you had to use the word 'former'

My former art teacher who’s painting course I visited is in the newspaper and… I’m cackling through the whole article, because you can literally feel how uncomfortable he is with the attention and the talking, his words are short and clipped, and the title of the whole article is a quote of him saying: “Painting is hard work”.

I love him so much. 😂 He’s the sweetest most genuine teacher I ever had, like a Grandpa to all us, but he’s HORRIBLE with social interaction (which is why we got along so well, he understood my social anxiety)

i hate english

“John and Joe were both taking a spelling test. On the test, there was a question that asked ‘which is correct; Had or Had Had’.

Joe, while John had had ‘had’, had had ‘had had’. ‘Had had’ had had a better score than the former.”

What the fuck. When are you allowed to use the same word 11 times in a row and still have it be correct.

the little things in life - part 1

summary: One of Roman’s adventures takes an interesting turn, resulting in Logan coming back looking much different than before.

characters: logan, patton, virgil, roman

pairings: none

warnings: age regression; some intrusive thoughts; thoughts of injury (very brief); thoughts of choking on food (very brief); mention of death (very brief)

word count: 1,968

a/n: a cute piece inspired by @mewsicalmiss‘s adorable hcs and @pirate-patton‘s own fic based off of them. this got a little long so I decided to break it up into a few chapters. hope you guys enjoy!

tag list: @tinysidestrashcaptain @logan-logic @holdnarrytight @the-sanders-snides @darude-sanderstorm @mewsicalmiss @thegoldenmink @cefmua56 @madd-catter @amazable01@camillenicole @dudlebuggs @evilmuffin

“He’s so small! Ah, I just wanna scoop him right up!”

“I hate to admit it, but he’s just downright adorable! And he hardly talks as much as he used to. I shall chalk this up as an improvement!”

Virgil opened his mouth to protest; he closed it in favor of screwing his face into an expression that was near impossible to describe, but perfectly conveyed his character.

“What?” he finally burst out. “No! We can’t keep him like this. Do you think Thomas is gonna have any idea how to do anything?”

Roman groaned, shoulders sliding into a dejected position. “Fine. I suppose you do have a point. The only thing is…how do we fix…this?”

He gestured to their current problem, which sat on the couch.

This problem happened to be a very displeased Logan, who was now reduced to the state of about a two-year-old, courtesy of a glittering crystal lake he had fallen into after being dragged along on one of Roman’s adventures.

He was small, he was clumsy, he was—

Well, to be quite honest, he was the most adorable thing any of them had ever seen.

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“Family. Familia. Famille” - [Tom Hiddleston - One shot ].

Based on: Imagine: Tom being your ex, the one your family loved and welcomed when the two of you were together, and even wanted you to marry but things never worked between you. A couple of years later, he’s invited to a family event, which makes things super awkward for you because you’re still single but you don’t want him to know, and you’re well aware of how communicative and pushy your relatives can be, not to mention how much they will be praising him all evening long.

Written by: A.Wölf.

Notes: Family drama/fluff. 


Mia rolled the end of her side braid around her bun and secured it with a bobby pin while staring at herself in the mirror.

The curtain next to her billowed open and the cool ocean breeze raced through her, reminding her to pay attention to the sound of the crashing waves outside her parents’ beach house; something she hadn’t indulged in, in a long time.

Her bedroom door opened and it took her visitor less than 5 steps to reach her and rest her chin on her shoulder while putting her hands on her arms.

“Isn’t it odd how even when we look the same, I’m still the prettier one?”

Mia rolled her eyes at her identical twin who stared back at her in the mirror.

“Fuck off”.

Ava laughed.

“You look nice. I wonder why”, she said and Mia caught an ironic note in her tone but brushed it off.

“It’s been a while since the whole family’s gathered”, Mia said with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sure, Aunt Marie will appreciate your effort. Come on”, Ava chuckled.


Ava frowned and studied her sister for a second.

“Oh!” she exclaimed raising an eyebrow, “You don’t know”.

“Ava”, Mia sighed, “You’ve been here for a minute and you’re already getting on my nerves. What is it?”

Ava stood up, walked towards the door and opened it before glancing back at her dumbfounded and two-minute younger twin.

“Mother invited Tom”.

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I know it’s like the middle of July but I have some stories

Okay, so!

In fifth grade, my teacher was out a bit. She was at doctors appointments, getting a check-up on her condition. (She had a stroke at the age of forty and can’t even use most of her left side, but she’s getting better. So, we had a sub.
This sub was a former teacher. Everyone knew her as the “old crazy teacher” She was around 82 I believe?
So, whenever she subbed, she was horrible. She didn’t really understand the concepts of what she was teaching, and she was very forgetful.
She had this system of “checks” where if you acted up, you’d get one. I don’t even know how it worked? It wasn’t even a “three checks, then to the office.” You could get many checks and nothing would happen.
She used a lot of old words, too. I remember the day she discovered what glorious technology a paper-cutter was. She fiddled around with it a bit, and when she figured out how to use it, she promptly exclaimed, “Wow! That’s a real humdinger!”
Oh, and another thing she did; She always, always, *always*, talked about her cats. She loved them so very much. There were about five I believe? She talked about them all the time. Turns out, though, they were just strays that occasionally came to her house because she fed them.

Those are just some stories about her I found amusing

Two Halves Of A Whole

Requested by Anonymous 

Word Count: 4,264

Warnings: More plot than usual, more fluff than usual (neither of which you should get used to), a beautiful oxymoron of emotional smut, if there is such a thing. 

Please message me and let me know what you think. I deviated from my norm per request but still need your delicious feedback anyway before I get unsightly worry lines in my forehead, I’m far too young for them. Happy sinning! 

Dinner had been the worst kind of awkward - something that should have been happy but wasn’t. The boys were shells of their former selves, and the air was weighted with the knowledge of it. John was humorless and looked ten years older than he had before he left. Tommy was stoically absent in words and tightly reserved in actions. Arthur was the only one with any kind of fire in him, artificially fueled by the whiskey he’d been drunk off of long before the boys had stepped foot off the train in Birmingham.

It should have felt better to glance to the opposite end of the table and see Tommy, his chair no longer achingly empty. But you were discovering that there wasn’t much difference, his presence painful in its own way. The two of you had barely spoken, and there had been chances to, plenty ever since you two had desperately shoved your way to each other in the crowded train station.

Tommy’s crushing hug as people milled around you had been a false impression of what else he had to offer, taciturn and distant since the moment he’d let you go. Not anger, but an indifference - his arctic gaze blank when he managed to look at you at all.

“Just go on up love, I’ll finish these,” Polly muttered to you after dinner, the two of you scrubbing dishes and speaking in hushed tones, the house mostly quiet except for Tommy’s occasional footsteps on the floor above your heads.

“What if he found someone else?” you whispered, ignoring her and continuing your scrubbing. Polly was the only person you’d told your worst fear to. “What if he doesn’t love me anymore? Do you think that’s it?”

“Right, now you’ve lost it. Go,” Polly ordered, snatching the dishtowel from you. “Not even war could tear you two apart and you know it. Go on!”

“Fine,” you griped, dragging your feet as you headed upstairs. You had pictured it all very differently - you had been excited. Now you felt nothing but childish and avoidant, wanting to run into Ada’s room instead of your own, even though the man you’d loved since you were fifteen was finally back in it.

The pain of Tommy leaving had been unreal, your other half missing from a bed that grew colder each night he was gone. The two of you never stopped writing  - your collection of Tommy’s letters filled two whole spaces underneath loose floorboards in the room you shared. But reading them had eventually made you feel more helpless than ever, each one laced with a resigned pain as his heart grew heavier with each passing day. And now that heart stood in front of you, Tommy slowly poking at the fire in your bedroom with a hand in his trouser pocket.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind you felt loud and piercing, and when Tommy turned to look at you you thought he might be annoyed, your entrance breaking his peace. But if he was disturbed he didn’t show it, barely registering you before turning back around.

