what do you mean i'm not supposed to bleed on everything

Touch-Starved II

So this got long. Prince kind of came in and stole the show, and then I realized that I had a whole to go before I reached the end. I hope you like it. Especially since there’ somehow 600 of you now, and that’s terrifying. So yeah, really hope this turned out all right. Also @slutsanders, tumblr is not letting me tag you for some reason. So if someone else could tag them that would be great. And please let me know if you want to try and tag you on the later parts as well. Anyway Part I is here. Part III Part IV

Anxiety was hiding.

He had been for the past three days. He’d been living off tap water and the granola bars he kept in his room, but unfortunately those hadn’t lasted very long, and now he was hungry. But if he wanted to get food, he’d have to go to the kitchen, where he might see the others.

Anxiety knew he couldn’t avoid them forever, but he didn’t know how to face them. Didn’t know how to face their newfound pity. Anxiety could admit it, he was scared. He’d gotten used to being alone, to being overlooked, and now that was changing.

Part of him wanted to be hopeful, to think that maybe this was a good thing. But mostly he was just scared. What if he got used to the attention and then once they deemed him “fixed enough” they left him alone again? Or worse what if trying to spend time with them made them realize why they were better off without him?

Anxiety curled up tighter on his bed. He wished he’d never said anything.Then nothing would have changed. It wasn’t like he needed physical contact anyway. Logic was wrong.

His stomach growled, and he cringed. While he may not have needed physical contact, he did need food. He glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight. The others were probably asleep. Maybe if he went now, he could grab some food and make it back without seeing anyone.

As his stomach growled again, Anxiety made up his mind. It was worth a shot. Carefully and quietly, he crept out of his room, cringing at the slight creaking of the door. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he made his way to the kitchen.

Not wanting to risk turning on the light, he began to grope around in the dark. He pulled more granola bars out of the pantry, as well as a loaf of bread, and a box of crackers. Setting them on the counter, he then moved to the fridge, hoping to at least grab some fruit.

But when he opened the fridge, he was stunned. Sitting on the middle shelf was a foil-covered plate with a note reading For Anxiety on top of it in Morality’s handwriting. He pulled it out, staring at it in disbelief.

Morality had left this, for him? Even though he didn’t know if Anxiety would even see it? Had he been doing this every night?

“You should eat that,” a voice remarked from behind. “Morality will be thrilled.”

Startled at the unexpected noise, Anxiety’s hands fumbled with the plate, and dropped it. It fell to the ground and shattered, the ceramic shards now scattered around his bare feet. He hissed in pain as some of them cut into his skin.

“Woah, easy there” the voice spoke up again. It was Prince.

A hand reached out to grab his shoulder, but Anxiety shrugged it away. He didn’t need this.

“I’m just trying to help,” Prince said exasperatedly, “Hold on, I’ll get the light.”

After a few moments and the sound of shuffling, Anxiety screwed his eyes shut at the sudden brightness as the lights flickered on.

“Well that looks bad,” Prince remarked, staring at Anxiety’s feet.

“No shit,” Anxiety muttered, staring at the ground.

Prince approached him cautiously. “Don’t freak out,” he told him.

“Why would I freak-“

But before Anxiety could finish asking his question. Prince’s hands were on his waist, swinging him up and over, depositing him on the counter. As soon as the hands loosened their grip, he jerked back, glaring at Prince.

Prince looked unrepentant.

“I needed to get you out of the way to clean this up,” he explained, “And I didn’t want to risk you stepping on any of it.”

Anxiety supposed he could see the sense in that. Grudgingly. He stayed still on the counter as Prince fetched a broom and pan and began sweeping up the mess. From the looks of it, Morality had made him chicken and peas. Anxiety regretted dropping the plate.

Once the mess had been swept up and thrown away, Prince turned back to Anxiety.

“Alright, Black Veil Bride,” he said, “Let’s get those cuts cleaned up.”

“I can do it myself,” Anxiety snapped, eager for this encounter to end.

Prince didn’t look impressed. “I’m sure,” he replied sarcastically, “But I have more experience treating injuries than you, and besides, it is somewhat my fault that you obtained them. Now hold still.”

Running a washcloth under some water, and grabbing a med kit from under the sink, Prince approached, picking up Anxiety’s right foot. Anxiety resisted the urge to squirm in discomfort. He was all to aware of Prince’s closeness, all too aware that this surge of concern was only motivated by pity.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Like in his last conversation with Logic, he felt almost frozen in place, staring as Prince gently wiped away the blood.

“These aren’t as bad as they looked,” Prince murmured. “They’re actually quite shallow. I’ll finish cleaning them out and then put some bandages on them.”

Anxiety had only meant to say sure, but what came out of his mouth was, “Why do you care?”

Prince looked up, frowning. “I know we don’t always get along,” he said, “But that doesn’t mean I’d leave you here bleeding.”

“Not- not just this,” Anxiety said, feeling as though the words were bubbling out of him with little conscious thought. “This whole thing, the whole touch thing. Why do you care? It’s not like it matters”

Prince’s grip on his foot tightened, before he let out a long slow breath.

“You know how I’ve rescued maidens from towers in the past?” he asked, seemingly quite randomly.

“Yeah?” Anxiety drawled, not sure where this was going.

“Do you know what they said the worst part of being in those towers was,” Prince said, now looking much more solemn than Anxiety was used to seeing him. “They said the worst part was the loneliness. The way they felt isolated from anyone and everyone. I remember one girl refused to let go of me for some hours, because she was afraid I’d turn out not to be real if she let go.”

“Okay, what does this have to do with me,” Anxiety asked, feeling slightly uneasy.

“Anxiety, you weren’t locked in a tower, but we did leave you alone,” Prince said softly. “We shouldn’t have. I, at least, should have known better. We may argue, but you’re still part of this family, you’re still under my protection. And I failed you. Please let me make it up.”

Anxiety could only stare. Prince looked genuinely remorseful. And pleading. His eyes begged Anxiety to say yes.

He didn’t need help though, really, no matter what Prince might think. But as he opened his mouth to tell him that, Anxiety couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead he just muttered, “Just finish bandaging my feet, I want to go to bed.”

“Of course,” Prince said, his eyes still watching Anxiety. “I’ll do that now.”

Sitting in uncomfortable silence, Anxiety watched as Prince cleaned and bandaged his feet. He was being surprisingly gentle, and Anxiety didn’t know what to make of it.

When he had finished, Prince stepped back. “There,” he said, “All done. You can go back to bed now. Although,” and here he hesitated, “It might still hurt a little to walk. I could- I could carry you if you like?”

“I can walk,” Anxiety snapped, but on seeing Prince recoil, he relented slightly.

“It’s not that bad,” he insisted, looking away. And then more quietly, forcing out the words. “But thanks for offering I guess.”

Prince smiled at him. “It’s no trouble,” he replied. “I’ll let you make your way back to your room now. Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow? It’s not the same, having no one to banter with.”

Anxiety groaned internally. He’d really be an asshole if he said no. He supposed he could make an appearance. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, hopping off the counter, suppressing a wince. Okay, that actually did sting a little.

“I’m glad,” Prince said, now looking much more cheerful. “Well then, good night, Anxiety.”

With his last words, he reached out to give a quick squeeze of Anxiety’s shoulder before drawing back, almost too quick for Anxiety to react.

“Night” Anxiety replied, aware that his face was tinted red. He was so tired of this bullshit.

He trudged back towards his room. But despite his wish to just go to sleep and forget everything, Prince’s words kept floating through his mind.

The worst part was the loneliness. You’re still part of this family.

Anxiety groaned, he still couldn’t believe how guilty Prince had sounded. And Logic had sounded the same when he’d last talked to him. He just didn’t get it. But they were so determined. It was ridiculous.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought, reluctantly, I can indulge them a little. For their sake, not mine. Just enough so they wouldn’t feel so freaking guilty. Then everything would go back to normal.

Anxiety rolled over. He’d deal with this in the morning.

anonymous asked:

describe how each high school year by semester went for you

9th grade: We don’t call it a play date anymore, it is hanging out, hanging by our toes like wet lipped fruit bats, like jungle gym monkey kids. Young and swollen. Blood, immature blood, pink blood, fresh meat blood pepto bismol up the wazoo, and spit under my bed. Code names aren’t for spies, they’re for 14 year old girls with googley eyes, not that we needed them. Kevin and Grace, Ellie and Joshua, Paloma and Matt which is weird because I’m hot for him, and they kinda look like siblings. Pink shorts, black tights, Jimmy Eat World, pizza bagels and lucky charms under a fresh white linen morning like detergent sealed crust between my eyelids, you tore them open. I mean, not yet. But soon. I discover neon sex scenes, Sky Ferreira, and Skins and this is where the final hopscotch box stops; at the end of the subway platform. This is where I’m supposed to jump. Monkey balls fall on our heads as we walk home, and autumn leaves crunch like drum line snare beats. All godless girls with snakes and cherry lollipops and 9 millimeters pointed at our clits, Bend it Like Beckham under your itchy wool blankets, Alice’s mom thinks I’m cool, and I stay for dinner and crack some risky jokes like a fox among wolves. (I think he looks at me when I look away). Me and Hana FaceTime I take screenshots of her dancing with her cat. The girls who play soft ball in short shorts, the girls who call them sluts, the boys who watch. We dance through rainbows in the sprinklers on the way to the Homecoming dance and pretend we don’t care we don’t have dates. We’re floating in the cytoplasm, floating on the cotton candy overdose cause our parents drop us off at the bowling alley but we are too loyal to sneak out the back. We pool our money every Friday after school for the spring break road trip we’re going on when Hana gets a car, and one of us has lost our virginity, and none of us are scared of the dark.

Miss Budd yelled at me for not standing for the pledge of allegiance, and I was 4 years old again. My English teacher held me back, and held my hand, and gave me a safety pin for my missing button, and told me it would be. Okay.

10th grade: We were on the news that year. Cristo’s curls on KTLA, solemn, and not the boy cross eyed and high with his pants around his ankles. Suddenly we’re all standing up straight, suddenly we’re being told we can’t wear leggings because somebody posted a video of Penelope having sex with Max on Facebook. Suddenly we’re underground in the girls locker room (red varsity knee socks, Dina drowning the spider nests with Victoria’s Secret rose perfume, humid with shame and lesbian suspicion) holding our arms in front of our naked breasts, single file like ants for the syphilis test. The boys who drew penises in fire and salt on the soccer field grass, like druid frat boys, but not the boys who put gorilla glue in the classroom locks, and not the boys who wrote their hit list in the red pen on the back of Mr. Chan’s syllabus and ended up in court, who called in a bomb threat, just to get the test pushed back. We all took turns getting our ghosts exorcized in the principals office. It was pompeii and pandemonium, and nobody was safe, not even us girls sleeping wrapped in the dust of library encyclopedias. You moved away from me like I was illiciting the restless black dreams on your grandmas shitty air mattress. The sheets are clean enough, but this attic is haunted, you keep waking up in the middle of the night to your body sinking like a pirate ship caught by the Kraken, the floor gnawing at your bones again so you just. Got up. And slept somewhere else. My English teacher held me back, and told me I was a good writer but don’t be so angry, and I cried right there, and she gave me a kleenex from her Shakespeare tissue holder and I blew this stupid pain head first out of my nose. I never told you about that. Maybe if I had you would’ve felt bad for me and stayed a little longer. But you hung out with those buckwild kids under the spot by the willow tree, and it was easy. it was just snuffing out an annoyance. A mosquito licking the ruby of your earrings that you shooed away. Our birthstones were both rubies, you know, we were twin cancers with balmy skin and busted appendixes, the aliens took you once and the only explanation was a scar on your spine, and I reckon I should’ve known they’d come back for you.

