#sorry this took me so long!

[hischierdevils]

Girl we need something with Nico and Y/N after his fight tonight

The boys watched the game with you in your living room but Alex started crying when the fight started. Ben yelled at the tv, telling the opposing team to leave his daddy alone. Cam tucked himself tight to your side making sure you were okay.

You struggled to get the three of them down for bed but you finally managed once you allowed Ben to climb into Alex’s bed with him. You made your way to your own bedroom where you laid awake waiting for Nico’s call.

You heart stuttered when your phone finally rang. “Hi, baby.”

“Are the boys in bed?” You can hear the stress in his voice. It was a rough game, a lot of them have been lately.

“Yes, they were wild after your fight.” You explain.

Nico mumbles something under his breath. “Bet they didn’t like me in the box.”

“No they didn’t but you looked so fucking hot.” You admit.

“Oh yeah?” You can hear him smile on the other end of the line as his voice deepens. “You like watching me fight baby?”

You clench your legs together to ease the suddenly ache between them. “I need you to get home, Ni.”

He starts to say something but another voice cuts him off and you flush from embarrassment, remembering he’s with the team. “I’ll be home soon, Mrs. Hischier. I love you.”

#forget series #sorry this took me so long!

[mikelogan]

TELL ME ABOUT THE OH NO NO REACTION

Okay. Someone hold my hand bc I'm about to get emotional.

This scene happens in 1x24, which is JD's last day as an intern. This episode is already finger-licking good (first JDox hug, anyone?), but this scene is extra important. I'm gonna just start with the dialogue:

JD: So I thought if you looked at Mr. Bober's chart and you agreed with us, you might be able to -- you know -- pull some strings... Perry: Yeah, I'll be more than glad to help you, there, Charlotte. JD (surprised): W-well, thank -- thank you! Perry: Don't ever be afraid to come to me with stuff like that. The simple fact that you actually seem to give a crap is the reason I took an interest in you to begin with. It's why I trust you as a doctor. Hell, it's... it's why I trust you as a person. JD: Are you dying? Perry: I've got a new shrink. JD: You know, Dr. Cox, I want to thank you for this whole year -- Perry: Oh, no, no, no...

Show me literally any other situation where JD says or does something that Perry wants no part of or is annoyed by and I can pretty much guarantee he does one of a few things: he cuts JD off with a whistle, he cuts JD off with another rant, he cuts JD off by calling him a girls' name, and/or he cuts JD off by walking away. I can't think of another situation similar to this one -- where JD is speaking from the heart and Perry doesn't cut him off in one of those other ways -- until My Fallen Idol when JD's at Perry's apartment.

Like. Perry himself just spoke from the heart, gave JD an honest rundown of how he feels. That alone is HUGE and, to me, marks a turning point in their working relationship (until Jordan drops her bomb). But JD can't resist doing the same (and because it's Scrubs, we did have that little "I have a new shrink" funny haha in between). Perry's reaction here is so much different than we've ever seen before and will ever see again for several seasons (oh, except for My Cake, but to be fair, Perry does sort of punch JD in the face first).

In my humble opinion, Perry's reaction to JD genuinely thanking him for all he's done over the past year is that of panic. Because now things are getting Too Real. If Perry lets JD say this, it'll mean Perry admitting not just to himself that he's worked his ass off for the last year watching over this intern who drives him absolutely insane for a multitude of reasons (and they're not all bad), but he'll be admitting this to JD, too. And that? That just can't happen, it cannot! Because if JD knows, then everyone will know, and how the hell is Perry supposed to stay miserable if he actually gets what he wants for once? It's so much easier to hate his life when he's continuing to hate-fuck his ex-wife because she's familiar (and yeah, maybe he does still have feelings for her) and he hates change than it is to admit his feelings and maybe have a shot in the dark at something with JD, whatever that might be. Plus, we all know how well Perry does at being honest and upfront with his feelings 🙃

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED Talk about one (1) scene in an episode of a TV show that aired 21 years ago.

#answered #grandwretch #scrubs #jdox #1x24 #my last day #sorry this took me so long! #i wanted to give it my full attention #but spoons have not been in abundance this week

[pizzatowergaming]

Little moment from one of our recordings that I drew

They are one with the bushes!

one with the bushes!!

