but i think i like the way the final thing communicates what i was attempting to here

Y’all seriously need to learn to fact check things you see on here.

1.) it wasn’t Disney who turned down Coco but DREAMWORKS. 
and to those who STILL erroneously insist that Disney/Pixar turned down The Book of Life

2.) People getting mad at this:

Marigolds are traditional to our culture as well as to the holiday, ESPECIALLY in petal form. Not the best example but that’s like getting mad at different Christmas movies for using mistletoe.

3.) “Oh it’s the same plot.” Has anyone looked up the plot for this movie other than outright bashing it from the trailer? 
“The footage, raw though it may be, spun a compelling story about Miguel, a sweet kid who loves music despite the fact that his abuelita banned music long ago, thanks to an ancient drama involving Miguel’s great-great-grandfather—a dashing musician—who walked out on the family. That musician, Miguel discovers at the start of the film, is his town’s most famous son: deceased film star and music supernova Ernesto de la Cruz. On the eve of Día de Muertos, Miguel breaks into de la Cruz’s mausoleum in order to borrow the famous skull guitar that hangs there so that he can enter a talent competition and convince his family to embrace music again. Once Miguel touches the guitar, he becomes something of a living ghost. His family can no longer see him, but Miguel can now see all of his dead ancestors—who look like fantastically decorative skeletons—crossing over a bright bridge made of marigold flower petals from the Land of the Dead. Looking for help and answers, Miguel travels to the Land of the Dead—a dazzlingly vibrant, stacked metropolis inspired by the Mexican city of Guanajuato—himself and sets off an adventure with trickster skeletal companion Hector to find the rest of his family, de la Cruz, and the answer to how he can fix this curse.”  
You know how insistent Pixar is on always making original films. So don’t you think that they would continue that?

4.) “But the white director who thinks he knows everything because he’s been to Mexico.” That’s right, a white person who is not of Mexican/Latinx culture can not truly KNOW our culture simply by visiting it. And Lee Unkrich knows this fact. Which why he assembled a group for the sake of making sure the movie is culturally accurate, rather than him taking on that role

you know, a team of actual latinx. Including someone who was a huge critic of Coco, and is a critic of Disney, Lalo Alcaraz. He is most famously known for his response to the action of Disney attempting to trademark Dia de los Meurtos (which will be our next point). It’s not Alcaraz selling out. It’s him working together with the movie so it’s not just Disney trying to bring in more Latinx fans but rather creating what Unkrich’s true mission: “a love letter to Mexico.” This team along with many other Latinx creatives (like Adrian Molina who was originally just a writer and then promoted to co-director) and a fully latinx cast (again, as insisted by Unkrich), are working together to make it a Latinx piece of media. ( http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2016/12/pixar-coco-gael-garcia-bernal-dia-de-los-muertos-miguel )

5.) We all know and got rightfully angry at Disney for attempting to trademark Dia de los Muertos. This was due to the similar original name the movie had. As expected, it received intense backlash to which Disney quickly revoked the request to trademark. Unkrich was the first to vocalize that this was a mistake. This even leading to that point most likely has to do with him being a white man not of our culture, but this humbling experience is what really knocked that message into him and he began recruiting people like the ones in the above point to make sure that the movie itself is true to the people, culture, and holiday, in ways he himself could never fully grasp.

6.) It’s about the Day of the Dead like The Book of Life. My response to this is easy: look at how many movies are there about Christmas, Halloween, Easter, Valentine’s day, Saint Patrick’s day, etc.

7.) Gutierrez himself doesn’t want it to be a competition but as two wonderful films about one aspect of Latinx that will hopefully lead to more in the future.

I love The Book of Life, and is one of my favorite movies if I’m being honest. When it first came out I was filled with such pride and joy for many reasons. One of course for it being a gorgeously rendered film, but for it being such a positive and beautiful representation and celebration of Mexico. As someone who grew up only seeing white main characters, with people like my family and I as only side characters, it brings me such joy to see more media being produced in which Mexicans are the focus along with our culture (which is agreeably much more diverse than what is being tapped into). We still got a long way to go as Mexico is still only one group of Latinx culture, but we are witnessing the stepping stones of Hollywood beginning to reach out and representing this community by working with people of those cultures. The Book of Life will always have a special place in my heart, but I’m not letting my love of that movie keep me from supporting Latinx creators that are putting out Coco. I’m finally getting the representation that I craved as a kid and loving it.

Story 215: Cultural Exchange

The human steps onto the station from her shuttle, and walks into the scanner.  It flashes - no weapons.  I pity her, though there’s nothing I can do for her.  By tomorrow she will be a slave the same as me; the Gaunvans collect ambassadors like trophies.
“Hello there!  Amanda Thorn, ambassador for the Empire of Humanity.  You’re a Ixian, correct?”
Mimicking human body language, I nod my head.  "That’s correct.  Ix Malasan.  It is an honor to meet you.“
She smiles, reminding me again that she has somehow modified herself to breathe atmosphere suited to the Gaunvans rather than wear a respirator like myself.  Other than that she appears to be a standard human, something I am led to believe is less and less common as they pursue the bizarre compulsion humans have to alter their bodies.  Changing hair color, adding pigments to their skins in patterns and pictures, growing long tails or ears that mimic other species from their planet.  No other known species tampers with their bodies like this.
“Not to be undiplomatic, she says, "but the Gaunvans enslaved your people.  Why are you here?”
“We… reached a mutually beneficial agreement.  We would have lost in combat and been eliminated, so we chose to preserve what we could of our culture.  The Gaunvans are not naturally skilled at diplomacy, so they bring me along to assist and to show that peace can be made.”
She nods.  "Understood.  I can respect that choice.  How much freedom do you have, personally?“
Smart of her, to start planning for her future. "A fair amount.  I have free reign on the ship when we are in transit.  At the homeworld I have reasonably comfortable quarters.”
“Have you ever met the Empress, or…?”
“Oh, no.  No, while on the homeworld I am confined to my chambers - but they’re quite spacious.”
“Shame.  Okay, plan ‘A’ then.  Let’s get this over with.”

Despite my attempt at encouraging diplomacy, the Gaunvan commander starts with threats.  I don’t know why I bother.  He looms over the human, chitinous plates almost black in the dim light.  His pod of six is posted around the room, for show more than for actual security since she followed orders and came alone and unarmed.  "Failure to surrender will bring the full wrath of our army upon you.  Humanity will be crushed, and wiped from the universe.“
To her credit, she looks very calm.  "We live in a post-scarcity society.  Bloody conquest just seems silly, doesn’t it?”
“It is for the glory of Gaun!”
“Well, I’m not prepared to get into a religious debate with you,” she says, “since I doubt there’s anything I can do to change your mind.  Since you’re committed to this course of action, what are you willing to offer if we surrender?”
Now he goes back on script.  Maybe I am getting through to him a little?  He talks about the benefits of being enslaved, mainly the protections for up to twelve designated culturally historical sites.  They’ve been mostly good on their word on my homeworld, though they did use the area just outside of the Hahhn Memorial as a waste dump.

She nods as she listens.  There was a part of me that was worried she would argue, because the humans are somewhat childlike.  They don’t understand the horrors of war.  Certainly they fought in the past, but the last time they had to battle was more than two of their generations ago, so these ones have all grown up coddled and soft.  They play games with each other instead, silly competitions.  They make art, and play pretend, and alter their bodies for fun.  They don’t have weapons anymore, and wouldn’t know how to use them if they did.
“Well then,” ambassador Thorn says, “this is about what I expected.  On behalf of humanity, I would like to formally reject this offer.”
Oh no.  Foolish humans.  The galaxy will miss your innocence.  The commander makes an excited clicking noise, looking forward to combat.  He reaches a blade-tipped hand towards ambassador Thorn, but hesitates as every device in the room bleats out an alert - we’ve all lost communications with the outside.

Like one of the dances humans do, she gracefully pivots around while taking his hand.  She ends up close to him and places her other arm against his thorax, then… oh gods. Gods, what… she’s ripped his arm off.  It’s not possible.  The commander is clearly thinking the same thing, staring in mute shock at his dripping limb.
“I’d like to extend a counter-offer,” she says, and flips the arm around before jamming the bladed end into his neck.  The warriors around the room are fidgeting, uncertain.  They haven’t been told to attack, and don’t want to dishonor their commander by intervening in a fight with such a small creature.  She’s still holding the commander’s severed arm in his neck, but she rotates and heaves, lifting him off the ground with it for a moment… and then his head pops off, landing squarely on the conference table.  She allows the corpse to slide to the ground, and straightens her clothes as if they aren’t covered in ichor.

I don’t understand.

The warriors, now with no orders at all, finally act.  She smiles as they come for her, I suppose because she has done her duty to send this powerful message of resistance.  She can die in peace.  Or… no… She’s killing them.  She’s smiling because this is fun for her.  Though they’re partly killing themselves; if there had been two of them, prepared, strategic, they might have prevailed.  Watching six panicked fighters get in each other’s way while trying to stop a smaller, faster, and somehow impossibly stronger foe is almost hypnotic.  At least one is killed by the stab of a friendly lance due to pure confusion.  It’s over faster than I would have thought possible, severed limbs strewn across the room.  I’ve got some fluids splashed across my clothing.  Only one yet lives, and he is retreating.  She seems to be allowing it.

