wide end

Baby’s breath

Saturday ~ 14:36

You know that feeling when you’re so upset, and exhausted from everything, all you can do is sit against a wall and be silent, the type of silence that screams through you, and echoes through every end of you, yeah, that happens a lot, right now, it’s happening. Happy weekend everyone

my problem with the ‘harry becomes lord of 2/¾/5 ancient noble houses’ trope is so unbelievably petty because its that fic writers don’t take it to the potential extreme. like, okay, you wanna make harry the bossest of bitches i get that, i understand, i have that urge too from time to time, but c’mon, be a little more creative about it please

so how about a fic where harry goes to gringotts after the fighting is all over to try to make peace with the goblin nation because this boy does not need more problems and after much hostility and some groveling and promises of future payments for damages caused a plucky goblin lass comes and shuffles harry into her tiny cube office to discuss the nature of his financial situation

(this is a grave insult among goblins. getting handled by a female, first of all, because they are supposedly less capable bankers, hello misogyny among other species, and because they consider anyone who needs help with his money to be lower than cave scum. harry doesn’t know about his. and if he did, he wouldn’t care because he does, desperately, need help)

and plucky goblin lass (who we will call PGL for short) brings out this MASSIVE tome of parchment and slams it down on her desk. a cloud of dust rises. harry sneezes and gets a terrible feeling. some of the parchment is mildewing. the stack is taller than his hand is wide. this can only end badly

PGL tells him that he’ll need to read the entire book to fully comprehend the new scope of his property and harry kind of weakly says “what??”

and it turns out that heyo, when the death eaters swore to follow voldemort with all their lives and souls and magic in their little racist hearts they actually swore a modified liege lord oath which also has the coincidental side effect of ceding all titles (and property connected to said titles) held to the lord in question too. haha how funny who knew

and that’s an ongoing thing. so voldemort was the de facto head of two dozen magical houses at the beginning of the war and he just picked up more as he gained more followers and he probably could have just voted himself and his crew into every position of the government and run the country like that if he cared to do it but voldemort was not about dat political life. he wanted change and he wanted it now. he wanted to MAKE AMERICA MAGICAL BRITAIN GREAT AGAIN. so he started a civil war and just never informed his loyal death eaters of that little fact because they didn’t need to know.

and you might think that gringotts vaults are tied into bloodlines but they’re really not. the malfoy family vault belongs to whoever is the current head of the malfoy family. normally, that’s a malfoy and his malfoy spawn becomes the next head and so it passes through the family, accumulating inherited wealth. it was a working system until voldemort got involved and exploited the ever-living hell out of it.

now this all becomes harry’s problem because it turns out that Right of Conquest is an actual thing. what was voldemort’s is now his and voldemort has has the time to accumulate A Metric Fuck Ton of stuff.

also connected to titles are votes in the wizengamot. and whoo boy, this is where harry’s problem becomes really really really problematic. because the noble families squabble over those votes like children, hoarding them and passing them down, occasionally trading them for advantageous marriages and such, but mostly jealously guarding them like the politcal gold they are. it’s such a bitterly tight-fisted market that any one family has ~maybe~ three or  four votes.

and now harry bloody potter has a hundred of the things and a completely unintentional stranglehold on the government. whoops

and then hermione would shotput harry straight into the wizengamot against his protests and things would become so hilarious i just

some jerkass attempts to increase his own salary for doing basically nothing

“how about no,” harry and his hundred votes say.

somebody attempts to tighten restrictions on where magical creatures like vampires and werewolves can work

“how about no.” harry crosses his arms. “actually, how about we repeal those bullshit laws already in place that make it almost impossible for werewolves to get a job right now, hmmmm? and how about we put something in place to catch abusive owners of house elves? and make sure they get paid? and vacation days? and healthcare? actually how about we get healthcare for EVERYBODY HOW ABOUT T H A T?”

ten generations of purebloods cry out in horror. look upon him ye mighty and despair.

the years after voldemort’s defeat don’t go down in history as The Golden Era. in fact, thanks to harry bloody potter (and some incessant nudging by hermione granger), they go down as The Decade of Frankly Astonishing Strides Toward Equality *cough* enforced by a semi-plutocracy.

(all thanks to a third tier plot never really explored by a would-be dictator YOU’RE ALL WELCOME)

Ok I don’t have anyone to talk to right now, I just had to be socially trans in person for an hour while signing legal forms, and I’m strung out and tired. SO I’M GOING TO RANT ABOUT CONSTRUCTED LANGUAGES AND MAGICAL SCRIPTS.

Look, I get it. You want your conlang/magic script to look mystical, cryptic, special. You want it to look different than any other language while still looking like a language people write in. If you’re a spiritual person or magic-user this may even be a language you’re channeling and that you believe to be ancient in nature or otherwise pre-existing. But 95% of conlangs and magical scripts look totally fake and made-up, and this is not a judgment I’m casting on their actual grammatical structure or language theory or the languages they were based on. The thing that makes a language look like one people ever actually wrote in for hundreds of years, that makes it look like the letters/characters are all from the same language, is that it looks like a language that’s been written in whatever tools you are claiming or feel like it was traditionally written in.