(You are gonna tell your kids about these cherry cola years of golden suburbia, and midnight blue debauchery snapping teenage knees, and furrow your brow forgetting the name of the girl you spent the first two calling your best friend.) You cheered at football games. You got drunk with them at night, and you were bursting and missing teeth like a watermelon smile, you rubbed up against each other like cats they touched you in all the right places and you didn’t text me anymore. You went to sleepovers and posted photos on Instagram, I wasn’t invited, I thought this bullshit was supposed to stop happening in elementary school. All the things we thought would never happen, lockdown drills, fire drills, earthquake drills and we still weren’t prepared. It was. Pandemonium. It was. Chemical fires in Mr. Dow’s science class. And me and my plans were just. so fucking boring standing next to your cherry blossom hurricane. You didn’t wait for me after class anymore and I just. Looked so stupid trying to catch up. Blood, mature blood, cows blood in the manure for the roses to eat. Black blood, like storm sky, I dish out this milkshake I pick the scab and I lick the blood away. Thomas comes out and dubs himself the gay cliche, we walk home together on the yellow brick road, and we pray a tornado will land the school library on our corpses so we can die with those sparkly shoes on. Those ruby shoes on. The Fates gagged me with a pack of jolly ranchers. I got straight A’s while Rome was falling. Nobody has ever made me feel so small.

11th grade: New school. The kids talk different here. Depression in California is like getting a cold in mid-July. So ironic it’s almost insulting. I’m pretty sure it was raining all year, but don’t count on it, I lived sub-terrestrialy with my mothers tulip bulbs. Today’s Wednesday? I thought it was Friday? I thought yesterday was Sunday? Depression in California is like running after a rabbit in the woods. It doesn’t matter how sunny it is, you will suddenly look up and it’s night, and the trees are not your friends, even when they are as skinny and shaky as you. You will get stuck in the swamp, leave your shoes behind, and not even remember why you were out here in the first place.

Headache. Stomach ache. Lots of those, those are easy to fake. Menstrual cramps, vomiting, gut wrenching, kinda vomiting. A personal favorite. I got to get my hands dirty for that one, I got to reach for the gag reflex like a remote control and press fast forward and feel my arc capsizing, until the static buzzed and I was pale like southern gothic tragedy, I’m not bulimic I just don’t wanna go to school. Depression in California is like an abandoned zoo. Everything echoing animal shrieks. They set them free but the cages were empty long before that. I make some friends, nice ones who laugh at my jokes, and I feel like I should get a sticker for it, but I do more nervous shaking than laughing.

Depression in California is like a badly maintenanced carnival. We’ve gone around the ferris wheel 8 times now and nobody seems to notice. The cotton candy polluting my blood, running slow and globby while the kids below spin, the kids drop, the kids could die, but they just giggle hand in hand with smiling clowns who pump them full of teeth rotting sweets, the winking lights are blurry this far away, and it feels like eons before we’ll get back to the bottom. I’m out of tokens. I think I’m just gonna jump.  

12th grade: Trump won. I think I might like girls. My dad jokes about his own death so I know what it means to be angry now, like femurs forged from the goddamn ring of Isildur. Is this what’s normal now? Fucking boys who are oil slick and easy living, and lose my socks in their dorm rooms? Meet them for diner food and xans on the weekend, and everything just temporary? Is that just what everybody wants now? My brother got a green card marriage, but I guess he loves her for real now. We watch the Walking Dead until the streetlights glaze over our eyes, he asks me if I have a boyfriend, no. If I’ve had any since I last saw him, no. If no is my favorite word, yes. Thing is I’ve never been anyone’s girl cause I’ve got a volcano where I should have a stomach. I know what it is to live on the red planet. But I ignore all that and go to concerts that bleed beer and swoon for boys who drink the blood. I guess we’re used to falling off of things so we do it on purpose now. It’s not over but I know how it’s gonna end. Cracked skull, and police lights. And to the break of dawn on Brandon’s roof, boxers stained with mayonnaise, and Deadpool is probably his favorite movie or some dumb white boy shit like that. I’m not gonna cry when I leave for college, I’m gonna cry at the car rental watching the sun bleed out on the trees. I’m gonna cry in the knothole of an oak tree, hiding from the freshman mixer party in the woods I knew I shouldn’t have come to once the social anxiety starts clawing up soaked in the gallon of strawberry Crush I downed to calm myself down. You know, in some other parallel universe, my parents never divorced and we dispute where the sugar pantry should be at inopportune times, and I don’t straight jacket myself with the echoplex sound of my mother screaming over my dead body just to not inhale the chlorox under the sink. I was so bloody, I just wanted to be clean.

I thought it was like the 80’s, the rusty exhaust pipe of Matt’s car turning the snow black while he’s wasting time daydreaming of my piston pumping sloppy hips, and rumored things that happen in the backseat, and kicking cans in no particular direction, and first love sticky and first love stabbed into your kidney and you never really recover. I thought it was sixteen candles, and say anything, but it’s getting bloodshot squirrelly smoking hash in the disabled bathroom stall. It’s a personality disorder grown up from the ground like a mushroom that is poison to the touch, and thrown away birthday presents, and valentines day balloons stuck in the trees. It’s dropping the last slice of college acceptance celebration cake on the floor for your dogs breakfast, and cartoon rain puddles for eyes talking about how scary it is to drive on the freeway. Karina and Maddie rough housing like pit bulls in fifth period cause we don’t do shit in that class and pretending that we are not all gonna be strangers in 6 weeks before we. Before we. Please don’t make me say it out loud.

My English teacher held me back, and told me to make up the quiz I missed, and that was the only time I will ever be happy that some strangers just stay that way. And Daddy, I will miss you when you leave me, and Daddy I will meet you in the next life you just gotta wait for me ok?

I am not the kind of girl people have crushes on. I am the kind of girl who can survive 18 stealing food from parties, couch surfing, living like a lightning bolt. There one minute, and gone the next.

anonymous asked:

do you have any marvel fics that you'd recommend i'm kind of running out of fics to read, thanks :)

 YAY fic recs are so fun to make honestly thank you! also, i’m pretty much stevetony and specifically tony stark trash so these fics are either superfamily tony stark centric or stevetony. Some are gonna be tumblr format and others are on AO3, if the author is physically linked through a tag that means it’s tumblr format.

For the Tony Centric fics, I’ve put the ship (If it has one) in the summary section, but if it’s in the tony centric area the ship isn’t reeeally that explicit, like it’s either implied, hardly mentioned, or not the main theme of the fic.

for fics that are tumblr posts and don’t have a title I’ve put my favorite line (or just a line that pretty much describes the fic) as the title. 

Platonic Superfamily fics

You’re Supposed to Be Better Than Me” || by @itsallavengers

“It was just a party,” Peter mumbled, “it’s not like you can talk. Everyone knows what you were like. So why the fuck are y-”

“Because you’re supposed to be better than me!” 

Dating 101 as Described by Tony Stark || by @itsallavengers

“I got a date!” Peter finally got a word in, saying the words a little loudly and then immediately pulling his head up, trying to hear if Aunt May had been woken up from it. The walls were fairly thin, after all.

“I got a date,” he whispered again, when he was sure his Aunt hadn’t been disturbed, “but… I don’t know anything about dating, and I’ve been sat here trying to think about how to go about it for about seven hours now and-”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, sounding irritated, “are you saying that you called me, at 2 in the morning, to ask me how to take someone on a date?”

Suck It, Howard Stark” || by @orbingarrow

“No, you don’t have to do that, Dr. Stark.  It’s– I know you’re busy,” Peter says.  "It’s not really that important.“

Tony knows a lie when he hears one.  Peter’s lying his ass off.

“Yeah, I am busy,” Tony agrees.  "Which is why you should use this time wisely and fess up quickly.  What’s the help?“

Friends Protect Each Other || by @transpeter

Flash swears at Ned, but Ned just punches Flash and tells him in a really low voice to “leave Peter alone” and that…. just shakes Peter. Nobody besides his aunt and uncle have called him Peter yet, everyone else deadnames him. It’s almost surreal to be hearing somebody else call him Peter, especially someone he’s never really spoken to.

Just a Spiderman Sickfic || by @toosicktoocare

When Ned fails to get Peter to rest, he goes to the one person he knows will get Peter to listen: Tony Stark.

Stevetony Fics

Touch || by @cptxrogers

Once the team succeeds in bringing Tony back from the magical dimension he’s been trapped in, Steve can’t stop touching him. He doesn’t even notice he’s doing it at first, the way he places a friendly hand on Tony’s shoulder when they’re going through a briefing, or how he’ll bump their elbows together when they’re walking the corridors of the tower.

I’m Hot Like the Prodigal Son || by @ironmanned

*over a grocery store PA*
will the owner of the jet black maserati please fuck me

Taking Matters Into One’s Own Hands || by @cptxrogers

Steve just really loves jerking off.

For the “kink: masturbation” square on my stony bingo card.

You Are Precious, Tony, Hush.” || @itsallavengers

steve always sleeps on the side of the bed facing the door “bECAUSE YOU ARE PRECIOUS TONY HUSH” okay but one if one night while they were asleep baddies did break in to try and snatch tony but were met with 240 pounds of kickass 

The Jar || by Sineala

The Avengers are ridiculously competitive people, and what starts out as a silly late-night team discussion quickly becomes a contest: their names. Not the code names – the nicknames. Who can go the longest without using them? They pledge to spend a week not nicknaming each other, and they’ll pay up every time they mess up. This hits Tony the hardest, and not just financially. Tony’s got a lot of nicknames for everyone, but most of all for Steve – and when Tony can’t use the names he’s already got, the names he uses reveal feelings he had no idea he had.

Love the Sin, Love the Sinner || by silkspectred

It keeps happening. Not often, just once or twice a month, but it keeps happening. Always in the same way: it’s unplanned, sudden, unexpected, Steve is surprised and eager, his dick goes from zero to one hundred in two seconds, Tony’s touch is electric, everything he does drives Steve crazy, but he never lets Steve kiss him, he very rarely looks Steve in the eye, he never talks, never makes a sound when he comes, never mentions it later.

Tony Centric

He Was Home.” || by @rowantreewrites (insp. original post by @kayvsworld

Every time Tony Stark smiles, a star is formed to make the night sky brighter.

And the Stars are Too Much || by @magpiewords

“Oh no.” Tony managed to mumble before everything seemed to fade away. Like his body went offline, he couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. He knew the stars weren’t getting closer, knew the wide expanse of space wasn’t somehow closing in on him. No matter how much he knew, logical was useless against this.


Hide a Heart of War || by RayShippouUchiha

“You’ve got war in your heart boy,” Howard sneers, “don’t ever try and pretend to be anything but what you are.”

Tony feels the familiar burn of a flower mark being etched into his skin but he doesn’t look, doesn’t try and check to see what it is. Instead he keeps his eyes on Howard and his hands cupped around his bleeding mouth and nose.


[sidenote: if anyone knows of any more tony stark centric fics that either don’t have ships or the ship isn’t a main element of the fic, PLEEEASE let me know dude those fics are SUCH GOOD SHIT honestly they’re my favorites. like even if u write them, they could be 100 word long ficlets tAG ME IN THAT SHIT]

lavenderhedgie  asked:

20 Ereri (canon aNGST pls)

#20: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

“Will you marry me?”

Levi asked the question once he thought the war is over. He asked because he’d been in love with Eren for years and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with Eren. Whether that be in a cabin in the woods far, far away from everyone and everything or even if it’s living on the training camp as Eren trained the new recruits. 

He stares at the wedding band that is newly secured on Eren’s finger, the gold shining in the sunlight that filtered through the curtains of their room. They plan on getting married soon, whenever they can find the time and Levi knows that he has to end up asking Erwin for time off and knows that he will not hear the end of it. But it’s worth it because it’s Eren. 

He presses soft kisses along Eren’s bare shoulder and his jaw. Loving the small smile that comes to his face as his eyes flutter open. Despite how long they’ve been together, Levi still has butterflies that bat at his stomach and up through his chest whenever Eren smiles at him sleepily like that, full of love and admiration. It reflects in his eyes, those beautiful emerald green eyes with specks of gold and stripes of blue.

