written work

I’ve Got You

Someone on Twitter said how they wished the elevator scene had ended differently without Owen walking away, and because that ripped up my heart as well, I wrote the tiniest thing ever xD It wasn’t supposed to be more than this, so before my twinsie goes ‘it’s tooooo shorttttt!’ hahaha xD I love you really twinsie <3 Here it is :)


The elevator doors opened and the ‘bing’ sounded to show they had arrived at the destination floor, but Owen couldn’t move. He didn’t know why, he had no idea why. Him and Amelia were barely talking, they didn’t really see each other, they didn’t really even look at each other if they passed in the hallway, but now he couldn’t move. He couldn’t not care, because the worst thing in the entire world was the look on her face when he glanced over to the other side of the elevator. The worst thing in the entire world was how much her face crumbled, and how there were tears all over her face, and how her deep blue eyes were puffy and the slightest bit red. He didn’t know why he had hugged her, he didn’t know why he couldn’t leave. Only he did. He knew, and he had known from the minute he stepped on the elevator and saw her face. He loved her even when he hated her. He loved her even through the ‘worse’ part. He loved her so damn much that no matter how much he tried to not, it didn’t even make a dent, it didn’t even leave a scratch.

The doors started to close, and the elevator started to move again. Owen wrapped his arms around Amelia and pulled her in close, rubbing small circles on her back as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you.” He soothed. “I’ve got you.”

the finished version of disappointing_your_abuela.jpeg, based off my favorite headcanon of Lance deciding to teach Keith a little Spanish, and suffering when Keith picks it up annoyingly well and looks up how to say some steamier things ;3c

(note that my Spanish is absolutely atrocious and if I screwed up feel free to send me a message and I’ll fix it.)

anonymous asked:

🌷📚🐝

Sunlight lights the freckles on Dean Winchester’s nose. They always get more obvious in spring, and Castiel loves it. He likes the little brown sprinkles covering Dean’s nose and cheeks, going perfect with the bright green of his eyes. Dean doesn’t see him staring, he’s focusing on his homework.

Castiel, who is normally the one to be concentrated, keeps looking at Dean next to him. It was a perfect day to sit outside, so they decided to get their boring work out and lay on the grass in Castiel’s garden.

It smells like spring; flowers and warm sunlight, just warm enough so they don’t have to wear jackets. Dean’s barefoot, his toes playing with the soft grass. Cas smiles when he sees it, then quickly returns to his work.

“They think we can like… stop time or something,” Dean complains and nods at the pile of books with him. “How are we going to finish this in one weekend?”

“We don’t,” Cas huffs. “And then we fail all our classes, get kicked out of school and go live out on the street.”
Dean’s laugh is as bright as the sun that’s currently creating speckles of light peaking through the leaves of the trees.

“Oh man, y’know what?” Dean softly pokes Cas’ bare arm. “As long as we’re homeless together, I’m cool.”

Cas smiles and quickly turns to his work so Dean doesn’t see him blush.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They work for a while, exchanging questions and answers as time passed.

“Ugh,” Dean groans and rolls on his back, leaving his work next to him. “I’m dead.”

“Condolences.” Cas says and smiles as well when he hears Dean’s happy laughter. He puts his pen down again, too. He lays on his stomach and starts picking daisies, carefully, and begins to thread them together.

“Whatcha doin’, Chuckles?” Dean asks. He’s closed his eyes and lets the sun warm his skin.

“Surprise.” Cas smiles.

“If you’re trying to feed a bee again, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Bees are very important creatures, Dean, and I wasn’t feeding it.” Castiel continues his thread of flowers, making it longer until he can create a crown.

“You were guiding it to the biggest flowers. I call that feeding.”

Cas finished of the crown and shifted over to Dean.

“Don’t move.” He gently places the crown on Dean’s hair. “There.”
Dean opens his eyes, smiles when he sees Cas above him.
Cas moves away so Dean can sit up, gently feeling his hair.

“You made me a flower crown?” He asks with surprise. “Dork.”

“It looks great on you, Dean. Very natural.” Castiel says half-joking, half serious.

Dean looks like a fairy, or one of those aesthetic models.

“Yeah, y’know what’s very natural too? Walking around naked with a leaf hiding your dick.”

“Would go great with that crown.” Cas laughs, rolling on his back. Dean chuckles and flops down next to him.

“Oh, you know you wanna see that.” He turns his head and gives Cas a lopsided grin. He grins back.
“Totally. I’ll make sure to take pictures, for later blackmailing.”

Dean playfully pushes against his arm and smiles, turning his face back to the sun.

They lay together in the grass, happily ignoring the books and essays unfinished at their side.
“Cas- have you ever stolen something?”

They always play this game. One of them asks a ‘have you ever’ question, the other answers, then asks a question. The only rule: be honest. It sounds like a lame thing, but it has been helpful to both of them during difficult times, cheering them up.

“No,” Cas says after thinking. “Well… maybe a pen, at school- but never intentional.” He thinks. “Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?”

He could see Dean smile from the corner of his eyes.
“Well- Miss Talbot was pretty hot, but I didn’t have a crush.”

Castiel remembers the teacher they had last year, that got all the guys in awe- except for Cas, who had always been more interested in the handsome science teacher’s biceps.

“Did you ever think about kissing a teacher?”