Let’s take cuneiform:

Looks super-neat, right? Man, who’d ever think of having those wedges in an alphabet! It’s totally different than most modern languages out there and very distinctive, and the wedges are consistent across the letters, so it makes them all look like they’re from the same alphabet. This wasn’t just arbitrarily designed as a font style. There is a reason for this!

Cuneiform writing was pressed into wet clay with these shaped bits and that’s why it looks like that. It got stamped with wedges. That’s how (this type of) writing was done at the time. It’s a technological solution and that’s what makes the lettering get that peculiar stylization. You’ll get variants based on craftsmanship and tools, but basically the method is the same across various implementations. Once someone tried to write that in pencil, you could imagine it’d look different, and you’d see evidence of people’s hand-motion between strokes, becoming more of a tilt between letters.

For instance, English looks like it does, even in tumblr’s sans-serif fonts, because it can be constructed with a pen. When it gets fancy with a variable-width pressure-sensitive pen nib, you can get more complex and flowy, but notice the flow and arc still go with the movements natural for a hand to make:

Originally posted by heaven-knows-im-miserable-n0w

Those little trails between letters exist today because nib pens were drippy and left ink trails. The written language adapted to the tools to incorporate the trails and still make it look legible, and that’s why we have cursive writing at all. This is a simplified history but it’s basically there to make you think about the letter shapes in various traditional ways of writing in English and why it looks like it does instead of like cuneiform.

Which brings me to conlangs. If you want your brand new ancient-looking language to truly look like people have used it for eons, write it out with the tools you think those people would have used, and keep adapting the letters if you find that, say, a brush or nib pen can’t construct the weird arcs and whirls you’ve designed the language to have. Languages by and large are made to be convenient to write. If you don’t know how to write kanji, Chinese words probably look complex and arbitrary to you. But their shapes are logical when you see them written with a brush:

So if you have some arcane-looking swooshy script but it still looks kind of fake, think about where the weight should really be. It should be where the brush presses down heavier and the trailing marks are where the brush lifts up (and usually leaves the paper and ends the stroke). Where the stroke is wide on one end is where the brush initially met the paper. Above, you can see how one swish immediately flows into another, the strokes are like arrows leading across the page when you understand how they’re created. Pick up a brush and figure out an actual stroke order for your symbol. If logically the stroke seems like it’d leave someone’s hand smearing it trying to follow its arc, then logically that symbol would eventually get redesigned if it were in an actual language. Someone would figure out a better way to write it and everyone would adopt that way over time.

So practice writing your language with different tools. Consider a calligraphy course or even just a kit with a guidebook (or youtube training videos!). Written language is a tool that people use, magical as it can be. And if you’re using it for magical purposes such as woodburning it into tools or painting it onto things or writing it onto paper, consider that your symbols will change a bit according to the tools, just like with mundane languages. A wedge-shaped wood burner will get you something a bit closer to cuneiform. A brush will get you something flowy and not super-precise. Pencil will not leave ink trails and will get you something more technical and practical. Your written language logically should shift for that and adapt like a proper tool. And if you do that right, if you really use it, then it will look much more genuine because it will have experienced an actual evolution of form adapting to the physical tools it’s been worked with via.

And if you’re not using it for magic but are just using it for a fantasy setting where people use it for magic in the story, all the above would still apply to them.

Even with just one symbol not meant to be in a greater language, think about the tool you’re creating it with. It’s hard to make a realistic brush-style symbol in pencil. Use the tool that fits the symbol and you’ll produce something much more genuine-looking.

That’s it! I’m not a language expert, this is not meant to be A Real Factual History Of All Language, it’s just a rough primer in How To Make It Look Like A Language Is Actually Written With. It’s not meant to be a critique in whether your magical language is “real” enough or “magical” enough either. It’s simply some pointers in how to make a magical/constructed language that’s actually reasonable to write with and suits the tools you’re writing it with and the purposes you mean it for. Hundreds of years of written language evolution is hard to replace, but I believe in you.


“Certain people have said that the world is like a calm pond, and that anytime a person does even the smallest thing, it is as if a stone has dropped into the pond, spreading circles of ripples further and further out, until the entire world has been changed by one tiny action. If this is true, then the book you are reading now is the perfect thing to drop into a pond.”
- Lemony Snicket, The Penultimate Peril

Why am I single?
Am I stopping myself from falling in love? Or am I truly just not falling for anyone? I don’t know which option I fear more. If the first is true, then I may be dooming myself to a life alone. If it’s the second, well, that wouldn’t be my fault, would it? But it’s no less discouraging to think that no one in my world could ever interest me.

