Dammit Jim! I'm a writer, not a wri... oh, wait
The things that you'll most likely see on my blog:
~ Comics (Avengers, Batfam, YA, etc)
~ Teen Wolf
~ Supernatural
~ Star Trek
~ Sherlock, Merlin, Doctor Who
~ Final Fantasy/Kingdom Hearts
~ Disney
~ Sprinkles/Pretty things
I really enjoy getting prompts, so never be shy to leave me some! It may take me a while to fill it, or I may only reply with headcanons or 3 sentence fic, but it's all fun, right?
2. Ignore your closet door, and all of the arrows laced with protection that are hidden behind your new summer clothes. You do not need them anymore. You have your father instead. Rely on anybody but yourself.
3. Be glad that you are still allowed her company. She is safe. She is not tainted by everything you can’t have. You try to keep her that way.
4. It does not work.
5. The way the sunlight shines off of her strawberry tangles feels more like home than you’ve felt in months. You feel complacent with the windows down and the radio playing a shitty pop song too loudly down a road lined with the forests you’ve sworn to never step foot in again. She looks at you, smiles. For a moment, you forget you feel trapped in a life forced upon you, and smile back. You feel helpless, but for the first time are not afraid of the feeling.
6. You get drunk on the hood of her car on the edge of a cliff and ignore the feeling you get to strip off your clothes and jump into the lake below. She mirrors your thoughts with actions, not for the first time, and you think that when she jumps her pale body transforms into a perfect swan before smashing the water below to pieces. You let out a breath when she surfaces. You pretend you’re glad you’re not brave like her.
7. Have breakfast with your dad every morning. Try to enjoy the silence. Pretend the hairs on the back of your neck are not standing on end. Pretend you feel safe in his presence.
8. When she kisses you, it is with a smirk on her face in a dark corner of an unfamiliar house, bass of the speakers next to you vibrating your insides. You pretend it’s why you’re shaking, and not because of her hot breath against your lips. When she leans up on her toes and presses her mouth to yours, she tastes like peach schnapps and matchsmoke and everything he did not. You cannot help how your fingers tangle in her hair and hold on, like she’ll disappear between your fingers if you’re not careful. But you cannot get attached to this moment. This is not serious. This is a dare. This is upping the ante. This is the only danger you can afford. Her hand cups your breast, flicks your nipple with her thumb through your thin dress, a practiced move, and the spark that shoots through you makes you feel like every boy who has been under her hands before. You break away like you’ve been burned, unbraid your fingers from her dress and run down the stairs without making eye contact. She does not follow. You make your way to the door, past the heat of every couple doing exactly what you were too afraid of and when you tumble outside, you wish the cool August air would clean out your synapses. It doesn’t, and you collapse against the bark of a tree. You feel it press against every burn her fingers left and debate wiping her saliva from your mouth. You don’t. You walk home, and do not text her back.
9. Do not speak for exactly six days. She breaks the silence by inviting you over to watch Clueless and eat peanut M&Ms. You accept. You do not talk about that night again.
10. The first time you see him, you do not register his face at first. You see his best friend’s crooked smile, hear his muffled, frantic voice, see that familiar jeep, and despite all of your training, the months and months you spent trying desperately to ignore every impulse to walk past his house just to see his mom through the window, you look. He is looking back.
11. You drive.
12. They follow. And with them comes every danger you’ve been sworn to avoid. Your scream mixes with hers and you can’t help but notice how the breaking glass sounds like angels crashing down like a hailstorm against you both. You feel holy for a moment before the blood drips onto your jeans. You stumble out of the car, leaning against the passenger side door and try to pretend you are not hyperventilating. His hands find your arms and you meet his eyes, real, present, tangible. He asks if you’re okay. You’re not, but looking in his eyes, it sure as hell feels that way.
13. You begin to numb again. You have to. You shut down. You put on the first dress you see in your drawer and sit on your bed, staring at your closed closet door. You wish you could open it. Your dad comes in and you have a conversation, but the only thing you’re thinking about is how you wish you could arm yourself again. How you wish you had a solution for this. You have to stop wishing.
14. You know he passes you in the hallway by his smell. You do not look at him. Pretend you do not feel his eyes pressing into the folds of your dress. You do not hear him murmur to the hummingbird boy about your haircut. Like the way it looks because you have something that does not belong to him.
15. You walk into your first class and the seat in front of his is the only one unoccupied. You take it. You write a note telling him you need to talk. You stare at it for exactly 12 minutes about 44 seconds before ripping it up into tiny pieces and piling it neatly at the corner of your desk. You look up at the teacher and pretend he isn’t there. Start over.
(via teenwolffemslash)
Author: infectedscrew
Fandom: DC: Red Hood and The Outlaws
Pairing: Red Loving Trio
Rating: PG-13/Rish (mostly for language)
Summary: Jason knew this was a bad idea from the start.
Notes: For Akumastrife, who is so wonderful and paid for this! Thank you so much! <3Vacation to Hell
Giggles and sighs a lot because it’s super cute okay they’re so cute and it’s not fair
thank you <33
Deancas drabble. First kisses are my favorite.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Allison Argent, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Stiles Stilinski
Additional Tags: improperly negotiated kink, Anxiety Disorder
Summary:Anxiety and Sex is sometimes a problem.
(via rrrowr)
Happy Birthday to Akumastrife! I hope you like this though I’m not certain it’s what you wanted. Also it’s kinda bad I’m so sorry I’ll write something else tomorrow when I’m less sleepy. <3
Pairing: JayDami - Aged up / future
Damian had to give Jason credit as he had completed underestimated the older man’s ability to act. When they had first gotten the intel which had led them to the deduction that they would have to play certain… roles in order to apprehend their target, Damian had been apprehensive. After all, while his acting abilities were adequate for such a farce, he didn’t necessarily feel comfortable performing without the one person he would allow himself to go on the mission with. He’d never seen Jason act in the years that he’d known him, not really, so he’d been reluctant to suggest it at all.
