but i lost it when i saw this look on bones's face

the princess stayed in the tower and read books about better girls, where their hands learned how to hold swords, where they rode in on horses. i gave her books as often as i could. she devoured them.

her princes saw her and pretended to be scared off by dragons. got too lost in the thicket. didn’t want to handle it.

“tell me what it’s like, out there,” she whispers to me for the millionth time. i take her from The Throne into her bed, tucking her in and making sure her feet are covered. 

“boring without you” i say as always, “but i did bring back a great story.”

i tell her about how the stars change beyond the equator. how there are places it looks like there are twin suns. how the desert crawls into you but so does snow. i talk about the taste of fruit and promise to bring her back some. she falls asleep while i murmur about rivers, and then in the morning i bring her from bed to Throne, even though she can do it on her own. sometimes she likes help, is all, and i’m happy to give it. 

she doesn’t want help getting dressed. the men come for me, blindfold masters i have almost befriended. the path we take away from her is always different, carefully manufactured so i don’t know exactly where she’s located. after all, a lady might get ideas about things.

they let me go in the queen’s room. i report findings, ask for fruit in the next week’s supplies, am told not to spoil the princess, that she must be kind and waifish and wanting when the prince comes. i spend an hour suggesting that fruit might turn the blood sweeter and am allowed six oranges.

in the next week, she marvels over them. turns them in her calloused hands. smells them. holds them until she can’t control her curiosity, devours them. i bring her books about rivers. i bring her books about deserts. 

“when is our birthday?” she asks me tonight. i’m knitting her a scarf for it.

“soon,” i tell her, “i’ll come by.”

she rolls onto one side, looks up at me in the dimming light. “I’m glad they chose you to be mine,” she says, and i drop a stitch. my heart sings against the inside of my wrists. i blow out a candle so she can’t see the blush and i can’t see her lips. i know what she means, i say. i know what she means.

it’s twenty-three for both of us. i bring her a cake we both eat, her on her throne and me on the floor. i am in the middle of laughing when she falls silent in the still night. “nobody else ever comes for me,” she whispers. i say nothing.

we have more cake, we go to sleep. i don’t know if she knows i’m awake, but i hear her crying.

the men come, the men take me. the one that smells like cedar always laughs at my jokes. the queen half-hates me because i remind her of “that nasty thing” they forced on their daughter. 

“the left wheel needs oil,” i mention, “she’s having trouble turning again.”

the queen’s nose goes up. she never reacts when i mention her daughter’s wheelchair by name - doesn’t find it funny we call it a throne, thinks it’s well enough to leave alone.

“well, she’ll have a prince in this next month coming for her,” says the queen, “i’ve arranged it all,” says the queen, “he’s … had the situation explained to him first this time. i thought it would be best,” says the queen. “we’re paying him…. quite a lot for his effort,” says the queen.

situation. she means that her daughter can’t walk very far. she means the situation of towers. i excuse myself. i find my girl books about turning down marriage. i’m not sure why. it’s all she’s ever wanted.

they blindfold me and take me. cedar laughs at my jokes. the sawdust one is here this time, even he chuckles at a few. we ride horses through places i’ll never see clearly. 

“so according to the queen this is the last time i’m needed, huh?” i ask them as they walk me blindly up too many stairs for my girl to make it down, “i’m sorry i never made your acquaintance.”

cedar laughs. he takes off my blindfold and for a second, lets me see his face. “it’s been an honor,” he says, shaking my hand, “you’ve been a perfect lady.”

i spend the day with my princess pretending i am not peeling apart from my bones. i just want her to be happy. to get to come home. 

it’s late. “do you think in a past life i was a mermaid?” she asks.

“almost definitely,” i tell her. 

it’s quiet for a while after. “what if,” she whispers, “i don’t want to leave?”

i sit up and look at her from across the room. 

“it’s just,” she says, “i have you here and all the books i need and nobody makes me walk too long and i don’t feel like… like i’m wrong here.”

i want to tell her she’s never been wrong. that she’s always fit into my heart like a puzzle piece. that, more importantly, the leadership i see in her glows like a fire - that, no matter her body, she’s always been kind and gentle and smart and sweet. a princess that could bring a nation to her feet and do so lovingly.

“it will be okay,” i say, “there’s more fruit to discover.”

she doesn’t say anything. i think i’ve ruined something by accident, but i don’t know what. i don’t really sleep. i don’t say anything when the men come take me.

the world outside without her is boring. no mermaids. i put my hand in a river once a day, just thinking about her. 

two weeks later i am awoken by my name, and a voice i recognize perfectly. cedar stands above me in the darkness. “i know two things in this world,” he says to me, “and one of them is about love.”

this time we make the trip without blindfolds. i see the squalor they keep her in. i see the waste surrounding her castle, the terrible place she’s in. rage fuels my footsteps even when they start flagging. 

the prince is already there. he has dropped her twice, cedar tells me. i am already running up the stairs even though i can barely breathe. i hear her crying through the door and i don’t need to get ready - the fire that starts in me burns so brightly.

i roar inside. turn dragon and beat back prince with girl made rage. the bruises on her body turn me into giant snake. i eat the man alive, or at least i chase him from the place, never to be seen again. later i will hear a rumor about a demon that stole the princess from him.

she cries into my arms. i take her down every single stair. i hear her murmur her thanks into my hair and then i kiss her, because i can’t handle it, because i have places to show her and she has my heart to lead.

my house isn’t much but it’s near a river. she likes putting her hands into it. i take her places when she is able, and otherwise i bring the places back. we read books together. cedar no longer works for the queen, but he’d rather live with the man of sawdust making tiny wooden figurines.

i lie in bed next to her, stroking her soft hair. “do you think i was a centaur in a past life?” she asks.