I get crushes sometimes, yes, but (and this sounds weird) I can’t even tell how serious they are. I second-guess my own feelings constantly. Do I really like this person, or am I just fooling myself? All too often, it feels like I’m imagining I like them just because I like the idea of being madly in love. It’s more about the idea than the actual person.

I can create an image around a person that obscures who they really are, and pretty soon I’m in love with the image, but all the while in my gut I know that the image is not accurate and what I’m actually in love with is an illusion. That’s not true love. I know that. So I don’t allow myself to actually engage with the person, because I know it’s not what I think it is. In that sense, I guess you could say I do keep myself from falling in love… but not without reason.

You see, in every case, I see red flags. Even beyond the smokescreen of the fantasy image I create around a person, these red flags are always visible to my deeper instinct. And when I say “red flags,” I mean intrinsic qualities or ingrained habits that I do not want in a romantic partner. Things that the person obviously either could not or would not change. Things that I am ultimately just not okay with. They stand out to my subconscious mind, flashing cold warning lights, spelling doom for any hope of a relationship with that person.

If I didn’t see these kinds of red flags, I like to think that I would do it. I would move forward. I would give the person a chance. But when I see these kinds of things beforehand, plain as day… I mean, am I supposed to ignore them? So far, I have not been able to do that. I know what I want, and I know what I do not want. Why should I walk straight into a situation that I know is not what I want? Won’t I be kicking myself later for making such a stupid move, eyes wide open?

At the end of the day, I wonder:

Will there ever be someone who doesn’t strike me as full of warning signs, someone I won’t have to invent a mostly false image around so that I can pretend to have a crush on them?

Will I just end up caving in and dating someone who is below my standards?

Am I keeping myself from happiness, or sparing myself genuine heartache and wasted time?

As always, the standard answer to all my life’s questions resurfaces: I don’t know.

—  Submitted by @angelwithashatteredheart
Being best friends with Draco Malfoy would include...

° Growing up with him having gone to the same pureblood primary school
° Constantly hearing about “perfect little potter” once you get to Hogwarts
° Making him put money in a jar every TIME he said Potter
° Making bets with his other “friends” about how many times he’d mention Harry in one day
° Getting away with teasing him and even throwing insults his way
° Laying your legs across his lap while you read and he either did homework or ranted about Potter
° Being mistaken as a couple obviously
° Both of you laughing whenever someone asks because Draco is very gay
° Being the only person who knows that little secret of his
° Being there for him when he needs someone to tell about everything he’s being made to do
° Telling him that everything will be alright again after the war
° Not fighting for either side of the war
° Helping him get back on his feet after the war has ended
° Smiling widely when he mentions Potter for the first time after the war
° Laughing when he told you they had a date because you always knew that hatred for the other boy wasn’t true
° Him making you his best woman at the wedding
° Being auntie (y/n) to his and Harry’s kids
° Having been through everything with him and never giving up on him
° Having never given up on him even when he told you to leave
° Watching him grow from the small scared boy his parents raised him to be into the man he was actually meant to be


Okay. So because it has been specifically requested, an examination of Lotor’s sword. I’m sorry to anyone who was excited for this because it just… isn’t.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a nice solid sword with smooth lines, good visual flow, not gaudy – actually it’s quite plain and practical. Almost militaristically utilitarian. 

Which in and of itself is interesting given all the fandom expectations for Lotor to be a something of a lavish, exceedingly vain, and impractical sort. That sword suggests a personality that runs quite the opposite, unlike the extremely detailed and fanciful swords his father conjures with a bayard. The Blades of Marmora have more detailing going on than Lotor does.

Aside from that though, there’s not much I can glean historically based on the sword. A backswept thick crossguard like that isn’t a terribly common sword design, and is seen more often in animation and video games than reality. 

Indian Khandas and Patissas have backswept crossguards a little similar that, but this sword lacks the telltale markers of the Kanda’s wide, flat-ended blade shape, single edged blade, the arching hook on the pommel butt, or the one-sided basket-hilt-inspired finger guard. The pre-17th century (pre-European influence) Patissas are closer with thier lack of finger guards and often a lack of hook with a short thick backswept crossguard, but it’s only a single point of similarity, and not a strong one since Lotor’s crossguard sweeps back with thick and heavy finger guards on both sides – which would restrict movement strangely on a double edged blade and is why this just isn’t a design that happens in real swords. Lotor’s sword also lacks the distinctive triangular hilt extension running up the center of the blade. It just doesn’t match too many vital key markers.

Similarly, some Chinese Jian/Longsword designs have backswept hilts, but that is the extent of the similarity, again, nothing else about it from blade shape on seems to match.

The apparent two-handed hilt grip also makes it a bad match for most east Asian swords. They’re usually one-handed, sometimes a hand and a half, but Lotor could clearly comfortably fit both hands on it.

In fact, if you ignore the odd crossguard entirely, the sword becomes a very basic, very nice-but-boring-and-generic European Longsword. The large hit and length puts it towards the “bastard” and “great” sword size, as is also suggested by the long ricasso (unsharpened section just above the hilt). The blade cross section seems to be a mix of a diamond and hexagonal form, and the hilt a standard diamond shaped pommel. 

