yes i edited out the writing(

yknow what. it’s in the am hours. ive had at least 2 alcoholic beverages tonighit. and i have decided that once im out of tech school im gonna get a degree in ye olde literature just so i can write a groundbreaking paper about how cu chulainn (the actual myth one not the anime one) is a fucking trans icon. my guy is incredibly trans. lets just take a good look at the facts here folks

-these stories were written down by monks with an obviously christian agenda they edited the story to adhere to, in some parts more obviously so than others. considering the roman catholic hatred of trans people at the time, it would not be unreasonable to assume that if cu chulainn was in fact trans in the originals that were being written down said monks would attempt to cover that up by making him cis.

-dude changed his name which is a very trans™ thing 2 do obviously

-the whole thing with the curse and how he was the only one ready to throw the fuck down while all the other men were in bed with the pains of birth like this is such a classic example of using gendered language in magic shenanigans to ur advantage

-often described as being small & beardless “this is supposed to show he’s young” but is it really??? it’s not uncommon for masculine women to be mistaken for young men and him being both notably small and unable to grow a beard is brought up several times in text. either way it’s not like being young and being trans are mutually exclusive. really makes you think.

-alright here’s the big kicker that really says Cu Chulainn Is Trans 2 me in big shiny letters: he had to prove himself as Really Being That Tough over & over again to a frankly ridiculous degree. multiple times (at least 2 in the tain bo cuailnge that i can remember rn) there’s some enemy fuck who knows god damn well the one in front of them is cu mother fucking chulainn who has been absolutely obliterating his enemies by the hundreds but the moment they see him & notice he’s beardless (again, this is usually interpreted as meaning he’s young but that doesn’t necessarily have to be the case) they’re like “nah I’m not fighting that get me a real enemy” and cu has to put on a fake beard to convince them he really is A Big Tough Dude Who Can Kick Your Ass. another time in the tain cu used his sick sword skills to make a fool of someone who was mocking him and the fucking idiot didn’t stop even after cu literally shaved the guys head clear & cut off his clothes with a sword. there’s one story (called bricriu’s feast) of a competition where cu easily beat everyone by a wide margin in everything they compete in but none of the other contestants wanted to accept the result so they kept bringing in other judges trying to get someone other than cu to be declared winner. 

there’s this really weird refusal of people in the ulster cycle to accept that cu chulainn is as good at things as he is (specifically things considered masculine like fighting) and idk about all yall but that really fucking screams good old fashioned transphobia to me lads. like trans folks are still dealing with this shit in modern day with athletes not being allowed to compete with their own fucking gender bc it ~wouldnt be fair~ or other such nonsense. this fuck shit with ppl absolutely refusing to acknowledge cu as possibly being good at Man Things is incredibly Trans Relatable™.

-ALSO i just remembered this but there’s also at least one and i’m pretty sure more than one time where cu talks to people who are like “yea we’re trying to hunt down cu chulainn” and they don’t realise he is in fact that very same cu chulainn or are even remotely suspicious of him which would make a lot more sense if they mistook him for a woman

in conclusion: hes trans


☆️Aesthetic Meme☆ [6/7 AU]

Stucky Coffeeshop AU where Buck is a vet (obsessed with black coffee and his bike) that runs into Steve at Steve’s favorite coffee shop to sit and think and draw between his classes. Buck says he only keeps going back to the place because the coffee is good but we all know different.
Caffeine Challenge 10 June 2017

The ship cuts an elegant path through the asteroid field until, abruptly, an asteroid cuts an elegant path through it.

This is unusual for two reasons, Lorena thinks absently: 1) the actual density of asteroids in an asteroid field is much, much smaller than your average person thinks, and 2) asteroids don’t generally do “elegant”. Outside the ship, when they’re hurtling through the void at hundreds of thousands of miles per hour and still managing to look like they’re doing it slowly and majestically, yes. Inside the ship, no. But the fact of the thing can’t be denied: an unidentified asteroid has just shown up in the middle of the ship. The scanner says it’s still in the ship, too, sitting in an unused cargo hold.

Lorena gets up from her desk chair, shuts off the scanner, and starts to put on her space suit. This is too weird to be ignored, and plus, if the asteroid had really cut through the ship like that, there’s going to be issues. Of course, there are safety measures in place in case of leaks, but a hole that big opened straight onto the vacuum of space is bound to cause some issues. Luckily, the scanner wasn’t showing any loss of life, so that shouldn’t be a problem. At least, not yet.

Spacesuit on, Lorena grabs her tool box and heads for the air lock nearest the crash site. Strange, too, she thinks, that she didn’t feel anything when the asteroid hit. She’d have thought she’d feel a jolt when the ship took the force of a crash that big.

She’s getting weird looks as she walks through the ship in her space suit. This part of the ship, the only people she’s passing are maintenance people and engineers like herself, and they all know that there isn’t any external maintenance scheduled, and that if there was, she wouldn’t be the one doing it. Ah well. Let them look. She considers grabbing a maintenance person for backup, but decides against it. Better to figure out what the problem is before asking someone to solve it.

When she reaches the air lock, Lorena puts her helmet on and clips her tether to the ring inside, then presses the button to open the external doors. The air lock is closed, thank God. Sometimes people like to leave the air locks inside the ship open for convenience, but someone must have put safety before convenience for once. She makes a mental note to find that person when she finishes here; they may have saved the lives of the entire ship.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0. The air lock doors open.

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Pink Floyd

Originally posted by riverdaleselite

A/N: I’M BACK… and so soon as well. Enjoy, beautiful (yes, I’m talking to you).

Request:  Hi honey ! <3 I was wondering if you could write an imagine, where Jughead always sees a little girl in Pop’s, she eats ice cream or drink milkshakes after school, and she is really talkatvive, annoys him a lot, but she reminds him so much of Jellybean so he never was mean to her, only in playful way, and when he find out, that she has a cute older sister at his age (reader) he likes her even more ? ^^

Word Count: 1,913

Warnings: None

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PSA: Hey Freelancers! Do you have your business license?

So as y’all know I got a new job, and during the setup for payroll etc etc for this company that I’m freelancing for, I learned that many places require freelancers to have small business licenses. The specifics would vary based on your area/country, but just a heads up because I know there are a tonne of freelancers here that may not know this!

Please see clarification edit, here:

You also – at least for the US – may need to file for something known as a DBA: “doing business as” if you use any moniker that doesn’t include your legal name (like I do).

And yes, there are fees for these things, unfortunately! But you can also incur fines if you don’t have these things (especially during tax season), so do your research!

This post is a very California, US centric post, since that is where I am based, but I encourage everyone to check out whether or not you need a license to freelance! This includes art, writing, editing and so on.

Pass it on!

The flaw in “Force Yourself To Write” and “Don’t Force Yourself To Write” Advice

Y’all these guides are becoming more and more frequent wth

Alright so many writing posts here on Tumblr usually have contradictions that can make anyone’s head spin honestly. So let me tell you about something I realized today.

I have a fic that I’ve been working on and off on the past year. Like July marks exactly a year since the idea came to life. Now for a fanfic, it’s really long. About 10k words a chapter (my choice so boohoo for me really).

Now then, with Tumblr, I read the “Don’t Force Yourself to Write or else it’ll be nasty and you won’t be able to unstuck yourself later and it won’t be good” advice. And I believed in that, because I was iffy about the “Never Stop Writing!! Even as you’re giving birth or performing heart surgery!!!!”

Originally posted by okyanusunintihari

That was like kicking myself in the metaphorical balls (or elbowing anywho)

I conditioned my mind into thinking that that was a valid excuse not to write. I hid my laziness behind that “advice” and I barely touched that piece (which I hold dear to my heart) for an entire year.