“definitely,” i tell her, and kiss her, gently. she holds my face and pulls herself closer to me.

“will i be a good queen? i mean, in this life?”

“i’m certain of it,” i reply. i can hear the truth ring in it. the bone-deep certainty.

she’s quiet for a moment. “you saved me,” she whispers, “and usually we’d end up married. but…”

i don’t know how to answer that. i feel ice down my spine suddenly.

“i’m not demanding, is all,” her voice shakes, “i’m asking this time. for you to choose me. for me to be yours, i mean. and for you to be mine. permanently.”

the next birthday we celebrate, we are both queens.

The day after the battle, Hermione Granger got up before the sun did. The Lake was covered in fog, and she was used to having somewhere urgent to go, to be, to fight. 

She closed the tent flap up behind her. Hogwarts had something like enough beds, but Hermione hadn’t had it in her to climb those moving staircases, to step through the painting’s open frame and make her way to the Gryffindor girls’ seventh year dormitory. Her bed would have been there, months untouched except for the bras and scarves and bottles of sparkly purple nail polish Parvati and Lavender had strewn onto every open surface. 

The fog rolled in off the Lake and Hermione stood at the damp shore and shivered until the sun rose and burned it all away. 


-


The day after the battle, they buried their dead out on an island in the Lake, the day after the battle. Madame Pomfrey fretted and hovered, but every injured witch, wizard, and squib made it out to those conjured chairs. They might sit with assistance– with spells, with braces, with a friend’s shoulder– but they sat quiet and they listened to Flitwick read out the names. 


-


The day after the battle, Ron Weasley stood on tiptoe when he stepped back into the Great Hall, looking over a sea of bent heads to find a cluster of red. They’d brought the tables back. 

The cluster was only a tiny blip of three– Bill and their parents were flitting about, helping Flitwick float steaming bowls of pasta down onto each table. But Ginny and Percy were sitting on either side of George, keeping up a lively conversation about Gilderoy Lockhart’s hair. 

Ginny was sitting half in Harry’s lap, like if she didn’t he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting up to help, or to pace the castle, or to walk out to the Forest and not come back. She was holding his hand, her freckled thumb running over the words written into his skin. 

Ron thought about sitting with Luna, instead. Percy tried to laugh at one of Ginny’s jokes, and Ron didn’t know how to be kind like that. Ginny held Harry’s hand. Ron had thought for a long terrible stretch of heartbeats that he had lost two brothers yesterday. 

He could sit with Dean. He could walk out to the Forest and punch Aragog in his ugly eyes, because normally when he walked away from everyone he loved it was because he was scared and maybe change was good for the soul. 

Ron pushed his hands through his hair. He crossed the Great Hall, swung into a seat next to Harry, and filled his plate with lukewarm pasta. 


-


The day after the battle, Luna Lovegood climbed up to the Astronomy Tower, because it was the furthest she could get away from everything. She laid on her back on the cold stone and cast balls of light and enchanted birds to chase each other across the ceiling until she felt like descending down to the ground again. 


-


The day after the battle, Neville Longbottom went down to the greenhouses to see what the damage was there. He had sat all night and all morning in the infirmary, fetching water for Anthony Goldstein and holding Dennis Creevey’s hand and folding extra blankets down over Professor Sprout’s cold feet. Madame Pomfrey had banished him to go get a spot to eat and some sleep, so he walked down to the greenhouses to see what was salvageable. 

Whole panes of greenish glass stood jagged and shattered. Protective spells had put out any fires, but stray blasts of magic had killed beds of vegetables and flowers and taken almost all the silver-green leaves off an olive tree that twisted in the corner of Greenhouse 4. 

Neville went in through the door, even though there as a broken hole in the glass wall big enough for him, and almost fell back through it when Hannah Abbott stood up from the row of pots she’d been crouching behind. Dirt streaked every crease of her hands. “Hey,” he said, and let the door click shut behind him. 

“Hey.” When she saw where he was heading, she added, “The olive’s still alive.”

The bark was rough under his hand, gnarled from decades of slow growth. He could hear the green magic whispering down its xylem. 

“I was thinking I’d try to mend up the walls, close this place up again,” said Hannah. “But I wasn’t sure I could do it alone." 

"Alright,” said Neville. When Professor Sprout argued her way out of the infirmary and thumped downhill with the wind throwing her cloudy hair in her face, she found every pane of glass healed and Neville and Hannah asleep on the softest patch of moss in Greenhouse 2.  


-


The day after the battle, Parvati Patil sent an owl to Lavender Brown’s parents. 


-


The day after the end of it all, Hermione skipped lunch and found her favorite secluded corner of the library instead. The chairs stood silent and sober, all gouged dark wood. The high windows threw light gleaming across the polished table, catching on the dust motes drifting through the air above it. 

