whatever it has been so long i am tagging this as

between the devil & the deep blue sea (m)

cr. 

Words: 28,455. (rip)

Genre: Pirate Jimin au + smut, fluff, angst.

Paring: Jimin x Reader.

Summary: “No matter the endeavour you were on, no matter the storms you encountered on rocky seas, or the possible threat of encountering blood-thirsty pirates, no one intrigued you or intimidated you more than the thought of him, of Park Jimin, the most notorious of pirates, the most brutal of men, the devil incarnate.”

Fantasy Collab

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The A-mew-sing Sequel To Adrien’s Game

This time, there are only four episodes covered but a lot of pictures so I’m adding a “read more”…eventually.  Also, Ladybug is on Netflix!  Go watch.  Here we go with the next four eps!

The last time we left our boy Adrien, he was developing his flirting technique with the lovely Marinette.  Or not.  It’s fun to speculate though, right?  Right?!

…ANYway, let’s see how he tops the almost kiss.

 In “Darkblade” (Le Chevalier Noir):

  • Marinette decides to run against Chloe for class something-or-other
  • To the utter delight of 95% of the class
  • That’s right man, just play it cool…
  • CASUAL FINGER GUNS and AMBIGUOUS SUPPORT!!!


In “The Mime” (Le Mime):

  • Hey, I didn’t know y’all were gonna be here too lol!
  • Smooth move, dude.  Just play it off like you had NO IDEA.

Our cat son heats things up below the cut!

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Writing is Hard, pt 8: Slow and Steady

Summary: Dean shows you his favorite kind of sex.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warning: Smut, dirty talk

Word Count: 3100ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO

The motel door opens quietly and you hear Dean shuffle in, his footsteps easy to recognize. You don’t move, body too exhausted to even roll over in bed and say hi.

Sam has to know that Dean comes to your room every night now. Actually, Dean just goes straight in with you now more often than not, leaving Sam to himself. You’ve never discussed it, but you suspect that Sam’s silence on the matter of you and Dean is his thank you for finally having some privacy on a regular basis.

Either way, you aren’t remotely surprised that Dean is here. You listen to boots being kicked off, a gun being placed on the night stand, and clothes being shuffled off. He’s down to his boxers when he slides beneath the covers.

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i’m going to be straight up with this. when you’re in college, especially around exams/midterms, there seems like there’s no time to do everything you need to accomplish, much less care for yourself. i’ve devised a list of five small, relatively quick ways to get in some self care time during those weeks where you barely have enough time to catch your breath.

i. get some sunshine

set down your pens, close your notebook momentarily, and step outside your building. taking a break from your studies and getting a breath of fresh air can be so motivating! take a small break from your study session in the library. you don’t have to make it an hour long endeavor: just step outside for 30 seconds, a minute, five, however long you feel like, and take a minute to breathe. bonus points if you leave your technology at your desk.

ii. drink some water

this may seem trivial, but you would be surprised by how often you forget to hydrate. it doesn’t have to be a tall glass or an entire water bottle, but take some time to travel to the water fountain and take a sip! not only will you get a small break from your activity, but you’ll get a refreshing pick me up! throw in a healthy snack! here’s a masterpost of some cheap + low maintenance power snacks worthy of a college student’s affection.

iii. take a quick shower

showering helps relieve tension, and help you sleep better! turn on your favorite song and stay in the shower for as long as you have the time to devote to it. wash the stress from the day off or just stand under the warm water. whatever you decide to do, it is sure to be relaxing and refreshing so you can get back to doing all of the amazing work you’re doing! even if you don’t wash your hair or your body, taking a moment to relax and breathe can really help you with your activities for the rest of the day.

iv. clean/organize your desk

personally, i clean/organize when i’m stressed out. if this is something that helps calm you down, go for it! if this is not necessarily a go to stress relieving practice for you, take a look at your study space. have you been in the library all day? throw away any trash leftover from your midday snack, and recycle any papers you might not need anymore! has it been a few weeks since you cleaned off your desk or reorganized your stationery? take five minutes and tidy up your study space! a change of pace can be so helpful when it comes to finding your motivation to continue working.

v. take a short nap

i know what you’re thinking: this is a slippery slope. it can be, but knowing when you really do need a nap is part of being an adult! i try my hardest not to take naps unless absolutely necessary, but sometimes i do need to unplug, close my notebooks, and crawl into bed to recharge. don’t write off naps as an act you can never indulge in. if you have a bad night and don’t get enough sleep, your productivity will be affected. science shows that you should nap for either 45 or 90 minutes so you don’t screw your rhythms up! regardless of whether or not you are the royalty of napping, or someone who tries their hardest to refrain from napping, remember that naps are more than okay sometimes, and that sleep is a necessity if you want to be the best student you can be!

i can’t say this enough: taking time for yourself, especially in college, is so important. when you feel better about yourself, you have more time to devote to studying and doing the things you love! try to make a habit of doing a self care activity, be it one i mentioned above or something completely different, for at least 10 minutes every day. you will feel refreshed, motivated, and prepared to continue your studies! i am wishing everyone the best of luck! as always, if you have questions or suggestions, please send me an ask.

Those Four Words

Summary: “You absolute fucking prick.”

Word count: 1.6k

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: Swearing (guess it’s a little late for that though whoops I’ll just put that in the tags), food mention

A/N: Inspired by a debate between @botanistlester@insanityplaysfics, and some anons on Phanfiction Catalogue about whether Dan or Phil would propose. I, um, might have been one of those anons btw (*cough* #TeamEliza *cough*). I hope this serves as an acceptable compromise.

read on ao3


“Hey.”

Dan doesn’t bother to look away from the episode of Steven Universe they’re watching, acknowledging his boyfriend only with a noncommittal sound somewhere between a hum and a grunt. Phil’s using his ‘idea’ voice, and as it’s barely past ten in the morning and Dan was up pacing the lounge until nearly five, he has neither the energy nor the mental capacity to pay attention to anything more complicated than cartoons right now. He pops another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and hopes whatever Phil has to say is brief.

(He gets his wish).

“Marry me?” Phil says in the exact same tone he used last week when he suggested that they go miniature golfing in the middle of a typical London downpour.

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The Mean Marquis

Lafayette x Reader

Note: So @a-schuylerr made a post about different Lafayette fic scenarios they would like to see and I got inspired. Thank you to @thatoneimaginesblog for being my proofreader and for putting up with me spamming you with my process on this fic. This is my longest fic and I am really excited for you to read it!

Warning: smut and that’s basically it

Word Count: 7,204 ( I expected it to be long just not this long)

Tagged: @hamiltonsquills @mehrmonga @iamgrayfox @rottwat @beckett-faye @justanotherone2u @aph-bermuda @haletotheking24


1772

When your father first announced that you were to marry a French nobleman in just over a month, you felt as if your throat had fallen into your stomach. You were angry and shocked, so angry that you could hardly form a sentence before you stormed off.

That was three days ago, your anger had subsided and left you feeling worried. Worried about the man you were going to be married to. He wasn’t just any old French nobleman he was the Marquis de Lafayette, more affectionately known as the “Mean Marquis”. You’d heard stories about him about his ruthless and cold nature when it came to business. You had also heard about how popular he was with women, and that he was always surrounded by them.

“It’s just not fair!” you yell. You’d walked far enough away from you family’s home that you know you can speak without being heard. “I don’t even know him why should I marry him?” you groan as you sink to your knees.

You take a deep breath as you feel yourself start to panic. How on earth is he going to treat me? You wonder. After everything you’ve heard about him, the best you can hope for is that he will ignore you. He will probably give you a child or two but for the most part, just forget you even exist.

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hockeystix  asked:

zimbits. “Less homicidal thoughts about your annoying coworker right now, please. I’m in a meeting over here.” pLEASE

Charlie asked for this about 30 years ago but I’m just getting around to it now. It’s prompt from this list. 


If he thinks I’m going to let a single tart anywhere near his ruinous Trump-sized hands he’s got another thing coming. Actually, no. He can have as many tarts as he wants. Kill ‘em with kindness, and arsenic worked into the whipped cream. I’d have to add more vanilla to balance it out but–

If Jack wasn’t in a sponsorship meeting, he would be inclined to promptly bash his head into the wood of the table. It had been like this for a few weeks ago, a voice filtering in at the most inopportune times, going on diatribes against who he was presuming was the voice’s coworker (”–even the way he counts out change is annoying. The Lord is testing me. We should’ve kept the antique register, it would have hurt more when I ‘accidentally’ shut the drawer on his fingers that he just licked to count out the bills. Yes, I would LOVE my spit covered change. THANK YOU.”)

Unfortunately, Jack thought it was unlikely that NIKE would appreciate their new brand ambassador actively giving himself a concussion, so he shot the representative across the table a smile and nodded to whatever was being said before reverting back inside his head.

As ambitious as your assassination attempt is, if you could keep it to yourself I would appreciate it.

There wasn’t even a moments pause before he got his reply.