They’re breathtaking. Eren is breathtaking. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Levi whispers, fingers carding through Eren’s chocolate brown hair that he’s grown out. It’s well past his shoulders and Levi loves it more than anything. He thinks it suits Eren’s more filled out form, makes him look more mature than he sometimes is. 

“Hey.” Eren’s voice is low and gravelly and it does unspeakable things to Levi. 

They share lips for a moment, a long moment at that and Levi feels so content where he is in that moment. Laying with Eren. It’s rather quiet, just being right before dawn when Eren has to get up and start training new the new cadets. 

In the midst of their lip locking and intimate words, there’s a knock at Levi’s door and he keeps his swears quiet and against Eren’s lips, drinking in the small snort he makes and gives Levi a small shove of motivation to get up and answer the door. 

And he does, reluctantly, after pulling on a shirt and shaking out his hair and using his fingers to comb it down. 

“Captain Levi.” The cadet salutes him and he gives a nod of acknowledgement. 

“What can I do for you?”

“Commander Erwin requires your presence. Along with Squad Leader Eren.” Levi grunts in response, dismissing the cadet and he shuts the door with another curse under his breath. 

“Already?” Eren asks with a small groan and Levi walks over, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reaches over, caressing Eren’s cheek with his knuckles. “I don’t want to,” he groans. “I have to go train with the cadets.”

Levi shrugs, standing up and tugging on Eren’s hand to get him to stand up. “We’ll have Jean take care of them.”

They shower together, one of Levi’s favorite times of the day whenever they have the rarity to wake up together and take their time. He loves Eren’s fingers through his hair, gentle touches along his skin and gentle lips roaming his shoulders and neck whenever they feel like it. 

“I love you,” Eren whispers as he dries Levi’s hair and presses a lovingly soft kiss to his nose. 

It makes Levi crack a smile, something only for Eren’s eyes. “I love you too.”

The last thing they expect to hear from Erwin so early in the morning is a plan for another expedition. To both Eren and Levi’s knowledge, they were supposed to be done for a while, at least six months and use the time to train and train and train. 

But of course, Levi should have known better than to get his hopes up for some kind break and his heart aches at the solemn look that covers Eren’s usually charming face. He nods, giving Erwin a salute before making his way out to find his recruits. 

“Why another one?” Levi asks and Erwin sighs. 

“It was a command from the higher ups,” he sighs and leans back in his chair. “All the information that they gave me was extremely vague but we should have more when we reach our location. 

Levi doesn’t say anything when he turns on his heel to walk out. He makes himself tea to calm down, finding his way outside to watch all the recruits train. Some of them ogle over Levi, smiling and giggling a little when he looks their way. They do the same when Eren turns his attention to them and he sends them on their way. 

That night and the next few nights following, Eren doesn’t say much. Doesn’t have to. Levi knows him well enough to know what he’s thinking and so he holds him close and tight, his words masked by kisses pressed to his jaw, shoulder, hair — wherever he can reach. 

The kiss they share when they wake up on the morning of the expedition is full of love and fear. Fear that they won’t come back to each other. It’s something that they refuse to verbally speak about but the fear has always been there, hidden in Levi’s eyes and always open and expressive in Eren’s.

“I love you.” Levi says it firmly, willing his voice not to waver or shake. He needs to be strong for Eren. “More than anything.”

“I know,” Eren presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes for a moment. “I love you too. We’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Be careful.” Levi knows that sometimes, Eren doesn’t exactly think things through, the thrill of the battle and flying through the air always pumping through his blood and makes his head fuzzy with adrenaline. 

Everything is okay for the first couple of days, nothing to see but trees and land, wild animals roaming about here and there. Eren keeps his horse close to Levi’s often looking back to check on his squad to make sure that they’re okay. For some of them, it’s their first expedition and Levi almost chuckles at the excitement that gleams in their eyes. Much like Eren when he was new.

“Captain! Titan incoming!” His head turns and sure enough, there it is, making it’s way their way and he turns to make eye contact with Eren. 

They split off into teams, Levi and Erwin’s going one way and Eren and Hange’s going another. There’s fear pumping through Levi’s blood, something that never happened until Eren came along and tumbled into his life. Now he can’t help but think about something happening to the boy. The love of his life that means everything and more to him.

Eren and his team are all waiting in the trees, more titans appearing and once they’re close enough, Levi veers to the right and jumps off the horse. Everything is happening so fast, much like always and he makes his moves to slice the nape of the titan. It falls to the ground and Levi lands on his feet.

Whistling for his horse, he makes his way to the trees, more titans thumping their way behind him. He’s shouting out orders, cadets following behind him the best that they can and much to his horror, there’s abnormal titans making their way closer. 

They fly through the trees, the cadets finding their way to Eren and his troops. Levi is on his way to slice the back of a neck of a titan, eyes finding Eren through the trees. His eyes are wide, jaw clenched as dodges branches. 

Levi lands on a branch in time to watch a titan arm fly up, reaching for a new cadet that Eren skillfully kicks out of the way. His stomach drops as Eren is hit, sending him into a spiral and smacks into a tree, falling motionless. 

“Eren!” Levi screams his name, emotion raw in his tone and there’s nothing else in the world that matters other than getting to his lover now laying at the bottom of the trees. 

He slices the nape of three titans on his way down, taking out his rage on the monsters before he lands and he stumbles a little. Knees shaking and chest heaving, Levi can’t focus on anything accept the bleeding that comes from Eren’s body. 

Levi drops to his knees, maneuver gears clanking loudly and he doesn’t care. He pulls him into his lap, hands shaking as he pushes Eren’s hair away from his face. He’s crying, not that he can help it and wipes away the tears that drop on Eren’s cheeks. 

“Eren, baby, hey,” he shakes him but he gets nothing. “Eren! Eren wake up. Open your eyes. I need to see them, please.” His voice cracks and everything is silent. 

He knows that everyone is watching, Hange and Erwin making their way down but they don’t say anything or make any move to pull Levi away. 

“Please wake up because I can’t do this without you,” Levi sobs and he pulls Eren close to his chest, “not anymore.”

Ok, I’m still in love with @victorsporosya​‘s Little Mermaid AU casting Yuuri as the prince and Viktor as the mermaid. I’m probably getting way too invested in this so I apologize because I have the feeling there will be more ficlets ahead!
(In my defense, Ariel was and still is my favourite disney princess and this AU just goes along so well with me.


History: Part 1 | Parts 2


“Washed ashore after a storm, you’re so luck that Yuuri found you! It must have been horrible to go through that.”

“It really was! I was so scared!” Viktor said cheerfully right before blowing some of the strange foam from his hands. Upon arrival at the castle, Viktor, now somewhat steady on his feet, had been pulled away by two of the servants right away. He had been dumped into a barrel filled with water and the best smelling sea foam Viktor had ever seen before. He didn’t know why, but the female servant had suddenly lost a lot of blood from her nose when she had removed the jacket Yuuri had so kindly provided him with. He hoped he would get it back, it smelled like him.

“It’s Prince Yuuri, Yuuko. Don’t let the Madam hear you drop the title again.” Minami said, glancing around nervously. While Prince Yuuri insisted all the servants just called him by his name, everyone caught doing so by Madam Minako was due a an hour long lecture. If they were lucky. Servants disappearing for a whole day to be educated hasn’t been unheard of.

“I’ve known Yuuri since he was two years old, one would think she would stop fussing about it.” Yuuko said with an exasperated sigh.

“What kind of person is Yu- Prince Yuuri?” Viktor asked, ears perking up at the topic of the man of his dreams.

“He is wonderful!” Minami started gushing instantly. “He is humble and kind to everyone. He never orders the servants around and helps out in the kitchens whenever he can. Everyone loves him!”

Viktor could definitely understand that. He had only gotten a glimpse at the prince while sitting on the outside of the ship. His smile had been radiant and genuine, capable of lighting up the whole ship despite it being night. He had the cutest furry animal with him, a dog called Vicchan as Viktor knew now. Viktor had a pet seal called Makkachin at home as well that he hoped to introduce to Yuuri eventually.

“But he has also been a bit sad lately.” Yuuko continued for Minami. “A few weeks ago he almost drowned in a storm just like you but it seems he was saved by a mysterious man with long silver hair and blue eyes and he has been looking for him since then. He even had painters recreate his face by his description and the portraits are all-over his ro-” Yuuko stopped in the middle of her sentence and looked at Viktor with a frown. “If it weren’t for your short hair, I could swear you look just like him….”

Viktor beamed at her, grasping her hands in his.

“It was me! I watched Yuuri on the ship and he was so wonderful! But then the storm came and I just couldn’t let him die even though Yakov hates humans. But then I couldn’t forget about him and asked the sea witch to turn me into human!” Viktor rambled down, almost forgetting to breathe in the process. Yuuri remembered him! Yuuri had been looking for him! Yuuri hadn’t been able to forget about Viktor, just like Viktor hadn’t been able to forget about him.

“Merman?” Yuuko asked with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure you didn’t swallow too much water? Merfolk are old fishwife tales!”

She took a jug full of hot water from a table and helped rinse Viktor’s hair and eyes. Viktor sighed, suddenly feeling very alone. Of course they wouldn’t believe him,l Yakov had done all he could to ensure that humans and merfolk don’t interact. It didn’t really matter, all he wanted was to be with Yuuri anyway.

“Don’t tell that story to Prince Yuuri, it will upset him!” Minami said to Viktor with a scolding voice and Viktor nodded. Minami helped him out of the bathtub, causing the female he now knew was called Yuuko to bleed from her nose again. Humans truly were strange creatures after all.

“Let’s get you dressed!” Yuuko said after putting some paper into her nose. “You might not be Yuuri’s mysterious saviour but that doesn’t mean he can’t fall in love with you rather than chasing a dream.


“And did you see that ASS!” Phichit said excitedly, making Yuuri roll his eyes. It wasn’t exactly possible to not stare at the ass of the man they had found at the beach. Phichit looked at him from the corner of his eyes, causing Yuuri to blush.

“I-I would never!” Yuuri stuttered, trying to swallow the tightness in his throat away. Why was it suddenly so hot in here anyway?

“You know….” Phichit continued, sounding more serious suddenly. “Why don’t you forget about that mysterious stranger and instead focus on what’s right in front of you?”

“I don’t even know his name, Phichit.” Yuuri started to protest just to be interrupted by Phichit.

“Didn’t stop you from looking through every village within a two-days ride to look for a, and I quote you here, beautiful stranger that swims around in the ocean and saves princes from drowning.”

Yuuri groaned. He had indeed said that, exact words and all. After waking up on the beach, the stranger with the long silver hair and blue eyes was everything Yuuri could think about, dream about, fantasize about. He blushed a little when some of those fantasies came back to him now, some of them including a very particular reunion on the beach.

“I just want to thank him for saving me!” Yuuri said weakly, knowing full well that his friend would see through him right away.

“Well, he obviously doesn’t want your thanks, so just let it rest Yuuri.” Phichit said a bit softer. He stepped behind Yuuri and helped him to straighten his loose shirt so it fell just the right way to expose a bit of chest and accent his hips. “As for his name, I’m sure he will tell you if you manage to actually use your mouth to talk instead of just drooling.”

“I didn’t…I mean….Phichit!”

Phichit laughed happily, obviously satisfied with flustering Yuuri to oblivion. Yuuri couldn’t deny that he had stared at the stranger just a little, even after giving him his jacket. And his face looked so much like the one Yuuri remembered from waking up after the storm, except that his hair was short. But his eyes had the same beautiful shade of blue that made Yuuri want to get lost in them.

And he seemed nice, if not a bit over-dramatic. After Phichit and Yuuri had steadied him on his feet, he had gushed on about how glad he was to have met them and that he wouldn’t have known what to do if they hadn’t come by. Yuuri could also swear he saw a crab glare at him right before it disappeared into the sea. Crabs didn’t glare, Yuuri was at least sure of that.