She dumped her carry-all down on it and reached inside– up to her elbows, her shoulders. She tried not to feel like it was eating her alive and she pulled out protein bars and unicorn horn and crumpled wanted flyers. 

She wasn’t sure when it had gotten so cluttered– sometime before the night in the ditch outside the little Scottish village with the awesome curry shop. Sometime after the time they hid out from a storm in an unknowing Muggle’s barn, wrinkling their noses at the itch of hay as they ate their dinner. Hermione had taken first watch, listening to the thunder roll over the shallow hills outside, and she’d gone through her bag pouch by endless pouch. Harry had twitched in his sleep with every flash of lightning, but everything in her bag had been where it was supposed to be. 

She summoned a wastepaper bin to hover beside her and got to work. Quills and ballpoint pens went in a neat heap to her left. Books she stacked by subject matter around her, except for the ones she flew back to their homes on Hogwarts shelves. She checked potions ingredients for decay, tossed the bad ones and wrapped the good ones back up in their oiled cloth and ziplock bags. 

She ate a protein bar while she piled duct tape and the radio and a travel-sized magnetic foldable Muggle chess set and a depleted first aid kit all up around her. She threw the wrapper away and wondered if the smell would ever come out of the bag’s insides, or if she should just buy another one.  


-


The day after the battle, they started putting the stones of the castle back into place. They put bones back together, first, skin and knit muscle and tendons. McGonagall escorted every statue and suit of armor back to where it belonged. 

Sue Li sat atop a pile of rubble and ate the biggest chocolate bar she’d ever seen her life. She thought she could still taste a film of Polyjuice on her tongue, but she told herself that was dumb. She dropped little pebbles down the ragged tumble of stones, counting their bounces and calculating averages, until Astoria Greengrass showed up with a glass of water and a pasty and put them down beside her. 

Astoria got her hands dirty every chance she got, put her back into sweeping up glass shards or hauling bandages or Wingardium Leviosa-ing stone blocks the size of a horseless carriage. She would stay in the castle as long as she could, finding odd tasks and errands and corners to lurk in. When she finally went back to the Greengrass family estate, it would be to pack her bags, kiss the old house elf on the cheek, and steal her dog away with her. 


-


The day after the battle, Ron went out to Hagrid’s cabin in the stubborn chill of the afternoon and sat in his pumpkin patch. He didn’t go knock on the rough-hewn door, and Hagrid didn’t come out, but after twenty minutes Fang trotted into the yard and patiently got slobber all over his shirt. 

Ron watched the sway of the shadows beyond the Forest’s edge. Buckbeak’s old tying post stood among the twining squash vines and their giant fuzzy leaves, the metal ring hanging empty against weathered wood. He thought about Ginny brushing her thumb over Harry’s scars and wrapped 
his hands over the pale marks that curled around his wrists. 

When the air started biting and the sky started darkening, Ron pulled himself back to his feet and climbed up to the library. He had never lived there, never really liked its labyrinth of stacks and dusty air, but he knew the way there better than he knew the way to the Quidditch pitch or the Room of Requirement or all those other places he liked so much more. 

It was empty, except for Hermione, and he was glad. She squeezed her last book into her bag and looked up at him, shoving her hair back off her forehead. 

“They doing dinner down there?” she said, her dry throat rasping on it. 

He shrugged. “Mum’s organizing, I think. It– helps, I think." 

She nodded, looking down to do the clasps up slowly, one by one. 

"I just wanted to go back to the tent,” said Ron. “Be alone. It’s quiet." 

"I won’t get in your way,” she said. “It’s still pitched down there." 

"I know,” he said. “With you, I meant.”

“That’s not alone,” she said. “I’m not quiet,” she said. She clasped and unclasped the bag. 

“Words. Accuracy. I never claimed to be the clever one." 

"But you are, Ron–" 

"Hermione,” he said. “Come with me? You shouldn’t be sitting here alone. Come home.”

They went down the grass through chilling air. Ron could hear his mother in his head, telling him to take her bag and carry it for her, but he just reached out for her hand. 


-


The day after the end of it all, Ron laid on the floor of the tent, counting stitches in the canvas, while Hermione read Hogwarts, A History like she didn’t have it memorized. She read her favorite parts aloud, stopping mid-sentence when the tent flap rustled and opened. 

“Ginny’s sitting on Neville until he agrees to sleep in a real bed and not a pile of shrubbery,” Harry said, stepping inside and shutting it up behind him. “She got Luna to help because she says otherwise Luna will just fade into a corner and not come out for food.” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m not intruding, right?" 

"Don’t be daft,” said Ron and patted a bit of floor next to him. “C'mon, join in, Hermione’s trying to bore me to sleep. I suspect it’s an act of caring concern.” Hermione threw a pillow at his head without looking up from the pages.  

The day after the battle, they fell asleep in a tangle in the center of the tent that they had lugged across their country, across these long, cold days of the war. They had danced here to the radio, had chewed protein bars, played chess and bled and yelled at each other. 

But the war was over and they were growing into it, slow, staying up too late as they leaned into each other and whispered on this threadbare rug. They meant to wobble to their feet and get to bed, but Harry was clinging to Hermione’s hand and none of them wanted to go. 