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you watched him. He looked taller somehow, manlier and domineering in a stance you barely recognized as something that belonged to him. The top-half of a scar peeked out from his undershirt, the red twisted skin warping on his shoulder each time he turned the fire.

Without thinking you walked to him and touched the skin lightly, tracing its shape, the edges looking like torn paper. The feeling of Tommy’s skin under your fingers was surreal, and your heartbeat felt loud.

“I remember when you - and Freddie - wrote me about this,” you murmured, “I thought it would be lower.”

Tommy continued to roll the fire, his voice blank. “Spend a lot of time picturing it, did you?”

“No,” you shrugged sadly, “couldn’t help it, I suppose.”

Automatically, like you used to, you arched up on your toes to kiss the back of his neck on the last knot of his spine your height could reach. Tommy’s shoulders briefly relaxed, his skin warm over the slacking muscles. But then they were tense again, stiff under your lips until he shifted his weight away from you, ending your kiss in such a way that made you feel like your chest had cracked.

“I have to go,” Tommy said, hanging the fire poker before walking towards his jacket. Dread crawled over your skin as you watched his back retreat, his eyes having yet to meet yours.

“O-Oh,” you stammered, feeling silly and unwanted; your face grew hot in the heavy pause between the two of you. “Have I done something?”

“No,” he answered you, breathy and dismissive. “I just have things to do.”

“Tommy,” you said quietly, watching him lace his shoes. “It’s late, and I thought you’d want to - I don’t know,” you shook your head in exasperation. “It’s been four years, Tommy.”

Intently focused on his coat, Tommy had nothing to say as he shrugged the black wool onto his newly-broadened shoulders.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice fractured and small.

Tommy winced, the only sign of life he had to give. Finally looking at you he sighed, scanning your face. Words unsaid rippled across his sculpted features and parted his lips until he thought better of it, the words catching in his throat and staying there. You caught the briefest flash of life in his eyes, a foggy window into heartache and torment. But then it was gone, his expression set as he pressed his lips against your hair quickly.

“I’ll be back later,” he turned and put his cap on, walking towards the door and unraveling you as he went.

“Is there someone else? In France?” you sputtered impulsively when Tommy had the door open halfway, tears beading in your lashes. “Tell me.”

Tommy sighed but didn’t turn, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s no one else.”

“Then what is it then?” Your voice was growing loud in desperation, tears spilling onto your cheeks. “Is it me?”

“No,” Tommy’s voice was heavy, strained. “I have to go.”

A sob fell apart in your chest as the door shut, Tommy taking the little warmth and hope you had as he left. The bed bounced as you dropped onto the mattress, the coldness of its deafening emptiness burning through your dress and into your skin. Heartsore and tired, you put your face in your hands and cried.


Warmth enveloped you, soft and homey as you lay in bed. Eyelids fluttering, you drifted through the beautiful purgatory of being in between sleep and wakefulness. The air was cold as you breathed it in, smelling like the crisp, dry sweetness of coming snow as it briefly dredged your thoughts from slumber to visit the night.

As you rolled over and back into dreamland, the spicy smell of skin and whiskey filled your nose and you sighed in longing.

The brief pang of pain - one you had grown accustomed to - reminded you of what dreams felt like. Curling into the memories of Tommy’s warmth under the sheets, you found him there and slid your arms around his neck, ignoring the giggling French dolls in your mind that tried to beckon you towards nightmares instead.

Listening to Tommy whisper your name like a siren’s song, over and over, distant and far away, you groaned with content as you leaned back into the pillows. Somewhere in your conscious mind you knew Tommy - or a version of Tommy - had come home. Whether he still loved your or not was an issue for reality in the morning. The Tommy who was here now, drinking in your skin and whispering to you with whiskey lips was the Tommy that both your memories and your dreams knew well, and it was the one you chose.

But the Tommy of your dreams began to feel oddly real, his kisses hot across your collarbones as he twirled strands of your hair around his fingers and pulled at them gently. The taste of whiskey drew you one step closer to the land of the living, Tommy’s tongue warm with it as he finally pressed his lips to yours, kissing you and groaning with a deepness that shook your bones awake.

Without thinking you kissed him back, grateful for any scraps of love he could painfully tear from himself to give you. No matter how much you wanted to question, to speak, you didn’t dare break the trance of Tommy moving over you, pushing your nightgown up to your ribs while you traced the planes of his bare chest. Although the taut bands of muscle over his frame were new, he still felt like home and you hoped you did too.

Kissing him was easy, a seamless dance that you had gone too long without - although neither of you had forgotten a step. Running your hands over him, you reacquainted yourself with the new feelings of his knotted scar and the short velvet hair on his head. The thin skin below his ear was still soft on your lips, the growl it produced was still hungry. You felt each knot of his spine, trailing a finger up and down their ridges.

Tommy returned his lips to your neck and you opened your eyes, feeling him nudge your knees apart with one of his to settle his hips between your legs. The candle had been blown out, the bedroom nothing but moonlight-colored shapes. As wakefulness began to clear your mind, Tommy’s kisses stopped feeling like love and began feeling like desperation, your body Tommy’s idea of a solution to a problem he hadn’t been able to solve with whiskey and fighting.

Failing to hide your emotion, you inhaled shakily and Tommy immediately halted, your chest rattling with the thickness of uninvited tears. Tommy inched back up to you and pressed his forehead to yours, swiping the moisture from your cheeks with his thumbs and shushing you gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling like it was your first time all over again, vulnerability laced into every bit of you as you shook your head until Tommy held it still. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“Don’t be,” Tommy whispered, rubbing circles into your temples before he laid in the crook of your neck. You felt his eyes scrunch shut against your skin.

“If there’s somebody else-”

“It’s not somebody fuckin’ else,” Tommy snapped. Cold air rushed into the space between you as Tommy pushed up and away from you, sitting back on his heels, hands on his thighs. He muttered to himself before wrenching his eyes shut again, bowing his head with a voice edged with exasperation. “It’s me, alright? It’s fucking me. Fuck.”

A hurt you hadn’t felt in a few weeks took hold of you and sunk in, your soul weighted with the same heaviness was planted when Tommy’s letters had begun to get bleaker. The hasty scrawls of ink on the scraps of foraged paper had seeped with an unsoothable pain, but now it was here before you, the grief dark as it bled from him.

The calm that only realization could bring came over you as you watched twelve steady rises and falls of Tommy’s shoulders, thinking he looked as lovely as you had ever found him. Sitting up, you brought the sheet with you and settled on your knees before him, your face even with the top of his drooping head. The faint moonlight shone on what remained of his longer locks, making their glossy darkness pallid and flat.

“You can tell me, Tommy.”

“There’s nobody fucking else-”

“Not that - I believe you,” you interrupted him as gently as you could, reaching up to touch his chiseled cheek. “You can tell me anything Tommy. That hasn’t changed. Has it?”

Tommy laid his hand over yours, pressing it harder into his pale skin. He looked at you with a set jaw. “I’ve changed. Things have changed.”

“I know,” you said softly, the two of you observing each other for a few moments as a carriage passed outside, hooves clopping heavily in the empty night.

Sweeping a lock of dark hair from his forehead, you smiled and felt the dried tear stains split dryly on your cheeks. “Do you think that scares me, Thomas?”

“I’ve done things,” he said simply, not answering your question. He didn’t look at you as he rubbed your cheekbone, following the path of his thumb with sad eyes. “And I’ve seen things. Alright? It won’t be the same.”

“Do you love me any less?”

