Watch until the end for the bunny flop! When I got Cinnabun she was so shy. One day I was lying on the floor with a blanket over me, watching tv and this happened! She’s the best thing in my life!
#bunny #rabbit #kanin #usagi #lapin #coniglio #conejo #bunniesworldwide #ウサギ #bunnies #fabbunnies #rabbitsofinstagram #bunnylove #bunnylife #bunniesofinstagram #netherlanddwarf #instabunny #aww #bunnystragram #bunny🐰 #wildlife #likes #animals #cutepetclub #instapet #petsofinstagram #pets #houserabbit #bunniesworldwide
Summary: Reader and Dean are…you guessed it…hexed. Is it a sexual curse or something more?
Word Count: 2111
Warnings: Lots of language, lots of smut (rough-ish smut)
As always, feedback is appreciated. Tags are at the bottom.
There is a time and place for everything, this is neither the time nor the place. Not for Dean to be looking at me like that, no sir. Had I always hoped he’d fix those ethereal green eyes on me that way? My mama didn’t raise a liar, so I’m not going to lie to you. Yeah, I want that man to fix those eyes on me just like that. Wanted him to for a long time now. There’s a lot of things I want from Dean Winchester. That man is a walking wet dream, sex on bow-legs.
Things is, he’s not supposed to be looking at me like that. Sure as hell not right this very minute. It’s not part of the plan. We’re working a fucking case for god’s sake. I’m not talking about research or footwork, interviewing and investigating. We are legitimately standing in this room right the fuck now and a motherfucking witch was just here with us. There is a blade in my hand and a gun in his. We had a job to do, one goddamn job.
Now that bitch of a witch is gone. Poof, vanished, adios amigos, just fucking gone. She mumbled some shifty spell work and now Dean fucking Winchester is looking like he wants to screw my brains out.
I’m looking right back at him and I got the same look in my eye.
I don’t know what that piece of shit did to us, but my breasts are heavy, achy. My nipples are straining against the fabric of my bra and if somebody doesn’t touch them right this very instant and relieve that pressure, I’m going to scream. Or come. I don’t know which.
There’s a burning in between my thighs, I’m squeezing them together hoping to ease some of the pressure but it’s only making it worse. Times infinity. My skin is all heat and fire, I’m consumed by need and lust.
Dean is a mirror, his eyes reflect back at me the same fever I’m feeling. I can see his cock - Jesus fucking Christ - swelling and straining against those blue denim jeans. In three short steps his crossed the room, a strangled sound leaving his lips before his lips press to mine. Our weapons clatter to the ground making one hell of a racket, but I give no fucks.
At first, you don’t. You’ll hold on to everything that reminds you of him. You’ll sleep in the shirt he left at your house just to torture yourself even more. You’ll check his social media 200 times a day just to see if he’s already met someone else. You’ll suffer. Alot.
And one day, you’ll find yourself sitting infront of your best friend, drinking hot chocolate and it won’t remind you of that one cold winter day when you and him sat on the floor wrapped in blankets. You won’t be ready to start over with someone else yet, but you’re getting there. You’ll feel it.
You’ll miss him like crazy, but everyday it gets easier to live without him.
So, I think we never really let them go, we just learn how to let go of the heartbreak. At some point we just find peace. And in that moment it won’t hurt anymore.
Alright, so, this is probably going to be my last Fic post in THIS blog, it will still be active, it will still post Voltron stuff, I just start posting the fics from my WRITER Blog, so everything is orginized and stuff :D
Anyways, I was having a shitty morning with myself so, I wanted to scream but I couldn’t bc I was in traffic and like, so many people around so I did the best thing: I wrote.
Langst but also happy langst. Even Lance have these moments guys, they are valid and okay.
Ps. Hope it’s not too hard or stressful to read?
Disclaimer: Voltron dosen’t belong to me.
Shiro’s disappointed glare.
Lance punches the bag.
Pidge’s annoyed roll of eyes.
Another punch followed by a kick.
Keith’s exasperated scoff.
Kick, punch, shout.
Hunk’s exhausted sigh.
Punch, kick, punch, tears.
Coran’s shake of head.
Tears, punch, shout.
Allura’s skeptical frown.
Lance screams and shouts and curses. He lets it all out. He lets his words and shouts echo around as he falls to his knees in the middle of the training room. He hiccups as sobs shake his body. He doesn’t bother to wipe away his tears, he lets them fall to the ground and stain the mat below him.
