writing fanfiction on my mind

Kisses by Sunflower Beds

ao3 // for @reallyelegantsharkfish

It’s not like Cas didn’t know it would happen eventually, inevitably. Maybe he thought he’d be the first to go. He’s the immortal one, but the Winchesters did have a knack for surviving.

Still, knowing that something is going to happen, knowing that Sam and Dean would not live forever even though it felt like they should, doesn’t prepare him for when it does happen.

Sam and Dean go out like they always promised they would. Fighting. It’s an honourable death but what is the point of an honourable death, Cas wonders, when your loved ones are lost to you.

In his last moments, Dean sees his life flash before his eyes which is how he knows that this time it will stick, knows it’s for good and there’s no coming back from this one.

In truth, he doesn’t actually see his life but feels it. He’s overwhelmed by a sense of accomplishment and he associates it to every time he took care of Sammy when they were children, got them through the night, got his kid brother to laugh instead of ask questions. He associates it with the first time he shot a firearm and his dad called him a natural. The first time he saved a life. The first time he saved the world. The first time he made Cas come.

A wave of joy hits him after that. Prank wars with Sam. Antics with Charlie. Driving Baby. His first lazy sunday with Cas. Every lazy sunday with Cas after that.

With his dying breath, Dean smells motor oil and pie and sex and honey and it all smells good. It smells perfect melded together, though it shouldn’t, and if it were bottled the label would read Life of Dean Winchester. He doesn’t smell blood or burning flesh or sulfur.

He hears his favourite tune along with Cas’ clumsy mumble and Sam’s off key singing.

Dean feels his life slip away with all his senses save for sight. That’s not to say he doesn’t see anything. He sees tree twigs that look big in the chubby hands of children, he sees long dark hair he hasn’t encountered before, a stone path and a bed of sunflowers and the sight of an ugly yellow backpack in Baby’s backseat. He doesn’t remember any of these things, not really, but he still somehow recognises them. They feel like memories that belong to him.

He doesn’t spare it much more thought than that. Oddly enough, Dean’s last thought is of the botanical garden Cas had wanted- insisted on- them going to. Dean didn’t care much for it but agreed because he wasn’t one to deny Cas anything. Still, it took them years to find the time to make the trip.

Sam decided to come along because there’s a library in the area that has a whole section on south american lore, something the men of letters bunker was lacking. He knew he was essentially crashing their date so Sam offered shotgun to Cas.

He was a little cramped in the backseat and had to angle his body sideways to make room for his legs but he noticed how when Dean’s hand wasn’t on the gear shift it was in Cas’ so he didn’t mind so much.

Halfway there was when they got the call that lead the brothers to their final case. To this final moment where Dean’s only regret is that he doesn’t get the chance to be led around between patches of greenery by Cas as the angel prattles on about one fact or another.

Castiel drives the impala back to the bunker. He could have flown it but that didn’t feel right. He gets pulled over once and he thinks the officer takes pity on him. Cas can imagine what he looks like, the blue of his puffy eyes contrasting with the veiny red, hair looking like it’s been tugged at- because it has, his chapped gnawed-at lower lip stained red from the blood he can taste.

He doesn’t make it to the bed he shares with Dean. He pretends it’s because the bedroom is so far down the hall and he’s so tired and but it’s because he can’t bear the sight of it. He stumbles- he is exhausted- into a random room, sheds his trench coat halfway to the bed before he lands on it. Or lands on something on the bed.

SUPERNATURAL by Carver Edlund

It’s the room Charlie would stay in, he knows now. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up cracking open the book and reading all about the time Sam and Dean came across the croatoan virus for the first time.

It’s the real Dean, the depiction is accurate and these are real events from the hunter’s life but it’s not really Dean. It grows the already too wide hole inside of Cas. He can’t bring Dean back. But he can’t be without him. So Cas leaves to meet versions of Dean he hasn’t come across before, versions of Dean even Chuck didn’t take the time to write about.

Dean is three, almost four, when Cas, invisible, appears in the boy’s Lawrence home. Dean is kneeling on the sofa beside a pregnant Mary who keeps telling him that it’s ok to touch.

“It’s your little brother in there, Dean,” She says.

Dean purses his still thin lips, scratches a hair full of hair that’s only blond like Mary’s in the summer, and says, “That’s where daddy put him?”

Mary chokes a little when she laughs and moves into a tamed explanation of the birds and the bees.

Cas doesn’t listen, his eyes are peeled on Dean. This little boy who has no idea he’ll one day save a dying sun. This little boy that scrunches his face just like his Dean does, that shakily places a hand on his mother’s belly all false bravado, that has freckles splayed across his cheeks.

All Cas wants to do is to move closer. Is to stare. Is to see if three year-old Dean has all the freckles his Dean has or if some appeared with time. All Cas wants is to hold this boy. To tell him he’s perfect. To tell him he is loved. Cas can’t do any of these things.

He decides that’s unacceptable.

At eight Dean already knows how to shoot a firearm, so when the kids in his class want to pretend the sticks they find along the fence of the school lot are guns he’s happy that one boy wants to stack twigs as high as he can instead.

Every recess, Dean looks for a pair of blue eyes and the darkest hair on the playground and the two go off together. Cas- though Dean calls him Scottie in this vessel- recounts to Dean these wild stories about a pair of heroes, and they run around reenacting them.

Keep reading

Asa Butterfield Imagine (ASAnators)

Anon asked, “heeey, could you write an Asa Butterfield with 39 and 53 pleaaase”

A/N: Of course! This was fun to do in class, because pshhh who does their actual work in class. Not this girl! (eh sometimes lol) Anyway- I hope you enjoy it! Reminder: Reader could be male or female.

39. “How long have you been standing there?”

53. “I’m flirting with you.”

Word count: 605

I slept over Asa’s apartment… I kind of got into an argument with my parents about stupid stuff, so I called Asa asking if I could hang around his for a while. “For a while” ended up being the whole night. I didn’t really wanna be at my parent’s house.

I had a crush on Asa too, he was just- the best. He was my best friend too, and he was just so great, how could I not like him!? His voice is so soothing and beautiful. His eyes? Precious. Everything about him, is so good…and I just- like him a whole lot.

In the morning I woke up in Asa’s bed. He wasn’t next to me which means he probably slept on the couch, leaving me the bed. I got up out of his bed, and went to the bathroom to do the casual morning routine or whatever.

When I got out I went to the kitchen and happened to pass by the living room and saw Asa sleeping on the couch. I smiled softly. He looked all cuddly and warm and adorable, and just…he looked perfect.

I saw a paper on the table, and in his handwriting it said, “make yourself @ home, stay as long as youd like” I smiled again and left it at the table and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Might as well, right?

I decided to make beans and some toast. That’s Asa’s favorite. Beans on toast. That would sure make a nice morning. I put some music on. It wasn’t so loud, just in case I would wake him up or anything.

I started making everything, and I just do this naturally I guess…but I started singing quietly and dancing to the music that was playing. When I turned around to get a plate I saw Asa standing there next to the door way.

My eyes widened as a deep blush grew on my face. “How long have you been standing there?” I asked with a worried voice. Of course I was worried! That i so embarrassing, oh my gosh…

“Long enough.” he said walking to get the plates I was going to get IN THE FIRST PLACE. “Was that supposed to be cute or something? Intentional?” he asked. Yes Asa. I dance like an idiot to look cute. Duh.