Oh gosh it’s absolutely wonderful. It’s really sweet.
And you’re just so thoughtful, thank you so much <3
Title: Zombie Invasions are Boring, Let’s Play Video Games Instead
Pairing: Gen.
Rating: PGjessiecoupe said: ahhh gen batfam during a zombie apocolypse, but like…funny. not tragic.
Snippet: “On the bright side,” Dick says as he shimmies down the building, “You didn’t raise a group of homicidal, raging, vengeful killers and sociopaths so much as you raised a group of emotionally-volatile, obsessive, spiteful vigilantes and paper pushers.”
mommaursa asked you: Jay and Dami’s first time doing something one of them had reservations about
JayDami spankin’s behind the cut
—-
Heard You Fuck Through the Wall (Lydia/Peter/Stiles Fic)
Your name is Lydia Martin, and you are losing.
*
This is the fic I wrote for 3_ships, in all it’s fucked up glory. This definitely won’t be the last thing I write for this ship, since I’m already 25K into another fic for them (which was originally going to be for 3_ships, until I realised there was no way I could get it done in time). Ugh, I’m so glad I finally get to share this with everyone, I’ve been OT3ing these guys so hard ever since I got my assignment but I didn’t want to talk about it too much in case it made it really obvious to my recipient who I was.
This fic was inspired by two prompts, the first one being “christmas traditions” which was given to me by my recipient, ladyoneill, and the second being vociferocity’s prompt for the three sentence fic meme, “coffee shop au”. It’s possible it says a lot about me that this is the fic I wrote for two frankly adorable prompts - I’d prefer to believe it says a lot about Peter Hale, but given how much I enjoyed writing this, I’m not sure he can take all the blame. It’s also the longest thing I’ve ever completed, coming in at just over 10,000 words, and I’m super proud of it. If you read it, please let me know, I’d love to hear what you think.
I just really love second person point of view
(via everythingbutsterek)
Because Zoe’s class was gross.
(TW: terrible jokes by survivors about abuse, ableism, and epilepsy.)
Sometimes, Erica and Isaac persuade people to try the threesomes thing. Sometimes, Erica and Isaac go hunting. Sometimes, they kill people. Sometimes, Boyd calls them a pair of freaky murder twins.
Sometimes, though, they do this:
“I’d hit that,” Erica says, and Isaac says “harder than my dad hit me.”
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairings: Allison/Lydia, Scott/Stiles
Summary: When Allison breaks up with Scott, Lydia wears red for a week and files her nails in class. It’s terryfing; equally scary is Stiles sitting perfectly still across the room. When they think she’s not looking she catches a glance between them, and Allison realizes—they have some sort of understanding, Stiles and Lydia, though she can’t imagine what it could be. The thought chills her, a little, but more than that she finds herself lying awake wondering what it is they have in common.
This is so wonderfully written and it feels like you just flow straight through the story.
Also, two of the best pairings ever.
erica probably would have gotten really nervous about junior prom, derek knows. she got nervous about stuff like that a lot, really, but always in private.
if he weren’t a werewolf, maybe he never would have known.
he’d never have heard her waking up an hour and a half before school to get ready in near-silence, to get her make up perfect as could be, her lipstick the right shade of red and her eyes smokey and lined. he never would have heard the fwumps of fabric as she pulled off six or seven outfits every morning before finally— finally— finally finding the one that made her smile at her reflection (so big her lips went a little crooked, just a little). he never would have heard the little sighs as she picked at her shirt, later, in the camaro on the way to school, sad, unsure noises— or the relieved sigh she’d give at the end of the day when she’d unstrap her heels and settle into the moth-eaten, rain-damaged couch of theirs.
if he weren’t a werewolf, maybe he wouldn’t have known, but he was a werewolf, so derek knew. erica always worried about that sort of stuff. the way she looked, the way she presented herself. maybe most girls were like that (even laura, sometimes), but erica— it was different with her.
she would have worried about junior prom, too. of course she would have. it would have been her first dance ever, since the moving lights and the music were always a risk to her. she’d always stayed at home, painting her nails, only to gnaw the paint away later when her mind started to wander.
she would have wanted to do it perfectly— the dress, the hair, the boy, the dance.
she would have worried about the dancing the most.
where to put her hands, how close to stand, where to look.
and derek.
derek would have taught her.
would have.
(via 1001-cranes)
Stiles’ aconite-rubbed bat is dripping red as he stands over the bloody mass of something that was once a werewolf.
“Yeeeeuck,” Stiles says in disgust, stepping back from the corpse with the bashed-in face. “Oh man, that is gross. Ugh, do I have blood on me? I need a shower.”
Scott is frozen in place as he takes in the scene. The scent of fresh blood coating decaying leaves is thick in his nose, mixing with the slight sting as he catches the traces of wolfsbane from Stiles’ weapon of choice. He can hear his best friend’s heartbeat pounding from the rush of adrenaline flooding his veins- a smell as rich as the blood and meat of the newly dead, and untainted by the bitterness of sorrow. Stiles isn’t feeling regret.
“I heard you screaming,” he says weakly, as if he needs to explain why he tore through the forest to skid to a halt in this clearing. Stiles frowns.
“That wasn’t a scream,” he answers, sounding defensive. “That was, you know, a, a manly battle cry.”
“-Stiles, you killed someone.”
