you're partying it up

baby, go home. he’s seen somebody else’s eyes and fallen into them. 

i know it hurts in places you can’t touch, i know the sky feels darker for it. but he’s loved somebody else, baby, and so should you.

don’t stay. you’ll spend your time worrying what you did wrong, whether tomorrow you’ll wake up and he’ll be gone. you’ll try to become better for him when you’re already somebody’s impossible dream. you’ll try to be her when you’re already exactly who you need to be.

people make mistakes, but nobody accidentally winds up naked. either he loves you enough to keep his clothes on, or he doesn’t love you enough for you to waste your time on him.

go home. cry. take long showers. tell yourself you deserve better than a future spent worrying about him.

relationships are built on trust. find somebody who won’t mess it up.

—  In answer to someone who asked me: “Do you think it’s possible to be with someone who cheated on you/Is it possible to work through that at all?” // r.i.d

Continuation of this fluffy fic for Annabeth’s 23rd birthday; Just demigods being dorks. I laughed a lot while writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it!

“I always knew you were his favourite,” Clarisse growled. “It’s so obvious.”

Annabeth laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on!” Clarisse waved a hand at the dining pavilion, which was decorated with a huge Happy Birthday banner and far too many blue and silver balloons. “Who else would Chiron extend the curfew for?”

It was the early hours of the morning, and while Chiron had sent all the younger campers to their cabins he’d given his blessing for the party to continue on with just Annabeth’s special guests - which was really more than enough. With ex campers from both Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter in attendance, Percy had done a great job of completely blowing Annabeth’s no fuss birthday request.

She blew a stream of air out from between her pursed lips. “Well, technically, none of us are really campers anymore -”

“You Athena kids and your technicalities,” Clarisse snarled, but there was no menace in it.  “Just admit you’re the golden child and get it over with.”

Thankfully, Chris asked Clarisse to dance before she could get properly annoyed with Annabeth, who was too busy laughing to respond to the accusation.

Just as the Ares camper left, Frank stepped in to take her place. “Golden child, huh?”

Annabeth smiled at him, softer than the smile she’d given Clarisse. “Apparently.”

Grover snuck in between them, chewing on his plastic cup. He bleated a laugh. “I can believe it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her cup. “You can?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at her. “You’ve been practically running this place since you were seven. And look at all these people who travelled to celebrate with you…”

Annabeth swept her gaze out over the pavilion, which was packed with all of her demigod friends - people she’d grown up with at the camp, people who had quested with her and fought by her side, people whom she loved. And at the centre of it all, Percy, blue icing smeared across his chin from where Piper had just mushed her piece of cake into his face.

“I don’t think any of these people consider me to be the golden child of camp, though. That honour probably goes to Percy.”

“Eh.” Frank shrugged. “Everyone knows that you two are a package deal, anyway.”

She watched her boyfriend chase after Piper with a cup of blue soda as she shrieked, “No powers, no powers!”

“I don’t need powers to pour this over your head, McLean!” Percy shouted, scaling a table and spilling soda on Calypso’s shoulder as he went. “Sorry!”

Annabeth laughed. “Lucky me.”

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Strawberry Ice Cream On A Winter Day

For @forfutureglory - miss you, bean 😘

The front door closed with a foreboding sharpness. Steve winced, lacing his fingers together. Holly grinned up at him. “So what are we gonna do, Stevie?”

It was a Saturday. A perfectly good Saturday, which he could have spent with Nancy and Jon—maybe down by the quarry or in his house, watching movies and eating too much popcorn. But what was better than quality time with Holly Wheeler?

Nothing, surely. He’d been honoured to accept the offer of babysitting. Karen and Ted Wheeler were working on their marriage, according to Nance; a weekly date had been ordered as some sort of mandatory counselling homework. Steve hated the idea of turning spending time with a person into work—you should just want to be around them, drawn together by crazy cosmic forces, or just dumb luck; happening to stumble upon one another and realise that their presence was the most perfect thing.

Steve hummed, tapping his toe and chin. “I suppose… make a gigantic fort and stuff our faces with ice cream.”

Holly squealed, clinging to his leg. “You’re my best friend!”

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ok i drag greek a lot, we all do, but do you ever just get that romantic feeling while you are struggling through it? Like you are translating a dead language and you don’t know who is speaking but it is like catching whispers behind a curtain, the voices lost and indistinguishable but the words remain, a shadow play of light without heat from stars now dead and light years away, snatches of things in a language no one learns on their mother’s knees anymore, foreign phrases and idioms in strange orders that sound more and more natural the more they appear to you - “Truly, you speak?” “Why indeed?” “I do not understand what you say” “I suppose” “To be one, or two?” Watching these words drop like pebbles and pass through other centuries, other decades, other languages and transcriptions, as blurred as they are illuminated.

Is that why I am still studying this?