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“A Secret That’s Worth It” Carl x Reader, Negan x Reader

Word Count: 9,670

Negan x Daughter Reader, Carl x Reader

Summary: You’re Negan’s teenage daughter and from the minute you saw Carl, he sparked your interest, leading to a relationship between you two.

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, mentions of death, kinda smutty 

A/N: Does not follow the show exactly, I had to change up some things for the sake of the story, but I tried to make it as close as possible.


Originally posted by lets-letmeimagine-posts

Originally posted by lets-letmeimagine-posts


He was the first person you noticed when you stepped out of that RV.

He was wearing a flannel and a cowboy hat, and even with one of his eyes covered up and it being dark out, you could see how bright blue they were. You didn’t know his name, but you certainly were attracted to him.

Your father, Negan, had told you to stay inside the RV while he went out there and talked to them. He had told you that he was going to kill one of them and that he didn’t want you to see that, so you needed to stay away.

“Y/N, I do not want to see you out there. Your ass better stay in here, alright?” Negan had warned you. You didn’t listen. You had heard him talking to their group, and you got curious. All you wanted to do was see what they looked like, nothing more. You opened the door slightly and peeked your head out, making the attractive boy turn his head and look at you. They all did, but he was the only one you noticed.

“Dear daughter, did I not tell you to stay inside?” Negan bellowed. You knew he was trying to scare the group- that was his way of being a big, bad leader. He intimidates everyone. And by the look of everyone’s face, they were definitely afraid.

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brought to you by me spending midnight to six thirty am in the airport, the obligatory “dregs stuck overnight in an airport” post, written by me on no sleep

  • nina heads immediately for the late-night coffee shop
  • matthias is that friend who’s like “we should probably try and sleep” and insists that sleeping on seats in the departure lounge is manageable, also refuses to admit that nobody can fall asleep on them and lies there for a good three hours just to make a point
  • jesper spends a good amount of time just walking around and exploring, wandering in and out of all the shops, going up and down stairs and corridors just to see what’s there (until an irate security guard pointedly redirects him back into the central departure lounge).  he probably drags wylan with him 
  • there’s a small twenty-four hour restaurant that they both end up at and spend most of the night in.  they order full meals and drinks just because they can, and stay way past the time the staff should have made them leave.  wylan falls asleep sometime after four, lying across one of the benches with his head on jesper’s legs
  • jesper is more than alright with this arrangement.  sitting there absentmindedly running a hand through wylan’s hair and people-watching is more peaceful than you might expect a relatively crowded airport to be in the early hours of the morning
  • after a few hours, matthias finally admits defeat and joins nina at the coffee shop.  she grins and wordlessly slides a mug over to him.  they have a makeshift date in the early hours of the morning (matthias tells nina about the book he’s reading.  she makes him listen to an entire album of obnoxious pop music she stole from jesper.) and it’s actually matthias’ favourite part of the whole trip
  • kuwei’s been in the corner with his headphones and a book since they checked in, but will occasionally look up to complain about how uncomfortable the seats are or how long they’re waiting.  he’s also that asshole that can fall asleep anywhere and eventually does just that, curled up on one of the airport seats in the most uncomfortable-looking position, but he’s fine
  • nina finds out the duty free shop is open all night and almost misses boarding with how long she’s in there.  she emerges with armfuls of new purchases and has to sit on her suitcase to make them all fit
  • kaz is Not a fan of airports.  they’re too busy and bright and crowded and there’s nowhere comfortable to sit if you can even find an empty seat, there’s too many tourists, everything is overpriced,
  • he probably just sits in the least-crowded area he can find, sipping coffee and scrolling on his phone.  after a while, inej joins him.  she doesn’t sleep well in airports so they spend a couple of hours just sitting together in silence, until at one point kaz looks up and sees inej has fallen asleep, head resting on folded arms and hair falling across the table.  it doesn’t affect him in the slightest, not at all, he’s definitely not staring
  • (he certainly doesn’t drape his jacket around her shoulders before going back to his coffee and his phone.  nina didn’t see a thing.  shut up, nina.)

anonymous asked:

Just joining the fandom, been listening to them from the beginning of the year. It's so hard to find their content >.< Could ya help me and post/tag a thread on their profiles? I mean the kinda profile fans have inside jokes with and everything, not their blood types (which is basically all I've been reading because IT'S SO HARD TO FIND THEIR CONTENT).

AHH welcome to the fandom bud!! Hmmm I think I know what you mean? I don’t think I remember seeing many of these so I’ll try and make a little one for you but I’m not sure how good it’ll be,, I don’t know how caught up I am with the fandom really and whatever inside jokes they have sdklnfsdlkfn BUT

Jae (Park Jaehyung):

- born 1992.09.15 !! (oldest member)

- lived first few years of his life in Argentina then in the United States then moved to Korea what a cool guy

- participated in the first season of Kpop Star along with Park Jimin, Lee Hi, Baek Ahyeon, Lee Michelle, Lee Seunghoon (Winner ;;), Yoon Hyunsang etc. and placed 6th!! leading him to join JYP Entertainment 

- had a youtube channel called yellowpostitman when he was a small baby and sang covers on there :’‘)

- hosts asc (after school club) with his pals Jimin and Kevin

- does vocals and guitar in Day6!!

- is called Chicken Little (cause he looks like him like really does it’s wow), Sweg Chicken (he doesn’t even know what this means why’s he called that)

- uses a lot of hashtags like.. calm down my guy

- wanted to have long hair the way JB from Got7 did at one time it was the cutest

- is the designated English speaker in the group and you can watch one of my favourite clips of him speaking English here!! (you feel me? you feel me Brian?) incredible

- can play badminton !!!! and was on Cool Kiz on the Block (?) for that

Sungjin (Park Sungjin):

- born 1993.01.16 (leader!!)

- does vocals and guitar and can also do percussion (I’m not sure the term for the instrument apologies) as you can see in a couple of their radio covers and in this predebut performance as 5live

- needs to let Wonpil live

- says that he’s the most emotional at dawn xdknvfkldnfs

- a legendary dancer

- people used to joke that it was his fault Day6 didn’t go on variety shows because he once went on Hidden Singer with Park Jinyoung (JYP) and was pretty nervous and couldn’t speak very well

- he’s like a dad but is actually a mystery to me???? because somehow he’s simultaneously a lame joke bad pun kind of dad and such a savage so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- has a gorgeous, super distinct voice it’s really amazing one of my favourite voices

- is called Bob because Jae thinks he looks like Bob the Builder which.. I have no words for..

- also has suCH a beautiful laugh,, they all have beautiful laughs though !!

Young K (Brian Kang or Kang Younghyun):

- born 1993.12.19

- stage name is Young K and he always tries to get people to call him that but everyone still calls him Brian

- lived in Canada !!!! my Canadian bro

- when he lived in Canada performed songs on a youtube channel with his pal Terry He !!! (Terry and pals made a cover of Congratulations when Brian debuted you can watch it here ;;)

- when in Canada was also in a band with Terry called KMESS + one called 3rd Degree

- does vocals, rap and bass

- originally played guitar before debuting with Day6 and didn’t get along with Jae (this isn’t the right wording but) when they first trained together because he took his guitar spot and he had to learn bass but they’re great buds now

- told YG to get an attitude (some peeps say that’s not what he actually said but I’m going to believe it forever) you can see here !! truly iconic, legends only

- is studying in University !!!! while still balancing being a part of Day6 what a guy :’‘) he works very hard

- Did a song with Baek Ahyeon called Shouldn’t Have and here you can watch the cutest performance of it in the whole world look at his dancing and them smiliNG at each other if you ever need to be cheered up watch this 

- also watch this with him and Jae !! the best thing? in the whole world? another iconic moment

Wonpil (Kim Wonpil):

- born 1994.04.28

- is the most emotional member according to Sungjin

- does vocals, keyboard and synthesizer !!

this is what he looked like predebut sdfsklnfsk

(a shark angel?)

- they always give him trash for his pink sweater (especially Jae)

(idk what they’re talking about he looks like an angel)

- the sweetest cutest person in the whole world his nickname is Pirimili is that doesn’t prove it to you I don’t know what to say

- likes to snuggle and sometimes goes to Brian’s room dlknfskldnfl really an angel

- he’s also really funny and is almost as legendary of a dancer as Sungjin as you can see here

- also has a super distinct voice !!

- when Day6 need aegyo he’s the one they turn to

Dowoon (Yoon Dowoon):

- born 1995.08.25

- plays the drums !! (also sometimes sings a little tiny bit I hope we can hear more in the future his voice is lovely)

- is very shy especially when they first debuted

- when they first debuted he always had to practice speaking neutrally because he naturally speaks in dialect

- Brian loves him so much he loves making him sit on his lap they’re so cute sldknfskl

- everyone loves him so much really

- I don’t know I don’t have that much info on him really but he’s the most precious in the whole world

Some general things about Day6:

- were originally a 5 member band called 5live and became Day6 when Dowoon joined

- had a past member named Junhyeok who did vocals and the keyboard who left on February 27th, 2016 (I cried)

- good pals with Got7

- do a LOT of covers both in English and Korean on the radio !!

