wasted afternoon

There are mouse traps in the Fake AH Crew’s penthouse. Old school, spring loaded mousetraps right out of a cartoon. It takes everyone a while to see them, and even then no one really takes much notice; there’s nothing particularly abnormal about mousetraps after all. Except that the penthouse has never had mice. Except that for all they are bloodthirsty criminals no one in the crew really has the stomach to crush a rodent to death; the Lads short lived plan to keep a pet snake to terrify Geoff ended not because the man in question caught them but instead because none were willing to handle feeding the bloody thing.

So the traps are weird then. The traps no one uses. The traps no one claims. The traps that seem to be multiplying. Not quickly, slow enough to slide under the radar, but month by month the boxes grow until suddenly one of the spare rooms is completely filled.

Which, understandably, is noticed. Geoff calls a meeting and the crew wastes an afternoon squabbling over who and how and why but nothing is resolved. Everyone knows it must be a trap of some sort, someone setting up for a prank or a hilarious stunt, and no one wants to be the target. The culprit does not identify themselves, and there’s more than enough secondhand glee and trepidation going around to muddy the waters and keep the guilty party unknown.

No one is prepared to brave removing the mousetraps themselves, unsure if some trap will be sprung simply by entering the room, so the boxes remain. It’s an uneasy sort of acceptance, no member of the crew wanting to complain and single themselves out, so the threat lays dormant long enough that everyone has to move on, has to stop actively wondering. Even subconsciously they still pass the room gingerly, cautious, but as the months go by and the bedroom remains closed the fact that the boxes continue to multiply is pushed out of mind.

And then Dan flies over to pay Gavin a visit. As usual he’s greeted with a celebration, drink in hand before he’s through the front door; the first of many as the night predictably devolves into something raucous and messy and seamlessly fond. It’s late by the time the teasing and story telling dies down, by the time Dan finally trudges up the hall with his bag, so it takes the crew a moment too long to remember that Dan’s usual room was already occupied. They thunder down the hall just in time to see - nothing. The boxes are gone, the room is immaculate, like nothing strange has been growing there for almost a year, like the crew’s fears were entirely unfounded.

Or so they think, until dawn breaks with Dan screaming the house down, waking everyone up way too early as they scramble to arm themselves and drag their hungover bodies towards the apparent fight taking place in the living room. The fight between Dan and what turns out to be literally thousands of mousetraps, laid out in concentric circles around the main room ready to catch Dan on his usual jetlag-early, half-awake stumble to kitchen.

The culprit would be obvious even without Gavin’s distinctive squeaking giggles ratting him out, perched on the kitchen counter and filming the whole scene on his phone, the areas around him lined with its own little wall of still-loaded mouse traps. Unfortunately, regardless of whatever protection Gavin thought they would buy him, Dan charges right through to tackle him screeching to the ground anyway.

The video winds up on youtube, because of course it does; Gavin is an asshole and sees no reason why the whole world shouldn’t enjoy his endless efforts to torture Dan. By the time Gavin gets the video together, including a time lapse of the set up, various angles from a handful of go pros placed strategically around the room, a slow mo replay of the dawning horror on Dan’s face as the traps go off and the angry bodyslam to close it out, it has all the elements of an excellent video. So of course it goes viral; passed around the internet at lightning speed, shown on various news programs, racking up millions of views before the day is over.

It doesn’t take long for the internet to point out the handful of infamous criminal lookalikes edging into frame at the end, obviously too soft and rumpled and hopelessly entertained to be the real deal, but still a funny comparison all the same. Even more amusing when the blurry footage almost makes them look armed, so-called guns a startling juxtaposition against the silly prank and cutesy patterned pyjamas everyone seems to be wearing. Combined with the obvious opulence of the room, and the kind of cash it must take to buy so many mousetraps just for a stunt, there is no shortage of people joking about the video being a candid episode of MTV Cribs featuring the Fake AH Crew.  

If you think you’re worthless, stop scrolling right now and read.

I’m writing this for a specific mutual, but it isn’t only true for one person, so read on.

You know those inspirational posts you see people reblog every day?

Stuff about people all throughout history who failed and went bankrupt and were depressed and were told they weren’t good enough - and yet somehow they rose above it and defied all those notions to become heroes and legends and history makers and culture movers. And the post always ends with “so don’t be hard on yourself when you mess up” and it’s all nice and sweet and pretty. Maybe you scroll past them. Maybe you hardly ever see them on your dash at all.

Maybe you’re among those who reblogs these posts.

But maybe every time you hit the reblog or the like button, your brain is whispering “this isn’t about you” and “yes people can do amazing things, but not you” and “ah yes amazing stories, too bad it will never happen to you” and you listen to these whisperings and you laugh and shake your head…

Because you know exactly where you stand: worthless. irredeemable. a loser. a lost cause.

Please.

Please.

Listen to me.

As your friend.

As a stranger who doesn’t know you. Who doesn’t have to know you, or your failings, or your depression, or your anxiety, or your embarrassments, or your deepest darkest most heinous crimes.

Stop.

Just stop.

Look up. Look around you. Open. Your. Eyes. Are they open? Good. Keep them open. Don’t ever close them again. See the world. See you: a human being, valid, flawed, journeying, changing, growing, scraping, failing, rising, a masterpiece that will never be made again.