Now today as I was filming some vlogs, I forced myself to write for “content”. I thought, eh I can write a few scenes, sort some things out and edit a bit.

And I realized that, even if I force myself to write, I’m still closer to finishing this than I was before? Like Chapter 2 remained barely touched until today, now I have 2 little scenes left to complete and it’s done. And honestly? Maybe tomorrow I’ll see that it’s terribly written, but I rather work with some foundations for a scene that starting from scratch.

And I’m pissed at myself that I followed that rule to the T.

Yes, don’t force yourself to write when you’re not feeling it, but don’t use it as an excuse just because you’re lazy or you’re trying to hide a mental block. Write a paragraph, or a sentence, and see where it goes from there. If you feel a flow, go ahead, if you don’t, don’t sweat it.

Stop making Tumblr advice make you feel guilty for doing things your way, and don’t let it control your life or transform your hobbies to hard labor.

Nature Family

@ciphernetics did a very very good thing and came up with the best AU idea ever.

I ruined it. Enjoy the ruining.


He glanced up, his eyes widening. “Yes, Nikki?”

She was one of the only campers left waiting at the pick-up spot, having wandered away from Max to explore a mysterious rustling from the bushes. (This, it turned out, was a squirrel; Quartermaster seemed more than capable of sorting it out and had pulled her away from the animal by her overalls.) But … Well, David had to admit that he’d been so worried about Max being lonely or upset about the summer ending that he’d almost forgotten about the adventurous young camper. So it was with no small amount of guilt that he met her  eyes, watching anxiously as she scuffed her toes along the ground and glanced over her shoulder at Sleepy Peak Peak.

“Well, uh … I think my parents aren’t coming?”

David sprang to his feet, leaving Max to continue drawing in the dirt and ignoring him. “Don’t be silly! It’s only noon, after all! And Max is still here,” he added, gesturing at him.

Max looked from David to Nikki, something almost like concern in his expression. “David, are you being fucking stupid again?” He stood, pouring as much resentment into the motion as possible. “What’s up, Nik?”

She shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “It’s just that Mom said Dad was picking me up yesterday because of his Sunday Golf Tournaments, and he didn’t. So …”

“What?!” David tried to keep his voice calm, but he couldn’t help wincing as it leapt up to what Gwen called “dog-whistle levels.” “Wh … why didn’t you tell us that, Nikki?” As a matter of fact, why hadn’t her parents told them that? They were in charge, after all!

“I was gonna, but then Max and Neil decided to try and blow up the Supply Shed and that sounded like more fun!”

Oh, dear. David whipped out his phone and sent a quick text to Quartermaster and Gwen: ‘stay away from the supply shed might be dangerous’ Then he narrowed his eyes at the two of them, putting his hands on his hips. “Now, kids, that was very irresponsible of you –”

“Yeah yeah,” Max interrupted, rolling his eyes. “How about you just do your goddamn job and figure out where Nikki’s parents are?”

Oh. Of course, that made sense. “R-right. Thanks, Max!”

“Fucking idiot.”

He had all the campers’ parents saved in his contacts for easy access, just in case. So he didn’t have to leave their side as he looked up Mariana Zuckerman’s number and listened to the line ring.

And ring.

And ring.

Finally there was a tiny click. “You’ve reached 555-0175. Dr. Zuckerman isn’t available right now, so please leave a message at the –”

He snapped the phone shut, shaking his head. “No worries,” he chirped to the kids; Nikki was watching a line of ants travel through the grass, but Max’s eyes were trained on him, tiny pinpricks of searing turquoise. “We’ll just try Mr. Sherwood then …”

Nikki’s dad didn’t pick up, either.

That was … well, of course it wasn’t troubling, David wouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly! But he would have to give her parents a friendly reminder that it was important to have their phones on them at all times. 

Then again, maybe they were driving. That made sense.

“Why didn’t they pick up?” Max demanded, startling David out of his thoughts and nearly making him drop the phone.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re on their way!”

He just stared for a few long moments. Then turned with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “I’m gonna go find Gwen.”

“Max, don’t –” But it was too late; faster than he’d ever seen the boy move, Max was trotting across the small grassy clearing that served as Camp Campbell’s pick-up spot, over to where Gwen had her nose buried in a magazine about … something or other, he didn’t really understand most of what she read.

Maybe Max had the right idea, though. Gwen would know what to do, even if she was a bit of a worrywart. He straightened, feeling better already as he tried dialing Nikki’s mother again. There was no point in panicking, which meant he’d just ignore the niggling worming sickness in his stomach until it went away.

That usually worked.

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In which Tara puts on her editor hat for a moment:

I just saw a post that got under my skin a little, as both a writer and an editor.

See, I edit. That’s my job. People hire me to go through their manuscripts of all shapes and sizes and subjects. I know a lot about grammar. I know a lot about style. I’d like to think I’ve got a pretty decent handle on the places where grammar and style and individual author/story voice can be at odds with each other.

The post I just saw talked a bit about “rules” they had broken as a writer. The tone was pretty “F-you, I do what I want to!” Look, as a writer? I have absolutely broken “rules.” I think there’s an excellent time and place for sentence fragments, for example, or for split infinitives, or for intentionally misused words.

An editor’s job, however, is to draw the writer’s attention to grammatical inconsistencies or errors, often according to existing style guides. Pointing these out is not personal. A writer hires an editor because an editor is a specialist when it comes to grammar (and/or flow and/or narrative etc). Depending on the kind of editing you want from them (and there are different kinds!), they may be looking for things from typos all the way through to plot holes. Not all editors are cut from the same cloth. A proofreader is a typo-spotter extraordinaire. A developmental editor helps build the idea into workable text. There’s a lot of overlap between copy editing and stylistic editing, but they aren’t technically the same thing.

The editor can’t read your mind and guess if this sentence fragment is intentional where another isn’t. They’re going to write “frag” and let you figure out if you want to keep it or not. They’re drawing your attention to something that is, yes, technically an error so that you have the tools at your disposal to decide if you truly want to break the rule. That’s their job.

As a writer, I know sometimes it feels like an editor is picking on you when they return your manuscript stained red, but they’re really not. I have never, ever edited a document aiming to make an author feel bad/guilty/stupid/wrong when I point out inconsistencies. I offer suggestions. The author can take them or leave them. An editor works for an author. As an author, you absolutely have the right to say to an editor, for example, “Just so you know, I have used all these sentence fragments on purpose. Please don’t mark them.” Or, “In this world I’ve created, the word ‘car’ is what people call their horses.” Or, “Yoda’s dialogue is intentionally written subject, object, verb.”  A good editor will make a note of it on her master style sheet and do what the author wants because a good editor knows she works for the author.

When I see writers complaining about editors misunderstanding their intentions (especially when it comes off like whining or complaining or griping about the editor), it tells me the writer doesn’t really understand the role an editor is actually meant to play. Often, it’s because writers think about their work as writers. Not every writer is an editor. It’s also because–and this is also something I know about from being on both sides–an author is protective of the work they’ve poured so much blood, sweat, time, and energy into. Editors seem like scary, mean outsiders armed with red pens and cruelty. They aren’t. Or, rather, they shouldn’t be.

