words you have spoken

ASL is a language

American Sign Language and other signed languages are languages. It’s important to respect them as languages.

ASL is not English. It is a completely different language. Similarly, signed languages aren’t all the same. British Sign Language is completely different from ASL.

Signs are not universal, any more than spoken words are universal. The meaning of a sign isn’t always obvious just by watching; many signs are completely arbitrary.

Sign is not pantomime, and it’s not ad hoc gesture. It’s also not like symbolic gestures that are sometimes made up to accompany kids songs either. It’s a language, with all the complexities of language. The difference is important, and it needs to be respected. 

In order to know what signs mean, you have to learn them. (Just like in order to know what spoken words mean, you have to learn them.)

ASL is not just gestures, any more than spoken languages are just sounds. ASL has grammar, vocabulary, and culture. It’s important to respect this and not erase it.  

2

Depending on where you began the story, it was about H e n r y  C h e n g.

              Henry had never been good with words. Case in point: The first month he’d been at Aglionby, he had tried to explain this to Jonah Milo, the English teacher, and had been told that he was being hard on himself. You’ve got a great vocabulary, Milo had said. Henry was aware he had a great vocabulary. It was not the same thing as having the words you needed to express yourself. You’re very well-spoken for a kid your age, Milo had added. Hell, ha, even for a guy my age. But sounding like you were saying what you felt was not the same as actually pulling it off. A lot of ESL folks feel that way, Milo had finished. My mom said she was never herself in English.
              But it wasn’t that Henry was less of himself in English. He was less of himself out loud. His native language was thought.

I remember
almost every word
you have ever spoken
while you probably
cannot even recall
the sound of my voice.
—  // distinction
j.d.m.
Two girls can fall in love

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.

This is when the freak show started,
God made a joke and
that joke was me.
But what kind of God would mess with a child of five
and tell her that although you see the Big Bang in a pretty girl’s eyes,
You should only ever fall for:
guys.

I buried my feelings in a grave labelled guilt-
And then I was eight.
Too young to contemplate,
the thoughts of my wedding day
not being the same
as the ones you see on reality TV.

Eleven.
My gaze at the eyelash on her cheek lingered too long.
Twelve.
These thoughts are wrong.
Thirteen.
God isn’t real, or he’s sick for creating me like this.
Fourteen.
Her cheeks are the only cheeks I want to kiss.
Fifteen.
Rainbows burst through the floorboards, march their way up the stairs and yell in my face:
“Acknowledge the stares, it’s just a girl”
It’s just a girl.
You are worthy of love.

Sixteen.
There has been a hell of a storm.
Dig up the grave, dust off your feelings and leave only red flowers in remembrance.
In remembrance of the time that you hated God because he hated you.
Of the time you would flick your wrist, when you thought of her lips.
Of the time when boys would temporarily fill the whole in your chest.
Of the time you thought that two girls could not fall in love-
could not hold each other,
and could not whisper the sound of forever into the silent night.

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.
If only I knew then, what I know now.

All Too Well | Pt. 8

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Summary: You and Yoongi shared a loving relationship with one another until you both agreed to end things and pursue your separate careers. But two years later, Yoongi is a member of the ever growing Bangtan Boys, and you are a new makeup artist for their upcoming tour.
Pairing: Yoongi | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut; Idol & Makeup Artist AU
Word Count: 6,330

.

“Have you talked to Y/N recently?”

Jeon Jungkook flickers his gaze over to the speaker, having only caught the faint murmur of a voice through his headphones, before the maknae tugs the equipment off of his head. “Sorry, what did you say hyung?”

Yoongi sighs, shutting his laptop completely and silently beckoning the other boy to follow suit. He has been battling this internal question for the past few hours, in spite of its simplicity, but it’s the context behind the question that has Yoongi all worried about what the answer could lead to. He has always been told not to ask questions he did not wish to know the answer to, and yet here he was: asking something in which the response was likely to terrify him. Yet, still doing so anyways.

“Have you talked to Y/N recently?” He repeats, heart ramming out of his chest as he gauges the youngest for any shift in expression to indicate an answer. But Jungkook is no longer that shy 15 year old who couldn’t lie to anyone’s face, the boy hides his emotions well. “I know that you guys… are friends.”

Jungkook momentarily can’t meet Yoongi’s gaze—the youngest looks set on tracing the outline of the headphones that rest along his neck—before he finally looks up. “Are you trying to ask if I know about what happened between you and noona? Because I do.”

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so cold 01 / min yoongi

Originally posted by loveblushes

part 02 part 03

requested by @ jiminieechim

summary: you’re in love with bff yoongi but as soon as you tell him he starts acting cold and keeps on rejecting you. 

note: I’m making this into 3 parts so each part will have it’s own summary

note2: I changed it a bit around hope that’s okay 

enjoy reading!



‘how to love someone you can never have?’ you typed this sentence in the search bar at least 100 times today but nothing good popped up, just a bunch of stupid articles that talked about nonsense.

this type of question was on your mind 24/7 for the past couple of weeks. 

see the problem is that this person is your best friend.

best friend

the word rang in your ears and you couldn’t get rid of it. no matter what you tried it didn’t work. you tried liking many other guys from your school but no one is as reliable, trustful, smart and handsome as Min Yoongi. yup that was his name. you sometimes wished you didn’t even met him in the first place because you wouldn’t worry so much. but how could you know?

when you two met you didn’t feel anything towards him. not even the fact that he’s handsome while all the other girls drooled over him. you met him at a bar while you were crying because your ex boyfriend stood you up. you didn’t have a ride back home so he nicely drove you. he didn’t even feel like a stranger but as if you two knew each other all your life. you two clicked instantly. and soon you became best friends. you never thought of him as more than a friend, so when the feelings came in you tried pushing them away but it didn’t work. you don’t know what it is but he’s just different. a good kind of different, taking care of you in bad and good times, a shoulder to cry on someone to trust. but damn it, sometimes you wished quietly to yourself you could kiss him. however you knew that if you tell him this it could either end your friendship or it could be the start of something new.

but this was the day you decided that you were finally going to confess. you knew someday you would have to or it could kill you inside. so you took your phone from the night stand and quickly typing a text sending it to him.