“No,” he whispered, voice strained with emotion as he squeezed your hand for emphasis. “That will never change.”

“And I don’t love you any less, Thomas Shelby. You don’t scare me.” Craning your neck to silence his protests with a kiss, you murmured against the softness of his lips, “I don’t need you to be the same - we don’t need it to be the same. I love you, and all the demons you brought back with you, too.”

Tommy’s forehead pressed against yours as he shut his eyes and sighed heavily, your noses brushing. Pulling you close, he clutched you to him with a need that kept you silent, his hair tickled your shoulder as he settled into the crook of your neck. Stiffening slightly in surprise before sliding your arms over his shoulders, you let him lean on you and trailed your fingers over the freckled skin of his back, exhaling emptiness so you could fill your lungs with him.

Time passed, the paleness of the moon lightening your bedroom as it rose higher in the black sky. Tommy held you tightly, a silent statue even as his eyes wet the dip of your collarbone, the drops pooling there as you brushed the top of his head slowly. Knowing he didn’t want words, you said nothing as you played with different locks of hair and gazed out the window at the black spread of rooftops.

The rhythmic coexistence between the two of you began to lull you to sleep, your breathing matched. Tommy’s hand tracing your spine was mesmeric, grazing your skin slowly as you leaned on each other.

Tommy straightened when he felt you start to flirt with sleep, your wakefulness willingly returning when he pressed his lips to yours softly. Feeling him move your legs around his waist felt as natural as it ever had, the muscle memory eager to be remembered.

Whispering your name whenever he got the chance, Tommy held you tight and ran his hands wherever they could reach, as if he was finally realizing he was home, and you were real. You finally felt like you weren’t kissing someone who was lost, the movements of Tommy’s lips against yours were not empty of life, no longer a barren forest.

The rough callouses of his hands scraped you in a way that made your back arch and your breaths grow heavy, Tommy suddenly insatiable in his need for your skin, swearing as he gripped you everywhere he could.

By the time your hips had begun to roll into each other’s you were hot with wetness and hunger, gasping wispily as Tommy sucked at your neck and murmured to you, sliding a hand under your nightgown to trace one nipple and then the other. Fingers curled into his muscles, you held him tight as you felt his cock harden against you, the dry friction of his boxers on your lingerie the most pleasure either of you had had in years.

By the time Tommy tossed you backwards onto the pillows your clothing had made piles on the floor, Tommy’s boxers lying dangerously close to the dying but still capable fire. His skin was stark in the moonlight as he crawled over your body, eyes shut as he savored the taste of your skin, sheened with sweat.

But his lips were all you wanted to taste, and you clawed for him until his face was near yours again. Kissing him fervidly, you traced Tommy’s cheekbones and held his head to yours as your tongue danced gracefully with his. When he pulled away and held himself over you in silence a single strand of fear brushed you, taunting.

“What is it?” you breathed, your hands trailing down his hardened biceps.

Gazing at you half-lidded, Tommy eased down onto his forearms after a few moments and shook his head. “I’ve missed you, love.”

Tommy moved lower to run his tongue over your nipples, your chest hitching shallowly and then deeply when he slipped a finger into the hot wetness between your legs, running up and down with a tantalizing slowness.

“Have you missed me?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Tommy hummed in approval, moving down your body until he could watch himself work, leaving love bites on your inner thighs while he pushed his finger inside of you, his smirk devious and familiar as it crept across his face when you arched into him.

Your skin was peppered with marks by the time your impatience had grabbed hold, and it felt ethereal to finally beg, “Fuck me, Tommy.”

“Mm,” Tommy considered, kissing your hipbone softly and smelling your skin. “Not yet. I have some indulging to do.”

And indulge he did, taking his time on you as he graced all the spots that had fallen to neglect in his absence. He easily found the patch of skin below your hip that made every nerve swear, he hadn’t forgotten that dragging his lips along the ribs below your breasts made your toes curl; his hand softly rubbed circles onto your clit all the while. By the time his mouth was back on your inner thigh he had your hips pinned to the bed to stop their wriggling.

Obliging at long last, Tommy’s lips were silk on your pussy as he kissed you, the lightness of his brushes against you as eager with enthusiasm as they were gentle with reverence. Spreading your legs with his elbows, he held them open and steadily flicked your clit with his tongue, watching you with glinting eyes that were onyx with pupils.

Trying to contain yourself was a useless act, and you didn’t care if you woke up all of Small Heath, crying out as Tommy’s tongue inside of you made your hips arch from the bed. Sliding his hands beneath you to grip your ass, he refused to let you twist away and rose with your hips, holding you to his mouth.

Writhing with only your upper back against the mattress, your hips danced helplessly and Tommy easily followed, sucking at your clit and humming in appreciation until the vibration made you start to whine.

Shivers of pleasure lit your skin on fire and you bunched the sheets in your fists, his tongue ruthless against your increasingly sensitive clit. Easing you back down onto the mattress, he replaced his tongue with his fingers, rubbing skillful circles onto your clit softly.

“How long has it been, love?”

Heavy breathing was your only answer, no space for words between the increasing speed of your gasps, your muscles tightening around him.

“Too long, that’s right,” he smirked, hastening the pace of his fingers on your nerves. “Cum for me.”

If you had the breath you could have laughed at how good it felt, your body rippling as your world fuzzed around the edges. Tommy curved his fingers into your g-spot and stroked, the sight of you toppling over the edge making him voracious, his nails sinking into your thigh.

“Look at me,” he ordered, hoarse with desire.

Chin on your chest, you barely succeeded in keeping your eyes on his while you came onto him, your brows knitting deeply as your mouth fell open. Tommy watched you with a mix of unending adoration and unrefined lust, cooing to you as he coaxed out the last wisps of orgasm that had been waiting for him to do so for far too long.

Tommy finally dragged his eyes reluctantly from yours and exhaled sharply as he watched your pussy spasm around his soaked fingers. Leaning back against the pillows, you let the stars fade from your vision and waited for him, jerking slightly in sensitivity as he kissed up your wetness.

The taste of you on his tongue was something you’d missed, and you drank it in as he returned to you, your head rising from the pillow to meet him. Tommy caught you, cradling you close as he nipped at your lips, reaching down to slide his fingers in and out of you until you were whimpering again.

“My turn?” you asked, jutting your bottom lip out before biting it.

Tommy watched you darkly and growled, spinning your vision as he quickly took you up in his arms and lifted you off the bed to set you on your knees.

Smile spreading voraciously, you waited patiently for Tommy to straighten and step closer to you, your mouth falling open in unashamed wantonness at the sight of him.

Pulling at his legs hungrily you brought his cock to your mouth, teasing him as you ran your lips up and down the side of its length, staring up at him with doe eyes.

“I thought about this very often, you know,” you murmured into his skin, running over him.

“Is that so?” Tommy mocked mildly, watching you and twirling a piece of your hair around his finger. “Such a vivid imagination you have, dirty girl.”

Assenting with a hum, you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock until he groaned, gathering your hair in his hand. You savored him as he had savored you, relishing in every one of his shivers and low moans as you took the length of his cock into your throat over and over.

“Fuck,” Tommy swore, watching you work your mouth and your hands over him, his grip tightening in your hair as he began to push your head himself. “Just like that, love.”

With eyes to the ceiling, Tommy groaned deeply as he moved your mouth onto his cock roughly, the feeling of it making your pussy throb. You couldn’t help but touch your clit, whining around his length as you felt your own wetness. Tommy brought his attention back to you in a lustful haze, a devilish open-mouthed smirk on his face as he watched you.

Reflexive tears rolled onto your cheeks but you barely felt them, small prices to pay for the feeling of Tommy’s cock down your throat. You hummed in pleasure, your spine electric as you touched your clit, the taste of Tommy on your tongue. Just when your jaw began to stiffen did his breathing grow heavy, no traces of icy blue in his eyes as he grew closer to release.