You are beautiful. You who think you are overweight and lazy. You are beautiful. You who think you are stupid and uneducated. You are beautiful. You who think you are a loser, and amount to nothing. You are beautiful. You who bleed and ache and never rest. You are beautiful.

You have worth.

Want to know a secret? If you wake up in the morning and tell yourself you’re not going to amount to anything that day, then you aren’t going to. If you go to bed at night thinking nothing will change tomorrow, then you are going to change nothing.

Because you’ve resigned yourself to that lie. And it is a lie, friend. A straight-out, soul-condemning, out-of-the-pit, self-deprecating, self-pitying lie. A lie you don’t have to believe. A lie you should not believe.

If you stand in the corner and bow your head and stare at the ground, you’ve already lost the battle without fighting. This is a surrender in which there is no honor, and in it there is no hope.

Life isn’t easy, friend. Life isn’t fair. It’s hard. And getting things done is hard. Some days, just getting up out of bed is hard. Just breathing. Just doing homework. Just going to work. Just trying to keep the dishes and trash from overflowing.

But we do it anyway.

Why? Because there’s life to live. There are choices to be made. Jokes to laugh at. Awkward conversations to be had. Art to mess up and start over on. Jobs to work. Pizza to be eaten.

We do it anyway.

So guess what?

You do it anyway too.

Why? Because of this:

You are special.

Right now, this second, turn off the voice that hears these Disney-fied words and scoffs and ignores them. Listen.

There is not a human being who has ever lived or ever will live on this planet that is not important, that is not here for a reason. No life is worthless, and most certainly not yours. My God doesn’t make worthless things, and he doesn’t make mistakes. There are no extra pieces in this universe, no spare parts. He made you. And he made you for a purpose, and that purpose is not to sit in your room, afraid to try, afraid to love, afraid to hope, afraid to climb and fall and hurt and get back up again.

Want to know another secret? You aren’t alone. Every single human being in the history of everything has struggled with feeling worthless at some point in their life. Every single one. That is not a lie. Your feelings of worthlessness are not what is special about you. You are what is special about you. The God who created you is what is special about you.

No matter what you’re going through, no matter what you’ve done, no matter what you have failed to do, someone else has gone through worse. Sometimes, a lot worse.

Oh, now you feel invalidated. “Why can’t I just believe in myself? Other people have it worse, I shouldn’t complain, I should just try harder, but I know trying harder isn’t going to help, so what’s the point.”

Guess what?

Stop that too.

Stop it dead in its tracks.

Kill that thought. Every day. Every morning. Every minute it shows its ugly lying face. Kill it and put it to rest. Stack headstones on top of it and move away, far far way, friend.

Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t know where you’ve been, but you don’t know where I’ve been either. Don’t ignore hope because you think it’s for other people. Don’t keep yourself from making an effort, and pushing yourself forward. Bury the lie. You have worth. You are loved. You are important. God does not make worthless things.

One of my favorite lyrics says “How does it end when the war that you’re in is just you against you against you? You’ve got to learn to love, learn to love your enemies too.”

Learn to love.

Your enemy.

Yourself.

Start learning to see you the way God sees you.

See you the way I see you.

Perfect.

Worthwhile.

Amazing.

Just at the very beginning.

Every single day you wake up is a brand new start.

A bright new chance. Every. Single. One. You will never stop getting chances for as long as you are here, so why dismiss them? Isn’t that the most beautiful thing there is? You get to keep trying. Every single day. You have the gift to go again, try again, start again, live again, breathe again, hope again.

Guess what. When the morning is wasted, the afternoon is still there. When the afternoon is wasted, the evening is still there. When the evening is wasted, the night is still there. And then morning comes again.

So the next time you see a motivational post, an inspiring reblog, a story about how someone overcame something horrible, and turned it into something amazing, look long and hard and take courage, find hope in that. Stop dismissing it as being from a universe you have no part in. Stop putting yourself to that measuring stick and turning away because you’re not there yet.

You’re looking at the end result. At some point, they were standing in your shoes. They couldn’t see the end. They couldn’t see what they might or might not amount to. They had no idea, just like you now. Just exactly like you.

Hope, my friend. Every time you start to think “I can/will never” do this or that or amount to anything or accomplish anything… Hope. Stop those thoughts immediately. Kill them. Bury them. Never stop burying them. They are lies and you are better than them.

Drive them out. Open your eyes. Look around. Pick yourself up. Brush away the tears. “I will try. My God doesn’t make worthless things, so I am not worthless. My God does not create without meaning, so I have meaning. I am here for a reason. Today I will live to find out what that reason is for today. And tomorrow I will hope again.”

Life is hard, my friend. Stop beating yourself up. You are worth more and capable of more than you can ever imagine or hope or dream. Don’t let your past or present failures stop you or beat you down. Keep going, keep hoping, keep killing the lies. You are bigger than them, you go beyond them. And God is greater, and he knows your heart. Trust him. Wake up. Open your eyes. Move forward. Keep your eyes open.