You:  got time? need 2 talk 2 u

Your heart skipped a beat, after just a few seconds he replied back.

SUGA: yup coming

quickly locking the phone and throwing it on the bed you jumped to your closet searching for something better to wear. usually you don’t care how you look in front of him : without makeup, sweatpants and a hoodie. however today you wanted to look more presentable, popping on black ripped jeans which were his favorite, he always complimented your legs and how sexy they look but of course you took that as a best friend compliment and nothing more.

that was also something you liked about Yoongi. him being so nice and always giving you compliments and making you feel better. he never once let you down and neither did you.

finishing your outfit you put on a white tank top and sat down on the bed waiting for him. you didn’t lock the door to your dorm which practically you never do. except at nights and when your out but you know that Yoongi will come in barging whenever he likes.

“y/n!!!!” you heared your name been yelled from miles away. it was his voice screaming at the top of his lungs until you would answer but you didn’t. you were to busy laughing at the same time fiddling with your fingers because you were nervous. 

“hey why won’t you answer i yelled your name 5000 times” he said opening the door plopping right beside you putting his hand on your shoulder. his touch felt amazing it gave you goosebumps but you quickly pushed it away moving back a bit.

“what’s wrong?” he said with a pouty face realizing you acting weirdly.

“if it’s about the cookies I’m sorry I ate all of them but they were so fucking good” you couldn’t help but to laugh at the sentence. how you wished it could be that but it wasn’t. the moment was here and you need to do it now. right now at this very minute telling him and that’s it. fighting back at your own words you mentally curse at yourself getting ready for the confession.

“no it’s not that don’t worry about it…but i do have to tell you something and…” you trailed of looking down on the floor not being able to look up to his eyes. and when he lifted your chin up with his fingers you closed your eyes still not looking at him.

“y/n…what’s up tell me please I hate seeing you like this, you know you can tell me everything right?” you simply nodded at his comment biting at your lip scared of everything.

‘’I’m….’’ you started off but as soon as you said that tears started streaming down your face. you tried so hard to fight them back the more you thought about him the more tears you spilled. he took your hand in his tracing his fingers over your hands, giving you a few squeezes.

“wow okay this is something serious y/n calm down okay? whatever it is it can’t be that bad’’

‘’but it is…you’re so going to hate me for this I just know it..’’

‘’hate you? I can never hate you y/n’’  

thinking still if you’re going to tell him or just keep it to yourself, but it hurt so bad. he was your best friend if you lose him you lose everything. he’s like a anchor to you, bringing you up whenever you’re down lost in your own world.

‘’okay…here I go..’’ you started off as the last tear slipped by you wiped it away with your hand and Yoongi moved a bit closer to you.

‘’I’m…’’

‘’you?’’

‘’I’m…um..i’m in love with you..’’

there. the words have been spoken, those hard words that you’ve been anticipating to tell him. closing your eyes again you could feel his hand slip out of yours and you felt emptiness. you knew what you just said is something that he didn’t want to hear.

‘’say something please…’’

‘’what?! what I’m a supposed to say huh? what the actual fuck y/n?! You’re in love with me?!’’ he yelled at the top of his lungs just like he yelled out your name minutes before. you were shocked not expecting what he had just said to you. I mean you did fear rejection but not in this kind of way. so cold.

you stood up from your bed and running to the bathroom putting your hands on the sink looking up to the mirror. eyes swollen, lips swollen you were a crying mess. opening the water you splashed your face with cold water trying to push the thoughts away and the words he had spoken. a few seconds later you hear the door slamming and you knew he just left.

what are you going to do now? you just lost someone you cared so much for, maybe you shouldn’t have said anything and just move on. but it’s hard loving someone you can never have.

3 Years (John x Reader)

Word Count: 3,977

Warnings: Swears, Alcohol, Smut (It’s hella fluffy smut)

Authors Note: So we hit 800? I’m dying I love you guys so much I don’t deserve any of you. Anyways, I wanted to celebrate this milestone with some smut yeah? lol. Get ready, it’s so sweet you could get a cavity. Big thanks to @adolescenthowell for dealing with my smut writing process shit. Go follow her! I LIVE TO HEAR FEEDBACK FROM YOU GUYS AND I LOVE TO JUST HEAR FROM YOU IN GENERAL. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT. I LOVE YOU GUYS!

Requests:  Reader x Laurens where they go out with the squad and reader looks really hot and Laurens whose like in love with reader can’t control himself and maybe leads to smut if you’re ok with that

John Laurens + reader teasing him while they’re at a bar?

Masterlist

Friday night meant going out with your friends for drinks, especially after you had met Alexander. You and Alex had met in college and after that you two hit it off instantly, doing everything together. You would be lying if you said you two hadn’t hooked up once or twice but you both mutually agreed that you two were better off as friends, you even helped snag Eliza for him. Being friends with Alex meant being friends with his friends, and thankfully they all liked you. All but one. John Laurens. For some reason, you two had created a friendship of your own filled with nothing but dry, sarcastic humor that nobody seemed to understand. You greeted him with insults and he would happily take them and throw one back at you.

You stepped into the taxi and gave the driver the name of the bar as you smoothed out your barely there dress. The forest green silky fabric felt like air to your skin, and you had to make sure you had actually worn clothes out. If the short length wasn’t enough, the dress also was backless as the fabric in the back started below your ribcage. You didn’t know why you had chosen to wear that dress. On Friday nights you had usually opted for a pair of jeans and a nice top but today you felt like dressing up a bit more, and you were definitely feeling yourself. The taxi came to a screeching halt in front of the bar, and you thanked the driver as you handed him a ten dollar bill. You swung your legs out of the cab and gracefully stood up as the New York City breeze hit your body. You smoothed out your hair before walking into the bar.