But then he pulled you from him, allowing you a few gulps of air before bending down to kiss you deeply, his hands large on your face and words of love warm on his lips as he pulled you to stand.

Warmth spread through you as you threw your arms around his neck, jumping into his arms to wrap yourself around him, Tommy brought you both back to bed and held you in his lap, kissing you hard and breathing you in, insatiable.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you bit at Tommy’s neck as you sat on him and reached down to palm his cock, wet with your mouth’s work. A groan you realized was yours shook your chest as you felt the hard length of him in your hand, Tommy’s breath growing ragged again as you stroked him.

Tommy pulled you from his neck gently by your hair, grasping your head in his hands as he kissed you fervently, your moving lips inseparable by a pulling gravity. Pushing Tommy’s cock against your dripping entrance, you rubbed it against you until he moaned hotly into your mouth.

With a roll of his hips Tommy was suddenly inside you, hissing through his teeth as you moaned his name against his parting lips. Absence had tightened your pussy and you burned deliciously as Tommy took his time working his way in and out of you, each inch gained leaving you more breathless than the last. Tommy never stopped kissing you, his hands broad on your back as he eased you onto him completely, hushing your whimpers as you stretched for the size of him.

Stroking you strongly, Tommy rested his forehead on yours as he held you close, picking up his pace as he felt you relax around him, the long lost waves of pleasure rolling through your muscles. His words were hot in your ear and his cock was thick in your pussy as he fucked you until your eyes rolled and your nails left half-moons in his shoulders.

Soon the two of you were close, set to cum together with sweat-dewed skin and panting breath. Tommy’s gaze was searing and warm and home all at the same time, and you had no desire to look away.

While Tommy was gone every action had been an effort, every movement taking conscious thought to complete when your heart was miles away, in danger and alone. But thought was no longer privy to the world you two were now in, nothing but moans and aphorisms of love breaking the silence of night. Worries and horrors would never find you here, and Tommy was able to move without fear at long last, his hands never leaving your skin as he finally came home.

Fanfiction - Stealing Tomorrow (Chapter 7)

Just one more chapter to go! <3

Chapter 7 – Find Me

Edinburgh, Present day

Claire placidly munched her cereals – a bit soggy for her taste – as she inspected the cover of The Scottish Sun, frowning in concentration. The evocative headline occupied almost half of the front page, with a photo illustrating their cover story – “Murrayfield Hero ready to go home!”. The image – certainly captured by one of the first reporters at the scene – showed Jamie wearing his full firefighter gear, walking out of what seemed like the dooryard from Hell, carrying one of his men – probably unconscious - on the shoulder. The article promised more details and juicy revelations on page four (“From Broch Mordha to Edinburgh’s hottest”), page five (“Other legends on the Fire Department”) and page six (“The heartbreaking testimonies of Fraser’s braveness”).

“One would think that almost turning into crisped bacon was the fastest route to stardom.” She snorted to herself, taking a sip of rich and dark coffee. “I bet they are scavenging the Highlands for gossips about Edinburgh’s new sweetheart.”

The last couple of weeks had seen an increasing interest on Jamie’s persona by the media – the well-liked Station Officer with an irreprehensible career, respected both by men under him and by the ones in charge behind a desk; the lone wolf, by all reports divorced years ago, that refused all approaches from desirable women and seemed to wear an irremovable chastity belt; the loving son, who accompanied his crippled father until his death two years ago; the hunk,  spotted working out without his shirt on, delighting all women in the headquarters’ neighbourhood.  

Claire tried to avoid every conversation that contained even the slightest mention of Jamie – a considerable feat, since even the nurses continuously buzzed about how handsome and well-mannered he was.

After his shattering revelations – which had thrown Claire into a new spell of insomnia, which she used to get her charts up to speed – their conversations had consisted mainly of monosyllables and medical exchanges. She would check his drains; he would ask about a prevision to start physical therapy on his hand. She looked for signs of infection on his surgical wounds; he told her his pain was a four on a scale of one to ten. She compressed her lips, trying to avoid screaming at him; he said nothing, accepting her radioactive silence with the hopeless patience of a convict sentenced to imprisonment for the rest of his days.

Claire knew he was trying to give her time to process their conversation, before touching the subject again. His Fraser stubbornness, usually despairing, was serving him well in that instance.

Knowing his reasons had changed the starting point of their fallout – but not the outcome. He had tried to protect her and give her the life she was meant to live – and in that harrowing attempt, had failed to comprehend that, without him, every achievement felt void of its meaning. Jamie had used lies as a gift – and the unwrapping had broken both their hearts. Where once stood sadness and incomprehension, now rested anger and betrayal, pumping from her with every heartbeat, crushing her vessels with their intensity.

But the most unbearable pain, the one that kept her awake at night, was the undeniable desire to forget it all – to take him in her arms and cradle him against her repairing heart. To kiss him and feel him melting against her – to bite his lip and taste his blood, knowing it pulsed with her name. To hear him whisper his secrets and the truth in them.

“Bloody man.” She whispered, her fingers reluctantly caressing his picture. “What am I going to do with you?”


“Thank ye for taking me.” He repeated for what was probably the tenth time. “The lads were supposed to get me but they’re shorthanded as it is in the department.”

“No problem.” She replied shortly, driving through Edinburgh’s streets, immersed in the evanescent light of dusk. Claire had offered to take him home after his discharge from the hospital, using the employee entrance to avoid the questions and flashes of journalists. “At least this way I know you won’t do anything stupid with your hand, until you’re actually inside the house.”

“Hm.” He snorted with mirth, looking at his still- bandaged hand. “I’m just glad I’ll be sleeping in my own bed, without anyone waking me to ask if my bowels moved already or spooked by the beeping sounds of the wee machines.”

“Which way now?” Claire asked, softly tapping the steering wheel with her fingers, as they achieved a deserted crossroad.

“Left.” Jamie gave her a renitent half-smile. “Ye’ll keen the way from here, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Claire breathed out, a tight knot forming inside her throat. “I believe I do.”

The building of their old apartment was visible down the street, looking exactly as she remembered it – the earthy tones of the façade vivid, that used to remind her of the soil of her flowers, fertile and homely. Propelled by the sight, memories came rushing back, as if they had been expecting to be summoned just in the corners of her conscience, brutal as needles in the back of her eyes.

“I received half of the money when the apartment was sold.” She blurted incredulous, blinking furiously in the half-light. “The man who bought it was someone named Angus MacKenzie.”

“He is a friend.” Jamie said softly. “He sold it back to me as soon as the deal was done.”

“Why would you want to live in this place?” Claire asked nervously, brushing back some of her curls, which had been falling over her face. “After everything that happened?”

“You were still here.” He whispered in a hoarse voice. “In a sense. The mattress of our bed had the shape of your body carved. There was the wee spot on the kitchen’s wall, were tomato sauce spilled, because we were too busy making love on the floor. The curtains ye chose, because ye never had such a house before, and a true home needed proper curtains.” Jamie looked at her, his eyes soft. “This house is everything I had left of ye, Claire. I couldna leave it.”

“You should have burnt it.” Claire hissed, fighting back the surge of emotions that made her vulnerable to his words.

I don’t want you anymore.

I loved you well.

She parked the car in silence and helped him getting out, prescinding of the assertive tenderness she usually applied to every wounded creature. They slowly climbed up the stairs – the elevator being broken again – until the third floor, the former residence of a happy newlywed couple.

Jamie opened the door with his keys – he still used the same keychain, Claire noticed, of a leaping stag shaped in silver. She had offered it to him, on their first Christmas together.