“Yes. I’m flirting with you. Can’t you tell?” I say sarcastically. He laughed and put the plates down at the table. I laughed as well trying my best to not seem awkward. Thank God, I didn’t burn the toast…

I put some breakfast on his plate, and some on mine, and I kept the music on. “You don’t mind, right?” I asked about the music. “No, no, it’s fine.” he did say to make myself at home so, that’s what I’m doing. I nodded, and we both started eating.

After breakfast he looked at me and asked, “So when are you going back to your parent’s?” I sighed, “If you wanted me out that quick you could’ve just said so.” He shook his head and a smile showed up on his face, “I’m kidding. Come here.” he said holding his arms out and I received them.

This hug was amazing…it felt like all the bad things in the world no longer existed. I mean- that sounds stupid, but it’s true. “Thanks Asa. For letting me stay here and honestly everything.” I said. “No problem. It’s what friends do.”

Oh, friends. Right. Yeah, I doubt this is going any farther. So I nod and smile, hoping this hug lasts forever, even though I know it won’t.

  • Andromeda Tonks, who hears the wireless announce her husband’s death just moments after she’s stepped into the kitchen with the cold tea tray. 
  • Andromeda Tonks, whose world has been upended, who can no longer hear anything but a strange buzz in her ears and the crash of the china as she slams into a nearby counter.
  • Andromeda, who thinks that something’s not right, something’s wrong because Lee Jordan is a nice boy who wouldn’t lie about this, wouldn’t lie about things like this, but he must be because Ted can’t…he can’t have—
  • Then the buzzing stops and there’s a strange wailing sound coming from the parlour…Nymphadora, Nymphadora.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who runs on unsteady legs back to the living room to catch her daughter before she falls to the ground, her tears hot and heavy and splashing against her mother’s arms.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who sinks to the ground and holds her sobbing daughter to her chest and rocks her as she stares unseeingly at the floral wallpaper Ted had always detested.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who has to keep it together for her daughter’s sake—for her grandson’s sake—even as her hands are shaking and her mind is numbing and her heart is breaking.
  • Andromeda Tonks, no, Andromeda Black now, who comforts her Dora until Remus Apparates to their door and all three of them hold each other until Dora’s all but cried herself to sleep.
  • Andromeda, who feels only cold and numb but touches Remus’ rough cheek in thanks when he cleans up the kitchen and brings Dora up to bed.
  • Andromeda, whose wall of dignity and grace from years and years of Black upbringing finally collapses and she falls heavily on the couch because it’s the middle of the night now but she can’t she can’t go back up to the bedroom full of his things or the study that still smells like him or even the kitchen because he’d bloody bought that tea set
  • Andromeda, who can no longer stop the tears and the screams she tries to muffle by shoving her fists against her mouth and the agony is too much and she can be there for her daughter and her son-in-law tomorrow because it is too much right now and she’s panicking and gasping because she can’t remember Teddy’s voice she can’t remember she can’t remember— 
  • It’s many hours later before Andromeda’s throat grows hoarse and closes up and she just stares across the dark room with tears still sliding down her face and Teddy’s grin burned into the backs of her eyes.
  • Andromeda Black, who can hear many things: the cars passing on the street outside, Teddy’s whoop of delight when he jumped into the lake that afternoon in their fifth year, branches tapping the windowpane, Teddy telling her he loves her in a voice that’s raw and low and brittle as ice, a neighbour’s dog barking at nothing, Teddy laughing laughing laughing
  • Andromeda Black, who finally gets up from her sleepless dark eternity on the sofa at six in the morning with tear tracks on her sticky face and teeth marks on her fingers, who goes to the loo and washes her face and fixes her hair, who rebuilds that wall of strength and quiet courage and no, she’s not Andromeda Black, she’s bloody Andromeda Tonks and Ted Tonks will always be her husband and their lives aren’t over yet.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who marches onward for her daughter and her grandson and herself, who helps Dora give birth to a healthy baby boy, who squeezes her daughter and son-in-law’s hands when she hears her grandson’s name.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who goes back to that bedroom and that study—eventually—and tidies it up but just a little, even if just to remember the exasperated chuckle Teddy always used to make when she cleaned up after him.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who watches Remus Lupin come and go with more bruises and scratches and shadows under his eyes, and who then (after weeks of arguments) tentatively lets Dora back out because she trusts Remus to bring Dora back and trusts Dora to bring Remus back and they trust her to care for their son, their Teddy Lupin. 
  • Until one day, that horrible day in May, where they go and they don’t come back.
  • And Andromeda Tonks, who thinks she’s been here before, been in this suspended state of buzzing and silence and horrible clarity, feels as though the ground is swallowing her whole as she stares at Dora’s Lupin and her Dora, her beautiful beautiful baby girl, her darlingdearestdea
  • Andromeda Tonks, whose legs refuse to let her fall even as she gazes at her daughter’s peaceful face and thinks about how she’s failed Dora, failed Ted, failed the baby sleeping in the other room that has Dora’s mouth and Ted’s ears and—
  • Andromeda Tonks, who sees only blurs, who accepts condolences without listening, who returns stiffly to the house that once held everything and is now empty and silent and cold.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who no longer has any more strength to give, who no longer has any more tears to cry, who no longer feels anything except the throbbing throbbing pain in her chest that's’ never really gone away and is now threatening to crack her open because none of this was supposed to happen because being a Muggle-born wasn’t ever supposed to be a bad thing and this war wasn’t ever supposed to last this long and her sister wasn’t ever supposed to kill her own niece and she wasn’t ever supposed to have to outlive her own daughter, her own Nymphadora…
  • Andromeda Tonks, who finds that there are always more tears to cry, and this time when she collapses she’s scared she won’t ever be able to get back up again because all the walls of poise and dignity are down crumbling disintegrating and she won’t bother building them back up again—she doesn’t want to because it was that family that built them in the first place scorching them into her like a brand and that family that helped start this bloody war and that family that took away her entire world
  • Andromeda Tonks, who this time is silent in her grief, Andromeda Tonks, who is drowning in the feeling of her chest caving in and her mind screaming and her heart a writhing living broken flame burning and burning and— 
  • Andromeda, who through the tunneling blackness her existence has now become hears the wails of the one person, one thing she cannot abandon, because her health and spirit and sanity would fail before she dared to fail him; her grandson, her Teddy, her Dora’s pride and joy. 
  • Andromeda Tonks, who claws her way out of the empty chasm with no answer and furiously shakes away the numbness, who pulls herself up on her shaking legs and can almost hear Dora and Ted telling her to get up get up get up
  • Andromeda Tonks, who makes it to her grandson and scoops him up and holds him to her chest and sinks to the parlor floor where she’d held her devastated daughter once upon a time, cooing and fussing and crying alongside him for a mother who won’t ever return.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who remembers everything: Ted raising Dora above his head in the sunlight, the feel of his stubble in the morning, Dora’s giggles as she turns her hair pink blue green, those canary yellow sneakers she adored, licking the ice cream off Dora’s cheeks, Ted’s horrible singing when they stargazed on the Quidditch pitch in seventh year, Dora’s cartoons in the margins of her letters home, the three of them all together and hugging and laughing—and she knows she can be strong for Teddy and herself because she’s Andromeda Black and Andromeda Tonks and she will be the very best of both because this is her daughter’s son in her arms and their lives aren’t over yet.
  • Andromeda Tonks, who has risen and fallen and risen again and who will keep on rising for herself and for this boy, her grandson, her Teddy Lupin, and remind him all the rest of their days just how much his mummy and daddy and grandpa Ted and grandma Dromeda would always love him and love him and love him.