They would get too old for this– hard floors and the way Harry’s neck was cricked up on Ron’s bony shoulder. Hermione’s snoring would get worse and Ron would have to sleep with four carefully arranged pillows to stop his back from aching in the mornings, but Harry would always have a place here. He had slept on Ron’s bedroom floor at fourteen, leaned on Hermione outside his parents’ broken home. 

In the weeks after the battle, Hermione would track down her parents and move back home, and they would all help the Weasleys rebuild the Burrow. Harry would move in Andromeda Tonks’s spare room. “We’re almost like family, after all,” she’d say briskly, shooing him into the house and showing him where she kept the tea, Teddy’s diapers, and the whiskey. They’d come for visits and talk through the night in each of those homes, curled up under Molly’s quilts or out on the Granger’s back porch swing or over fingers of firewhiskey with Andromeda. 

In the months after the war, he and Ron would get a flat while they went through Auror training and Hermione would crash there five nights out of seven. Her university textbooks would take over their countertops, shelves, tables, and floor and Harry wouldn’t tease them (too much) for how hilariously long they tried to pretend it was the couch Hermione slept on. 

Every home Ron and Hermione lived in, for the rest of their lives, would have a place for Harry– a spare room or a patch of floor or an old sofa. He would know how Hermione took her coffee, and his favorite cereal and Ginny’s favorite oatmeal would always been in the cupboard, and their children would have giggly cousin-sleepovers in magical tents they pitched on the living room rug. 

When the kids came shrieking in to wake them at absolutely unacceptable, ugly hours, Ginny would groan curse words they’d repeat gleefully among themselves, but Harry would let them grab his hands in their little sticky ones and pull him barefoot and messy-haired out into the morning.

honestly for all 13 years on krypton, kara did not have powers. For clark, his powers are what makes him kryptonian and as we see with myriad, clark thinks of himself as human but with abilities–and when he solar flares he thinks “i’m human for a day.” If he lost his powers permanently, he would think I am now human.

For Kara, her sense of Kryptonian identity does not hinge on the fact that she has special abilities, because for the first half of her life she did not. And would explain why she never feels normal–not only is she on a new planet, an entirely new culture and language and history and religion that she is expected to assimilate to, and thus is not normal for any human–her abilities would make her an anomaly among Kryptonians as well.

Kara is always Kryptonian–this is not about  what she can do but who she is, her language and culture and history and beliefs, the way she looks at a problem–like that idea that no one was their own man on Krypton, how she doesn’t want to be the same kind of superhero as her cousin but wants to be an el mayarah superhero–a kryptonian superhero, not the lone solitary human savior that clark likes portray himself as (and the Christian savior that a lot of writers like to portray Clark as but @ them they are frickin space jewish go do research stop doing the whole Christian savior thing bc n o p e but i digress)

When Kara loses her powers she is not “human for a day” but powerless, still Kryptonian, the only one in her life not to be taken over by Myriad’s control without outside intervention. And the fact that so many people forget thisthe writers of both season 2 AND fic–and it’s too many

Clark’s secret is that he is Superman, that he is powers–Kara’s secret is not that she has powers, but that she is not human–and considering that James and Winn almost always forget this, forget that she is a survivor of her entire world dying and forget that she has so much anger and grief inside of her, that if she forgets herself just a little she could accidentally break their bones, that she isn’t just “Sunny Danvers,” a constant smile affixed to her face?

(except alex-alex, who saw that transformation, that struggle, that act that kara constantly puts out there, for every nightmare, for years of grief–because when Alex was looking at Kara, after everyone else found out about all of the pain lingering underneath the sunny surface, looking at her after red kryptonite and sporting a broken arm and looking at kara sobbing on the table back at the DEO once it was all over–Alex looked at Kara with sadness and love and understanding but she did not look at her with surprise. She’s known for years that this has existed, the struggle Kara has gone through not to succumb to this, to keep her head above the water and become someone she can look at in the mirror. She knows that this is not who Kara chooses to be but that she could be? Yeah, everyone else (except J’onn, the only other one who can relate) was surprised. Alex wasn’t)

It means that Kara is just as successful as Clark is at hiding.

This is the secret that Kara would share, with Maggie or Cat or Lena–because sure it’s obvious to anyone who has spent a good amount of time with both Kara and Supergirl that they’re the same–same scar between the eyes, same exact gold earrings, same hair color, same height, same bright blue eyes.

Kara’s secret is her grief.

The first time he sees you in lingerie - Male Avengers Headcanon

This wasn’t requested but idc, @scarlettsoldier and I were talking about plus size models lmao

Originally posted by little--batman

Bucky: 

He’d be so taken aback, but in the good way. He’d look you up and down, drinking you in. He’d bite his lip as he would make his way over to you, absolutely lost in the scraps of lace and bare skin, then he’d look into your eyes before mumbling that you’re so beautiful, before kissing you so passionately with his fingers tangled in your hair. “You’re gonna kill me, darlin’” 

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

Steve:

Steve would be so flustered, having never seen a woman in lingerie in the flesh. He would be rooted to to the spot once he walked into your shared bedroom. His facial expression would make you nervous, “Steve…Do- Do you like it?” “Oh G-God yes I do, doll, you look marvelous” It would be you that’d have to make the first move, you would take his large hands in yours and place them on your silk covered hips. He felt like a virgin again, but Jesus H. Christ, he was going to try and not ruin those skimpy piece of fabric the moment he got a hold on himself.