“Nope,” Cas says proudly, “Did you ever think about… kissing a guy?”

He makes it sound so light, but his throat is closed and itchy.
Dean’s answer takes a while.

“Yeah,” He says softly. “Did you?”

“Yes, plenty.“

Castiel doesn’t know what to ask, but Dean goes first.

“Did you ever think about kissing me?”

When Cas looks to his side, Dean is looking at him. He can’t help but smile because of the flower crown in Dean’s hair and the expecting, nervous look on his sun kissed face.

“Yes.” Cas admits.

“Okay.” Dean seems happy, proud even. “I- uh, kinda thought about that too. Few times.”
He doesn’t look away from Cas, who feels frozen in place. Dean sits up and leans in, a little unsure as he places his hand besides Castiel’s head. “Should we, uh-”

“Yes.” Castiel repeats, but he feels out of breath as Dean’s freckled nose moves closer and Dean lightly bumps it against his.

His lips taste as sweet as the air of spring, filling Cas with colorful butterflies, saturating him with warm happiness. He expectantly leans in and pulls himself closer to Dean, to savor more of those plump lips. Dean’s hand is still next to his head in the grass, his other tracing an invisible line over Cas’ arm.

Castiel’s own hands find a place on his lower back, and Dean smiles against his lips. They pull away. breaths full of each other.

“This okay?” Cas asks, though Dean’s smile says everything.

“Very okay.” Dean hums, already leaning back in.

Castiel now pulls himself up and turns them around, carefully rolling Dean onto his back in the grass and flowers. Dean’s crown is still somehow on his head.

Cas kisses him again and realizes Dean even tastes like nature. Fresh and new and delicate, yet anciently rough and strong. The perfect balance, having Castiel amazed with every new second he kisses and tastes.

He gently takes Dean’s bottom lip before Dean makes a soft sound and takes Cas’ lip in his own, glad to pull him closer, deeper into that feeling they’re so new to.

Maybe spring fever got them both hypnotized, but they forgot about their schoolwork, everything they had to do.
Dean is running his fingers through Castiel’s hair, pulls him close until they’re both completely out of breath. One moment Castiel is on top, testing and trying Dean out, the other moment Dean is hovering over Castiel, careful and hesitant though knowing how to make him surrender.

The spots of sunlight through those leafs create a magical feeling, as if they did stop time and are all alone, with no one else in the world.

Maybe both of them have waited too long for this to end already, maybe they only now realize how much they wanted, they needed this.

It could’ve been hours before Dean softly pulls way one last time, rolling on the grass next to him.

For a moment, he’s quiet, then his fingers reach for Castiel’s.

“I meant it.” He says.

“What?” Cas frowns.

“As long as you’re with me, I wouldn’t mind being homeless.”

Castiel smiles and squeezes Dean’s fingers.
“Even though I agree, I think doing some more homework is a better idea.”
It takes them a little more time to get back to work, but after a while, the books are reopened and they try to focus.
But with their new experiences of each other, the rest of the afternoon isn’t that bad after all.

send me 3-5 emojis and I’ll write a fic based on them

Meant to be mine. (AO3)

Taking a dip into the youth and mind of Riko Moriyama, because I didn’t find anything the like and because I just want to.

“Look at me.” Green eyes reluctantly followed the order and fell immediately onto the number. Riko answered. “This will be our mark. Our sign.” He grinned. “I’m number one. You’re number two. Nathaniel is three.”

Dress (Sugar daddy!Calum smut)

Summary: You wear a dress guaranteed to send Calum up the wall (okay pls I can’t do summaries but it’s sugar daddy and they fuck and ahhHH hot stuff!)

Word Count: 4.8k (SO LONG OH MY GOD)

Warnings: There’s three sections of smut! Yes, three! Also daddy kink and bondage ;)

A/N: Jfc you have no idea how much effort I’ve put into this! I really hope you like it, I think it’s pretty good, if I do say so myself <3

Originally posted by cashtonkinks

For my CEO!5sos blurb night with @felicityash and @pretendtobepunkrock!

Crisp shirts. Sparkling cufflinks. Neat sheets. 

Just some of the many things that spring to mind when you think of him. 

Calum Hood, CEO of Hood Incorporations, hasn’t left your mind ever since you met to discuss a partnership deal. Your father owns a business similar to Calum’s and you, his devoted daughter, handle some of the more day-to-day tasks, including meeting with the extremely attractive business partner.

From the start you knew Calum was different. Maybe it was the elegance in which he operated, the silky smoothness embedded in his voice. 

Or, perhaps, it was the fact that he’d had you spread across his desk within ten minutes of your first encounter. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

60! :))

I combined the prompt 60. “Oh, do that again.” with @leiascully exercise challenge. 

Set after “My Struggle” most likely; around that time anyway. 

His fist raised to knock, Mulder pauses a moment, realizing he’s never been here before.

Scully’s apartment.

The first time they were partnered, before they were ever anything else, how long did it take him to come to her place? A week, maybe? Two? He can’t remember. The forgetting, he realized early in his treatment, is a side effect of his medication. Some days he curses it, like he curses so many things. Other days, he accepts silently, almost joyously. When it comes to Scully and their past, though, he doesn’t want to forget even the most insignificant moment.