The bottom line is this: a good editor is someone you hire to give you the tools you, the author, need to make the story cohesive, clear, and internally consistent. They’re there to work with you, not against you. Editors are not the enemy. You hire them to be the impartial, outside eyes you need on your work because it’s often almost impossible for a writer to be entirely impartial about their own work. You hire an editor so it’s not your readers catching your errors (and/or getting turned off your story because of them!). It’s symbiosis, my friends. 

anonymous asked:

I was wondering if you could write a little something about George sneaking out if his room to sleep with you because you have to stay in Ginny's room but he doesn't wake up in time to leave so he gets caught in the morning. I just think it would be so cute

YES OF COURSE :D sorry this is so late and thank you for being patient with me. work has been insane and i’ve been editing/writing my book and my fanfic and i’m also applying for other jobs which is just insanity bUT I NEED MY ONE SHOTS so here we go :)

Originally posted by my-harry-potter-generation

george weasley x reader

   “G’night,” you called out to everyone still in the cozy, dimly lit family room of the Burrow. Ginny was a step in front of you on the stairs, and she did the same.
   “See you in the morning, dears,” Mrs. Weasley smiled sweetly, though her eyes were masked with exhaustion. The smell of the freshly baked lemon meringue pie was still wafting throughout the house. The fire was faintly crackling in the background and you heard the wind howl outside. You felt an arm around your shoulders and smiled to yourself. “’Night, mum,” George called.
   “G’night, darlings,” Mrs. Weasley called again as she began to fold away the kitchen towels. You, Ginny, George, and Fred headed up the stairs, leaving Harry and Ron near the fireplace, playing an intensifying game of exploding snap.
   You were finally near your rooms and you heard an obnoxious sort of yawn. “G’night, Y/N, Gin,” Fred said and clumsily fell into you. Another yawn, and an eye roll form Ginny. “See you!”
   Ginny slowly raised a hand to both of her brothers and waltzed into her room, gesturing for you to take your time getting ready for sleep. You turned back towards George who looked like he wanted to do anything else but head to bed. “Tired, love?”
   “Yes,” he admited, albeit it begrudgingly. “But I hate not being able to spend the night with you.”
   You laughed and placed a hand on his arm. “I know. But your mum, and mine, would probably kill us both before we even had a chance to explain ourselves.” You brought your hand to his cheek. “Morning will come quickly, I promise.”
   He sighed and nodded at you. “You do know how difficult it is for me to leave you and walk into my room right now, right?”
   “Just as difficult for me, dear,” you replied, and stood up on your tiptoes to press your lips lightly to his. He wrapped his arms around you quite tightly, and you knew he didn’t want to let go. Neither did you. But eventually, albeit sadly, you both did. “See you in the morning.”
   “In the morning, my love,” he said before kissing your forehead. He ran his fingers through your hair once more before heading towards his bedroom, and flashed a sleepy smile at you before you rounded the corner and waltzed into Ginny’s.

A few hours later
You were awoken by a small noise at what must’ve been the middle of the night, because it was still black outside. Groggily, you yawned and tried to fixate your eyes on anything in the darkness. You heard a bump, and then, “Ouch! Damnit, Ginny and her freaking Quidditch stuff,”
   “George?” you whispered as you felt a body slide into the bed next to you.
   He placed a kiss on your cheek. “Hiya, darling.” You could practically feel the smirk he was giving you.
   “Merlin’s beard…what are you doing in here? Your mum is going to kill you, she’s actually going to kill you dead.” You asked quite seriously, but you were grinning from ear to ear. George obviously sensed it, because he laughed and poked you in the side. You squirmed next to him.
   “I just couldn’t bear to lie down without you any longer.”
   You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. “You do realize your sister is in here, yes? Sound asleep across the other end,”
   George shrugged. “There’s nine of us in this family; this isn’t the first and certainly won’t be the last time I’ll have shared a room with her,” he told you.
   “If we get caught–”
   He pressed his finger to your lips. “Shh–just for a little while, I’ll leave before the sun comes up–can we just…can I just lie with you a moment?”
   You could feel your heart beating rapidly inside of your chest and couldn’t help but let your body relax in his arms. You felt him relax, too. “Of course.” You easily fit right into the crevices of his body, your head nuzzled into his shoulder and legs entangled together. You pulled the blanket around you both and closed your eyes again.

Your eyes opened with a flutter, and you took in the ray of sunshine flooding in through Ginny’s open window. You were about to get up and stretch when you felt a body move slightly next to you. You froze and turned over, whispering George’s name quickly and as loudly as you possibly could without awakening Ginny.
   “George, George! For Merlin’s sake, wake up, would you? It’s morning!”
   “What?” he asked with a sleepy voice and tired eyes. He yawned and pulled you closer to him. “Just five more minutes and then we’ll get ready for class,”
   You rolled you eyes and shook him again. “We’re not at school, you loon! We’re in your house, where your parents are sitting just right downstairs drinking their morning tea!” This clearly got his attention. He shot up, eyes bloodshot and hair askew. He jumped up out of bed, kissed you sweetly and quickly, and made his way to the door as quietly and as stealthily as he could. You closed your eyes once again when you heard, “George? What’re you doing in Ginny’s room?” Oh, dear god.
   “Oh, uh…” you heard George stammer. Damnit, George, think of something, quickly! “I woke up and went to see if Y/N was up, too, but she–she isn’t, yet, so I’m going to let her sleep longer,”
   Mrs. Weasley was silent for a moment, obviously pondering this response of his, when she finally said, “Alright–well, that was sweet of you–d’you want some tea or would you like to wait for–”
   “Georgie,” you heard Fred and your heart nearly stopped. “How’d it go? Did you frighten Y/N when you snuck into bed with–” he stopped abruptly and had obviously come face to face with his twin and Mrs. Weasley.
   You heard a bit of fumbling, a little laughter and a scoff, and then you heard Mrs. Weasley say, a bit loudly, “You better run, boy!” Then there was a bit of the pattering of feet down the stairs, and silence.
   Your heart was racing but you kept your eyes shut, hoping Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t waltz into Ginny’s room, as well. You heard footsteps make their way up the steps again and you braced yourself, eyes shut tight.
   But it was just George. “No worries, you’re in the clear, told her ‘twas all me–I may be getting a beating, though–” he told you breathlessly and kissed you once more. “Totally worth it, by the way,” he winked and slipped out of the room again, Mrs. Weasley chasing him around the Burrow.
   Across the room, Ginny moved slightly in her bed. How she was sleeping through all of this was beyond you. She opened her eyes and stretched. “Morning, Y/N,” she said brightly and smiled. “I miss anything?”
   You thought about mentioning George sneaking in, lying in bed with you, not leaving soon enough and being caught because Fred had to open his big mouth. But you figured the chasing throughout the house would explain itself, so instead, you settled for, “Nope, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a normal morning at the Burrow,”
   You swore in the distance you heard a faint, “George Weasley, get back here!” and a maniacal laugh.

HAHAH i hope you liked this! this was super fun to write. i loved it, and i hope you do, too. :) HAPPY ONESHOT, EVERYBODY

2 in the Afternoon-Auston Matthews

Anonymous: Oh my god can you do another Auston Matthews smut?? Maybe where his gf is from Toronto and comes to visit him in Arizona over the summer after being apart for like a month or something?? 

Here you go! Hopefully you like it, I enjoyed writing it. I’ve been watching the Penguins game while editing it, so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes. 

Requested: Yes | No

Word Count: 2790

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, mentioned start of phone sex, slight dirty talk if you squint.


“It’s about who you miss at 2 in the afternoon when you’re busy, not at 2 in the morning when you’re lonely.”

Growing up a hockey fan in Toronto was hard. My dad constantly cursing out the tv when there was a bad play or when the Leafs lost. It was like the city was losing hope and going into a downward spiral. Seats were empty, the team was tired.

It wasn’t until 2016 when the Leafs won the first draft spot in the lottery, with the idea that we would finally have found hope in the top draft prospect, Auston Matthews. After having drafted Mitchell Marner in 2015 and William Nylander in 2014, two other hockey hopefuls, we’d finally be getting a third, creating the ideal trifecta young players. Sure there was still great players currently, but we’ve been stuck in such a rut, and these guys are our hope.

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anonymous asked:

How about cat boy Shiro & shance?