“Yuuri!” Minako’s familiar voice filled the room even before she the open the doors to Yuuri’s bedroom. “What do i have to hear about you bringing home a stray man from the beach?”

“M-Minako!” Yuuri said with a slightly panicked voice, taking a step back automatically. Minako was the head servant and like a second mother for him. Whenever his parents had been too busy, she had taken care of Yuuri and made sure to educate him. He loved her but she always had a talent to get involved in everything that was going on.

“He was washed ashore.” Phichit explained. “So we brought him here.”

Minako squinted first at Phichit and then at Yuuri. “He is real this time, right?”

Yuuri sighed and let himself fall on one of the cushioned chairs. Of course she would tease him about this as well. No one believed Yuuri that he had really seen someone on the beach. Phichit said he had been alone when he found Yuuri groaning on the sand. He knew the man had been there, though, how could he have imagined the soft feeling of his hair and those beautiful eyes.

“Be it as it may.” Minako continued when Yuuri didn’t reply to her teasing. “I want to see this man. We can’t allow random strangers to roam the palace and endanger the royal family. He will join us for dinner.”

“What!” Yuuri choked out, almost managing to fall off his chair. He couldn’t possible have dinner with the man, he didn’t have his feelings under enough control for that. “Minako, isn’t that too dangerous?”

“What exactly could he do? Impale the king with chopsticks?” Minako asked, raising her eyebrows and resting her hands on her hips.

“He might!” Yuuri countered, doing his best to keep his voice strong and his heart steady. He couldn’t possibly so fickle to forget the stranger in favour of a set of nice abs and a perky ass. And a pair of beautiful eyes and a smile to die for. And a voice that made his skin feel too tight in entirely the wrong way.

“Fine…” he relented with a sigh, heart already beating faster. Seemed like he was that fickle after all.

“Good I’ll let your mother know. She took over the kitchen to make Katsudon.” Minako said with nod.

“Wasn’t today supposed to be stuffed crab?” Phichit asked. It wasn’t often that the royal menu changed so suddenly after all. Minako shrugged and turned towards the door.

“Seems there was a series of accidents, something about aggressive crabs.”

dawnseternallight  asked:

Now you probably already know what I'm going to ask for with POV switching in your fics, but imma ask anyway because the option is there so Damian's pov in either Splash of Pink or A Couple of Bullets Won't Get Me Down.

A Couple of Bullets Won’t Get Me Down

The gunshots went off, but Damian couldn’t quite make himself believe what he was seeing. Of course, he’d seen Grayson shot before, but this was—this was something else. Never had they been so close to his lungs—his heart. Never had they meant a death sentence. Not like this.

And then Grayson crumpled, and Damian couldn’t stop himself from screaming “NO!” and starting for his brother’s body. Before he could, though, the gun went off again, and Damian had to flip away. Keep the target on himself and away from Grayson. The threat wasn’t gone. Damian had a job to do before he could check on Grayson.

All to quickly he’d pinpointed the shooter and knocked him unconscious. He deserved worse—so much worse—but there wasn’t any time. For all Damian knew, Grayson could be—

Damian slid to his knees and took off the cowl immediately, trying to gauge if Grayson was going into shock. That was what he was supposed to do, right? His first aid lessons were starting to muddle in his head, though, and Damian could barely focus on anything but Grayson’s stunted breathing and hazy blue eyes.

The wound needed to be addressed first, though. The GSW.

“I’m putting pressure on the wound,” Damian told Grayson, trying his best to stay calm and collected, but his heart was pounding in his chest. He unclipped his own cape and bunched it up, pressing down on his brother’s chest without even bothering to look at the wound. He’d seen the trajectory. He saw the gun. He knew what a bullet could do to a man at that distance and speed.

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ann-i-ka  asked:

I love all your works. Your writing has helped me through some awful days I've had lately. So thank you for publishing and I hope that writing brought your as much joy, as I had while reading. The Chancellor Qui-Gon is an interesting permise. What happens with Anakin in that Verse? Is he a Jedi or did Qui-Gon found and adopted him? If he isn't still on Tattooine, how long will it take before he is done with the flirting and UST, and shoves them both into the nearest closet? Just wondering.

Mingling is stressing but a necessary part of his job description.

Mingle with the traditionalists, the liberalism, reformists, conservatives…to many labels, to much fluff, to many people thinking they could influence him with a smile and a backhanded compliment.

Qui-Gon Jinn was much to old to be swayed by such things and if taking over after Valorum had taught him one thing, it was that such people were to be treated with respect on the outside while working around them on the inside.

After all, if they couldn’t see the threat you really were…

Well honestly was that anyone’s fault other then their own?

A flash of rough homespun beige caught his attention among the opulence, colors and wealth that usually covered the balls and parties he was forced to go to.

Obi-Wan, like a quiet banked flame, prowling the edges of the ballroom with observant eyes.

And in all of this, fancy creatures in fancy clothes, its this creature of light and warmth that draws Qui-Gon.

The Jedi who wants for nothing, who gives of his heart and gives genuine gifts from his heart and not to win favor.

Who blushes at the merest of touches.

A casual brush of his fingers to brush away hair from the others face. Thigh against thigh in a speeder. A soft hand on a wrist.

Blue catches green and Qui-Gon raises his glass in a slight greeting, his face blank but eyes sparkling as Obi-Wan’s lips quirk in answer and a small nod is returned along with the blushing tips of the redheads ears.

And then Qui-Gon has to bite in his laugh at the others padawan rolling his eyes pointedly behind Obi-Wan and the redhead hisses at him. He can only just read the word ‘broadcast’ on the little blonds lips before his attention is grasped by another well meaning, simpering politician.

Oh what he wouldn’t give to have Organa around to talk to but he’s on the other side of the room, patiently waiting for Qui-Gon to reach him. Blasted respectable man he is.

He’s almost ready to tear his hair out by the time something happens to cut through the fluff and buzz of politicians scheming.

A flash of beige with Obi-Wan suddenly landing behind him, the now all to familiar buzzing sound of a lightsaber. Over the gasps and cries, he heard Obi-Wan’s voice. “Anakin, stay with the Chancellor.” And then Obi-Wan was off, following someone through an open window.

The padawan stopped at his side with both of them looking at the window.

“…Five credits says he comes back injured.”

“You’re on little man.” Qui-Gon smirked, outright chuckling when the boy gave a delighted grin. “What happened?”

“Mercenary with a blowdart.” Anakin shrugged, gesturing to the melted mass on the floor with a hand. “Master was keeping a tight eye on everything.” He looked like he wanted to say more but held his tongue, something Qui-Gon was grateful for as people were starting to calm down thanks to the guards and the reporters were snapping pictures of him and Anakin.

“Have you enjoyed yourself tonight young one?” He asked instead.

Anakin mused on that. “Its different then what I’m used to for sure. I was…my situation wasn’t ideal before I became a padawan and Jedi food is simple but good, this is all…” He wrinkled his nose a bit.

“Extravagant perhaps is the word you’re looking for.”

Anakin looked like he was mentally going through the definition of the word before nodding. “Yah, that. Kind of wizard though.”

“Where are you from? I have to admit, I have not asked Obi-Wan about to many details when he told me had taken a padawan.”

“Tatooine. Master Koon found me there and took me to the Temple.” Anakin settled his thumbs in his belt and avoided looking at Qui-Gon but that knowledge answered more then one question Qui-Gon had.

The broken ‘I was…’ in full sentence was, ‘I was a slave.’.

“…Tatooine is on the far edges of the Rim, isn’t it?” Qui-Gon hummed. “Hutt controlled…”

“…Yeah.” Anakin pinched his lips together.

“Don’t like most hutts personally.” Qui-Gon settled on saying. “Meet one or two decent ones but most have an unfortunate favoritism towards slavery and spice smuggling.” He sniffed. “Republic will have to deal with them once I can get the Senate on board.” He ignored Anakin looking up at him.

“Oh…” The blond was smiling a bit. “…I think I see why Obi-Wan likes you.”

Qui-Gon smirked a bit.

By the time Obi-Wan returned everything had gone back to normal except for the slightly bleeding scrape on the redhead’s cheek.

Qui-Gon instantly broke from his conversation to stand in front of Obi-Wan, grasping him by the chin and pulling a handkerchief from his breastpocket to put against it. “You were suppose to be careful despite being my guard.” He remarked mildly, aware of every ear and every eye on them.

“The Jedi live to serve your excellency, even at our own expense.” Obi-Wan offered humbly.

From the corner of his eyes Qui-Gon could spot Palpatine fuming by a pillar and kept his face carefully blank despite the smugness he was currently experiencing.

“And serve they do.” Qui-Gon smiled at him.

Tomorrows tabloids would be full of speculations once again and most likely images from the party of Qui-Gon pressing the silken handkerchief to Obi-Wan’s bleeding cheek, but the most important part was to showcast the Jedi in the positive light Qui-Gon wanted to show them from.

Regardless, Qui-Gon got to touch Obi-Wan, that in itself was a win.

Doctor Eggsy

Here, have 1334 words of Doctor Who AU nonsense, featuring Eggsy as the Doctor and Harry who is confused. 

For @your-eggcellency

It hurts like hell, but he knows that it’s time. This body has been wearing down and it’s time to let go now, to take a new form, to start all over again. He has done this many times, but it doesn’t make this one any better. It still hurts, the energy burning through him like wildfire.

Gingerly, he touches his face once the last bright orange sparks of the energy have left his new form. He feels younger, and his new jaw is alarmingly sharp. He heaves himself up and staggers around the console on his new and unfamiliar legs. He’s definitely shorter than he used to be. He swings the mirror around to get a good look at his new face.

‘’Who’s this pretty boy, then?’’ he asks himself and then coils back in surprise because this new body comes with a new accent. ‘’What in the…?’’

It’s unnerving – it always is – but the more he looks at his new, younger face, the more he ponders over his new South London accent, the more he starts to like them. He’s been in old bodies and younger bodies, but this? This is new and exciting in a way very few things are when you’re a thousand years old and seen entire planets born and die.

‘’Yeah,’’ he says to the empty TARDIS. ‘’Yeah, this’ll be fun.’’

He looks down on his new form, still dressed in the ill-fitting clothes of his previous self. ‘’But first, we need new threads.’’

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Season 1 Rewatch Notes

First season in the books for the 2017 rewatch from hell.

1x04 – I think this might be the first big time example of Dean as the emotional compass and Sam as Action Man? (Action Sam. I like Action Sam.)

1x05 – This building has been used SO MANY TIMES and I love it. Entrance to the hospital is also the entrance to Crowley’s throne room… and probably a billion other things. :3

1x08 – It’s been a while since I’ve seen this one. It’s still really terrible and results in a severe ‘WTF’ expression appearing on my face, but it’s stellar for character stuff and ramping up brother drama. 

Also, Dean watches Oprah.

1x10 – This is such a weird, absolutely awesome brothers episode. (So many people hate brother drama and I suppose I can understand that, but I fucking love it and will likely never not love it.)

1x14 – God, the music fake-out at the end is fucking AWESOME. You think everything is fine at first, but it suddenly cuts to silence and it is clearly NOT FINE. D:

1x17 – So I know it’s a word because it gets me results on Google, but I have never heard the word ‘persqueeter’ outside of this episode. This may be a regional thing?


This is where my Pyro/Explosions/FIRE!Dean headcanon originates, by the way.

1x18 – I like Hannah with black hair.

I wish they had re-used the piano theme they used in this episode; very pretty and eerie.

1x20 – Dude, I never noticed that Jammer from BSG was a vampire! :D (Seriously, how did I not notice this before? SEE, SOMETHING NEW EVERY TIME.)

Sam is almost… overly unreasonable in this episode. Stop drag racing your dad.

God, Deeeeean. He just wants his family together. YOU WANT DEAN SUMMED UP? WATCH THIS EPISODE.