He knocks, finally. His knuckles tingle as he waits for her to open the door. Gone are the times when they lived in the same place, coming in and going out with a kiss hello or goodbye; gone are the days he has a key to her place. Scully has invited him over, though, for the first time in almost a year so maybe this means they’re making progress. Or she is just tired of constantly driving out to their – now his, as she likes to remind him – house. Either way, he won’t complain. He won’t ask either, though. Mulder is not sure he’s still allowed to ask; their relationship, in whatever form it is, twists anew at every turn and right now he can’t tell where he is, where she is. Where they are. So he stays quiet, masks it with a smile, and he is certain she does the same. He’s learning to take baby steps, do one thing to get to another. The days where he jumped in, no questions asked, no action thought through, those are gone, too.

“Oh hi.” Scully greets him when the door finally opens. She stares him up and down as if she’s been expecting someone else.

“Why are you dressed like that, Mulder?”

“I’m wearing casual clothes.” He explains slowly, looking at her. Of course she’s dressed for the occasion already: tight black running shorts and a very form fitting, short sleeved running top in a deep, dark blue. Mulder tries not to stare, tries not to react, but he’s like a Pavlovian dog when it comes to her. She clears her throat and he swears he hears her amusement. Some things simply never change. His eyes meet hers and the twinkle he sees there lets him think today might be a good day for them.

“Why are you wearing casual clothes, Mulder? You can’t run in jeans.”

“I can run wearing an Armani suit, Scully, so the question is I can’t or you won’t let me?” Just like that her mood shifts; there’s the slightest quiver around her lips that would go undetected by anyone who hasn’t spent the last twenty years observing her, loving her.

“Mulder…”

“I know, I know,” he apologizes, “I just didn’t want to scare away my Uber with my tights.”

“Mulder, you need a car.” She finally opens the door wider and Mulder, albeit hesitantly, steps in. The apartment, he realizes, is not at all what he expected or feared. There is nothing here that screams Scully at him. A few picture frames are up and the book shelf carries a few medical journals, a couple of books. There are no personal trinkets. He sees none of the novels she still claims not to own, the ones that are full of fairytale romances, tropical settings and atrocious writing. Mulder stumbled upon one of her dog-eared paperbacks a couple of days ago when he tried to tidy the place up. Just in case, he tells himself. In case she ever wants to come home.

“That’s why I took this job, Scully. Skinner promised me a car.” She rolls her eyes while massaging oil into her legs. The smell reminds him of lazy Sundays years ago when she, not him, wanted to go running. Just in case, she’d told him. In case of what, he’d wondered even then. Unbeknownst to them it had been the beginning of the end. Yet, the sweet scent fills him with a longing. At least back then they’d been living together, sharing their lives, such as they were.

“If you want to keep said job, Mulder, you need to get back into exercising.” She pats his stomach, which he believes is still firm enough.

“Are you saying I look fat?”

“No,” she continues her pre-run routine with stretches that make Mulder hot for entirely different reasons than exercise, “I’m saying you need to get back into shape. Which is why I’m asking you again: why are you wearing this? Where are your running clothes?”

“Like I told you,” Mulder says, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans patiently and slowing down even more when he sees Scully watching him intently, “I didn’t want to scare away the driver. I came prepared.” Taking his jeans off all the way reveal his running tights. Scully bought them for him a couple of years ago and he protested, preferring his much looser shorts, but she told him to try it anyway. He’s been wearing the tights ever since.

“They still fit?” Her voice, as well as her eyes, soften, the memory though unspoken seems almost palpable in the small room. Afraid to break the spell and unable to form words anyway, Mulder just nods.

“Well then,” Scully raises her arms into the air, her top riding up and revealing the slightest peek at her stomach. The need to touch her there is almost unbearable and he straightens his own shirt to distract himself and his hands. Scully lowers her arms and the moment is gone, leaving only the lingering sense of longing. “Let’s go?” Her hands are on her hips and she’s staring at him, challenging him. Some things really do never change, he thinks, and nods.

*

They return an hour later with Scully hobbling on her feet and clinging to him. Mulder offered to carry her and upon receiving the eyebrow withdrew his offer and instead put his arms around her. He’s essentially carrying her this way, too, but he knows she lets it count because her feet are still on the ground. Her body is warm, hot even, after their intense run. She tried to outrun him knowing that despite her smaller physique, she is in much better shape. They didn’t speak at all, just ran, and somehow always fell into step with the other. Until they suddenly didn’t.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she’d told him through gritted teeth, trying to stretch her left leg and keep running. “We can keep going.” She’d said then, her wet, teary eyes betraying the strong resolve in her voice.

“The only place we’re going is your place – and slowly.” She had not protested then, except for when he tried to carry her, and now here they are. Scully lets go of him and he almost reaches out to stop her, not ready to lose the close contact, and wobbles into her bedroom. She doesn’t tell him to follow and Mulder stands there, half in, half out. His eyes wander about, searching for his jeans, so he can leave. Maybe. He doesn’t know what the protocol is in this situation.

“Mulder?” A muffled voice comes from the bedroom. He takes a few steps and stops in the doorway. The room is as sparsely decorated as the living room, maybe even more so. It reminds him of a hotel, not the ones they used to stay in, in a very sterile, very impersonal way.

“Yeah?”

“Could you, uhm… I hate to ask this of you, but…” Scully is sitting on her bed; she’s taken her shoes off, but she is still wearing the rest of her running gear. She looks young and cute and as much as Mulder wants to voice this, his feelings for her, he keeps quiet and waits for her to go on.