- are very frequent radio guests especially on Kiss the Radio

- are really a true band they’re incredibly talented and hard working and deserve all of the love in the world

SO that’s all I have for now? Everyone please feel free to correct anything I might have gotten wrong and add things that I missed !!

Additionally:

Here is a list of many of their radio covers made by @softwoc !!

And some good Day6 blogs off of the top of my head are @fyeahdaysix (+ all of the fyeah blogs) @theday6 @brianskangs @bryankang @youngk @jaechicken @wonpilimiri @its-youngk their content should be able to help you get into Day6 !!

I’ll try to add on anything I missed and I hope that you continue to enjoy and support Day6′s music :’‘)

Sokovian cuddles

Anon request:

Hi there! I’m in love with your blog, and I know that there are a lot of specifically Pietro blogs, but I love your style, so I was wondering if you could do something of Pietro? Maybe it’s movie night and the reader never told anybody she liked to cuddle but Pietro kinda offers and he can’t stop staring at her and saying cute things then they fall asleep together all tangled. Idk I just need FLUFF!


A/N: I’ve changed the ‘never told anybody she liked to cuddle’ to ‘haven’t been cuddled for ages’ - I hope you still like it?


Word count: 1.4k


Warnings: none, this is pure sweet fluff.

Originally posted by deanimagines67



Another movie night, another rom-com on the agenda. How delightful, You thought to yourself. Everyone around you is either loved up or is having a casual friends-with-benefits arrangement. Meanwhile you’re stuck in the Avengers Tower, the rarest creature of them all - a singleton.

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4

Hello my incredible and beautiful followers!! For those who doesn’t know my name is Lolo and I am the girl who runs @mylifeiskpoptrash and @imhoseoktrash

Well I am here because today I’m celebrating three major events!!! I wanted to do only a post for my anniversary but then I reached my 9k and 3k in the two blogs and honestly I think it would be annoying to be tagged in three different posts, that is why I am making this big ass post, so be prepared because this is going to be hella long!!!

Also If you are interested in my new giveaway please read bellow the information about it!!!!!

First my first mylifeiskpoptrash anniversary!!!! I can’t believe I have a year here, it’s been a beautiful experience and I’ve met so beautiful and amazing people, I have friends here that are like my family and now I can’t live without them, so thank you for being here with me, thank you for all your support and thank you for being so amazing.

The second event is that I finally reached 9k+ here on my main which I really don’t get because I don’t deserve it, my blog is just trash and I don’t know what I did to make you follow me to be honest. I remember when I reached my first milestone and for me it was like a crazy dream and I never dreamed of having the number of followers that i have now. Thank you! I dont have enough words to say it.

And last but not least I reached 3k+ in imhoseoktrash, which is amazing because I only have a few months with my sideblog and because a lot of people love Hobi and that makes me so happy! I also have met a lot of beautiful ARMYs and Hobi stans!! thank you for following me there too!!!

**Also, I know I promised you a really big Giveaway! So I will give you a big opportunity here, I will reveal the prices and for all the ones who reblog or like this post I will give you 10+ entries and if one of you win my giveaway I will send you a signed price of the group you want (only of you reblog this post).The prices are: **

The first album of the group of your choice (photocard + photobook + cd) + The last album (photocard + photobook + cd, also if the last album has more than one version I will give you all versions) + a poster + some official merch (whatever you want) + unofficial merch (jewerly, clothes, charms, etc.) + a draw or a fanart. 

And well finally here are some of my mutuals from my two blogs (I follow all as @mylifeiskpoptrash): bold= favorite mutuals, 💕=Best friends and people I care about

#-D

@135hp @1sanggyun @25yunikon @365-winter-days @5hineehappiness @7luckystars @adickktedtoyou @alienated-mediator @amamir28 💕 @anaklusmoose @an-angels-angel @ararari0 @areumdaun-neoya @areumlyxo @ari8o6 @aria-sama @asianpoprockstar @auohx @banghim-baby @bangtanhyungs  @bang-uni-7 @bby-hansol @becauseoflevi @beth-is-trash @bias-yixing @bigbangvip12 @bigbtsxo @bittersweetkpop @bomnaltae @btsbangtanboys-bts @byuny-baek @cantholdthefangirling @cateyedtaekwoon @celestialtaeyong @chanyeolandthebananas @chanyowassupp @chimchimshi @chimshmallowmochim @chogiblr @chubbychim @constantkpoptrash @constellaie @cowsgovroom @creepin-on-idols @crossingbordersonmyown @curlyjooheon @cutiebandlover202 💕 @daehdream @dancexdancexdance @dancingmachineleetaemin 💕 @ddavid-haller @deanrbll @dengekidaisley @dochims 💕 @dreamyhui

E-I

@eatkookiie @emeraclgraves @enlight-nme @ethereal-hobi @fanatic-of-kpop @fiftyfiftysugarandspice 💕 @franticland 💕 @frostbittemyheart  💕 @frostbittemyheart   💕 @fygirlgrouptrash @galaxyxing @gingersoup @glorydae @gukiee 💕 @haileyrae013 @handsomeyuta @heybinnie @hobihype  💕 @hobitaki @honeyjongdae @honjayeonkkot @hoseokmyhearteu 💕 @hoshi-woozi 💕 @hoshyoung @hotformonstax @hugjiyong @hungline @huniseok @iamyoonseoktrash @icefunky @idontknowibangtagon 💕 @igotshawolight @imleavingonatrain 💕 @ikonic-monbebe @i-m-what-i-am @ipseitee @ithappens-yaknow

J-M

@jacknam @jaehyunscult  @jaehyutaa @jaehyyunn @jbumholic 💕 @jeongmini @jeonjeongshook @jeonsomi @j-h0bie @jhoperfect @jhverse @jihope-taoris @jinblond @jinnies 💕 @jinsasleep 💕 @jiyongies-collarbones @jjongoholic @jo0heonie 💕 @j-obi @justcaffeinedreams @justoneloser @kae-popx @kamkrissy @keenandayo @kieusa @kihyunslips @kitkatkarat @kjginnie @kkukkungiesoo @k-linyong @koala-hoon @kookihyunnie @kooknochu @kpop-ashu @kpopforthehearteuandseoul @kpop-is-her-style @k-popping @kpopworldofimagines @kwon-grandma 💕 @kyoungounia @labourofmylove @lambsk3wer @leos-starlit-smile @liimchangkyun @lilchubchim @liveonouterspace @lookatnini88 @love2rhyme @lovingalivingghost @lunarjun @madalynnecupcake @madlight-hansol @mans-ayyye 💕 @mapleguitar-elf @maryna3d @meaniemineymo @megudragon @milksyb @milky-waee @min-nari @minyoongiish @min-yooongi @mochiminii @momjeonghan @momosrainbowcat @moonbyuliskillingme @moonjjongie 💕 @myungjunah

N-R

@namkwan @namri94 @nct-to-the-world @niga-byeonhan-geonji @nochuuu @notaperfectending @odetonct @ogatalata @okamiwolf01 @omfgten @onlyoongi 💕 @oohmyglob @perksofnerds @perksofparkjimin @pierilakkuma @pjminis @polarispinky @praisethepopeseungri @princesshojoon @pustekookie @queenjenn1e @radiantaetae @rayn-eedae @reila-ravkong @reisar @rninyoonqi @royalyeol

S-Z

@saelleodeu @sailor-seok @satin-skies @sayagi-tan @sensationalmochi @seraphslime @shadyseventeen @shineelover234 @shinees-thickshawol @shoeemin @shxdow-of-a-doubt @simplyquetzo @sir-knight-of-trash @sleepymusic 💕 @smowmallows 💕 @snazzydea @softbeommie @softforeveryone 💕  @somethinguniversal @sonyeondamnfine@stxverandle @sugahuny @sugtae@suhothetruhoe @sunflower-hobi@sunshine-nim @sweetieyoujin @tabisya @taebae1095 @taeboos @tae-hyungstongue @taehyunicorn @taeminismyweakness @taeonice @taepiocaa @tae-tae-said-hey-hey @that-shining-shawol @thei3luecupcake @the-kikis @theloveinkimkai @thinkaboutittwice101 @through-all @trash-binnie @uhilikechicken @unsann-musho @velvethoseok@v-i-double-xx @vixx-centric @whatthefunkwoozi @wonhotmonsta @woojiyong @wow-spectacular @wrath-of-nemesis @xiidragon @xx-littlebird-xx @yatoofthedawn @yeongwonhi-nuna @yoionseok@yoongiismyassthetic @yoongivesmehope @yoonseokee @yougotmeyugyeomie @zeloinator

Favorite blogs!!!!