“I need to use the bathroom.” He smiled shyly. “I’ll be right back, aye?” And without waiting for her agreement, he rapidly strode out of her sight, as if to avoid that she used the opportunity to say her final goodbyes.

The living room was almost precisely the same – photographs taken more than ten years apart would only show small changes, like a different elegant cream-coloured rug and a new lamp by the corner. Everything else seemed to have been caught in the webs of time, as an insect amid flight trapped by a predatory spider.

Claire’s eyes travelled across the tomes on the bookcase – where some new volumes had been added to Jamie’s impressive collection, sleeping next to their photographs – and her eyes were attracted by a drawer’s open crack. Feeling ashamed, but somewhat entitled, she slid it open until the full compartment was exposed.

With her hands shaking, she grabbed the magazine on top of the pile – an old issue of The American Journal of Medicine. She recognized it instantly – she also had a copy of that same issue, stored in one of her boxes since the move. Abandoning any attempt at discretion, she surveyed the contents of the drawer.

Jamie seemed to have found every publication where her name came up – from obscure magazines where her name had been cited after another dozen; to the most reputed surgical journals, with her articles and findings front and centre. It must have been a constant and tiresome job, keeping up with her career, for someone not even in the medical field.

How many hours had he laid there, only their ghosts for company, the consolation of her success a bittersweet drug to numb the pain?

All those days between what they had been and what they were now, forever lost – no regret or anger would win them the right of a replay. But perhaps they still had the chance of stealing tomorrow; of reclaiming the piece of themselves left behind, placing their stones and pillars to build a new sacred place, a new life.

“In my darkest moments, it helped.” She listened his deep voice say from where he stood by the door, his eyes secluded. “Knowing that what I did had some meaning. I celebrated each one of yer victories from afar, as I couldna be kissing ye as I wished.”

“It was your choice.” Claire replied, forcibly closing the drawer.

“Aye.” Jamie said, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I told ye – I dinna regret what I did. But I do regret every tear you shed and every unhappiness I may have caused ye. That I regret…most terribly.”

“If I hadn’t come back and found you by accident…” She said, her arms hugging her body in defence. “Would you ever tell me the truth?”

He tilted his head, his auburn hair coming alive with the slight reflection of the white glow outside. Jamie walked until he was closer to her - able to touch her in an instant, if it wasn’t for the barrier they had both fought so hard to erect.

“There was a time when I thought it a blessing to know what ye were thinking at all times.” He licked his lips and closed his eyes, his long lashes shielding bottomless blue. “My glass faced lass. Now I only see yer pain and yer hate - and it kills me. I’d rather be dead than to see ye so. No – I wouldna say a thing. I wished to let ye live yer life and, hopefully, forget me.”

“How could I forget you?” She whispered. “And how can I forgive you?”

“I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes, Claire.” Jamie swallowed hard. “And if it canna be in this life, I shall pray for a chance to meet ye again in the next - and find yer forgiveness there.”

“I don’t know how to start.” Claire brushed her forehead with her fingers, breathing fast. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Tell me how I’ve hurt ye.” Jamie slowly touched her hand. “Speak to me about what has been broken. I am still the man ye loved – and what ye dinna ken about me now, you can learn in time.”

“And if I don’t want to?” She said slowly, tilting her chin to avoid his scorching gaze.

“Then know I shall love ye forever.” Jamie brushed her knuckles with the fingers of his sane hand. “Ye are my home, mo nighean donn.”

“This home is lost, Jamie.” She sobbed, the pressure of his fingers making her flesh tingle. How many times had they stood there, him whispering his love, her believing it with all her heart?

They were bathed almost in complete darkness – night had fallen outside and the scarce light that came from the lamppost by the window dipped them in shadows. Jamie swished, as if he was about to fall on his knees – but his hand came up then and he touched her cheek, insecure and tentative.

“But it can be found again.” He softly kissed her forehead, real against the absence of light surrounding them. “Find me, Claire. Find us.”

anonymous asked:

The Jedi have bounced around different extremes through the centuries: warlike vs pacifist, spiritual vs bureaucratic, ascetic vs luxurious. A lot of amazing art resulted from the last opulent phase. The most famous was a series featuring a nameless Jedi knight. When the series goes on exhibit at a Coruscant museum, someone notices that the famous (alluringly posed) knight from history bears a strong resemblance to Obi-Wan. (Or: Obi-Wan gets a lot of shit for being a classical Jedi pin-up.)

“I don’t know why you insist on taking me Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed, his hands tucked into his sleeves. “I would have gone eventually.” He offered calmly at his former padawan who had a firm hand on his shoulder.

The blond grinned at him. “Oh, I just thought it be something nice for us to see.”

That got a raised eyebrow. “You’re not usually one for art Anakin. You prefer the more mechanical inclined works as I know you.”

A hearty laugh escaped the knight and Anakin shrugged. “True enough but I heard some interesting rumors about this exhibit, its all about Jedi, apparently there was a stage where the Jedi were very… um…”

“Opulent, I think the word you’re looking for is opulent and they created art and lavished around more then they were peacekeepers, artists and scholars.” The master drawled, glancing about in interest now that he was there. He had thought to visit it himself honestly but Anakin basically dragging him had been a good opportunity.

There were actually quite a few of the order looking around at things, some clone troopers and of course civilians.

“Well I guess. Master Plo said that Jedi have gone from one extreme to another before settling into the order we now know and have.” Anakin hummed and looked around as if he was looking for something in particular.

“That is true. Warriors, scholars, artists, monks, historians…one extreme to the other until we settled as we are now, peacekeepers of the Republic. Though sometimes I wonder in this war…” He sighed quietly before raising an eyebrow at the blond. “But I get the feeling you are looking for something in particular Anak-”

“Aha!” The knight DRAGGED him through the room and Obi-Wan couldn’t suppress a yelp of surprise as he was practically shoved in front of a statue.

“Anakin, what in all Force…name…are you…” Obi-Wan stared.

Anakin was almost vibrating in place in glee as he saw how correct the rumors indeed was.

It was a tall statue of a human Jedi, mid saber swing. The right arm was drawn back and the left was raised in a crude pose that resembled the one Obi-Wan preferred for Soresu and the Jedi’s robe had been ripped to shred, only vaguely recognizable as robes at all.

The man’s chest was like something out of an adult magazine, strong muscles that almost looked like they could glisten and perky hard nipples.

Obi-Wan slowly covered his mouth with one hand as he stared at the face, swallowing heavily before he slowly looked at Anakin who GRINNED at him, the evil man he was.


“Anakin…why does this statue…look…like that.” He gestured weakly.

“Because apparently dear master of mine, you’re a classical Jedi pin-up.” Anakin snarked at him as Obi-Wan looked back at the Jedi statue with a face that bore a strong resemblance to Obi-Wan himself, even with a matching beard.

“And get this oh former master of mine, this isn’t the only statue or painting…and this is the one most dressed.” Anakin cackled.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Oh Force…”


McCall Pack x Reader

Requested by Anon

Teen Wolf Masterlist

“Have anyone seen Y/N?” Stiles rambled when he reached his friends by the bench outside. He met eyes with Scott first, whom just shook his head and then turned over to Lydia who only pursed her lips as she shook her head as well.

“She’s supposed to be here by now.” Stiles explained. “I told her 9:30; since that meant that we could have her attention for at least ten minutes before she would storm off to her first class.” Scott peaked up from his papers. “First class?”

“Yes, she’s not attending her grades math since she – you know – skipped a grade.” Lydia lowered her voice since she knew you didn’t want the whole school to know that you were actually a year older than the rest of your class, including Liam.

“But she’ll be here in time, don’t worry.” Scott assured his friend and gave Malia a glance once she met them. Stiles sighed in relief once she saw her coming from the direction of the parking lot. “Ah, Malia!” he began and grabbed her arm. “Please tell me you know where Y/N is?”