She follows behind, holding a lance.  The wounded and scared warrior scurries down the hallway towards his ship, looking back behind him as he goes.  She’s just… walking.  Calm.  And for some reason I’m following.  The last Gaunvan reaches the airlock and the second he enters his code she throws the lance - throws it! - and spears him.
“Come on, we’re stealing their ship.”  She says it like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“There are thousands more on board!  Thousands!  Almost all warrior caste!”
She smiles again, and keeps walking.  I see errors on the screens that we pass, messages indicating communications have been lost.  They can’t tell anyone what is happening here.  Even the communicators within the ship are on nodes rather than being wired, so the warriors at one end of the vessel won’t be able to coordinate with the other end.  Do they even know they’ve been boarded?
“How?”

We enter the bridge after she kills a handful of other guards with ease.  They’re too shocked by her presence to act in time.  Once the door are sealed and she is working on the control systems she starts talking to me again.
“Well, you know, we do like to be prepared.”
“But you… you ripped his arm off.”
“Yeah, that was super satisfying.”  She looks at me appraisingly.  "Oh, come on.  Is it really that surprising?  You knew we were into changing ourselves, right?  Being strong enough to pop an overgrown bug’s forelimb off isn’t rocket science.“
"Your people are so peaceful…”
“Oh, sure, most of them.  But we did that, too.  Tweaked ourselves over the years to decrease aggression and some of our tribalistic tendencies, increase empathy… all stuff that can be undone if needed.  Though for a good cause even the nicest of us can squish a bug or two.”
“You bond with Ry'ling devourers!”
“Those are the big fuzzy guys that look like cats, yeah?  Those guys are adorable!  But… look, liking some things that could kill us doesn’t mean we’ll sit back and get enslaved.  We didn’t put up with it well when we enslaved each other, and we certainly aren’t going to go for it now that we’re… finally… on the same page about slavery being unacceptable.  It was, uh, a longer time than we like to admit before the last hold-outs were convinced of that one.”

I can feel the ship un-dock.  We’re moving.  "What about all the warriors on board?  They’ll break through the doors eventually!“
"Not according to this control panel here.  Take a look.”
It says there’s no atmosphere in the rest of the ship.  Life signs are negative on all but two of the warriors, presumably the only ones that got to their suits in time.  She disabled all the safety measures, somehow.  She just killed… I check the life signs readout again to confirm the number… three thousand, six hundred, and fourteen soldiers.  Wait, how is it tracking that unless… “Are communications back up?”
“Yeah, I’m calling some friends.  The military is right around the corner, so to speak.”
“But Earth doesn’t have a standing military.”
She laughs.  Not just a little bit.  She’s actually doubled over for a moment, unable to catch her breath.  "Sweet Jeebus, you guys actually fell for that?  No standing military.  Have you read about us at all?“

Three ships appear seemingly out of nowhere, and one docks with the Gaunvan vessel.  Once the atmosphere is restored we head to the airlock to meet them, and I’m surprised by an entire platoon of Gaunvan warriors.  Speaking English.
"Okay boys, send your last goodbyes!  This is in all likelihood a one way mission.  Commander Thorn!  It is an honor to see you again, and might I say you look exquisite drenched in the blood of your enemies!”
She bows to him, blushing, and then salutes the Gaunvans.  Or… humans?  Can they change themselves this drastically?
“You’ve got two holed up in here somewhere.  Bridge is clear, have the techs bring the new brain on board.”
“New brain?”
She looks at me like she’s forgotten that I’m here, and then turns back to the others.  "Men, this is our new friend Ix Malasan who has just been liberated from his captivity.  He’s going to be helping with our intel.  Malasan, yeah, a new brain for the ship.  Once this vessel is cleaned up and back in service with a new crew we’ll be able to take it over whenever we want even if all of our boys get killed.  We cooked up a really sadistic AI for it.“
"But how do you know the protocols?  This was your first contact with the Gaunvans, they’ve never lost a ship anywhere near here!”
“No?  There wasn’t a mining colony disaster two years ago?”
“But that was just an accident… and you weren’t even involved in the war yet… and…”

The faux-Gaunvans have finished boarding.  The one that was talking to them before puts a bladed claw on ambassador - commander - Thorn’s shoulder.  "You coming with?“
"Naw.  Orders said I could only come if they allow ambassadors near extremely high value targets.  Malasan here says they don’t, so I need to wait for my next mission back on Earth.”
“It would have been nice having you with us, Thorn.  Well, maybe we’ll see each other again.  Suicide mission or not, I think I’ve decided to live through it.”
“Bold choice,” she says, and kisses him next to his lower mandibles.
He nods at me, then turns back to his men. “Okay everyone, we are now officially on the job.  And what is that job?”
In unison, they start chanting.

“FUCK! SHIT! UP!  FUCK! SHIT! UP!  FUCK! SHIT! UP!”

For a moment I nearly feel pity for the Gaunvans.  Nearly.  Commander Thorn leads me off of the ship, and I start thinking about what useful information I can provide the ‘harmless’ humans.  Fuck shit up, indeed.

give me a voltron episode where they’re all on a planet covered in a million and a half different species of flowers and allura is like “i just think that perhaps you shouldn’t touch ANY of them” and of course lance is all “well what does this purple one do” and he touches it and it blurps out this goo on his hand and he yelps and tries to wipe it off on keith but keith blocks it with his hand and BOOM. their hands are stuck together. can’t pull away, cant find anything to get it off, NOTHING. allura is nearly crying because why does lance never LISTEN and shiro is just internally screaming three feet away while pidge laughs their ass off.

fast forward to them dealing with it on the ship. coran is running around trying to find information on the Snorfalus plant and how to remove the goo, but until they have an answer, they’re quite literally stuck holding hands.

keith is pissed because, if there’s an emergency, he wants to pilot his lion. but lance is fighting to have it so they go in his, and it becomes this huge thing that escalates and they’re both thisclose to punching each other when pidge kindly reminds them that neither of them can pilot at all if one of their hands is covered in this super-alien-force glue. keith is dying inside. lance tries to make a pun and keith kicks his shin. it’s a hot mess.

it gets even worse when hunk oh so sweetly asks how they’re going to end up sleeping tonight if they’re stuck this way. cue keith turning bright red and stumbling over his words for three minutes before lance sighs loudly and says “i swear, if you’re a blanket hog, i’m putting you on the floor.” needless to say, neither of them sleep very well that night in lance’s cot, both of them staring up at the ceiling, too embarrassed to say that they know the other one is awake.

just imagine keith and lance trying to do their every day routines while being forced to hold hands because of this goo. eating at the table, standing next to each other at meetings about next steps, attempting to train together.

at first, it’s rocky. they both walk at different paces so they trip over each other, they go in different directions at the same time and then get snapped back together and fall over, and there is zero privacy at all. but as the days go on, something shifts and they start bickering less. they communicate better, start falling into step and accomodating each other instead of pushing to be in control. their movements become fluid in training and they’re strong. stronger together than they were apart, even. and it’s noticeable.

maybe that’s why coran hid that he knows how to remove the goo for an extra week. either way, when it’s finally gone and keith and lance are free, the team works as a unit even better than before. lance and keith have each other’s backs like it’s just instinct now, can predict each other’s movements, and it makes them all that much stronger and better as a team.

keith won’t ever admit that he misses the constant feeling of lance’s palm pressed tight against his own. it’s a shame, really, considering that the only thing lance misses more than earth is the way keith’s fingers felt entwined with his own.

Witchy Beginner Guide/FAQ

  I’ve had this blog for about 2 years now, and I’ve noticed that Tumblr has a large population of beginner and often ‘closeted’ witches. Of course, it’s a seemingly perfect place for a sprouting witch to turn to, with an interactive community and boundless fountains of information. I’ve been asked just about every question in the book, and I do my best to answer them. However, there was one question that persisted in my inbox, that I frequently ignored due to the mere vastness of the topic. So, finally, here is my panacea for the swarm of newbie asks.

*This does not mean you cannot ask me questions about these topics! If you feel something wasn’t covered or might be different to your situation, feel free to ask. However, I will probably link you to this if your question is directly addressed.*

Frequently Asked Questions

How do I know if I’m a witch?

The title of a witch is chosen, not born. While certain signs may push you towards a certain diety or spiritual path, the ultimate choice to begin practicing witchcraft is a choice and often happens over time and consideration rather than an all at once ‘initiation.’

Do I have to be Wiccan to practice witchcraft?

Nope! Wicca, or any other religion for that matter, does not own the practice of witchcraft. It is not a closed practice (though certain aspects can be, and are therefor not witchcraft, such as smudging) meaning anyone can practice.

What is paganism?

Paganism, or pagan religions, are religions that are not majorly practiced. It is sometimes used by Christians to identify non-Christians. Paganism is not one religion, but rather an umbrella term for many;.

What are the basic things I need to do a spell?

While Tumblr likes to glamourize spells and the craft with fancy shots of big geodes and perfectly angled teacups, all you really need is intention and your hands. Some easily obtainable things that might help you start are jars, herbs that double as cooking ingredients, candles, notebooks, twigs that double as wands, and boxes. Moon water is a pretty easy first thing to make, and can spice up spells that call for water. In reality, the most important part of a spell is your intention.