“My leg really hurts and… it’s just a kink. I had it before and uhm, the best way to get rid of it is a massage.” She’s unable to meet her eyes so his grin goes unnoticed. He clears his throat and nods. Which of course she doesn’t see either.

“Sure, Scully. Just tell me what to do.” She sends him into the tiny bathroom to get oil. There are several small bottles and Mulder doesn’t want to think about why she even has them. He picks the one that smells like peppermint, knowing she prefers that for her after run routine. At least he hopes this still rings true. By the time he comes back, Scully has taken off her running tights. The sight should not paralyze him like this; it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, touched before. He used to kiss down her legs, tickling her behind the knee and making her laugh out loud in delight.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Her question jolts him back to the present time.

“Nothing. I just got the oil.” He joins her on the bed and wonders if he should take off his own clothes. He is positive that he reeks. But his hand lands on her thigh and she moans – loudly. Mulder forgets everything else after that. He uncaps the small, green bottle and pours some of the oil into his hands. He’s done this before, of course. As he puts his hands on her soft skin and starts kneading gently, he can’t help but think of other times they did this. When she moans again, in a way that reminds him of a different situation altogether, he closes his eyes as if in pain only to realize it’s even worse, his mind feeding him unwanted memories. No one, least of all Scully, taught him to navigate this; the remains of their relationship. I need time, she had told him once when she came by the house to pick up a few things, and you need to get better without me here, she’d finished, leaving him again, alone and waiting. No manual to sift through; even if, as Scully would most certainly remind him, he never reads the manual anyway.

“Oh, do that again!” Scully moans and that’s when Mulder stops.

“I can’t do this, Scully.” His hands remain on her leg, warm and firm, oily and soft.

“You’re doing great, Mulder,” she assures him, her face sideways on the pillow, her eyes closed, “Just keep going, please.”

“No, I mean I can’t do this, whatever this is.” One eye opens, then the other as she shifts to look at him. “Why did you even ask me to come here? I can go running at home, you know. You used to do it there, too. It’s a much nicer neighborhood.”

“You’re right,” she sits up with difficulty, “Maybe I wasn’t completely honest when I asked you come here to exercise together.”

“Are you going to make me guess?” Mulder asks when he can’t stand the silence any longer; his therapist implored him to work on his patience, and he has, but right now, he can’t wait when his heart beats faster with a sense of hopeful longing he hasn’t felt in a while.

“Maybe I finally wanted you to see this place,” Scully admits, biting her lower lip; he knows her, reads her easily, and he knows she’s still holding back something, and so he waits, one eyebrow raised, “Do you like this apartment, Mulder?” For a moment he considers lying.

“No. I hate it.” He tells her honestly and she nods.

“I hate it, too,” she admits, her eyes never leaving his, “I miss our house,” she hasn’t called it that in a long, long time, “But I wanted you to see it and well, give you a key. I didn’t mean for my leg to be this bad. This – the massage was not part of my plan.”

“You had a plan?”

“Kind of,” she chuckles, “I thought I’d give you a key so you could consider this your home away from home, too.”

“That’s what this is for you? A home away from home?”

“No,” she takes his hand into hers and stares at his fingers, gently running her own over the back of his hand, “It’s a refuge. I needed one, Mulder. At least for a while. I’m keeping it because… it’s so much closer to work than the house, Mulder.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.” Scully rolls her eyes at him, but then smiles.

“I want us to stay here during the week and then… go home for the weekends.”

“Together? You want us to live here together?”

“Unless you don’t want us-”

“Scully, as long as there’s an us, I want it all.” She grins at him coyly then and lets go of his hand.

“You’ll keep going to therapy, though.” It’s not a question and he nods. “You’ll keep taking your meds.” Another nod follows as a huge grin appears on his face. “We’re not… we still have a long way to go, Mulder.” He wants to take her into his arms, hold her tight and never let go, kiss her and never taste anything else ever again, but he stays put, waits for her.

“You came up with this whole you need to exercise ploy to make me come to your apartment? Scully, you know you could have called.”

“I know,” she tells him, leaning into his space and he can’t wait until they’re ready to take the next step, when this is not just banter but foreplay, “but let’s face it Mulder: you really are out of shape.”

“Says the woman with the leg injury.”

“It’s not an injury, it’s just – why are you grinning like that, Mulder?”

“No reason, Scully. No reason at all.” It’s happiness, he knows, and when she returns his smile he knows she sees it, too.

Long Distance Love Jars.

Originally posted by riding-the-wavez

So, this was requested by @moonieraver and it is something I had already had the workings of written in my Google Docs. 

This is something that hits very close to home for me. My wife and I spent years in an international LDR (we met on Tumblr years ago, actually!) so I know the ups and the downs, the ins and the outs of LDRs. So while I don’t normally do requests anymore, I had this one mostly written and I can’t say no to something so close to my heart.

This can either be done when you are together physically, or over Skype (bc I know you live on FaceTime), whatever is best for the two of you! 

  • lavender - happiness
  • rosemary - love 
  • chamomile - balance 
  • thyme - courage
  • cedar chips/shavings - confidence in each other

Starting out, light a candle that you want to seal your jar with (if you want to seal it– you can use anything you can close up and wont spill these things out) and stating your intent. Imagine the flame and the heat spreading the intent through the candle.

