brought his hand to the back of Remus’ neck, thumb rubbing softly. Remus let his eyes slip closed at the familiar feeling, “Moons…”

Remus looked at him again, hand coming up to wrap around Sirius’ wrist, “I’m fine. I just- I needed a moment.” Sirius nodded, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth. Remus sighed into it, turning his head to kiss Sirius full on for a moment, letting it calm his nerves. Then, “We should go back.”

Sirius stayed still,, nose brushing against Remus’ softly, before retrieving his hand and holding it out, “Take my hand?”

Remus did, smiling as he did so. And they went to win this battle.


Remus didn’t know how to act in the beginning. Seeing Sirius standing there in the doorway of his parent’s house, ready to hide for… who knows how long. Looking older, thinner, sadder. Looking like he didn’t know what he was, what Remus was…what they were. Remus didn’t have the first clue what to say. So, as usual, Sirius took the lead.

“Missed me, Moony?”

Remus looked up from where he’d been studying the too loose folds of Sirius’ clothes, and his heart ached. Sirius’ mouth was doing that thing, twisting in a way that meant he was trying to smile over a too-powerful frown. His eyes were desperate and sad, and said please say yes.

And Remus suddenly found he could barely breathe, much less speak. His throat swelled and he tried to clear it, hanging his head for a moment. When he looked back up there were tears in his eyes, and they darted around the room, anywhere but Sirius’, embarrassed.

“What a stupid fucking question.” He rasped out.

Sirius stepped through the doorway, long fingers looking bony against the dark wood, but familiar. Remus’ suddenly ached to have them in his.

Ask ask ask. Please ask.

Sirius’ smile was real though, so real, as he stepped right in front of Remus. Still shorter, Remus noted. It was all so much, so familiar.

“I’m glad…”

Remus stared at him for a moment, eyes raking over his face, remembering, re-memorizing, wanting, but unsure if he was still allowed to want. He cleared his throat, “Do you want some tea? Food? Are you hungry?” Sirius had a little smile over his face, but didn’t respond. Remus needed to do something, anything, to occupy himself, “I have biscuits. Dinner is still cooking but it will be ready soon. I made your favorite, blueberry pie, too. I mean, if that’s still your favorite, I don’t know.” Remus waited a few more beats and then sighed, “Pads, please, let me do something for you-“

“Can I hold your hand?”

He smiled, eyes slightly melancholy, as he said it. And Remus’ chest seized, his heart broke, and then everything fell back into place. Just like that. He blinked and suddenly his cheeks were wet. He let out a breath and suddenly he was breathing again.

“Yes- God, yes-“

Sirius’ fingers captured his own at the same instant as his lips did the same.


Remus knees hit the ground in front of the veiled archway, the sound of bone against stone echoing in the now empty chamber. His lungs. He couldn’t get air. He clutched at his throat, his chest, desperate for oxygen. But all he could feel was his heart, aching, threatening to stop after each terrible, terrible beat. Remus wasn’t sure he’d complain if it did.

When the first sob broke through, he wished his heart would just give up already. It was too much. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Can I hold your hand?

He bowed his head against the tears racking his body. That first night, that very first night, the first time Sirius had managed to take all the pain away. Every ounce. And he’d done it again, the night on the astronomy tower, the night that changed everything, everything. Remus longed for that night now.

Take my hand?

Remus saw the grin, the light in Sirius’ face, the strong fingers wrap around his own-

“Yes.” His eyes flashed open. The veil, it was still there, “Yes, come on. Sirius-” Remus sobbed. He thrust his hand out, his voice cracking and barely there, “You don’t have to ask, you never had to ask. Take my hand now.” Remus fell forward with the effort to keep his hand out, just barely keeping from collapsing, “Just take my hand. I’ll pull you back, I need you back. Take it. Take it… Take…”


Take my hand.
I’ll teach you to dance.
I’ll spin you around.
Won’t let you fall down.