A little birdy told me it was @sai-shou’s and the twin’s birthday today~ XD Happy Birthday Sai! Lucy and I wish you a wonderful day and many more nice days to come. Thank you for being you. Stay golden!

Today was April 20, the twin's 22nd birthday, and it seemed Faith would be spending it alone.

Keep reading

ibonekoen  asked:

Under normal circumstances he would speak his mind, but, with a blaster against his head......

Apparently this sentence spawned an entire AU in which Jyn is still with the Partisans and Cassian’s job at the beginning of Rogue One is finding her, rather than Bodhi…

Cassian forced his racing thoughts downward, deep inside his mind, and reminded himself why he was here: Galen Erso’s daughter was with the Partisans; he needed a meeting with Saw Gerrera if he had any prayer of finding the girl and he needed the girl in order to find her father. No matter what he thought of the rough (and frankly barbaric) techniques of the Partisans – especially the short human girl pressing his own blaster into the back of his skull – he would keep his opinions to himself, follow his orders and get the meeting the Alliance so desperately needed. 

“I’m on your side,” Cassian hissed through his teeth, “I’m with the Rebel Alliance and I need to speak to your boss.”

“And what makes you think Saw Gerrera wants to meet with a member of the Rebel Alliance?” the girl asked with a sardonic laugh, her voice low and close to Cassian’s ear. 

“Because we have intelligence that he’ll want,” Cassian told her (he’d be looking straight into her eyes if she had the courage to stand in front of him, rather than keeping her face out of his line of sight), “We know that he has Jyn Erso among his ranks and we know that she’s in danger.”

Send me the first sentence and I’ll write five more!

Pardon Our Ectoplasm

Christmas Truce gift for @anemptymorgue, who asked for something humorous to do with Amity Park’s general citizens and their relationship with ghosts. Hope you like it!

This, Wes berated himself, is why you didn’t do last-minute Christmas shopping in Amity. “But you can’t be sold out!”

The blue-shirted associate - Neil, according to his name tag- shrugged. “Sorry sir; we’re technically not sold out- we’re out of stock.”

“What’s the difference?!”

“One has us selling things like a normal store, and the other one is that cyber ghost popping through the ceiling and making our inventory attack people like it was the machine uprising.” 

Another associate sweeping up broken and scorched plastic added, “Only instead of killer robots it was iPads and overpriced HDMI cables.”

“The cyber ghost?” Kwan piped up behind Wes. “Which one is that?”

“Yeah, y’know…the cyber ghost?” At their blank expression, Neil pressed. “Come on: green skin, lab coat, lame shades? Has that shrieky voice that sounds like that one dude?”

Wes glanced back at Kwan, Dash, and Dale, who all shrugged. 

“Wait, Terry would totally know this. He’s a big Ecto-Fanboy.” He called across the store, loud and echoing with nothing but empty shelves between them. “Hey Tere! What was the name of that ghost yesterday! The techie one?”

“You mean Technus?” someone across the store hollered back. “How do you forget that? He talks in the third person! He was constantly telling people his name. The first thing he said was ‘It is I, Technus, Master of Machines and all that goes beep-boop!’ He did it in that weird Gilbert Gottfried kinda voice.”

Neil snapped his fingers. “Gilbert Gottfried, that was it!” 

Keep reading

Teasing is caring (Derek Morgan x Reader)

Request (by @latina-spice​): Derek Morgan, #12 and #14 please and thanks!⇒ “Wait, I have an idea.” “Really?” s/he looked at him with a fake seriousness “Your mother would be so proud.” & “What’s your biggest regret?” “Trusting you.” “You make it so dramatic. All I did was eat the last piece of cake!” “Exactly.”

Fandom: Criminal Minds (no specific season)
Pairing: Derek Morgan x Fem!Reader (romantic)
Summary: You work at the BAU and, besides your job, the thing you love the most is teasing a certain agent. Valentines Day comes around and you have no date but who knows what can happen.

Warnings: fluff
Word Count: 829

Keep reading

Imagine Jacob being shy around you until he gets jealous about another man flirting with you

Originally posted by walshconnr

A/N: I got a ton of Jacob requests and this just happened to be the most finished work, so I quickly finished it up and badda bing badda boom! Hope you guys like it!

Jacob Frye.

A charming, ambitious man who was known to be skilled with both his words and his cane sword.

Did I mention he was a gang leader? And an Assassin?

His personality certainly befitted his job. And he knew it. His confidence and occasional arrogance practically radiated off of him.

And yet…

How come he had such a damn hard time talking to you?

It’s not like you scared him, or intimidated him. He respected you, and your presence always put him at ease. But just looking at you wasn’t what made him so nervous and flustered; it was when you talked to him. When you were so near him, he could see every little perfection and beautiful flaw. And when you spoke- we aren’t talking about little things, we’re talking about when you got passionate about the conversation. The way your eyes would light up and your voice would rise a little higher and your lips would curl into a lovely smile. He noticed those things about you, and he wondered how someone like you could even associate with him.

It probably didn’t help that Evie and Henry both knew about his little crush on you. Evie subtly teased him about it while Henry did his best not to bring it up for the most part (although sometimes he couldn’t hold back a small quip). Whenever you and him were anywhere near each other, Evie would cast a knowing look at Jacob, to which Jacob would scowl. It’s not like he was afraid of you rejecting him, of course not!

Well… maybe a little…

Or a lot.


It was a cool, cloudy evening in London. You, the Twins, and some Rooks were all having a few drinks at a pub, celebrating the victory over the Blighters in a big gang war. You were watching everyone celebrate, and your eyes lingered a little bit longer than normal on Jacob, who was drinking alongside a lanky Rook with blond hair. What was his name again? Nathan? Michael? No… Nigel! You were pleased that you had remembered his name, and in those few moments, you didn’t notice a man sit down next to you. You only realized he was there when he began talking.

“And what’s a lovely young lady doing here, all alone?”

You smiled, “Just enjoying the lovely London weather.” You replied. The man didn’t seem scary or malintent, so there was no harm in letting him talk, right? He laughed, “Ah yes, the gorgeous rain and clouds. Why haven’t the poets immortalized this city like they do Rome and Venice?” This in turn made you laugh, which caught the attention of Jacob, who was sitting across the pub. He glared at the man almost instantly- how dare that man just waltz right up to Y/N and start chatting her up like it was nothing! That was supposed to be his job!

He just sat and watched the two converse, periodically taking angry swigs of ale. He wanted to intervene, but it was Y/N’s choice. She didn’t look uncomfortable, so pulling her away would make her cross with him.

“Feeling a bit jealous, Jacob?”