#chat.txt #itsart.png #Pizza Tower Gaming #sorry this took me so long! #I forgot it was in my inbox ghshg

[nextinline-if]

Hi 👋, love the way you write, if it's not a problem could you do a scenario of the MC telling the ROs that she is pregnant and how the ROs react at the moment of the baby's arrival... thanks 😊

thank you so much, you're very kind! 😊 oh, if anyone wants me to do an adoption scenario, I'm sure I could do that, too!

Pregnancy Reveal

Constantine

Constantine raises an eyebrow at you. "Is there something on my face? You've been staring all morning."

"What? I can't look at the man I love?"

He chuckles. "You can." The smile he sends your way makes your heart speed up.

You smile back softly. "Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you."

He comes to your side and sits next to you. You take his hand and turn to him. Curious blue eyes seemingly stare into every part of your being. "I'm pregnant," you tell him, carefully watching to see his reaction.

He freezes for a moment and then his eyes glance down at your stomach. You move his hand there. After a moment, he looks back into your eyes, a soft look of love lingering in his.

Felix

You've been thinking about the best way to tell Felix the news. You know that he's apprehensive about children.

You wait until he's finished eating. He glances at you. "Want a cup of tea?" he asks. You nod, giving him a small smile.

He sits down next to you, handing you the cup. You take a sip and then set it down on the table. "Felix, I need to tell you something, but I'm not sure how you're going to take it."

Felix's brown furrow as his heart races. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?" His eyes scan you, looking for a problem.

You pat his hand. "No, no, I'm fine, really."

He nods and takes a deep breath, then meets your eyes. "What's going on then?"

You bite your lip and then straighten your back. Best to just rip the bandaid off. You put a hand to your stomach, which his eyes track. "I'm pregnant," you say, nervousness in your voice. You such in a breath and wait for his response.

He stares at your stomach, unblinking. And then finally he moves and runs a hand through his hair. "You're...pregnant?"

"Yes." You pause a moment and then ask, "Are you...upset?"

He glances back at you, hand cupping your face. "No, of course not. I just need some time to process." You squeeze his hand, letting him know that's fine.

F

You're cuddled up next to F one morning when you let it slip. "We're having a baby," you utter, your eyes going wide. This wasn't how you wanted to tell them.

Their body tenses and when you look at their face, you can see fear in their eyes. Finally, they ask, "You mean, you're pregnant?"

You nod, words escaping you. F pulls away and sits up, nervous energy rolling off of them in waves. You sit up and rub their back. "I'm sorry."

They turn to look at you. "For what? You have nothing to be sorry for." You glance at them, unsure. They cup your face in both their hands. "I'm sorry for my reaction. I'm just nervous. What if I'm not a good parent?"

You smile and place a kiss on their nose. "We have each other and that's all we need."

F smiles at you, relaxing. "You're right. My moon," they whisper before placing a kiss on your wrist.

Margaret

You lean against the door frame, watching Margaret practice her knife throwing. She insists on doing it at least four times a week. "Can't let my skills get rusty," she had told you.

You clear your throat.

"Yes, darling?" she asks without turning around.

"We need to get some smaller training knives soon," you comment.

"And why would we need that?" she ponders as another knife flies from her fingers.

"For our child," you say.

Margaret spins around, brown eyes meeting yours. She quickly sets the knives down and walks over to you. She leans in so close you can feel her breath on your face. "You better not be teasing. I'm excited now."

You laugh at the pout on her face and place a kiss on her cheek. "I assure you, no teasing."

Much to your amusement, she spends the rest of the evening planning a training regime for your child's first ten years.

Baby Arrival - RO Reactions

Constantine: Constantine's face hurts from all the smiling. And also, who knew you had an iron grip? As the baby is placed in his arms, he stares in shock for a moment. A baby, he thinks, our baby. He glances over to find you watching him and he smiles at you, his heart even fuller than he thought possible. Looking back at your child, he whispers a vow, "I'll never let anyone hurt you, little one."

Felix: Felix stares in wonder at the baby. Wow, a tiny human. Our tiny human, he thinks. After checking that you're okay, his eyes never leave the baby. He can't wait to teach them how to cook and for you to teach them about the things that you love. Then a terrifying thought crosses his mind: my child is an Heir. He stares at the baby with wide eyes.

F: F's mouth runs dry as they hold the baby. They look back at you, feeling secure in the knowledge that you'll have each other to raise this child. I'm going to teach you many things, they think, but the most important one is how to never let go of the ones you love. F wishes they had learned that one earlier. They smile down at the child, scared to death, but ready to do their best.