She furrowed her brows and nodded. “Yes, she’s at the parking lot.” She noted and smiled once Scott offered her a piece from his snack-bag. Stiles only looked at her with raised eyebrows. “And?” he wondered as Malia sat down on the bench.

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anonymous asked:

I've heard gay used as an insult more often than queer. I don't understand how queer was allowed to be taken back by the straights but gay is ok? Queer is not a slur.

Qu**r is literally a fucking slur. I have been called this all throughout growing up, for acting differently to the “other boys”, not realising I wasn’t one until I was older. I have been called it more recently, too! I’ve been called it online. I’ve had it hurled at me from fucking strangers for nothing worse than daring to wear a goddamn dress in the suburbs of London.

A slur isn’t just a word that you personally find insulting. It’s a word with a recent history of systematically oppressing a group. “Gay” is used as an insult, that doesn’t make it a slur, even if you personally hear it used as an insult more than “qu**r” which is a slur.

These days, I hear “autistic” used as an insult more than “ret*rded” but by hell if you try and tell me that the former is a slur because it’s used as an insult I will sock you one because it’s just a word for who I am that other people have perverted. That isn’t the case for qu**r. You’re RE-CLAIMING qu**r. And yeah, you’re allowed to identify as qu**r but after what I’ve been through don’t you dare try to imply I’m getting worked up over nothing by censoring it.

Qu**r is a slur.

Gay is a word with negative connotations.

anonymous asked:

I'm sorry if this isn't the type of prompt your looking for but I thought that idea of the black lion being able to take over her pilot in an emergency was interesting and I'd love to see Keith and pidge's reaction whether they see it first hand or hear about it from lance and hunk :))

I’m looking for all kinds of prompts!

For the curious, the fic in question is here.  Honestly, I’d forgotten all about it, so thank you for the reminder.

Of all the members of the team, Keith considered himself the most used to how strange Shiro could be when the mood struck.  No one else had seen Shiro go through phases of almost obsessive interest, no one else had heard him laugh over their potential deaths after wiping out in the desert, no one else had seen the way he’d carry on outrageously over anything but a perfect score on a test or essay.

That being said, this was still odd.

First of all, there was no reason Shiro should have been out of bed.  Allura had personally banished him to his room after their last battle, once he’d admitted he hadn’t slept that night, and not really the night before.  It had shown, which was proof enough how bad the situation had gotten.

Secondly, Shiro had taken over the kitchen, which was not at all his usual domain.  Thankfully he wasn’t trying to cook anything, but he had a line of bowls spanning the entire fifteen-foot length of the counter space.  Each one was filled with small amount of- well, of just about every kind of food they had, it seemed like.  They were all perfectly lined up two inches from the edge.  As they watched, Shiro put the last one down, then readjusted it until it matched the others.

So this was odd.  Even for Shiro.

(Read More Below)

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Wrong Number- Bucky Barnes One Shot

*I lost some imagines, including this one, so it has been reposted*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Prompt: Clint is asking for a death wish by deciding it would be fun to change all of the contact names in your phone. You call who you believe is Natasha to complain about your “issues” with Bucky, your long-time crush. You’re in for a pleasant surprise when you figure out who the call really went to.

Word Count: 1500

Warning: One swear word (I believe)

A/N: Just because I love shy Bucky (and Sam). Sorry, Bruce/Natasha is implied (but not specifically stated as a romantic relationship). I don’t ship it, I just used it.


From the day you met Bucky, he ignored you. He only spoke to you when absolutely necessary. In the six months since he’s been in the tower, he has probably said less than ten words to you. Needless to say, you were a bit offended by how standoffish he was towards you. He seemed to gradually open up to everyone else except for you-and Tony, but that was reasonable. What killed you the most was that you had started to develop a crush on the former assassin and he seemed to think of you as nothing more than dirt under his shoes.

You were trained in the Red Room like Natasha and, therefore, no one knew about your crush on him-except for the Black Widow and Wanda. They were your best friends in the tower and you three shared everything from secrets to food to clothing.

Most of the time it was unnoticed when Bucky avoided you by everyone except for you and Steve. Steve and Sam were the only two who knew why Bucky acted the way he did. He was scared of you. The ex-assassin was terrified of how he felt towards you. He believed you were too good for him and saw avoiding you as his only way to get over the “crush”. Of course, that plan didn’t stop Sam from pushing him towards you every once in awhile.

“Where is Barton? I swear I’m going to kill him.” You asked, walking into the kitchen one day. Your phone was in your hand and you were fuming about how a certain someone decided it would be a fun prank to change all of the contact names in your phone.

“I think he’s in the training room.” Sam replied before Steve could speak.

“Thank you.” You spun on your heel and started towards the training room. After you were out of earshot, Steve turned to his friend with an incredulous look on his face.

“Clint’s in the lab.” He said.

“I know, but Bucky’s training. Maybe they will get to talking.” Sam shrugged with a small smirk. Steve rolled his eyes at his friend, praying that Bucky would turn out okay.


You opened the training room door and the only person in there was Bucky, who was currently hitting a punching bag. Upon hearing the door, he stopped attacking the object and turned to face you. His eyes went wide and he began to search for a way out.

“Bucky, have you seen Barton?” You asked.

“No.” He all but whispered, going to grab his bag.

“Why are you running away from me?” You questioned, stepping in front of the door, blocking his only exit path.

“I’m not.” He mumbled, reaching for the handle. You put all your weight against the door so he couldn’t pull it open.

“You always leave when I’m in the room. Why?” You pestered.

“I don’t.” He said, “Move.”

“Nope. Not until you tell me why you avoid me.”

“Barton’s upstairs in the lab.” Bucky replied.

“More than 10 words. There’s a start.” You stated.

“Please, move.” He ordered. You stepped to the side and let him slip out the door. You left the room as well, making your way into Tony and Bruce’s lab. You entered the room and saw him talking with Tony about his bow.

“Clinton Barton! Fix my phone right now!” You shouted. Instead of chucking your phone at his head, you threw one of the metal wrenches from the table beside you. Clint used his fast reflexes to catch it before it could hit him.

“Someone’s angry.” He teased.

“Fix it. Now.” You demanded, handing him your phone.

“What did you do this time, Legolas?” Tony asked.

“He changed all of my contact names to Pokemon characters and Harry Potter spells.” You replied.

“Nice one.” Tony gave the archer a high five.

“I can’t. I don’t remember their numbers.” Clint simply shrugged, “You’re on your own, princess.”

“Give me your phone then.” You said, snatching your phone back from him.

“No. You’ll screw with it.” He replied.

“Tony, where’s yours?” You asked.

“There’s no way I’m trusting you with my baby.” The billionaire stated.

“I can just list off the numbers I remember.” Clint offered and you agreed, considering he did have a decent memory. You made note to check everything with Natasha when she was back from her lunch with Bruce, Vision, and Wanda.

“Thanks, birdbrain. These better be correct.” You stated, walking out of the room with at least some of the correct contacts.

You were walking down the hallway from the lab to the main area when you saw Bucky headed your way. The moment his eyes met yours, he turned around and hurried off. You groaned at his ridiculousness, vowing to find out why he avoids you. You dealt with your Clint issues today-your Bucky issues could be put off until tomorrow. You sat at the bar in the kitchen, eating an apple when you decided to call Natasha. It rang for a few minutes before listing off the number and going to voicemail.