Evie was smiling a tad mischievously at him, that same look in her eyes. Jacob rolled his eyes, “How can he talk to her and I can’t? I’m twice as smooth as that guy- and three times as handsome.”

“Maybe it’s because he has the balls to take a chance.” Evie smirked.

“I do have-!” He paused, realizing he really didn’t want to shout ‘I do have balls!’ in a pub, in front of Y/N.

“I do have them,” He continued, quieter, “But have you seen her? She’s just… wow.”

“I do see her. I’m seeing her right now.” Evie replied dryly. Jacob narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his nose. Evie went on before he could say anything, “Why don’t you just tell her after they’re done talking?” Jacob sighed loudly, “What if they don’t stop talking, though? What if they do more than talk?” Evie lightly smacked his head, “Head out of the gutter, Jacob. She doesn’t seem infatuated with him. They’ll stop talking soon enough- make your move then.”

Sometimes Jacob loved his sister’s logic, and sometimes he hated it. Right now, he wasn’t sure whether he loved or hated it.


“It was lovely chatting with you, love,” The man- Houston Price, you found out- was readying to leave. You just smiled and nodded, “I enjoyed talking to you as well, Mr. Price.” He took your hand and lightly kissed it, and bid you farewell. You felt a light blush on your face- it certainly was nice to be flattered by a young man every once in awhile. Even better, he was an utter gentleman about it. Usually you expected drunken swine.

“Y/N, may I, um…”

Jacob was standing where Houston just was, “May I have a…” He glanced over at Evie, who nodded her head encouragingly. “A word?”

“Sure Jacob, is there something wrong?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head, “No, no. Just… Come outside with me.”

You followed him just outside the pub, away from the other Rooks and Evie. You were alone now, and the streets of London were unusually quiet, even for a cloudy night. Jacob looked a bit… anxious? That was strange; Jacob was usually a ball of heave-ho confidence and a sureness that you had always admired. Now, though, he seemed almost worried.

“Y/N… I just…” His face was slowly getting redder, and he had a difficult time making eye contact with you, “I wanted to… ask… about that man from earlier.”

“Earlier, as in three minutes ago?”

“Yes.” He looked to the right a bit awkwardly.

“Well, alright. What about him?”

“You didn’t… you know… enjoy his company very much, right?”

“Well, he was very chivalrous and polite. I cannot say I didn’t.” You told him honestly.

“Oh… well…” Jacob seemed at a loss for words.

“You seem a bit off right now, Jacob,” You tried to look him in the eye, which he seemed adamant to do, “Everything alright?”

“No! Well… mostly, but no!” His voice got a bit more direct, and his eyes snapped up to meet your own. You blinked in surprise, but urged him to elaborate.

“It’s just… He was a stranger, who just started talking to you!”

“That’s how conversations work, Jacob.”

“No! I mean, he was flirting with you!” He put emphasis on ‘flirting’, as well as a bit of bitterness.

“What’s wrong with that?” You crossed your arms. You wished he would just get to the point.

“Because some sod decided it was fine to try to chat you up!”

You were a bit surprised by this. Why would Jacob care about that?

Was he…

“Oh my god,” You said aloud, “You’re jealous?”

Jacob almost looked genuinely offended, “Wha-? Me, jealous? I… I have no clue what you mean, Y/N!”

You were surprised by this newfound talkativeness from Jacob. It’s not like Jacob was a reserved person to begin with, it was just that Jacob always seemed quieter around you. It was as if he had little to say. Evie had told you once he was shy around you, but you hadn’t taken her words to heart. Turns out, she was right, because now that he had had a few drinks, and was overboiling with some kind of apparent emotion, Jacob seemed to be quite able to talk to you.

In the moments of reflection that Jacob had taken for a disbelieving silence, he was looking around as if trying to find what he wanted to say next. An awkward silence fell between the both of you, as you didn’t really know how to approach this situation, and Jacob was still trying to figure out how to word the things he wanted to tell you.

Evie was watching, hoping that Jacob would pull up his little boy pants and just tell her his feelings. Watching the two dance just out of each other’s reach was frustrating, sometimes infuriating. Y/N was a good choice for Jacob, as he needed someone like Y/N in his life.

“Look, Y/N, I just…” Jacob rubbed the back of his neck, deciding that he would rather get it done and over with instead of drawing it out like he was doing, “You know the way that Evie and Greenie look at each other? All sickly sweet and that rot?”

You nodded, and could faintly hear a tsking sound from Evie.

“Well, that’s how…” He shifted awkwardly, “That’s how I look at you. I guess I just wanted to say… I like you. A lot.”

“Like… like-like, or just…?”


“Oh…” You felt a rush of hidden happiness. Jacob had feelings for you? This was great! You grinned, “Well, Mr. Frye,” You tried to sound calm, although your insides were all fluttery, “I like-like you too.”

Jacob’s eyes lit up, “Really?” His voice was higher pitched from his surprise. He then coughed and repeated, “Really? Well, good.” His goofy smile spread across his face, and from where she stood, Evie could almost feel the happiness radiating off of him.


“You seem very pleased with something, Evie.”

Henry walked up to stand beside her, noticing Y/N and Jacob just outside. The two looked happy. Like two kids hearing that they would be getting their favorite dessert.

Evie smiled, her blue eyes glinting with quiet contentment. They were happy together, and they finally both realized it.

It took them long enough.

That Got Away: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction Part 13

Inspired by: Katy Perry’s “The One That Got Away”

 Bill Withers’ “Aint No Sunshine”

Featuring: Spencer Reid x Reader   Setting: Season 4   Rating: Mature

A/N: This is seriously hard to wrap up guys. I appreciate you all reading this far. Get those tissues ready! Warnings: Slightly public Smut and this is SUPER long. xoxo Stu

I do not own the lyrics, images or characters from the show.

Part 1   Part 10   Part 11  Part 12

This was the face you woke up to; the dewy-eyed relief of Dr. Spencer Reid. You felt like cotton balls had taken over your brain matter, but you were no longer in pain.

“Hi,” You said, sleepily. “What time is it?” You tried to sit up, but your body was so heavy. Spencer reached down and grabbed your right hand, sliding the remote for the bed’s hydraulic unit into your palm. Once you were nearly vertical, you took in the pathetic hospital room you had been granted.

“It’s nearly 6,” Spencer answered. “In the morning.”

“What a day, huh?” You tried to laugh, but your chest was bandaged. You rubbed your chest as the pain dulled, slightly.

“You have some bruising on your sternum, so that is why your chest is tender.” Spencer started to recite your chart. But you interrupted because that line was too good to leave there.

“But Sir-sir, I thought my chest was already tender.” You hummed at your self-amusement; drugs are nice. He rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue in his cheek at your raunchy pun.

“Yes, mon cher, it most definitely is.” Spencer sat down in the metal framed chair beside your bed. His face was serious now. “We have your aunt and Kurt Hansen, the bellhop, in custody.”

“And Michelle?” You asked, voice slightly hitching in alarm.

“She attacked Morgan and Prentiss had to stop her. I’m sorry, Y/N, but she’s dead.” Spencer rubbed along your forearm.

“Oh, good riddance,” You mumbled. You knew you should feel guilty about her death, but it just wasn’t coming to you. Not after all this.