Margaret: Margaret's eyes sparkle with joy as she holds the baby. "Don't worry," she says quietly, "I have every intention of ensuring you have a sibling to play with." When she meets your eyes across the room, she grins. She can't believe her luck, she's found a family that loves her. And I'll protect you with my life, she thinks as she looks between you and the baby.

#hypothetical #kids #danakf #ro’s reactions #interactive fiction #sorry this took me so long! #queued #constantine dimas #f faramund #felix faramund #lady margaret #pregnancy

[hellheld]

@nebula-gaster

already lighting their cigarette by the time they push out the back door, harlot sighs into the night air. the after party to their christmas show was fun, of course, but they were tiring of so many people talking to them at once. everyone wanted a piece of the antichrist, but they only had so much patience until they were worn out. two hours was long enough to play everyone's nice rock star.

exhaling smoke, harlot leans against the wall next to the exit, subtly watching the other people behind the building. since their change, they've spent a significant amount of time to learn to spot dealers. "hey," they call, fishing for their money clip. "you got anything? i'm starving."

#sorry this took me so long! #nebula gaster

[dmagedgoods]

#7 Have they committed a crime before? Which one(s)? and #17 What’s the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever spent money on? Sal!

7. Have they committed a crime before? Which one(s)? Oh, for an angel and a lawful good character, Salvadore’s record isn’t as spotless as one might think. In general, he considers crime beneath him. Even in the most desperate situation, he’d have a hard time to go against certain principles (and just to steal what he needs for example). I wrote an AU with a friend once where he almost died after he ended up on the street without money, because he is too prideful to ask for help, too prideful to keep his mouth shut when he should, and too prideful to commit small crimes as well. Interestingly, this doesn’t mean that he refuses illegal deeds as a whole. Some of those become acceptable in his eyes, the moment they’re not for personal gain (or the moment he doesn’t view them as something done for personal gain) but instead for the greater good. Salvadore is a politician through and through, much more upright and honest than most of them, but still highly into strategic maneuvering, smart chess moves, manipulation, and diplomacy in general. Another important fact: If he gives his word, he keeps it, no matter what. But aside from this, his strict personal moral code doesn’t include a rule against lying. Despite being quite idealistic in certain regards, he has a coldly realistic side too and especially when it becomes necessary with the decisions he needs to make. He won’t refuse a deal with someone or something (person, organization, or country) just because they/it doesn’t fulfill certain moral standards. If an assassin or thief is the best to do the job he needs to be done, he’ll pay an assassin or thief, if the neighboring country has questionable laws in place but is the best option for an ally in this situation or that to guarantee safety and freedom and victory of his own nation, he won’t hesitate to form an alliance (temporarily though if they are too contemptible). Of course, it’s never as simple as that and always connected to a whole list of considerations, but just to name a few examples. His crime list includes: lying, blackmailing, bribing, occasional deals with people/institutions that are neither lawful nor good themselves, manipulation … And well, one time he killed. Salvadore always searches for a way to end a conflict with as few people dying as possible. He never attacks without a very good reason and if someone surrenders, they are arrested instead of killed. (To Daeran’s and Regill’s despair that’s true for demons as well.) Aside from arrogance and his strong moral code, there is something even deeper behind it: He despises death and that most lives tend to end sooner or later, but that’s a whole different topic. Anyway, the worst crime he ever committed, was to kill Liotr to protect Daeran and despite the fact that he’d decide like this again if time was turned back and he had to make the choice again, the guilt for the life he took was intense and stays with him. 17. What’s the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever spent money on? Where to even start? I just wrote that Sal has a very rational side and that’s absolutely true, but he lacks the ability to understand the worth of money. He suffered a lot during his childhood, but he always has been an aristocrat and always has been absurdly rich. And it shows. He pays ridiculous sums for wine, special foods, clothes, furniture, jewelry, fun activities, gifts, services … You could go through his palace and point at things (or the palace itself) and ask: “How much did that cost?” The answer would be ridiculous almost always. 😂

#sorry this took me so long! #as you see I started rambling again #thank youu #I enjoyed answering this a bit too much #😂 #knight commander salvadore #oc: salvadore #my ocs #dmagedtexts

[nocentis]

let her kiss his brand...

He sees her in the way that bees see flowers; the way that leaves see sunshine.