@ask-bts-stuff @astros-noona @awwfuckno @btspositivity @choiminoh @duckytacobutts @eyes0ny0u @googlebts @hobiconfetti @inourshineeworld @jjongs-key @jypnior @leejinklies @livelovehoseok @nabiso @ourshineeshrine @shineetho

**Followes that I love to see in my notifictions:**

@amanda4004 @akamilshake @angelfacehobi @annykoi @bjornscout @come-to-my-world @daedreaming @freebird1786 @fuckinghostilesoul @graywaeren @heyyy-its-korean-music @mcvroomvroom @nongster101 @theangelthatcantfly @thoughtfullywingeddragon

And my last  followers in both of my blogs

@allweneedismagicandpixiedust @bangtan-inu @bogoshipdaaa @chimchim65 @cringeytae @crybabypxil @itjimah @jhopi @j-ivsok @little-jyp @livis3 @mamamoo-chick1234 @neko-princess-kaguya @peachesjimin @poet-whos-unknown @serlians @tomorrow-never–dies @yoa @greenmikelight

Thank you for all

Pen Pals - Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean wants to take the relationship to another level. Would the Reader want to take that risk or will she back out?

Word Count: 1.8kish

Warnings: AU, Fluff, Light Cursing

Author’s Note: Here is the second part of Pen Pals! If you want to catch up, read the first part here –> Part One. I hope you guys like this chapter. I’m sorry for not posting it fast enough. Life got in the way and I had to stop everything for a cool minute. I hope you enjoy this and feedback is always welcomed!!


Chapter Two: Long Distance Relationship

Keep reading

Surprise, bitch

So, the process of tracking AO3 output has gotten a lot more time-consuming since the fandom expanded (the amount of new fics per month has tripled!) and I haven’t made a new post in a couple of months, but I’m still here. I may be crying over some of these weird-ass ship combinations y’all come up with, but I will survive.

Here’s where we stand as of the end of January:

If you’re reading this and going “WAIT, THAT DOESN’T MATCH WHAT AO3 SAYS!” then ding ding ding, you are correct.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

yoooo that historical arranged marriage au looks sooo interesting,,,, i definitely WOULD NOT complain if u ever felt like writing more of it;)))

I am such a sucker for both historical fantasy and arranged marriage Aus so and I really liked this idea so I did some mock ups for scenes that would appear in the in universe fic

Disclaimer - this is a fake au fic from the Rivals series. In universe it would be written by a Viktuuri fan and so is based on how that fans see umfb!viktor and Yuuri not as they actually are. It was also written as a joke on my phone in half an hour so please don’t take this as serious writing! 

Original concept - no.11 of the ‘15 most popular fics in the Rivals universe alternate AO3’ - Original post here

Title: Every Pawn Can Become A Queen

Rating:  Explicit

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Category: M/M

Fandom: Figure Skating RPF

Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Viktor Nikiforov

Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Viktor Nikiforov, Katsuki Mari, Phichit Chulanont, Christophe Giacometti, Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin, Jean-Jacques Leroy, Georgi Popovich, Mila Babicheva, Other Character Tags To Be Added

Additional tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe – Historical Fantasy, Alternate Universe – Royalty, Plotting, Assassination Attempts, Enemies to Lovers

Summary:

Yuuri is the Prince of an Empire, second in line for the throne and renown in battle, a formidable warrior who has been fighting for almost half his life against the neighbouring Empire and their barbaric ways. But after tragedy strikes both kingdoms, an uneasy peace must be formed between the two opposing sides, a peace that must be sealed with the strongest of bonds.

Charged with keeping the peace for the sake of his people, Yuuri is forced to leave his homeland forever and marry the only son and heir of the opposing kingdom, forging an alliance with marriage to protect the empire built on the backs and blood of his family and now ruled by his beloved sister. But Yuuri knows what the marriage truly is beneath the pretty words. A life-sentence, imprisoned forever under the rule of a man he hates and has faced on the battlefield countless time.

But the political machinations of the foreign court might prove to be an even deadlier battlefield than the one he just left and he must keep the peace between the two kingdoms to save the lives of millions, whatever the cost. And what’s more, his long-time enemy and new husband is not the man he believed him to be and his position as Prince Consort holds more power than he ever expected. For the one who holds the heart of the future king is the one who can control the kingdom.

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Tips for Beginners

When typing this title, my phone autocorrected it to “Tips for Whiners” which is hilarious given the circumstances surrounding this post. However, my conscience got the best of me and I decided to title it differently even though there was peer pressure for the original title. However, not all beginners are whiners (by far) and I figured it wasn’t fair to lump people into a group. Plus, this post is meant to be far more informative and encouraging than it is critical and teasing.

New writers are always looking for help and tools to use to get their writing “out there,” wherever that is. They want to build their audience, which means gaining followers and notes on posts. They seek out help, work on their blogs, and write a lot.

However, some new writers fall into a trap of jealousy and complaining. They become frustrated, then turn their frustration into jealousy. They whine about not getting notes and followers, they complain about blogging cliques and unfair treatment, and they adopt an attitude of “Woe is me. The blogosphere is against me.”

This post is meant to be helpful to each group by providing both useful tips and reality checks. At no point do I actually mean to be hateful. Am I sassy, though? Yes. You can stop reading this post at any time, too. You can also take what works for you and throw out the rest. Nothing here is a blanket statement. 

But let’s just get on with it. ( And it is a long one)

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I CANNOT BELIEVE I AM MAKING THIS RIGHT NOW.

This blog has grown into something I never imagined. It seems like yesterday that I was posting the first chapters of The City and of Weights & Measures. Sometimes I get really overwhelmed when I think about everything that has happened, especially in the last few months.

There are no words to describe how much it all means to me. You all have helped me keep going, not just as a writer but as a person. So many of you were there for me during one of the hardest periods of my life. Sending me messages that made my cry because I could feel every ounce of your love in your words. Making me suffer through all the jidevil posts you continue to tag me in. 

I just hope that I can give back what you have given me. You all have helped me find my voice again. And I cannot thank you enough for that. 

From the bottom of my heart, regardless if you are mentioned here or not, thank you. Everyone i interact with is a beautiful human being and I want to thank BTS for bringing us all together. 

so here we go!

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mrjakeperalta  asked:

holy fuckign,,, I'd like to thank god and also jesus,,,,, and u,,,,

IT’S DONE 3 HOURS LATER LMAO

HERE IT IS…………..THE SMALL BOOKSTORE AU

The most beautiful woman Jake has ever seen in his entire life is standing on the sidewalk outside of the bookstore across the street from Sal’s.

He’s staring, his slice of pepperoni pizza frozen halfway between his greased-up paper plate and his mouth (which is currently hanging open - either in preparation for this bite or due to his sudden and forceful mesmerization, he’ll never really know), and Charles hasn’t noticed yet. Jake’s hyper-aware of him, of the buzz of his voice, reduced to a low hum in his own ears now; to his left, Gina is slumped over, visibly bored with the conversation and thus completely invested in her phone.

Good, Jake thinks rather weakly. One less person to notice.

The woman across the street appears to be scrubbing one of the front windows meticulously, and in some distant part of Jake’s mind he recalls the business that previously occupied that very stoop - a tattoo parlor with a penchant for filling the windows with bumper stickers. The woman keeps having to toss handfuls of long, glossy black hair over her shoulder; as he watches, she finally appears to get sick of it all and ties it all back in a messy bun down near the nape of her neck, and the wisps of hair she misses curl lazily against the long column of her neck.

She is completely and utterly breathtakingly beautiful, and he hasn’t even gotten more than a glimpse at her profile.

Keep reading

Silent (Soulmate!Thomas Jefferson - Part One)

Originally posted by youforfeitallrights

A/n: My friend is on an internship in New York, and she has tickets to see Hamilton… which got me thinking… I was bored and procrastinating… and I hadn’t written a soulmate AU in years… I need to reclaim my title as soulmate queen. (Also, apologies, I don’t know the tags for this fandom, sooo… This is a thing right?) 

Soulmate AU where the first words your soulmate says to you appear on your arm. Written in third person. Starts in James Madison’s POV then shifts to Thomas Jefferson. No warnings other than Thomas has a bad attitude. 

Part Two     Masterlist

There are three facts about Thomas Jefferson of which James Madison was absolutely certain: 1) Thomas Jefferson does not have a soulmate. 2) Thomas Jefferson doesn’t want one. 3) It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t.

James had known Thomas for many years now, and he doubted any living person knew the man better. Even so, it didn’t take an expert to know Thomas’s view on the subject. Any person with eyes could look down at Thomas’s arm and see it lay bare of words. Any person who’d had a conversation with him on the subject could see he didn’t want to find any words there, and every person who’d ever encountered Thomas, even in passing, had likely come to the same conclusion as James. It was for the best. The universe was saving whatever poor woman would have been latched to him from a life playing second fiddle to Thomas’s ambition and hubris.  

Looking across the banquet hall, James could see Alexander Hamilton, who had been deep in conversation with Thomas for much of the afternoon, coming to those same conclusions. Hamilton had been among the first batch of people to approach Thomas when he arrived, and James barely salvaged a moment to warn Thomas of the situation before he dove into a lengthy discussion with the young immigrant.