“Hey, Nat, when are you guys coming back? I’m pretty bored right now without you two. Barton decided to change all my contact names, so I’m having a banner day. I also cornered Bucky about why he won’t talk to me and he said another ten words to me. I swear, I don’t even know why I like him sometimes. Do you know how hard it is to have a crush on someone who avoids you like the plague? It’s unbearable. I wish he’d just man up and talk to me. I’m not that scary, right? Anyways, hurry up and get back here with Wanda. We need more girl talk.” You said, pushing the end button. A minute later, you heard a thud from one of the bedrooms and shouting.

“What the-” you started to wonder aloud, when Sam came sprinting down the stairs, with Bucky chasing after him.

“Y/N, just who I wanted to see-” Sam was cut off by Bucky putting a hand over his mouth.

“Was that you three up there? What was that thud?” You asked, “Please tell me you didn’t break one of Tony’s bedside tables.”

“No, we didn’t. Bucky just needs to talk with you for a moment.” Steve said, casually strolling into the room. Bucky’s phone was in his hands. He pressed a button and your own voice filled the room. It was the voicemail you had just left for Natasha.

“Barton, you little sh*t!” You exclaimed, taking Bucky’s phone and stopping the message before you could hear yourself talk about him. You hoped he hadn’t heard it already, but part of you knew it wasn’t true.

“Bucky, you didn’t happen to hear that beforehand?” You asked, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

“Yes, he did. He likes you too.” Sam said, but it was completely muffled by Bucky’s hand. Bucky’s face was red and his mouth moved, trying to form words.

“Buck, let go of Sam and we’ll leave you two.” Steve stated. Bucky slowly dropped his hand and Sam made his way to the elevators with Steve.

“Bucky’s in love with you!” Sam called back to you before the doors closed. Bucky stood frozen once more.

“Are we going to talk about it or are you going to continue being a deer in headlights?” You asked, nervously.

“I-I-” Bucky desperately tried to figure out what to say, “I really, really like you, Y/N, and it scares the hell out of me. That’s why I avoided you. You’re not scary-it’s the feelings that are terrifying. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you-I just thought you wouldn’t feel the same about me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

“You don’t need to be scared, Bucky. I like you too, ever since you moved in actually.” You explained.

“Do you want to maybe go out some time?” He looked you in the eyes nervously as he stepped closer to you until he was right in front of you.

“That’d be wonderful.” You replied, reaching your hand out to his and intertwining your fingers together.

“Whoa, what’s happening here?” Natasha exclaimed, walking into the room with Wanda, Vision, and Bruce.

“They appear to be talking.” Vision said. There was a hint of confusion in his voice since you and Bucky had never really talked.

“Aw, did he finally ask you out?” Wanda asked, her eyes growing wide in hope. You bashfully nodded, glancing down at your connected hands.

“We leave for one afternoon and you get a date. We need to leave more often.” Natasha said to Wanda, “Where are the others? Clint’s going to be so excited. We’ve been shipping you two for ages.”

“That reminds me. I have an archer to kill-for real this time.” You stated, letting go of Bucky’s hand and storming off towards the lab.

Nothing Can Beat Home

Originally posted by black-horse-soul

Bilbo Baggins x Siren!Reader

Length: 1680 words

Warnings: not really, just cute!bilbo and domestic!reader, fem reader?


Hobbits were a simple race, who led very simple lives.

Their needs were little; they like to live close to the earth and nature, taking pride in their grass-covered homes and their gardens. Generally, staying away from the troubles of the ‘big people’ of Middle Earth, as well as large bodies of water (due to hobbits often not being able to swim), was how they kept such happy, simple lives. Hobbits found happiness in the simple pleasures of life. Enjoying good food, drinking good ale, smoking good pipe weed, and joining joyous gatherings were all the luxuries they needed in life.

Fitting into the Shire had been a long and arduous process for you – mostly due to you having to understand the significant physical and cultural differences between the siren people, your people, and the hobbits.

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Marriage Drabble With Kylo Ren

Hey look I did a writes! It’s been on my mind for awhile and even though my own writing will never be what my mind creates, I still took a shot at it anyways! Oops!

Words: 2200

Rating: E

Warnings: I mean if you hate fluff then you should probably not read this at all.

Draped. Gathered. White. Flowing. Clean.  

The words you’d used to describe garment customized and created to your frame.  The fabrics flanged around the chest and hugged just below your shoulders.  It wasn’t the first time this design had been created. Many years before this, long before you were conceived, pictograms and holoprojections proudly displayed the attire as historic remnants of their former glory and monarchy.  The elegance undulated from the woman who donned the style before you.  So used to an audience, so used to attention and such a natural grace to her posture.

Yet you—you were simple.

You grappled with the cuffs adhering the fabric to your arms.  This wasn’t your choice; it was of his own accord that he requested you wear it. Curious considering you’d only discovered her existence from your fiance’s library within his quarters.  Royal garbs of a queen from decades before—and now you wore them as an exhibition for those paying witness.  For those paying who pledged allegiance to the First Order.  Your eyes finally met the reflection in the mirror, for a moment you couldn’t even recognize yourself as though a second personality settled within your skin.  Would others notice the same falsehood? They’d hardly seen your face in the entire span of your relationship with their Commander, yet you were certain each emotion would protrude through this façade and call on their mockery.

What made matters worse was the staggering head count expected to attend.  Similar events usually boast several hundred onlookers. Your own would boast hundreds of thousands.  It’s common for a couple to reserve a humble venue, not an entire Star Destroyer.

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One Step at a Time (Richonne Date Night- September) 

Michonne sighed in contentment as she snuggled deeper into Rick’s embrace. “I had a great time tonight.”

“Me, too. I hate that I have to cut the evening short on the one night we can actually stay out past ‘curfew’,” Rick joked while tightening his hold on Michonne.

Rick and Michonne had been a couple for four months. They’d started dating towards the end of the previous school year. Since their kids had spent much of the summer away from home either at camps or spending time with family, the pair had been able to spend a lot of time early on really getting to know each other and their relationship grew serious quickly. Now that school was back in session, the single parents tried to spend as much time with each other as their busy work and home schedules allowed.

Tonight would have been a rare date night when they could stay out as long as they wanted. It was the Saturday before Labor Day and their kids were spending the weekend with Rick and Michonne’s former spouses. Unfortunately, the couple wouldn’t be able to take advantage of the night because Rick had an early shift at the King County Sheriff’s Office the next day.  

Michonne sat up to look at Rick. “Do you have to leave right this minute? There was something I wanted us to do tonight.”

“What did you have in mind?” Rick asked. His mind and heart started racing at Michonne’s words.

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lovesbiggerthanpride  asked:

Hi there! My birthday is on April 5th. If anyone has time, I would love to get a drabble. Maybe "friends finally taking a chance on each other" with a little bit of smut. Thank you! Y'all do great work!

Originally posted by mono-n-o-aware

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays! To help celebrate, the lovely @ally147writes has crafted this amazing slice of Everlark, just for you. Enjoy!

rated M

AN: Happy Birthday to the prompter! I hope you like this 26k word behemoth. I am both sorry and not sorry at all for the length of this story, which is decidedly not drabble length. (To think I had plans to add more…) In my defence, ‘Friends to Lovers’ is a really loaded prompt.

This is written in Australian English and unbeta’d, the former because that’s what I’m used to, and the latter because I couldn’t find a willing American to help me in time.

Rated M for swears, mentions of canon-typical abuse, and sexy-times I’ve managed to keep relatively non-explicit ;)

“And I was crazy like the moon for you
And head over my heels for you
And never would I change or compromise”
‘Selected Poems’ – The Gaslight Anthem


Age 5

Peeta’s putting the finishing touches on a crayon drawing of a dandelion when he sees her for the first time.

It’s the middle of the year, so they don’t get many new kids starting. Peeta’s not the only one watching, curious. She just reaches her dad’s waist, her hair hanging down her back in two glossy black braids, red plaid dress coming down past her knees. She looks out over the classroom with her wide, grey eyes and clutches her daddy’s hand while he talks to Mr. Cinna.

