A Puppy With A Puppy

french recipes: if you’re not making this in paris then what’s the point. fuck you

italian recipes: use the left leg meat of a pig from one of three farms in this specific area of tuscany, or from this day my grandmother will begin manifesting physically in your house

MY LIFE IN A NUTSHELL

weird asks that say a lot

in

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

7. earbuds or headphones?

8. movies or tv shows?

9. favorite smell in the summer?

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

12. name of your favorite playlist?

13. lanyard or key ring?

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

18. ideal weather?

19. sleeping position?

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

21. obsession from childhood?

22. role model?

23. strange habits?

24. favorite crystal?

25. first song you remember hearing?

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

28. five songs to describe you?

29. best way to bond with you?

30. places that you find sacred?

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

32. top five favorite vines?

33. most used phrase in your phone?

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

35. average time you fall asleep?

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

38. lemonade or tea?

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

41. last person you texted?

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

44. favorite scent for soap?

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

47. favorite type of cheese?

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

51. current stresses?

52. favorite font?

53. what is the current state of your hands?

54. what did you learn from your first job?

55. favorite fairy tale?

56. favorite tradition?

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

62. seven characters you relate to?

63. five songs that would play in your club?

64. favorite website from your childhood?

65. any permanent scars?

66. favorite flower(s)?

67. good luck charms?

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

70. left or right handed?

71. least favorite pattern?

72. worst subject?

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

82. pc or console?

83. writing or drawing?

84. podcasts or talk radio?

84. barbie or polly pocket?

85. fairy tales or mythology?

86. cookies or cupcakes?

87. your greatest fear?

88. your greatest wish?

89. who would you put before everyone else?

90. luckiest mistake?

91. boxes or bags?

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

93. nicknames?

94. favorite season?

95. favorite app on your phone?

96. desktop background?

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

98. favorite historical era?

How to spot signs and symptoms of Breast Cancer 

#wrong movie, cedric

My Favorite Merthur Fics (Part 3)

Part 1 I Part 2

*******************

Soulmates

* Fundamentally Flawed by QueenofCamelot

”Growing up without a soul mark was never easy for Arthur. According to science, to the universe, he wasn’t meant to be loved.”

* Missing Mark by violentincest

“Everyone is born with a soul-mate tattoo except for Arthur.”

* Tally Mark by supercalvin

“When someone falls in love, a red tally mark appears on their wrist. When the love is returned, the mark turns black. When someone falls out of love, the mark fades, but never entirely. When the person you love dies, the mark turns into a scar.”

* Thousand Times Worse. Or Better? by elirwen

“Forced by Morgana’s nagging, Arthur visits soulbond guidance office. Merlin Emrys is asigned to be his guide. That’s where the simple ends and complicated begins.”

* Strike of Lightining (Canon Era) by helloearthlings

“Uther’s commandment was very simple: If there should come a day when Arthur met his soulmate, he would drive a sword through their chest and kill them on sight.”

* The Secrects We Hide on Our Skins (Canon Era) by Michaelssw0rd

“Merlin had a penchant for wearing ugly neckerchiefs, and Arthur had a tendency to become obsessed with everything related to his manservant. It didn’t help that they both had secrets they wanted to keep hidden more than anything else.“

* Deeds (Canon Era) by the5leggedCricket

“Arthur is coming of age, and that means he’s about to get Deeds—marks on his body telling him of his soulmate’s greatest accomplishments. But as he tries to find his soulmate, he also makes some worrying discoveries about the kind of person his soulmate is.“

* Rings of Fire, Dragons and Swords (Canon Era) by Guardian_Rose

“It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it or that it was ugly like the other children in the village had whispered behind his back or that it wasn’t there at all. The problem was that Merlin had magic, always had and always would, so his mark changed. Not often. Not every week or even every month. But it would transform into something new and Merlin would feel an inkling of the burns his soulmate must have felt when they were first claimed. Arthur’s mark hadn’t changed for years when he met Merlin. Not since a golden dragon had wound it’s way up and around his shin and leg with blue fire just to top it off.“

[It has a 2nd part that it’s still a WIP but looks amazing: New Century, New Mark, New Start]

* One Soulmate to Go by TsingaDark

“In a world where soulmates exist, Arthur still hasn’t found his other half.”