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let me get this straight

Rhysand drugged Feyre and made her dance and be humiliated UtM, but you can understand, forgive, and ship feysand.

Nesta insulted Cassian in a way she knew would hurt and literally kicked him in the balls, but you can understand, forgive and still ship nessian.

Elain and Lucien have spoken like two words to each other, but you ship elucien.

But somehow… Mor and Az, who have shown kindness and caring and consideration for each other, against whom the only really argument is “what have they been doing for 500 years?”… that’s too much. That’s where you draw the line.

Ok.

***I want to point out that I do ship all of these, to more or less of an extent. I, too, understand and forgive, for the most part. But… sometimes people’s attitudes towards moriel baffle the fuck out of me.

anonymous asked:

Imagine where Y/N overhears Jackson/Mark (idc which one) call her clingy so she starts acting weird and he confronts her about it

Originally posted by got7official

When the guys had gotten back from tour they’d all asked you to come over whenever you had the time, you’d often bring them food at the studio or come over to play games with Youngjae, but you’d never thought that you were being too forward till you’d over heard a conversation between Jackson and Jinyoung. You’d been about to walk into the kitchen when it happened, neither of them had noticed you yet so you backed out the second you heard your name. “Y/N is just.. shes around so often now… kind of clingy,” Jackson murmured to him then sucked his teeth a little, but you didn’t stick around to hear the end of the conversation you left quietly attempting to figure out how you hadn’t noticed when you’d become a burden. 

The problem was you’d always assumed you were annoying or too clingy, but he’d never shown any inclination that he hated it or wanted you to stop - in fact he seemed to cling to you with ten fold the vigor you had him. Your heart sunk again, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked into your studio apartment. it was a mess, you hadn’t been home long enough to clean so you started there, attempting to rid your thoughts of the words you’d heard was harder than you’d imagined. “king of clingy”  the words still rung in your head long after your apartment was clean.

Days passed, and even when you did come over you stopped hugging them so much or talking to them too animatedly, you toned down your personality not wanting to upset them anymore than you probably had. Youngjae was the first to notice, he asked you what was wrong but you shook your head them continued playing the game with him before sighing a little. It was only after two weeks that Jackson pulled you to the side when you were helping Jinyoung make dinner that you began to panic, “whats wrong with you?” he asked furrowing a brow as put his hand on your arm, “You’ve been different for a while now, and I figured maybe you were going through a slump or something but; honestly I figured you’d be back to normal so tell me whats going on,”

He seemed determined on finding out what was bothering you, but how could you tell him that it was him? Jackson the king of being kind, charitable, and an overall perfect person was the reason your self esteem had taken a plunge worse than even in high school. “It’s nothing, I’m fine just stressed with work is all,” you murmured barely meeting his eyes.

Jackson shook his head grabbing your face between his hands then smushing your cheeks, “ I don’t believe you,” he said emphasizing his words by squishing them every time he spoke making you smile a little - you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed the skin ship with him till now.

“I’m too clingy, you said so yourself,” you mumbled and his hands fell away from your face, “I didn’t want to bother you anymore so I stopped with the skin ship and being overly friendly because I don’t want you to hate me,” admitting it out loud was a lot different than saying it in your head. It hurt more to vocalize the words, which is why you hadn’t spoken about it to anyone having kept all the feelings inside. 

Jackson sighed a little then pushed a hand through his hair seemingly distressed, “Y/N, no I … you didn’t stay to hear what I had to say after?” he murmured as he looked at you, his brow furrowed and he pulled you into his arms kissing the crown of your head affectionately. 

“I didn’t want to hear anything else because I was scared,” you whispered as you leaned into him the tears pricking your eyes as you gently grasped onto his shirt still not sure how comfortable he was with you touching him.

He lifted your head so your eyes could meet his own, “I told Jinyoung that you’re clingy, but right after that I said I love how she can dish out whatever I give; it makes me feel loved how much she gives back to us in terms of physical affection - not many girls would be comfortable with it; but you’re different, you don’t cringe up or get awkward you take it for what it is, friendly interactions,” 

Suddenly you felt stupid. “Oh,” you murmured lightly then wet your lips a little, “I see,”

He nodded, “But I also told him I wished you weren’t so comfortable with touching the other members because  I kind of want you to myself,” he whispered the last part and you were positive your heard slowed down to almost a complete stop, “Y/N - I could never think you were annoying or too clingy because I never want you to stop touching me to begin with, if either of us is annoying its me,”

The admission of feelings from Jackson once again left you breathless, his eyes were intently staring into your own as if searching for some kind of answer “I ..” you stammer over yours words but decide on showing him how you felt would be better so you leaned up pressing your lips against his, and you felt the smile crawl onto his face it was then you knew everything would be okay.

- Admin Honey

We were freshmen in highschool

Her:Its my birthday!

Me: I know! Happy Birthday

She hung herself that weekend, its the only sentence I remember in her own voice. I would replay that sentence in my head for years to hear her voice. That was easily the saddest moment in my life.

Ill never forget what my grandmother told me after “you will think about her everyday for a long time, until you slowly stop. Then one day you will realize you haven’t thought about her in a long time, and you will feel bad about it, but you will always have those memories”. Truer words never spoken.

Be Still My Heart (George Washington x Reader)

Time Period: Hamiltime (Soulmate AU)

Word Count: 1,280

Warnings: None

A/N: My first fic ever published on this blog! :) Please tell me what you think. You can send requests in the ask box!

———–

You squirmed awkwardly in your dress, the heat from the summer day causing the material to stick uncomfortably to your skin. You strolled through downtown Manhattan with your best friend Eliza hanging on your arm. The sounds of the men at work filled your ears. 