1x21 – Is it my imagination, or were there a lot more slit throats in the first season?

Jesus christ, my blu-ray just froze on this fucking deer eyeball. (It fixed itself, yay)

I need to read some fucking Colt meta, like, now.

1x22 – Watching Dean question Meg is so eerie when you compare it to any of his question sessions post-4x16.

The sound mix looping of Meg’s yelling as she gets exorcised is still really terrible and it would have been SO EASY TO FIX. *throws SPN some retired LOST sound engineers* DO IT RIGHT

Dean has never listened to a single person ever when it comes to the Colt. (Or… yanno, any mega-weapons in general.)

The scene in the cabin is never not super intense, especially when John is on the ground yelling at Sam to shoot him while Dean is bleeding and begging Sam not to shoot him and JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.


Season 1: Dean was slammed into walls 14 times. Sam was hit on the head 9 times and was choked 4 times.

shipuri  asked:

Just wanted to say that I really love "Freia" and that I'm really glad that I found such a well written piece. I live for your dialogues and I'm going through an abstinence crisis just thinking about how I'll never get to read your Rhaenys again once it is finished (that said, I do hope there is a sequel). Also, if you could enlighten me on why you seem to hate Dany and if that is a show only or a book also thing, I'd be happy (new to the whole thing). Thank you and have a nice day <3

Well thank you that’s really nice, I’m glad you enjoy it 😊
I don’t think there’ll be a sequel. I’m trying to go for my law masters and if I’ll write, it’ll be in Dutch and my own work. Fan fiction sort of exhausts me and I started writing Freia in the first place because I wanted to grow and learn.

Okay so, you want me to enlighten you on why I hate Daenerys?

I can’t cause I don’t. I’ve said it a million times, I do not hate Daenerys. It’s as if Dany fanfirls want me to hate her because they like to write off every bit of criticism as simply being ‘hate’. It’s easier to ignore criticism when you believe it comes from someone who’s blinded by dislike. But I’m not, trust me.
The only thing I hate is people thinking she’s something she isn’t. Daenerys is a very big hypocrite and I don’t enjoy hypocrites kissing hypocrite asses. I can’t root for her, in the first place, cause everything gets handed to her on a silver platter. I have a hard time feeling sorry for her when the main thing she worries about is how she’d rather run off with her disturbing boyfriend when really, she should be worrying about the city she’s trying but can’t rule. Her people are starving and she’s wearing fancy silks and eating sweets at the top of the great pyramid. I can’t sympathize with her anymore. Not since book 1.

From my pov, and I’m saying this as someone who is about to gain a bachelor major in Public international law and human rights, that is, I’m specialized in what is what isn’t okay during times of war (don’t try and tell me people Dany kills weren’t ‘really’ innocent and don’t compare situations to North-Korea, ISIS or Afghanistan either), it is very disturbing to believe Daenerys deserves what she gains and aims. She should never ever be the leader of even the smallest pack. (Look at how she dragged a starving, thirsty khalasar into a desert just cause she believed the 'bleeding star’ was obviously send for her). Her and her dragons is like giving a fourteen year old mass destruction weapons and hoping she makes the right decisions. She’s so so so young, yet she believes she’s supposed to rule Seven Kingdoms? She couldn’t even rule half a city (since she killed the other half). By the words of someone else who’s meta I once read: has Westeros not suffered enough?

I agree with Daenerys critics, but even I feel that the hate she receives is sometimes unfair. Not because she doesn’t suck, but because I truly believe that there’s an absence of right and wrong in Martin’s work, good vs bad is an obsolete in A Song of Ice and Fire.

That also means I believe people don’t do Daenerys justice when they’re hyping her as some goddess, the messiah, the savior princess. These sort of things truly bother me. She’s far too complicated to ever be that. I think it’s an insult to the character and to GRRM’s writing to believe she can do no wrong, to wave away her flaws. Cause she has many flaws. Whenever people call her a feminist icon, a little part of me dies.

I think she is a brilliant character, she’s very layered, very detailed, complicated, conflicting, I think she may be GRRM’s most genius creation. So I could never hate her, I admire her existence to much. I do hate it when she’s given kudos she doesn’t ever deserve. And that happens a lot.

Aside from her monstrous acts, that is, in the show, doing stuff like setting people on fire, locking them up to starve in a cell, crucifying hundreds of possibly innocent men, executing without a trial because someone executed without a trial, forcing a dude who’s dad you killed to marry you, burning prisoners of war…
that’s just in the show, in the books, she takes a whole lot steps further by torturing little girls, allowing slaves to sell themselves back into slavery and keeping part of the profit. Quentyn describes Astapor to be the closes thing to hell he’s ever seen.The last survivors in Astapor are currently dying from the plague. Thanks Daenerys. She has more deaths to her name than any other character alive and the girl is barely a teenager and hasn’t even set foot on Westerosi land yet. I’m not going to give you a list of all the things she’s done wrong. I’m sure you can find it somewhere else. It’s a long list and I haven’t memorized it.

That aside, what bothers me is that people seem to genuinely believe she’ll be a marvelous ruler who’ll bring justice and peace. You know, she’ll 'break the wheel’. If she gets a chance to then, yeah, possibly, but only when she’s on top. I already explained why the Dany good girl trope bothers me, but it also happens to be absolute false.
Sure, Dany cares about her subjects. But she’s also the most incapable ruler of rulers.
Dany is arrogant, short-tempered, ridiculously inconsistent, never has a long-term plan, has the absolute most rubbish character judgement, she has some really high headed übermensch mentality, she’s stubborn, aggressive and the show has even given her clear signs of her daddy’s paranoia.

She’ll be a terrible queen. Her Mereen rule was a joke and might be funny did it not end up destroying lives. Just look at her endless list of titles. Do you truly believe someone genuinely nice would give themselves a list of names dedicated to all the fabulous things they’ve done and forces everyone to listen to it all the time just to impress and feel good about themselves? No. Daenerys wants to rule Westeros even though she’s never in her entire life set foot on mainland. She doesn’t know the land she wants to rule nor does she show any signs to attempt at learning them. Look at the way she tells Jon to forget about her father killing his uncle and grandfather, yet helps him remember Ned Stark tried to kill her. That’s Daenerys for you, right there. She wants all her father’s privilege, to sit on a throne they lost by conquest and is therefore, honestly, simply not hers anymore (ignoring the fact that Jon’s claim is stronger anyway), but none of his cruel deeds.

So yeah, I think that if people still root for and like Daenerys at this point they won’t change their mind no matter what, which says more about them than about Dany. I don’t think you should root for her, but if it’s wrong to still like her… 🤷🏼‍♀️ just know that if anything, asoiaf has taught us that those who want power, should not have it. Who is the most powerhungry person again? Right. Not Cersei, I promise.

One thing I know is that she doesn’t deserve the oversimplification she’s subject to. She’s so much more than what her fans/the makers of the show give her credit for.

anonymous asked:

Why does Dean have to like ballads and other "soft" things like that in order to be bi? Don't we watch the classic-rock loving macho dude to be the bi one, without having to code him more feminine to do it? Seems like it would make more of an impact that way. I'm just thinking to myself of dudebros like "oh, no wonder he's gay, he likes Taylor Swift!" and it makes me uncomfortable.

Dean liking Taylor Swift or other girly things is not ‘proof’ that Dean Winchester is bisexual in and of itself, no, but nevertheless, it is not disingenuous to say that they are related issues.

There is plenty of evidence from canon that has to do with Dean Winchester’s bisexuality that has nothing to do with ‘girliness’ and everything to do with, you know, Dean being romantically/sexually linked to and attracted to men. (Which, I won’t go into here in too much depth, because it’s covered in other metas, but, you know, it’s there. *coughcoughSiren1940sSoldierDrSexyAaronCasManyManyMorecoughcough*)

But, see, here’s the thing, and don’t mind me, I’m gonna get all up in sociology and whatnot, because this is literally the exact stuff we are covering right now in my uni class, and it is fascinating

Dean Winchester is a character that, in various complicated ways, is both a reinforcement and rejection of the ideals of what can be referred hegemonic masculinity/normative masculinity, and the acceptance or denial of his queerness is very much linked to that.

On a surface level, he is an almost perfect example of the archetypal ‘manly man’. He is attractive, white, (because hegemonic masculinity is also very tied up in whiteness,) strong, he drives a muscle car, he fights, he drinks, he sleeps with women, he likes porn, wears a leather jacket and well-worn clothes like jeans and plaid and canvas jackets, he eats burgers and listens to classic rock, uses guns, etc…

Except at the exact same time, that is a very limited and limiting view of his character, formed so much as it is not necessarily by his own preferences, but by all of his coping strategies and the ways in which he has built up layers of armour and pretence, mostly as a result of John Winchester’s influence/expectations for Dean, and the hyper-masculine/violent hunting culture in which he was brought up (and even, in truth, in the ways that Jensen ‘My Dad Thinks Drinking Out of A Straw Isn’t Manly’ Ackles himself informs the character, as he is also a product of many of the same social forces that Dean is influenced by, and there is tons of actor/character bleed I could point to in those respects).

This has been addressed in the narrative before, most notably in Dream A Little Dream of Me when Dream!Dean says to him:

“What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That’s Dad’s. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad’s. Your music? Dad’s. Do you even have an original thought?…You can still hear your Dad’s voice in your head, can’t you? Clear as a bell.”

Who Dean is isn’t the Dean we see on the surface level, or at least, that’s very much not the only thing that he is, he is a lot more complicated than that, but most of the time, he represses it, he actively seeks to deny it in order to be the person he thinks he needs to be.

Dean isn’t the manly man’s guy he thinks he is, or who many people, both within show or on broader level, think he is.

Dean Winchester is also the man who likes cooking, who is the little spoon, who likes nice clothes and wearing pink panties, who watches soap operas and ‘wuvs hugs’, who is a caretaker, who is literate and intelligent, who is hugely geeky, watches ballet movies, likes romantic ballads and pop music, who is empathetic and expresses emotion, sleeps on memory foam, and a million other things that are considered ‘not man’ things to do.

The problem with hegemonic masculinity is that it is ridiculously tied up in shame, self-policing, and self-denial of anything that can be considered feminine, to the ludicrous ‘Real men don’t drink out of cups this small.’ levels that we see. (But of course, Dean still drinks the coffee, he just makes a protest about it, first, because it’s all about the facade)

So even though, many times, we see Dean allowing himself to be the way he is, or accepting those aspects of himself, just as often we see him constantly backsliding, repressing, forcing himself into the mould and denying himself things, because they don’t fit that ideal of the man he thinks he is supposed to be.

So what does this have to do with bisexuality?

Thing about hegemonic masculinity is that is it is incredibly dependent on the idea heterosexuality as part of the standard of masculinity.

Anything that does not fit the traditional male categories is conflated and coded with ‘being gay’.

Remember what Jensen said at that one panel, about the scene where Dean gives Cas his trenchcoat back was ‘gay’, and that when someone called him on it, he said that ‘unmanly and gay, in this context, means the same thing’? I’m paraphrasing slightly, but that’s essentially what he said

So yes, that stereotype does very much exist, wherein liking ‘girly things’=queerness, and being queer=liking girly things, in a complicated back and forth loop.

Emotions are ‘gay’. Taylor Swift is ‘gay’. Real men, though, real men definitely aren’t gay. (Obviously, Dean is bisexual, not gay, but any amount of queerness is sufficient to be a threat to this kind of idea)

It’s something we see hugely in society, where a big part of the way that masculinity is policed in through homophobia and compulsory heterosexuality.

so that men who wish to be seen as heterosexual must be also seen as manly, and anyone who isn’t manly is automatically homosexual, and homosexuality= shameful, bad, wrong, and antithesis to the standards being upheld.

So Dean Winchester, given the extent to which these ideas of masculinity are integral to his sense of self?