“You’ve got all that emotion that’s heaving like an ocean
And you’re drowning in a deep, dark well
I can hear it in your voice that if you only had a choice
You would rather be anyone else

I love you just the way that you are
I love the way He made your precious heart

Be kind to yourself
Be kind to yourself

I know it’s hard to hear it when that anger in your spirit
Is pointed like an arrow at your chest
When the voices in your mind are anything but kind
And you can’t believe your Father knows best

I love you just the way that you are
I love the way He’s shaping your heart

Be kind to yourself
Be kind to yourself

Well how does it end when the war that you’re in
Is just you against you against you
Gotta learn to love, learn to love
Learn to love your enemies too

You can’t expect to be perfect
It’s a fight you’ve gotta forfeit
You belong to me whatever you do
So lay down your weapon, darling
Take a deep breath and believe that I love you

Be kind to yourself
Be kind to yourself
Be kind to yourself

Gotta learn to love, learn to love
Learn to love your enemies
Gotta learn to love, learn to love
Learn to love your enemies too

anonymous asked:

hi i dont know if u like star wars or not but i love ur writing and u do it so beautifully so if by chance u've seen star wars: the force awakening would u be willing to write something about rey who is a magical jedi angel child in the form of the fight me meme

rey who has always been hungry– 

well, not quite always. once, she got three full portions after a month of barely scraping by. she ate all three that night and licked the plate after and went to bed with her belly full and aching. 

the next day, when she only got a quarter, she still couldn’t quite bring herself to regret the feast. 

(not quite always– once, in blurred early memory, she remembers this: warmth and soft light, warm smiles, warm food she did not have to work for, warm hands handing her warm bowls, and her warm full belly after. 

but she does not think about that, not often.)

rey, who knows every crook and cranny of those fallen ships on jakku. she thinks of ships as fallen. she thinks of them as land creatures, sand creatures, empty spaces and echoes. 

(when she steps onto the millennium falcon and the whole thing lights up– she has never met anything more alive.) 

on the falcon, han’s freighter, the first order base– they are new and lit-up and dangerous, but they look like home. she knows the wiring of these places, what their synapses look like broken and pilfered through and laid out for market. she has climbed them like jagged cliffs. she has explored their depths and wormed through their disembowled crannies. 

the first order’s stormtroopers see corridors and hangars and galleys. but rey? 

rey sees the fuses she’d scavenged one by one, the blast doors whooshing open and closed on residual battery power as she fiddled with them (she’d wasted a whole afternoon playing and gone to sleep hungry and smiling into her pillow). 

rey sees the cliff face she scaled first at twelve, when she’d reached all the easy finds (”do you want to sit here and be a scared-of-heights baby,” she’d whispered to herself, “or do you want to eat?”).

sneaking her way through the first order’s corridors, stolen gun in hand, rey keeps thinking in the back of her head ‘everything’s sideways’

rey, who keeps telling them she has to get back to jakku. rey, who waited and waited, who keeps telling them she has to go back for the people who never came back for her. she has lived in the shell of a fallen walker, in a metal cage blistering in the sun and frozen at night, filling it up with her orange-and-white pilot yarn doll and her handfuls of scavenged flowers. she has been waiting, and surviving, and scaling the insides of dead ships, taking them apart to live. 

then the first order takes her. and she saves herself, she finds her power, she runs through the sideways living corridors of the dead sky-beasts that have fed her for years. she runs– rey, who waited, who no one ever came back for, she turns a corridor and finn is standing there, waiting. 

(no one ever comes back for her. no one ever comes. she takes old ships apart piece by piece and doesn’t think about what it would be like to fly away. she licks her plate and buries her toes in cold shady sand and tries not to remember being full. she waits, she waits and no one comes back– 

but there is a droid who needs help. there is a boy who keeps taking her hand. there is a piece-of-garbage ship that purrs under her palms and takes her away. there is a lightsaber that sings her name– a universe that sings her name– a song, a light around all of us, if she only closes her eyes and listens.)

there is a boy, standing in this sideways corridor, and he is alive and he is waiting and he came back for her. 

rey, who stops waiting. rey, who slides into the pilot seat of the falcon like she belongs there– because she does, because she belongs on a living ship, to a living universe, to a life

and it belongs to her. 

tiny lil highschool promptis

There’s a moment, a very precise, specific moment in time, when Noctis realizes that he’s in love with his best friend.

It’s not some magical moment out of a fairytale. It’s not after some great conflict, after they’ve had a fight and found their way back to each other. It’s not after some romantic night out, or anything of the sorts.

It’s a regular afternoon. They’re done school for the day. Spring’s arrived, but they’re still wearing their winter uniforms, all high-collared shirts and dark jackets. Noct’s ignoring his responsibilities, and Prompto doesn’t have to work, so they’re going to waste the afternoon away doing nothing, and that’s Noct’s favourite kind of day.

They’re walking down the sidewalk to grab a burger at their favourite greasy dive. The scenery isn’t particularly beautiful. The sun is out, but it’s not warm. They walk by a grocery store, a florist, an old used bookstore that they check out sometimes to find rare comics. Nothing out of the ordinary, everything the same. Their shoulders nudge together as they walk.

They have to cross the street, and so they stop at the sidewalk. Prompto’s talking about a new game that’s coming out soon that looks fun, and Noct’s half paying attention, half responding to an angry text from Ignis, who has just realized Noct’s slacking off again.