Are curses bad?

With the growth of Wicca has come the growth of the term 'white magic,’ and the idea that karma will send your ass to witch hell if you so much as utter poor fortune upon a wrongdoer, let alone use your craft against them. The reality is, no witch should be shamed for their personal choice is magic. Also, for beginners, the terms 'white/black’ magic are associated with racial stereotypes. Try substituting it for negative/positive energy.

How do you start witchcraft?

Just…start. Just go for it. Collect a rock you like on the street, make a potion, read a book about witches. Little things that turn into action. My biggest tip is to start by dedicating a journal to your craft, which will later turn into your Grimoire of sorts, and can help you keep track of your beliefs and how you’ve grown spiritually.

How do you start being Wiccan?

It is popular to start Wicca with an initiation ritual, though not required. Because Wicca is a religion, it’s usually typical to at least do some sort of spell acknowledging and presenting yourself to the deities.

Is Hekate the Wiccan goddess?

Nope. No no! Very common mistake. Hekate isn’t even technically a tri or multiple layered goddess! Hekate also does not aline with Wicca’s core values.

What religion is witchcraft associated with?

None! Witchcraft is an accessory to religions, and belongs to none impartcular.

Top 10 Tips For Beginners

1) There is no singular right or wrong way. Trying to mimic somebody else’s path will only result in dead ends and frustration. Don’t be afraid to try something you’ve never seen done.

2) Don’t force yourself to align with a religion or patron deity. While it may feel comforting to have a god or goddess there for you, if you aren’t prepared to maintain a relationship with one or you don’t really have any interest in them, remember that it’s okay to go solo.

3) Use what you have available. There is no need to spend tens or twenties of dollars on fancy, decorative things. Jars are available for cheap at the dollarstore, and tealight candles are great for starting out.

4) Don’t feel the need to justify your practice with “I only do the positive kind of magic” or “it’s not like…Satanism or anything…” Be confident in your craft. Come out of the 'broom closet’ when you’re ready.

5) Don’t feel like you have to choose to be a 'kind of witch.’ Hardly anyone I know only practices a single 'type’ of magic.

6) Give yourself space to grow. Tumblr makes everything seem awfully black and white, and tiny mistakes can be blown up into death threats. Educate yourself to the best of your ability, acknowledge when you messup, and learn from everything.

7) Spend time in nature! Go hiking, or if you’re a city witch, just take a stroll down the street. Humans are nature. Get outside, is all that matters. Nature is everywhere.

8) Starting a journal to track your beliefs, progress, interests, and attempted spells will make things so much simpler! Plus, it’s fun to look back on when you become more experienced and see how much you’ve changed. The book doesn’t have to be anything fancy. My first was an old composition book.

9) Ask questions. Ask stupid questions. Ask questions you think might be offensive. Bother witches with questions over and over until you get a clear answer.

10) Find magic in the little things, not just grand spells and big holidays or full moons. Find magic in getting dressed, or cleaning, or even driving.

-

This is still undergoing some editing and adding to, but I hope it helps someone :)

Much love!

@nature-is-punk

Originally posted by myfoxesandroses

Missed Opportunities

Originally posted by wwhatfinn

Anon requests: If ur still taking requests. Can you do one where the reader of best friends with Juggie but they told him how they feel, but Juggie doesn’t listen and then in a football game Reggie makes a move and they accept b/c Juggie doesn’t seem to acknowledge them that way and Juggie ends up jealous…

Request if you still take one. Reader and Jughead have been friends forever and they said stuff to each other about being together but Jughead been avoiding it. Reader wants something more, and in a football game Reggie asks them out and they say yes b/c they feel they need to love since Jughead is avoiding them about their feelings and Jughead gets jealous…

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: You missed a thousand opportunities to tell your best friend that you fell in love with him.  One night, you finally seize the chance.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,926

A/N: I’m so sorry for my inactivity, I hope this longer imagine makes up for it.  Enjoy!


You didn’t mean to fall in love with your best friend.  It was an accident.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened.  It wasn’t anything sudden; you didn’t wake up one morning and realize you were in love. It was a slow process.

Maybe it began when you two met at Pop’s.  He was sitting in his regular booth, brooding and mysterious.  He was the edgiest ten year old in Riverdale.  For the first time, you entered Pop’s all by yourself. Your parents had decided that double digits meant that you could be more independent.  Of course, your first action was to go to the best diner in Riverdale all on your own.  Once you arrived, you realized how scary being alone was.  Scanning the diner, you looked for a companion to sit with.  You spotted a boy who looked around the same age as you.

“Can I sit here?” you asked, approaching the table.  The boy stared at you suspiciously for a moment.

“Sure,” he nodded after a second of contemplation.  You smiled and sat down across from him.

“I’m (Y/N),” you greeted, sticking your hand out across the table.  The boy tentatively shook it.

“Jughead,” he introduced himself.

“That’s a weird name,” you crinkled your nose.  He shrugged.

“I know.”

Maybe it was that night at the drive-in: a cold October night, and you forgot your jacket.  Vertigo was on that night, and Jughead, knowing it was one of your favorite movies, notified you that it was playing.  You asked him, with a smirk, if he had anything to do with this movie being played; with an indignant scoff, he promised you that he had no part in the Twilight Drive-In playing your favorite movie.  The two of you sat together watching the movie, Jughead’s arm casually draped around your shoulders.  Bitter October night winds blew in, causing you to shiver.  Jughead noticed this, so he drew you closer to him.  It wasn’t the warmth Jughead provided you that caused the redness in you cheeks.

There was no way for you to pinpoint when exactly you fell in love with your best friend.  Every time you saw him, wearing that goddamned beanie and a wide grin, your heart skipped a beat.  Each time your hands brushed against each other, or your thighs rested right next to each other, you could feel your affection swell.

But as Newton’s third law states: every action has an equal opposite reaction.  Every time you fell a little more in love with Jughead, there was an agonizing pain in your heart because you could never be with him.  You knew you could never build up the courage to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.  All the risks threatening your friendship with Jughead were enough to keep your feelings bottled up.

Although you swore to yourself that you’d never reveal your secret affections for Jughead, you found that hiding things from your best friend was more difficult than you imagined.

“(Y/N),” Jughead interrupted your thoughts, causing your head to snap up.  Immediately, you plastered a smile on your face.

“Yeah, Jug?” you asked, slightly tilting your head.  He shook his head at you.

“What’s up with you lately?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes.  “You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”

“I’m fine Jug,” you waved him off.  “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” Jughead ignored your protests.  

“I promise you, Jug, if there’s something wrong I’ll tell you.”  Satisfied with your answer, he nodded at your response and turned back to his laptop.  The two of you sat in the diner booth, each doing your own thing.  After an hour of silence, you closed the book you were reading and set it down on the table.  Jughead noticed this, so he lowered his laptop lid.

“Something wrong?” he inquired.  You pursed your lips for a moment, contemplating what to say.

“Have you ever thought about us?” you asked.  He shot you a confused glance, so you elaborated.  “Have you ever thought about us, I don’t know… as not friends?  Like more?”  Jughead’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean… yeah,” he shrugged. You bit your lip.

“Do you think it could ever work?”

“I don’t know,” he responded.  “I’d just hate to ruin our great friendship, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.  “I know exactly what you mean.”


The next day at school, Jughead completely avoided you.  Every time you attempted to approach him, he turned on his heel and walked in the other direction.  After practically confessing your feelings last night, you were devastated to see Jughead ignoring you.  This continued throughout the rest of the week; Jughead never talked to you, no matter how hard you tried to communicate with him.  On Friday, Archie approached you.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he greeted. You shot him a small smile.

“Hey, Archie.”

“I’m sorry about Jughead,” he frowned, looking at you with pity.  You shrugged and shook your head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you responded, causing his frown to deepen.  “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well, actually, no,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I know it’s been a rough week for you, but I was wondering if you wanted to come to the game tonight.  It’s a big game, so I’d just really appreciate it if you were there.”  He offered a hesitant smile at you, and your fake smile widened into a real one.

“Sure, Archie,” you responded.  He thanked you and headed away, probably searching for other people to invite to the game.  You knew you hadn’t been in the best shape for the past week, but you figured this was the perfect opportunity to get your mind off of everything that had happened. It was an opportunity to forget about Jughead.


You arrived at the football stadium, and you wandered into the bleachers, looking for a place to sit. As you wandered around, you spotted Jughead.  Before he could turn his head to look at you, you dashed out of sight.  Finally, you found a seat at the top of the bleachers. You watched the entire game from there, clapping and cheering along with the rest of the crowd every time Riverdale High’s team scored.  Once the buzzer signaled the end of the game, and another victory for Riverdale, you ran down to the field to congratulate Archie.  Instead of finding Archie, you ran into Reggie.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaimed, his sweaty figure towering over you.  

“Hey, Reggie!” you smiled. He grinned.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” he noted.  You shrugged.

“Did you want to?”

“Well yeah,” he laughed. Oddly, you found yourself blushing. “We should catch up sometime, (Y/N). How about Tuesday?”  You blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“Seriously?” you questioned. He nodded as if it was obvious.