Virginity

* Wicked Game by winterstorrm

“Arthur’s the King of Camelot…nightclub.  He can pick and choose who he wants, and he does – often – no promises and absolutely no repeats.  The night he chooses Merlin might just be his undoing.“

* Seven Long Years by winterstorrm

”Arthur and Merlin are both eighteen, and the both of them are still virgins. One night, they’re a little drunk, and create a pact to lose their virginities to one another if they haven’t lost it by the time they’re twenty-five.”

* Virgin Territory by ingberry

“Gwaine’s parties are legendary. It’s mostly because of the orgy in the basement where people offer themselves up for the greater good. Merlin figures that’s a smashing way to get rid of his virginity, mostly because he’s never seen anyone from his high school at Gwaine’s. The idea seems a lot worse when he’s on his knees, naked and blindfolded. Thank fuck for the guy who grabs him and hauls him back up the stairs.“

* Virginity for Sale by teprometo

“Arthur’s just dicking around on Craigslist London when he sees that a university student is selling his virginity to the highest bidder. He has no logical reason to believe it’s Merlin, but he does, and after some ethically questionable snooping, he discovers that he’s correct. A series of bad decisions ensues.“

* Taking it Slowly (Canon Era) by et_cetera55

“Prompt: Can we have some shy, virgin, scared Merlin fics with gentle and tender Arthur?”

Transgerder

* Summer is Late, My Heart by Polomonkey

“It’s the hottest day of the year and Arthur meets an old friend at the beach.Then it’s sun and sand and love, as usual.“

* Little Wooden Boy and the Belly of Love by new_kate

“Arthur moves to a a different city to start a new life and become a new man. On a whim he decides to share a flat with an attractive stranger, and quickly gets drawn into Merlin’s odd little world.“

God Give Me Courage to Show You... (Angel of Music, Harry Hook x Fem!OCReader) - Chapter Three

Hi guys! I hope you guys this chapter, it’s a bit slow had to do some catch up and story building! Nonetheless I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be put on the taglist!

Summary: Azalea reflects on the night she first saw Harry in the market as well as the night on the cliff after Harry’s memories are returned. All while, Azalea and Harry begin to become friends again, growing closer. The scales are tipping though, bound to fall one way or another.

Warning(s): Language, angst(?), Sexual Tension (?)