By no means a bad sword design, it’s just, largely uninteresting from a historical and meta commentary perspective.


Missing My NFL

It’s At This Time Of Year That I Begin To Yearn for The NFL…Beefy, Brawny Men In Skin-Tight Uniforms Battling It Out Over The Gridiron. 

And Especially Those Beefy, Brawny Men Who Define Sexiness, Like Eric Decker!

Woof, Baby!


Like Violet, like Klaus, and like Sunny, I visit certain graves, and often spend my mornings standing on a brae, staring out at the same sea. It is not the whole story, of course, but it is enough. Under the circumstances, it is the best for which you can hope

The Hoodie

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) wakes up to the fire alarm blaring at 3am in the apartment blocks. Angry and annoyed she meets the generous, kind, hilarious Stiles Stilinski.

Word Count: 650

Prompt: -

A/N: This is short but I haven’t posted writing in a while so I wanted to write something quick yet very cute.

Originally posted by teenwolf--imagines

“Quick! (Y/N)! Wake up,” Janet, your awfully loud and very annoying roommate, screamed tearing the blanket off your now freezing cold body. You were about to give out when you heard another sound that snapped you awake. “Is that the fire alarm?” You shouted, jumping out of the bed and shoving your feet into a pair of sneakers.

Janet grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the room and through the crowds of students rushing around like headless chickens. “Please do not run, follow the exit signs.” A masculine voice shouted over the rustle and bustle. You groaned when you noticed that you were in a pair of pink and purple pyjama bottoms, topped off with a black tank top. You were going to be freezing.

You descended the stairs quickly, pushing past students that were only awake and exited the wide door at the end of the hallway. “Oh my god,” You shouted, feeling the 3am air hit your skin. “I swear someone better be dying in there,” Janet laughed at your sick humour before walking over to a group of your friends.

You stood awkwardly away from the building in case the fire caused something to explode. “I swear a whole floor better be black and destroyed,” You grumbled to the person next to you. You wrapped your arms around your body trying to get some heat into you, running your hands up your now goose bumped arms. “You won’t like the fact that I just heard it was a false alarm so.” The person replied, playing on his phone.

You snapped your head to him, not believing it. “I’ll murder someone.” You hissed, bouncing up and down in your spot.The stranger shook his head laughing, “Stiles,” He said bringing his hand to the zipper of his hoodie, before taking it off him.

A blush made its way to your face when his bare torso was in view. You coughed awkwardly before a feeling of warmth covered your body; realizing that ‘Stiles’ just wrapped his hoodie around your body. “Thank you,” You whispered, “But you’re going to be freezing.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” You blushed more furiously looking away before staring back at him. “I’m (Y/N).” He nodded, noting your name before jumping into a conversation about criminal justice, which he was doing. You liked the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about his father that was the Sheriff in his hometown, and the way he would look you in the eye and look away just as fast; obviously embarrassed.

You don’t know how long you were standing out there with him, talking about nothing and everything. You did feel an ounce of regret though when he started shivering uncontrollably. “No, no, leave it on.” He muttered when you started to remove his hoodie, you shook your head and gave it back to him. The warmth and scent disappearing.

He placed it on but never zipped it up, “Come here.” He said bravely, and you followed his demands stepping closer to him. He laughed slightly before pulling you so that you hit his chest. “Stiles,” You laughed, as he zipped up the around your body as well. In fairness, it is an incredibly baggy hoodie.

“Perfect,” He mumbled, and you shuffled so that you could look up at him. “It was nice meeting you,” You teased, amusement in your voice. It was nearing four o’clock in the morning, and you felt yourself getting tired. Letting out a yawn, you let your head rest on Stiles’ chest and his chin rested on your head. “Whoever pulled that alarm..” You warned quietly. “You wouldn’t have met me now though.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around your body. You nodded, feeling yourself drift off standing up.

“Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when we can go inside.”

Reggie x Reader: Did You Miss Me?

Warnings: none
Requested: yes

*your POV*

For the record, Reggie Mantle had broken up with me 2 months ago, but for him it’s only been a month. For the first month after the break up he constantly called me and provoked me. He wanted me back, he didn’t want to believe that we were over. But we were and there was nothing he could do. People drift apart but when it’s only one of you that feels it, your heart breaks for the other person. That’s how I felt about Reggie.

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Imagine Yondu getting back at you for playing a mean prank on him (smut)

(WOAH LONG ASS SMUT 😏VERY NSFW Sorry guys I just need to get this one out of my system…I just love him so much that inspiration hit me so hard it all came out…Idk if this is a mess or not but most likely it is XD Hope you guys can somehow appreciate it :) Gif not mine/found it on google/credit to the original owner.)

You screwed up. Big time. But at least it was worth it.


You were having a blast laughing with your friends among the Guardians at the bar when suddenly it all came to a stop the instant Yondu found his way to you.