It got away from me….
Lance yawned as he opened to door to his house, tired after a full day of work. Allura was a slave driver, having him work the clearance floor of the fashion building. There had been a huge sale today, customers having flooded the shop and nearly cleaning it out, and not all of them were nice to him.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, shutting the door behind him. After getting changed into some sweatpants and an old t-shirt, he flopped on the couch, shutting his eyes. He got about what felt like ten minutes of blessed sleep before a crash and a yowl of pain woke him up, the lanky 25 year old man bolting upright in surprise. He got up and looked at the clock. What the fuck? Who was even awake at 4am?

With a groan, he got up and decided to investigate the sound. He shrugged on a light jacket and stepped out onto the porch, bare feet cold against the concrete. He glanced around and walked over to where a soft whimpering was coming from, the alleyway with all the trash cans.

“Hello?” He called, padding inside the alleyway, hand against the wall of his house. His eyes caught a hunched shape next to the dumpster, something big with a twitching tail and curled in on itself. Oh.

Now that he was closer, he could see it was a Hybrid, creatures that were a common pet in this city. This one was a Cat Hybrid, with long, messy and dirty black hair and ears and a white forelock and a white tipped black tail. It was making soft, pained sounds, gripping at its right arm.

“Here kitty kitty, what’s wrong?” Lance crooned, attempting to appear as non-threatening as possible. Which wasn’t hard, he could see the muscles through the tattered shirt on the Cat Hybrid’s body, even though it looked very malnourished. He walked a little closer, trying to recall everything Hunk had told him about Cat Hybrids since the big guy worked at a shelter for all kinds of Hybrids, like Keith, a mixed breed of a Cat and a Wolf Hybrid.

The Hybrid’s head shot up, staring at him with wide, panicked silver eyes that were admittedly quite pretty. Now that he could see its face, Lance could tell the Cat Hybrid was male, and hurt too by the bloody cut across his nose. The Hybrid growled warningly, ears flattened back and tail puffed up in fear.

Lance held up his hands, palms outwards, staying calm like Hunk had taught him when handling scared Hybrids. “Woah there, Kitty, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just trying to help. Can you let me do that?” He soothed, focus entirely on the terrified Hybrid.

The growling paused for a moment, wavering, and an almost curious look flashed through those gray eyes before being replaced with more caution. Lance took a small step forward, encouraged.

“You don’t look too good there, Kitty. Want me to get you some food and a bandage for that cut on your pretty face?” He cooed, shuffling a little closer and crouching low to appear smaller, less dangerous. The Hybrid’s ears flicked, indecision flickering across his face. Lance was now close enough to reach forward with one hand, carefully.

The Hybrid leaned forward, uncurling a little to sniff at Lance’s fingers, before cautiously turning his cheek against the Cuban man’s palm before pulling back a little with a soft whine. Lance smiled gently, keeping his teeth hidden, and ran his hand over the Hybrid’s hair and ears, a small purr startling both males.

Lance spoke up again. “Hey, let’s get you into my place so we can fix you up, okay?” The Hybrid blinked, confused, but allowed Lance to pull him up and suddenly Lance had to reevaluate this because the Cat Hybrid was taller than him by a head and a lot wider than skinny little Twig Lance. Not to mention heavy! For someone so emaciated, he sure packed a lot of weight!

Lance carefully led the Cat Hybrid out of the alleyway and into his house, shutting the door quietly and tugging him into the bathroom. “Okay, I know cats hate water, but we need to get you washed and cleaned before we bandage you up.” Lance explained to the startled Cat, who was staring at his reflection in the mirror with something akin to horror.

Lance filled the bathtub with hot but not scalding soapy water, and guided the Hybrid in. The water seemed to relax the dirty kitty, and Lance easily pulled off the ragged and soon to be burned old shirt and boxers the Hybrid had been wearing, finally able to assess the damages.

The Cat was covered in old scars and new injuries, like he’d been in a fighting ring. His right arm was missing, obviously recently because the stump hadn’t healed completely and was an angry reddish purple, blotchy and clearly infected. The poor Cat was going to need a Vet, and Lance hoped Hunk would cover this. But first he had to do what he could to help, since he’d never been one to turn down a creature in need.

He set to work, using safe shampoos and soaps to clean the dirt and blood away, having to drain and refill the tub several times until the water stayed mostly clear and bubbly. The Cat Hybrid flinched with every wound wiped down, but seemed to recognize that Lance was helping him and didn’t fight back. Lance hummed to fill the silence, a soothing Spanish lullaby his Mama loved singing.

Once he finished, he rinsed the Cat one last time before leaving to grab some overly large clothes that would probably fit the huge Hybrid, which he was guessing was of the Maine Coon variety. He came back and drained the tub, tugging the relaxed kitty out and drying him off, bandaging every wound with a bandaid or gauze before helping him into soft, clean clothes that actually fit the Cat just right, if not only slightly tight.

“Okay, just a haircut and then some food, sound good?” Lance soothed, sitting the other male on the closed toilet and holding up a pair of scissors and a hair razor. The Cat eyed the items warily, but merely made a soft noise of agreement before letting his eyes fall shut.

Lance pulled a towel over the Cat’s neck and shoulders, before setting to work snipping the long, tangled black locks of hair. He shaved away the worst of it, giving the Hybrid an undercut and leaving the top alone, trimming around the ears to a short, fluffy length and even grooming the ears and tail to get rid of the matting. The white forelock was left a little longer than the rest, since Lance found it kind of cute.

He cleared away the mess and once again tugged the Cat Hybrid by the wrist along with him to the kitchen, the poor kitty making a soft mew, a wordless question. “Food then! You look pretty hungry, kitty, and I think I still have a package of turkey somewhere.” Lance clarified, gesturing for the Hybrid to sit on the couch while he entered the kitchen to rummage around his fridge.

He came back to see the Cat Hybrid looking around curiously, tail flicking and ears up, which was definitely a good sign if he was showing interest in his surroundings. Lance gave himself a mental high five and cleared his throat lightly, gathering the kitty cat’s attention. He held up the package of turkey and had to stop himself from giggling at the way the Hybrid’s eyes lit up and ears perked, staring at the wrapped meat hungrily. His stomach let out a demanding growl too, and Lance definitely laughed then.

“Haha, okay, here you go then.” Lance chuckled, opening the plastic package and unwrapping the seal around the meat, plopping it back into the container and handing it to the Cat Hybrid.

While the cat scarfed down the meat, Lance dug his phone out of his jacket.

He had a few calls to make.
This….. got waaaaaaaayyy out of control…… it was supposed to be a small fluffy fic and I turned it into some angst? And yes, Shiro is the nameless Hybrid. I don’t suppose you’d want more, maybe? I mean I wouldn’t mind making more? Gah- I need to stop making all these AU’S, my brain is out of control ;0;
Hope you enjoyed!

(edit- here’s chapter 2- )

Hey, Scully! Look at this.”

anonymous asked:

okay, this may be a random and not necessary mean anything, but here is what kind of thought struck me today regarding the mixtape, next season and the possible endgame for deancas: the mixtape was labelled "dean's top 13 zepp traxx", right? but isn't it a bit uncommon to make top list of 13 songs? I mean, usually you pick a number which is divided by 5 (5,10,15 etc). Could this be writers hinting to us again that something meaningful between dean and cas is gonna happen the next,13th, season?

So I reblogged this post the other day by @margarittet because it was such a brilliant piece of meta on this that I feel like I don’t need to say anything more. 

That meta post touched on what you are talking about above, because 13 probably isn’t a coincidence and the writers most likely didn’t do the maths on how many Led Zeppelin songs an average cassette tape could actually hold, though for the hell of it I am gonna give it a go. Because why not.

Basically a cassette tape can hold around 45 minutes of song time on it. That averages out to around 11 - 15 songs of the average modern day song length of 3-4 minutes long.