Layer your ingredients, even maybe take time to talk to each other about how you see each layer manifesting itself in your relationship. You are welcome to include something of the other person’s as well in the jar, even if it is something that reminds you of them.

Close up your jar, seal it up if you are going to (I have an easy tutorial here if you need help!) You can also carve sigils into the wax or draw it on the jar if you would like to! 

If you feel like it ever needs a kick, don’t hesitate to stick in in the full moon light, I try to do this with any jars I am working with currently or want to keep using. 

Wishing you the best in this really tough situation– I know it sucks, it’s a long process and can definitely test any relationship. But I will say that any LDR I know that has worked out are the strongest couples I know. Magic is no replacement for commitment and hard work in a relationship, this just helps boost you along a bit easier. 

My other jars can be found here, and all my other original posts here

xoxo.

4

in the manga the writing was only scribbles, but in the OVA it’s all real words. real small words that i can only take an educated guess at

I have been thinking seriously about this, but even as a real god, there are times when you get distracted, and these gaps in your attention are a constant worry. For example, after bathing, when you pass through a room where shinki are present and cross in front of the TV while undressed, like the other day. Certainly this attitude may be preferable to [being overly formal?], but it would be nice if you would give a little more consideration to [??]. Additionally, while I’m not necessarily complaining about your divine garb, I have concerns about always wearing clothes that expose your shoulders and chest like that. As such, if there happened to be some other god who addressed you rudely because of it, while it is certainly that person who is at fault, I still feel that it would be better for you to put on even just one more layer. Furthermore, I already mentioned this, but [something about being too kind and unable to abandon spirits and naming too many shinki being worrisome]On the other hand, there is the matter of your scant familiarity with your various shinki, which perhaps I should not dare to mention here, but I cite as a matter of concern as it might possibly reduce your burden. Though I do feel that [it] is always excessive, because there are reasons for being a [?] god it cannot be completely denied; but again, as a shinki, it is always a point of concern.

I forgot to add, the other day while [?], Kuraha noticed [?]. Although I would not want you to stay armed all the time, it may be prudent to be a little more careful.

As a person who bears the wishes and pain of many, it may seem impossible, but I hope there will come a day when you can rest without being bound to anyone.

One more thing. All of us shinki are willing to do all we can to increase your popularity and make you the center of the Seven. I think that appeal is in the
[?].

@sadlyamundane asked: Whenever Person A is sleepy they answer every question with “yeah.” Person B uses this oppurtunity to get Person A to agree to them getting a dog the cats (aka Chairman Meow and Church).

Magnus stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the lump currently under his sheets. The tray of food in his hands wobbled as Magnus made his way over to the bedside table to carefully place the silver tray down, the glass of orange juice tilting dangerously before sitting back upright with the wave of his hand.

Satisfied, Magnus turned back to the lump that was his boyfriend snuggled in the sheets and gently shook Alec’s shoulder. The sheets rustled a bit and a small groan made its way to Magnus’ ear, but other than that, Alec didn’t look like he was waking up anytime soon.

Exasperated, Magnus pulled down the sheets and—in the same motion— straddled Alec. And still, he didn’t wake.

“Oh, come one,” Magnus muttered as he swept a swept a hand through the dark unruly mess that was Alec’s hair. And that seemed to do the trick as Alec began to move under the touch, offering his head so the petting wouldn’t stop. And that gave Magnus an idea.

Because, you see, whenever Alec is sleepy, he tends to answer anything without even knowing what the question is…and Magnus may or may not sometimes take advantage of this fact.

“Alexander, darling, are you awake?” Magnus murmured.

Alec blearily blinked up at Magnus, hands already creeping up to gently grasp Magnus’ hips as he replied with, “What?”

Magnus smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Alec’s lips, who was still only awake enough to gurgle something unintelligible as he easily melted into the kiss, whining when Magnus pulled away too soon. It was too cute of a sound not to giggle at, which of course brought a pout to Alec’s lips as he squinted up at Magnus in mock hurt, clearly also amused as the corner of his lips twitched. And he was just so gorgeous that Magnus had to lean over to give him one more kiss, this one lingering for just a few seconds longer.

But he was getting distracted.

Pulling away with great reluctance, Magnus watched Alec for a moment, only speaking when he saw eyelids begin to droop.

“Alexander, can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” was Alec’s only response.

Magnus bit his lip. Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought.

“You know how you like it when I pet you?”

It took a moment, but Alec eventually replied with a, “Yeah.”

“And you know how I like it when you pet me?”

Again, he replied with a, “Yeah”—this one slurred just a bit.

“Well, then I thought it would be lovely if we had something else to pet. You know, like a dog. Or…perhaps a cat? Or two? There are these two wonderful kittens as the local pet shelter. One is a teeny little ball of joy and the other is a grumpy, gray fluffball of a cat, but I think he would suit you just fine. So…what do you say, darling, can we get them?”

Alec didn’t reply, and for a moment Magnus feared he was already asleep again, but then Alec stirred and murmured something.

“What was that, dear? I couldn’t quite catch it.”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds great, Mags.”

Magnus let out a squeal as he pumped a fist in the air, the abrupt movement shaking Alec awake. He took one look at Magnus’ face before practically demanding, “What did I just agree to?”