“Of course.  Eight o’clock at Pop’s?”  You grinned and nodded.  He did the same and then walked off to celebrate the victory with his teammates. Turning on your heel, you suddenly came face-to-face with Jughead.

“Reggie?  Seriously (Y/N)?” he inquired, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

“At least he had the courage to ask me out,” you scoffed, stomping off and leaving a stunned Jughead behind.


Tuesday night arrived quickly, and, as promised, you met Reggie at Pop’s.  He sat waiting in a booth, and when you entered, his face illuminated with a grin.  The night went successfully, and you thoroughly enjoyed your time with Reggie. You didn’t even notice the dark figure watching you from a few booths away.

“I had a great time tonight, (Y/N),” Reggie said as he noticed the time.  It was nearly midnight.  “Can we do this again sometime?”

“Of course,” you nodded, smiling.  He grinned.

“And, just to be clear, these are dates, right?”  You hesitated at this, and for the first time you looked up and spotted Jughead. Realizing you were staring at him, he averted his gaze.  You turned back to Reggie and frowned.

“Reggie,” you started, twiddling with your fingers.  His face slowly fell as he anticipated what you were going to say.  “You’re a great guy.  Any girl would be lucky to have you, but… I like someone else.”  You smiled apologetically at him.  “I’m sorry.  I hope we can still be friends.”  The football star stood up, remaining in front of your table.  He offered you a small smile.

“I understand,” he sighed. “Of course we can be friends.  I’ll see you around, (Y/N).”  He strode away from your table and exited the diner. Once he was out of sight, you turned all of your attention to Jughead.  You stood up and rushed over to his table.

“What the hell, Jughead?” you seethed, sitting down across from him.  He refused to make eye contact with you.  “Were you spying on me?”

“We’re best friends, (Y/N), you should know by now that I’m always at Pop’s,” he spat in retaliation. You didn’t back down.

“Oh so we are best friends?” you cynically questioned.  “That’s funny, because I don’t think we’ve spoken in a week.”

“I had a lot on my mind, okay?” he defended himself, growing quieter.  You rolled your eyes and nodded.

“Uh huh,” you scoffed, “a lot on your mind.  Whatever, Jughead.”  You rose from your seat and prepared to exit, but Jughead grabbed your wrist.

“Wait, (Y/N),” he stopped you.  You raised an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry.”

“Wow thanks,” you smiled sarcastically.  “This makes everything better, Jughead.”

“I know it doesn’t,” he rolled his eyes, “but I can’t do anything else except apologize, (Y/N).”

“How about you talk to me?” you offered, narrowing your eyes as you settled back into your seat.  “Because I’ve had my feelings out there for a week now, Jughead, and you haven’t said anything about it.”

“What feelings?” he questioned.  “All you asked me is if I thought we should be a couple.”

“What do you think that was?” you practically screamed.  “Did you really just think that was just casual conversation, Jug?  Come on, you’re smarter than that!”

“Okay, so you confessed your feelings to me!” he exclaimed, frustratedly throwing his hands up.  “How do you think I felt, (Y/N)?  When I thought my best friend was thinking about the same possibility as me?  I was fucking terrified!”  This drew you aback.

“Terrified?” you echoed. “Why… why were you terrified?”

“Because I think about that too, (Y/N), all the time!” he didn’t yell, but his voice grew louder.  “I don’t know when it happened, but sometime between that first time you walked in through those diner doors,” he pointed at the entrance, “and right now, something changed.  I don’t know when, I don’t know how, and I certainly don’t know why.  All I know when I saw you laughing with good-looking, athletic Reggie the only thing I could think about is all the times I could’ve told you how I felt, and I didn’t.”  He was almost panting by the end of his tangent, and you were subdued by shock.  The two of you sat together in silence, staring at each other in astonishment.  

“Missed opportunities,” you finally murmured, breaking the silence.  “We both… we both missed so many opportunities.”  You bit your lip between your teeth, holding back a smile.

“But here we are,” Jughead replied, a smile creeping onto his face.  “We missed a thousand opportunities, but the universe gave us one more.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” you smiled.  He grinned.

“Neither do I,” he responded.  “But I do believe in us.”

Victor Nikiforov Appreciation Post!!!

I just want to take a moment and talk about how much I love Victor Nikiforov and how he’s just such a refreshing character. I know everyone and their dog has done a post like this already but I’ve been crying over this lovable goof for months and this had been sitting in my drafts for too long now anyway and also I’m avoiding my textbooks AND THIS SORTA TURNED INTO A CHARACTER ANALYSIS I’M SORRY.

So as far back as the PV, there were assumptions flying around that Victor would end up being an antagonist of some sort. That either he was using Yuuri for his own gain, or was just straight up evil. Laughable now, of course, but the reason those rumors were prevalent was because we see it so often. How easy was it to think that Victor was “helping” Yuuri only to further his own goals in the end? We’ve seen this common mentor-betrays-student trope before and it’s no wonder that early on fans were afraid of this even as the show progressed. And honestly? This would have made for some great drama—for Victor to turn out to not be such a nice guy and for him to eventually become someone Yuuri had to defeat in competition. However the show did not go down that route at all. It turns out that yeah, Victor is actually just a really nice guy who cares a great deal about Yuuri and the people around him. He doesn’t show up in Hasetsu with any evil ulterior motives—he just wants to get to know Yuuri and help him take his skating to the next level, and maybe find inspiration (and love) along the way.

Also how could a man with a heart-shaped smile be evil???

(Continued under the cut.)

Keep reading

2

A/N: So, originally, this was supposed to be a thing in my fanfic “Colour Bruise” which I haven’t updated in ages. I am planning on finishing the story but for now, enjoy this. ;-)

Words: 1789
Warnings: lime, a lot of swearing

Keep reading

In Defense of Maggie Sawyer

@danvers-dimples​ said: I need your help. My sister is NOT a Maggie fan. She especially doesn’t like the “you get one” line, she found it too harsh. She finds Maggie herself too unfeeling. I completely disagree to be clear. Anyway could you write some good points for me to show my sister on why she’s wrong and Maggie is in fact a pure being, gifted to us from the Gods. Please.

Hey kids, it’s your friendly neighborhood Maggie Sawyer stan finally here to type up a way too detailed analytical post regarding two of the biggest misplaced criticisms of Maggie. I hope you don’t mind me bouncing off of your ask for this, but it presented me with the opportunity to do one of my absolute favorite things: defend unjustifiably hated female characters that I adore in a manner much too extra for fandom purposes. I’ll be taking a look at the most revealing aspects of Maggie’s character as they’ve been presented thus far, getting a little meta about her role within the show overall, and doing my best to explain away some of the popular misunderstandings of Maggie as a character, with particular emphasis on the differences between “Unfeeling” vs “Emotionally Reserved”, and “Harsh” vs “Honest”. Obvious disclaimer: this is quite long.

“Unfeeling” vs “Emotionally Reserved”:

From what I’ve seen, one of the biggest and most frustrating misinterpretations of Maggie’s character is the twisting of her emotional reservation into coldness. This one surprises me every time I encounter it, if I’m honest, if only because “unfeeling” is one of the absolute last words I’d use to ever describe Maggie for a multitude of reasons. 

Keep reading

Have This

Sometimes, the heart demands feel-good smut with feelings (Probably the sweetest stuff I’ve written in a while). I just need for them to have some tender moments, okay? ;). Takes place post-4x05 

Also on AO3 [Part 3 of the Appropriation Series with @bellohmyblake


Clarke isn’t sure the dust will ever settle for life on the ground. The piercing scent of burning rubble hangs thick in the air as the orange glow finally begins to fade, swallowed up by the blackness of night.

After hours of treating inhalation injuries and burns, the stream of patients has finally trickled down to a halt. The makeshift med-bay is completely full of recovering patients, but by some miracle, none of them are in critical condition.

Harper gives Clarke a tired smile as she makes her way over. “I think we’ve got this covered, Clarke, if you need to go take care of other things.”

Clarke squeezes her shoulder with a grateful nod, “Thank you, Harper.”

She takes one more glance around and spots Bellamy on the far side of the room, speaking in hushed tones with Miller. As if he can sense her gaze on him, he meets her eyes with a barely perceptible nod. She fights the urge to squirm under a stare so intense it feels like it’s physically holding her in place.

With one look, she’s transported back to the quarry. She swallows back a bolt of nausea at the vivid memory of the wind being knocked out of her as the bag was pulled off Bellamy’s head. She reminds herself that he’s safe. He’s here. He’s still with her. He wraps up his conversation with Miller and makes his way back to her with slow, steady strides that contrast the erratic rhythm of her heart, not once taking his eyes off her.

Keep reading

Attic notes, post-bomb blast:

Hi, everyone. Yeesh.

We’ve been through it, huh? I’ve missed you. I think we’ve all missed each other.

Despite the difficulty we’ve had these past few months—and despite my sudden and untimely disappearance (sorry… where tf did the time go?)—the Johnlock conspirators remain the most dedicated, passionate, interesting, smart, diverse, and brave group of individuals I have ever encountered, and never would have encountered without the power of the internet. We live in a terrible, horrifying, dystopian future, but it is also beautiful, because we have the technology to connect to each other and come together to share, think, and create… like this.

