yeah i ship them so


kdrama women’s week, day 8: age of youth lovefest
↳ favourite couple: yoon jin myung x kang yi na

Most people are saying the Sanvers engagement is rushed and I kinda agree but it’s totally in line with them. Maggie didn’t admit her feelings until she almost died. They didn’t say i love you until Alex almost died. It’s not that surprising that when the world might end that they’ll decide to get married


Your blush is so much more obvious without your glasses, Yuuri <3

(or, guess who got into Ice Gays)


Me at the gates of Heaven

God: Sorry, it looks like you can’t enter.

Me: Okay but why??

God: Well, there are some questionable “ships”, and also some fanfictions you read..

Me: I see


Me: I’ll just let myself out

tfw you have so many current otps in your mind and you wanna draw all of them at the same time.

there’s this one time when i look at my otp and i was like ‘okay, get it together they are just the best of friends’ but then when they started to interact and act all lovey-dovey and it was caught on camera, on a live tv show and THAT’S WHEN ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE


modern aesthetic gifsets will turner and elizabeth swann (pirates of the caribbean)

I just thought I’d be married by now. I’m so ready to be married.

anonymous asked:

“It’s midnight, what do you want?” Nesta (please and thank you)

Hey nonnie, here it is! This is the first time I’ve written Nesta/nessian, so… I hope it turned out ok. (Also thanks for the please and thank you)

I’m tagging a few people here: first, @a-court-of-pain-and-night who also requested this fic.

Also, thanks so much to @hollow-kingdom and @acourtofstarsanddreams for talking to me basically all day about Nesta, it really helped me understand her better. I swear I have a job lol I really liked writing nessian, so there will probably be more of this in the future.


When Cassian wanders into the kitchen of the House of Wind, he is startled to see Nesta sitting on a stool at the island. It is the middle of the night and he hadn’t expected anyone else to be there, let alone her.

She fails to make any sign that she sees him in the doorway, taking another drink from her glass as if he hasn’t just come in, flinching slightly as the liquid makes its way down her throat. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sits on the counter in front of her.

“Nesta.” Her name comes off his lips without his will, an uncertain mixture of pleasant surprise and apprehension. He waits. A small lamp on one counter is the only light in the cavernous room. She has become an odd contrast of shadows and illumination, her profile in relief while the rest of her remains in obscurity. He can make out her shape through the thin cotton nightgown she wears and makes a note to himself to look elsewhere, even as he memorizes the sight. Her hair is in a braid but it has been disturbed, as if she has just woken and gotten out of bed.  

She remains silent so he moves towards a cabinet, grabbing a glass. He turns his back to her and closes his eyes briefly. If she would just say something, call him a name, anything, he could let go of this sense of foreboding. It is rare when she doesn’t have some clever retort ready to snap at him. And now, she hadn’t even bothered saying hello. He finally turns back to her, having no more pretense to give her some semblance of privacy.

“Nesta, what are you doing here? Are you doing alright?” She doesn’t live at the House of Wind. Nesta and Elain live in a townhouse by the Sidra, to have a space that is their own. She and Cassian have barely spoken in the weeks since she came to live in Velaris. He has to keep himself from going to her every day, to keep himself from reaching out to her. The bond that ties them together has been demanding that he find her, touch her, hear her voice. If she feels the same pull, she makes no indication.

He hadn’t planned on seeing her here, now, and while his instinct is to approach her and place a gentle hand on her back, he knows what that would be met with. Hell, if she would let him he’d carry her to his bed, he would let her have it, sleeping on a couch or the floor.

She hasn’t been sleeping well, a fact that she is now chagrined to realize he is aware of. Months of adjustment to this body and nothing has made a difference. There is something humming under her skin, something she realizes is power, but… she isn’t sure what to do with it, yet. Rhys has allowed her to train, to help them in their efforts against the King of Hybern, and yet at the end of the day she still finds herself dissatisfied, lacking something she doesn’t want to name.

He is watching her from the edge of the kitchen while she takes up all the space at the center. She holds her glass at an angle, letting its bottom edges roll over the marble countertop as she watches the liquid swirl, leaving patterns along the sides.

“Stop hovering, Cassian,” she finally says. He bites back a sigh. “It’s midnight. What do you want.” Her voice is so flat that the question has become a statement.

“Well, I wanted a drink of water. But why don’t you tell me, Nesta, why you are here, in the middle of the night. Why aren’t you home?”

To his surprise she responds not with a scoff or a pursing of her lips, but with frankness.

“In the middle of the night, when I wake up, I hear Elain screaming. It has been…” she clears her throat. “I can’t get the sound out of my head.”

She pushes the bottle across the counter towards him. He moves towards her to take it, keeping a wary eye on her. He pours himself a drink and sits at the stool opposite her. It isn’t the kind of thing he would have chosen himself; this is likely Azriel’s bottle, but Cassian figures he can replace it. He takes a drink, the spice and burn coating his throat in a not unpleasant manner.

“She seems ok, doesn’t she? Elain is adjusting, I think. But I…” she trails off, her gaze never leaving her glass. She finishes the last of it before pouring herself another. “She tells me she is fine. How can she be? Feyre is. Feyre is always fine.”

“Elain is doing well,” he replies. He pauses a moment before he adds, “She doesn’t blame you. No one does.”