He curses loudly and lividly for every part of him that makes him feel unworthy. He weakly punches the mat as he whimpers and his shoulders lose their strength.
Shiro’s disappointed glare turns into a concern one once he catches Lance’s weak whimpers as he cradles his own hand to his chest.
Frowning in worry, Shiro steps into the training room and takes a seat besides the brunet as Lance tries to hide his injured wrist.
“Lance, buddy, there’s no need to push yourself, I told you.” He reprimands gently, giving him a look when the brunet doesn’t allow him to get a better look of his wrist, “This training is new, you don’t need to be an expert the very same day you learn it.”
Lance sighs as he lets Shiro takes his wrist into his hands and the older teen inspects it carefully. and just hums dryly as an answer.
“Buddy, you’re already our sharpshooter, it’s okay to take your own pace as you learn to improve yourself.” Shiro says quietly after a few minutes in silence as he wraps Lance’s wrist in a white bandage, “You are getting used to the new form of your bayard, these things take time.”
“I know.” Lance answers softly, a small frown on his face, “But I feel like I’m letting you all down if I don’t learn to use it fast enough. What if we are in the battle field and because I still don’t know how to use or if I shot someone innocent or worse, one of you guys, by accident and -”
“Lance.” Shiro cuts off, not unkindly, “You’re our sharpshooter. The entire team and I have full faith in you.” He offers a proud smile at the brunet, “You would never miss a shot.”
Lance takes a deep breath as he let go of his abused lower lip. He sighs, wiping the thin line of blood coming from the corner of his mouth as he raises his head.
“It’s all in your mind.” Lance tells himself, placing a hand over his eyes to block out the light. “It’s all in your mind, it’s all in your mind. It’s okay. It’s valid. Just remember.”
The brunet takes a deep breath. “Just remember.”
He stays in silence for a little longer.
Pidge’s roll her eyes annoyed as Lance cheers in victory when the screen in the break room flashes the words of ‘Victory For Azul’ in big gold letters.
“Yeah, ok, you win this round, Mister.” Pidge says, shoving him by the arm, smirking when the brunet’s laughs, “I will win the next round, for sure.”
Lance chuckles as he raises his hand and ruffles Pidge’s wild bed hair. “We have been playing this game for like two hours, Pidge, aren’t you tired of me already?”
Pidge scoffs as if the mere question offended her. “Pick up your controller, Mr. Spanish; I’m kicking your ass.” She declares as she presses a few buttons and the screen shows the announcement of Round 4.
Pidge wins until Round 10.
Lance’s mouth twitches as his brain keeps filling him with the missing scenes with his team.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
He falls back on the mat and lays down, closing his eyes as he repeats his breathing exercise.
“You’re okay.” He breathes out softly, “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”
Keith scoffs exasperated as he watches his boyfriend hog the entire blanket in their bed.
“Lance, no.” He whines, stomping his foot against the floor, “Stop hogging the blanket every time I go take a shower.”
“Nop.” Lance replies from the bottom of the mountain of blankets, “You’re the one who wants to train so late, bear the consequences, buddy.”
“Babe!” The black haired man shouts annoyed and Lance suppresses his snickers as Keith’s pouts.
“Nope.” He repeats gleefully before yelping in surprise when a body slams itself from above, successfully crushing him, “Keith!”
Keith laughs playfully as he lays above Lance comfortably on his stomach, meeting Lance’s bright blue eyes easily even in the darkness around them, “Hi there.”
Lance snorts before he smiles. “Hello, hello.” He answers softly, reaching towards his boyfriend and Keith quickly meets him halfway.
“You’re comfy.” Keith confesses quietly against his lips and Lance laughs.
“Oh, hush.” He says as he smiles and nuzzles his face against Keith lovingly.
Lance hums quietly under his breath as his breathing goes back to normal after a few minutes.
He taps the surface of the mat he’s lying in with the tip of his fingers, following the rhythm of the song he’s humming.
Hunk sighs exhausted as he takes in the sight of his best friend covered in food goo.
“Lance, buddy, what’cha doin’?” He asks, fighting back the grin that threatens to appear as the brunet blinks surprised.
“Uh…” He starts, voice trailing unsure, “The mice made me do it?”
Said group of mice squeak at the accusation before Hunk accepts his losing battle as he laughs.
“Let me guess?” Hunks say and Lance nods, waving his hand as permission, “You tried to make my goo cookies?”
“No…?” Lance answers, smiling innocently as some goo falls from his hair and Hunk shakes his head.