╳┆Honey spilled over the horizon and painted the high tide. Gilded fingers twisted into the amber silks draped upon the throne of cloud, wrapped them up in their glittering palms, around their wrists, and the day's ruler hoisted themselves slowly to claim, leaving blood and syrup in their wake. Their white robes did little to shield their pride; their radiance. There was something to be said about that immeasurable beauty and the karmic toll of viewing it. The price of a look, one held long enough to truly see, was to surrender the gift of future sight. There was something to be said about the periphery. Something about those colors, that warmth, that marvel, and how maybe close enough should be good enough, and why couldn't it be? Something about the cost of love, something about moderation, and maybe something about the comfort of cowardice.

Winter and Spring began their waltz, slowly slinking ‘round and ‘round with fingers interlaced high above their heads, eyes locked in lovers’ snares. Winter, condemned to play the role of callousness; of indiscriminate reaping, and Spring, the tender, the nurturer, tasked with the labor of rebirth. They found their compromise in the snowdrop’s bloom; in its frozen dew. They found it in the chill of the morning and the warmth of the afternoon, in the cool breeze, in the jewel-toned sky and the first blades of grass yet bitten by frost.

It must’ve been love, he thought, for what else could compel the harsh hand of Winter, cold and cruel as it was, not to strike, but to dance? It must've been love, he thought, because when Winter slipped from her grasp, Spring, in her loneliness, would begin to weep. Beautiful things bloomed from her pain, and so her pain was expected, demanded again and again. It must've been love that drove Winter to destroy those sorrow-sewn fields so that Spring would come back to him comfortably, and so just for a little while, they could find peace together.

Today, they were dancing.

╳┆The swell in his chest shined through his broadened shoulders, the length of his neck, the lift of his chin. Still, the habit of treading brazenly, maskless, through stone-laid streets, was one he’d yet to pick up. His formal pardon hadn’t barred the eyes from prying, and it certainly hadn’t muted the whispers. If anything, they’d only grown louder, more opinionated, so he'd yet to find comfort in the breeze's naked palms.

The repetitive swish and clang of his garb and the thud of his armored boots against the cobbles were familiar enough to become mute to the mind, like absorbed by his black-bleeding subconscious. Gone with it, the songbird’s tune, the whistle of the breeze, the sway of the trees. But not today. No, today he heard it—the way the wind howled in harmony with the river’s steady rush, the beat of his own pace, the trill tittering above, the cheerful chatter of life—like it was his first time. In a way, he supposed it was. Every other time he’d walked this path, he’d walked it with closed eyes and wool-stuffed ears, in thrall to the rotten echoes of his own mind. But not today. No. Today, his chin held high, as his spirits did.

He must have looked every bit the manic fool that morning, sliding through the doors of the Fairy Tail guild at the first wink of sunlight, sporting that glued-on grin he'd still yet to unstick, with nothing more to present than a pair of mismatched daffodils and their attached note. Thankfully, Mirajane and her sister, Lisanna, were already in-house preparing for the day ahead, undoubtedly taking advantage of the peace and quiet of the empty hall while they still had the opportunity. Though naturally surprised to see him so elated, they were both pleasant in their greetings and eagerly agreed to deliver his message (though he was nearly certain they were teasing him about his intentions with their fair lady Erza).

His cheer was met equally and enthusiastically. Both sisters were practically teeming with glee by the time he turned to leave, giggling and covering their mouths like they knew something the rest of the world was yet privy to. While he found their giddiness puzzling, he surely welcomed the departure from gloom; from the doom-written reeds he so often dragged in. It was nice, he thought, to share weightless words, to have a laugh, to venture beyond Winter's shadow into the first light of Spring.

From there, he'd practically skipped to his next task. Never in so many years of travel had he received such bemused faces from passersby. He'd actually paused once to check his skin, just to make sure he wasn't actually glowing. Heaven knew how long it'd been since he felt something so carefree as genuine excitement. Long enough that he found it uncontainable. Long enough that it felt like sunshine in his chest, crawling up his throat, bursting through his teeth.

Mrs. Ito was no exception to the day's pleasantries. She'd always been kind in the short time he'd known her. Recently widowed, she decided she had too much house and not enough home, in her own words, so she moved in with her eldest son, his wife, and their children. He'd met with them all one evening for dinner (Mrs. Ito wanted to know to whom she was handing over her home), and even after stories were shared and intentions were laid, he was met gently with understanding smiles, warm hands holding his own, and Mrs. Ito's hushed, "It's time to go home, son."