And then it happens. Noctis looks up from his phone at the exact moment Prompto tips his head his way. And Noctis notices him. He notices the blue of Prompto’s eyes. The sharp lines of eyeliner his best friend wears, and tries to pretend that he doesn’t. Prompto looks a little bit tired – they were up too late the night before, being stupid best friends and texting instead of sleeping – but he’s smiling, and he looks happy, despite it all. There’s a little cluster of freckles under one eye, and Noct’s never really noticed just how endearing it looks.

“Noct?” Prompto tips his head to the side, smiling that little half smile.  

Prompto’s hair is a bit of a mess, tousled and windswept just slightly from the spring breeze, and his bangs are long and falling over one eye. He looks good. Noctis is staring, and he’s breathing heavily, and something in his chest is constricting and tightening. He’s got butterflies in his stomach, and he can’t look away, and…

“Hey, earth to Noct!”

Prompto’s hand waves in front of Noct’s face, and he flushes, grumbles and offers Prompto his most unimpressed look. “Dude, what, I’m here.”

“Crosswalk, dummy,” Prompto chirps, and before Noctis can say anything, his best friend’s grabbing his hand and dragging him across before the light changes and they’re stuck waiting another cycle.

Their fingers tangled together feels good in Noct’s hand. His stomach is doing flips. The moment has passed, it’s well over, but the feelings linger, and Noctis realizes something has changed. It’s all different now.

They cross to the other side, continue on to the diner, and Noctis doesn’t pull his hand away. He gives Prompto’s hand a tiny little experimental squeeze, and Noct thinks he sees his friend’s lips quirk up in a faint little smile, so he smiles back, and he leans in a little, and it’s a good day.

3

doodles for @hurryupfic‘s noir au ;0; allen + co dont look very vintage but i think lena, link + tokusa were a bit more successful??? also the day i stop drawing AU thirds with beauty marks is the day i die. 

  pardon the horrendous formatting omg i didnt want this to be a long post ;; + tokusa is a floating torso because i could not in good conscience subject him to high-waisted pants. not yet.

the-bookish-soul  asked:

Feysand with them having a fight Bring in the angst

I can do angst. :) Enjoy.


“Feyre?”

I didn’t have the energy to turn my head toward the door, nor did I care to.

When she realized that, my sister crept toward where I was lying on my bed, facing the wall. My bed, our bed, the bed we once shared. Her footsteps grew louder as she approached, and knelt by my bedside.

My eyes closed when her sad, brown eyes came into focus.

“Feyre.” Her hand brushed my forearm before falling into her lap. “He came by. He wants to speak with you.”

I didn’t answer. He came by day after day and asked to see me, wondered how I was doing. Day after day, I didn’t answer.

“Don’t you think you should at least see him?” Elain suggested, carefully. “He may have something to say that’s worth hearing.”

My eyes opened, surprising her, surprising me. “Nothing….Nothing he can say will change what happened.”

“Feyre….” Elain frowned. I could tell she worried for me, could tell that I was breaking her heart. But I couldn’t force myself to be happy, not even for her. “It was an accident-“

“Leave,” I ordered. I ignored the tear that slid down her cheek as she rose. I broke her. I broke Elain. I broke her hope, her joy.

“Yell for me if you need anything,” she said, before kissing my cheek and exiting through the way she came.

I wasted the afternoon staring into nothingness, allowing the numbness to consume me. He knocked against the bond every now and then, as he did daily, but I ignored him, I shut him out.

No one else bothered me. No one else came to see if I needed anything. No one else came.

Two months since it happened. I had spent the last month in this routine. I woke up, I lied in bed, I debated taking a bath or taking a bite of food. I had only changed my clothing a few times, and only got out of bed when I needed to use the washroom. I was sick – physically, mentally, emotionally.

I was broken.

Before I knew it, the starlight greeted me. It was beautiful, I wasn’t too far gone to acknowledge that. I watched as the light of the stars danced along my walls, screamed and sobbed as they reminded me of her.

The first month was different. After the accident, I went to see her every day. I was in constant communication with the healer, although I still didn’t care to see Rhys. He reminded me of her. She was the spitting image of her father, from her dark hair to her tanned skin to her radiant wings.

But, I became tired. I was tired of seeing her lying there with no improvement. I was tired of the healer’s sighing, of her not knowing whether my daughter was going to make it through the night.  I was tired of hearing why she shouldn’t be sleeping, how it made no sense that she never woke up.

Nesta came with the same news every morning. She’s stable, Feyre. She’s still here. She’s still with us.

Was she, though? Was she still there if she was not awake? Was she still there if she was slowly fading into the grand abyss?

“Rhys!” Cassian’s voice filled the hallway, panicked. “Rhys, give her time-“

“I’ve given her time,” I heard him snap, his voice sending chills down my spine.

No, I begged. Who? I didn’t know. Don’t let him see me like this.

My door flew open, but I didn’t dare look at him, didn’t dare look at my husband, my mate.

I could feel both of their presences, the two males, warriors, brothers. I could see the shadows of their wings from the faelight in the hallway. I could hear the quiet breathing of the rest of the household, awaiting the war that was about to wage.

“Feyre.” I didn’t know if he meant to sound confident, or stoic, or courageous, but it came out defeated.

The sound broke down my mental shields, and everything came flooding in. His pain, his hurt, his sorrow, his own brokenness.