When wondering how the Sherlock fandom could lead me to such a perfect storm of people who understood how I related the world, it wasn’t difficult to figure out why. Sherlock is a story of an intelligent, isolated outcast whose heart wants to help individuals out of compassion for their lives, despite his social ineptitude. He is a character with his own sense of justice, a disregard for public opinion, and a love for his work that protects him from the vulnerability of opening up to others. We are, after all, what we eat. And the message that unites everyone in TJLC is not that Johnlock was going to happen in series four, but that love is the center of the story. Love will conquer all.

And they do mean ALL.

At the BFI & Radio Times Television Festival on April 9th, Mark Gatiss said of the fourth series, “The only heretical thing is modernizing it, the rest we try to go along with the stories.”

We all know how they really feel about these stories. So what is he talking about?

The closet.

Series four is inconsistent, confusing, jarring, illogical, contradictory, genre-reliant, chock full of lies, and timeline-fucked because so is canon. To create an entirely faithful adaptation, Watson’s unreliable frame narration, which serves to obfuscate his relationship with Holmes, (and as Moff often brings up in regards to HLV, to protect the liberty of a guilty party) must be faithfully adapted, too. In doing so, Sherlock itself becomes a thesis on the true nature of canon that, let’s face it, currently doesn’t exist outside of our oft-ignored echo chamber. And our compulsory-hetero society is such that Mark and Moff have the opportunity to play out the exact same social masquerade ACD played all over again, but finally, finally, with a groundbreaking rug pull that ensures Sherlock Holmes goes down in history as a gay icon, always has been always will be, make no mistake.

As much as Sherlock is a love story about a kiss that will leave all others behind, its supervillain-sized obstacles represent the supersized figures that have stood against the homosexuality of Sherlock Holmes for over a century: CAM (Mass media and surveillance), Mary (heteronormativity), Mycroft (The British Government), Moriarty (Cultural anxieties that gay love is dark/salacious/perverse). M, The Black Lotus, and The Spider signify the different ways in which they interconnect… and there’s much more to say on this subject. But let’s get some of the water out of this living room.

We were wrong. That’s it! We were wrong. I have issues with how series four was handled, and am infuriated by some of the choices that have been made. But in the end, part of the reason why the devastation was so devastating was that we weren’t prepared to be wrong. Not even wrong about the conspiracy! Just about January! This show takes too! Fucking! Long! To air!

Come to think of it, that probably should have been one of our central tenets:

  1. They lie.
  2. The show is gay.
  3. Sherlock has been imprisoned for 100 fucking years and this has been planned for 7 so shut the fuck up because all hope and suffering are relative when you simply surrender to the relentless march of time and the cruel indifference of the universe.

Series four was way, way, lower caliber than what we’re used to from the show we love. But our reading of the narrative still makes sense. I don’t care what anybody says—it does! It makes perfect sense! It makes better sense than the mess casual viewers just swallow like warm paste—like so much other television these days! TJLC is a community full of active viewers, who are able to really see what’s happening on screen, what it means, and pick it apart. We’re attuned to picking up these messages and are practiced at it. Though we definitely honed our skills with our elephant glasses, the ability to look at media with a critical eye and understand what is being said to us is more important than ever in the digital age.

Keep reading

I Will Protect You.

Request from anon: Can I request a Bucky x reader? Reader is under the protection of the avengers because of an attempt on her life by hydra agents. So she’s kept at the compound with most of the team. While there, Bucky flirts and uses his old 40s charm on her cause it makes her blush. When she can’t sleep she meets him in the kitchen and he finally asks her out and they end up making out half the night.

Note: I really enjoyed writing this so thank you to whoever sent in the request! Oh and if anyone is wondering which sci-fi show is very briefly mentioned it is ‘Doctor Who’ :)

Bucky x Reader

Words:

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their creators <3

You could see right down the barrel of the gun that was being pointed at your face and although the men currently surrounding you were clearly communicating with one another you couldn’t make out a single word as the thumping of your heart filled your ears.

You should have been pleading with them to spare your life, doing something that would prevent them from pulling that trigger, but you were frozen to the spot and incapable of anything.

“Hail Hydra.”

Those two words were powerful enough to cut through the deafening thump of your heart and they were the last thing you heard before a gunshot sounded out….

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Your scream rang out around the room as you shot up in your bed, sweat dripping from your brow, and your chest heaving with your unsteady breaths.

This was the fourteenth night in a row where you had suffered with nightmares from the attack on you by Hydra agents and they weren’t getting any easier to handle. The Avengers had saved your life that day but one of the agents had escaped, which meant that he was still out there and he could try coming for you again at any moment.

Keep reading

I AM SO INTO THIS SHIT YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I tried to make them kinda different, but in the end they still wound up pretty similar, Please Forgive.

Keep reading

When The Clock Strikes 12 [Lafayette/Reader]

Woo! First fic for @hamwriters write-a-thon down! This idea came to me after searching for a ton of different AUs to work with. Now to finish up my GWash/Trans!Reader fic, then work on my femslash fic for the write-a-thon! Please enjoy!

Thank you to my wonderful amazing tumblr budbuds that inspired me to do a good job and inspire me in general! @musicalmiranda @love-doesnt-discriminate @hamilficsfordays @gunsandfics @boss-headcanons @diggs4life @imagineham @imdedicatingeverydaytoyou @secretschuylersister and @tempfixeliza <3 You’re all so kind and amazing and even if I don’t interact with you or chat with you, what you do and how funny/cute/relatable/sweet you all are makes me smile and makes me realize that the Hamilton (more specifically writing) community is such an incredible place to be!

Warnings: Alcohol, some swearing at the end, Lafayette’s full name (like w o a h), and New Years in case anyone has bad experiences with New Years!

Word count: 1514


Grabbing your third glass of cold, cheap champagne for the night, you laugh at a joke that Hercules had just told that wasn’t even funny. He seemed so enthusiastic about it that you couldn’t help it, but even sober, you couldn’t comprehend the punchline or how it was supposed to work out to be as funny as everyone made it sound like it was. You take a sip and walk off, trying to find the person who had dragged you here in the first place, Lafayette. 

Keep reading

Victor and Yuuri’s Career Choices in Episode 12

Alternatively titled “WTF was episode 12!?” 

As the 3rd and final post in the Victor/Yuuri and Grief series (found here and here), we’ll be taking a look at how their individual journeys that we explored in the previous 2 posts leading up to the hotel scene in eps 11/12 affect their career choices in the final episode.

As we’ve seen already, both of them have gone through the entire grieving process by the time the hotel scene rolls around. Just as a reminder about what their grief focused on, I’ll do a super quick recap.

For Victor, his grief was centered around the developmental loss of his career and accepting that he can still have a fulfilling life coaching Yuuri. He hits his acceptance of this during the GPF short programs, the moment we see him overlooking the stadium as Yurio breaks his short program world record. Victor has finally reached a place where he feels he can be happy with things as they are – with him off the ice.

For Yuuri, his grief was centered around the anticipated loss of losing Victor (in all capacities) after the GPF ended and accepting that the time he has with him is limited. He convinced himself that the time he has with Victor in every capacity wasn’t forever and that he would eventually have to give him up. Over the course of the series, he comes to terms with this on his own.

Buckle up because it’s going to be a long ride. I promise you, however, that the read will be worth it. (I’ll even add in some music recommendations to listen to during certain parts to add to your reading experience!)

Keep reading

MCU Civil War Fic Recs | Stony Edition

FINALLY i’ve decided to post my first fic rec list. Caught up with my feels after watching CA:CW. THE PAIN, THE ANGST, THE HEARTBREAK </3 Anyway I’ve been reading lots of MCU Post-Civil War fics and I thought it’s time for me to contribute to our lovely fandom. Here are some of my favorites to share with y’all. Don’t be shy, feel free to share any fic recs with me (●♡∀♡) I’d love to read more!


last updated 26/3/2017.

new fics added on top :) will be updated from time to time if there are new recs.


Steve doesn’t think about having sex with Tony Stark. He certainly doesn’t plan for it. It happens anyway.

They fight Thanos—and they’re losing. And before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s standing with Doctor Strange in front of the Eye of Agamotto and gets send back in time. Can he find a way to fix things this time around, or are they doomed to fall apart all over again?

“So was I,” his soulmate would tell him one day, and what it would mean was that they loved him. 

Post-Civil War. A mission at a power plant goes south and the ensuing explosion triggers the denaturation of the serum. In which Steve insists that he’s feeling fine, Natasha gets Tony involved and pieces start being put back together. 

Tony bypasses into the mailbox every time. It drives Steve absolutely nuts. 

Tony can’t even recognize himself nowadays.

Tony misses Steve very badly after the Accords. Some days he deals with it better than other days.(a fic featuring the booty call flip phone, minor kidnappings, and time jumps between chapters because the election has been happening and my brain has been too mush to make a proper plot)

Steve and Tony love each other—that would undoubtedly always be true. However, there might just be things that don’t care for love, that don’t care what it means for the two to take different sides. Things that none of them could’ve foreseen. Things that might just rip everything apart.When the United Nations attempt to put restrictions on the Avengers, Tony has to admit that the pawns had been in place for a long time, he just hadn’t dared to admit it to himself. And now, it is simply a matter of who will move first—and more importantly: in which direction.