When he arrived to pick up the keys—his keys to his house—she greeted him fondly, like they'd always known one another. Her son stood in the doorway as he exchanged the gift of home with a box of market candies, his smile slowly melting like he'd finally found the bitter side of sweet. He'd waved goodbye with a promise to visit again soon, but as he turned towards his new tomorrow, he missed the pinch in Mrs. Ito's brow and the tears that followed. He missed the shake of her shoulders as her son ushered her back inside and the red-rimmed eyes that lingered on his back.

His elation carried him through thinning streets and into the countryside. Horse-drawn carriages passed him by with blinders on, kicking up dust and bouncing rocks off their spokes as they went. The folks tending their land paused to spare him a sprinkler's glance. Just around the bend, there sat a humble brick house on a quaint piece of land. Its stone pathway stood out in the sparsely grown, mostly browned lawn, and it drew a path straight towards that painted-red front door. The very same one that he was now standing in front of, staring at.

The key poised betwixt his fingers had been left to steep in his pocketful of sunshine long enough for the heat to transfer, and now it was burning, blistering his skin, and it felt something like rejection. Like the soul of the land had its hands on his shoulders and was shoving him backward. Like he wasn't meant to be here. He was never meant to have this.

But he wasn't ready to give it up just yet.

He tapped the door with a single knuckle, just to see if it'd turn to ash. It held steady, materially, before him, just the same as it ever looked. Its bricks spoke no threat of crumble, its roof showed no sign of collapse, and yet none of it truly felt real. Even as his head bowed and his forehead pressed into that cool crimson, even as he traced the ridges of the keys in his palm, even then, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

A moment of silent prayer. A deep, grounding breath. Eyes open, back straight, he finally found the will to turn the key. The door slowly creaked open, allowing light to pour in through the front door.

His lingering joy was a sweet wine on the brink of spoil, turned to vinegar in his gut. The morn's candied shell cracked between his teeth and its well-concealed bitterness flooded his tongue like it had been waiting for the opportunity all along. It leaked from the corners of his still-smiling mouth, even as his lips began to twitch; even as heat brimmed his eyes and tears threatened to spill. He stood in the doorway, still, watching the walls of that front room stretch higher and higher as the moment dragged on, like he was waiting for something—something like Karma—to come along and destroy it all, strip it all away; to take from him again, as he'd taken from so many others.

He forced himself to step inside, to turn, to close and lock the door behind himself.

And then it was quiet. Devastatingly so. Gone were the wind, the leaves, the birdsong and the horses' trot. Static rushed in to fill its place, skating rings around his ears, and his periphery began to blur, his chest to ache—oh, he felt ill, and the dam threatened to burst, and his throat tightened until he audibly choked. A hand rose to cup his neck, and another to cover his mouth, stifling his upward bubbling sob as heat rose to cloud his vision. He sunk to his knees as the first tears fell, crushed by the weight of overwhelm, one hand scratching helplessly against hardwood while the other heeled at his bleeding eyes.

How audacious could he be? Already living on borrowed breath, daring to walk the path of the benevolent man. Now he dared to seek normalcy for himself, to smile gleefully while so many still woke in a cold sweat, in terror, at the sight of him, and others would never wake at all. A sick joke. He hardly deserved a proper burial, much less a place to lay his head, and yet he wanted it still.

He turned and sat with his back pressed against the front door, and he tried to find comfort in the nothing. He tried to find comfort in the emptiness, the darkness, the hollow and desolate, but the shadows had autonomous hands. Those mangled fingers were rotten down to blackened bone and had mouths where their nails should've been, and they'd been picking at the threads of his mind's drawn curtain, picking, pulling, unspooling, until they made their hole big enough to climb through. When they finally reached him, they were dripping ink like blood, wrapped up in memories' silk that they used to bind him where he was.

How long had it been? He was a child when he'd last called a house like this his home, before the raid. If only his mother and father could see him now, what would they say? Would they smile? Would they cry? Would they be proud of their son, even to this day, with all years considered, and would they love him still? Would they hand their heads in shame, or would they lift their chins in disgust? He never got the chance to know them well enough to answer those questions with any certainty.

His head thumped against the wall, tears trailing unbidden as he stared through the ceiling. His breath shook as he exhaled, voice straining when he pleaded directly to God, "Please," his face curled inward and he nearly choked, "It's more than I deserve, but please, may I have this?"

But it wasn't God who'd condemned him. It wasn't God who'd damned his soul to roam, so God need not answer.