“Anyways,” she was saying, “Alexander will be there and I would really like you to meet him.” She gazed lovingly down at the text scrawled on her arm: Schuyler? The first thing her soulmate, Alexander Hamilton, had ever spoken to her. 

“What time should I be there?” You asked her.

“Six o’clock. There will be food and dancing and lots of soldiers.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at you and you let out a laugh.

“Sounds exciting,” You said honestly. Your eyes flickered to your own Mark. Please, the fault is mine. You sighed.”You don’t think–?”

Eliza read your mind. “You never know,” she said in a sing-song voice.

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99 Problems (4/?)

Summary : You are an agent that worked alongside the Avengers , with an unusually close friendship with Captain Rogers. What happened when he reveals his true feelings for you before you leave on an undercover mission?  By the time you return from the mission, you’ve missed the events of Civil War.  What happens when you come home and most of your friends are gone? And when they return?

Pairings :  No official pairings yet, but Steve Rogers x reader, Johnny Storm x reader, Tony stark x reader, avengers x reader.

Warnings : swearing, angst,tiny bit of fluff

Italics are memories , & bold is the readers thoughts !


                                                        Chapter 4

    Am I supposed to say hi to him or ignore him? Why the hell do I even agree to come to these dumb things? This isn’t happening again… Johnny pulls you from your staring contest with Steve and onto the dance floor. He begins swaying you both to the beat of the soft music Tony’s DJ is playing.

“You don’t have to talk to him. Just forget about him tonight Y/n, you don’t need him,” Johnny says into your ear. You know he’s right but maybe you should be the bigger person here. You don’t answer Johnny, just place your head on his chest instead. When the song finishes, you both walk towards the bar. The only open spot was next to Sam and Bucky, which also means near Steve. You take a deep breath and make the first move over to them, Johnny hot on your heels.

  “Hey guys!” you say, a half fake smile plastered itself across your face.

  “Well hot damn, Storm you are one lucky man!” Sam says as he kisses your cheek and slaps Johnny on the shoulder.

Originally posted by almightybarnes

“I know I am, I’d hate to be the guy that lost this beautiful creature,” Johnny says. This is why I keep him around. You look to see Steve’s jaw clench at Johnny’s remark, knowing it was towards him. Bucky steps up to you next, leaning in for a kiss on your cheek.

  “You look gorgeous, doll.” You blush at his words. You guys have spoken a few times since the incident with Ross and he seems to be getting more comfortable with you which you absolutely love. He’s so much more than meets the eye.

 "You look pretty incredible yourself, Sergeant,“ you purr. You watch as his cheeks tint pink as he smiles and laughs.

Originally posted by little--batman

You hear someone clear their throat and you know already know it’s Steve.

"Hello, Steve,” you say politely. Be the bigger person, I can do this.

“You look stunning, darling,” He says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice. Sharon appears next to him looking killer as always.

“Sharon you look great!” you say, pulling her into a hug. You have no reason to be mad at her. She didn’t know about you and Steve, she’s always been nice to you, and you aren’t going to let Fuckboy Rogers ruin anything. She hugs you back, returning your compliment. You and Johnny finally get your drinks. You down your tumbler full of whiskey then order 4 shots of tequila. Johnny bursts out laughing next to you.

  “You know it’s not good to mix liquor, right? How the hell are you going to take four shots!?” he questions. You roll your eyes.

Originally posted by oggyrps

“I’m only taking two. The others are for you, handsome. Don’t you know you aren’t suppose to let a girl drink alone?” You ask like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs, taking down the shots with you when they appear. You see Johnny looking around the room and the group of beautiful girls giggling to each other and looking at him. Just because I’m not getting any tonight, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t.

You nudge his shoulder, tipping your head in the girls direction. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” You wink.

“I’m not leaving you! I’m your date!”

“Johnny, I love you for coming with me, but seriously. They haven’t taken their eyes off you and I’m not trying to cock block my best friend. GO,” You order. He salutes you and follows your order. You see all the girls swoon as soon as he reaches them. You snort as you watch them give him all their attention. You order more tequila, and as you down the second shot you feel a hand on your waist. You turn meeting a set of beautiful blue eyes.

“Hey Buck!” He laughs at your excitement.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten the chance to see you drunk yet, doll, but I’m liking it so far.” He makes you blush for the second time tonight. The slow song that begins to play catches your attention. Bucky sees the mischievous look in your eyes as they meet his.

“What are you up to now?” he questions warily.

“Sergeant Barnes, would you care to dance?” you ask softly, a tiny smile appearing on your lips. His eyes go wide and you can tell he is nervous.

  “Doll, I haven’t danced in a long time, longer than I’d like to admit.” You step forward, placing your hands flat against his chest.

“Maybe I can refresh your memory then. Please?” Your infamous puppy dog eyes are on full display. He sighs, letting you take his to guide him to the dancefloor. When you situate yourself among the others dancing, you begin moving slowly with the music.

“See? This isn’t so bad!” You both laugh and he sends you a dazzling smile that leaves you breathless. He swiftly spins you out then brings you back. Giggles pour out of you at his movements.

“You’re doing much better than you led me to believe, Barnes.” You raise your eyebrow at him. What a sly son of a bitch.

“Maybe I was just nervous about dancing with such a beautiful dame. It’s a little intimidating.” His 40’s charm shows, resulting in a permanent blush on your cheeks.

“You really know how to sweet talk a girl. I’m a little confused on why you don’t have a date Buck, you’re quite a catch.” Now it’s his turn to blush.

“I had a couple offers, but Sam, Steve and I decided to go solo tonight and relax.” Steve didn’t come with Sharon? Huh, maybe that’s why his tie didn’t match her dress. Whoops.

“I thought Steve came with Sharon?” you try to ask without seeming to interested.