He is not a character would find it easy to come to terms with his own sexuality, which is why, despite there being many hints as to Dean being bisexual, it is also something that he acts in attempts to deny, rather than coming to terms with it, no matter what ‘potential for love in all places’ (bless you, Sgriccia) there might be.

So, in many ways, Dean Winchester’s subtextual (and hopefully at some point textual) bisexuality is a huge part of the way in which he can break away from the surface level view of Dean Winchester as the Manly Man archetype, and so the other aspects of that subversion naturally relate when we are discussing them.

So when we are talking about Dean allowing himself to deviates from traditional masculinity in relation to his queerness, we are not saying that men cannot be very traditionally masculine and be gay or queer, or that non-gender-conforming men cannot be heterosexual.

We are merely acknowledging the ways in which societal coding accounts for this viewpoint as a part of examining the character.

Partway through the episode, Young!Dean talks about liking Taylor Swift with horror, as if it is a terrible thing, but towards the end of the episode… He keeps it playing, anyway, and smiles, just a little bit.

To our minds, evidence of Dean’s character development allowing himself to be more comfortable with pop music, in spite of the ways that it relates to the broader ‘dudebro’ ideas of the implications of that, may suggest potential for allowing himself to be more comfortable with other aspects of his identity.

Does that make sense?

tl;dr if Dean Winchester can learn that it’s okay to love Shake it Off, maybe there’s hope that he can embrace the part of him that might just want to kiss the face off a certain ‘fella over there’.

this isn’t goodbye

part one: monochrome no longer

Summary: Two gods make a boy and a girl superheros. Then one of them dies. A Your Lie in April AU

Pairing: Love Square

His world is grey, shaded with blacks and whites just like the piano keys he plays. There is a melody he knows, sung as notes ring in the air, but he has long forgotten the sound. It’s like he’s under water, breath burning in his lungs as sound waves slow down and disperse–never to be heard, never to exist. 

Just like mother.

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Demi Lovato {Sentence Starters}
  • "Did you forget everything we ever had?"
  • "I swore that I'd never let you back in."
  • "I need to change my ways instead of always being weak."
  • "Go on and try to tear me down!"
  • "You never know what you want and you never say what you mean."
  • "What's wrong with being confident?"
  • "I've got so much left to give. I won't give up."
  • "Do you have to make me feel like there's nothing left of me?"
  • "Do you know what it's like to feel so in the dark?"
  • "I wanna wake up feeling beautiful today."
  • "Would it make you feel better to watch me while I bleed?"
  • "It's amazing what you can hide just by putting on a smile."
  • "You had your dreams, I had mine."
  • "I'm gonna love you like I've never been broken."
  • "You'll be coming home with me tonight."
  • "I never want you back into my life."
  • "You told me you'd never fall in love."
  • "I know you're scared it's wrong, like you might make a mistake."
  • "Maybe if I don't cry, I won't feel anymore."
  • "What good is a love song without the love?"
  • "You're always one step out of reach."
  • "'Cause you've been hurt before. I can see it in your eyes."
  • "It's like ____ doesn't hear a word I say."
  • "You're beautiful, but cause me pain."
  • "So now we've found our way to find each other."
  • "Sometimes you think you'll be fine by yourself."
  • "If I ever did that, I think I'd have a heart attack."
  • "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be now."
  • "You showed me what I couldn't find."
  • "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough!"
To Poe: Hi. It’s Finn.

You told me to write you a letter. Sorry it took this long. We leave for RGE-67 in fifteen hours and I guess the adrenaline’s finally got my ass in gear. Also I don’t think I’m very good at writing letters. Not sure what’s right to say and what isn’t. So I guess I’ll just say a bunch of true things and hope one of em sticks.

1. I think I love you.
2. I think I’m not supposed to.
3. I didn’t know it would be a problem but there’s a lot of things I don’t know. About this kind of thing, about everything. About being a person. All I know is you haven’t looked at me or hugged me or anything for like three weeks and the only reason is if you figured out how I feel and you don’t want it. Which is okay. You don’t have to give me anything.
4. It’s bullshit that you didn’t just talk to me about this. Sorry but it is.
5. It really sucks to miss a person who’s right next to you.
6. I’m scared for tomorrow. I’m scared that I’ll mess up and they’ll catch me. I’m scared that you’ll die. I’m scared that I’ll die. I’m scared that I’ll fail. I know it’s a war and things happen. But you said it was normal to be scared and I am so scared. I am so scared all the time, Poe.
7. You wanna know something really sick? I’m not even that scared of torture. If they catch me, I mean. That’s a terrible thing to say to you of all people, I know, but it’s true. When I have nightmares about them catching me again I’m not scared that they’ll make me bleed. I’m scared that they’ll recondition me. Wipe my brain clean so I don’t remember anything. I don’t want to forget. Poe. I don’t want to forget any of this.
8. I wasn’t a good Stormtrooper. I hope I am better at being a person.
9. If I die tomorrow that’s how I wanna be remembered. Ok? Promise me that. Promise me I’ll be remembered as a person. In the First Order they leave dead Troopers behind on the battlefield. Or dump them out the airlock if they’re hurt too bad. But Snap told me if someone dies you have a ceremony. Burn them or bury them or sing them up into the stars. I don’t care what you do with my body. Burn me, bury me. But call me Finn while you do it.
10. I think I started loving you the second you gave me that name.
11. So you don’t have to give me anything else. I mean it. That was enough.
12. My name is Finn.
13. I am a person.
14. I love. I love. I love.

anonymous asked:

Tuba [Rosalind observes Philinda during or after a mission that injures May]

Philinda from another character’s perspective

Okay, so my amazing friend, @indilwenofmirkwood wrote a beautiful fic about this very idea! Read it here, it is so. good. But I didn’t want to just not do this prompt for you, so I tried to take a different spin on it. Hope you like it! (And seriously, read Indi’s fic too! You won’t regret it!)

Part of this Philinda Promptathon!

The bullet was meant for her.

Agent May wasn’t supposed to be there. It was supposed to be a quiet, apology dinner between her and Phil for what had happened between them. 

It was going well too, then May had rushed in. Phil’s focus was immediately on the Asian woman.

“May, what is it?”

May scanned the room, her gun cocked and ready. She drew right next to Rosalind and spoke quickly.

“Ward was spotted in this area, you need to get ou–”

There was the sound of glass being broken and her voice was cut off; her brown eyes went wide.

Phil and Rosalind looked at the window where a perfect circle had been cut out of the glass, shock causing them to freeze. Phil looked back at Melinda, terror spreading across his face in a way Rosalind had never seen before.

Agent May placed a hand to her abdomen, lips parting and face contorting into pain.

“May,” Rosalind heard Phil breathe. She still couldn’t move, but Phil jumped up and flew to the woman, catching her as she began to crumple. “Melinda! No, no. Melinda, stay with me!” 

“Please, listen to my voice.” 

“Just keep breathing.” 


“May, Melinda!”

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lesmotsincompris  asked:

I know Dany is not fireproof and what happened in AGOT was unique. But do we know why it happened? I mean, I always assumed the deaths of Drogo and Rhaego "payed" for the birth of the dragons, but something "payed" for Dany's one time immunity to fire? Or it was just "magic"? Idk if I'm making sense and sorry if you answered that before :(

It was magic. Or to be more accurate, wild instinctual magic, miraculous and unpredictable:

George_RR_Martin: TARGARYENS ARE NOT IMMUNE TO FIRE! The birth of Dany’s dragons was unique, magical, wonderous, a miracle. She is called The Unburnt because she walked into the flames and lived. But her brother sure as hell wasn’t immune to that molten gold.

Revanshe: So she won’t be able to do it again?

George_RR_Martin: Probably not.

March 18, 1999

I have carefully rationed magic. I went back to The Lord of the Rings and looked at how Tolkien does it. The Lord of the Rings is set in a magical world but there is not that much magic actually on stage. For Tolkien, wizardry is knowledge, not constant spells and incantations. I wanted to keep the magic in my book subtle and keep our sense of it growing, and it stops being magical if you see too much of it. In Tolkien, Aragorn’s sword is magical because it just is; not because we regularly see it helping him win fights. In these books, magic is always dangerous and difficult, and has a price and risks.
The whole point of the scene in A Game of Thrones where Daenerys hatches the dragons is that she makes the magic up as she goes along; she is someone who really might do anything. I wanted magic to be something barely under control and half instinctive–not the John W. Campbell version with magic as the science and technology of other sorts of world, that works by simple and understandable rules.

GRRM, July 2000

I find myself more in sympathy with the way Tolkien handled magic. I think if you’re going to do magic, it loses its magical qualities if it becomes nothing more than an alternate kind of science. It is more effective if it is something profoundly unknowable and wondrous, and something that can take your breath away.

GRRM, May 24, 2007

Dany worked on instinct to create the ritual that birthed her dragons, based on little more than her dreams and what she’d seen Mirri Maz Duur do with Drogo. Was all of it necessary? Was there something about the scented oils that soaked the wood for the pyre? Something about the contents of the three levels of the pyre? Did the magic require the burning of Drogo’s body and the horse as well? What about the placement of the dragon eggs? Did it matter that Rhaego had also died? (Recall that his body was not said to be in the pyre.) Was Mirri’s death also necessary? Did Mirri’s song as she burnt have any contribution? Was the magic affected by at what point Dany walked into the flames? Was her fire immunity loaned to her by the dragons’ hatching at that exact moment, or was the magic that hatched fossilized dragon eggs also what granted her fireproofness? Or was it that only someone who was fireproof at that moment (and born amidst smoke and salt) who could wake dragons from stone? What about the red comet, that rose for the first time that night, the “bleeding star” that signifies the birth of the Prince that was Promised?

We don’t know. We’re not supposed to know. The details aren’t important, the how is not important. The point is that it was magic and mysterious and a miracle, unknowable and wondrous; and Dany did it all on her own based on her own instincts, and she became the Mother of Dragons and the Unburnt. That’s all that matters.

@stiles-and-the-sourwolf replied to your postSend me some sterek prompts?  I wanna writeeeee

*hugs* Stiles shows up at Derek’s door injured in the middle of the night. Derek hides his concern beneath a mask of broody eyebrows and takes care of him.

oooo hurt!Stiles and caring!Derek, yessss.  And also, I’m sorry, but this got real angsty.

Lightning streaks across the sky, flashing bright through the loft window, bathing the room in light.  It gives away to rain, beating against the glass.  Derek pours over the old books lying on the table in front of him.  He pulled them from his family vault a week ago, musty and covered in a fine layer of dust.  

He was hoping to find some clue as to what creature-of-the-week they’re up against this time around.  Although, Derek wouldn’t be surprised if the drowned bodies turning up at the lake were victims of yet another kelpie, albeit one that likes to chew on its victims a bit, before dragging them to the bottom.

Thunder cracks and the lamp beside him flickers, then goes out.  

Typical.  He’s been meaning to fix the shoddy wiring, but Derek hasn’t had a lot of time on his hands.  Between taking care of a couple of high school seniors, and trying to save the town from being swallowed by the hellmouth that is the Nemeton, he’s has a pretty busy schedule.

Derek sighs tiredly.  Getting up, he moves to fetch the supplies from under the sink.

  Stiles keeps a few expensive red candles he uses for spells at Derek’s place.  Derek’s not supposed to touch them, but he figures he could just buy replacements without Stiles noticing. 

Derek lights the final candle when something—or someone—bangs on the door.  Loud.  It echos through the empty loft, and Derek frowns in confusion.  The rain thunders against the glass, so he can’t hear any heartbeat, and for one horrible second, fear slides down his spine, prickling his skin and making his hair stand on end. 

But then the scent of Stiles, and blood, and pain wafts over, and Derek’s at the door instantly.  He pulls it open to find Stiles lying in a wet heap at the bottom.  His gaze is hazy as he blinks up at Derek, a shallow cut across his forehead, blood trickling slowly down his cheek.  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, swaying slightly when he sees Derek.

Something about the emptiness behind the smile makes him worry.