He didn’t say anything, simply grabbing you over back to the ship, away from the others. You tried to stop him, laughing in his face about it and wanting to reveal the truth but he wouldn’t have any of it.

In the end, he had you thrown into his room and pushed you to sit on the bed. As he stood back, his gaze told you to sit up straight or else, at least you that’s what you thought.

Strangely, it was quiet. You could hear the sound of your breathing and his filling the room slightly.

The tension was too obvious yet at the same time, you wondered as to why he’d stay this silent. He did went through the trouble to make a scene and pull you away mid drink and laughter, in front of Peter his “son” and the others around.

So why was he wasn’t freaking out like he should be by now. Your eyes stared vaguely to the ground, trying your best to make light of the situation.

Dryness was suddenly being felt at your throat and instinctively you tried to clear it. To Yondu, he thought you were about to talk back at him first, and instantly he put his finger to your lips.


He wasn’t going to let you have your way just as you had been for the last few years you’ve been together since he found you. He couldn’t afford to have another “Peter Quill” situation and let the other crew members think he had that much of a soft spot for Terrans, especially for the young ones.

He had to tighten his rules with you and now the opportunity was perfect. You screwed up and worse, you worried him. You made him look and sound like a weak old man, screaming and flipping out at his subordinates with slightly watery eyes.

All that show, after finding a neatly tucked piece of paper by his control console that wrote “I’m sorry…” and the audacity you had to add a little doodle of a sad face. Thousands of things ran through his mind when he saw that, you being taken, you selling yourself, and worse, you growing tired of him and walking out of his life.

“You…” That’s all he muttered. His eyes stared at you in anger and you knew you were in trouble. He stood back and taking a piece of paper out, he read it and only seemed to get angrier.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, girl!” He spat at you, throwing the note over and his thick accent ringing through the room.

Pointing it at, he exclaimed, “You care to explain this?! What the hell were you thinking?!”

You sighed. You should’ve known you took this one too far. Looking at it subtly, you turned your gaze back towards his boots and let out a faint and nervous chuckle.

He knew it was coming, your nervous and cute explanation that would surely change the situation but not today. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Well…You see that was actually just a pra-”

“A prank!? You think that’s funny!? Playing with my damn feelings and making me look like an idiot in front of everyone for you?!”

You yelped as he suddenly made a move to grab a hold of you. His grip was rather tight and from his growl, you knew you weren’t going to be let off easy.

You were at lost for words. He just admitted probably the most embarrassing thing he could ever admit to you and to the others as well, you thought. You couldn’t say anything, his gaze was burning and making you sit still.

Shying away slightly from him, you ended up lowering your gaze and tensing within his tight grip.

Why did you had to be the way you were, he thought. He wanted to yell at you more but at this point he wanted to comfort you, and that turned him on.

Seeing you so still and wide eyed, his breathing ended up mixing with yours, somehow calming himself down from all of it. Thinking about it, he realized he had you in the palm of his hands now, whatever he wanted from you, he knew he would get it.

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We Can Never Go Back To Before

(I am sad and write of sad things.  Everyone will be all right in the end, I’m sure, but, Harris, you can’t run from your past forever.)

“Let’s eat peanut butter cups for dinner.”

Harris shifted the bag of groceries in his arms. “Was that your plan all along?”

Darcy nodded. “Yes.”

“Then why did we go grocery shopping?”

“I was luring you into a false sense of security, nutritionally speaking.” She did a little spin, enjoying the way her skirt flared around her knees. The bags in her hands bumped against her legs as she stopped, facing him. “It was my devious plan.”

He grinned at her, his cheeks pink from the spring breeze. “With chicken breasts and frozen vegetables?”

“You didn’t suspect a thing,” Darcy pointed out. She threw her hands in the air. Harris ducked under her bags without missing a step. “My plan was a success!”

“We’re not eating peanut butter cups for dinner,” Harris said. But he was smiling when he said it.

“Maybe you’re not, but you’re not the boss of me, soooooooo…” She tipped her head in his direction. “Make me a better offer.”

“I don’t know,” he mused. “I mean, we could try eating real food and not spending the rest of the night curled up in the fetal position, praying for death as the sugar rush wears off.”

He had a pronounced cowlick right now. It was adorable. Darcy shifted both of her bags to one hand and reached out with the other. “You make it sound like a bad plan.”

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Astro Reaction: To you falling asleep on their shoulder

Note: Hi, I’m new here. Please send requests or feedbacks ~ Hope you like it!

P.S. Gifs are not mine. Credits to the owner.


He would try to resist laughing or giggling because of how cute you are. He’ll do everything not to wake you up even if he wants to take a picture of you. Members would give him teasing looks and he’ll act all innocent while smiling really wide. Jinjin would secretly take candid pictures while Mj adores you and shows them to Mj afterwards. He ended up making it his wallpaper.