Tony struggles with the day-to-day of leading a UN-sanctioned team of superheroes, Steve goes on a listening tour across America, and Natasha would like to remind everyone that (unlike Sam Wilson) she is not a licensed therapist.(55/200) page fancomic

When we do things, we always have a good reason. It’s other people we see as defective.

Learning to look a little harder than that will be a long journey, but it might just be worth the struggle to change.

After the civil war, everyone is left living in the new reality they’ve created — and now they have to figure out if they are willing (and able) to try again at being a real team.

If you think of life and death on a continuum, finding the point where it tips is complicated. It cuts across all political lines and gets to the root of our humanity. It requires faith informed by years of intimacy that you’re doing what’s right for your loved one.

But Tony is just a man. And there’s only so much he can do.

(Or that time when Tony does what is necessary to survive just so that he can continue to fix things and makes extremely rash decisions; because even if Steve may have left him behind, doesn’t mean Tony would do the same. Kind of.)

Everything seems to be in working order; except one day, after hoping and hoping for a chance to set things right, to prove what he had meant in his letter, that he’d be there for Tony when Tony needs him, Steve is given the opportunity to. It just isn’t what he had expected it to be. Not by a long damn shot. Sequel to Rebirth.

Strangely, or not so strangely, Steve is the one to call first.“Tony,” is all he says, low and throaty and oh so raspy.Tony says nothing. Not because he has nothing to say, but because he has too much. And maybe, for once, Steve should be the one talking.

After the Civli War, the Avengers were back together.

How is everything going, Tony? Pepper had asked in her email.
It’s fine (Tony had written back). I’m fighting with Steve all the time. Everything is going to hell. I’m okay (you know I’m always okay).

(Or: How Tony and Steve learned to be a bit gentler with each other)

It’s a mistake destroying Steve’s gesture of goodwill, Tony thinks, even as he takes an unholy amount of glee smashing that stupid phone to bits down in his lab and DUM-E waits eagerly with a fire extinguisher for the last of the letter to burn down. But it’s a mistake Tony is happy to make.

How to say ‘wish you were here’ without actually saying so, as done by Captain Steve Rogers.

One moment they’re fighting, yelling scathing insults and ugly accusations at each other, and the next they’re kissing, all teeth and anger-fuelled desperation. Steve backs him up until Tony’s shoulders hit the closest wall, and hoists him up, giving Tony no choice but to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist for support. Tony bites Steve’s bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and Steve growls, and grips both of Tony’s wrists in one big hand, his hold bruisingly tight.

‘Dear baby,’ he thought hysterically while dodging an arrow, ‘One day your daddy and I fought and almost blew up an airport. I hope you’re better at communication than we are.’

Tony blinked up at the face staring down at him. This was impossible. This was definitely 100% not possible, he had not just started giving a good morning handy to -

“Steve?”

After the events of Civil War, Tony and Steve wake up in bed next to each other in an alternate universe. It goes about as well as you’d expect it to.

Before Afghanistan, before New York, and long before Siberia, Tony was given the gift of Peggy Carter as his godmother.It was maybe one of the best gifts he ever received, one that kept on giving even forty years later. Because even when the Avengers are scattered, the team and his trust torn apart, there’s still one thing Tony has that no one, not Steve, not Ross, not Stane, had ever managed to take from him.A family.In the aftermath of the Civil War, Tony will need them more than ever if he’s to pick up the broken pieces of himself again. And save the world. Of course.

It was the first time they’d seen each other since Siberia. It was probably one of the worst possible ways to have an unscheduled reunion. It was also about to get worse. A lot worse. 

 Steve writes letters to Tony that he never sends. By the time he hands them to their rightful owner, Tony has had a brush with death, has retired as a superhero, and now has a small town workshop of his very own. But it’s okay, Steve has gone into retirement too.

An alternate universe where Steve wins the Civil War.

It doesn’t go well for Tony.

A deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return.

Steve and Tony before, during, and after.

“But as a guy who’s never been good at anything but killing- lemme tell you this. Wars can come to us, and we can fight to end them.”

“But nothing’s ever worth starting one. Nothing at all.”

As the dust of Civil War starts to settle- Steve begins to see a couple of things.

“Humans are machines. Fascinating ones, but fatally flawed- because we feel too much. We try our hardest to be objective; but whenever two sides are too close, we ‘follow our heart’, which means fall prey to whatever our emotions think best and fuck all that logic might have had to say about it.”

Sequel to ‘And In The Silence That Follows’. Three months after the 'truce’, AIM is on the move again, and Norman Osborn seems increasingly determined to seize power in the void that the Avengers left behind. Logic dictates that Tony should cooperate with the runaway superheroes, led by one Steve Rogers to get ahead of the situation. Too bad his trust issues don’t agree with him. Too bad humans aren’t actually machines who can turn emotions off at the flick of a butto-Oh. Hello Extremis.

Steve splays his fingers on Tony’s chest, over his heart, and Tony whimpers. “You should take better care of that, Tony,” Steve says, digging his fingers in briefly.

Tony closes his eyes. “Don’t.”

Steve laughs, and it’s cold. He trails his fingers lower. “I could hurt you,” he says, almost conversationally. “I’m a criminal now, remember.”

“He hid some things from me,” Tony says, then shrugs. “It’s fine. I hid some things from him, too. Don’t you know this story?”

616 Steve meets MCU Tony.

“You were supposed to say thank you,” Tony said after a moment, covering his eyes with his forearm. It wasn’t as if Steve could see him. “It’s only polite, you know. Happy birthday, Steve—Thank you, Tony.”

It was raining when Tony exited his car. In front of him was a church.

He wasn’t sure why it always rained nowadays, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. Tony knew this weather kind of suited his mood, and his current mental state.

Attending funeral after funeral after you’ve been beaten up by the father of the embryo in your womb in Siberia before he left you in the cold, was beyond hard and painful. Tony had cried himself to sleep more than once. However, he couldn’t let anybody know, except Vision who had figured it out by himself.

“I sense a lifeform in you,” the android had mentioned to him once. “Is it… Steve’s?”

Tony remembered breaking down in front of him, after that Vision never mentioned the relationship between Steve and the lifeform in Tony’s womb again. He felt guilty, yet grateful. It had been barely a week after the incident in Siberia. Tony wasn’t ready for something that would remind him of that event, and he doubted he would ever be.

Steve never lets go of the phone. Sam thinks that it’s time for him to use it.

The written letter and cellphone never made it to Tony.

Tony never made it home.

Everything about them happened in seconds. Their first meeting was quick, with Tony landing next to the Captain, each man giving a curt nod and name in greeting. Their argument on the hellicarrier took mere seconds to escalate. Until Steve was goading Tony into putting on the suit and going a few rounds and Tony not so subtly reminding Steve that he wasn’t afraid to hit an old man.
It was only seconds of staring at Tony on that New York City Street, his arc reactor dark, no rise and fall of his chest, for Steve to know that inside the tin can, was a good man.
Then Ultron happened, and it took seconds for their world to change, seconds for Steve to throw his shield at Tony and for the billionaire to send a repulsor blast back. They went from laughing and relaxing to standing on an edge thousands of feet above solid ground.
And now…now everything’s changed. And all it took was a combination of seconds; of decisions made, actions performed and words spoken that they couldn’t get back.
Just a few ticks of the clock for their world to shatter.

It took two months and fourteen days.Well, two months and sixteen days if you wanted to be nitpicky and count the two days it had taken Tony to actually accept that yes, the phone was still lying on his desk, and no, it wouldn’t magically disappear just because he wished it so.The phone, and beneath it, that goddamn letter. If you need me, I’ll be there.

After the hell that was Ultron and the Sokovia Accords, Tony doesn’t blame the team for wanting nothing to do with him. To make up for past mistakes, Tony disappears into his lab and focuses on using his money and brains to provide the Avengers with more fancy tech than they’ll ever need. By doing this, he also doesn’t have to worry about Steve’s grim frown, Bucky’s hateful gaze, or everyone else’s cold annoyance.For six long months, this formula worked, but then fate decided to be a Loki-like dick and Tony wasn’t sure how it happened, but in the span of one week, he’d somehow acquired a kid.

He’s sitting there on the carpeted floor with blood dripping down the back of his head, holding the battered red notebook with trembling hands. He looks up from the page and tries to blink away the scribbled words that won’t seem to disappear from his eyesight. He can’t breathe, can’t get his throat to work properly because it feels like he’s being strangled by the sheer truth of what he realizes now.

They knew. Oh god, they knew.

When Tony discovers a devastating secret, it will threaten to tear apart everything they hold dear.

Steve is going to realise in the worst possible way what happens when you let pride, rage and fear cloud your judgment. What happens when you don’t listen.

“And you think you could take me, do you, Stark?”“I’d give it a good fucking try. I’d like to shove you into the nearest wall and wrap my hands around your damn neck.”“Oh yeah? And then what?”Post-CACW, a series of phone calls between Tony and Steve. 

Total: 38 fics

outerspacetrashprince  asked:

Spones accidental kisses or like we had to kiss to hide? I need cute spones Dan I need it

Spock rushed down the deserted alleyway and leapt around the overturned garbage can. His bootheel caught on the cobblestone and he fell, hard, hitting his chin as his tricorder flew from his hand and smashed against the ground.