“Feyre,” he begged, taking slow, heavy steps in my direction. “Please. Please, look at me.”

I hadn’t realized I was crying, not until the pillow beneath my cheek became wet from the tears.

Cassian’s footsteps faded down the hall, after he closed the door softly behind him.

“Leave,” I whispered, not trusting myself to speak, not remembering what my actual voice even sounded like.

“No,” he said, adamantly. “Feyre-“

“Don’t-“

“I need you.” Then he was there, kneeling by my bedside just as Elain was earlier, but he was different. His back was hunched, and dark circles surrounded his eyes. His wings drooped once his knees hit the floor, his cheeks red and swollen. “I need you, Feyre. I can’t do this alone.”

I shook my head, biting my lip, holding in the words that had haunted me.

“She needs us,” he pleaded. “She needs us, both of us.”

“She can’t even hear us!” I screamed, causing him to break down and weep. I didn’t feel bad. I didn’t feel anything, anything but anger. I couldn’t move, wouldn’t move from my bed, from where I lied down, but I clutched my damp pillow and I yelled, “She can’t see us, Rhysand! She doesn’t even look like our little girl anymore! She’s fading-“

“The healer says there’s a chance-“

“If she was going to wake up, she would have by now. The healer doesn’t even know why she’s not responding.” All the anger had left me, my voice was eerily calm. “It’s time to face reali-“

“No,” he interrupted. I didn’t have the energy to continue anyway. “You may give up, but I won’t. I will not give up, because if I give up…” he stopped and shook his head, rising to his feet, raking his hands, frustrated, through his unkept hair. “Damn it, Feyre! If you think that I don’t want to spend every day in bed, staring at the wall and giving up on all of this, then you’re delusional! I want to give up, Feyre! I want to break down, and break things, and kill, but I don’t! I feel guilty! I hate myself for what happened! I hate myself for taking her with me, for making enemies for all those years! But, it was an accident!”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to picture it. I didn’t want to see it again. I didn’t want to imagine the cloaked faerie that swooped down from the clouds and stabbed my daughter, my firstborn.

On behalf of my master, the faerie had said before Azriel slit his throat.

I would never forget Rhys landing in the yard of the townhouse, our baby cradled in his arms, her blood staining his clothing, his skin.

“I just wanted to show her Prythian,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. I felt it, then. Anger, sadness. Not only for me, on my behalf, but for my mate. “I wanted her to see the beauty, the goodness, but instead I showed her the opposite. It was an accident, Feyre. I would never- if you think that I would ever-“ His breath caught and he stumbled, falling to his knees and burying his face in his hands. “She was only thirteen!” I knew he wasn’t talking to me. I knew he wasn’t talking to me for a while, now. He was getting it out, everything that he had been bottling up. “She’s too young for this. Because of me. Because of me, she got hurt. Because of who I was, who I pretended to be. I hate myself for it. Every. Damn. Day.”

I hadn’t felt myself move, but I was sitting up. I could suddenly smell the stench radiating off me. Could feel the dead skin that had accumulated, could feel the faint feeling of hunger.

I walked to Rhys, my legs aching at the sudden movement. I took his head in my hands, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He watched me as I disappeared into the washroom, and started a bath. My head was dreary, my vision blurry. I didn’t feel like I belonged in my body, but I was still in there, grasping onto something worth holding on to.

I re-entered the bedroom and helped Rhysand rise to his feet, and led him into the washroom. I removed my clothes, then I helped him remove his. He sat in the tub, then he took my frail frame into his arms. My body reacted to the closeness of my mate, to the feeling of his skin against mine in the water. I rested my head against his shoulder, rested my hand in his.

We didn’t say much more, but we remained, soaking in the water as one until it grew cold. We cried together, and we kissed one another softly. We told each other everything we had to say, of both sadness and love, through touch, through feeling, without saying a single word. I didn’t want to move, not even to get out of the lukewarm bathwater.

We clung to one another, afraid that if we let go, we would lose it all.

We stayed in the water until the sun began to creep through the washroom window. Then, my love carried me out of the tub, wrapped me in a warm towel, and carried me to our bed. He pressed his front against my bare back as we became wrapped securely together in the heavy blankets.

I had just closed my eyes when my bedroom door once again flew open, this time to reveal Nesta, sobbing, in my doorway.

But, she was smiling.

She was laughing.

“She’s awake!” she cried, tears flowing freely from the eyes identical to mine. “She’s awake, Feyre, she’s awake. She’s awake, and asking for you, for both of you.”

Just That Simple - Shed Your Skin Part 4

Originally posted by eh-just-join-the-fandom-fam

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

A/N: Not my favourite thing I’ve ever written but it’s alright. If y’all don’t hate it too much I have an idea for part 5, I literally have no idea how this ended up so long it started out as two parts. 

Summary: Meeting the friends for the first time is always nerve wracking, even for a hardened gang member.

Word Count: 3,419

Warnings: Knives, swearing, gang mentions and I think that’s it.

Keep reading

tried a few pieces and hoped that they'd fit

Summary: Patterson and Tasha get to go solve Jewel Staite’s treasure hunt because they’re, y’know, the puzzle solvers on the team.

Characters: Patterson and Tasha Zapata

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: This is gay and I wrote it in like five hours.