You tried not to fall asleep, but you immediately crashed into his shoulders. He would try to make you more comfortable while trying not to move just so you could sleep. He’ll end up sleeping and will lean his head on top of yours. When he woke up, he received a lot of teasing from the members. “Hyung, ask her on a date already! ~,” Sanha whispered.


It would happen while you guys are watching movies. He would be really surprised when your head touches his shoulder. Since he’s way taller than you, he’ll slowly slide down, to make you feel more comfortable. He would be all shy at first, but when he noticed that you’re cold, he would wrap/embrace his arms around you. He would be quite proud of himself, but deep inside his heart’s bursting. Rocky would wink at him and will give him thumbs up while he smiles sheepishly.


Moonbin would be similar to MJ. He always likes to film his members while sleeping so I think he would take a video (with filter) and sends them to Astro’s group chat. “Woahh ~ Binnie, I’ll forward this to her!” MJ would tease him. Moonbin would end up waking you up by moving his legs (because he’s scared that MJ would really forward it to you). *acts innocent*


He convinces you to have a Goblin marathon with him because it’s his favourite. Since you’re really tired and you slept late last night, you accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder. He would feel guilty at first, but noticed how you’re sleeping and slightly snoring… he’ll freak out because of how cute you are and will probably smile widely. He ended up carrying you to your room and made sure that you’re warm.


This cute little beagle would be shocked and might end up asking his hyungs if he should move you and his hyungs would quietly shake their heads. He would be blushing so bad, but secretly wants you to stay right there forever because he loves your scent and everything. “Ohh~ maknae!” He would hear the rest of the members on the other room.

Has the ship sailed? - Sebastian Stan

Summary: Sebastian is interviewed and of course the interview at the Late Late show is brought up. 

Part 1 Ce Faci?

AN: I tried to write a sorta part 2 to “Ce Faci” and I hope you guys catch the Angel name thing. ;) <- when you try really hard not to spoil the story haha. I might consider writing the first date in the future, no promises ;)

Originally posted by little--batman

“Hi, welcome,” the excited interviewer said smiling widely.

“Thank you,” Sebastian answered giving her a warm smile as he settled into the chair.

He was currently doing an interview so he could promote the new Marvel movie, but his manager did warn him that there would be other questions, too.

“How are you?” 

“I’m really great, working on this movie was so much fun even though I had to deal with Chris’ boob grabs,” he chuckled thinking about the many people who actually wished they could be on the receiving end. 

The interviewer laughed along cracking a joke about this particular action admitting she could understand why people loved it. After that, she continued talking about the movie and asking about the shenanigans the cast got into before moving on to other subjects. 

“I have to say, I saw the interview with James Corden…” she trailed off giving him a smirk. 

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MariChat May Day 16: Flowers

For @midnightstarlightwrites.  More incredible talent!  Do yourself a favor, find her either here or on AO3, and go binge.

“Princess?”  Chat Noir poked his head in through the open skylight, expecting to see Marinette at her desk, but the room appeared empty.   “Marinette, are you home?”  Nothing.  He was debating whether to let himself in or to just leave when the trap door opened, and Sabine’s head appeared in the room.

“Ah, you are here!  I thought I heard you, Chat Noir.  Marinette is in the kitchen, come on in.”  She disappeared back down the stairs, but left the door open for him to follow her.

With a smile, he dropped into the room and followed Sabine down into the kitchen.

“Marinette, your stray is here.”  She dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head, and went to their door.    “I’ll be downstairs, helping your father.”

“Yes, maman,” Marinette called absently, her attention focused on the cake in front of her.  She flicked her eyes up at Chat as he sat at the end of the counter.   “Hello, Kitty.”

“Hello, Princess.”  He leaned forward to examine the partially decorated cake, and watched in fascination as little pink flowers appeared from the metal point as if by magic.  “How are you doing that?”

Marinette straightened and blinked at the cake.  “What, the frosting?”

“Yeah.  How does that work,” he asked, pointing to the bag in her hand.

“It’s a piping bag, with a decorative tip on the end.”  She untwisted the end, to show the cone shape of the bag, and then added a scoop of the pink frosting to the wide end.  “I load the frosting from this side, squeeze it down to the bottom like toothpaste, and then twist it to keep it tight.  I control how much comes out by varying the pressure on the bag.”

He watched her work a bit longer, still fascinated by the way the flowers appeared on the cake, spreading  almost haphazardly over the top, and cascading down the side.  “Can you make things other than flowers?”

She glanced up, caught the curious expression on his face, and smiled.  “Of course.  You can make almost anything, if you have the right frosting tip.  You see how this one has a bunch of points?”  He nodded, and she continued.  “You can use it to make a flower by holding the tip straight out from the side of the cake and squeezing only a little bit.  But if you change the angle, and move the tip horizontally along the surface as you squeeze, you can make a wave.”  She demonstrated by making a few of the waves around the base of the cake, then set the bag on the counter to take up a second bag that had been hidden on the other side of the cake.  “This tip is just a plain circle, and it’s small, so it’s good for making details and doing lettering.”  She held the point over the center of one of her flowers, and a little bead of yellow appeared at the end.  She deftly added little yellow centers to each of her flowers, and then wrote “good luck” in flowing script over the center of the cake.