The silence was a swarm that eventually overtook the sounds of his wet misery. The numbness accompanying that insidious peace was a welcome shift. It gathered over his shoulders and draped from him, robe-like, as he finally rose from the floor, intent on washing his face.

A few short steps brought him to the bathroom. He blindly palmed at the wall until he found the switch. Light sprung from the top down, bathing the back of his hand as he turned on the sink. He let it run over his fingers until warm and watched years-old blood run off and stain the porcelain. The water he gathered in his palms was soon spilled over the flesh of his face and beyond his sleeves.

While the salt may have washed clean, the evidence of his deluge clung to the skin beneath his eyes and around his nose in Pollock pink. That much became obvious the very second he met his own glassy stare, though its juxtaposition to the hot iron's bite made its consequence seem all the more fleeting. The tips of his fingers idled against his still-dripping skin, at first tracing the risen path, then covering it. He tried to imagine what he might've looked like without it. Would he look more youthful? Would he look kind when he smiled? Would children be less afraid when he waved to them?

He supposed it didn't matter. The choice was never his to have. That glowing sunset crest lived inside of his eyelids, lurking there, daring him to blink. Within each lapse, he saw the devil's eyes. He saw split-curl smiles and broken teeth outlined in stolen blood. He heard the devil's laugh, shrill and gleeful and giddy, and felt its dank breath against his neck, and he felt its hands curling around his ankles, his wrists, his arms and legs, puncturing his skin with nails of obsidian glass, and he felt it climb onto his chest, crack his ribs, and he felt his face begin to sweat, even though he was so, so cold.

It was so, so cold. White cold. And he was awake. Wide-eyed, shocked mute. His skin shrieked as its moisture fled, and it began to peel away, to bubble and blister and burn—God, it burned, and the smell—

Knock-knock, knock!

His visitor's early arrival nearly sent him out of his skin. He quickly turned the water off and killed the light, and he hoped that his sorrows stayed in the drain depths where they belonged.

The door swung inward, and she was there, waiting patiently, graciously, for him like she always had. His breath turned to dust in his lungs.

In her hands, those inverted daffodils dressed in yellow and white, not a petal out of place. Gold spilled over her crown, revealing that halo he'd always known was there. The breeze tossed her scarlet flames about semblant of Venus, and rosey lips sat in their gentle curve, smiling softly at him, yet before they could split to spill a greeting, he'd already begun to pull her towards him. As he wrapped himself around her, his eyes began to burn again, and the second he felt her hand at his back, returning his embrace, he broke, and the tears spilled forth once more. His head fell to rest against her armored shoulder, and through the rain, he began to laugh.

She pulled away to view him at arms' length, mouth slightly parted as though a question had come to peer through her teeth. He wiped at his face with tremors in his hands, chuckling softly when Erza finally shoved out, "Tears?"

"It's silly, really," he holds up the keys, "I'm overwhelmed."

It didn't take her long to put it together.

Warmth graced his jaw with the weight of a whisper, so faint he'd thought surely that he'd imagined it. That is, until it struck again, soft and sweet against his cheek, beneath his eye, his forehead. His eyes blinked open as she sunk back to her heels, bashfully peering up at him through the veil of her lashes; waiting for him to do something, anything.

The raucous buzzing faded into a melodic hum like the swarm had finally found its queen.

His blood sang as it rushed red-hot through his shoulders, crawled up his neck, and began burning its way through the skin of his face. The ear-popping clarity of his thought-storm's sudden abandon left him staring mindlessly with eyes much too wide and jaw much too lax, narrowly remembering to breathe, until her shy expression began to melt into something more reminiscent of unease, like she was preparing to flee.

Perhaps a touch too quickly, he grabbed her hand, careful to keep his grip loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted. Slowly, surely, his opposite hand reached to tuck her hair behind her ear, and his palm cupped her cheek in a silent plea not to retreat from him. A silent plea to stay here, right here, in this moment, in his grasp, just a little while longer.

And she did. She stayed. She smiled gently, warmly. Her head fell to rest against his chest and she leaned into his sway. There, in the silence, they found their rhythm. They began to dance.