James couldn’t decide whether he was amused or terrified. The pair seemed to be amicable enough at the moment, but that could change in a flash. Hamilton and Jefferson were both as stubborn as each other, and they were both fully equipped with sufficient verbal ammunition to break out into an all-out war right in the hall. James had a sneaking suspicion the only reason the two had yet to shed any blood was due to the close proximity of President Washington, the host of tonight’s affair.

“Someone should really go and separate those two before they realize how terribly opposed their views are. I’d hate to get any blood stains on the new rug.” James glanced up to see it was Martha Washington who spoke.  

Smiling James offered a hand out to greet the woman, “I do believe that will happen regardless of our intervention, ma’am.”

Martha gave a simple nod in the direction of his hand, and James’s hand dropped, realizing both of hers were occupied. In her left Martha held a nearly empty glass of wine, and in her right she held a hand, not her husband’s either.

James studied the younger woman attached to Martha’s side with interest. She had a death grip of Mrs. Washington’s hand and looked to be cowering behind the older woman. To her credit, Martha also appeared to be shielding the girl, who looked about ready to sink into the floor. The forlorn expression on her face and the tightness on Martha’s told James that neither of them particularly wanted the young woman to be there. Whether that was because Martha did not care for her to be at the banquet or whether Martha cared to protect her from it, James could not be sure.

“Mrs. Washington, I do not believe I’ve had the honor to meet your acquaintance,” James addressed the unknown woman with a slight bow of his head, “James Madison.”

“Oh, of course,” Martha flashed a forgetful smile James would have believed had he not seen it before. “Mr. Madison, this is my dear younger sister, (Y/n) Elizabeth Aylett.”

“Pleasure to meet you ma’am,” James bowed his head.

The woman, whom he now knew to be (Y/n) Elizabeth), gave a one-handed curtsey in response and a rather hesitant smile. Her grip on Martha’s hand loosened slightly, but she made little move to approach him any closer or step out from behind Martha’s guarded stance.

“Has your sister been introduced to Mr. Jefferson or Mr. Hamilton? Perhaps we could make their acquaintance on that pretense,” James suggested, waving a hand to where his oldest friend stood, still in deep, uninterrupted discussion with the new Secretary of Treasury.

“James!” A familiar voice boomed as a hand came down firmly to clap James on the shoulder. “I am so glad you could come.”

James turned to face George Washington and extended a hand, “Mr. President, did you really think I would miss a welcome banquet for my oldest friend?”

George accepted James’s hand and shook it firmly. “Your oldest friend who has spent the majority of the night politely refuting every word that has left the mouth of Secretary Hamilton.” George gave James a pointed smirk. “I dare say those two are cut from the same cloth.”

“I don’t know if I would go that far, sir.” James nodded his head in the direction of the pair, who seemed to have been quietly escalating their disagreement. “Even if they were, I doubt either would admit it. However, I do think they are both stubborn enough to continue this fight until someone forces them to cease blows.”

“Oh let them stew for a moment more,” George waved off James’s concern with a light chuckle. “They both work best when they’re angry. Perhaps if we leave them to it long enough they’ll build the whole country while trying to outdo each other.”

James did not share George’s confidence in the pair of men. He didn’t know who he was more concerned for. He’d seen Hamilton work. The young man had an unmatched determination, and put to work it could do some serious damage. However, Thomas Jefferson was not a man to cross, probably a fourth fact to add to his list if he ever felt like expanding it. There had been more than one occasion over the course of their friendship that he found himself thanking the heavens Thomas was on his side not against him. Nevertheless, James allowed George to table his concerns and the conversation to steer away.

“You know James,” George glanced down at the younger man’s sleeve covered arm with a knowing smirk. “Mr. Burr is here tonight.”

James’s hand instinctively went to his arm. Under the sleeve, the first words from his soulmate, Mr. Burr speaks very highly of you, Mr. Madison. “I’m afraid I have already met all of the women you have invited tonight, not including Mrs. Aylett.” He gestured to Martha’s sister. “Though I appreciate your concern.”

“Well no danger of that tonight, Mr. Madison.” Martha piped up, still holding firmly to her sister. “Perhaps the next banquet,” with a kind smile she added, “We’ll see to it Mr. Burr is invited to all of them.”

“How kind of you, Mrs. Washington,” James nodded politely.

James waited silently as George turned to address Martha about the time dinner would begin. His eyes wondered over to (Y/n), who also seemed very uninterested in the conversation. Her eyes had wandered away, and her guard had dropped slightly as she looked around the room. James followed her gaze to Jefferson and Hamilton who had since been joined by Aaron Burr, the same Aaron Burr who would one day introduce James to his soulmate.

‘No danger of that tonight,’ James reminded himself of Martha’s words, harsh but true. It occurred to him at first that she may have spoken prematurely. He knew everyone else in the room, but her sister had yet to speak a word to him. It didn’t seem likely, given that (Y/n) probably did not know Aaron Burr and had no reaction herself to his first words to her. Even so, Martha had said it with an odd sense of finality. If James could not see the looping cursive peeking out from under (Y/n)’s sleeves, he’d have assumed Martha was so assured in her statement because her sister had no soulmate. He supposed, now, it must have been because she knew the words on her sister’s arm, or that her sister had already found her soulmate. Though if that was the case, why was he not here?

A million possibilities were running through James’s mind. There wasn’t anything else particularly interesting to do that night.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, didn’t anyone tell you the war was over?” The voice of Aaron Burr echoed across the hall. Clearly James had been too soon assuming the night would be uninteresting.

George caught James’s eye. “Let’s go end the squabbling; shall we?” George offered an arm to his wife, and (Y/n) reluctantly dropped her death grip on Martha so her sister could accept.

The married couple led the way, and James followed after them beside a meek-looking (Y/n) who still refused to speak. The poor, quiet girl was walking into a lion’s den with Burr, Jefferson, and Hamilton. If she was hesitant around him, he could only imagine how badly she’d be spooked by the other three men. James made a concerted effort to circle around to her other side and place himself between her and the other three. He’d thought he’d been subtle with the gesture, but the sheepish smile (Y/n) sent his way told him otherwise. His only reply was to nod in confirmation.

“Mr. President,” Aaron Burr gave a bow of his head to the approaching group, effectively halting all conversation between Hamilton and Jefferson. “How are you this evening?”

“Quite well, Mr. Burr. How are you? Enjoying the festivities, I see,” The president looked between his two secretaries admonishingly.

Hamilton, at least, had the respect to look scorned, “My apologies, Mr. President. Secretary Jefferson and I were simply discussing…”

“Enough of that,” George waved away Hamilton’s concerns. “This is meant to be a celebration. Mr. Jefferson has only just returned to us from France. Let’s leave our work to the office, shall we?”

“Of course, Mr. President.” Thomas Jefferson gave a respectful bow of his head. “Thank you for hosting this dinner tonight. I appreciate your hospitality.”

“And we appreciate your assistance. I look forward to working with you, but for now let’s enjoy our evening.” George addressed the pair of them.

Hamilton bowed his head and turned his attention from the group. “If you all will excuse me, my soulmate is speaking with Mrs. Adams and appears to want my attention.” He went off with one last nod to the President.

“You haven’t even made it into work yet, and the two of you are already finding things to bicker over,” George’s tone was teasing, but there was a certain sense of warning to it that none of the group missed.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it bickering, merely a difference of opinions unrelated to work. I’m sure we’ll be able to put it aside in future work.” Thomas politely refuted the President’s concern.

“Unrelated?” James cut in. He knew both men well enough. They had plenty of points of contention related to politics. He couldn’t imagine they would have had enough time to make it through all of them and find something else to argue about.

“Soulmates, of course,” Thomas waved his hand in the direction Alexander had retreated. “He brought up the topic and seemed rather disgruntled by my stance on the subject.” Thomas was being very careful not to launch into his opinion again. He doubted this group, Martha and the woman he didn’t know in particular, would appreciate it.

“Ah yes,” George mused. “Alexander mustn’t be familiar with your perennial bachelorhood.”

“I was married once, you know,” Thomas pointed out to George with a teasing tone that in no way seemed to disagree with George’s statement.

“It happens sometimes,” Martha seemed to miss the tone in Thomas’s voice and took him more literally. “You know, people getting married outside of soulmates.” Her eyes trailed to the other woman in the group, standing between George and James and trying desperately to avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

Thomas’s eyes trailed over the girl. “Who might your friend be, Mrs. Washington?” The question was addressed to Martha, but his eyes were firmly on the woman, expecting the answer to come from her.

She made no move to answer or even acknowledge Thomas’s presence, and Martha piped up immediately in response. “Mr. Jefferson, this is my sister, (Y/n) Elizabeth Aylett.”

“Can she not answer for herself?” Thomas fought the urge to roll his eyes when he looked back to Martha.

“As a matter of fact -” Martha sputtered out, agitation bubbling up in her expression.

“Mr. Jefferson,” George warned coolly, all pretense dropping from his voice.

Thomas wanted to scoff. He couldn’t get a word out today without being berated, first by Hamilton, then Burr, now the Washingtons. This banquet was supposed to be in honor of his return, and all he wanted to do was leave. Any other day he would have been the epitome of cordial, but that Hamilton had wound him tight. He wanted none of this.