“Stiles.”  Derek crouches in front of him.  “What happened to you?”  Reaching out, he checks for other injuries.  

There are bleeding scrapes on his wrists, almost like he was dragged along some gravel—but otherwise, everything else from bruises around his neck, to a split lip and his bleeding brow, are superficial.

“Heyyy, Derek,”  Stiles slurs, blinking his big, doe eyes.

Derek purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything in return, simply lifts Stiles’ arm around his neck and helps him limp inside.  

He deposits Stiles on the couch, and reaches for a plaid flannel Stiles picked out a few weeks ago at Ikea, and wraps it around his shoulders.  He’ll have to get Stiles out of the wet clothes, but Derek doesn’t want him to freeze in the meantime.

He climbs up the stairs to his bedroom, and grabs a pair of sweatpants and a sweater.  He throws them at Stiles and gruffly orders him to put them on.  Surprisingly, Stiles listens without a word of complaint, and that wordless acquiesce just worries Derek more.  Something other than the physical is hurting Stiles.

Derek returns with an unopened first aid kit, and a towel he promptly drapes over Stiles’ head.  His wet hair is dripping everywhere.  

Derek gets to work, cleaning the plenitude of cuts, picking out gravel carefully.  Humans develop infections oh so easily, and he wants to make sure he does a good job.

“Are those my candles?”  Stiles asks, flinging away the now sodden towel, “If I knew you were into the gothic romance genre, I would have bought you some dollar store ones.  These.”  Stiles gestures around the room.  “Cost fifty bucks a pop, and have dragon blood in them, Derek.  Dragon blood.  Do you know how rare that is?”

“Power’s out,”  Derek grunts.

“I figured,”  Stiles grumbles, hissing when Derek dabs peroxide on his wounds.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence, Derek itching to ask, but afraid of what Stiles would say in answer.  If he would lie, and Derek would be able to hear the skip in his heartbeat, or if he would tell the truth—that it was Derek’s fault.  

It’s always his fault that his pack keeps getting hurt.  They’re teenagers, and he keeps putting them in bad situations, and they keep getting injured.  He hates seeing it happen, and he hates that every single bad decision he’s made in his life has lead to this moment now.  Stiles bleeding on his sofa.

“Hey.”  He feels a cold hand touch his forehead, bringing him out of his thoughts.  “What are you thinking so hard about?”  Derek shakes his head, but before he can pull away, Stiles grabs him by the cheek and tugs him closer.  “Talk to me,”  he insists.

“Why don’t you talk to me?”  Derek asks abruptly.  Stiles’ expression goes guarded, and he moves to drop his hand from Derek’s face, but Derek presses his hand to Stiles’, holding him there.  “Something’s bothering you.”

Stiles slumps over, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s.  A glinting trail of wetness slides down his cheek, but he quickly wipes it away.

“It appeared in her form,”  Stiles whispers so lowly—if it wasn’t for Derek’s supernatural hearing, he wouldn’t have caught it.  “My mom’s.”

“The kelpie?”  Derek hazards a guess, and Stiles nods his head.

“When I saw her, I thought I had died and gone to heaven,”  Stiles chuckles humorlessly, “She took me by the hand—wearing the gown she used to love, the one we buried her in—pulling me to the water.  She used to take me swimming at the lake when I was a kid.  With my little batman floaties, she would pretend to be Alfred, and of course I’d be Batman.”  Stiles dashes away another tear.

“How’d you get away?”  Derek asks, afraid of knowing the answer.

Stiles snorts wetly.  “I didn’t.  Chris Argent and his band of merry hunters showed up and blasted her full of holes.  I had to watch her die, again.”  Stiles tugs his hand away, and this time Derek lets him go.

“Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, no, It’s okay.  It’s not like it was really my mom, it was just an illusion.”

Derek shakes his head.  “No, it it was real to you.  I’m sorry that you had to feel that pain again.  You, of all people, don’t deserve that.”

Stiles sniffs, reaching out for Derek’s hand, he squeezes it.  “Thanks, Derek.”  

Allegiant : Sentence Starters
  • “I suppose a fire that burns that bright is not meant to last.”
  • “I fell in love with him."
  • "I stay with him because I choose to, every day that I wake up, every day that we fight or lie to each other or disappoint each other. I choose him over and over again, and he chooses me.”
  • "Sometimes it is nothing more than gritting your teeth through pain, and the work of every day, the slow walk toward a better life. That is the sort of bravery I must have now.”
  • “I wonder if fears ever really go away, or if they just lose their power over us.”
  • “She taught me all about real sacrifice."
  • “I'll say it one last time: Be brave.”
  • “Can I be forgiven for all I've done to get here?"
  • “I belong to the people I love, and they belong to me--they, and the love and loyalty I give them, form my identity far more than any word or group ever could.”
  • “Knowledge is power. Power to do evil...or power to do good. Power itself is not evil. So knowledge itself is not evil.”
  • “The person you became with her is worth being.”
  • “I didn't know that idiocy caused people to just start spontaneously bleeding from the nose.”
  • "I think you're still the only person sharp enough to sharpen someone like me.”
  • "There is a difference between admitting and confessing. Admitting involves softening, making excuses for things that cannot be excused; confessing just names the crimes at its full severity.”
  • “I was so afraid that we would just keep colliding over and over again if we stayed together, and that eventually the impact would break me."
  • “Change, like healing, takes time.”
  • “You don’t believe things because they make your life better, you believe them because they’re true.”
  • “We are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.”
  • “Some things are hard to let go of.”
  • “People talk about the pain of grief, but I don't know what they mean. To me, grief is a devastating numbness, every sensation dulled.”
  • "My dear child, you've done so well.”
  • “I keep finding myself stifled by the company of others and then crippled by loneliness when I leave them. I am terrified and I don't even know of what, because I have lost everything already.”
  • "I wish we were alone."
  • “Desperation can make a person do surprising things.”
  • “I don't need to relive my fears anymore. All I need to do now is try to overcome them.”
  • “If someone offer you an opportunity to get closer to your enemy, you always take it.”
  • “I'm sick of doing bad things and liking it and then wondering what's wrong with me. I want it to be over. I want to start again.”
  • “It happened. It was awful. You aren't perfect. That's all there is. Don't confuse your grief with guilt.”
  • “Our ability to know about ourselves and the world is what makes us human.”
  • “Pride blinds people to the truth of what they are.”
  • "If you don't acknowledge it, maybe it will go away.”
  • “I think they're lucky, I'm not going to kill them.”
  • “If they told us what to believe, and we didn't come to it on our own, is it still true?”

see I mean we break down and pull all nighters and we say “welcome aboard the struggle bus” dryly like its funny but it’s heavy, it’s always heavy, and the thing is that we are supposed to get through this and we’re not supposed to show that it’s hard, there can’t be any collateral damage like our mental health or our sleep schedules or our social lives and it’s heavy, everything is heavy, and we’re tired of having to carry all of it alone

because we say “the struggle bus” but what we mean is
I have slept for ten total hours this week and
I think my body is falling apart and
holy shit, it’s only January, I don’t think I’m going to make it through the year

and it’s not funny, it was never funny, we’re pushing and pushing and pushing and our wrists are sore and our fingers are sore and our bodies ache and it’s not funny, we practically bleed study guides and vocabulary words at this point,

and what I mean by this is that ashley says “good night” and then a minute later “well I’m not going to sleep tonight I have so much homework” and I mean mr davis says “well I know it’s hard but you can do it” and the thing is that I know we can, we’re still here, we’re still pushing ourselves, but I’ve seen so many eleventh grade burn outs and I don’t want to become one I guess and

we take the acts and the sats and if you have a concussion that’s too bad you’re still taking them and I mean a 25 is already good but we’re still crying over a 31 because it’s still not good enough because we put so much time into this we put so much effort into this we poured our souls into this and if we can’t be the best we don’t know what we are then and

the struggle bus isn’t probably the best analogy it’s more like we were in a bus and then it drove off a cliff and we’re in the bus, still, but the water is rising around us like quicksand and we’re still smiling, still saying “I’m dying” and it’s a joke but it isn’t

sophomores ask us if IB is worth it and we paste on our smiles and say “yes, of course” and we’re not sure worth what exactly, all we know is yes of course and we’re just

so tired of struggling at the bottom of the pool. on the floor. in the swampy sea green hue of the dirty water flooding the bus. we’re tired of being hungry and bright-eyed and we’re tired of always being the best.

and the teachers say “but you’re smart kids, you can do it”. and we put on our best smiles. yes we can. we can do it.

I just wonder if we should have to.

—  whenever my math class struggles to understand a concept the teacher sighs and says “are y'all boarding the struggle bus or what” and we think it’s funny

anonymous asked:

prompt: ian and mickey with a daughter

//so yeah this is really long but yeah here you go!//


‘What do you think it is?’

Ian looked away from the sonogram for a moment and considered Mickey’s question. ‘How am I supposed to know? Not as if I’m the one carrying it,’ he said.

Mickey rolled his eyes. ‘Fine, fine. What do you want it to be?’

'Can’t exactly answer that either. Another Carl or another Debbie…neither exactly sounds appealing. I love them, but…you know what I mean.’

'Yeah. I don’t really want a mini Mandy running around either,’ Mickey said, smiling at Ian. They were both quiet for a moment, returning their attention to the sonogram. Six weeks already. 'You know it’s going to be nothing like our siblings, right?’ he asked seriously.

'I know. And we’re going to be nothing like our fathers,’ Ian said, clasping Mickey’s hand meaningfully. He was talking mainly about Terry. Frank was a liar and a drunk, sure, but compared to Terry, he was practically a saint.

'I hope it’s a boy,’ Mickey said suddenly.


'Yeah. If we have a girl, she’ll be bringing boys home to fuck every five minutes. And I’d have to be protective and shit, put them in their places, scare them off. Dad stuff,’ Mickey explained. Ian burst out laughing.

'Are you planning on parenting like you’re in a nineties sitcom?’ he joked. 'She’ll just fuck them somewhere else, Mick. God knows we did it in some weird places,’ he reminded him.

'If it’s a girl, I won’t know the first thing to say,’ Mickey said quietly. Now Ian saw through his facade. He was insecure. 'I don’t know anything about girls, and neither do you because we’re both guys, and we’re both gay so it’s not like we know about women from fucking them like straight dads do,’ he said all in a rush.

'Well you used to -’

'Shut the fuck up, Ian, I’m serious,’ Mickey cut him off.

'Sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood. I shouldn’t have bought that up,’ he told Mickey apologetically.

'It’s fine. But don’t you agree?’

'No. Sure we’re maybe better equipped to deal with a son, but just because we’re not women and we’re not into women doesn’t mean we’re incapable of having a daughter. Ok? Don’t ever feel like you’re not enough. Don’t ever feel like you’re incapable of doing something because of who you are. If anything, everything we’ve been through is just going to make us better parents.’ Ian told him, kissing him firmly. 'There’s no-one else I would rather have a kid with.’

Mickey smiled a little. He still found it hard to do that, even after all this time. Show emotions that weren’t anger. Feel happiness. He had to let himself, it never came naturally.

Mickey slid into Ian’s shoulder and looked back at the sonogram. They were quiet, and he just listened to Ian’s heartbeat and felt Ian’s hands gently running through his dark hair. ‘Ian?’


'Do you know anything about periods and shit?’

Ian chuckled. ‘Well one time we shoved a tampon up Lip’s nose to stop it bleeding,’ he told him, grinning. Mickey looked at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Look, we’ll just figure it out if and when it happens. Yeah?’



'Shit shit shit,’ Mickey muttered, pacing the hospital corridor for the umpteenth time.

'You need to calm down man,’ Lip said from behind, taking him by the shoulders and steering him to the seats by the wall.

'Why won’t they let me in?’

'State laws, hospital protocols, cunt doctors. I’m sure you’re familiar,’ Lip said, causing a pair of passing nurses to flinch nervously.

'I’m the fucking dad too.’ Mickey whispered.