- He Is We

victor, absolutely stewing over chihoko, singing beyoncé’s ‘hold up’ under his breath as he scales the ninja castle

“hold up, they don’t love you like i love you,” his shirt goes over his head and drops to the ground below

“can’t you see there’s no other man above you?” pants buttons come undone, each leg being kicked off with aggressive zeal

“what a wicked way to treat the one who loves you,” he spits over his shoulder for effect, misses the little girl sitting on the steps of the castle who goes, “heyyy!”

while trying to mimic the pose of the shachihoko statue he absolutely plays through bey’s monologue and whisper-mouths along to it, almost meditating, except instead of calming down his emotions just simmer under the surface ready to lash out for the moment yuuri finds him

“vitya?! what are you doing?”

ah, victor smiles. right on cue.




     Your voice echoed off the bunker’s high walls as you entered the library, wondering around in a quest to find the eldest Winchester. What you were hoping to see upon locating Dean was a diligently working hunter researching for the case you were on. But, of course, what you found instead was lust-driven slacker exploring the deepest depths of BustyAsianBeauties.com.

    Your urge to punch him increased ten-fold when he turned around to find you standing behind him, threw his hand up over the screen and minimized the window.

     “Seriously, Dean? Busty Aisin Beauties? We’re supposed to be working.”

     The laptop was quickly slammed shut and Dean glanced at you over his shoulder. “You saw nothing.”

     “Bull shit.”

     You dove forward and snatched the computer from the library’s wooden table, dancing just out of the green-eyed hunter’s reach and opening the screen. It was Dean’s computer so it wasn’t password protected, and it was Dean so you didn’t even have to go into history. You clicked the Chrome icon and easily pulled up the minimized window, the computer’s screen filling with the unmistakable busty beauties and pink backgrounds of the website you’d caught your hunting partner using more times than you could count.

    You looked up at Dean in exasperation.

     “What?” he asked. He’d switched from defensive to accepting. It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d found him indulging in his baser desires. “A man has needs, you know.”

     You rolled your eyes and gave Dean his laptop back, pushing it into his gut maybe just a little harder than was strictly necessary. “Yeah, well I have needs too. I need you to help with this case. Can you handle that?”

     Dean stomped his foot and straightened his back, clasping his hands behind him. “Sir, yes Sir.”

     You shook your head and sighed, suppressing a smile bubbling just under the surface and pushing past the mountain of a man in front of you. Then Dean’s large hand wrapped around your arm and he leaned in close, breath ghosting across your skin as he spoke.

     “Or … we could explore some other needs.”

*These gifs are not mine, both the gifs are from Google Images*

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Mermay Prompt.

Thanks @chrissihr. So here’s the start of something that I will probably never finish but whatever! I give my gifts of half-completed fic to the universe in hopes something good comes out of it.

Darcy is secretly a mermaid and Steve finds out when he heads down to the pool (saltwater, oc) early and catches Darcy stretching her fins when she thinks she’s alone 😉And Steve, the artist, is so enchanted with his pretty crush’s scales, he’s not sure whether he wants to draw her or touch her

Everything hurt. Right down to the web of skin between his toes. He ached, and about thirty minutes prior he’d been covered in the slimy-remains of decomposing exoskeleton… that had belonged to a guy named Everest Hampdon.

Mr. Hampdon was no more, along with his mutated exoskeleton that he’d used to rip through half of Harlem. Steve Rogers wasn’t ashamed to admit that the thrill of battle certainly got his blood going from time to time, and this was one time that he was more than happy to put the bad guy six feet under.

If only the fight hadn’t lasted a good three four hours, and hadn’t made his whole body feel like absolute, aching shit.

The only thing keeping him upright after his scrub down in the showers, was the promise of Tony’s newly installed, heated, salt-water pool on the fiftieth floor. With a view of the city that inspired the artist in him, and enough warmed water to soak himself up to his eyeballs in.

With his sketchpad tucked under his arm, and one of the extra-large bath-sheets slung over his shoulder, he padded through the darkened halls of Stark Tower, delighting in the feel of carpet under his bare feet.

The tower was a monument of luxury, and while he rarely felt like he deserved to even set foot in it, he knew he’d done a damn fine job that day and saved more than a few thousand lives. For once, Steve felt like he belonged among such finery that he’d never have been able to dream of back in the 40′s.

Almost in the mood to whistle, he leaned against the side of the elevator, the piped in classical music squashing his urge to make a noise.

The doors opened with a soft chime, and he heard FRIDAY’s muted farewell, wishing him a good evening.