"Welcome home, Jellal." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- @mamorigami

#v: ╳ ┆ x793 ┆◜ main ◞ #♡┆◜ tytania ◞ #ask and you shall receive bb #it's a little bittersweet #hc: jellal's ptsd flares when good things happen bc good things usually precipitate crushing loss #drabble #sorry this took me so long! #also mira and lisanna def assumed he was finally asking Erza out #they're gonna be so disappointed #also… speaking for your muse feels so alien and out of my territory HAH #so I tried to keep it minimal #<3 #long post #very long post #woowee finally posting this #don't kill me yall im still rusty #ik this doesn't really evoke the emotions i was going for but it's good practice anyway #also erza is his home goodbye #and yes there's room for meredy she's just not in this bc uhhhh she's busy

[jon-withnoh]

🔥+ weather :)

This is almost my entire hot take. Hate the heat, love heavy rain and cool temperatures. My ranking of the seasons goes Spring, Autumn, Winter, Summer. Summer is only doable for me if I can be inside, in the shade, or in the water. Doesn’t work great if I’m in a sweltering hot flat in the city or have to work.

oooh favourite thing about summer though: thunderstorms!!!

#wheeee q&a time! #ask games #lister-thermometer #sorry this took me so long! #it‘s been a wild few months #and yes #I did record this video for this ask #I was out in the rain recently and was like „Hang on!!!“

[veone]

✩ – put this star in the inbox of your favorite blogs. it's time to spread positivity! <3333

💮💓Thank you!!sending that positivity right back at ya!!💓💮

#ask #sorry this took me so long!

[goldenchildminmin]

Emergency Rescue || Layne & Minho

He just wanted to go out and get himself a chai tea latte. But as he waited in line for his turn to get his order to go, he’d noticed a group of rowdy teens whispering excitedly among themselves, tossing curious glances his way. There were simply times when even in Opulence, where he actually managed to go full on incognito, someone ended up recognizing and approaching him nevertheless, the wonders of the internet doing their magic in spreading the word and uncovering a celebrity in hiding.

Most people didn’t have a bad intention in mind and just got too excited and eager to get a picture or two, film him on their phones without his consent or just approach, talk and get his autograph. But it could get overwhelming. Like any person in the world, there were moments when Minho was simply not ready for it or in the mood. Not that anyone really asked if he was, these things just happened on their own in a moment of inattention on his part.

Like right then, Minho reacting too late and hadn’t managed to get away in time before he was practically surrounded by excited teens squealing and squeaking upon meeting the idol. And like the majority of kids these days, they just wanted a picture or two for their Instagram profiles and alike, fangirling hard while at it. Juggling the drink in his hand, Minho accepted the commotion with a patient, polite smile, doing his best to pose and smile for them, still amused and grateful for the attention but very aware that the entire coffee shop was now looking his way, some possibly not appreciating the disturbance he’d caused.

On top of that, the kids who’d recognized him were also very insistent on Minho staying to hang out with them, which was highly inappropriate on many levels, but regular politeness often didn’t work quite as well in cases like these yet Minho had trouble exercising anything other than that in his attempts to decline. Awkward questions were being asked, he was also being filmed now, phone camera flashes lighting up in his peripheral and the fae was quickly starting to be at a loss, trying to step away from it all but not being allowed to.

@laynebaudelaire​

#::MinhoxLayne #::EmergencyRescue #I hope this is alright and if not lmk! #Sorry this took me so long!

[ariadne-mouse]

3, 5, and 7 for the bts writing ask!

Hi Sol! Thanks so much for the ask :)

3. Do you write fics from start or finish, or jump around?

I tend to go from start to finish. Once in a while I'll jump around, but sometimes if I jump forward to write a scene, by the time I "catch up" with the rest of the writing it may not be what fits the narrative anymore. It adds an extra step of editing or killing darlings that I can avoid by writing more linearly (even if the story itself is nonchronological). If there's a future part of the writing that I have really clearly in my mind, I capture it in bullet points and dialogue snippets instead of fully drafting. Less rework.

5. What is the perfect environment for you to write in?

At home, on an overcast day, with a hot coffee, comfy chair, and fuzzy blanket. Aw yissss

7. Which part of writing do you struggle with most?

I'll give you a few things, because I find they overlap: how to take effective breaks, how to manage higher word count stories (higher relative to my own previous works), and how to take a mediocre draft and find the loose thread to spin it into something I feel is good.

-What I mean by "effective breaks" is when to put down a story and let it rest and come back with fresh eyes - and then when I return, leverage all my new impressions as "reader goggles" to improve it. This applies both to finished stories I'm overexcited to post but really should let sit and proofread like a week later, and also to stories I'm stuck on and need to figure out how to get unstuck.