He picked up the bag with the pink frosting, and squeezed it experimentally, leaving a ridged stripe along the edge of her bowl.  “Can I try?”

“Sure!  Here, come stand on this side.”  She stepped out of the way, and motioned for him to stand where she had been.

He looked from the little stripe that he’d made to her perfect flowers with surprise.  “You want me to try it on your cake?”

“Why not,” she giggled, taking his elbow and tugging him to stand in front of it.  “I made this for fun, as a way to keep myself distracted.”

“But I’ll ruin it!”

“No you won’t.  You didn’t actually make the frosting, so we know it’s going to taste good no matter what it looks like.”  She flicked his bell playfully, and pointed at the bag in his hand.  “Untwist it, and make sure your frosting is all pushed down, then re-twist it to make sure it’s tight.”

He frowned at the frosting bag in his hand, but did as she asked.  He pushed too hard, and a glop of frosting fell from the tip onto the counter.

She giggled, and wiped it up with a finger.  “Don’t worry, I still do that sometimes, myself, especially when it’s really full.”  She stuck the finger in her mouth, and hummed as she sucked the frosting from it, clearly oblivious to the fact that her innocent action made him think of things that were not innocent at all.  “I love frosting,” she said, smiling.

He cleared his throat, and returned his attention to the frosting bag, twisting it carefully until a bit of pink appeared at the end.

“Perfect!  Now, try a flower.  Hold it perpendicular to the cake, and squeeze gently.”

He followed her instructions, and initially, it looked just like hers.   But when he pulled his hand away, the frosting stuck to the tip and pulled the flower out into a cone that just flopped over.  He scowled at it.  “That looks nothing like a flower.”

“Try again, but this time, push the tip into to the flower ever so slightly before you pull your hand away.”  He nodded and tried it again, and this time the frosting stuck only a little bit.  “There, see?  It just takes practice.”  She moved around to sit at the end of the counter, and sat with her chin propped in her hands.

His flowers weren’t perfect, but at least they were recognizable and he did seem to be improving.  He glanced at her, a question on his lips, but he shut his mouth when he saw the tense set of her shoulders, and the agitated drumming of her fingers on the counter.  His heart sank, and he set the bag down carefully.  “I’m sorry, Mari.  I knew I was going to mess up your cake. You shouldn’t have let me mess with it.”

Her fingers stilled, and she blinked at him.  “Huh?”

“My flowers aren’t as good as yours.  I ruined it, and now you’re upset, but you’re too polite to tell me.”

Her confused look only deepened.  “What are you talking about Chaton?  Of course your flowers aren’t as good as mine, I’ve been doing this since I was big enough to hold a piping bag, and you literally just learned.”  She nudged the bag towards his hand.   “Why don’t you finish it?  It looks like you’ve got a handle on the flowers, you should try doing the scrollwork around the bottom.”

“You mean the waves?”


“You know it’s going to look like it was done by a three year old.”

“Are you having fun with it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then you should keep going.”  She nudged the frosting again.   “I told you, this was just for fun.  It doesn’t matter what it looks like.”

“But, if you’re not upset about the cake, then what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, really.”  She sighed, and picked up the yellow frosting to squeeze some onto each of the fingers on her left hand, making a different design on each.  “I registered for a summer internship with Gabriel, but they only accept two students each year.  They’re supposed to announce their picks tomorrow morning, and I’m a nervous wreck.”  She examined her work for a moment, then stuck her thumb in her mouth to lick off the yellow heart she’d drawn there.

“Oh.”  The sight of her lips wrapped around her thumb had shorted out his brain, so it took an moment to process her words.  She didn’t seem to notice.  “That makes a lot more sense than—” He shook his head and laughed humorlessly.  “I should have known you wouldn’t get upset with me over something like this.  I’m, uh, kind of used to people expecting me to be perfect.”

She rolled her eyes, and licked the star off of her pinky without noticing his arrested expression.  “That’s ridiculous.  No one is perfect.”  She licked the flower from her ring finger, her pink tongue curling around her fingertip as she swept the frosting into her mouth and he stared.

Nothing more had happened since that too-brief kiss last week, but he wanted it to.   He’d been hard pressed to think of much else over the last week. Now, she was sitting in front of him, innocently enjoying a bit of frosting, and it was utter torment.

Marinette eyed her two remaining fingers, and licked the clover from her index finger.  She hummed her enjoyment, completely missing his strangled whimper.  She smacked her lips and lifted her hand to lick away the last of the treat, but he’d had enough.  His hand shot out to grip her wrist, and her startled eyes shot to his.

“Merde, Marinette.  That wasn’t even intentional, was it?”

Her eyes widened at the husky timbre of his voice, and she frowned in confusion.  “What?”