“What was that about Vulcan poise and grace?” McCoy shouted as he grabbed Spock by the back of his shirt and hauled him up.

Spock noted that McCoy was panting quite hard. “You should save your breath for running, Doctor.”

“You’re one to talk. Is the tricorder—”

“Destroyed,” Spock confirmed. “We will not know how close they are.”

“Well let’s not stick around to find out.”

With no way to scan for hostiles, they ran blindly into the night. Distantly, Spock could hear an alarm being raised. He tried to run faster but McCoy lagged behind and so Spock fell back beside him. They dashed through the streets until McCoy was gasping for breath. Spock could have continued, but instead he pulled the two of them into an alleyway.

“Breathe, Doctor.”

“M’fine,” he gasped, breaking into a coughing fit. Spock watched, discomfited, as McCoy coughed. He took a few deep breaths. “Jesus,” he said shakily. “I’ve gotten…soft in my old age.”

“You are not yet forty,” Spock corrected. “Hardly old.” His ears perked up. “Someone is coming,” he hissed.

“What?” McCoy turned and took a step, but a building blocked his way. “Damnit, Spock! Of all the alleyways you could have turned down.”

Footsteps approaching. “Doctor,” Spock warned.

“I can’t believe you think you’re the logical one! Half the time you don’t seem to know your left from your right, but maybe the ears are causing interference.”

“Doctor!” Spock tried again.

“Now we’re going to get caught on some god-forsaken planet, and you’re over there—”

Spock really thought he was just going to grab McCoy’s arm.

McCoy jerked away and Spock grabbed at him again. He could see McCoy’s mouth open to continue the line of their argument despite the fact this was far from the optimal time. Spock grabbed one of McCoy’s arms. Then the other. Then he thought, I must silence McCoy.

Next thing he knew he was swallowing a gasp of surprise.

Spock’s mind was always busy. He could not recall a time when he wasn’t thinking about mathematical computations alongside musical compositions. His mind was usually awash with the minutia of his body as he kept himself tightly control. He focused on imagining starcharts and solving the latest engineering difficulties. He was a busy person with a busy mind.

And for a moment, that stopped.

His world seemed to narrow to one bright speck, and maybe he was still imagining a starchart. A single star, lost in the cosmos, tasting of peaches. He realized McCoy had stopped trying to fight him and so he did the next logical thing: he lifted his hands to curl his thumbs at the line of McCoy’s jaw and held him. Spock tipped his head to one side and McCoy tipped opposite of him and the world beneath them spun a little slower. Each moment was languid, tranquil and Spock could have done this for days. McCoy was fascinating. Nuanced. Subtle. Spock wanted to explore and be explored until–

Suddenly McCoy’s arms were around him. He tugged Spock off balance and then they were against the wall, and things got a whole lot more dramatic. Spock’s ears rang with a rush of blood and excitement as McCoy kissed him at warp 9. One of his hands found McCoy’s waist and he pulled their bodies flush together and McCoy grunted into his mouth, half-laughter.

Intrigued, Spock chased the sound, chased McCoy’s clever tongue now put to much more logical pursuits. McCoy struck back, as he always did, and then spun him around.

Spock hit the wall and McCoy set to work on him again, all incautious teeth and steady hands. Spock had no complaints. Could not even recall why he would have complaints until McCoy accidentally brushed against his bruised jaw and he remembered:

Running.

Alleyway.

They were being watched.

He stood up straight and McCoy fell off of him like a jacket. Spock stared at their audience and attempted to think of how to explain their actions. His quite logical brain could only wonder where the kisses had gone.

“Captain,” he said finally.

“Mr. Spock.” Jim looked utterly amused.

McCoy glared at him. “Great, you’re here,” he said, not sounding like he found it very ‘great’ at all. “Did you get those peacekeepers off our tail?”

“I did indeed,” Jim said mildly. “Not that you seemed to need my help with your…tail.”

Spock felt like he was being mocked, but he ignored it. “Then perhaps we should make haste to leave this planet.”

Jim leaned against the wall. “We can leave whenever. You two feel free to continue whatever it was you were doing. Don’t mind me.”

McCoy reached over and snatched the communicator from Jim’s belt, ignoring his plaintive “hey.” “McCoy to Enterprise. Three to beam up.”

Scotty acknowledged and the beam caught them. They materialized and McCoy immediately stepped off the pad, throwing the communicator at Jim as he stalked away. Jim still looked amused.

“If you will excuse me, Captain,” Spock said diplomatically.

“Debriefing at 0900,” Jim said. “Until then you two have fun.”

Spock hastened after McCoy.

He found him startling ensigns on deck four. Spock cleared his throat and the rest scattered, leaving one very-cross looking doctor standing in the hallway. “Spock, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Contemplating the emotional reaction your kiss instill in me.”

“You—” McCoy gaped. He shut his mouth with a click. “Did you just say…?”

“Indeed.” Spock glanced around with faux innocence. “I am afraid there are no seedy alleyways available to attempt a repeat performance.”

McCoy looked around as well, relaxing in increments. “No alleys, huh?” he drawled slowly. “Corridor J doesn’t see much use.”

“Indeed it does not.” Spock gestured down the hall. “Shall we?”

McCoy’s eyes glittered. “Just a little repeat,” he hedged.

“For hypothesis-testing,” Spock agreed.

“And then I’ll take a look at that bruise on your chin.”

“Agreed.”

“All right then,” McCoy said giddily. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed Spock’s hand and tugged him down the hall to corridor J, where things got a little out of hand and they found themselves arriving at the debriefing thirty minutes late with eight more mouth-shaped bruises between them.

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 7- Free Choice

I was recently inspired by this post made by @mychakk about how things could have gone if Molly simply never picked up the phone during that scene in TFP. I came up with a somewhat angsty idea of how things might have played out in that scene and also for Sherlock afterward. Hope everyone enjoys it, and happy final day of Sherlolly Appreciation Week!! :D


Unsaid

John watched as a final scream of pain ripped through Sherlock’s body. He staggered backward, his back soon colliding with concrete and causing him to slide down to the floor with a strangled sob. The floor was littered with shreds of the cheap wooden coffin. The practical choice, for someone unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. John had wanted it ripped apart almost as badly as Sherlock. The truth was that none of them wanted that coffin to be a reality.

None of the three men wanted to think of the fact that Molly Hooper was now headed for one just like it.

Keep reading

Drunken Mistakes [Jason Todd x Reader]

A/N: I’m sorry but no fluff here. There’s been too much fluff lol

Warning: Angst, Swearing

______

Your friends and family always told you to leave him. That you were just a current attraction, that it would never last. How he had you wrapped around his finger and constantly walks all over you.

You never thought about it that way. You always thought it was being flexible. They don’t know his past the way you do. They don’t know that he’s out cleaning up Gotham’s streets every night. Yes, you often bend to his needs more than he does yours.

You’re the one who keeps the apartment clean, cooks dinner, does the laundry, goes grocery shopping, all while attending school and keeping a steady job. Jason would help you if he had the time right? But he doesn’t every day its a new mission with Bats or the Outlaws.

Basically Jason said ‘jump’ and you ask ‘how high?’ But you were used to it. You love him and would do anything for him. And he loves you. One thing you pride your relationship on is that he never even glances the way of another girl.

Well at least that’s what you thought and what his friend would tell you, though you never asked to be told.

Jason had been gone with the Outlaws for a four day mission, but was getting home a day late tonight. It was often the Outlaws would get hung up and ended up getting home later than supposed too. One of them always texted or called if that was the case.

You always stay up and wait for when he gets home from long missions.

Sitting on your couch you skimmed through a book waiting for him to walk through the door, and it didn’t take too long for that happen.

Hearing the noise of keys in the lock, you pulled the book from your face and glanced at the hallway. When the sound of the door opening reached your ears. 

Setting the book aside when he came into view. “Welcome home Jay” standing to meet him halfway.

“Hey babe” He replied, but there was something off about his tone and demeanor. “What’s wrong?” asking, a confused expression making it’s way to your face.

He shifted uncomfortable, “[F/n] I did something, something bad” not meeting your eyes. Tilting your head to meet his eyes, asking “What? You can tell me”

“I-I got really drunk last night. Roy, Kori, and I all went out to celebrate the success and we all got super drunk and I honestly didn’t mean of any of this to happen it was all a mistake” his eyes bore into yours with regret.

He’s not going to say what you think he’s going to say is he?

“Jay you’re scaring me” taking a small step back.

“I’m so sorry [F/n], I cheated on you” you could feel your breath stop as tears came to your eyes. “What?”

“It was all a mistake, I didn’t want any of it to happen. It meant nothing to me, I barley even remember last night” not realizing that those words made it worse.

“Obviously it meant something if it’s one of the few things you remember!” yelling through your tears.

“NO! That’s not what I meant” He said before you turned your back. Not able to look at him. Arms crossed over your stomach as tears streamed down your cheeks. 

He reached out, when his fingers barley grazed your skin you turned and stepped away from him. “Don’t touch me!” growling shortly. Your tone was a mixture of sadness, anger, confusion, and most importantly betrayal.

“God I was so fucking stupid! I should’ve listened to them, my friends, my family. They were so damn right! What even am I Jason? Other than your goddamn door mat!” screaming at him. You’d never yelled at him like this before.