“You couldn’t have found…anything else?” Tasha grumbles, pulling her red beanie down at the back. “The FBI suddenly has no undercover budget?”

Patterson manages a grin, her cheeks pinked by the chilly breeze. “It’s cute. Coding chic for the coder. The leather jacket’s a nice touch, too.” She gestures down to her own outfit. “Me, on the other hand…”

“I don’t know,” Tasha says, her lips quirking, “I think HR got a call from the 1950s last week. Red plaid is making a comeback.”

read the rest on ao3

Student Council Prez [6]

Episode 5 - Episode 6 - Episode 6.5 OR Episode 7 
Words: 4.9k
Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, High School!Au

Sohyun is crouched down on the cement, her ladybug backpack on her back and some pink chalk between her fingers. She carefully draws a picture of you and Sungjae, a small house behind you two.

“Hey!” She lifts her head, met with a boy who has his hands on his hips, staring down at her. Her eyes twinkle for a moment before she looks down again and continues drawing.

“I’m talking to you, you know!” Joonhyung stammers out, standing on her picture. She whimpers out, looking up again at her fellow classmate.

“Where are your parents? Why do you always get picked up soo late?” He asks with a frown and she tries to push his legs away but he simply shoves her hands off, making her fall back.

She sniffles, staring back at the boy with big doe eyes. He’s flustered, unable to understand the feeling that flutters inside his chest for a moment. “You’re weird! Why don’t you talk?! Can you not talk?!” He shouts at her, grimacing at her pretty braids.

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promptis + highspecs babiessss~

(anon asked for highspecs + promptis baby playdate. YOU’RE WELCOME.)


There’s a little back courtyard in the citadel. Not very many know about it, and Noct’s pretty sure that’s intentional. There’s a little side hallway with a little stairwell that leads down here, but it’s otherwise inaccessible. He has fond memories of running around back here as a small kid. It’s got high walls – though not too high for an ambitious teenage prince to scale, as he knows from experience – and is shaded heavily by trees. It’s a nice place to waste a lazy afternoon, when you’re an exhausted king.

Noct steps out into the little area. It’s still a bit of a mess of crumbling pathways and tall weeds, but the corner has been shaped into a little garden, sylleblossoms bright and vibrant, dutifully cared for, though normally they refuse to grow here. Noct’s steps hasten and a little smile bubbles up, as he shuffles over to where Prompto’s leaning up against a tree, sitting on a soft blanket he’s spread out.

“See you got stuck with babysitting duty,” Noct says as he lazily settles down, sprawling on his back and laying his head in his husband’s lap. Prompto laughs, a hand drifting, immediately, to work through Noct’s hair. He hasn’t bothered to tie it back today, and it’s long, curling a little at the back of his neck.

“Dunno if I’d say stuck,” Prompto looks down and grins, though he has one eye open still, focused on the two babies flailing on the blanket. Noct turns on his side, sighing as Prompto’s fingers lazily trace over the shell of one ear, tugging a little at the tiny skull earring he’s got – something dumb they all got, a symbolic gesture, of sorts, to mark the end of their journey – and it’s impossible not to smile at the sight.

“You sound tired,” Noctis points out. “Look tired, too.” The two babies, for the moment, are occupied with two plush toys, a fat chocobo and a moogle with a pom that squeaks. Their son is making happy baby noises, a fat fist stuck in his mouth, drooling happily as he waves the chocobo around. The other baby – fair-haired and green-eyed – is offering up her best haughty baby look, and seems to be trying to negotiate in some vague, baby-like way, a trade of toys. It’s entertaining to watch, at the least.

“She’s almost walking, Noct,” Prompto’s voice is a strange mixture of frustration, terror, and sheer wonder. “She’s gonna be a nightmare. It’s crazy how much personality babies have, when they can’t even talk.”

“Takes after her mother,” Noct says with a smile. Their son, all curious smiles and wide-eyes and freckles everywhere, takes after Prompto, Noctis has decided. He’s hoping that eventually he picks up on Noct’s love of sleep though, because they’re existing in a half-dead state of constant exhaustion.

Prompto nods, but he’s shifting out from under Noctis when the baby girl decides she’s bored with whatever little game they’re playing, and rolls over to drag herself to the edge of the blanket. “No, nope, Gloriosa, you get back here… we aren’t playing roll around in the dirt again, Iggy’s already gonna kill me, your clothes are filthy…”

Noctis laughs, and he sits up. True to Prompto’s words, there’s grass stains all over the little girl’s yellow shirt. She’s giving Prompto a solemn, reproachful look, and reaches a hand up to tug at his hair as Prompto scoops her back up and settles back down on the blanket, the baby in his lap.

“He’s gonna be running around soon, too,” Noctis says lazily, reaching over to pick up their son. He’s still holding onto his chocobo plushie with iron fists, cuddling it close against his chest and chewing on its beak now. Noct tries to disentangle it, but he hears the beginning of a wail forming, and gives up. Whatever. It’s a chew toy now, apparently.

“I hope he starts napping around then, too,” Prompto grumbles, but he laughs, head settling happily on Noct’s shoulder, like it belongs there. Because it does belong there.

“Just wait till he starts warping,” Noctis adds, a hint of laughter in his voice, and he’s well aware that he’s going to have a heart attack a million times over, ensured by fond memories of accidentally warping onto the roof, or escaping Ignis for hours on end by leaping right through him in a blur of blue, swirling magic.