“Nope, we ran into her and then her and Steve just kind of stuck together. None of us really like these events.” You hum in agreement. You didn’t notice the song change to another slow paced beat. You look up, locking eyes with Bucky. You didn’t realize how close your faces really are, your noses slightly brushing the others.

  “Mind if I cut in?” Rogers. Be fierce. He’s still an ass. Buck looks to you silently asking if you’re alright with this. You nod, pushing yourself up to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Save me another dance, Sergeant.” You wink, watching as a blushing Bucky backs away from you. His hands were replaced with Steve’s, his grip a little more rough. You stay silent as you begin dancing, keeping your eyes away from his.

“Are we going to talk about it? Or are you going to keep avoiding me?” You can pretty much feel the annoyance radiating off him.

 You sigh, finally meeting his stare. “Talk about what , Steve?” you say innocently. A frustrated groan rumble in his chest.

“The elevator, Doll. Playing dumb isn’t going to get you out of this.” Of course it’s not, nothing ever goes how I want.

“Steve, I don’t know what you want me to say. Yes, I did miss you. Yes, the kiss felt… fuck, it felt amazing. But you know what doesn’t feel amazing? Thinking of you kissing Sharon. I’m not going to act like I’m over it. You obviously don’t know what the hell you want and that’s okay. But I’m not-”

“I know what I want y/n, I want you.”

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

  He pulls your body flush against his, your chest pressing to his. He begins to dip his head down to yours. As he does, flashes of him and Sharon play in your mind; them kissing, the way you saw him looking at her when you first saw them tonight. You lean back, away from his oncoming lips.

“You think you want me, and maybe you did at one point. But I saw the way you look at Sharon tonight and the day you kissed her. It wasn’t how you look at Nat or Wanda. And as much as I care for you, I will not be anyone’s second choice and I will not compete for your attention. Steve I miss you, I miss my bestfriend. But I fight people for a living; I don’t want to fight with another woman over your love.” Maybe hell tell me I’m wrong… maybe this can work. Your chest tightens as you watch his unreadable expression as you speak.

“Thats all you want then? To go back to how things were? Y/n, I don’t think I can. It was easier before I told you I love you, before I got to feel your lips on mine. I do feel something for Sharon, but I-” I guess not.

“That’s all I need to hear, Steve,” you say. You push yourself away from him. You’re frantically trying to fight the tears that are threatening to pour out. I already knew how this would play, why is it still hitting me this hard? I need to get it together.

“Steve, we are just friends. And as your friend, I’m telling you to go dance with Sharon, don’t lose your chance.” The words burn as they leave your mouth. A defeated look spreads over his features. He lifts your hand and places a kiss on it.

“I love you. If this is what you want then I’ll stay your friend. Just remember y/n, this was your decision, not mine.” You nod, staring at his back as he goes to find Sharon. Johnny steps in front of you, looking you over.

“I heard everything, what do you say we get out of here?” he suggests.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that eavesdropping is rude?” He rolls his eyes and pulls you to him to dance. He holds you to him, shielding your face from others with his shoulder. He leans closer to you. “You’re covered, let them go babe,” he whispers. How does he always know?

Originally posted by stlleslydia

 You listen, letting the tears roll freely down your cheeks. You quietly sob into his shoulder for a few moments but quickly pull yourself back together when he warns your that he thinks Bucky is heading your way. Thank goodness for waterproof makeup. You hear Bucky clear his throat.

“Ready for that second dance, dollface?” You wave Johnny off, telling him you’ll find him after. He nods and winks at Bucky as he takes his place.

“Couldn’t stay away for long, could you?” you tease. He lets out a soft chuckle, rocking you both to the music.

“Listen doll, I’m not completely sure what is going on with you and Steve…”

 Oh great. A lecture from the bestfriend. Just what I need.

“Buck-”

“Let me finish. I know eavesdropping is rude,” he shoots you a look. Damn super soldier hearing.

“But I think what you did was incredible. No one should ever have to fight for someone’s love. Not a lot of people think like that, and it must’ve taken a lot to be able to do that. I know he is my bestfriend, but he is a punk so I honestly think you’re better off. It’s his loss. You, my darling, are too breathtaking not to want. I just feel bad for the man that you choose, he’ll be fighting the others off.”

 Your tears reappear, but not from sadness this time. Just purely from Bucky being so damn cute. He wipes them as they fall.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” You laugh and nuzzle your face into his neck.

 "They aren’t sad tears Barnes, calm down. That was just really sweet of you to say, thank you.“ You dance silently with him, keeping your face in his neck. You know things aren’t going to be exactly the same with Steve which sucks. The way Bucky spoke to you was as if you’ve been friends for years. The way he comforted you  and smiles at you ,reminds you of how it was with Steve before everything happened. Maybe Bucky was brought into my life for a reason.

Originally posted by lowkeysebastianstan



    A week later things between you and Steve went back to kind of normal. You’re beginning to think maybe you weren’t in love with him in the first place, you just loved him. You’ve always heard there is a difference between being in love and just loving someone, now you finally understand. Watching him and Sharon stung at first but it doesn’t bother you anymore. You find yourself gravitating towards Bucky more and more when he’s in the same room as you. He even comes to hang out with you and Johnny. They get along about as well as Sam and Bucky, just a little more civil. When you’re not with one you’re with the other.

   It’s now a little after four in the morning and you can’t seem to stay asleep. You begin to wander around the halls of the tower, not bothering to change out of your pajamas. There is something oddly calming about walking the halls in just a tee and underwear, knowing no ones awake to catch you. Or so you thought. As you reach the communal level, you decide to watch TV hoping it’ll make you tired. You walk through the doorway and see the TV already turned on. A familiar mop of dark brown hair peeking over the top of the couch. Why is he awake?

  "Buck?” you ask quietly, trying not to startle him. His head whips around.

 "Y/n, what are you doing up?“ His voice raspy, making goosebumps form on your arms.  How is he attractive at 4 a.m? He isn’t human. You become aware of your pajama, well lack of actually.