“She was found with the murder weapon, Y/N,” Spencer continued. “It looks like she was the one who killed your dad. Miriam was probably the mastermind, but Michelle was the one.”

You yawned into your left hand, allowing all the information in. The past few days were a fairy tale in the earliest use of the phrase, dripping with viscous monsters and a speckle of unexpected romance. The surrealism of it was hitting you now. “Spencer, will you stay with me? I know I don’t deserve it, but will you be here when I wake up?”

He nodded, his brown eyes drowning in concern. “Of course, of course.” He bent over the railing on the side of your bed and kissed you goodnight. He sat back into his seat, pulling a tattered book from his satchel. You couldn’t read the title, but he did appear to be using an old scratch off as a bookmark. You smiled as the gentle hum of machines and the drips of their drugs whisked you away.

Hey, I oughtta leave young thing alone
But ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone

Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
Only darkness every day

The semester in Greece was a whirlwind. You had never been so possessed by your studies as you were walking the foothills and shoreline paths. The scenery was beyond all of your childhood fantasies. It wasn’t until your third week in Athens that you realized you had missed four phone dates with Spencer. Your stomach pitched as you realized how you would have felt if he had done that to you. How hadn’t you known how long you had been gone? What had you done?

You immediately left the cafe where you and your small group were eating lunch. You found a tourist cart and bought a postcard.  The rushed apology and quick small talk about his holidays were a weak attempt at atonement. It didn’t matter anyway; Spencer had moved and would never receive the letter.

Keep reading

mattsunflower  asked:

"why do you even bother with me anymore" + iwaoi OR bokuaka~ (gotta have /options/) <3

Bokuto finds his target easily in the dim-lighted pub. He always did stand out - always striking in a way that is so trenchant, so disconcertingly direct. Akaashi Keiji looks expensive - his suit, crisp and well-fitted in black and emerald green, just like money, like he’s made for finer things; his eyes like diamonds, sharp, bright and icy and as they flicker to Bokuto’s, a humourless smile curls his lips upwards. His hair falls around his face like a crown of ink and onyx, a prince among commoners.

Bokuto can’t allow this mistake twice. Akaashi is no prince - he is a king, a ruler. His kingdom lays in shadows and he has no face; he is elusive - just like water, he slips away with ice-cold trace. He’s beautiful but knife-edged - the more you stare, the more you are a goner.

Akaashi’s fingers curl around the crystal glass that’s sitting on the table and he lifts it towards Bokuto - a challenge. He murmurs something to the man next to him–someone whom Bokuto recognises as Konoha, Akaashi’s right arm–and he nods his dirty-blond head in a curt, short reply. He knows better but to disagree to whatever he’s being ordered.

And with that Akaashi’s walking away–alone and unfollowed by his men–towards the back exist with the grace of a person with conviction.

Bokuto follows, his palm around his gun, he’s ready.

He finds Akaashi in the back alley, waiting. His posture is straight and severe, his dark gaze cool and certain, unrelenting. He always held himself so controlled and distant, never giving anything away, uncooperative like a porcelain doll in all his ivory and ink colouring.

“Why do you bother,” he says, voice coolly and it comes more like a statement than a question.

“It’s over,” Bokuto says and ignores his sense of danger. Akaashi’s come out alone, unprotected. He can take him down. It’s what he’s here for.

Akaashi’s lids smooth over a cool gaze, the flicker of the night lambs illuminating his face, the arch of his cheekbones, the proud lift of his chin. There’s no fear in him, not even apprehension.

But Bokuto remembers, he remembers those ruthless lips are also warm and human, he remembers how he goes pliant in bed, warm and soft and malleable like cotton. Like a dark flower, he unfolds, like a fine wine, he matures–flushed and sweet, expensive.

And if he’s lived a lie, then be it, but he has seen those eyelids give in and flutter, he has felt his breath hitch and his hands tremble, and as he takes out his gun and points it to the only person whose betrayal has hurt him, he wonders why in a moment of victory, all he feels is loss, hard and painful, seeping in his veins like poison.

“Kill me then,” Akaashi says, “do it.”

“You could have stopped,” Bokuto tries, “you could have–”

“What?” Akaashi asks, “Loved you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Bokuto swallows the pain, swallows it just like when he found out his mark lays in his bed at night and loads his gun. “You’re a liar.” His voice comes shaken, rasp.

“Am I now?” Akaashi stands straight-backed, unyielding. He’s waiting. “Kill me, then.”

“I will.”

“Okay,” he says, “do it.”

One press of his forefinger and Bokuto’s going to close a two-year case, one press of his finger and he’s going to do what many have failed. 

Akaashi clicks his tongue. “You know nothing Bokuto Koutarou. And you emotions will be the end of you.” He turns away, stars walking. The street lamps flicker, it starts to drizzle, the wind blows south.

Bokuto’s holding him at gunpoint, watches his back, his suit, crisp in black and emerald. 

He shuts his eyes and feels the rain.

The cold never bothered him anyway.

Akaashi tuns the corner and with that he’s gone.

nai-nye  asked:

For the sentence prompt, Tsukihina - “I loved you.”

Thank you for the prompt! I hope that you like this, I had a bit of trouble figuring out what to write, so I hope it came out okay!

Send me a sentence prompt from here and I’ll write you a little tsukihina thing!

11 - “I loved you.”

It’s been nearly two hours since Tsukishima arrived at the bar and, frankly, he’s not completely sure why he’s there. Or, rather, he’s not sure why he’s still there. He knows why he went and the reason isn’t even there.

It’s not, like the others might think, because of Yamaguchi or Yachi. Although, to their credit, they really urged him to go, so much so that he can effectively use that as a cover when Tanaka drapes an arm over his shoulder and comments on how they rarely see him at these monthly get togethers.

Karasuno’s volleyball team has remained surprisingly in touch since the original third year’s final game in high school and they frequently get together for dinner or drinks.  Tsukishima doesn’t usually go, not to say that he’s completely opposed to staying in touch. He’s remained close with Yamaguchi and Yachi over the years… but it’s easy when you’re roommates. Occasionally, he’ll go out for drinks with Asahi, Daichi, and Sugawara and Ennoshita checks up on him every so often, maybe a habit from when he was captain.

Keep reading

Star Scattered AU (drabble)

Based on this ‘lil AU idea

It all happened so fast.

One second his fingers fumbled with the magnet gun, static energy arcing from the contraption and making the hairs on his arm stand on end. The next, Dipper lay breathless on the ground, launched about five feet backwards when the ship’s engines activated. The ship his great uncle was currently trapped in. The ship that, as his adrenaline affected brain struggled to make these very connections, had already reached a distance so great it looked like a mere pinprick.

Coming to his senses, the boy shot to his feet, slightly wobbling as his head grew fuzzy from sudden blood rush. He shot a desperate hand to the sky

“No!” he shouted hoarsely, squinting at the dot in the sea of deep blue through glossy eyes. “Oh no, no, no, this can’t be happening! This can’t be real, he can’t be gone!”

His limbs trembled, and his breath quickened as he realized what he’d just done.

He… he was gone. Ford. The magnet gun was broken. He couldn’t save him.

He failed at saving him.