“That’s not fair,” Prompto pouts, “I can’t keep up with you stupid Caelums. Two against one.”

Noctis smiles. The matching rings on their fingers are catching the sunlight, through the branches of the trees. Ignis and Aranea’s daughter is restless again, fumbling as she crawls out of Prompto’s lap, and into Noct’s, perching in that swaying, awkward, uncertain way that only a baby can manage, as she goes for the chocobo plushie again, determined.

“Share your toys, Sol,” Noctis lectures idly, as his son’s face scrunches up in the beginnings of a stubborn wail, the two babies both tugging at the toy. Prompto leans forward and snatches up the moogle, and waves it in front of the two babies, and it distracts them for a minute before they’re back to poking at each other with fat little fists.

“You’re a Caelum, too,” Noctis points out, a little belatedly, though he’s now bouncing a sniffling son in his lap as the most cherished chocobo toy changes hands with a good deal of reluctance. “Stuck with us.”

“Guess so,” Prompto says with a laugh, “I kinda signed up for this, falling in love with a king, didn’t I? Don’t think sixteen year old me had any idea what I was in for.”

“Don’t think either of us did,” Noctis laughs too though. “But we figured it out.” Somehow, they did.

elle’s self rec list

So I figured out that with the billions of fic I have written for Kingsman I would do a little list of those that are dear to me and I think you should all read. (I could legit put everything on this list, but 138 completed fics is a bit much even for me)

Of Flowers, Thunderstorm and Tranquility - M, Hartwin, AU

The fresh snow crinkles satisfyingly under his feet as Harry slowly makes his rounds of his part of the Forest. He is seconds away from humming when a whimpering sound from a bush nearby gives him pause.

Harry carefully makes his way towards the sound, on his guard. He gasps in surprise when he parts the foliage. He doesn’t know what he expected, but one thing is certain, it wasn’t the unconscious Summer Child curled up around himself.

This is quite frankly the one I think of as my masterpiece. (though that will probably change when Red and I post the bang). It took me over a year to complete, but oh boy am I proud of the result.

I’m not calling you a ghost - G, Hartwin

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again. Hun. Still there. He must be on the really good drugs.

In the chair besides his bed, Harry Hart is sitting reading what must be a report, a little frown that only accentuates the scar on the left side of his forehead.

Definitely my most popular fic. Way back in the beginning, before we knew we would get a sequel, when everyone was sure Harry Hart was dead for real and not coming back.

Before getting 101 dogs, you need at least 2 - G, Hartwin, 101 dalmatians au

JB loves his human, but he’s getting rather fed up with how Eggsy won’t even look at the nice gentleman he’s clearly interested in they keep seeing in the park.

He’s going to take the matters into his own paws.

Short and sweet and I am still amazed at how much people liked it :D

Merlin, dogsitter extraordinaire - G, Merlin-centric, background Hartwin and Percilot

All through his childhood, he has had dogs and he’s always enjoyed their company and unconditional love. Then he had left for college where he just hadn’t had enough space to keep one and after being recruited into Kingsman he had just been too busy to even think about welcoming one puppy into his life and training him or her accordingly.

You like Merlin? You like dogs? You like ocs? This one got it all

I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice - G, Hartwin

“What I don’t understand is why you thought it was necessary to make a montage of every time Galahad appears in someone else’s feed though.”

“No, what you watched is every time an agent looked at Galahad’s when the boy was looking at you.”

I wrote this based on a prompt I got, but damn I still adore the way I chose to write this.

A Boxful of Kittens - G, Merhartwin

While he’s taking a walk around the manor, after coming back from dealing with Valentine, Merlin finds four kittens and their mother.

After what he just lived through, he cannot bear living them outside to fend for themselves.

Kittens and out three favourite men… What more do you want?

Only a fool would deny love - G, Hartwin

A princess’ kiss might have been Eggsy’s highlight of that horrific day. Because seriously who can honestly say they’ve never dreamt about kissing a princess (or a prince, because Eggsy is many thing, but picky isn’t one of those)? Until he got back on the plane and finds out Harry’s back from the dead.

The first long fic I started writing in the fandom. I really love it even if it shows that this has been written 2 years ago and I have definitely improved since then

Messenger of War - T, Hartwin, AU

He shivers at the brief contact of a hand on his shoulder and he forces the ripple of familiarity back down, but something in Harry’s eyes before he turns back and leaves hints that he is not the only one feeling it.

I am still stupidly proud of this fic okay and I’ll forever will be.

Kisses Like a Thousand Snowflakes - G, Hartwin, Roxlin, Percilot

“I wanted to know… What’s Kingsman’s stance on Christmas’ decorations?”
It’s hard not answering to Eggsy’s enthusiasm with a grin of his own and he doesn’t really try.
“Well since the Angels Incident of ‘97, the Garlands Debacle of ‘02 and the Reindeers Nightmare of ‘09, the late Arthur had put a ban on all the stuff and confiscate it all.”

This Christmas, mistletoe is everywhere and nobody is safe.

Okay this is a christmas fic, but who cares? It’s also the ultimate fix-it where everyone is alive and nobody’s dead.