Turning to (Y/n), he practically growled out his first words to her, “What? Are you mute or something?”

Everyone froze for just a moment. Aaron Burr was looking at him aghast. James’s expression was simply exasperated. George Washington had the stern expression of a no-nonsense general, and Martha looked a mixture of angry and shocked at his side. The woman, (Y/n), simply looked resigned. She was meeting Thomas’s gaze now, but the look in her eyes was not that of a woman scorned. It looked more like a woman broken.

The look in her eye was all Thomas needed to realize he’d made a mistake.

(Y/n) turned to her sister and made a quick gesture, wiping her fingers twice over the palm of her outstretched hand, before she turned for the door.

“Wait, I-,” Thomas reached out to the woman, ready to apologize. Instead, his hand was snatched away.

When he looked back, he was expecting a disappointed James or maybe a wary Aaron Burr. He was certainly not expecting to have to look down into the eyes of an absolutely livid Martha Washington. “You… You…” She was trying desperately to form sentences, but her anger was suppressing her speech.

“I’m sorry, deeply sorry.” Thomas looked away ashamed. “It has been a rough evening. I didn’t intend to take it out on your sister.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Martha’s voice was growing louder with her building rage. “You should be apologizing to (Y/n)! Not just for this, for decades of hating herself! Do you realize how much damage you’ve done to her?”

Now Thomas was confused, very confused. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“Every day she wakes up to those words burned into her arm! Ashamed of who she is and knowing you’re ashamed of it too!” Martha’s ranting had attracted attention from a good portion of the banquet hall now. George reached out to his wife, trying to rein her in.

Thomas tried placating the irate woman. “I don’t understand what you mean, Mrs. Washington. Perhaps, I should just go find (Y/n) and…”

George took the matter on himself and pulled his wife from Thomas, stepping up close to the man so none of the now eavesdropping guests could hear his voice carry. “Your words are on (Y/n)’s arm. You must be her soulmate.”

“I don’t have a soulmate.” Thomas replied almost mechanically, turning his arm slightly so George could see the blank expanse of skin.

“Well yes,” George conceded. “If (Y/n) is your soulmate you wouldn’t have words on your arm. She’ll never speak to you… She is mute.”

anonymous asked:

"I'll never unsee that" Nessian please!!! :)


@squaddreamcourt , you asked me to tag you when the fic was done, and here it is! I hope you’ll like it! @feyre-cursebreaker  I am so incredibly sorry for making you wait for so much darling, and I hope you’ll like the fic even if it’s not what you asked for. @ the anons, I am sorry for the wait lovelies, but I hope you will like this💗





There’s nothing worse than being dead, one would think.

But a ghost would say otherwise.

There’s this thing with ghosts- or rather, with a very strange and particular kind of ghosts, that actually wins the prize for the most unfortunate supernatural entity worldwide; they don’t know who they are, they don’t know where they come from or how they got in whatever place they end up in, but there’s a couple of things they know for sure: they don’t have a body, they can’t be seen or heard and it takes a bunch of creepy tricks to get a message through, and they are most likely dead.

Or getting there.

And of course, the most important thing:

the first person they see in this strange existence of theirs is their soulmate.

It all started with Nesta’s cigarette disappearing; she started smoking when she was fifteen, after her Father said how much he hated the smell of it, and never stopped since.

So it annoyed her to no end when her apartment seemed to be hell bent on hiding her own cigarettes every time she bought a new pack of them.

Nesta groaned in frustration while throwing the pillows of her sofa in the air and she couldn’t help but mutter, her voice booming in the empty room, “Why do you keep hiding my cigarettes?

She knows that she may sound mad and that it’s impossible for her own house to hide anything from her, but she just-just needs to be alone on her balcony with a cigarette between her fingers to calm down the roaring in her head.

She sighs, trying to readjust the pillows before she loses her patience completely but the sharp sound of glass breaking makes her turn, her heart thumping in her throat-

Nesta’s eyes widen and the breath stops in her lungs as she reads the words upon her wall, written in a deep shade of red with jagged letters:

Because it’s bad for your health.

He doesn’t know many things.

He doesn’t know who he is, what he is or how he ended here, but he knows that the most beautiful woman that he has ever seen is in front of him- and, well, he didn’t see many people but does it even matter when she’s there, just in front of him and she-

She ignores him completely.

And it drives him mad.

At first he thought she didn’t see him, which would make sense because he can’t even see himself, which is something that he really doesn’t want to think about, but he tried to talk, to scream and shout.

She didn’t even turn to him.

He looks at her- not that he can do much else, though he is not complaining- always on that couch reading book after book- and he knows some of those books, knows the titles, knows the words by heart even if he doesn’t know how that is possible- not even flinching and for some reason that he doesn’t know, it drives him completely out of his mind.

And then there’s the smoking.

She smokes so much she creates little grey clouds above her head in every room she goes and he can’t help but think of how much that must be unhealthy since she’s so tiny and he cares, even if he doesn’t know why, but it must be reasonable to care for the first person you ever saw in your entire life, if one can call this strange, invisible, unnerving thing life.

Bonus points for the fact that she is so beautiful she can make his breath stop in his lungs, but luckily for him, he doesn’t fucking breathe.

And then there are those times, when she goes out on the balcony to smoke before she goes to bed and her blue eyes reflect the color of the stars and he just- just wants to touch her, because she’s beautiful, but she looks so lost and he wants to take her hand, wants it with an intensity that frightens him but he can’t reach her, he can’t move, he can’t do anything but watch.

But, for being something that he can’t even explain, he is smart.

After glaring at her pack of cigarettes for three hours straight when she wasn’t home- and while asking himself relentlessly where the hell she was- he saw the damned thing move, and move, and move again until he finally managed to throw it out of the window.

He has never been more proud of himself.

And he did it again and again with various objects and in various occasions, like bringing her the hairbrush in the morning when she left it in her bedroom the night before or keeping her stash of books from falling over, or trying to give some sense to the utter mess that is her house and of course, his personal favorite: raising the temperature - that, well, that happened as an accident: one day he saw her having a discussion on the phone with someone and there was something, the look of complete delusion on her face but the complete lack of emotion in her voice, it made him want to scream at the person who was talking to her.

And suddenly the room was a oven- the first time was an accident, yes, but then it became a wonderful way to mess with her and it didn’t take him long to decide that sweaty and bothered was one of his favorite looks on her.

She never noticed, mostly because there wasn’t a logical explanation for the sudden change of degrees or to the never falling books, and maybe it was better like this.

He doesn’t know what happened or what was told to her during that phone call, but something did happen because she is smoking twice as much now and she’s so nervous her hands shake and what was a five minutes smoke on the balcony turned to her sitting in the cold for hours, staring at nothing.

And he honestly doesn’t care what he can or what he can’t do, he won’t stay here without trying to understand, without trying to help her.

So when she is trying to dismantle the sofa in her desperate chase after her damned cigarettes and wondering to herself why they always disappear, he takes a bottle of wine and smashes it against the wall, the soothing sound of glass against bricks, and tries to write with the dark liquid and even if the result is complete shit, the message is loud and clear.

Because it’s bad for your health.”

He sees her beautiful eyes go wide, but she doesn’t scream.

She falls back on the sofa, gripping the armrest like a lifeline and he- he moves as if he wants to catch her, which is stupid because he can’t, but he tries.

He looks at her and at the wall and wills the wine to move again “Are you alright?”, he asks, and thinks of how dumb he is only when it’s already done.

How can he ask if she’s alright when an invisible something is writing on the wall of her house?

He hopes at least that the wine was of shitty quality.

She shakes her head and he feels a pang of guilt; the room warms slowly, without him even noticing but she- she looks less scared but it lasts a second and then she does it, the thing he hates the most in this house that means the world to him: she straightens her back, her chin high and hides herself behind that icy façade, the one he watched her use in countless phone calls and in the brief encounters with other people, looking in front of herself like whatever is happening is nothing of importance.

The wine moves on the wall creating an angry splash of red.

“What are you and what are you doing in my house.” she says, her voice cold and steady like she’s talking about the weather with a stranger.

I-” he tries to write, but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know a thing, he knows absolutely nothingand you? Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding childish even to himself, and maybe he shouldn’t but he wants to know her name and the fact that he didn’t get to hear it in all this time bothers him endlessly.

She opens her mouth and closes it like the question surprised her and it breaks her mask for a second and if he could smile, he would.

“I am Nesta Archeron, and I happen to live here.” she says while her eyes scan the room.

Nesta Archeron, he repeats the name in his mind, savoring word for word and it sounds like music.

Nice to meet you, sweetheart.” he replies and there’s this adorable outraged expression on her face before she runs to the kitchen and comes back with a bag of salt, tearing it open and spraying it everywhere in the room, trying to do fuck knows what.

The pavement of the room becomes a white mess and she looks satisfied, as if she’s thinking she drove him away.

He starts to doodle in the salt.