Word Count: 3423

A week and five days ago

Azalea ran through the shadows of the Isle away from the Market, away from him. She could not believe it, after all this time, after her couple harmless trips down to the Market and Barrier Plaza, there he stood. It had been 11 years, a month, and 8 days since she had last seen him, standing in her meadow, but she recognized him right away. His ocean blue eyes, with the slightest hint of green hidden in them, were all it took. She knew those eyes like the back of her hand, they have plagued her dreams all these years. The dark red jacket and gleaming silver hook were only additional facts that confirmed her thoughts. It was Harry…. Her Harry. The boy from her field, her only friend, the one who still owned a piece of her heart. The one who did not know she existed, or at least did not remember. She slowed down her stride, stopping in front of the rusted black iron gate that led into the cemetery. Checking her surroundings she found the coast to be clear, her father always warned her to be certain she was not being followed. Looking over shoulder needed to become second nature, if she were to continue being allowed out. After years of begging, becoming skilled in sword fighting, and learning how to harness her voice to perfection, did her father finally grant Azalea to take nightly trips down to the center of the Isle. They were only trial runs of course, her father giving her a strict 30 minute window. After 18 years of solitude, she took 30 minutes in a heartbeat. Meandering through the multitude of tombstones, Azalea reached the second iron gate, the lock and chains still in place. Azalea knelt down, sticking her black gloved hand down the side of her left black leather boot, retrieving the brass key, the head shaped like a skull. A literal skeleton key… Placing her roses down as she stuck her arms through the gate bars, she picked up the black lock on the other side. Unlocking the gate, Azalea unraveled the chains just enough for her to maneuver her wide hips through. Once through the gate she rechained and locked it, turning to march through the crunchy grass to the small house. Azalea’s eyes roamed over the meadow, Harry’s frozen figure replaying in her mind. Her fingers began to itch, the desire to commit her memory of the pirate to a piece of paper arising within. Opening the front door to the house Azalea looked around at the dusty bare room, not a sign of life in sight besides the lonely broken wooden chair in the far corner straight ahead and the rusting white refrigerator on the wall to her left. Her boots clicked against the dirt covered concrete floor as she approached the fridge. Azalea placed the dead roses on top of the fridge before placing her hands on the left side of the dated appliance. Planting both of her feet firmly on the ground as she pushed the fridge to the side, revealing a set of stone stairs underneath. Letting out of a huff of air, Azalea grabbed the roses and descended down the steps. At the bottom of the staircase, a large red button awaited her, pushing the button Azalea waited until she heard the sound of the metal fridge moving back into place overtop the hidden stairs. She then headed down the candle lit hallway, exiting out into the great stone cavern she called home. Massive candelabras were placed all around the cavern, hundreds of candles lit. A soft warm glow welcomed Azalea home as did the empty living room.

Looking up she saw two distinct figures perched in the music room on the upper level, she turned to the side and trudged up the small hand carved stone steps. Passing her father’s desk and her parents bedroom she neared the soft sound of keys played on the organ. Her father sat at his organ, perfecting a piece of his music, no doubt, and her mother lounged over the black chaise, a small crisp green colored book cradled in her thin hands. Azalea smiled softly, she knew her parents were trying to play busy but she knew for the past half an hour they had been fretting and worrying about her. The Opera Ghost and his bride were still warming up to the idea of their child wandering about the heinous Isle, alone and at night. They simply wished to protect her and her gift, but as their daughter so promptly pointed out they were not going to be around forever unfortunately, and if they were doomed to an eternity on this Isle then she needed to learn how to protect and fend for herself. “Hi Papa” Azalea leaned down to kiss her father’s unmasked face, a normal occurrence in their home, it had been a rule her mother had enforced since the beginning of their marriage, no masks at home. Azalea grew up seeing her father’s deformity and it never frightened her, she found the solid white emotionless mask to hold more terror within it. Her father smiled in return, trying to mask his undeniable worry, the sight of his child unharmed was helping. “Any incidents?” Erik questioned, pretending to fret over his sheets of music. Pausing for a moment, Harry’s matured face popping into her mind, his strong jaw, pink lips, and half crazed eyes that had stared back at her intensely. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of her hugging him, but they soon faded, her eyes watering in the process. She could never be his friend, be a part of his world, not on the Isle. Azalea cleared her throat, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, before noticing both of her parents expecting eyes on her. “Oh sorry, no incidents Papa…” she trailed off looking down to her gloved hands, “I did bring home the best roses I could find though, let me go find a vase for them.” Azalea quickly left for the next room over on the upper level, the kitchen. Upon entering, Azalea let out a sigh, her chest heavy with grief. Christine’s knowing eyes followed her daughter as she left for the kitchen, she knew there was something her daughter was emitting from her night trip, she just hoped it was nothing bad.