"I uh- I couldn’t stay asleep,” you confess, playing with the bottom of your black tee. You hear him shuffle around on the couch then signal you to join him. You jump over the couch, landing on your ass with a bounce. He chuckles then places his blanket over the two of you.

“Cute panties doll, didn’t take you as a lace kind of girl.” You watch a sly smirk spread across his face. You roll your eyes, shoving his bare chest.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, Barnes.” His cheeks flush pink at the suggestiveness of your statement. You giggle.

Originally posted by secretgif-s

 "So why are you up and what are we watching?“

"Nightmares still, not as bad as before though. And you chose, I’m still not too sure what’s good these days.” It’s not fair he still has nightmares, he deserves peace. Poor old man.

 You take the remote from him and explore Netflix with him, explaining which shows are good. You end up watching Parks & Rec. You both can’t control the laughter escaping as you watch half of Season One. You don’t know who moves first but somehow you end up laying fully spread out and spooning Bucky’s side as he lays on his back. His hand gently traces shapes into your bare thigh where it is resting under the blanket. You feel your eyes slowly get heavier and you try to fight it but quickly find yourself losing. You shift a little, ending up with your nose pressed into Bucky’s neck. You begin hearing quiet snores leaving his lips as his chest moves slowly.

  “Good night, James,” you whisper, placing light kiss to his neck. You give in letting your eyes close, falling asleep with a small smile on your face.

Originally posted by moan-s

 

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* My computer wouldn’t let me tag some of you for some reason :/ I’m sorry

At Your Mercy

The harsh winter in Mirkwood and the absence of a certain Elvenking do not leave you any other choice than hoarding all the blankets you can get.

Rating: G
Fandom: The Hobbit
Prompt: Imagine how Thranduil convicts you of late-night blanket stealing. 
Pairing: Thranduil Oropherion x Reader
Type: Reader insert, one-shot, fluff
Date: 16th February, 2015
Words: 1977
Warnings: Pure unadulterated fluff. A way too cheesy plotline. Overprotective Thranduil. Grammatically questionable Sindarin: “my love” (meleth nîn), “sweet dreams” (elei velui) and “love of my life” (meleth e-guilen).
A/N: This is the first and the only story that made it through my gigantic writer’s block. It is not more than an apprentice piece I wrote two years ago based on an imagine on @sindarinkisses, a now inactive Tolkien writing blog.
Beta’d: @jezvontesse

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

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Piece of Heaven [Okieriete Onaodowan x Reader]

[write-a-thon tag]

Summary: Oak helps you with your maid of honor speech for your best friend’s wedding.

Word Count: 2,426

Warnings: None, this is pure fluff y’all

A/N: “Ren, are you posting this a day earlier because you got a block for all the other days atm?” The answer is yes, BUT, I promise I’ll try to make up for it in the following week,I have ideas, just didn’t have any inspiration to write them yet besides this one. Oak was always one of my favorites and it makes me so happy that I got to write for him again, I hope you like it!

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“And in closing, congratulations on finding someone who you think you can put up with for the rest of your life.” Your arms fell to your sides as you finished reading your notes.

“This is going to be the worst Maid of Honor speech in the history of the written word.”

“I know,” you agreed, leaning against Oak’s dressing room vanity in defeat as he tried to hold a smile. “I just- I hate this. I hate that she’s getting married! She’s my best friend and he’s just an asshole and they have nothing figured out and-”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to use this wedding as an excuse for your mid-life crisis?” He joked, getting an eye roll in response.

“I’m not even thirty, Oak. I’m nowhere close to the age of a mid-life crisis.” You slowly walked over to the couch where he was sitting, falling by his side and placing your legs over his lap. “You’re one of my best friends, Oak, please tell me you know how to fix this.”

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NOTHING NATURAL by Diana Hurlburt

They call him Prosper, a measure of mockery for each measure of awe.

-

You know the road to the laboratory blind, could walk it in your sleep—have, because sleepwalking is telltale of the godborn, so your mother says and touches your ankle in rare affection where it rests on the porch rail, one foot on the earth and one in the realm of spirits.

“Spirits,” she repeats, gesturing to the road below, the spindly pine woods and the yellow haze of heat and pollution that makes up your horizon. “He controls the spirits.”

There are no spirits, only neighbors: Men and women and half-made machines given to rust, the detritus of civilization. A plot of bloodless jackdaws, midway between flophouse and refugee camp. You know that part of her statement, at least, is true. The weak and weak-willed, the dying, the once-dead, the discarded and useless, the flagrant all require direction. Seek strength. Are used by those stronger.

Sicaria laughs and makes her crooked cross, murmurs her oblique prayer.

“Get out,” she tells you in sudden rage, “go to your master. Get out of my sight, you unworthy and unclean thing, you who have forsaken the ways of God, you who cleave to the machines. Your eyes see only falsehood.”

-

It is fifteen years since your mother was cast out. It is your lifetime that has been spent in wasteland, the between-place, the unplace beyond the pale. It is a pine island that shelters you, a fanatic who raises you, a scientist who uses your hands and your back and his daughter who considers your mind.

Your mind. You know you have one. All creatures do, born or made. It is the First Law of Being.

Your name. If Sicaria gave you one it has been lost. It was only after Prosper’s carelessness that anyone else tried—his accident in the lab, though he would never call it that, surely you were at fault, your clumsy hands too broad for fine work and your elbows always in the way. Acid scattered from a flask, droplets caught in sun. You did not scream; it wasn’t the worst pain you had felt. In the washroom Miranda’s hands were gentle, washing, salving. They slowed after the initial motions and your pulse followed. You examine your two faces in the mirror. If you had ever displayed beauty it was gone now, Miranda’s heightened by your face now scarred. Her luminosity beyond the human and your coarseness, a sun and its shadow.