Led Zeppelin songs on average are longer than that, at least 6 minutes long, though some pass the 10 minute mark on their own. It would have made far more sense to pick a top ten for LZ as logically, the only way to fit 13 LZ songs on a standard cassette tape would be if you were only picking the shorter songs, which means you’re skipping some of the best (which Dean totally wouldn’t do). Sure we can imagine Dean went and bought the fancy new cassette tapes with far more space on them, but Dean has always been pretty old school about these things and I just can’t see him going for all that modern stuff. If he was gonna do that, he could have made Cas a CD instead, or a playlist on an Ipod.

Whilst I doubt the writers sat down and worked out song timings and cassette length, the number 13 does make little sense in general and as you say, a top 10 would be far more obvious. So yes. Basically my point is that the number 13 was not pulled out of thin air. It was significant. Just like every single other thing in that entire scene was extremely significant. The whole moment was a spectacular display of storytelling, script writing, editing, production design, everything. It was bloody genius.

Just like the fact that Dean spelt ‘Track’s’ with 2 ‘XX’s to give the double meaning of kisses, the number 13 was part of the message. 13 is an important number. 13 is where we are headed. 13 songs, 13 seasons, and two guys who have been dealing with their unspoken feelings for each other for far too long. 

Unlucky for some? But not for Dean and Cas. I’m calling it guys. Season 13 is when it’ll happen. This isn’t based on the mixtape alone, but just a general feeling based on where season 12 has taken us. Destiel is happening, and I would put money on it happening in season 13.

Connor Murphy with a Writer S/O Headcanons Part 1

First off, this is long. A warning. I tried my best to make it gender neutral. If I didn’t, please, help me and tell me what to fix! 

Reminder, I don’t take requests for headcanons, and I don’t think I ever will. So sorry about that, guys! 

Ok, enjoy this long list guys!