Moments later Azalea retired to room, on the lower level on the other side of the living room. She finally felt some sort of relief once the large wooden door was closed and her white mask and gloves were removed, now sitting on her small white desk. She hung up her black jacket back in her wardrobe and removed the small black pins holding her inherited wild curls back. Azalea could barely focus on anything as she changed into her faded ivory nightgown, Harry’s face circling on endless loops in her mind. Of course over the years, she had thought of him everyday, dreamt of him continuously, always wondering how he was, if he was okay, what he looked like. She had gone even as far as begging her father a couple times a year to check on him, her father reluctantly agreed with his own agenda in mind. Her father was a man of pristine caution, examining every detail, hence why he always thought it was a good idea to make sure no signs of Harry’s memory resurfacing ever presented themselves. When her father would get back from his “check ups”, Azalea hounded him endlessly but his reports were always rather dull, “He’s fine”, “Part of a pirate crew now with the daughter of Ursula and son of Gaston”, “Carries an unnecessary hook around with him, rumor is he tried to have a crocodile bit his hand off. I told you that boy was bad news Christine”. Christine only ever rolled her eyes at her husband's antics, along with Azalea. Christine too, loved the updates on the boy, now pirate. She wanted to make sure the Isle had not swallowed him whole. Azalea pulled out her worn black chair, sitting down in front of her desk. Her fingers tingled as she pulled out her small set of charcoal pencils and the stack of paper her father brought her home one evening, whenever he could find the scarce materials. It had been so long since she had drawn anything, inspiration only ever hit after a particular vivid dream of a boy in a meadow. Azalea knew the spark of inspiration she found within could only have been caused by her muse, the pirate who seemed to have captured the ocean within his eyes.

A knock came at her door a little later in the night, before Christine’s head of curls popped through the opening crack of the door. “Mom, why are you still up?” Azalea quickly piled up her collection of drawings and hid them under a book. Her mother swiftly entered the room closing the door behind her layered white frame. Christine dismissed her daughter’s question, eyeing the charcoal pencil in her hand and the easily transferable charcoal coating her daughter’s hands a dark grey. “You’re drawing?” “Inspiration hit” Azalea let out an uneasy laugh, her mother only nodded, her right eyebrow lifting slightly as she moved to sit on Azalea’s circular red bed. “What really happened tonight?” the question struck Azalea cold and still. She looked over to her left at her mother, a “don’t even try to lie” clearly embedded on her face. Exhaling deeply Azalea admitted her defeat, “I saw him”. A small relieved sigh escaped Christine’s mouth, she had automatically assumed the worst possible scenario, but her eyes soon widened at the realization of her daughter’s words. Azalea continued, “hence the inspiration” she uncovered the multiple pages of sketches she had done, all parts of Harry etched on them. Christine leaned over to see the desk and the pages of sketches scattered across it. Christine was used to her daughter drawing Harry, her creative outlet stemming from her husband, but he had always been a boy in the illustrations. These sketches were different though, this was no boy. “He’s quite good looking now” Christine noted examining a sketch of Harry’s matured face, eliciting a quiet laugh from her daughter. Her heart ached for Azalea, the only friend she ever had and quite possibly her daughter’s true love, a part Christine chose to emit from her and her daughter’s conversations about Harry, was never within her grasp. “I’m doing him no justice…” Azalea turned in her chair eyeing her mother questioningly. Christine nodded knowing what she insinuated, “I’m all ears.” Azalea’s nose scrunched up at her mother’s remark before she opened her mouth, hypnotic “Ahhh’s” falling from her lips. Fog whirled before Christine’s eyes before she saw looked to what could only be the rundown Market her husband and daughter talked about. A murky layer seemed to hang over the image before it cleared around a single statue. The statue moved closer and became clearer, proving to be an unnaturally still person. Christine smirked slightly, knowing the person was under her daughter’s all too familiar hypnotic spell. She could now see the person, the teenager who was practically a man. He was tall and lean with layers of muscle bulking him up. He had a sharp jawline and bright blue eyes only being accented even more by the thick black eyeliner smudged over his eyelids. The blackened red leather jacket contrasted boldly against his peachy skin and the infamous shining silver hook in his left hand completed the ensemble. The teenager was clearly the son of Hook, but he had his own personal flair thrown in the mix. Christine examined the boy once over, noting the crazy edge in his eyes and the overall way he held himself, the image feeling familiar. Christine remembered the first time she saw her husband in the hallway hidden behind the dressing room mirror at the Opera House, the same crazed look in his eyes and overall glorious demeanor… The image began to blur and then slip away, returning Christine to her daughter’s bed in her stone cavern hideaway. “So, what do you think?” Azalea questioned, biting her lip anxiously. Christine smiled, a laugh bubbling in her throat. “My dear, I think we are more alike than you know”.