-With longer word counts, it's harder and harder to get eyes on the whole thing while editing. I have to track themes, keep notes, use color-coding and comments and such to not tangle myself up.

-Moving mediocre to good: when I have part of an idea I like, or a vague imprint of something that could be better but I haven't figured out how, it adds fatigue to any writing or editing I'm doing.

I experienced all three of those struggles with a man by any other face, where I had a full first draft resting - felt like stagnating - at mediocre quality for many months. I tried to pick it up a few times but hadn't figured out what editing techniques would click for me with the 30k length of it, or how to evolve the themes instead of repeating them, so I just floundered around in a story that didn't feel cohesive and I'd put it down again, exhausted and annoyed. I was so proud of myself when I got unstuck!

[ask me Behind-the-Scenes writing questions]

#sorry this took me so long! #i'm catching up after a long week #asks #behind the scenes ask meme #fic: ambaof

[thewaywardprotector]

Closed starter for @cfsolemnsoldier​

At a loss of how else to help the case, Zara headed out to the scene of the Halloween festivities, trying to look around for clues, anything that could’ve been missed that could explain exactly what happened that night. Whether there was still a scent in the air, a plant that was left behind, a drop of blood that got missed... She didn’t care that it was the middle of the night either. She’d deal with the moody girlfriend who she’d had to cancel a dinner date with later.

Looking up as she saw someone approaching the area, she raised her eyebrows. “A little late to be wandering around the woods, don’t you think?” She asked, shining a light towards the other.

#sorry this took me so long! #c: chris

[taketwoinink]

have you ever successfully made a house of cards (also which is your favourite suit)

You remember this ask from almost a month ago? I'm finally going to answer it!

I have not. It's way harder than it looks. Shoutout to anyone who can make them, you're epic.

Spaaaades! I don't know why, they're black and they're jazzy. I like them.

#thatfaecreaturee #answered asks #The Ink Answers #sorry this took me so long!

[heartfeasts]

From your reply, I am actually! Thanks for replying and Ill make sure to be more diligent in responding next time :)

I got a sort of unclear maybe for incubuskin and a strong yes for godkin!

I would say either your incubuskin is a source of pain (therefore a yes, or perhaps a reflection of that pain), or you're on the right path but still need to work things out!

#Ask #Romeo-Demise #Musings #Kin Help #Tarot #Sorry this took me so long!

[austerulous]

◈   @arrowablaze​​​

Loneliness was a form of poverty, a quiet kind of death.  Here in the girls’ dormitory, afforded some peace from the rigidity of drills and orders, Annie was adrift, uncomfortable, formless.  Sitting aimlessly on the thin spread of her mattress, she thought of old bones beneath the earth, how on the grass-skinned surface, life went on, and the dead played no part.

Rich peels of laughter and the low hum of a dozen conversations scraped her raw, picking at the scab Reiner and Bertholdt had left in their wake.  Friendly advances made by others were often rebuffed, questions were answered with silence and warm smiles met with blank stares.  Quiet, standoffish girl.  Monster.  The very bogeyman her fellow cadets talked about in hushed whispers.  Better to spend the next few years as a ghost, going unseen, unknown and overlooked by everyone.  Better not to befriend those she had been sent to kill.

Only it seemed that Sasha Braus – a girl who, on the surface, was all sunshine and smiles and slinking gaits – was staring right at her.  For a brief moment, the spectre of Annie Leonhardt manifested.

“What is it?”

#girl talk girl talk ♡ #sorry this took me so long! #◈ — ic; annie #arrowablaze

[3katanas]

@thenihilistofthevoid starter to replace thread lost to the void

Sighing as he looked at the shattered sword in his hand he shook his head. As his strength was growing, normal swords were unable to handle his swings and the power behind them as he learned to adjust to the change. The Wado Ichimonji was the only one who could handle the rough treatment, even though it meant that he had to have his sharpened and tended to by a blacksmith more often than usual.

Which is what caused him to end up in the bar again. A cold bottle before him, condensation dripping down its side as he ate the bowl of rice and various meats and vegetables. Waiting for new swords to be made for him along with Wado's repairs. Two substitute blades resting at his side instead.

Finishing his last bite his gaze flicked to the door, recognizing the newcomer with an arch of one emerald brow. Nodding to the other bounty hunter he sipped at his beer. If they wanted to talk they'd sit next to him, if not that was also fine by him.

#thenihilistofthevoid #of course that will make you a target (starter) #sorry this took me so long!