Dipper reached up to cling to the brim of his hat as he attempted to stop himself from climbing into full-on panic, but reminding himself of the magnet gun he’d taped to his arm instead. He growled in frustration, and tugged at the tape. The stupid thing! If the dumb device had actually worked, he might have been able to reach his Grunkle Ford and stop the ship from launching in the first place! But going by his current record he probably would have failed at this too, acting as only a mere disruption to the craft’s aerodynamics before ultimately freezing in the Earth’s upper atmosphere. No matter how many times he replayed and re-analyzed recent events in his head, no matter what object or person or occurrence he tried to attribute blame to, he knew he had nothing to blame but himself. If only he had the presence of mind to control his fear like his great uncle asked him to, they wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place!

Dipper tore the remainder of the tape off his arm and bundled it into a ball. Yelling in frustration, he tried to throw it into the launch exhaust vent. Instead, the tape remained stuck to his fingers.

“Aughhh, come on! I can’t even throw tape now without screwing up??”

His voice echoed through the resonant structure. In the distance, he heard the chatter of birds within the belly of the ship as they flew away from the emergent noise. The sound only served as another futile reminder of how very alone he truly was. All previous energy evaporated away, the boy slumping to his knees in defeat.

“I’m so sorry, Great Uncle Ford,” he whispered, not speaking any louder for fear that he’d break down right here. “I-I’m sorry I wasn’t- wasn’t brave enough for you.”

“For the hundredth time, I’m not your babysitter.”

Installment III in the Drabble Challenge

Spencer x Reader, Prompt #142 | takes place after Reid gets shot in the leg in “Nameless, Faceless” (S5 E1)

You heard a loud thump from the bedroom, followed a muffled curse. With a frustrated huff you rose from the couch and marched towards the source of the noise. You could barely resist the urge to roll your eyes at the sight that greeted you.

Spencer was on the floor, wrestling with his tangled sheets and pausing every so often with a pained expression on his face to reach for his injured leg. Barely even 2 weeks after getting shot by an unsub and he was already insisting he could get up without any assistance whatsoever.

“Seriously, Spencer? Again? I told you to tell me whenever you needed anything,” you scolded, making your way to help him get back into bed.

“And I told <you> that I don’t need a babysitter,” he said stubbornly as he batted your hands away. You rolled your eyes and looped your arms around him to heave him onto the bed despite his protests.

“For the hundredth time, I’m not your babysitter. I’m your girlfriend and I’m trying to help you, you idiot.” You brushed his hair away from his face just a little too roughly judging on the annoyed look Spencer shot you.

“I have an IQ of 187.” His face scrunched in pain as he attempted to shift back to lean against the headboard.

“But you’re still an idiot.” You punctuated your claim with a kiss to his furrowed brow. “You got shot in the leg, love. Hate to break it to you but that warrants a bit of help.” He let out a heavy sigh. You sat next to him, nudging his shoulder with yours. “What’s eating at ya, doc?”

Spencer stared down at his fidgety hands, a sure sign that something was bothering him.

“I just - I just don’t want to feel… like a burde-”

“Don’t you say burden, Spencer Reid,” you interjected. “You, while on a case to protect a man and his son, saved said man by taking a bullet for him. You’re far from a burden - you’re a hero.” His lips twisted up in that way they did whenever he was trying to hide an oncoming smile. You knew all he needed was a bit of affirmation. Spencer was one of the bravest people you knew and sometimes he just needed someone to remind him of that.

“You good?” you asked with another shoulder nudge. He gave you a small nod before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now, what is it you were trying to do earlier?”

“I um… I needed to get to my bookshelves?” he admitted meekly.

“You risked ripping your stitches and irritating your wound for a book?”

“I finished the 5 you put on the side table… and the 3 tucked between the mattress and the bed frame.”

You shook your head disbelievingly. “Fine, how about this? I’ll grab a couple books and we can read them in bed together, but you have to promise not to try and get up without help until you’re properly healed. Deal?”

“Will there be cuddling?”



anonymous asked:

how about one kind of like the changling child short story you posted a while ago, and the whole town thinks Allen is a fairy child (optional plot twist, it's actually Link)?

*smile* The changelings in that story set were thinly disguised autistic people, anon. I like the prompt though! I’ll just be taking it in a slightly different direction.

By the time Link is four, he still hasn’t spoken. He can hear just fine, though, so while he pats his hands against the ground, nodding his head to the rhythm of his parents’ words, he hears ‘changeling’ and ‘fae child’ and ‘dangerous’.

He isn’t bound in iron chain or run through with a silver stake, but he does get left in the forest for the fae to reclaim. They never do.

He runs his fingers against the bark of a tree and wonders why not, but instead of dwelling on it, he decides to walk. He has to end up somewhere, he figures, and hopes he ends up back home. It’s too quiet here, without the sounds of the spinning wheel or footsteps on wood, and the birds are too shrill; his ears hurt and he feels cold.

He finds his way out of the forest, eventually, but he doesn’t recognize where he ends up, and he’s frightened, now, and his mind is on fire. It hurts, and the town is too loud, too busy.

The space by the baker’s shop is warm, and he hides there, covering his ears and crying.

Eventually, he smells baking bread.

By the time Link is six, he’s spent more time by the baker’s than almost anywhere else; he likes the smell of baking things, and it’s warm, and the stale bread is easier to eat. He still doesn’t speak, but he listens and tries to absorb the knowledge of flour and sugar and temperature through the wall, and when he lingers after asking for leftovers.

When Link is seven, the baker tells him that he is looking for an apprentice, and Link finds his voice and asks, “Apprentice?”

Leverrier looks surprised, for a second, and then he almost smiles and he says, “I’d teach you to bake.”

“Teach me to bake,” Link echoes, and he smiles, quick and bright and hopeful.

As Link turns eight, nine, ten, Leverrier gathers a few more children, none his apprentice, but in other trades - Madarao learns smithing, Tokusa and Goushi hunting, Tewaku weaving and Kiredori butchery.

He takes a little of what each of them earn, but Link thinks nothing of it, and as time goes on, he learns to speak better, to be polite always, and most enjoyably of all, he learns to bake.

When Link is fourteen, another child wanders out of the forest, lost and confused and holding his arm to his chest.

Link finds him and blinks at him, and then he says, “Are you okay?” because you should be polite always.

“I- I think so?” the boy says uncertainly, and Link wonders briefly how you can be unsure, and then the boy goes on, “Who are you?”

“Howard Link,” Link says, and Leverrier was surprised when Link remembered that, but he heard just fine as a child.

“Oh.” The boy hesitates, and then offers in return, “I’m Allen. Allen Walker.”

anonymous asked:

for the spin the bottle drabble prompts, how about makoharu + “This is the third time in a row that you landed on me, I’m starting to think that it’s rigged.”

Sorry if this one has a lot of errors/doesn’t flow well. I was watching chopped while writing it and you know how food can totally fuck up a proper thought process

Haru quirked a somewhat impressed brow, his stare sliding up from the glass bottle pointing at him in the middle of their circle to his sheepishly smiling best friend.

“This is the third time in a row that you landed on me, I’m starting to think that it’s rigged,” he said suspiciously, folding his arms over his chest and enjoying how Makoto squirmed at the accusation.

“I swear, Haru, I’m not cheating!” He whined. From next to him though, Rin scoffed, unconvinced.