'Yes you are,’ Lip stated in agreement. 'I know that and Ian knows that. And the kid’s going to know it too,’ he told him.

Mickey looked at him, his eyes heavy with tears that Lip knew he was too proud to cry. ‘After everything…after getting shot, getting raped, getting the shit beat out of me…this is the worst. This shit is regulated, I can’t control it, I can’t do anything. I’m missing the birth of my child,’ he trailed off.

'You know I’ve never been worried about you and Ian?’

'What are you talking about? The fuck does that have to do with anything?’

'Never. Because with you two, the stakes have always been higher. You’ve always had to go through more and be more for each other. Maybe you more than him. When he told me you two were fucking, I was surprised, sure. But I wasn’t worried. When he told me he was fucking Kash - well, when I figured it out - I was worried, I was pissed. But with you? I knew from that first moment that you must really give a damn if you were risking it all to be with him. And time went on and you stayed together - for the most part - and I barely even thought about it anymore. If I was put through even half the shit you’ve been through, Mickey, I’d have given up. But you never did, did you? You destroyed yourself, you kissed him with a broken face, you searched for him, you literally carried him. When he got diagnosed, you were there with him and you’ve never left his side since. What I’m trying to say here is that I wasn’t worried when he was sixteen and I’m not worried now. You will be able to get through this because I don’t think there’s anything this world could throw at you that you couldn’t handle. You’re Mickey fucking Milkovich.’

Mickey hugged Lip on instinct, before he could stop himself. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly, masking tears. ‘And I’m sorry I beat you up that one time,’ he added.

Lip laughed. ‘Shit, I’d forgotten about that,’ he remarked, breaking off the hug and clapping Mickey on the shoulder. ‘Ian?’ he called out, seeing his brother at the other end of the hall. Mickey was on his feet in a second.

'What’s happening? Is everything ok? Has it popped out yet? Boy? Girl? Ian why aren’t you saying anything? Shit did we lose it? Shit we did, didn’t we? Ian talk to me!’ Mickey spluttered frantically.

Ian was smiling, smiling so wide and with so much love. ‘No. No Mick, we didn’t lose her,’ he told him gently.

'Her?’ Mickey gasped.

Ian nodded. ‘You’re going to have to learn about periods,’ he said, right before kissing Mickey with possibly more passion than ever before.

'What’s she like?’

'She’s amazing. Come and meet her,’ he grabbed Mickey’s hand and led him inside, casting a glance back at Lip and silently thanking him for being there, for waiting with Mickey. Lip grinned back.


'I love you but shut up,’ Mickey said to the howling baby in his arms.

'Mick, don’t tell our daughter to shut up,’ Ian said in mock disapproval, smiling at them. They were side by side in bed, Mickey holding Rose.

'Our daughter,’ Mickey echoed.

They’d lost count of how many nights had been like this. Just laying there at 2am in the dark, half wishing they were sleeping and half wishing to never leave that moment. It didn’t matter that Rose was crying, that Ian had baby vomit on his arm or that Mickey had a headache. They’d honestly never felt closer. And the love they had for that tiny six month old bundle that Mickey clutched in his arms was a love neither had been prepared to feel and neither could understand yet.

Ian turned on his side and placed his hand on Mickey’s arm. ‘I love you so much,’ he told him. Mickey looked at him, the corners of his mouth twitching.

'I love you Ian,’ he returned after a pause. It still took him a moment sometimes. Ian knew why and he didn’t mind.


'Rose, why have we been called in today?’ Ian asked his daughter.

'I don’t know Daddy,’ she said truthfully.

'What have you done? You hit someone? You mouth off?’ Mickey fired the questions at her.

'I don’t think so,’ their six year old replied.

'How can you not know? Has your fist been in someone’s face or not?’ Mickey demanded.

Ian took his hand to calm him down. ‘Rose, whatever it is, we won’t be mad. You can tell us anything. We’ll work through it, as a family,’ he told her. Mickey made an odd sound from next to him. ‘You ok?’ he murmured. Mickey nodded, not looking at him.

She thought for a moment. ‘I really can’t think what I’ve done, I promise,’ she told Ian, her eyes wide with worry.

'Ah, you must be Rose’s parents?’ came a cheerful voice from behind them.

'Yes. I’m Ian,’ he said, extending his hand, smiling brightly. He knew they had to get off on the right foot before facing whatever it was that Rose had done.

'Mickey,’ he said, also shaking the woman’s hand.

'Pleasure. I’m Miss Cooper, Rose’s teacher,’ she introduced herself, 'thank you for taking the time to come here today,’ she said, sitting behind her desk.

'Of course, it’s no trouble,’ Mickey said carefully, trying not to curse.

'Well let’s get right to it, shall we? Rose is doing so well. I’m thrilled with the progress she’s been making,’ she told them. Ian and Mickey were stunned.

'She’s not in trouble?’ Ian asked uncertainly.

'Of course not! Gosh is that what you thought this was? No, not at all!’ the teacher reassured them.

Rose was grinning up at her fathers, triumphant.

'Here is a story she wrote, it’s just wonderful…and they’ve been building robots in art class, hers is that purple one on the table behind you. And these are her workbooks - almost perfect scores in math quizzes and spelling tests. And Rose, tell your dads what you did in history yesterday!’

'I recited all the Presidents, in order,’ she said proudly.

'You make them learn that?’ Ian asked incredulously.

'No, not when they’re six! She just knew. Must have learned it of her own free will,’ Miss Cooper explained, smiling at Rose.

Ian read what his daughter had written, carefully and neatly in soft pencil, telling the story six children living in a house with no parents. On the last page she’d drawn them. A tall girl in shorts with messy dark hair, two boys of equal height, one in jeans, the other with a solid crayoned block of orange hair, a girl with a ponytail and red lipstick, a boy with no hair holding a baseball bat, and on the floor at the end was a toddler wearing a nappy. His fingers traced the red haired figure. He looked at her, a lump in his throat. ‘This is great,’ he told her softly. Rose smiled and silently pointed to the corner of the page. She’d drawn a little house with one window. A girl with a nose ring and pink streaked hair was what first caught his eye. Next to her was a shorter figure, a boy with a shock of black hair in a tank top. They were staring longingly at the big family above them. Ian felt his eyes tearing up and then he just hugged his little girl as hard as he could. ‘I love you,’ he told her.

'Ok,’ she said. The adults all laughed.


'Did you hear that?’ Mickey said, putting down his coffee mug.

'Hear what?’ Ian asked. Another scream.

'That,’ Mickey told him.

'Shit,’ said Ian, running upstairs, Mickey behind. 'Rose? What happened?’

The bathroom door unlocked and Rose came out, still in her pyjamas. She looked pretty shaken. ‘Um. Nothing,’ she said, averting her eyes.

'You were screaming. I thought you were six weeks old again, never mind sixteen,’ Ian said her. He still couldn’t believe how long it had been.

'I said it’s nothing. Please let me go to my room. Please,’ she said quietly.

'Fine. Go. You can tell us whenever you’re ready?’ Mickey called after her. She shook her head and shuffled off. He turned to Ian. 'You think she’s pregnant?’ he whispered. Ian hadn’t even thought of that. But Mickey had grown up with Mandy. He shrugged, glancing after his daughter. Then he saw. He nudged Mickey. There was blood streaked on her pyjamas. As soon as she was in her room, Mickey groaned, looking terrified. This had been his worst fear sixteen years ago and it still lingered.

'Ian I can’t. What the fuck do we do? I don’t - what are you doing?’ Ian was going into their bedroom and opening the closet.

'Fiona gave me these back when Rose was thirteen or so. I put them away and forgot about them…I figured she had to have started by now, you know? Just figured it out on her own and not told us. We should’ve done something. How could we have been so fucking careless?’

'We kept putting it off. And I think we were in denial that she was growing up. But yeah. We should've…I don’t know, something.’

'I’m doing something now,’ Ian said, heading towards Rose’s bedroom. He knocked. 'Can I come in? You decent?’ he asked gently. Mickey was trying to pull him away furiously. 'We can’t avoid this anymore Mick,’ Ian told him as they entered. She was sitting on her bed, laptop open. Ian gently closed the lid and sat beside her. But before he could say anything, Mickey began.

'Rose. What’s happening is totally normal. It happens every month. You can use these, they’re called tampons, or there’s towels. If these aren’t right, here’s twenty dollars, you can buy whichever kind you need. I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this sooner. We love you,’ he said, speaking very quickly to a stunned Rose, and then got up to leave.

'Oh my god! Oh my god, no!’ Rose shrieked from the bed. 'That’s not why - you guys thought - oh my god!’ she said, laughing uncontrollably.

'Your - pyjamas,’ Mickey said, confused and awkward. She blushed.

'Shit, sorry,’ she muttered. Her turn to be embarrassed. 'I was screaming because…I can’t say,’ she told them.

'Rose, are you pregnant?’ Ian asked her, automatically returning to their earlier assumption. She laughed.

'Seriously?’ she asked, gesturing to the boxes of tampons. Ian sighed at his stupidity. 'Besides, I’m seeing a girl right now,’ she said casually.

Her fathers stared at each other.

'Why didn’t you tell us before?’ Ian asked.

'I wasn’t sure. I’m still not,’ she explained. She shrugged. 'It was a…surprise, when it all happened. I like her a lot. I don’t know if it’s just her or if it’s girls. I like guys a lot too. I’m trying not to get too caught up in it,’ she told them.

Mickey stared at his daughter. This girl who reminded him of himself in so many ways. But she had accepted herself and she was more certain of her heart at sixteen than he had been back then, and later. And she had better parents than him. He’d prove it, he knew, as he went to hold her.

'I’m so proud of you,’ he said.

Rose hugged her father back. She knew his life had not been easy, but she didn’t know the full story. There were questions she’d asked over the years that had been met with awkward attempts to shy away from the truth until eventually she’d just stopped asking. She knew they were both covered in scars. She knew she only had one set of grandparents. The picture she had in her head of her parents’ lives was in bits and pieces. Maybe one day they’d tell her everything, maybe they wouldn’t. Ultimately she didn’t care. She knew they loved her, she knew they did. Nothing was ever faked in their house and nothing was ever hidden. Well. She was going to hide their surprise anniversary party that Lip had just told her about on the phone. But nothing else.

'Is something burning?’ she asked after a moment.

'The pancakes!’ Mickey exclaimed, bounding out of the bedroom and thundering down the stairs to save their breakfast.

Ian laughed. ‘Breakfast foods,’ he said simply. ‘Are you ok?’ he asked her seriously.

'Yeah. I’m good,’ she told her father, smiling.

He ruffled her hair. ‘It really is ok, you know? To be confused, I mean. You have the right parents for it,’ he said, smiling. She nodded. Ian kissed the top of her head and turned to leave.

'I really love you guys a lot, ok?’ she called out. Ian smiled. She didn’t say it often. She was like Mickey that way.

He nodded. ‘I know. Love you too,’ he said, closing the door.

'Thanks for the twenty bucks!’ she yelled as he walked downstairs. Ian grinned to himself as he entered the kitchen to see Mickey scraping black discs from the hot plate.

'Gonna have to start a new batch,’ he said.

Ian went up behind him and snaked his hands around his waist, kissing his neck. ‘I know it wasn’t needed, but what you said up there was amazing.’

Mickey leaned into his touch. ‘It felt really…parent-y, you know? I never - I never thought I’d get to have that,’ he murmured.

'I can’t believe the boy who wouldn’t let me kiss him twenty years ago is still with me now,’ Ian said. 'Hell, has a kid with me.’

'Not so much of a kid anymore though, is she,’ Mickey said. 'And I still can’t believe I ever stopped myself from doing this,’ he turned around and kissed Ian. They were familiar with each others lips now, but their hearts still jolted like they did when they shared their first kiss in that driver’s seat.

'I love you, Gallagher’ Mickey told him. Ian smiled. No hesitation now.


//The end.//