“Well, that wasn’t my question, was it,” she says sarcastically. “Do you blame yourself? Because you should.” She says the last words with the same dead tone she had begun speaking with.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I made you a promise. I didn’t uphold my end. It’s quite simple.”

“Cassian.” Something tightens in his chest at hearing her say his name. A minute passes before she continues to speak again. “Once, before our mother died, before we lost everything we had, my father promised me something. Do you want to know what he promised me?”

He nods at her.

“He said that nightmares aren’t real. He said that they are our fears, the things we don’t want to happen. That we have to imagine them at night so they don’t take form during the day. That if I just remembered that the horrible things happening in my nightmares were never true, then I didn’t need to be afraid of them.” She drinks the rest of the bourbon in her glass in a quick swallow, tilting her head to force the burning liquid down her throat.

“He was wrong,” she finishes. Her hand shakes as she reaches to pour herself another, but he covers her hand in his, taking the bottle from her. Pulling her glass towards himself, he makes her another drink, sliding the glass across the counter towards her.

“Promises only count if someone means them. If they aren’t full of shit the minute the words come out of their mouths. You are not full of shit, Cassian.” She sighs, finishing her drink in another swallow.

He would make a sign to her, to tell her he understands, but holds himself back, watching to see what she will say next. He nurses his drink in silence with her, considering her words.

Looking up at him, Nesta wraps her hands around her glass. If she lets it go she will grab his hand, jump over that counter, finally quit ignoring the bond she feels at her core, leading her to him. The thread has steadily become heavy, cumbersome, until she thinks she will go mad from its persistent throbbing reminder. There are things she wants to say, words that live on the tip of her tongue, and when he is around she feels them dangerously close to coming loose and betraying her. She decides that tonight is not the night. One day, she will tell him what she wants. But it won’t be now. Not when she is so close to breaking and she isn’t sure if he can put her back together. If she wants him to.

She moves to stand too quickly and the bottle tips, moments away from falling and shattering. She waits to watch it fall, but before she knows he is there Cassian has moved next to her to grab it, afraid the glass will splinter and cut her. It lands in his hand with a soft clinking sound before he sets it upright on the counter.

They are pressed together now and her hands go to his chest, steadying herself between him and the counter that is behind her. “Is this what you want,” she asks. The teasing note of the words rings false in his ears, the truth of what she is saying and what she wants just below the surface. He grabs her arm to steady her.  

“Nesta, did you drink all of that?” He looks again at the bottle, hoping that its half-empty state is not entirely because of her.

“No. You walked in on my first drink.” She looks up at him and he finally sees a hint of sincerity beneath her nearly expressionless face. What he finds there looks something like pain mingled with trust. Her shield is cracking and he will be damned if he does anything to make her hide from him right now.

“Why did you come here?” He grasps her shoulders, unsure if he will pull her closer.

She feels herself begin to speak before she is aware she has made the decision. “I wanted to see you. To talk to you. I’ve been… I have been having nightmares. And they are real. But so are you.” She searches his face, dragging the tips of her fingers across his jaw. “I don’t know what I want, Cassian. I’m not sure if I want you, or this, or why I’m even telling you this.” She forces her mouth closed, grateful that she hasn’t continued telling him her thoughts. I want to understand why it feels like you can break me, even while I wonder if you are the only one who can put me back together.

“Do you want me to take you home,” he asks, his breath a shuddering in his chest. She shakes her head and begins to lean into him. A slight flush has made its way up her neck, and he tries not to stare at the way the fabric of her nightgown moves on her. “We can sit and talk, if you want. I have a fire going in my room.” He blanches and tries to explain himself when she cuts in.

“Yes. Let’s sit.”

She lets him take her hand from his chest, leading her to his room. He walks in front of her, heart pounding. When they reach his room he gestures to a large, well-worn chair, taking a smaller wooden one himself. Nesta curls her legs under herself, her small form sinking into the cushions. Resting her head on the arm of the chair, she looks at him. He returns her gaze, and they sit like this, taking the measure of each other.

“What do you want to talk about,” he asks finally.

“Tell me… tell me something true,” she replies. The soft and steady tones of his voice take over and she closes her eyes to listen, to learn about him. When he knows that she has fallen asleep, he gathers her in his arms and lays her in his bed, covering her with a blanket. He brushes her hair from her face, watching the furrows disappear and the severe angles of her eyebrows relax. He wishes that he could keep her like this. Not for himself, but for her.

He takes her former place in the chair by the fire, watching her sleep through the rest of the night, barely stirring. While she rests, he makes another promise to himself, to her, and this is one he intends to keep.

me : *scrolling through social media*

me : *liking posts as i scroll*

me : *accidentally likes one of notp post*

me : oh shit *quickly press the unlike button*

  • BOSS: why didn't you show up for work yesterday?
  • me: because i don't work on holidays
  • BOSS: yesterday was July 6??
  • me: uh yeah, yesterday was the day John Lennon met Paul McCartney, July 6th, 1957.
  • He and his Quarrymen skiffle group were playing at the garden fete of St Peter's Church, Woolton, Liverpool.
  • One of John's mates was mates with Paul, so this mate introduced Paul to John. And he asked Paul to join their group, which later became wildly known as the Beatles. With the company of George and Ringo of course.
  • BOSS: .....
  • me: National Mclennon Day, duhh!

it gets a bit confusing to me coz i have a male oc that looks like how i draw zarya orz I FORGOT ZARYA’S TATTOOS IM SORRY