She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

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Ignoti Nulla Cupido (17/20).

Prompt: Nat came to you in order to keep her and Tony’s promise to keep you safe, but how would they react when they’ll learn about the secret you’ve been keeping since you left Bucky’s side?

Word Count: 621.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Warnings: Nope, some fluff for you for a change.

A/N: First part of this finla week, get ready.
Thanks @evanstanss again for looking at this for me!

Previous Part - Next Part.

Originally posted by ohh-bloodyhell

(Y/N) woke up shortly after Jay’s departure, eyes looking confused at her surroundings until they locked themselves into Bucky’s sapphire orbs. A sigh of relief falling from her lips as she realized that this time she was not alone to endure the torturous hours of each day.


“Shh, don’t talk. You’ve been through so much trauma in the past few days that your body is still recovering” A sad smile on his beautiful lips while his hand cupped her face.

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Wonder Days and Super Nights

The Supergirl and Wonder Woman cross-over fic that no one asked for but that came to mind thanks to ramblings on the internet. Special shout-out to @nevertobeships and @stennnn06 for playing along.

Everything under the cut is not edited, so please forgive any errors.

If Lena had to put blame on anything for her current predicament, she’d have to say it was because she’s a Luthor.

No matter how many times Kara would come to her defense, holding her close and saying how she’s more than just her families name. There’s just something about being taken hostage for the umpteenth time this week that has got to be either a severe case of bad luck or, more than likely a side-effect of being for lack of a better term villainously irresistible.

So here she sat, in the middle of a cargo container submerged beneath who knows what ocean with a ticking time bomb that would dilute the Earths water supply with enough chemicals to kill all aliens on the planet. Typical Tuesday sorts of things, but of all the outcomes Lena could have imagined, coming face to face with a demi-god was definitely not one of them.

The moment the steel doors opened the first thing she saw was ARMS, gold banded, silhouetted arms that she wished would hold her and never let go. She would never admit this to anyone but in her youth but she used to religiously read a series of erotic fantasy novels centered around mythical Amazonians she even got to meet the author Kristen Cleavagne and ask her who the inspiration for the lead was. She’d talked about her first meeting with the woman they dubbed Wonder Woman, and how her beauty was only overshadowed by her commanding presence.

So with all this in mind, it shouldn’t be any surprise that the moment the doors opened with the silhouette of her wildest desires in front of her that whenever Supergirl came to appear next to her and they both stepped into her field of view – the two most beautiful beings this planet could hold it was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.

She heard music first, indescribably magical music. Then she felt sheets, made of the softest material she could imagine. She stretched her arm out and met an arm, solid, warm and silky smooth. She traced it upwards to the face she knew she’d find – her Kara.

“You’re finally up” she whispered, placing the gentlest of kisses across her brow.

Lena smiled at the tenderness Kara always seemed to show when they were together. “It must’ve been a side-effect of the rapid ascension, I almost thought I saw Wonder Woman when you came to rescue me!”

Suddenly another body climbed into the bed behind her, she turned in a start and couldn’t hear anything apart from her rapid heartbeat in her ears.  There in front of her eyes was Diana Prince, Princess Diana, Princess Diana of Themyscira, Daughter of Hipolyta and Zeus. “What’s the matter precious? You look like you’ve seen a ghost” Diana cupped her chin and brought their lips together.

After a few seconds she pulled back, sitting up, gasping “Kara, honey I’m so sorry… I don’t know what…” She felt Kara’s hand touch her thigh as she looked at her girlfriend. Her very naked thigh, Kara seemed to have a lack of clothing on as well as she giggled “What are you talking about Lee?”

She felt Diana lean closer into her side, taking note of how few pieces of clothing the Amazon was wearing and how delightfully rough but tender her hands felt as they worked their way through her hair. “Oh dear, it seems our darling Lena hurt her head more than we thought, Kara. She can’t even recognize her girlfriends anymore and here I thought we were unforgettable” Diana teased, winking at Kara as she continued to play with Lena’s hair.  

Kara feigned shock as she pulled back the covers and straddled herself across Lena’s thighs, “Well we can’t have that can we? Who knows what other super-powered beings are out there just waiting to have a chance at the one and only Lena Luthor” she joked, tracing lines down her stomach and stopping just above her naval.

“I think we need to jog her memory a bit don’t you Diana?” Kara said, voice lower, huskier and more filled with want than Lena had ever heard. If she wasn’t aroused before the smirk that the Amazon gave her right before she claimed her mouth again would have done it.

It was sensational overload, the two most powerful beings in the universe touching, and loving plain old Lena Luthor. If this was how she died it would be completely worth it.

Kara looked up from between her legs, wiping at her mouth as she spoke “Do you want us to stop, Lee?” Lena was in a haze, Diana was behind her kneading her breasts and lavishing kisses along her neck, “All you have to do is say the word precious and we’ll stop.”

“NO!” she gasped, urging Kara back to her former position as she guided Diana’s hand towards her clit. The pressure was building, her whole world was nothing but this, Diana and Kara. “Can you feel it Lena?” Diana husked in her ear, “Can you feel me touching you?”

“Yes” Lena murmured, eyes closing shut as she tried to relish in what she was sure was going to be the most memorable moment in her life. “Come for us Lena” Diana said her fingers plunging in to where Kara had just vacated, “YES!” she shouted. “Come back to us Lena” Kara said kissing her passionately as her pleasure hit an all time high and she saw black once again.

“Come back to us Lena” Kara said playing softly with Lena’s hands.

“Yes…” Lena murmured softly, opening her eyes to a DEO recuperation room and dozens of medical screens and equipment all leading back to her. She couldn’t remember how much time had passed but she’d never felt more exhausted in her life. Was it all a dream? “Kara…what..what happened?”

“LENA!” Kara wrapped her arms around Lena’s upper body, quickly checking for any of the signs Alex told her to watch out for.  “What happened?” Lena said groggily,

“You just passed out babe” Kara said after her inspection was complete, turning her gaze softly towards the other woman and  grasping Lena’s hand again. “You had me worried.”

Lena couldn’t help but smile, sure the dream may have been nice but she had her own version of paradise right in front of her “I’m fine darling, thank you. I guess I must have been down there a bit too long and started hallucinating, I thought I saw Wonder Woman” Lena chuckled sitting upright in her bed.

A figure stepped forward while a voice floated through the doorway, “Did you now, precious?”

Undeniable today: Spain never overcame Franco fascism

Did the Franco-succeeding PP, the ruling party of Spain, just now refer to Lluís Companys i Jover and warned on public television that anybody who announces Catalonia’s independence might share his fate?

The former mayor of Barcelona, who had declared Catalonia independent within Spain as the right-wing CEDA entered the government, who was then imprisoned, then as the Frente Popular won the elections released and then fought for the Republic against the fascist Franco putschist army (which were directly supported by Italy and Hitler-Germany, in cause you don’t know anything about Spanish history and have any doubts about my use of the word “fascist” here)? The same who then fled the country as Franco won the civil war, went to exile in Paris, was there arrested by the Gestapo after the fall of France, turned over to Spain, there sentenced to death by a drumhead trial and shot on the spot…

that Lluís Companys i Jover?

See here:

In the meantime, the European Union considers the question of Catalan independence internal affairs of Spain. True defenders of Democracy, as always.

Mega Man X: The Novel Chapter 1

Aaaaaallllright, it’s been a while, but the first chapter is finally done!! Many thanks to my translator @melonjaywalk and my editors moidang, Lambency and tjerrian! If you’d like to follow the group’s progress on the novel, check out this Google Doc! Without further ado, here’s Chapter 1: Day of Sigma!


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