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

Sam:

You’d be looking in the vanity mirror in your bedroom, catching a glance of the handsome man at the door in the reflection before smirking at him. You’d bought the undergarments as his birthday present. You blushed as his slender fingers made their way along your shoulders to move your hair out of the way. He would press kisses to your neck and mumble “happy birthday to me” whilst smiling as his hands wandered…

Originally posted by rad-aar

Tony: 

You’d walk into his lab wearing a black trench coat over the top, of course. His head didn’t turn until he heard your voice say “FRIDAY, lock the doors please.” He’d cock a brow up at your dolled up form, his eyes would travel down your legs and then his brows would raise when he saw them bare, his jaw would fall slack but would quickly pick back with a sly smirk. As you would unbutton the trench coat, letting it slide to the floor (whilst keeping eye contact and also biting your lip) you’d hear the words “Oh, my beautiful baby girl, come to daddy…”

Originally posted by theplacewheredreamsgo

Thor:

You had definitely remembered to pack your black corset number in your bag before Thor took you to Asgard for the first time. You wanted this trip to be memorable as possible. When he first sees you in it, you’re both in his bedchamber, you’re coming out of the en suite bathroom and his mighty facade drops completely and he chokes on his mead, he’s completely awestruck, for he had never seen such undergarments, ever. He would gently pull you between his open legs, trailing his large hands across the rigid bones of the black corset, to the silk panties below, all the way down to the lace tops of your stockings. “Do you like it, my love?” “I love it, My Queen.”

Originally posted by luvn-loki

Loki: (slightly AU)

Loki had been down the past couple of weeks, trying to adjust to being an avenger and the people around him. You wanted to cheer him up with something new, you knew behind his hard facade there was a troubled man. So you rummaged through your drawers and found the one thing you needed, the unused white lace panties and bra. You hastily slipped them on before throwing a t-shirt and shorts on over the top, before calling Loki through FRIDAY. As he opened the door to your room, he would give you a small smile before laying down next to you. “I have a present for you, darling” you would say, “and what would that be, my love?” “me, now I want you to take me out of my packaging” As he would peel your shirt up, his eyes would widen at the unusual underwear you were wearing, his hands would come to cup your breasts but at the same time, admire the fine lacework, he would let out a soft groan as he saw your panties..

Originally posted by justawkwardgirl

Bruce:

Oh god, the GIF says it all. He’d be quietly reading in his room, when you’d just saunter in casually in your pyjamas. You both usually slept in underwear, or naked *wink wink*, so as you padded towards the bed, you began to remove your clothing, as Bruce caught a glimpse of purple from beneath his lashes, he looked at you like so, and put his book down. He would murmur ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ under his breath as you crawled your way towards him, straddling him. You would grab his hands and place them just below your breasts where the purple lace finished, urging him into touching you. His touches would be delicate and curious at first, “You like it, Bruce?” “Uh- Uh yes, baby it’s beautiful, but not as much as you” he would proceed to grasp your hip tighter as his other hand brought your chest down flush onto his, he would moan heavily into your kiss at the feeling of the lace scratching against his skin

Originally posted by arlothia

Clint:

As soon as he would see you, his mouth would go completely dry, and if you were in a cartoon his eyes would pop out of his head. He’d mumble, “Oh fuck, YES!”  before making grabby hands at you, begging you to come and sit on his lap (I mean seriously, look at them thighs!) He’d become bold and immediately kiss your breasts over the velvet fabric as his hands would ping the elastic of your stockings. He’d tell you how sexy you’d look on top of him in such attire whilst his hand would come to softly grasp your throat…

Originally posted by son-of-a-blake

Pietro:

You would be getting ready for a party- you didn’t intend for him to see you in your lacy undergarments until after the party! It was supposed to be a surprise! But as Pietro would come through your door he would make said face, giving you a once over, (ogling at your behind, obviously) whilst having a devilish grin on his face whilst saying “Ah, princezná, all for me?” making you whip around in shock. 

All It Takes (three)

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Be happy Bucky is here to handle everything.

Word Count: 4116 | Rating: R

Warnings: SMUT. oral (f receiving), face riding, dirty talking, two nsfw gifs, UNPROTECTED SEX (wrap your wang, before you bang!)

A/N: I am just going to leave this for y’all thirsty hoes. But I’m baffled by the feedback I got on the first tow part, so just wanna say THANK YOU!

also sorry for any typos

Masterlist here

All It Takes Part One Part Two 

(*gifs are not mine!)

Keep reading

Light (Jughead x Reader Imagine)

Request by @ateliefloresdaprimavera

Jughead had been typing away on his laptop for hours now. What had started as a quiet night in watching Netflix and eating popcorn had turned into you watching Netflix and eating popcorn alone whilst Jughead’s long fingers tapped away at the keys because, as he so eloquently put it, ‘when inspiration hits, you feed it’.