She jumps in surprise “The salt- doesn’t it, doesn’t it banish things like you?” she asks and he wants to laugh, or chuckle, or make any kind of sound.

I think that you watch too much of that thing over there, sweetheart.” he writes, drawing an arrow toward her television.

She recoils and he notices how her hands shake “This- this isn’t possible. It isn’t happening. You’re not real.” she whispers, like she’s scared someone will hear the fear in her voice.

This is actually happening, sweetheart, and I happen to be very, very real.” he looks at the words, and then adds “More or less.

She looks lost in disbelief and he doodles a smile in the salt, hoping it would help, but judging by the expression on her face, it only makes it worst.

“Are-are you a ghost?” she asks, and the word resonates in him.

Ghost.

Maybe?” he writes, and that’s the best answer he can give her.

Nesta-ah, how he loves her name- inclines her head, making some strands of golden brown hair fall on her face and he aches, suddenly, with the need to tuck it behind her ear.

“I have a doubtful ghost in my house.” she says, like she is trying to make peace with the fact that, in fact, she does have a doubtful ghost in her house. Or maybe she’s just trying to find some logic in this situation.

It’s not like I can go somewhere else.” he writes, and he doesn’t know if he’s trying to make her understand all of this or if he’s desperately trying to understand it himself.

He tried, he really, really did, but he couldn’t walk out the door- not that he can walk, but, you know- and finding himself splattered against her bedroom window is not an experience he is dying to make again.

And Nesta manages to land her icy blue eyes right on him, and the fact that she’s looking right through him it’s not only words: he feels real, in the few seconds in which she looks in his direction before turning away, he feels real.

Please look at me again.

She climbs on the sofa, slowly, as if she’s scared he’s going to attack her, but then she stands up again, muttering “I am going to bed, I am going to bed and tomorrow I will realize this was all a dream.”

He watches her go, looking at every inch of her, and slowly writes

Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The next day, he is still in Nesta’s house, waiting for her to wake up.

He knows the exact moment her feet touch the floor, and even if he thinks that it is kind of creepy, the moment she enters the living room with her hair a mess and sporting a striped violet pajama he does it again; he burns up, without being able to stop it, trying to keep the burning to himself without making the room seem like a chimney, but the vulnerability in her eyes the moment she wakes up is something that makes him feel, and he feels this, whatever it is, so strongly every part of him burns with it.

She looks around, trying to find some proof of what happened last night, but he cleaned everything up, because it seemed like an incredibly shitty thing to do, to leave her house a mess with salt and wine and broken glass.

“Are-are you still here?” she asks quietly, and he can’t help but love the look on her face, like she can’t believe she is seriously doing this.

She notices the notepad on the table the moment he takes the pen to write on it.

He finds out with a strange sort of satisfaction that he very much likes the color red.

Good morning, Nesta.” he writes and cringes when he notices that, no matter his attempt at being suave, his calligraphy is utter shit.

She walks to the table, her eyes narrowed and probably trying to decipher what he wrote.

He wants- he wants to shout, wants to scream that it’s just a good morning note, that his calligraphy is shit because he is probably dead and didn’t got the opportunity to check his writing skills and honestly he doesn’t know why he feels so flustered and he is stupid, fucking stupid because for some reason the fact that she maybe won’t be able to read his good morning note since he is the most idiotic ghost ever makes him feel- makes him feel wrong.

She passes a hand through her hair and whispers “Good morning, ghost.” and- this, this is strange, because he honestly doesn’t know how he ended up on the ceiling, but he is, he’s like floating, soaring or maybe flying and it takes him a few seconds to realize that he is simply happy- but then she exhales, her hands on her hips “I understand that you can’t go out of this house, but this is my house and you’ll do as I say. No more tricks like last night and no more wine on the walls, Casper.”

Casper?” he writes, because damn it, he doesn’t know what his name but he sure as hell isn’t named Casper.

“Yes. So you’ll act nicely from now own, because I can and will find a way to kick you out if it comes to it.” her voice is like steel against ice and even if her words should maybe get a different reaction out of him, he still can’t get down from the ceiling.

Got it.”, he writes and he should really, really practice writing because a five years old would totally do a better job at it than him.

She just nods and heads for the kitchen and he knows she wants a cigarette because she is grinding her index and middle finger together, but he also knows she isn’t going to ask him.

He watches as she prepares her breakfast, looks as she opens the cabinet of the kitchen, every movement quick and efficient but almost angry.

As she sits on the chair she looks for him, he can feel it, so he moves the cereal box toward her, as slowly as he can.

Her eyes go wide like she isn’t used to the simple kindness.

“Thank you.” she whispers, her eyes behind the cereal box, exactly where he is, and he aches.

She eats quickly, her morning going with the flow f the routine and when she moves to the bathroom and her bedroom, he stays planted in the kitchen, trying to remember that privacy is an actual thing that should be respected and stares at the wall, finding interesting patterns in the crack of the paint.

Luckily he hears her entering the living room before he sets everything on fire and it’s strange, how every time he looks at her, with her fresh clean clothes and her perfect face and the posture of a queen ready for battle he feels concrete; it lasts a bunch of seconds, a short span of her heartbeats, but it’s enough for him.

He takes the notepad again.

Where are you going?”  he asks, and the letters are incredibly tiny, because he doesn’t want to pry but he absolutely wants to know.

She looks at the sheet of paper, her eyebrow raised.

“I am going out.” she answers, and with that, she walks out of the house, not even looking back.

The edges of the notepad burn.

The thing with being a ghost, he thinks, is that it is a very, very boring business.

He doodles-a mockery of Nesta and her damned eyebrows and her damned hair and her damned perfect everything- he tries to read some of her books-she studies law but has a love for romantic books, which he keeps well in mind for future teasing material.

He readjusts her ever growing pile of biscuits, all of them in different flavors of dark chocolate, but he doesn’t go near her bedroom because he perfectly remembers how just seeing her underwear on the ground led to thoughts and thoughts led to him nearly setting the sofa on fire.

But he’s no good with waiting and ends passing most of his time near the window, waiting for her to come back like a complete fool, moving as much as he can until he ends plastered to the window, again.

When he hears the sharp sound of heels- click,click- he moves away from the window as fast as he can, as if she could see him and the big idiot that he is.

She’s holding a brown grocery bag and the usual whirlwind of questions barrels through him

Is it heavy?

What did you buy?

Is that soy milk?

What do you like?

Are those instant noodles again Nesta Archeron I swear to god-

She places the bag on the kitchen table with a huff, strands of hair falling on her face as she stretches a bit, her face open and vulnerable and he doesn’t know if she’s being so human because she forgot he is there or because she doesn’t care, and he honestly doesn’t know what hurts the most.

And it’s a funny thing, being hurt when you’re dead.

Just his luck.

But she turns, her eyes and their ability to land right over him.

Hello”, he writes.

She smiles.

He flies.

And from his advantaged view from the ceiling he looks at her as she prepares her tea, slamming cupboards as if the last moments never happened, angry with the world again.

She takes a bright pink bag, not the black tea person he suspected, Nesta, but a fruity tea lover.

He snorts, and is for once happy that he makes no sounds, just a quite rattling only in his head.

What starts the discussion is the incredible amount of sugar she drops in her tea.

What are you doing?” he asks after the third sugar-cube drowns in the dark pink liquid.

“Sweetening my tea.” she says, her pale hand moving the teaspoon slowly and he’s mesmerized by the action before he replies “What you are doing is wetting sugar with some tea.”

She reads his answer but doesn’t reply right away, as if she’s looking for the perfect answer and when she does, her smile lights up with cruel delight “And how would you know?”, she asks, doesn’t need to add another word for the point to come across and he is silent, fuming with rage only he can feel and that he can’t express and trying to keep it inside him, to not let her see how deep her words went but he sees a bead of sweat above her upper lip and even as the temperature goes higher, she smirks.

He tries to write something and the pen melts into the invisible grasp, and Nesta drinks her tea, her knees drawn to her chest.

He could tell her, tell her that all the sugar in the world won’t make her any sweet but he sees as she searches into the pocket of her jeans for her cigarettes, so he writes “I might not know, but that’s not really my choice.” he sees as she brings a cigarette to her lips, soft and red and so- “Do you do something that isn’t smoking, sweetheart?

She doesn’t stop, just looks right through him as she lights her cigarette but he can see it, see it in her eyes how annoyed she is.

“I don’t see why I should explain myself to you, since you don’t even exist.” she answers, taking a long drag of smoke, like time doesn’t matter to her as long as she can hide behind the smoke of the cigarette.

He can only think of how her mouth would taste.

I do exist, as you well know. I am just not visible.”

“What do you remember? Don’t you know your name? Something?” she asks, her innocent curiosity so at odds with the smirk of just a few heartbeats ago.

I remember you.” he writes “This house. It’s like I’ve always been here.”

Her eyebrows knit together and just when her mouth opens to say something else, her phone rings.

“Elain? Oh, yes. Oh,no, I-” she looks at him, for a moment and there’ so much in her eyes he feels full “Come here,” she says, “with Feyre. Yes. It’s been too long.”