Evening, he thought with a snort. It was half past two in the morning. Still, he raised a hand in a casual wave, knowing that FRIDAY would see it, no matter which direction he flapped his fingers.

He picked up his pace as the hot scent of salt water hit his nose, tingling in the back of his throat, and the pure need to be alone washed over him.

Steve nearly groaned as he wasn’t half-way down the hall and his hearing picked up the sound of someone splashing in the pool. Instantly his good mood evaporated, and he had half a mind to head back down to his apartment and just drown himself in his bath-tub instead.

An enormous splash made him pause in his almost-retreat, however, and he frowned. There was a sound like flailing… and a gasp of air. His pulse thudded in his ears as he raced down the hall, convinced that whomever was swimming had actually gotten themselves into trouble.

What he saw as he entered onto the sweltering pool deck had his feet skidding over the slick tile.

Ohfuck,” Darcy said, lifting a hand to her mouth, staring at him just like he was staring at her.

Staring at her not because he’d been clinging to a torch over her for the past, say, twelve months hahaniceonerogerstrythreeyears, no… no he was staring at her not because her top half was barely covered in a white crop top that melted over her skin… no.

No he was staring at her because her bottom half flitted in the warm, salt-water, the colours of her fins glittering just under the surface. Purples. Purples, and hints of red, and even a dash of black-green when she rolled over and sank down, up to her nose. Her hair floated along the water, dark tendrils, and her blue eyes narrowed balefully at him.

Oh fuck, indeed.

“What…?” he asked/stated, and gulped in a lungful of the sweet, salt-air around them. His brain pinwheeled for a moment and then he blurted out- “Issthatacosplay?” without a pause between words.

Cosplay. It had to be a costume. She and Jane were always getting all glittered up and heading out to comic cons or whatever the kids these days were doing that wasn’t Stark science fairs.

He knew the word cosplay. He didn’t think it was, because he could swear that the mermaid half of her (it… it was a mermaid, right? He was allowed to call her that. Right? He wasn’t… accidentally oppressing her with that terminology? He was still struggling to catch up on third wave feminism.) was firmly attached to the human top of half of her.

Darcy’s eyebrows rose up in surprise and she let out a snort of laughter as she rose up out of the water. Her arms crossed over her breasts self-consciously, although he wanted to assure her that his eyes were firmly stuck on the fact she had fish parts and not so much on the rosy-soft pink of her nipples showing through the transparent fabric.

Although… he’d noticed the fabric. And the nipples.

Fuck. What was even…

“Alright, you caught me, I’m a monster, just like… can you give me a twenty-four hour head start before you come after me with the rest of your band of merry mermaid-murdering super friends?” Darcy’s words may have been sharp, but there was a hint of very real, very misplaced fear in her voice. That’s when he noticed her fingers trembling as they gripped her upper arms, and her eyes were wet… not from the water.

“Head-start?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Darcy…”

She tossed her head, some of her hair following the movement, the rest sticking to her shoulders.

“I’m a siren, we’re not the greatest fish in the sea. We lure people out to their deaths and-”

“Hold up,” he said, lifting his hand to stall the flow of information. “Too much… back up for a moment. Can we just.. take a breath?”

She stared at him in disbelief, the delicate, translucent tips of her fins shivering just under the water and making it ripple.

“I’m going to change back,” she said cautiously, looking as if she might bolt, but there was no way she’d out-run him on land if she tried and as powerful as her tail looked, there wasn’t any way for her to swim out of her current predicament. “Could you… look away?” Her face tilted down and to the side, her arms hugging herself even tighter.

“No, I don’t think so,” he answered her. He didn’t trust her to bolt if he did look away, or… or do something stupid. She was looking at the tall, glass windows that walled the pool in with something that was too close to longing for his comfort. “Hey…” he took a step towards the edge of the pool, and when she didn’t move, he took another. “I’m just gonna…”

He slipped down, kneeling at the edge of the water, and then slid his feet into it, sitting on the side.

She sank down low, down to her chin, her tail curling under her, and behind, like she was trying to hide from him.

“Darcy, it’s okay,” he said gently, “whatever’s got you scared, whatever you’re thinking? I can guarantee it’s not gonna happen.”