Keep reading

on loving the human

i. they will not appreciate all your gifts, will akin them to a cat bringing dead mice to their feet. this is fine. everything else you give, they will find gorgeous. if you are vain enough, give them something of yours to wear. if you are rash enough, give them something of yours to wear. they will find it beautiful and every Other will know you’ve claimed that one. be sure no one else, such as Not-Cat or even the crows, have done the same yet. a human, no matter their talents, would be worth such a war. you must remember this, if you see them keeping feathers-blacker-than-night in their hair/pockets/pouches. you might be able to fool them from another Fair, but, if the birds have gotten to them, there is no return. best to pick another that can catch your attention. any of them would start pleased with that.

ii. to appear human while first wooing them is best. you will need two ears, two eyes, a nose with (only!) two nostrils, 32 teeth, 206 bones, and about 640 muscles that do not slide or slip or slush. both halves of your (singular) face must react together, but not mechanically, robotically, stiffly, or in any manner similar to plastic or silicon. one side of your mouth must not be higher or lower than the other unless it is a facial expression, of a half-smile or frown. your eyes must not be too close together, or too far apart, your ears must be even, the spacing of your nose-to-eyes-to-ears-to-forehead must all be within a certain ratio. if you must, watch a good artist space faces to see the estimate. but you must not be too perfect, either: your teeth not too straight or too white, your nails not too clean or pristinely cut or without variation, your skin not too blemish-free. you need some faults in order to appear human. you must maintain solid form at all times. still, it’s likely they’ll know, regardless. at least, they’ll probably appreciate the effort. (remember, being seen without protection is even more telling. keep sugar and pewter/tin/aluminum with you at all times; these will look enough like salt and iron. it is also advisable you carry ‘offerings,’ even if you never leave them anywhere. creamer cups are most popular.)

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aquiver | 01 (m)

aquiver (adj.) [uh-kwiv-er] in a state of trepidation or vibrant agitation; trembling; quivering

pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre/warnings: mature themes, talk of masturbation, smut, language
words: 10,110
summary: Yoongi can’t remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’, and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to provide hand jobs for a living…
note. inspired by the novella ‘The Grownup’ by Gillian Flynn, literally just the main character’s past occupation haha

» playlist | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

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Imagine - Zach breaks up with you

Originally posted by pitterpratter

@thrtreasons Request: “pls zach x reader where they dated for a long time and they were super goals but then they broke up idk why and he’s still in love with her and you know he’s not doing well after the tapes and she notices and helps him?? i mean he tells her everything and thinks she’ll hate him etc anyway thank you💫”

It has been exactly one month since you and Zach have broken up, and it was over something extremely stupid. It was over an argument that the two of you had. An argument over the fact that you and Bryce were “too friendly with each other”. Clearly Zach had gone mad. Because you would never cheat on him, and certainly not with Bryce Walker. That guy was a complete asshole and a pervert. If anything, he was always flirting with you, even though you were dating one of his best friends. But you had no intention what so ever to cheat on Zach with Bryce. You loved Zach, you truly did. And he loved you, but clearly not as much as you though because he couldn’t see how it was not you being “too friendly” with Bryce but the other way around.

It has been a painful month for you after the break up. You and Zach were perfect for each other, in your eyes and in the eyes of most of the students at Liberty high. You two were the “IT” couple. Always the talk of the school on how cute the two of you were together and how others wished that they had what you and Zach had. Why did things have to end between the two of you. You remember the night where everything went downhill, like it was yesterday…

“I’m not ‘all over Bryce’ Zach! That’s ridiculous!” You yell.

You and Zach were sitting in your living. Your parents were gone for the weekend on some business trip and Zach had promise to keep you company in the time being. So he had come over to your house so the two of you could cuddle and watch some movies. But things turned south pretty quickly…

“Sure you’re not.” Zach scoffs “You two are always flirting with each other! And right in front of me too!” He booms out.

“You know I’m really surprised that you haven’t left me for him yet, slut…” He breathes out the last word that you nearly missed what he said.

But it’s too late. You heard it. And you have never been more humiliated and furious in your life.

You look at him straight in the eyes, seething, and slap him. Hard. Right across his face.

“You know what!? Fuck you Zachary!” You spit out. “I fucking hate you! Get out!”

Zach scoffs and then says with malice, “Sure, I’ll leave, but know this, we’re fucking done (Y/N). I don’t even know why I went out with such a slut like you in the first place.” Then Zach walks out your door.

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Singapore Sling

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Rating: NC-17

Character count: 35,696 / Word Count: 6,521

Your duties as maid of honour were fairly simple: maximise alcohol and minimise stress, keep an eye on the bride-to-be, and above all else, have things under control. You’ve promised yourself to keep this wedding a fuckup-free zone, anticipating smooth sailing from the moment you land in Antigua. When danger emerges on the horizon in the form of a denim-clad devil dressed in Gucci and gold, things take a turn—nothing in the MOH handbook has prepared you for what to do in the event that you unwittingly sleep with the best man.

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lavender hues (m)

fantasy au (reposted)

pairing: jimin | reader
genre: angst and fluff
word count: 13.094
warnings: sexual content 
author’s note: previously named ‘if these wings could fly’ in my old blog. I’m just reposting it with a new name. :)


Beauty. If someone asked you to define it, your mouth would probably go dry and your heart would flutter yearningly, freezing as the words turn heavy in your mind and dissolve in the tip of your tongue.