  • You were a mystery to Connor and to most people
  • You weren’t an outcast cuz you did have a few friends and all, yet a lot of the times Connor would see you alone with a notebook or laptop or something that you can write with
  • Yet you also seemed content while being alone
  • It was confusing to him because you had friends and you didn’t hang out with them as much as other people did with their friends
  • So of course Connor’s way of expressing his curiosity in your… oddness is to observe you from afar
  • But just for observation nothing else absolutely nothing else no siree
  • When you were leaving class, you dropped your notebook, the prized notebook that Connor knew you carried everywhere
  • Now Connor had two choices, leave the notebook and continue not caring or take it and give it back to you
  • He started second guessing himself, that you must’ve noticed he was observing you and so, for revenge, you dropped your notebook so he could pick it up and he’d just end up embarrassing himself
  • However, if he didn’t embarrass himself, then you wouldn’t get your notebook
  • So Connor made a third option, he dropped it off at the teacher’s desk so you could find it later
  • While he was ditching class because he couldn’t take any more stares, he saw you outside your locker muttering to yourself and digging through your stuff.
  • Before he could say anything, he muttered, “People will think you’re a freak if you keep doing that.”
  • You heard him. The hallway was empty and his locker was fairly close to yours. You just smiled, cuz writers are freaks. “I am a freak,” you told him, “I’m a writer.”
  • With that, you kept on digging through your locker
  • Connor was so taken aback. Why would you admit to being a freak? Shouldn’t it bother you? Why were you so proud of it? It bothered him when the rumors started.
  • Seeing as no one was around to see him embarrass himself, Connor dared to talk to you
  • “What are you looking for anyway?”
  • “My journal. I had so many ideas in there, and I can’t find it.”
  • “I… I know where it is.” Great you’ll think he’s a freak. Why did he say that? Now you were going to interrogate him and ask him why he would know such things and then you would tell all your friends that he was a creepy stalker.
  • “Really?” Your eyes lit up. “Can you show me?”
  • Ok, Connor was surprised for two reasons. One: You weren’t mad or shouting or laughing, you were happy for what he said. A first. Two: you wanted him to show you? Who wanted Connor Murphy for company?
  • So, Connor showed you the classroom you dropped it in. You went in got your notebook just as the bell rang and the hallways flooded with people
  • All people avoided Connor, but he didn’t care, not when you were smiling and thanking him for doing something so small
    • Connor had never felt so… happy in a long time
  • Then, everything came crashing done
    • From his peripheral vision, he saw a few of your friends chatting amongst themselves on the other side of the hallway, and anger filled him up
    • “So this is what this is, huh?”
    • You blinked. “What? Connor-”
    • “No, don’t. You did all of this just so that you and your friend could make fun of the freak, right?”
    • “Connor-”
    • “You’re not any different than anyone else in this damn school. I should’ve known. I’ve had enough of this shit.”
    • And you stood there shocked.
  • You were very worried about Connor. Being a writer, you had studied a lot about psychology and different mental disorders. You knew Connor needed help, and you were going to help him.
  • You asked around, your friends, teachers, classmates, but no one knew much about Connor.
    • You kept hearing about an incident when Connor threw a printer at his teacher in second grade
    • But… how could a second grader…. Throw a printer???? It made no sense
  • You finally got some info from someone in Jazz Band
  • His sister played jazz, and you could easily ask her if Connor was ok
  • Apparently, she didn’t know much about her brother either and judging by her indifferent and almost angry reaction at the mention of her brother, you knew something happened between them
  • You asked if you could come over to thank him for giving you your notebook back, even though that was only one of the reasons you wanted to see him
  • Zoe Murphy was confused, but she relented
  • So that day you walked with Zoe and actually had a nice conversation.
  • You told her how one of your characters was interested in music and decided to get some advice from a musician
  • When you got to the house, Zoe explained a bit of the family situation
  • You became even more determined to help Connor
  • Zoe retreated to her room and pointed you to Connors room. She warned you that he might not be in there and that if he was, he was smoking weed
  • You hesitated before knocking because what if you were making it worse?
  • Then you looked at your notebook and found the courage to knock on his door.
  • “What the fuck, Zoe?” Connor shouted through his door.
  • You gulped. “Um, it’s (y/n). I dropped my notebook. I’ve come to thank you.”
  • He opened the door and was silent for a few seconds
  • Those few seconds felt like eternity to you. You had to admit, he was intimidating. You had noticed Connor before because he was… odd. Just like you were. You just never had the chance to talk to him.
  • “Why the fuck are you here?” he demanded.
  • “I wanted to thank you.”
  • He scoffed. “Yeah right.” He moved to close the door.
  • You prevented the door from closing.
  • “What the fuck, (Y/n)?”
  • You explained, “Connor, I’m a writer. That notebook you found is practically my life, and you returned it to me. Last time, I lost a notebook, no one bothered to look for it or keep an eye out. I found that very notebook a year later in the fucking gym. Everyone goes to the gym and no one bothered to tell me. You cared, and that’s pretty amazing.”
  • After your little monologue, you grew embarrassed. You just rambled about a notebook in front of Connor freakin Murphy, a dude who probably didn’t want to listen to a writer ramble on about writing.
  • However, it was the opposite.
  • Connor noticed that there was no one around. You weren’t doing it to embarrass him or get glory for taking pity on him. Which meant the only reason you could be there, thanking him, is to genuinely thank him and appreciate what he did. He hadn’t had that in a long time.
  • “I should go. Sorry for, uh, disturbing you, Connor.”
  • He couldn’t help himself. “You’re welcome, (Y/n).”
  • You turned around and you couldn’t help your smile or the words that came out afterward. “So, you wanna hang out tomorrow, lunch? Gotta thank my superhero.”
  • Connor didn’t know how he got so lucky as to hear those words from you, but he didn’t want to waste it. “Yeah.”
  • Lunch was a bit awkward. Then, something caught Connor’s attention.
    • “So this one story I have is about a main character who is struggling with mental disorders-”
    • “So he’s a villain?”
    • “No, not all. He’s the protagonist, and everyone who keeps denying him help are the antagonists.”
    • Connor’s interests piqued. He wanted to read it, and you allowed him after asking if he’d be ok with reading the sensitive material.
    • He did and not only did he like it, he gave you honest and good critique
    • “Hey, if you need any help with writing that-”
    • “You’ll swoop in and save my writing. I know, Superman.”
  • Whenever you needed to write, you went to him.
    • “Connor?”
    • “Yes?”
    • “Mind f I hang out here with you? I need some quiet while I write.”
    • “What about your other friend?”
    • “They’ll talk and talk and try to find out what I’m writing.”
    • “That’s annoying. Yeah, sure.”
    • “Thanks.”
    • And you two would just sit there in comfortable silence until you were done.
    • “Is it ready, (Y/n)?”
    • You inhaled through your teeth. “Not just yet, Mr. Connor Murphy. I need to edit it. But, I promise, as soon as I’m done, You’ll be the first to read it!”
    • And he was
  • Connor Murphy soon becomes your editor and fellow researcher, and because he doesn’t give a shit, he is really good at finding people for you to talk to about certain things.
    • “(y/n), I got some contacts from the hospital, all experts in that disorder you’re trying to write about.”
    • “Really?! Thanks, Connor!”
    • “I also emailed each and every one of them regarding the disorder.”
    • … “Connor, we’re in high school. What the fuck did you tell them?”
    • “That you were going to have a book published and that you need information.”
    • “Connor, I’m not even close to done.”
    • “But, you’ll finish it. They’ll get back to us.”
    • Within the next week, no one had contacted you or Connor.
    • Then Connor gave you a pile of papers.
    • “‘What’s this?”
    • “Since none of the doctors responded, I went over there and interviewed one. Here’s the information I got.”
    • “How did you-”
    • “Don’t ask, (Y/n).”
    • You smiled. “You really are my Superman, you know that Murphy?”
    • Cue cute blushing Connor who tried to hide it. “Whatever, (Y/n).”
  • Safe to say, Connor fell for you. Hard. And it scared the shit out of him. You were so amazing in his eyes. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he deserved you as a friend, much more a …
  • Connor began to disappear more often, and you were starting to worry. Connor had disappeared sometimes, sure. But, usually, it was for a day or two. If it was more than that, he would text you or call you to reassure you he was ok.
  • Four days passed, and Connor wasn’t anywhere. He wouldn’t answer your texts or calls, and you were beginning to worry.
  • Zoe hadn’t seen him anywhere either, and she began to worry too. She didn’t forgive her brother for what he had done to her in the past, but she knew that he was better when he was with you. You were better when you were with him. You needed each other.
  • You searched for him. You went from place to place. You knew Connor would want some quiet place to think, so you went to each library, park, abandoned field. You even jumped the fence of some private property to see if he was there.
  • You found him on a bench, sleeping. You were so mad at him for disappearing on you, so you woke him up. “Connor!”
  • He groaned. “Leave me alone, (Y/n).”
  • “No! I’ve left you alone for a week. You have worried me sick! Honestly, Connor, I have fucking clue what you were thinking?”
  • Connor shook his head and walked away. He didn’t want to argue with you.
  • “Connor! You are not disappearing on me again!” You grabbed his hand, and that made him snap.
  • “I can disappear whenever the fuck I want, (Y/n)! And what, it’s not like you wouldn’t change. You’ll still be you, with the novel in works and a published book in a few years. Nothing changes if I leave!”
  • “Nothing changes?” You shook your head. “You have the gall to tell me nothing changes? Who will be my editor, huh, Connor? Evan, cause he’ll love everything I read? Or fucking Jared, cause I would definitely love to follow his advice and put him in my book!”
  • “You could get any editor, (Y/n). You can replace me!”
  • “No one can replace you, Connor! No one!” Tears were stinging your eye. At the mere thought of a world without Connor Murphy, you felt empty and angry and sad. You took a deep breath. “Connor, if you disappeared, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
  • “Oh please. You were still you before you met me. The proud freak.”
  • You shook your head. “Connor, I couldn’t finish anything before you. I-I had no motivation to finish anything. I didn’t see any reason why i had to finish that short story, that novel, that fucking outline. But, after you, after meeting someone who actually gave me critiques and appreciated writing for what it was and listened to me, I feel like I could take on the world!” You laughed. “You’re my muse, Connor Murphy.”
  • Connor was shocked again. It couldn’t be true. How could he ever mean that much to someone? Especially if that someone was… you “Don’t lie to me, (Y/n).”
  • “I’m not lying to you, Connor. You inspire me.”
  • “Stop fucking lying to me.”
  • “I am not lying to you!”
  • He shook his head. “I’m not dealing with this crap.”
  • “Connor, how could I lie to you?” When he didn’t stop walking, you stopped in front of him. “How could you even believe I would lie to you?”
  • He kept trying to get past you.
  • “Connor!”
  • He pushed past you and continued walking.
  • You watched as he walked away. Well, you couldn’t lose anything at that point. “Connor!”
  • “Leave me alone, (Y/n)!”
  • “Connor, please!’ You gulped. “I love you, Connor!”
  • Everything froze. Connor stopped in his path. You couldn’t breathe.
  • Connor threw back his head and stared at the sky. His voice was surprisingly calm as he said, “I thought I told you to stop lying.”
  • You wanted to argue with him again, but you were too tired and confused. You couldn’t form the right words
  • So Connor continued. He turned around. He had tears on his cheeks, and his eyes were red. You stalked over to you. “How could you love a freak like me, huh, (Y/n)?” He scoffed. “What kind of sick joke are you trying to pull?” His voice raised in volume. “I’m not worth your love, ok? You’re meant for greater things, and you need some guy who’s not going to disappear on you for a week.”
  • You whispered his name and pulled on his jacket. He had to stop saying those things. It hurt that he thought such things about himself.
  • He still persisted, “You need some guy who doesn’t smoke weed and actually fucking sleeps once in a while and knows how to give a shit about people. You deserve better than-”
  • You couldn’t shut him up, so you kissed him. It was crazy, impulsive, and stupid, but you did it anyway.
  • Connor pulled away immediately. “(Y/n), you can’t-”
  • You pressed your lips against his again, and this time he moaned into the kiss and pulled you closer to him. He pressed you against him and scrambled to find out where his hands went. Connor grabbed your hips with one hand and knotted his fingers into your hair with the other.
  • The kiss was sloppy and by no means perfect, but my god, feeling Connor’s hands in your hair and on your hips and running down your shoulders was the best thing you’ve ever felt. When your chest began to burn from lack of oxygen, you pulled away.
  • Connor leaned forward to kiss you again, but he didn’t do so, not sure if you really really want this. Instead, he opted for resting his forehead on yours.
  • Connor’s mind was racing, going from one thought to the next. He grabbed your arm, needing something to anchor him to the reality where you, wonderful you, kissed him.
  • Twice.
  • “Shit,” Connor whispered.
  • “That bad?” you laughed.
  • He grit his teeth and stroked the length of your arm. “No. That good.”
  • You giggled and heaved in air. Connor had literally taken your breath away, and you didn’t mind one bit.
  • You stroked his hair and just stared at him with love in your eyes.
  • “I have something on my face, don’t I?”
  • You shook your head. “No. Just…” You breathed deeply. “You look so beautiful.”
  • Connor laughed. “Yeah right.”
  • “I’m serious! You’re amazing, Connor Murphy.”
  • And in that moment, Connor knew there would be no one else for him.

If you think this is long… well this is only part one guys! (I know, I’m crazy. I’m a writer) Um, yeah, I love Connor Murphy guys. His character is so unexplored that I want to explore his character, and this is one of my ways. 