Present Day

Leaning against the rough tree bark, Azalea overlooked the dark ocean, a happy smile on her face as she awaited for her friend to show. For the past five days, Azalea and Harry had met at the cliff, spending half an hour each night trying to cram the last 11 years into it. The night of their reunion, Azalea had sat with Harry and explained how everything he had remembered was true, the conversation had started out shy and hesitant, and a hint of an accusatory tone.

“And why did you have to erase my memory?” Harry had not meant for his tone to be harsh, but Azalea seemed to pay no attention to it as she traced the black lace trim on the edge of her cloak. “Harry I was seven years old, my father told me that people would harm you, I’m sorry but of course I listened.” Harry sighed watching the apologetic girl, her reasoning was valid, but that did not mean he had to like it. The silence that followed was stiff and awkward, neither of them knowing how to further the conversation. They always knew what to say to each other as children, but they were no longer the same children from the meadow. Azalea knew they had only reunited moments before and if they were going to possibly be friends again, they would have to work at it. She focused intensely on Harry next to her, the idea of telling her parents of this recent development did not even enter her head. “So you have a pirate crew?” Azalea chirped up suddenly looking over at Harry excitedly. As children Harry had always talked about becoming Captain of his own crew, Azalea would be his first mate and as soon as they figured out a way off this Isle they would head straight for Neverland. “Aye I’m the first mate” Harry smirked in return. “Not the captain?” she pondered, eyebrows furrowing together. “Nay Uma is, she’s-” Azalea cut him off, “the girl from the Cotillion fiasco? Have to say the whole tentacle thing was pretty cool!” Azalea laughed pushing her plethora of curls back, only for them to fall back in her face. She let out a huff of frustration, causing a strand of curls to blow upwards. Harry watched intently, the innocent action somehow captivating his attention. Wait a minute! “Lassie you didn’t strike as one to agree with the overthrowing of the monarchy” Harry knocked his shoulder with hers jokingly. Azalea turned to her right side, issuing Harry a glare. “I’m not”, Harry groaned throwing his head back, “BUT I have my own issues with Auradon’s previous rulers.” Harry’s head chirped up at her statement, this had to be interesting… “Oh don’t leave me hangin’ on that Lass, spill!” Azalea bit back a giggle at Harry’s dramatic enunciation, before turning in the dirt to face Harry. She cleared her throat, a somber expression fell onto her features. “My father is no Prince Charming trust me, he nearly burned down half of Paris, he was a villain. But after mom came back, breaking off her engagement with the Vicounte, he was on a path to becoming better. Better wasn’t good enough though…” Azalea gritted her teeth. “The Beast, the king granted a second chance after a woman’s love saved him, banished a man finally getting his second chance because a woman’s love saved him. It’s a bit hypocritical.” Azalea’s words struck a nerve with Harry. The Beast and the Phantom were very similar, in some regards, and yet the Phantom had been sent to the Isle as the Beast was fitted for his crown. Harry understood Azalea’s frustration… Harry placed his hand on top of hers, a crackle of electricity sparking between their hands. The two of them shared a soft uncertain smile, transitioning back to their game of catch up.