💋 Boxing Day 💋
  • *Bart's lab*
  • Sherlock: *working; scowling*
  • John: *annoyed* Alright, what's the matter with you?
  • Sherlock: ...
  • John: *folds his arms* Tell me or no coffee.
  • Sherlock: *sighs* I kissed Molly and she-
  • John: *amazed* You KISSED Molly? When, where, how?
  • Sherlock: *shakes his head* Could you get Rosamund? I'm in the mood for intelligent conversation.
  • John: *frowns* Sod off.
  • Sherlock: *rolls his eyes* The Christmas party, under the mistletoe *blushes* she thanked me.
  • John: ...
  • John: *snorts*
  • Sherlock: *annoyed* What's so funny?
  • John: *sniggering* Mistletoe! No wonder she didn't take you seriously.
  • Sherlock: Hmm.
  • Molly: *enters; carrying folders, grinning* Hi, guys. Merry-
  • Sherlock: *marches over, grabs her face and snogs her*
  • Molly: *drops the folders*
  • Sherlock: *stops kissing her; mumbles against her lips* Not mistletoe.
  • Molly: *swallows* Oh.
  • Sherlock: *smiles* Will you be my girlfriend?
  • Molly: *giggles* Yeah.
  • Sherlock: *looks back at John*
  • John: *uses the hand that's not covering his face to stick his thumb up*

anonymous asked:

My aesthetic is Bucky ripping off your underwear. He's constantly buying you new pairs because it's his favourite thing to do. Like, any chance to rip off those panties, he's taking it. Imagine if you're at a party, all dressed up and you're about to fuck against a wall and his hand is over your mouth and suddenly he's ripping off your panties. You have to spend the rest of the night in nothing but a dress and high heels he just follows you around looking smug AF.

think thats a pocket square hanging out of his pocket? think again 

Sinful Sunday™

anonymous asked:

for a prompt: "fuck, hey, stay with us, yeah? it's just a lil' scratch. i got you. you're gonna be shiny."

Party surged up onto his knees, bending over the Kid’s prone form. “Hey, hey, honey, motherfucker, it’s fine, everything’s fine,” he said in a rush, cupping Kobra’s face in his hands. The other’s face was pale, fucking ashen, but his eyes were still wide-open and alert. Party glanced down at Kobra’s red shirt– it had been yellow before–

“Shit, fuck,” he bit out, under his breath. He looked helplessly to Ghoul. “We don’t–”

Ghoul suddenly started taking off his shirt, and Party watched with wide, panicky eyes as he bundled it up and and shoved it over Kobra’s stomach, pressing firmly down even when the Kid choked and gasped. Ghoul glanced up at Party, a grim set to his mouth, before returning his fierce gaze to Kobra below him. “There is no fucking way you are dying from a goddamn shanking,” he spat. “You hear me?” Kobra nodded slightly, his eyes sliding shut. 

“Motherfucker,” Party swore, slamming his fist into the ground beside him. Ghoul didn’t say anything, just kept staring at Kobra’s face, his hands shaking as he pressed down. 

believe-that-you-can-my-friend  asked:

I'm probably terribly late to the party so if you're not doing the make-up titles anymore is totally fine, but in case you still do here's two for you (I cheated I couldn't send just one lol): Lust for Life, Red High Heels. :)))

Anything for you, Vera! <3

Lust for Life

It’s like Betty has just shut down. Someone flicked her off switch and the fire in her eyes had died. Jughead couldn’t do anything but panic until he took a breath and decided to show her why life was worth living again. 

I’m thinking this could turn into a road trip fic, getting out of Riverdale to explore some of the places they’ve always wanted to say, leaving the turf war behind because outside the town’s borders none of that matters. Joy rides on motorbikes and dining and dashing, sunset beach walks and overly indulgent milkshakes.

They end up at the top of waterfall, watching the rushing water below their feet as Jughead grips her hand in his. He looks at her, asking her silently if he’s done enough to keep her barrelling head first into unknown depths. She smiles at him, taking in a deep breath from the sweet air before turning her back on the abyss, pulling him with her as they start the trip home. 

Red High Heels

I tried to think of something not smutty but I literally couldn’t?

I feel like Juggie has a kink, and that kink is Betty Cooper in her red heels. She’d worn them to a town function, dragging him along against his will, and he couldn’t focus on anything else all night. 

The graceful arch of her foot, the way her calf muscles tense as she stood on tip toes, the way the straps encased her delicate ankles. He wants her in nothing but those heels, hooked round his thighs, pressing into the small of his back. Hell, he wants them thrown over his shoulders, locking behind his neck. 

Needless to say, Betty’s red high heels suddenly become a well worn pair of shoes. 

Thank you, my love!

anonymous asked:

*gives Asura a belly aid so he'd be able to stomach much many more tinies* pls i want to make a big party and i need a giantass guy who'd lend me his stomach you're my only hope asura.

“Whatever party you held up was good! Now it’s for you to crash in the party with them,—into my guts!”

//Oh boy Anon, what did you do to this grump? Look at what you did to this man.

If you don't think Iron Bull and Vivienne have the best banter you're wrong
  • <p> <b>Vivienne:</b> Iron Bull, did you clean your weapon after the last fight?<p/><b>Iron Bull:</b> Er... No? Odds are we're gonna be killing something again in a few minutes. Besides, the bloodstains are good for scaring enemies! They see a big messy blade and they... you know. Argh... I'll go clean it.<p/><b>Vivienne:</b> Thank you, darling.<p/><b>Iron Bull:</b> Yes, ma'am.<p/></p>