Next part is coming up soon!

By soon, I mean less than thirty minutes later. Here it is!  Part 2!


Harvey’s Puppy, Snoopy.

Drabble Challenge - Prompt 84 - “Show me what’s behind your back.” Filled for @novemberhush 

Thank You, Dee, I hope you enjoy reading it. xx

Mike snooped.

They had been living together for nearly a year now, and in that time Mike had noticed one place that Harvey seemed to hold sacred in his walk-in wardrobe; a drawer that contained his ties.  Every morning as he lazed about in their bed, he would watch Harvey spend way too much time standing in front of it before he chose a tie.  Harvey was particular about and took pride in his image, but even for him, the daily selection was taking too long.

It drove him crazy, but he resisted the urge to sneak a peek for forty-nine weeks, two days, seven hours, thirty-one minutes and seven seconds.

He arrived home early that afternoon and figured he could get away with just a quick peek, in and out, no harm in that, right?

He slid the draw open, observing the neat lines of silk ties, most of them hues of grey or blue, and a few purple ones at the back. If you weren’t looking, the two subtle little pieces of ribbon on either side of the drawers could easily be missed.  Mike clasped them and gave a gentle tug, and the layer of ties pulled up and slid easily back atop the back half of the drawer.  Below are an array of neatly organised items; a picture of his niece and nephew, some very expensive looking cuff links, a journal, some other important looking papers, and a ring box.

He’s come this far; he may as well examine the contents thoroughly; he reasons picking up the navy velour box.

He expects to find some old family heirloom, maybe from Harvey’s grandmother who as Harvey tells it, always had a soft spot for him.   Instead, he finds a beautiful plain gold band with two platinum lines weaved around it, crossing over one another.   He is stunned, and his breath hiccups in his throat as he gawks at the beautiful ring.  Removing it carefully from the box, he twirls it around in his fingers, before reading the inscription.

‘My Guy’

His heart flutters, and a warm wave of emotion swept through his body as tears build in the corners of his eyes. Harvey wanted to marry him.

He slipped the ring on, it was a tight fit, but that was probably because his heart was racing. He held out his hand to examine how it looked. Of course, Harvey chose perfectly, the width and style were elegant and understated he thought gushing.  Then the guilt set in.  Harvey deserved to see his face when he saw the ring for the first time.  He glared at himself crossly in the mirror, of course, he had gotten carried away.

The front entrance door banged shut, and Mike immediately began to panic, yanking at his finger to pull the ring off but it wouldn’t budge. The more he pulled in his panic, the redder and more swollen the area became, and the less likely it was that it was coming off. Shit.

“Are you here, Mike?” Harvey called from the kitchen.

“Ahh … Ahem yep, in the bedroom,” he replied, cursing under his breath.

He slid the robe’s door closed and tried to look casual standing in the middle of the bedroom with his right hand on his hip and his left hand hanging loosely behind his leg.

When Harvey walked in, he noticed Mike looking akin to a Macy’s mannequin, except for his face which looked very guilty. In total, it took the best closer in New York ten seconds to work out that something was awry. He narrowed his eyes and stalked forward, giving Mike an inquisitive look. Mike instinctively took a step back and hid his hand up his shirt.

“Mike?” He urged, “Show me what’s behind your back.”

Mike’s head dropped in shame, and he mentally beat himself up for ruining this moment for them.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled to the floor as he revealed his hidden left hand and held it out for inspection, then waited for Harvey to speak.

Unexpectedly, Harvey chuckled, “Maybe the inscription should have read, ‘My Puppy, Snoopy’.”

Mike smiled despite wanting the ground to swallow him up.

“Are you mad?” Mike asked hesitantly and lifted his eyes from the floor.

Twelve pearly white teeth, ten laughter lines, two dimples, and eight crow’s feet made up the beautiful face of the man standing before him now, with tears shining in his eyes.

“I will be if you say no!” Harvey hinted, clearly amused.

Harvey dropped to his knee and kissed Mike’s swollen ring finger, looking hopefully up at him.

“Marry me?” Harvey asked, his voice soft and with a slight quaver to it.

“Fuck yes!” Mike cried and tackled him onto the plush carpet to kiss his amazing fiancé stupid.

Authors note:  Awww, they love each other. 😍 Thanks for reading.  This is fic number 3, out of 8.  You can find the others on AO3 here - Millie’s Mini Marvey Musings

anonymous asked:

I used to write a lot when I was younger, and I really want to get into it again! Do you have any advice for improving/coming up with ideas/staying motivated? <3

Ohhh you do ask the good questions, dear anon…

This got quite wordy (surprise, it’s me!), so I’ve tucked it beneath a readmore. I really wanted to make a joke about “let me peel back the layers of how I write for you”, but that felt a little….self-indulgent :)

Some Onion Writing Tips - Below the Readmore!

Keep reading

Issues (Jughead x reader)

A/N: Just wanted to do something to Issues by Julia Michaels cause I love it. Also I mean what an adorable moody nerd.

Tags: @thecupcakeconsumer, @courtneychicken

Warnings: potential language and like idk it’s kind of sad but then super fluffy really

Originally posted by mallverine

“Hope you all don’t mind; I have a little something I wanna sing for a little someone.” You gave the audience the first nervous smile all night. Everything else had been routine, but you had to get this off your chest now that you could see those blue eyes steadily watching from the crowd.

I’m jealous, I’m overzealous
When I’m down, I get real down
When I’m high, I don’t come down
I get angry, baby, believe me
I could love you just like that
And I could leave you just this fast

But you don’t judge me
‘Cause if you did, baby, I would judge you too

“Am I crazy or is she staring at Jughead?” Veronica hissed to Betty and Archie. All three stared between Y/N on stage and Jughead standing next to them. “Juggie do you know her?”

Keep reading


Hello! So this is my first published work on tumblr and I’m so excited to put ti out and have it read.

This is written for @impalaimagining‘s Cheesy Pickup Line Challenge and my prompt was “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” I immediately thought of Sam and ran with an idea I had.

Paring: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,316


Originally posted by hunterchesters

Going out with your girlfriends on a Saturday night had been something you had always been hesitant to saying yes to. Your weekends had normally consisted of unwinding from your editing and writing job for the local paper. The job was something you’d loved since you’d started, but recently the days had seemed to be spiraling into an inescapable hell of writing, reading and fixing grammatical mistakes. You’d originally planned on having the weekend to yourself, your bed called to you desperately and it had taken everything in you to say no to the appealing offer and get  into the shower instead.

Married, one of your high school best friends was getting married in a month and a half to a man who you’d only met a few times but seemed to make her quite happy, which was all you wanted for her. She’d told you of her bachelorette party at least a month ago and you knew you’d written it in on your calendar, you simply hadn’t had the chance to look at your calendar with how busy you’d been these past few weeks. She’d chosen a bar that wasn’t too far from your apartment so in all it ended up all being quite perfect except for your reluctance to go.

You had picked out a navy blue dress after searching through your closet for things that were acceptable to wear to a bar. The dress was a bit tighter than the outfits you would normally choose to wear but was loose enough to not come off as desperate for a quick fuck. You weren’t necessarily desperate for sex but you weren’t one to pass up on an opportunity for a one night stand.

An hour into the party and the only thing that had been keeping you sane was the soft music playing in the bar and the occasional semi-attractive man that would come in and glance your way. You didn’t hate weddings and weren’t against the idea of love in anyway, but when it had come to discussing each and every little detail about the wedding and the reception you’d found yourself desperately searching for an escape plan.

All thoughts of escaping were interrupted when your friend Alissa had spoken up flashing a smile at you, her eyes moving from you to a spot at the bar.