Nesta looks nostalgic, almost happy, like she’s seeing something, another opportunity, a new beginning that she always wanted.

He imagines fingers-his fingers-on her cheek, tries to imagine Nesta leaning into the touch, vulnerable and open and trusting.

Are we having guests?” he writes. Nesta didn’t let go of her phone and is still looking at the screen.

“My sisters.” she says, but the tone of her voice is full of doubt, like the relationship with her sister is flawed, or crooked and she already thinks it beyond repairing.

“I need to call a restaurant, to get the orders in-”

You are not getting take-out, Nesta Archeron.” he writes.

There’s something that disturbs him about the idea of getting food prepared by someone else for your own family, for someone you love.

“And what do you suggest that we do, then? I can’t cook.” she asks, her phone on the table.

He tries to form a reply while his nonexisting body tries to get over the fact that she said we.

We cook, that’s what we do.”

She raises her eyebrow, disbelief showing plain on her face.

Show me your worst, Archeron.”

It turns out that Nesta Archeron really, truly can’t cook to save her life.

But he can.

How much salt are you throwing over there, sweetheart?” he writes for the third time and Nesta looks at him like she is going to kick his ass even if she can’t see it.

They prepared the table, did the dishes and tried to create a soothing atmosphere with Nesta’s incessant fidgeting.

She takes the salad to the table, her eyes scanning everything as if she’ll find some imperfection that she could use as an excuse to postpone the whole thing.

“I should have never said that. I should have kept my mouth shut.” she murmurs, but the doorbell rings, and she goes quickly to the door and he can hear her counting her breaths.

1, 2, 3

When her sisters arrive there are no big hugs, not shouting and loud kisses, just a sort of understanding of how things are, and things are not very good, in his opinion.

One of the sisters, Elain, brought flowers, and Nesta rushes to the kitchen for a vase, which he lets her find ready near the sink alongside a note that says “You are so lucky to have me.”

She doesn’t sneer at the note, just searches for him before getting out of the room.

The dinner is quiet, aside from the how are you and the what you have been doing and while Elain looks over the moon with joy he can’t seem to understand the tension between Nesta and Feyre, but he sees as the younger reaches out between the passing of the salad which dressing Nesta fucked up more times than he can count, doubt on her features, gripping her older sister wrist like a death grip or a call full of hope.

She says something about starting over which he doesn’t listen as carefully as he probably should, which he feels a bit ashamed of, but he is too busy looking at Nesta, at the crease between her brows, at the way she looks at her sisters fingers around her arm and he knows, he knows exactly what hides behind her eyes, the battle within her heart and pride, the need to hide and sneer and belittle as an armor, second nature, or to let something new and tender grow.

“Fine.” it’s all that she says and he tries to remind himself that this has nothing to do with him and he has no reason to be happy or to be floating toward the ceiling like the most idiotic ghost-balloon ever, but he is, he’s happy for her, for the way the tension quietly shifts to content, for the quiet laughs and for the little clinking of glasses to the new beginnings, courtesy of Elain.

When they leave he can’t help but notice how the house feels warmer-and for once for a reason that isn’t his inability to control himself- and can’t help but love the soft pink on Nesta’s cheeks and how happy she looks in this four walls of theirs.

He can see that she’s tired, so he turns off the lights, makes the house just a bit warmer and when Nesta is already in her bed he hears it.

“Thank you.”

And in the end, he thinks that the view from the ceiling is not so bad.

The day after he discovers that when he laughs, he rolls around, which makes him wonder if he will ever do something even remotely graceful, but when Nesta comes out of the bedroom in a red pyjama full of pink polka dots and little panda bears and a green mask on her face, that’s when he loses it.

He starts to roll around, like he’s a little ball, like he’s trying to roll the head he doesn’t have back toward the ceiling, creating a never ending motion.

I’ll never unsee that.” he writes, but he’s writing is just a mess of overlapping letters that look like a roller coaster, like he’s having too much fun to see where his pen lands.

“There’s nothing to laugh about.” she says, going straight to the kitchen for breakfast, happier than he ever saw her this early in the morning.

You are always a sight to behold, sweetheart.” he writes and she smiles while taking down her biscuits and it all speaks of routine, of being used to each other in the best way possible, of companionship, of being equals of some sort and he can’t help but think that if this is his life, he is grateful for it.


He also discovers he doesn’t like the cold.

It latches at him, goes through him, leaves him restless to right a past that never was.

But within all the things he doesn’t like there’s one he truly hates, and that thing is seeing Nesta cry.

She’s out on the balcony, an unlit cigarette between her fingers, the rain wetting the paper, making the tobacco fall, her mascara pooling under her eyes.

She doesn’t talk and makes no sound, her tears mix with the rain and he doesn’t know what he can do so he gets closer, rustling the leaves of long dead plants to let her know he’s there.

“My mother died ten years ago. My mother died.” she says, like she wants it to sink in, to let it be real because she still can’t believe it.

“And he didn’t care. My father didn’t care and I want to go- I want to go to the cemetery to see if he brought her flowers, a note, something. Did he even love her?” she asks, and she’s looking at him and he aches, wants to comfort her, so he just tries to touch her and by the look she gives him she feels it, feels him and as happy as he is he forces himself to stay on the ground, with her.

“He let her die,” she whispers, her lower lip trembling “he let her die and he didn’t care, didn’t care to call the doctors even when I begged him to, didn’t care for her, didn’t care for me, for my sisters, he hid behind Feyre like a spineless, useless, heartless coward and-”

She hides her face behind her hand, little sobs escaping her lips.

Don’t hide from me, he wants to say, but he tries to soothe her, to make her feel calm and loved and warm and he hates that for all the things he can do he can’t dry her tears or stop the rain from falling.

“It wasn’t right,” she says, finally “it isn’t right.”

He nudges to her a bit, drawing soothing circles in the palm of her hand and thinks of things to write along the lines of if I could make you tea, I would.

And he is surprised beyond belief to hear her snort and answer “You would never get the sugar right.”

He sees Feyre and Elain more frequently since that night.

Feyre brings some paintings, saying that the apartment lacks colors and when Nesta asks her to paint something red, his emotions and heart and everything he is goes a bit all over the place.

He still swears that the book that went into flames is in no way his fault.

Nesta buys a book of names, all blue and pink, designed to help young parents chose the name of their children, and reads it to him to help him remember his name.

Nothing came out of it, other than a strange call to names that start with c, a nostalgic wave for a certain Reece and a strange affinity for Jewish mystics.

In the end, he asks her to read it two times, but it’s all because he loves the sound of her voice; it’s low, but not cold or empty, the kind of voice that sings to lure sailors off their ships, but loving enough to be as sweet as spring.

When summer comes, he feels like he’s been in her house for a lifetime.

They pass evenings on the balcony, Nesta’s skin covered under layers and layers of sunscreen and he can’t forget the smile on her face when she splashed him with ice cold water, like a child, laughing like crystal bells.

Well, he did take his revenge with switching sugar with salt, and the face she made while drinking her tea after was priceless, and this- this are all the moments he will never be able to forget.

Until that night.

They are on the couch, the same couch she tried to climb in fear of him all those months ago, watching one of her tv series, but neither of them is giving the show much attention.

Him, on his behalf, is too busy looking at the freckles on her face, gently visible thanks to the summer sun, and she is looking at him.

Or rather, at the space he would occupy if had a solid body.

She looks away, but her eyes land on him every now and then and he feels a strange sort of anticipation, like waiting for fireworks to light up the night sky.

That’s when she moves, faster than a blink and stops just an inch away from where he is and he knows, he knows-

He knows that Nesta wants to touch him, to see if he’s really there, if he’s real and he wants to beg her, he would kneel before her, just to feel her skin on him, just once, but when she tries, her fingers moving toward him, she goes right through him and he can’t feel her, can’t feel her fingers or her skin or her touch and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t- can’t look at the sadness on her face, can’t deal and live with the fact that they will never touch, that he will never tuck her hair behind her ear, will never touch her, will never-

But he will, he will see her smile and tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her until they are drunk on one another, he will hold her because she is the reason he wants to be alive and real and concrete,  he just needs to-

He just needs to wake up.

                                                 —

It’s been three months without her ghost.

She doesn’t smoke anymore.

Nesta still doesn’t know what happened: a moment the ghost was there, on the couch with her, its warmth all around her and then it was gone and her house has never been so cold.

When she took her degree, she wanted to rush home, to tell to her ghost that she made it and when she came back home she realized that no amount of blankets in the middle of August would ever replicate that warmth.

Nesta didn’t think that she could miss so much someone who was never really there in the first place.

She sits on the balcony, the place full of memories of her ghost like the rest of the house when she hears a knock on the door.

She debates on answering, but the knocking becomes more insistent and she gets up, opening the door with an annoyed look on her face, but then-

There’s a man in front of her, long black hair flowing around his incredibly handsome face, hazel eyes that look right through her and trembling hands.

“Do you still like all that sugar in your tea, sweetheart?”