Beauty is short-lived but ubiquitous, a transparent but shimmering liquid running in rivulets through hidden alleyways and veiled landscapes that the eyes don’t notice unless they look twice. Beauty is found in the unexpected, in the withheld words of the timid poets, in longing stares and authentic, carefree laughs. Beauty is found in what the eyes can see, in what the ears can hear, in the deep reverie of the colorful minds and in the dreams held close to the heart.

Beauty is fleeting and you’re unable to grasp it. All your life you’ve chased it, extended your hands towards it, longed to touch it with your fingertips. But your steps are slow and your hands are ungifted, and you can only imagine what it would be like to create beauty, to have the hands of those that are able to reflect love and joy and pain in books and paintings.

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Out Cold

Prompt: Prompt if its alright-Lance with narcolepsy?- anon

I had so much fun writing this, so thanks so much for the prompt! This is a one-shot, and even though the ask didn’t specifically ask for klance… it ended up in here because, as I’ve said before, I have no self control. It took a bit of an unexpected turn, but hopefully the anon likes it? And other people do? As always, feedback is appreciated!

oh and @taylor-tut if you want to read it, of course


Lance’s entire life was full to the brim with close calls.

Granted, fighting a war against a corrupt alien empire will have its share of near-death experiences. But, oddly enough, another type of close call worried him more.

Lance didn’t particularly want to die if he could avoid it, but he’d honestly prefer that to his teammates finding out.

And he knew there was a chance they wouldn’t judge him for it, wouldn’t think it made him less of a paladin. After all, Hunk didn’t care in the slightest. But there was always the chance that they would.

Lance had always prided himself on being able to hide things. And it was even easier to hide things from the team than his enormous, nosy family. 

His ideas, insecurities, homesickness, bisexuality… he’d learned to bury these things deep down inside himself and try to ignore them.

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I Trust You

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of accidental injuries, angst, swearing, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex

Word Count: 1630

Summary: Bucky accidentally hurts you the night before and you try to keep him from finding out. 

Request: Hi I just found your blog and I fell in love, could you write a request where Bucky accidentally hurts Reader during sex, maybe he is thrusts too rough and he mistakes her cries for moans of pleasure and doesn’t realized he hurt her until after his orgasm, but he makes it up to her

A/N: I deviated a little from the request but in essence it’s all still there. Also It’s late, this is unedited. All mistakes are my own so please forgive them. 


You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to know.

Bucky hadn’t meant to do it and you knew that, but accident or not if he ever found out you were sure he’d never touch you again, hell he would probably stay as far from you as he could get, and that was something you didn’t want to risk. He’d been making so much progress over the last few months, only recently becoming comfortable with you being on his left side.

During the first stages of your relationship Bucky had kept you on his right side at all times, worried that something might happen if you got too close to the gleaming metal plates. It was only after patience and months of showing him he wasn’t about to lose control of himself that he slowly let himself relax. There was no way that you were about to back peddle all of that persistence over a bruise he didn’t mean to make. All you had to do was keep it covered until it healed.

Honestly you hadn’t even felt it to begin with, way too lost in the feeling of Bucky’s sharp breaths and hard thrusts. It was only after you’d come down fully from your high and Bucky had fallen asleep that you felt the dull throbbing around your wrist.

There was no mistaking the perfect outline of Bucky’s fingers in the dark, blotchy skin; the imprint of where metal had met flesh. He had pinned your wrist above your head as he pistoned his hips into yours, and fuck, had it felt amazing. Your orgasm had slammed into you so hard that you felt your eyes tip to the back of your skull, your throat raw from how hard you had chanted his name. You really didn’t want to taint a memory like that.

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GOT7 Reaction: Feeling Needy and Texting Their Crush To Meet Them At The Dorms

(Lit there was a couple times I forgot I was writing a reaction and not a one shot and almost made a full on smut XD Enjoy anon! I made this one way, way ahead of when I planned to because of the requests that are lined up before you, but I couldn’t help it because GOT7 are my bbys okok.)

Jaebum:

Originally posted by jehbum

JB had absolutely no idea why, but at the moment he couldn’t get you and your body out of his mind. He was in the middle of a small meeting with the rest of GOT7 when his mind veered to the thought of you and what you would look like bouncing up and down on top of him, your perky breasts held tightly within his hands.

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Shock Horror

(Gif source: x)

Characters- Dean x Reader, Sam
Summary- Dean comes back from a witch hunt not quite himself. You do your best to help, and hope that it’s enough.
Word Count- 1,889
Warnings- Angst, Fluff, Language.
Beta- @jpadjackles  **re-edited**
A/N- Prompt: ‘Caught Up In You’ by 38 Special Requested by @anon. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Also, thank you all so much for 2.5k followers! I love y’all so much <3


As you crouch in front of the open passenger door, you look over the man in the bench seat. The man you see is far removed from the usual Dean Winchester you knew. He’s eerily quiet, sitting stiffly as he stares, unseeing, out of the windshield. The impala is parked in the bunker’s garage, but he just sits there, motionless, except for the occasional lethargic blink.

When Sam and Dean came back from their hunt, you expected them to be in one of two moods. The first and most preferred was the giddy excitement of a job well done, beers and pie all around. The second was less desired, the quiet thoughtfulness of a rough hunt.