Laughing, Magnus jumped off of Alec and the bed and made his way to the door. Right as he was about to close it he looked back and said, “You’ll see, dear. I’ll be back soon!”

As Magnus made his way to pick up the adorable felines he heard a ruckus from the bedroom and one last yell from Alec, causing him to burst into giddy laughter.

“Magnus, wait! What did I just agree to!

Downgraded From A Hurricane (Lin-Manuel x Reader)

Summary: Your husband is a drama queen when he’s sick and you’re stuck taking care of him. You’d never admit it aloud but you’re amused with his antics.

Word Count: 650

Warnings: There’s virtually no plot to this, I stole lines from the video, and Lin is whiny. Other than those three things, nothing really.

A/N: I promised one more post today and here it is, right before I head out for the night. Feel free to continue to yell at me in my inbox or the tags - I live for the feedback tbh and I’d love to have some when I get home tonight.

This is 100% inspired by the beginning of a sad sadsters, this one in fact. You can blame @gratitudejoyandsorrow because she is the reason this even happened.
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“Don’t you have work today, honey?” you entered your shared bedroom after just getting back from breakfast with your friend. You were surprised to see Lin still in bed this late in the day.

“I called in sick today.” Lin’s voice was muffled from the pillow his face as buried in but you could hear his hoarse voice and stuffed nose despite it.

“Have you taken any cold medicine yet?” your eyes scan his nightstand for traces of anything he might’ve done to counteract this flu.

“I only have enough energy to accomplish one thing today and I didn’t want my last act on this earth to be getting out of bed to take cold medicine.” Lin said dramatically and you rolled your eyes with a snort.

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SITW | Preview.

// Slowly winks at you whilst suggestively raising eyebrows.

“What time is it?”

“Probably just coming up to seven in the AM,” Taehyung chirps as if it is such a humane time of the day to be this energetic, and you can already feel your body sagging with reluctance and sheer dread at the ungodly hour of the morning, wishing to collapse itself back amongst the soft cotton of your sheets. “Hey, so come camping with us for the night. We’re going to the lake that’s three hours up north to swim and get slizzard like lizards.”

“What the hell,” you grunt, resting your forehead on the doorjamb and cracking one eye open, squinting blearily against the morning sunlight, barely comprehending anything that your best friend, who you are slowly beginning to realise has no concept of forewarning people who prefer to sleep in about such elaborate events, is saying. Your gaze narrows onto a certain, flailing someone over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Is Seokjin wearing pink crocs?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Hmph.”

“So are you in, or are you in?”

You glare at him. “Sounds like you’re not giving me much of a choice on the matter.”

“I’m not,” he grins like a million dollar lottery winner, “but all you have to bring is a pillow and a bag of clothes. We can share my tent and the double mattress.”

“And exactly how long have you known about this camping trip?”

“Since last night. Jeongguk suggested we invite you, but that was at like, eleven-thirty, so I knew you would already be asleep. I messaged you, though.”

The latter end of his sentence goes unheard, your hearing zeroing in on that particular name with a riveting jolt of electricity up your spine. Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. Jeon ‘I want you to fuck me ten ways to Sunday and back’ Jeongguk. Suggested we invite you.

You sound a lot more breathless than you should. “You what?”

“Texted you,” Taehyung huffs, and you bring your phone up to chest level, lighting up the screen to see that, in fact, Taehyung had sent you a text two minutes before eleven-thirty last night, stating: get your vodka face on hoe, we goin’ camping. expect chauffeur at ass crack o’ dawn.

“Huh,” you murmur, scowling at the message, and then at Taehyung who seems to legitimately believe that the text was the perfect forewarning of his imminent arrival at such a sacrilege hour of sleep, “well I’ll damn be.”

Language Learning Styles

You can have 1 or more styles combined, that depends on what you like or works for you. I tried to think of every style that i know.

Ant Style

The person who has this style is most probably that organized langblr who actually knows what they are doing. They have certain periods of time when they study and nothing can disturb their routine. 

How to know if you have this style? Easy, do you know when you’re done with studying your language? If you just thought of a period of time and what you are doing in this period, you’re an ant.

How to become an ant learner: take an agenda and make a schedule, a very detailed one. You write down everything, from what you study to for how long and with what (duo, flashcards, notebooks etc.)

p.s. This learns take everything seriously, their notes are probably goals, perfection is written everywhere and they work hard, too hard maybe.


Sloth Style

This is the entire opposite of the ant learners. Masters of procrastination, but somehow they know the language better than some ants? 

How to know if you have this style?  Ask yourself what plans you have tomorrow, if the answer is “sleeping” or “no idea”, congrats, you’re a sloth.

How to become a sloth learner: Hakuna Matata. 

p.s. this kind of learners prefer to immerse themselves, they prefer watching movies, listening to music, looking at others how they explain and they observe everything, they don’t have notebooks, they are spontaneous. (that’s why they are awake at 3am playing on duo most probably.


Panda Style 

This style is a combination of a sloth and an ant. They procrastinate like 20 hours and in the last 4 they can finish a duo tree, talk with Nth natives and finish Grey’s Anatomy in their target language. 