“You’re not my doormat! I love you [F/n]! You’re the love of my life!” he yelled back. Desperation filling his expression, tone, his whole being completely.

“Then why do I feel so unloved huh? Why do I feel like I’m just something you come back too? Like I’m some goddamn collectable!” You had no idea you felt like this until the words were spilling out of your mouth. He’s been using you this whole time, how can you trust what he’s saying now?

When he didn’t answer, you just shook your head. A scoff escaping your lips, “I’m fucking done” turning your back to get a jacket from the coat rack.

“[F/n] please” he tried to stop you. “I can’t loose you, it won’t ever happen again”

“Well I can’t fucking take this anymore Jason! It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I can’t come back to a empty apartment for the rest of my life. I’m so–” You stopped realizing something, “No, I’m not sorry. I have nothing to be sorry for” Turning your back to him for the last time and putting a hand on the door knob.

“Goodbye Jason, I hope your fling was worth it” Opening the door before stepping out. Not having noticed his attempt to stop the door before you slammed it shut. You stayed leaning against the door, finally letting out a strained sob while covering your mouth.

Jason was leaning on the door by his forearms. His head hanging between his arms. Tears stinging at his own eyes. ‘How could I be so stupid? I’m such a fucking idiot’ he thought before pushing himself up.

Turning around, in a moment of rage he punched a whole straight through the wall. Before finally breaking down.

How could he hurt you like that?

_____

**I might do a part two, but who knows at this point in life. (If anyone wants to see that send me a request or message or some sort of communication thing lol)

***I have one more open spot in my requests if anyone is interested ;)

Escape: the medical school years

It wasn’t easy.  He’d bitten his tongue more times than he could count. Lord knew Claire could get sharp tongued when she was stressed, but it was what he promised, and he would not break his vow.  He would support Claire through medical school any way he could.  Emotionally, physically, monetarily, it didn’t matter.

Night after night she spent studying in their flat.  Night after night he checked on her only to find she’d fallen asleep at her desk, or on the sofa with a book spread across her chest or fallen to the floor.  Night after night, he roused his wife, and led her stumbling, half-asleep to bed.

Night after night he let her rest while his body raged for her.  

It never stopped, the wanting her.  Some nights she tossed, muttering and restless. Some nights she thrashed and never fully settled.  He would not take advantage.  He would gather her in his arms, and soothe her with whispered words of love in Gaelic and rub her back until she stilled.  

Some nights she turned to him in desperation, grabbed for him, begged him. Those nights he took his wife in a passion born of abstinence too long observed.  

And then the drought would return.

The night before her anatomy exam Claire asked him to help her study. 

“I’ll do what I can, Sassenach.”  Jamie reached for her textbook.

“No.  I need to you lie down, and just let me name the structures of the body.”

He nodded.

“Naked.”

Jamie’s brows shot up. “Ye want me to be naked?  I dinna see how that helps ye study.”  

Claire flapped her hands impatiently.  “It’s what we do. We work with cadavers and study the different systems in the body.  It helps me if I can just go over it that way.  I’m not much for memorization via a textbook.”

“Ye want me to lay there.  Like a dead man.  Naked as a bairn.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”  Claire looked up at her husband.  “Please?”

Jamie shook his head.  “I dinna understand it a bit, Sassenach, but if ye think it’ll help ye.”  He pulled off his shirt, and shucked his pants.  Claire had to smile at her Scottish husband.  Never any underwear. Ever.  

“Bottoms up or…?” he gestured to his crotch.  

“On your back first.”  Claire giggled.  

Jamie lay on the bed, and closed his eyes.  Claire got right to work starting with his skull and naming the bones.  While she never actually touched him, he could tell her hands were close to his skin. He listened to her unwavering voice.  He was impressed.  She knew her stuff.  When she finished the skeletal system she started over with the muscles, then the nervous system.  

He was fine until she started in on the circulatory system.  Her finger lightly traced the veins and arteries down his neck, across his shoulder, from his arms and torso to his femoral artery.  He couldn’t help it.  Claire’s touch never failed to arouse him.

“Jamie. Concentrate.”

“Sassenach.”  He cracked his eyes open to cat like slits, pinning her with his deep blue eyes.  “I ken ye want me to be a dead man.  But my, what did ye call it?  My ‘corpora cavernosa’ dinna ken that.”  He closed his eyes again.  

She continued with her work and asked him to roll over. Right. How, exactly does a man in my condition lie on his front, then?  

Again, her delicate hands traced his body, a brush here, a light finger there. All the time naming his body parts with a sure and steady voice.  

When she was finished he breathed a sigh of relief and got up, opening a drawer for his sleep pants.    

“Again.”

Jamie looked over his shoulder at her.  “Nay, Claire.  I’m done.”  She couldn’t seriously expect him to live through that again.

“Jamie. Please.”  

“No, Claire.  I listened to ye. Ye ken fine what yer doing. Ye never faltered. Yer ready for yer exam.  Now, put the textbook away and let’s get some sleep, aye?”

Claire panicked.  She never felt ready for an exam.  If she could just run through it one more time she’d feel so much better.  “Jamie, you said you’d help!”

Jamie took a deep breath trying to control his impatience. He understood her nervousness, he truly did, but sometimes Claire’s fear got the better of her. “Claire. Come, mo graidh.  Ye’ll be fine.”  

“Jamie, please!”  

Her voice was all Nurse Beauchamp, but Jamie was not her patient. Nor was he a practice dummy.  What he was, was a sexually frustrated husband. 

Which is why he snapped.  

“Jamie, please?  Please?  No, Claire, that’s the one thing Jamie canna do. He canna “please”.  I’ve no’ had the pleasure of my wife for weeks.  So dinna make it sound like I’m being unreasonable here.”  

Claire was shocked.  “What the bloody hell does that mean?”  

His voice was a low rasp of need.  “It means, Sassenach, that if ye run yer hands o’re my body one more time I’m no’ gonna pretend to be a dead man for much longer.  I’ll be very much alive wi’ you under me, knickers off, and me so deep inside ye, ye won’t know where I start and you end.”  

She gasped.  Claire stared into her husband’s eyes and saw the truth of it. The banked desire.  That hint of loneliness that she only witnessed one other time in her life.  

But dammit, he knew it would be like this.  She had warned him!  

When the guilt began to claw at her she fought back.  “Fine.  I’ll study downstairs then.” 

She grabbed her textbook, took one step towards the bedroom door and found herself lifted off her feet by his arm around her waist. She shrieked, and dropped the book.  

Jamie fell onto the bed taking Claire with him.  “Nay, lass. Not tonight.  Tonight ye come to bed on time.  Wi’ me.”

Claire pushed at his chest, but he was immovable.  Jamie pushed up Claire’s shirt and fastened his mouth on her breast.  She moaned.  It had been a long time.  The sensation hit her fast and she melted.  She maneuvered her shirt over her head and pressed him to her.  Jamie growled in response and wrapped his arm under her hips to press her to him.

Ifrinn, Claire.  God, I’ve missed ye.”  His mouth covered hers and she closed her eyes to the feeling of Jamie surrounding her.  Her legs were tangled in his and she lifted her hips in silent communication.  Jamie rolled to his back taking her with him.  When she was on top, he unfastened the button on her jeans, yanked at the zipper and pushed them down as far as he could, hooking her panties with them.  He rolled again, Claire under him, as he helped her in her attempt to kick them off.  

Naked.  Finally.  He nudged her knees wide and settled between her thighs. Tearing his mouth from hers he looked at her.  Hair wild.  Whisky eyes dazed in passion.  Mouth swollen.  Breath coming fast.  God, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And she was his.  

“Jamie.  Please.”  That made him smile. That kind of begging he could listen to all night.

As much as he wanted to draw this out and savour the moment, he couldn’t. Claire’s hands were hot and desperate.  She wound her arm around his neck, pulling his mouth down to her, the other holding his bottom pressing him into her. 

It didn’t take long, and Jamie didn’t care.  They had been too long without. 

Sweet release.  

Claire wrapped her arms around her husband’s back, and hugged him tight. Jamie’s weight was the most comforting feeling in the world. He grounded her, held her fears at bay. She ran her hands down his back, feeling his familiar scars like a talisman.  

“Are ye studying again?” Jamie mumbled, head tucked against his wife’s neck, luxuriating in her touch.  

Claire smiled against his russet curls.  “Latissimus dorsi, external obliques, internal obliques, God, Jamie, you have the most amazing iliac crest.”  

“I do?” Jamie laughed.  “Weel, I have to admit, I’m rather fond of yer gluteus maximus, myself.”  His hand slid up her side, “And yer pectoral muscles are fine, too.”  

They laughed together.   He was her life, her love, her strength, her rock.  

“Thanks for helping me study,” she whispered.

Jamie planted a kiss on her collar bone.  “As long as it ends in a hands-on practice session, it’ll be my pleasure.”

7 Minutes- Part 2 (Shawn Mendes Imagine)

requested: yes & no

pairing: reader x Shawn Mendes

word count: 1,962

a/n: fuck, look at me being proactive !! I’m actually really excited about this, thank you guys for all of the support :) x 

Your name: submit What is this?

Keep reading