“But we kill people, Steve,” she said, her voice rough, and now the wet of her eyes was slipping down over her cheeks. Christ, this was a mess.

“When was the last time you killed anyone,?” he asked, more boldly than he felt, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Her lips parted, then pressed tight together. She lifted her eyes properly to meet his.

“Never,” she answered.

“Then what’s this we you keep talking about. Seems more like a them from where I’m sitting,” he murmured softly. She glanced away and then straigthened her shoulders with a huff.

“You’re not freaked out?” she asked. He let out an amused noise and then quelled it when she glared at him.

“I might owe Fury another ten bucks…” he said with a shrug, and then glanced down at where her tail flashed and glittered under the water. His fingers itched to draw it, and he was reminded he’d dropped his sketchpad and towel back in the hallway.

“So, uh…” he gestured at her tail as he fumbled for the right words for it.

“You seen the Little Mermaid?” she asked. He felt his cheeks go pink. She smirked. “Okay you have. Well it’s nothing like that. Okay? I’m not a princess, and my daddy isn’t a king with a big gold pitchfork. I’m just… yeah… my people, my family, aren’t the greatest, so I thought I’d take my chances with the land-walkers for a bit.”

“How’s that working out for you?” he asked, a million other questions crowding his mind. She sighed, looking away for a moment, then back at him.

“Well… I guess that kinda depends on you now, doesn’t it Rogers?”

[[Reblogs begets more fic. Do a writer a favour and reblog.]]


I love how Eddie has this ability to make everything he says sound like he’s letting you in on a secret. He does this thing where he lowers his voice, gets breathy (reminiscent of a whisper), and seems to be straining against a grin. There’s this boyish sort of excitement that always seems to be brewing just under the surface. It’s simultaneously mysterious and really endearing and altogether charming! I just can’t wait for this audiobook…it’s gonna be 100% magical!!!

Originally posted by dailyfantasticbeastsgifs


     This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

     You were back here again. At the place where you watched him die so many times, at the place where you lost him for good.

     Your legs had a mind of their own as you ran for the door of your motel room, throwing it open with enough force to shake the boat painting on the wall and flying down the sidewalk to the room that had been theirs. That had been Sam and Dean’s.

     Dean. The name clanged through you with a surge of nausea. The loss, the pain. It all came flooding back, his face in those final moments flashing before your eyes and the sound of his last breath echoing in your ears.

     You clamped down on the sob threatening to escape your throat and flung open the Winchester’s door, heart pounding and chest heaving, and then …

    There they were. Sam and Dean, locked in a possibly too-tight embrace, confusion contorting Dean’s features.

     “Dude, how many Tuesday’s did you have?” he asked.

     Sam only hugged him tighter. “Enough.”

     The air seemed to leave your lungs. The whole world spun and narrowed, honing in on one spot, one man.

     “Dean,” you breathed.

     His eyes flicked up to yours and your whole body stilled. The piercing green of his irises was like a welcome shock, jolting you out of the numb, loss-induced state you’d been living in for the past six months.

     You walked forward in a dazed stupor, watching as Dean carefully pulled away from his brother and waited. Waited for someone to move, waited for someone to speak. Then you flung yourself forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against his chest and breathing in the familiarity of him, savoring the warmth and the comfort.

     “I missed you,” you gasped, breath hitching on the words. You looked up as Dean ran his fingers through your hair. A shuttering breath escaped your throat and you held his gaze. “I love you.”

     Dean’s eyes went wide and his hand stilled. You’d never said that, not once. The feelings had hung between you for years, always just under the surface, with neither of you willing to admit how you truly felt. But not anymore.

     Half a year. You’d spent half a year without him, half a year thinking you would never see his face again or hear his voice. And you were done waiting, done holding back for fear of loss or rejection. Whatever happened it couldn’t be worse than the not knowing. So you bared it all, laid your feelings out and exposed, panic flaring when he said nothing, dread settling in your gut.

     Until he kissed you.

     Urgent yet gentle, lips soft on your own and calloused hands rough on your skin, he kissed you. Pulled you in and stole every thought from your head. Breathed his next words against your lips.

     “I love you, too.”

*These gifs are not mine, both the gifs are from Google Images*

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