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James Baldwin’s hidden papers have a new home in black America’s premier library

  • James Baldwin was one of the most prolific writers in black history, but there is plenty about his work that the world still doesn’t know.At the time of his death in 1987, Baldwin had written nearly two dozen works of fiction, nonfiction and poetry, some of which would be published posthumously. 
  • But he was also black and gay at a time when both were professionally taboo, so there’s a lot about his life that only lives on in his private letters that his family has held onto for three decades.
  • Some of those letters are now in possession of the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem, black America’s premier library, thanks to Baldwin’s estate. Read more. (4/13/2017 2:55 PM)

all I want in this life is for Evan to grow up, find some confidence, and to begin working as a therapist, specifically for kids and teens. And for Evan to have a strong connection to the kids with anxiety, of course. But for him to become known for working with the “problem children.” 

For Evan to work closely with the kids who break things, that bite others, that throw printers. 

I just want Evan to, consciously or not, help the Connor Murphy’s out there, because Connor couldn’t get the help himself. 

kadda252  asked:

For the prompt thing, pretty please 10 or 29 or both in one 🙏🏻🙏🏻

This is kind of the opposite of what I wrote yesterday. So here be fluff and nothing but fluff. It’s a sequel to this (sappy) prompt. But you can read it on its own as well. Thank you for the prompt! 

10. “I can never unsee that.” + 29. “Y-you love me?”

When Mulder finds himself in the car en route to Mrs. Scully’s house, he is not sure when it happened.

Or how.

But here he is, in the passenger seat, forced to listen to classical music that’s supposed to be calming. That’s what Scully told him 20 minutes ago, anyway. She’s quiet, tapping along on the steering wheel while Mulder keeps trying to come up with something clever to say. Or really anything. He has questions, plenty of them, but he doesn’t ask any of them. Why am I here, Scully? He would like to know. Why do I have to see your brother twice in one day? Mulder grows agitated just thinking about it.

Why did you kiss me earlier, Scully? That’s the one he really wants to know about.

In good old Mulder and Scully fashion, they haven’t talked about it. The kiss. It’s been hours and Scully hasn’t mentioned it once. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it never happened. Just a figment of his vast imagination. He’s imagined kissing Scully a million times over the years. But no; it definitely happened. Her hands were on his thighs, he can almost feel them still, and her lips grazed his oh so softly. Oh yeah. It happened.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Scully says in between songs. As if the music should not be interrupted.

“I thought you wanted me to shut up.”

“That was… earlier.” Mulder thinks he sees her blush.

“Yeah well, I didn’t know when you wanted me to stop.” Mulder cracks open a sunflower seed, realizing how hungry he is. With her kissing him and then convincing him to go with her to her mother’s made him forget everything else. Like having lunch.

“About the time I – never mind.” The kiss, he thinks, suppressing a smile. She certainly shut him up with that.

“You mean the… you know.” Here he is complaining that Scully doesn’t mention their foray into new, more intimate territory and he finds himself shying away as well.  

“It wasn’t fun, Mulder.” Oh.

“I’m sorry, Scully, I didn't… you started it. I just – then why did you ask me to come with you to your mother’s? If I’m no fun.” Mulder sounds bitter; he tries not to, but what can he do? He’s been wanting to kiss Scully for ages and when they finally do, she hates it.

“That’s why,” she tells him, her voice even, her eyes on the road, “You made fun of me. You know I thought you had something important to tell me and you let me believe it, Mulder.” Oh, again. She wasn’t talking about the kiss at all.

“Scully, I’m sorry. Your brother unnerves me,” he sees her nod in agreement, “He said all these things and then when you finally showed up at the office I felt like… I just wanted you to know there was something to come back to. As stupid as it was.”

“An espresso machine in accounting.”

“I realize it wasn’t my brightest moment, Scully, but I had to say something.”

“But do you realize that I hurried through lunch with my brother because I thought something important was going on?”

“I’m sorry, Scully. What else can I say?”

“Next time your exciting news turn out to be about kitchen appliances, tell me right away and don’t make it a secret.”

“In my defense,” Scully shoots him a look and Mulder ignores it, “I never said it was exciting. I didn’t keep it a secret either. So that’s why I’m here? As punishment?”

“Partly,” she admits.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s the other reason?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Scully chuckles and Mulder adds it to his long, long list of things they, apparently, don’t talk about.

*

Mulder doesn’t know what he expected, but it’s not this. This is not, as Scully assured him earlier, a small family gathering. This is dozens of people running around Mrs. Scully’s house.

“Oh Dana, you made it!” A woman, who is almost as tall as Mulder, hugs Scully tightly.

“Mom made me promise.” She replies with a soft smile. If only she would smile like this more often.

“And who is this nice young man, Dana?”

“This is Fox Mulder. My partner,” she startles, “my friend,” Scully turns to him, searching for the right word, “my work…” She trails off with a confused hand gesture.

“Oh Fox,” the large woman shakes his hand heartily, a huge grin on her face, “Maggie told us so much about you. She didn’t say you were coming today!”

“Ah yes, I cleared my schedule for this,” Mulder puts on what he hopes is a charming smile, and judging from the woman’s face it works well enough, and sighs, “I wanted to be here.”

“That’s so lovely, Fox. I’m Dana’s aunt, Millicent.” She’s still holding his hand, he realizes. “Now, go say hello to everyone else. I hope I’ll see you around, Fox.” Aunt Millicent winks at him and Mulder blushes. When she’s out of sight, Scully sighs audibly.