He stepped closer to her with a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, and indicated the frosting on her hand with a tilt of his head.   “Weren’t you going to offer me any, Princess?”

“Oh,” she breathed, as he drew her hand to his mouth and slowly sucked the sweet yellow paw print from her skin, shifting his hand to hold her palm, rather than her wrist.  Her finger slid from his mouth with a soft pop, and he leaned forward in the hopes of claiming another kiss.

A door closed firmly, and they sprang apart with matching blushes.  He cleared his throat awkwardly, and picked up the pink frosting to attempt the scrolls at the bottom of the cake, hoping that they hadn’t been caught.

Sabine bustled into the kitchen with two baguettes from the bakery below, and a bright smile for the two at the counter.   “Marinette makes wonderful frosting, doesn’t she, Chat?”  They both choked on air, and she chuckled knowingly.  “I suggest, though, that if you want more, you have it with the cake.”

So, I’m not sure how I feel about this one; I’m worried that I spent too much time on the how-to stuff.  Thoughts? I welcome constructive criticism.  :)


dionesyia  asked:

I'd really love a oneshot about Carlisle struggling with a mild case of jealousy. Like his SO talks to someone else, and is all nice and smiley because that's the person they are and Carlisle KNOWS that and he really does know better BUT DOES THIS GUY REALLY NEED TO STAND SO CLOSE TO THEM?

There were few things that Carlisle prided himself on. There was his self control, of course, as well as his ability to easily connect with people. It was a quiet sort of dignity, internalized and never boasted about, because that’s just how Carlisle was, wasn’t he? Humble. Vanity certainly didn’t suit him. But there was one thing in particular, something that only Carlisle was capable of, that would occasionally go to his head.

It was you, or more specifically your eyes, and the way they came to life when he was with you. The way they widened in his presence, the way your pupils dilated the longer he engaged you, the way they focused in on him like he was the most captivating thing they ever saw. And there was always this animate twinkle in those beautiful, dark irises, a subtle glistening that Carlisle knew was for him and only him, akin to a shooting star streaking the black sky—striking and uplifting. 

And when Carlisle saw that twinkle—his twinkle—shimmering vibrantly in your eyes while in the presence of another man, something wildly unpleasant tore open in his chest, clawing up his throat and threatening to burst through his clenched jaw. Suddenly the air in the room was thicker, more suffocating, and Carlisle swore he could feel perspiration prickling on his hairline when the man leaned in closer towards you with an easy grin. 

It was a blow to the gut when you smiled back, when the stranger continued to bask in your glowing gaze. And Carlisle knew you were just being nice, he knew better than to let something so juvenile gnaw at him like this, but did this guy seriously just take another step closer to you? 

A red fog creeped in through his peripheral vision, and a deep, guttural growl resonated in his chest, like a low rumble of thunder reverberating from the earthy floor and shuddering the branches of a tree. His upper lip twitched threateningly, and Carlisle had to resist the overwhelming urge to bare his teeth. He may be falling apart on the inside, but he was not about to lose his hold on his self control too.

Your name scratched its way up his raw throat, the strained sound begging your eyes to flicker over to where Carlisle was standing off with rigid shoulders. He tried a smile, tightlipped but still sincere, and you smiled softly in response. He heard you mutter a brief ‘excuse me’ before you started walking over to him, the smile on your face never faltering as your scent grew stronger and stronger with each step you made.

If someone asked Carlisle why he did what he did next, he would say that he truthfully didn’t know. Maybe it was the harrowing jealousy banging its fists against his ribcage. Maybe it was your intoxicating, delectable aroma clouding his judgement. Maybe it was that damned twinkle that was dancing in your eyes as you approached him. Maybe it was all three together.

The exact second you were at arms length from him, Carlisle’s fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans and yanked you forward, chests and mouths roughly colliding. Another growl vibrated between your bodies as his lips greedily attacked yours, his tongue dominating, claiming, while unusually forceful fingers and sturdy palms encircled your neck to better control the kiss. His teeth stung as they sunk into your bottom lip, and he swallowed your gasp with a wide, hungry mouth. 

Carlisle ended the kiss abruptly, parting from your lips with a wet, salacious smack, the hands on your neck sliding up to frame your face and hold your head steady. He dragged the pad of his thumb possessively over your spit-slicked lips, and as he took in your hooded eyelids and rosy cheeks, he discovered another thing he could pride himself on; he was the only person who got to see you like this—so undone and wanton.

You swallowed, taking a steadying breath in before self-consciously narrowing your eyes. “People are staring, Carlisle.”

An uncharacteristically wicked smirk pulled at his lips, and he let his gaze cast over your shoulder to the now appalled man, a triumphant swell in his chest urging his smirk into a wide grin. “Good.”

He looked down at you again, pressing another brief kiss to your lips before finally letting his hands fall from your face, a warmth spreading from his chest, traveling up his neck when your eyes twinkled happily—his twinkle.