“They’re probably using their freaky mind powers to move it,” he teased with a sharky smirk, and Nagisa agreed with an exaggerated giggle.

“Mako-chan, if you want to kiss Haru-chan that much, we can play Seven Minutes in Heaven instead,” he winked.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

new anon please hit me over the head with dad might as hard as you can

I took that as a challenge, went and wrote probably the fluffiest and chessiest Dad Might I’ve ever written. I hope your in for it, dear anon! =D (Also, no hitting, sorry, I’m a pacifist.)

Here we go:

Living at the dorms, Toshinori had discovered, had quite a few perks to it, apart from practical reasons like being close to his students should anything happen, or being safe from harassing reporters.  

Most importantly, there were three times a day the former hero had come to enjoy very much. The evenings spent together with everyone, where they cooked together, before they proceeded to laze around the living room. The afternoons after training, where they usually played, trained some more, or he helped the kids doing their homework.

And, his most favorite, the early mornings.

Those early mornings where he went to wake up each of his students where the times Toshinori had come to love. It gave him the opportunity to see his student for what they really were – still children, innocent and young, even though they had already faced quite some hardships. It made the growing feelings of affection and protectiveness towards them even stronger.

There was Shouto, sleepily blinking up at him when he shook him awake gently. Bakugou, already awake when Toshinori entered his room, yawning and mumbling that he would be right there (no swears at all, since those mornings made even Bakugou calmer and more relaxed). Uraraka with gloves on which made sure that she didn’t float away in her sleep, humming softly in her throat when he called her quietly. Mina, instantly awake as soon as Toshinori stepped up next to her bed, waiting for a chance to hug him tightly and press a wet kiss to his cheek in greeting. Tsuyu, smiling softly at him and asking him if he had slept well before he could even ask her the same.

Each and every one of those little habits and details where already deeply ingrained in Toshinori’s memory, tucked away safely and close to heart, but every morning, he would beam in joy when they repeated themselves. Little gems that he intended to keep as long as he could.

But his absolute highlight, the one thing he saved up for last, was waking Izuku up.

The reason for that was not how peaceful Izuku looked in his sleep – even if he probably was the most calming sight Toshinori had ever seen in his life.

No, what really made this worth-while was the fact that Izuku sleep-talked.

Toshinori had discovered this approximately a few weeks prior, when he had first taken up the job of waking up the kids. Somehow, he had expected that Izuku, with his strict training regime, would be a light sleeper, would perhaps even be awake before someone could come and wake him up.

But the exact opposite was true, honestly. Izuku in the early mornings would be conscious enough to register being spoken to, even conscious enough to mumble and whisper something, but he could not be waken up that easily.

And in this state between sleep and waking, Izuku was quite talkative. Sometimes, it had sounded as if he was trying to solve a riddle even in sleep, or as if he was still dreaming.

But there had been this one time, when Toshinori had pulled the blanket off the boy in a fell swoop to wake him up, that Izuku had called out quite clearly, “Noooo, five more minutes, dad!” and curled back into himself.

That had been the moment where Toshinori had spat blood in surprise, blanket slipping out of his grip as he muffled his startled coughs behind one hand and used to other to steady himself as his knees turned to jelly all of sudden.


Holy shit, it had been a good thing that Izuku had still been asleep, elsewise Toshinori would probably have suffocated upon their shared surprise and embarrassment.

Not that he minded, truly, he didn’t he… he had felt like floating after that, weightless and good upon hearing that the boy – his boy – thought that much of him. But still… facing Izuku after such a surprise was different. Probably the boy would even deny that he had said that, and that would hurt way too much.

So Toshinori settled for these early mornings, looking forward to each of them, eager to see what sleepy Izuku had to tell him this time.

Perhaps he was being childish about this, but he really had come to enjoy those quiet, peaceful minutes where he didn’t have to worry about not playing favorites with his student. Where he could just spend some quality time with Izuku.

So once he had made sure that nineteen of his students were up and ready to go, in no danger of falling asleep again once he left them, Toshinori made his way towards Izuku’s room.

Entering it, closing the door behind himself, Toshinori instantly heard the soft breathing that indicated that Izuku was still dead asleep, and a smile made its way onto his face.

Checking his watch, he noted that he still was almost fifteen minutes too early.


Slinking over to the bed, Toshinori took a quick look, smile only widening at the sight.

Izuku was facing him, laying on his side. The boy’s mouth was standing open ever so slightly, breath coming deep and slow. At some point, Izuku had kicked his blanket off the bed, like he had done so often already.

Chuckling quietly, Toshinori crouched down next to the bed, taking a closer look. There were no wrinkles between Izuku’s brows, his whole expression relaxed and peaceful in sleep, not worried or thoughtful as it was so often.

So young, Toshinori mused, reaching out to push a lock of green hair out of Izuku’s face. So young and yet such a hero already.

Izuku sniffled in his sleep, twitching as the gentle touch tickled him. Humming, the boy shifted, brows crinkling slightly as his consciousness resurfaced.

Pausing to make sure that he had not startled his student awake, Toshinori waited until Izuku had settled again before he sighed. Nothing for it. He had to wake the boy up at some point, anyway.

“Izuku,” he called softly, reaching over to stroke the boy’s freckled cheek. “Time to wake up, my boy.”

A confused sound left Izuku. Stirring, the boy blinked one eye open, then the other, blearily focusing on his mentor right in front of him. “Hmmmm?”

“Good morning,” Toshinori whispered gently, unable to keep the soft smile from his face.

“Mo’ning,” slurred Izuku, eyes falling closed already as he added something in a quiet mumble.

Chuckling, Toshinori shook his head at his student. Obviously not really awake yet. Cupping the boy’s face again, he said, a bit louder. “Izuku. Come on, no falling asleep on me here.”

There was a muffled sound, before Izuku’s left hand latched onto Toshinori’s, keeping the bigger hand trapped.

After a pause, Izuku tugged.

The pull was surprisingly strong for someone still asleep, and Toshinori actually had to steady himself before he fell flat on the bed in front of him. Choking out a laugh, the retired hero noted the impatient tug at his still trapped wrist.

Izuku was trying to pull him down onto the mattress.

“Oh no,” Toshinori snorted, tugging his hand back, “This is about getting you out of the bed, not about getting me into it.”

Izuku scrunched up his nose slightly, wrinkles appearing between his brows when he was denied. Apparently he was conscious enough to notice and get impatient, since he tugged at Toshinori’s wrist again, a bit stronger than before, mumbling something.

“Izuku…” Toshinori tried again, fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice as he put up some resistance.

And then, there it was, gentle and soft and yet like a punch to the stomach – Izuku mumbled, tugged, and finally, let out an impatient, drawn-out, “Dad!”

It was the second time the boy had called him that – and while half-asleep, too – but it still felt as if someone had pulled out the rug from under Toshinori. He took a sharp breath, shock, surprise and pure, unaltered affection rushing through him.

Izuku whined again, softer this time, frown deepening. Any longer like this, and the boy would probably wake up.

That shook Toshinori from his stupor, and he relented, “Okay, it’s okay, shhhh… scoot over, come on…”

It didn’t take much convincing anymore. Izuku let himself be pushed aside slightly, grip around his mentor’s wrist loosening as he subconsciously got aware that his will was being granted.