“So I’m your work, huh?” Mulder bumps her shoulder playfully.

“Oh shut up, Mulder. You know what I meant.” Scully doesn’t look at him, instead she seems to look for someone else among all these small and not so small heads. There’s a whirlwind of noises and voices surrounding them.

“Do I?” Scully glances up at him, brows furrowed. Her mouth opens to say something when a loud, distinctively male voice chimes:

“Is that Dana?” In a quick movement, Scully grabs Mulder’s coat sleeve and drags him with her right into a room he’s never seen before. It’s dark, it’s small and for the moment, surprisingly quiet. It could be a coat closet, he thinks, as a soft fabric brushes against him.  

“Scully what-” She puts her finger on his lips to quiet him. Not as effective as her earlier mode of shutting him up, but it works. He’s not going to complain that she’s touching him. Her finger is warm, it’s soft, and he just can’t help himself; he kisses it. Scully’s eyes open wide, but she doesn’t take her finger away, and so he kisses it again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Mulder.” Her angry whisper shocks him, but even if he knew what to say, he couldn’t. Scully’s lips find his again and this time he makes sure she’s not cutting their kiss short. His arms tighten around her and hold her close. She moans into his open mouth as one of his hands wanders up her spine.

“Why would they – Dana! And Fox!” The door opens and their mouths separate with a loud smack. Their arms still around each other they stare into the faces of Scully’s mother, her brother and man Mulder doesn’t know. Oh well.

“I can never unsee that.” Bill Scully mumbles shaking his head in disbelief.

“Why are you hiding in here?” Maggie Scully, a laugh in her voice, opens the door wider so they can step out. Mulder tries to secretly wipe at his mouth, but the nameless guy watches him intently. As does Bill.

“Bill wanted to introduce you to his Navy friend.” Now it’s Mulder who eyes the other man warily. This is the guy Bill Scully told him about earlier in his office. On his turf. This, he figures, is neutral ground. Not to mention that he just kissed Scully for the second time in one day. That should count for something.

“This is Frank,” the blond stranger waves awkwardly, uncertain if he should shake Scully’s hand, “My friend I told you about earlier.” Bill finishes, his eyes full engaged in a glaring match with his sister. For once Mulder is glad to not be at the receiving end of that death stare.

“And what did I tell you?” Her voice sounds like pure ice.

“I’m just asking you to meet him. You don’t have to marry him.” Bill glances at Mulder, who briefly considers hiding behind Scully or even her mother.

“I’m not interested,” she tells him, “Sorry, Frank.” The man blushes furiously.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it? I mean what you just did…”

“Bill.” His mother’s voice warns him.

“That’s none of your business.”

“He has nothing to offer you, Dana!”

“Bill, leave your sister and Fox alone. Now come on, all of you. We’ve got a house full of people. Behave yourselves.” Mulder watches as Scully raises her eyebrow as if challenging her brother and of course, he bites.

“What is it about him, Dana? He doesn’t love you.”

“Hey,” it’s the last straw and Mulder can no longer keep quiet, “I do love your sister. I love her more than I could ever put into words.”

“Y-you love me?” Out of the corner of his eye Mulder sees Mrs. Scully lead her son and the ominous Frank away. Not that Mulder still cares. His eyes are on Scully, and hers are on him. Right now, in a house full of people, they’re the only two that matter.

“Scully, I am not drunk,” he begins, his voice slightly wavering, “I am not drugged either. I am just me and I am in full capacity of my sanity,” Scully’s eyebrow rises, “as much as is left of it anyway. So let me tell you that yes, I love you. I am in love with you.”

“That’s really nice,” Scully tells him and it’s only now that he notices how close they are once again; like magnets drawn to each, he figures, “Because you know what?”

“What?”

“I love you, too.”

No more words are needed and so he kisses her again and again and again.

How ‘Captain America: Steve Rogers’ Is Trying To Disassociate HYDRA From Nazis And Why It Won’t Work

I’ve written about this on Twitter a few times, but I think it’s worth getting down all in one place. In the pages of Captain America: Steve Rogers it was revealed that Steve — through Cosmic Cube related shenanigans — is actually a member of HYDRA and is seeking to install said group into power. A lot of people are mad about this because HYDRA are Nazis, but the comic is working very hard to make the argument that they’re not. I don’t agree with that argument, but I think it’s important to look at how it is being made.

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Solange’s ‘A Seat at the Table’ snub is one the Grammys may never live down

  • Back in September, Solange Knowles invited to the world to take A Seat at the Table, because we needed to talk.
  • Remember the moment: Our culture was hurtling towards election day as if trapped on a sickening carnival ride. The world had just met the concept of “fake news” that would go on to create layers of mistrust between the right and left in this country. Scores of musicians were brandishing microphones like spears, looking for the most clever way to stick a certain candidate in order to grab a headline. And through all of the noise, Solange whispered: “I am overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement to share this work I’ve written and created, with you.” For a minute, she seemed to stop time.
  • Filled with sparse, intimate R&B that feels as casual as a jam session at times and as meticulously crafted as a concerto at others, A Seat at the Table was a light. Its songs read like a journal entry but expanded outwards with repeated listens to ring with universal empathy, like a Buddhist sutra. It was perhaps the highest realization of healing music our culture has experienced in close to a decade. 
  • Somehow, the Grammys missed Solange’s invitation. Read more

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