Her hand stayed on your cheek after its necessity had lapsed. She traced the remnants of acid, specks and splotches, long fingers black and velvet like the touch of night. You believe her grasp could shift moons from their orbit.

“Calvaluna,” she said, a cantrip reshaping your vision of yourself. “I read it somewhere—where? I have never read a book. I don’t need to, Father put his knowledge into my head before he activated me. But I hear it.” She tapped her forehead, then yours. “I hear it. It means you. It suits you. Calvaluna.”

It was prettier than you, you knew that, a beautiful name. Prettier than most things. Not prettier than her.

-

When Prosper leaves the laboratory it is less a retirement for the evening and more retreat. He would never call it that but you believe him fearful, after all. The powerful always are. He swings himself like a cudgel upon exit, he shouts for Miranda to attend him and cuffs you, a passing blow, thoughtless. Brutality is his lever, rarely compassion.

You know his laboratory better than he does, you think, wiping down counters. You know his daughter, made in his own image but ultimately fathomless. There’s a phrase in Sicaria’s Bible that makes you quiver when you apply it to Miranda.

It is full dark when Miranda comes for you. Your laboratory is Prosper’s in miniature, piecemeal and theft-built, squirreled away in a shed in the woods south of the pine island on which the best of the unplace’s hovels are built.

“It was a citrus packing house,” Miranda says as she always does. Touches the frame of the door right and then left, stretches to her full height to brush its top. It’s a ritual the way your mother’s prayers are, her prostrations, her rages. “Before the Laws took effect there was an industry here. Fruit. Citrus fruit.” She looks at you, a delight on her face that would fire the darkness. “Can you imagine it, Calvaluna? Whole stands of trees with fruit on them. Wild fruit, just growing. Imagine taking fruit off a tree and eating it.”

Your imagination is not that good.

She goes to the single table in the laboratory and stands before it in a manner you’ve thought must be like that of the Israelites in the Holy of Holies. You are not supposed to know what that means. You are not supposed to have holiness in your life. She looks at you briefly, with mischief, and draws down the shroud you have used to protect the R.E.L.’s shell from rain.

“I think we’re close,” she says. Her eyes are fascinated, distracted; her hand reaches for you. “Come here, Calvaluna, tell me if this is calibrated properly.”

“You have your father’s knowledge,” you say. But you go and look at the R.E.L. with her. You’re proud of the effort, the work of your joined hands. You are not supposed to have pride, either. There is no pride in being raised beyond the pale. In being the offspring of a hanged woman, a witch they would have called her in days past, a lawbreaker too iconoclastic to be allowed in the city and too ineffectual to be executed, spared for her belly to the tune of mockery. Certainly there is no pride in your form or your face.

“I think he’s almost ready to revive,” Miranda says. Her joy is the only light in these woods. The sun exists, you know, in theory. Miranda’s face is your only evidence thus far, fifteen years alive and far from those spaces left which thrive in natural sunlight. She links her fingers in yours, her thumb rubs the calluses on your palm; she points with your hands to the R.E.L.’s blank and staring eyes, his half-human head, his chest with its missing heart and its new core of wires. “Oh, Calvaluna! I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”

Nervous is not the right word for what you are.

-

“Calvaluna,” Sicaria repeated the day you told her of Miranda’s gift. She scraped the tip of her ritual knife between her teeth, grinning. “An appropriate name for you, my aborted dream. I should have exposed you as a sacrifice to God.”

There is no god but human will. This is the Second Law of Being.

-

Your fellow-spirits are all will-bound to Prosper’s caprice. He makes the cogs of the community turn, greases the paths of food and potable water and herbs plucked at the witching hour that make life slightly less… life-like. Thus he is obeyed.

“Daughter,” Sicaria echoes. She spits at the trash heap beside the back gate. “Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Such words I hear from your lips, my burden. Who was it gave you speech, that you fling curses in my face? I think maybe you’re the worse for your time spent in that man’s house. I see you confuse craft for birth.” She broods, her fingers twitching at the strand of beads beneath her wrapper. “But there’s no more to be done. How else are we to live?”

Once, and only once, you suggested that perhaps her god might see to living arrangements, if she did not like how you were turning out under Prosper’s tutelage.

“Go.” She waves to the wood path. “I heard tell there was meat today.”

If there was meat to be had, you suspect it’s long gone now. Your fellow-spirits are avaricious. What have they but base pleasures?

“He’s in a gloom,” Miranda says, her face round and open as a poinciana pod. “He’s made me clean the laboratory twice over, and asked me to cook… something. I didn’t recognize it, Calvaluna. Lentil soup? What is a lentil, do you know?”

You know of lentils.

“You can’t make lentil soup,” you tell her. “He shouldn’t ask you to do things he knows are impossible.”

“He believes anything is possible,” she says. You love and hate to see her countenance. You remember a time when she would have spoken the same words in hope and affection. You know it is your fault, the way she is changing, her will a canker on the face of beauty. You wonder what Prosper will do when he realizes it. You ponder in the night, sometimes, this scholar whose eyes perceive all but the truth.

Perhaps you will be gone before he awakens.

“Race me,” Miranda says, but she takes your hand.

“How am I to race if you keep me beside you?”

“A race doesn’t have to have a winner,” she says, and begins to run.

She times these things impeccably. She runs so that you can almost believe the light follows her footsteps, that she leaves no mark on the earth. Dusk springs up behind you. You prefer night, its honesty; you prefer the real dark that would cover most of your world if not for artificial day. The unplace is a hive of night creatures. Your fellow-spirits are easiest perceived in dimness, their proclivities hidden and their countenances smoothed.

Miranda keeps your hand in hers and runs, runs, fearless and laughing. She runs like a dart flung toward the center of the south woods, the pine cloven by lightning looming over your laboratory. The pine grows despite the wound at its heart. It is where you found the R.E.L.—one of Prosper’s cast-offs, what he termed a failed experiment—half-dead and crumbling piecemeal to rust in dank rainfall.