Toshinori had to be careful, getting his tall frame into the too small bed without waking Izuku up completely, but finally, he managed.

As soon as he lay down on the mattress, Izuku pushed into his personal space again, mumbling all the while, eyes still closed. Like a cat, the boy snuggled against Toshinori’s chest, twisting and turning until he managed to hide his face in the crook of the man’s neck, arms wrapped around him tightly.

Obviously content with this, Izuku sighed and relaxed again, making a content sound in the back of his throat.

Chuckling softly, Toshinori tested the waters by carding on hand through the green mop of hair. As Izuku let out a sound resembling a purr and snuggled even closer, the chuckle turned into a soft laugh, and the former hero dared to wrap his arms around the boy.

“Good thing you’re not awake right now,” he whispered to Izuku, getting a drawn-out hum in answer. “You would probably die of embarrassment.”

Another hum, and Izuku mumbled sleepily, “Five more minutes…”

Biting back a loud laugh, Toshinori agreed, “At least five more.”

Maybe even ten minutes, the former hero thought as he watched his boy with fond amusement. Twelve minutes top.

Oh yes. Toshinori really liked those early mornings.

kerfundlesnachle  asked:

I'm so obsessed with the champion's deaths why but anyway a thought came into my head that what if the new champions somehow (idk how through ✨magic✨) witness like a flashback to the original champion's deaths and its very dramatic and everyone is spooked and scarred (esp Sidon like that's his sister holy mmm) can u do a scenario for it i always dail whenever i try to write out my mind fanfictions

I feel man, like why must good die yooooung!! that was a 100 years ago but still i’ll be sad about it for a 100 years more. Omg what a good idea, a wonderful bone chilling idea. I hope I do this awesome idea justice  ~skeleton

Ok I kinda went overboard with this oops


Yunobo was on his way to deliver the boss some more pain medicine when he was suddenly struck with a feeling of utter defeat. He falls onto his knees as the medicine bottle slips out of his grip and rolls across the floor. Suddenly he is not in Eldin, he is aboard rudania. There is blood. So much blood. Normally at the sight of such horror he scream, cry , anything. But he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t feel anything even as his great ancestor, Daruk, was struck before his very eyes. “I-I-I guess I’m a lou-lousy shield eh li-little guy”. The wave of nothingness was gone yunobo sobbed and sobbed at each wave of pain. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the pain medicine. Without thinking he picked up the bottle and swallowed the medicine. After a beat he realized where he was and what had happened. Looking down at the bottle he stood up and backtracked the way he had come. “you were a wonderful shield” he said to no one on his slow trek back.


Riju sighed as she stared out into the night sky. Another restless night. Even though the threat of an out of control Naboris was a thing of the past nights like these, when the nightly winds held a bit more moisture than they should, still spooked her. Then suddenly a loud clap of thunder startled her out of her reverie and suddenly she was whisked into the midst of a terrifying electrical storm. Aboard Naboris. She whips as another clap resounds behind her. Urbosa. The Urbosa is right in front her fighting a horrifying creature that was using her own element against her. Urbosa face down on the ground. The creature prepares its weapon. Riju is screaming “MOVE MOVE” but its too late. She blinks and Urbosa is impaled. Urbosa sneers “bas-tard” before all the color drains from her and she collapses completely. When Riju finally becomes aware of her surroundings she’s being held by one of her guards. The other informs her she was screaming and thrashing. They look concerned. She stops them before either one can ask her about it, “I don’t want to talk about it”.


Sidon woke up crying. He was overcome with a wave of despair and utter pain. Seeking solace. He got out of bed and left his room and rushed to the domain center. He didn’t stop until he reached the statue. Her statue. It glowed and glittered in the moonlight and his racing heart started to slow. It was quiet save for the soothing sounds of water around him. Suddenly he noticed water coming from the statue, was it- was she- was Mipha crying? The sounds of water turned loud and unpleasant. Mipha was in front of him as clear as day. She was alive! She was- she was- in front of one calamity Ganon’s demons. Sidon ran to her as fast as could but she and it seemed to get farther and farther away. She closed her eyes. SISTER NO- She began to speak softly- SISTER PLEASE- “Link”- SISTER WAIT IM ALMOST- “I’m afraid I won’t be able to heal you anymore”-MIPHA- “or my little brother”-IM RIGHT HERE MIPHA PLEASE- “I’m sorry”. And like that she was gone, the moment was gone. Sidon was kneeling at the statue, tears streaming from his eyes. “No mipha, I’m sorry I couldn’t heal YOU”.


He doesn’t admire the divine beast Medoh’s former champion as much as the other current champions admire theirs. He thinks Revali was too proud, too arrogant. And then the dream. More like the nightmare. Revali’s a bloody mess, his flight choppy and ungraceful. He looks as though he falling apart at the seams. Teba can almost feel Revali’s torturous pain. Each breath is filled with agony. But Revali’s expression is that of concentration, his beak forming a grim line. He’s smacked onto Medoh’s back truly spent, teba is screaming at him to stay down, nut he gets back up. He gets back up, he gets back up, until finally he doesn’t. His final words breathy and haunting. “I’m sorry everyone, I’m sorry”. Teba bolts up from his bed and breaks into a cold sweat waking Saki next to him. She’s asking him if he’s alright, Teba can’t seem to hear her. He whispers into the night. “He truly was a noble warrior”.  

Of Fears and Insecurity

Summary: The first time she caught a glimpse of him, he was being praised by her father and somehow, that made it all the more worse. – Zelda, Link and a little bit of insecurity. Oneshot.

Relationship: Link & Zelda (BOTW)

FFNET Link: x

Notes: Have some zelink first meeting before calamity ganon strikes because why not? This is also crossposted on fanfiction.net, if you wanted that kind of format.

Keep reading

fruit facts

okay can we imagine this: 

Penelope, Morgan, Reid, and you decide to go to a farmers market, after Pen begging you all to join her. 

While you are there, of course Reid just spits out facts about fruits and vegetables. 

 "This mango looks so good!“ Penelope exclaimed, picking up the fruit for further examination. 

“Mangoes are actually related to cashews and pistachios.“ 

"You really do know something about everything.” Derek laughed, putting his arm across Penelope’s shoulder. 

“What about kiwis, pretty boy? Any fun facts about them?” Derek asked. 

“Male kiwi plants can pollinate up to eight female vines.” He blurted out. 

“Do you also watch fruit porn or something?” You asked, pushing him away slightly. 

“N-No, when I was young I read a book about fruits after going to a farmers market.” He explained, stumbling over his words. 

“My turn!” Penelope sung, searching the table for a fruit. 

“What about a durian?” He asked, tossing the fruit to Reid. 

“They can actually make your body temperature rise.” He said, placing the fruit back to its original place. 

“Last one.” You said, searching the shelves for another fruit. 

“One fact about a pineapple, go.” You said, grabbing a small piece of pineapple from a container that read ’samples’. 

 "I know a fact about those.“ Derek joked, a smile filling his face. 

"Ew!” Penelope and I said in unison. 

“Actually, that fact isn’t necessarily true. All the evidence for that anecdotal, and not scientific.” Reid said. 

“You couldn’t just let me have one, just one.” Derek groaned, pouting obnoxiously.