“He’s been looking at you all night you know, I’d go make a move to talk to him if I were you. He looks like pure sin and god knows you have been way too busy to get laid recently.” She says and you don’t know if you should be uneased or flattered by being watched by a stranger.

You’re about to say something in protest, about how he’s probably some creep at a bar who does this to every woman coming into the bar and then you turn and see him and every word you were about to say disappears. The man in question still has his eyes on you, his eyes move up and down your body, clearly thinking about what’s underneath. He’s built like a greek god and you have to turn away from him and back to your friends because you knew you’d keep staring at the man in the corner of the bar without a second thought.

“What am I supposed to do just go up to him and ask him to kindly fuck me? I haven’t done this whole flirting thing in a long time.” You say trying to stay quiet not wanting him to hear you. You’d wanted a way out but you didn’t think it would come in this way, though you weren’t one to complain.

“Go and do something while you have the chance, god knows I’d already be over there if I weren’t getting married.” Sarah said before handing you your purse and shooing you away in his direction.

This should be much easier than flirting with someone you knew, because he didn’t know you and you didn’t know him. It had taken you a moment to just take a deep breath and tell yourself you could go do this and put yourself out there and have a little fun because you’d worked too hard and deserved a break. So you’d taken a step and then another until you found yourself in front of the man who looked even better up close. A smile played on his lips as he looked up at you, his gaze had stayed a moment longer on your lips before staying on your eyes. He opened his mouth about to speak and probably introduce himself but you were moments quicker.

Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because you look like you belong there instead of here.” You say quickly, a smile playing on your lips. You wouldn’t be shocked if he were to think you were crazy now or strange and changed his mind on wanting to sleep with you because you couldn’t have said anything anymore stupid.

Then he laughed, the smile on his lips grew and he just laughed and your heart sank. Dear god he thought you were an idiot.

“I don’t think I ever belonged in heaven to begin with sweetheart. I guess you could say they don’t like me very much.” He says pausing for a moment and his eyes flicker back down to your lips for a moment and then your breasts and then continue moving lower before back up again.

“You should really sit down; I’d like to talk with you more and learn more about the girl I’ve been looking at from afar.”

You obey without a moment of hesitation, taking a seat on the barstool next to his and then the conversation starts. Its simple introductory things, you learn his name is Sam and he’s an agent with the FBI with his brother, Dean. They go on a lot more of undercover cases and end up traveling quite a lot and end up staying in town for a few days before leaving which was perfect. An easy one night stand. You talk about yourself, your own job and the things you like. How you’ve lived here almost all your life and wish you could travel more like he does. Somewhere in between talking about how stressful these past few weeks have been his hand finds a place on your lower thigh and his fingers have been making deliberate and teasing circles along your leg, slowly moving higher and higher as you speak. Talking suddenly feels much harder to do and you wonder for a moment if he’s going to finger you right here and now and you realize you wouldn’t stop him.

His fingers reach the material of your dress and there’s nowhere else for them to go except under your dress but he doesn’t move them an inch further. They just stay there, his fingers continuing to create small circles on your leg, which are driving you insane. You want more, you’re done with the teasing touches and tiptoeing around the known fact that the two of you will be having sex tonight.

“Sam, please.” You beg, your words are a soft plea and his motions stop completely and his hand moves back to his side and a smirk plays on his lips as he looks at you.

“That’s all you needed to say and I would have stopped everything and taken you to the closest unoccupied place and simply taken you. Though with how wet I’m guessing you are I don’t think you would have minded if I simply fucked you right here and everyone saw.” He says calmly but you can see the lust and want in his eyes, and you know he would bend you over the bar stool your sitting on and fuck you until you saw stars, for everyone to see. You can’t help but gasp at his words, slightly shocked at his forwardness.

“I don’t like waiting sweetheart.” He says pausing a moment to look around at the still heavily occupied bar. “You’re going to go to the women’s bathroom and wait for a single knock and then I’m going to have my way with you.”

You wait a moment making sure he’s completely serious with this. The idea is slightly crazy and something you normally wouldn’t do, but you have a feeling that he will be completely worth it. You comply with his request and soon find yourself in the bathroom of the bar, you’re trying to stay calm and focus on breathing and staying relaxed but the wetness between your legs has you squirming and desperate for either your own touch or Sam’s, preferably Sam’s. You’re about to cave in to your own desires and simply begin to touch yourself under your dress when you hear the single knock at the door. You move and unlock the door and in a moment Sam’s inside with you, locking the door behind him. He turns to you looking over your figure, looking for any trace of hesitation from you.

“You’re completely sure about this (y/n)?” He asks and you can tell it’s taking everything in him to not touch you and have his way with you.

“Touch me, Sam.” The nearly silent words leave your lips and in another moment you’re against a wall with Sam in front of you, his lips claim yours in a rough, searing kiss that takes your breath away. His hands move up to your breasts, kneading them softly, teasingly. You run your hands through his hair, gently tugging when his lips move away from yours and begin kissing a trail down your neck until they stop completely, staying in one place. He softly groaned into the kiss, tugging roughly at your nipple, his touch had you whimpering out, desperate for more. He moved away from your lips only when you began to move your hips against his own. His hands made their way down your body, teasing touches to make you squirm.

“Wanna be inside you (y/n).” He says against your lips, his words are soft but there’s this demandingness behind them.

Your hands move to undo his jeans and he pulls them with his boxers, down to his knees and that’s as far as they get because then you have your hand wrapped around his erection and he’s completely lost to the feelings of you and how good your hand feels wrapped around his cock.

“Come on babe, stop teasing me. You and I both know what we really want.” His hands move under your dress and move your panties so he has full access between your legs. His fingers languidly move along your slit, your wetness coating his fingers and the feeling has your head falling back with a moan of his name. All too soon he removes his hand and brings his fingers to his lips, tasting you and you think there’s nothing more erotic than the sight that’s in front of you.

“Sam. Please.” You beg, your voice almost a whisper.

“Since you’ve asked so nicely.” He says with a smirk playing on his lips and before you can completely comprehend what’s happened you’re against the wall completely, your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s inside you with no preparation or warning.

Sex with men you’d had before was fine and okay but it was never like this. Sam inside you felt right and so good. He had you seeing stars by the second time he thrusted back into you, pulling completely out so just the tip was inside you before slamming back into you again. Your lips found his again, stifling the moans and gasps that threatened to leave your lips and alert everyone in the bar as to how well Sam was fucking you.

His hands gripped onto your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises the next morning but you couldn’t find a reason to care. With Sam you let down all the walls you’d kept up around normal men and simply lived in the moment and let your inhibitions leave for a little bit. This, the feeling of completely immersing yourself into just sex, no strings attached and no awkward morning after was so nice.

You’d held onto him so tightly and silenced your screams of pleasure as he brought you over the edge not once but twice before his movements became more frantic before he stills inside you gripping onto you as he cums inside you. Both of your breathing is labored and he trails his lips down your neck once more before pulling out of you, setting you back on your feet and slipping his pants back on.

You straighten out your dress, knowing that no matter what you do there will be people who look and talk. Your hair’s a mess and you’re positive you have at least two hickies somewhere on your neck and you smell like sex. You couldn’t care less.

Your eyes meet his once more but he’s the first to speak, “This wasn’t how I was planning the night to go. I wasn’t planning on doing this tonight and then I saw you and all thoughts of just getting a drink at a bar left my mind.” He’s smiling once he’s finished talking and you find yourself to be too.

“I thought you thought that I was an idiot with my awful flirting skills.” You say with a small laugh.

“Thank you though, for a wonderful night of new experiences and fantastic sex, Sam Winchester.” With a wink and a smirk playing on your lips as you hand him back his phone, you leave the bathroom and Sam. Thanking God that you ran into Sam and praying that he’d stop by town more often, you wouldn’t be hard to find, since you’d left him with your phone number.