She drops to the base of the pine and pulls you down and points up.

“I know of stars,” she says, her eyes searching as though Heaven might reveal itself. “The Southern Cross, the Swan. The Pleiades. Many more names my father gave me.” She touches her forehead, as she does when she speaks of Prosper’s knowledge, planted in her like seed corn. She is godborn more surely than you can ever be, gleaming divinity. She touches your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. “I think they must look like you. The stars beyond our sky.”

She traces the scars and specks and splotches. She draws new constellations and names them, her fingers a warm trail on your skin, her breath a promise.

-

Just once you asked your mother if you would ever leave the unplace. You did not then understand that no one came to the salt-strewn plots of land on the city’s outskirts by choice—no one laid eyes on the pine island and thought, I am home. It is far more difficult to leave a place you have not happened upon by choice.

“He’ll be a protector,” you say, pliers in one hand and cording in the other. “His new code will require defense. Otherwise…”

You look at Miranda and think of what might happen to her if the R.E.L.’s defensive code does not run as planned. You picture yourself and remember Sicaria’s dark jibes, her reminiscences of city life. You rub your upper arm where the contraceptive block had been implanted. It only prevents some things, can halt neither the heady mix of desire and aspiration nor flat violence.

“Defense,” Miranda says, her face solemn in its thinking pose, unaware of your thoughts. “Defense, financials, new birth records and identification…”

Her voice skips along, almost merry, a fertile stream in which to seed possibility.

-

The Third Law of Being is the inviolability of life. No one has ever explained to you whether the Law covers all life.

-

Light explodes behind your eyes when Prosper’s hand meets your skull. Or, you realize a little belatedly, it is the fault of the lab table, the edge of it kissing your temple. Air rushes from your lungs. You stare at the vault above the shed in the woods, its ceiling gaping in sections to reveal leaves, the white sky of noon.

Miranda flies at him, her face dressed in horror. You have never kissed her, you think. You would prefer not to die unkissed; you’d prefer not to die at all.

“Ungrateful wretch,” Prosper says. “Twisted ape-child, spawn of—how thought you?” He smashes his hand across the table. “How thought you to betray my kindness? To turn my own blood against me?” He lifts one of the R.E.L.’s arms, almost delicately. “Whore and daughter of whores. Thief.”

Small comfort to think his rage stems from fear, but it’s enough. Prosper would not be angry if he didn’t believe the R.E.L. was sound.

“You.” He points to Sicaria in the doorway. One of your fellow-spirits has fetched her at his command and she is in a state, white-eyed and gagging on anger. “Take your mooncalf in hand, I never want to see her again. Corruptor.”

He catches Miranda and snares her arms, wrenches her close, covers her head with his hands as though she is innocent. As though healing and reviving the R.E.L. were not her idea. As though a child can be born of only one parent. The R.E.L. is your inheritance, legacy of unnatural issue, a being greater than the sum of its creators.

“This abomination will be destroyed,” Prosper says. Sicaria prays in the doorway, her eyes not on you nor on the R.E.L. but searching, seeking. She hates the sight of machines. Had the city not cast her out for improper worship she would have repudiated them anyway.

“He is an R.E.L.,” Miranda says. You stare despite the throb in your head, the blood in your eyes. Her voice remains soft, wondering, a caress on the cyborg’s clinical name. Aerial, a creature of movement and possibility. “Robotically Enhanced Lifeform. Give him his name, Father, lend some pity, even if you thought nothing of flinging him into the trash when he failed to serve you.”

“Abomination,” he repeats. “Homunculus, deformity—daughter. Listen. Calvaluna has done wrong in her ignorance but you… you are not ignorant, Miranda.”

You marvel at the blindness of the learned man, the man cast out for his learned ways, the man who has made the wilderness blossom in decay. Lord of chaos, king of the misruled.

“God be with me in this hour,” Sicaria prays, her hands on either side of the doorframe. “God be with me in my pain, God give me strength for the task before me, God grant me…”

Me, you mouth. God be with Sicaria, and science with Prosper, and neither passionate belief nor dispassionate prowess sustain them. Miranda looks at you from beneath her father’s hands. Her smile is your signpost, her trust your life raft. Your fellow-spirits are like unto you only in substance: Crude matter, blunt usefulness. Miranda is your true equal, beloved of your soul. Her eyes remain open.

Your eyes must remain open. You must get up. There are but two steps between you and the table, one step in the scientific process, a bare nudge of your fingers at the master switch. Miranda’s being is in your hands.

On the table, the R.E.L. casts off slumber and rattles to life.

Skinny Love - Chapter 1; KBTBB

Saiya’s POV

His every grunt was achingly breathless, pants short and breath intoxicatingly warm as the steel framed headboard continuously hit the bedroom wall at a ridiculous pace. My eyes fluttered lightly shut in a moment of uttermost sweet satisfaction; back arching high off the bed, my naked chest pressing hard against his as his thrusts became more powerful, less manageable, forcing my body further and further into the soft mattress and my limbs to become entwined poetically between familiar, silken sheets.

An exhausted last gasp escapes past my arid, dry lips and with a kitten like hiss my head falls back to hit the high pile of pillows behind it. An electric pulse of contentment, of honesty, of wholeness paints artistically over my body as it’s shining stars I begin to see. His fingers are quick to brush hair out and away from my eyes; tenderly tucking loose strands as neatly as he can behind my ears and promptly, before I even had a chance to figure out something to think or even speak, outline my lips and sweep tenderly across my warm, rosy blushing cheeks.

“You are so fucking beautiful”, he murmurs into the crook of my neck like a school boy getting lucky after a second or third date; his teeth nipping at the salty, sensitive skin and his tone of voice is somewhat deterrent; the first thing that comes to my mind is the thought of capriciousness and irresponsibility that like a bad reputation, comes undeniably with him.

“You haven’t told them have you?”

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