“Yoohoo Lassie” Azalea sprang up from her spot on the tree, unsheathing her sword and turning to point it at the intruder of her thoughts. Harry stood behind her, arms up surrendering, a look of amusement on his face. “Put that thing back before you poke my eye out” Harry laughed. “Oh it’s you” Azalea breathed out, sheathing her sword back on her left hip. “Were you expecting someone else? Another Scottish suitor? Don’t tell me, you were friends with me older sister too.” Azalea rolled her eyes at Harry, the back of her mind hanging on the phrase “Another Scottish suitor”. “Hi” She greeted, an uncontrollable grin spreading across her face, she simply could not help it, having Harry back, even for just five days was a gift. She had dreamed of this moment for 11 years and it has finally come true. She simply felt euphoric around him as if she was flying… Harry and Azalea’s innocent childhood friendship seemed to grow and intensify as they did, an underlying magnetic and forceful attraction hidden in their recent encounters and meetings. The Pirate and the Siren were tipping on the scale already, bound to feed into their repressed feelings. “Hiya” Harry snapped back back, a chaotic grin spreading across his face. Oh, her the pirate was slightly unhinged… Azalea giggled untying her mask and retying it carefully around her dark red belt, so the mask hung around her waist. Harry had still not grown accustomed to the beauty that was hidden underneath the mask, her personality and body were of course beautiful too, but something about every time she unmasked herself left him breathless. “Did you bring what I asked for?” she questioned stepping forward to Harry. Harry smirked removing his black tricorn hat, blue fabric still tied around his forehead, and pulled out a long strip of faded black fabric from inside. “Not sure why you are sending me clothes shopping lass?” Azalea snatched the black fabric from Harry’s outstretched hand, snickering lightly. “If we want my father to believe I’m still going down to the Market, I need to bring things home.” Azalea informed waving the faded fabric in front of Harry. She tucked the fabric into the pocket of her leather jacket before returning her attention back to Harry. Her eyes were filled with excitement, her hair wild and free in the breezy night air, a soft glow painted on her face, a wide toothy grin on her face, Hades she never stopped smiling at him, Harry really liked it. Harry smirked at the girl moving to circle behind her, his heavy boots crunching against the dried leaves and dead twigs. “Lying looks good on you Lassie”. Harry stood behind her still figure, his hook reaching forward to tugback a large section of her curls exposing her pale neck, left ear, and a small white pearl earring. “And you know what they say”, Harry paused leaning down to her ear, his top lip ghostly touching her ear, “bad girls have all the fun”. His warm breath fanned across Azalea’s exposed cold skin, goosebumps erupting in a trail down her body. Blood rushed to Azalea’s cheeks, turning them warm and red instantly. Tugging her bottom lip in between her teeth, Azalea spun around carefully, Harry still leaning in dangerously close. Standing on her tippy toes, Azalea brought her self closer, their noses touching lightly. Harry’s breath quietly hitched as he tried to regain his flirtatious composure, blue eyes watching her brown ones strongly. “I’ll keep that in mind” Azalea whispered, her sweet breath making Harry’s jaw clench slightly. Azalea held her position for a moment longer, driving Harry mad with her stillness, before she dropped back down onto the heels of her feet, stepping back a foot. Harry stared at her cheekily smiling face, his mouth opening a gap. Harry the insufferable flirt was flustered… She stuck her tongue out at him a giggle escaping her lips. A smirk worked its way back onto Harry’s face, as he watched the mocking Siren in front of him. “Fuckin’ Tease”Harry muttered before chuckling as Azalea’s head fell back in laughter. “Well someone has to put you in your place, Pirate.”

Taglist:

@ietss

@stevenrogerscarter

Has anyone already theorized that there's link between wiggly's whole asthetic being green and Ethan's last name being Green or am I just thinking way too much about this???

Why didn't they just go to Wakanda in 2018 and rip the gauntlet off Thanos, since apparently it doesn't matter if your past selves see you anyway.