Right now you would take the quiet over this.

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The Habit of Planning

Prompt: During a busy day at Central Park, Lin mistakes Y/N as a paparazzi and he is not happy.

Pairing: Lin x reader

Words: 4,759 (brace yourselves)

A/N: I’ve been writing for this for so long, I’m glad it’s out of my head. I wrote the basis of the fic under the tags for ‘Monochrome’, and a couple of you guys happened to read it and told me I should write it! So thank you to all of you! I hope you guys enjoy!

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Preference: Proposals

Rowan:

It’s during a sparring match, and you, for once, successfully pin him to the ground. You smirk as he stares up in awe. ‘Marry me’ he suddenly blurts out, and you can’t help but laugh. ‘Did I suddenly pass your test? I get to marry you because I was able to beat you?’ Quickly, Rowan switches your positions so now he is on top. ‘No, of course not, but it does help.’ He winks as you scowl up at him. ‘But really, I want you to marry me.’ ‘Okay, but only if you beat me in the first thirty seconds of the next round.’ He grins at the challenge and stands, offering a hand to help you up. Of course, incredibly easily, Rowan once again pins your to the ground and smirks. ‘Well, guess you’re gonna have to marry me now.’ You grin, ‘A deal’s a deal, I suppose.’ 

Rhysand:

Always the hopeless romantic, Rhysand proposes to you with rose petals. He makes a trail of them from the front door to your bedroom, where ‘Marry me’ is written out on the floor in front of your bed in even more petals. You gasp, tingles spreading down your spine as he comes up behind you, his arms circling your waist and pressing the ring into your palm. “Will you, darling?” He murmurs into your ear, sending even more shivers through your very bones. You turn around in his arms, pretending to think about it as you slip the ring onto your finger. After playful deliberation, you sigh, ‘I suppose,’ you finally answer, his arms tightening around you. His head tilts forwards and you smile against his lips. ‘You wicked thing.’ He accuses, then scoops you up and carries you to the bed, which is also covered in rose petals. 

Dorian: 

Walking along a beach, a perfect date with Dorian is coming to a close. Suddenly, he gets down on one knee and you gasp, covering your mouth with one hand as he takes the other in his own, looking up at you with his big, sapphire eyes full of hope. Out of his pocket, Dorian pulls a small red and gold box, presenting it to you and showing a beautiful piece of jewelry inside. ‘I don’t want to rule without you. Please, marry me. Bare my children. Be my queen.’ When you scream yes, he slips the ring on your finger and stands, picking you up around the waist and twirling you around. 

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hidden identities [i]

hidden identities: part ii

pairing: peter parker x superhero!f!reader 

word count: 1.4k
warnings: blood mention, violence, swearing, no major sm:h spoilers but it spoils the bank scene.
summary: reader is one of peter’s best friends and has so far successfully hidden the fact that she’s a butt-kicking superhero by night until she finds herself fighting side-by-side with spiderman and getting a little injured.

a/n: hi! this is kinda reader-heavy in the beginning but I’m very very new to this + this is my first imagine so please bear with me here! there’s probably going to be part 2. + I’m probably going to post it maybe? i hope you enjoy!

p.s. reader has invisibility powers also i decided that the reader’s alter-ego is ‘ghost’ but feel free to substitute whatever.

Originally posted by over-et


You sat on a rooftop overlooking Queens. You’d already donned your black outfit and was now transformed into your alter-ego: Ghost. Your costume was simple and didn’t fully hide your face, but did it well enough that you weren’t easily recognizable. Either way, this wasn’t a massive problem as you could turn invisible at will. 

Swinging your legs backwards and forwards, you looked eagerly around to see if there was any trouble. Of course, you didn’t want there to be trouble, but it would certainly make things a little more interesting. 

As everything seemed quiet around you, you let your mind wander to lunch earlier that same day.

“It is with great sadness that I must announce that I’m not going to be able to make it to movie night tonight,” You said, taking a bite of your sandwich and resting your elbows on the table, dramatically making a frown face.

Peter looked at you with a look of disbelief, “You? Missing a movie night? Last time I tried to do that, you acted like I committed a crime!” he scoffed, laughing but didn’t seem to mind it, giving you a smile afterwards.

“Why are you ditching anyway?” Ned asked, taking a bite of his chicken nugget.

"Uh- Well- I-” You hesitated for a moment. You gulped and opened you mouth to speak before you were cut off by the school bell. Saved by the bell, you mumbled a quick goodbye before speed-walking to your next class where neither Ned or Peter were—thankfully—in.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts, It hurt you that you couldn’t tell them the real reason you had ditched. You just knew that even if they had supported the idea of you being a superhero, it meant that their safety would be breached.

Admittedly, you hadn’t wanted to skip movie night. However, you knew that criminals don’t exactly stop doing criminal things just so that you could watch a movie or two with your best buds. You couldn’t risk not going out tonight. You had felt it in your bones that something was going to happen tonight, but so far, it seemed your bones were wrong and you wasted a perfectly good night.

You were about to just give up on your ‘bone (rather than gut) feeling’ when you heard a piercing alarm go off from your right. It was a bank. Being robbed. By the Avengers?

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