Baked Love - G, Hartwin, AU

There were no other customers, but he didn’t think he was wrong in assuming it had more to do with the hour, after lunch but before the afternoon rush, and the awful weather, than anything wrong with the shop. For one thing, the interior was decorated really simply, but with enough nice touches to make it feel cozy. For another, the smell permeating the air, a mix of baked goods and coffee, was quite mouth-watering. The gorgeous young man walking out of the backroom with a polite but genuine smile wasn’t a slight against the shop either.

Or in which Harry is really a tailor and Eggsy works in a bakery shop.

Food and pining is a think one of the best combination in the world.

A Summer’s Day - G, Pre-Hartwin

Harry doesn’t sigh when he notices the empty bench in the familiar corner of the park. He had not gone on a walk with the intention to come here, but since Mr. Pickle has died a month ago, his feet continuously lead him to what had been their usual spot to waste a lazy afternoon away.

In which Harry recites poetry to a pug in a park.

Because meet-cutes are the best

Kingsman’s Nursery - G, Gen, AU

It is by sheer luck that James witnesses Princess Tilde’s kidnapping.

He’s only walking in the area, minding his own business, when he notices the infamous criminal mastermind Valentine and his deadly bodyguard Gazelle forcing the princess into a car.

In which they are all children except for Chester and Valentine, but they’re all spies too (or princesses).

That one was just too fun to write and I think more people should read it

Room for Three (Not Only You and Me) - G, Merhartwin

The first time it happens Merlin honestly doesn’t know.
Though, in Merlin’s defense there is nothing indicating that this is any different than usual.

Wherein Merlin date-crashes Harry and Eggsy’s dates without realising it at first. Except, when Merlin tries to give them some space, they don’t seem to be happy about it.

This one will always have a special place in my heart because this is the one that made me meet Red. Also writing about oblivious Merlin was very fun xD

Stay (A)head of the Case - G, Roxlin, Pre-Hartwin, Sleepy Hollow AU

In the relative comfort of the carriage bringing him to Sleepy Hollow, Merlin scoffs as he revises the facts that are known about the case he’s being sent to investigate.

There are already three victims, the Heskeths, father and son, as well as a certain widow Winship, and the only suspect is a Headless Horseman? Who could ever believe such rubbish really? Whoever the true perpetrator of those murders is, they must be having a jolly time indeed.

In which Merlin is a constable from New York sent to Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders.

I just love what I did with this AU and seriously there isn’t enough Roxlin in the fandom

Come Sail Away (Into the Light of the Dark Black Night) - G, Hartwin, soulmate AU

Eggsy had always known his soulmate would be older than him.

Or no, that wasn’t entirely right. He might have been hearing his soulmate all his life, but it had been a while before anyone had explained to him what it really meant.

It’s a soulmate au, if you like those do you really need more? :D

Labyrinth of Love - T, Merhartwin, Labyrinth AU

It is not the first time that a mortal catches the fancy of the Goblin King, but it is the first time one catches the eyes of both Kings.

In which Merlin and Harry are co-rulers of the Goblin Kingdom and Eggsy makes what he thinks is an unfortunate wish.

Who doesn’t love the movie Labyrinth? Who doesn’t want to imagine Merlin and Harry as the Goblin Kings?

From your hearts, I make a home - T, Hartwinrox

Since he’s started living on his own, Harry has always done everything so that the house he goes back to feels like a home. Sometime it was all that kept him sane while he dealt with whatever trauma that came with being a Knight.

And sure, nowadays he doesn’t see much field work, but the rituals have stayed and being able to offer that sense of home to not one amazing being but two? It is priceless.

Because domestic fluff and Harry/Roxy/Eggsy is always a must

I Get a Little Bit… - G, Merlahad, Ghenghis Khan AU

Merlin is putting his two children to bed when his phone starts ringing with a too familiar alert. He curses under his breath, thankful that Roxy is already fast asleep and won’t reprimand him on his language.

It’s the Genghis Khan Merlahad au everyone wanted but nobody was writing really.

Love is a fabric which never fades - G, Hartwin, Dragon AU

When Harry started his hoard of clothing, it has come as to no surprise to either him or his parents. After all, he has been drawn to fabrics and texture and colors for as long as he can remember; one of his earliest memory the soft cashmere of his father’s brown sweater and the rough red scales of his mother’s skin.

Harry has been courting Eggsy dragon style for a while now without telling him because he’s a self-sacrificing idiot who doesn’t believe he can be loved. Luckily for them, Eggsy is no such idiot.

Quite honestly, I am very surprised by how much people seem to enjoy this??? Like sure it’s dragons, but I never would have expected the kind of response I got :O

Fairy Tale Ending - G, Mercival, werewolf AU

If it had been anyone else, if he had been stranded in the woods with, let’s say, Lancelot instead, he would have believed the words to be a very ill-timed joke.

But this was Merlin, Merlin whom he trusts with his life.

And Merlin’s a werewolf.

It’s a werewolf au. Need I say more?

Warm and safe, like a home - G, Merwin

It starts simple enough, with Eggsy bringing Merlin a cup of tea.

But before it can become anything more, Harry comes back from the dead and Eggsy realises he never truly had a chance.

Pining and misunderstandings but with a happy ending. I am sure I can’t be the only one who loves that