“Dude, if you wanted some you could have just ask me.” He says, stepping into the kitchen and wiping some of the goo from his friend’s hair and then grabs a clean cloth from the counter.
Lance pouts as he accepts the cloth and wipes his face. “I didn’t want to bother you.” He confesses softly.
Hunk snort amusedly. “Buddy, baking, food and you will never be a bother for me.” He reassures, smiling big and bright at the sheepish brunet, “Now, come on! Let’s do some baking!”
“I heard baking!” Shiro’s shout echoes around them as the leader of Voltron slides into the kitchen with a bright smile, “I call dibs on Lance’s biscuits.”
“No, no, those are mine, Shiro!” Come Keith’s shout as the younger brother jumps on Shiro’s back to fight him.
Lance and Hunk start baking, ignoring the wrestling brothers on the floor.
The brunet takes his training gloves as he sighs calmly when the door of the training room opens and closes and steps makes their way towards him.
He doesn’t need to open his eyes to acknowledge the warm body lying beside him.
He takes Keith’s hand into his own in silence.
Coran shakes his head and Lance’s face fall.
“Hey, come on, now.” Coran says as soon as he notices the brunet’s sad eyes, “You are doing great, Lance! You got 9 out of 12 correct!” He praises, smiling big and proud at the brunet sitting in front of him.
Lance pouts. “Well yeah, but still, I’m still nowhere good. I can barely understand it! I will be a miracle if I’m ever able to speak it with you guys.”
Coran’s face softens at the words. “Oh, Lance, the mere fact you want to learn Altean is enough. Allura and I are so grateful that you are giving us this small time of normality that allows us to remember our roots.”
He leans forward to ruffle Lance’s head. “You’re doing great, mikró ílio.”
Lance blinks before he beams. “Little sun.” He translates softly and Coran smiles back just as brightly, pride clear in his eyes.
He doesn’t know how long they have been lying there, but at some point, Lance’s humming had stopped but Keith’s voice had filled in the silence, singing softly and quietly under his breath,
Lance allows himself to smile.
Allura’s skeptical frown turns into a confused one as Lance points at the corner of the screen.
“Okay, I understand your point, but wouldn’t it be easier to create a distraction and then just take the quintessence?” She asks and Lance taps his chin in deep thought.
“Well,” He starts, “It’s an option, but remember that the quintessence is something real valuable to the Galra, specially to Lotor now that Zarkon is out of commission. Their guards have been doubled since out last attack.”
Tapping twice into the screen, the video of their last mission appears. “See? The room is filled with druids plus some Galra Soldiers and the occasional Supervisor making rounds. A direct attack would only put them in higher alert even when some of us are sneaking in.”
“So sneaking in from the start is the best option.” Allura muses and Lance shrugs.
“It’s our best shot.” Lance declares, smiling when Allura nods her head at him and smiles.
“Well, you’re our sharpshooter, there’s no way we’re missing this.”
“Thank you, amor.” Lance says softly, turning his head to meet Keith’s face and his heart flutters when Keith’s blue eyes meet his own.
Keith stops his singing to smile gently at his boyfriend, “You okay?” He asks quietly, reaching out to brush Lance’s bangs away from his face and his eyes turn tender when the brunet nuzzles his face against his hand.
“Nah, my mind is still being a bitch.” Lance confesses, turning slightly to drop a small kiss against Keith’s palm, “But you being here kicks its ass, so I will be.”
“And I will be here.” Keith says, leaning forward to drop his own his against the brunet’s forehead.
Hi, what do you mean by "the opening of 2x14 was a deliberate negative parallel to Alex and Maggie’s scene from 2x09 in every respect" I'm not sure the writers are trying to be negative on purpose. I genuinely think they are oblivious.
I’m going to address that last sentence before I answer: being frustrated with a storyline because you don’t like it or don’t understand its purpose does not mean the person who created it is bad at their job. It just means you disagree.
That said, let me expand upon what I meant:
Kara’s morning-after scene with Mon-El in 2x14 intentionally juxtaposes Alex’s morning-after scene with Maggie from 2x09.
Similarities: both scenes start with similar background music and we can tell that it’s morning. The first person we see enter the frame is each girl’s respective love interest, but the girls themselves are somewhere offscreen. Both scenes also contain similar establishing shots of the bedrooms in disarray – at Alex’s we see the empty bed with pillows scattered on the floor and the blankets a mess; at Kara’s we see clothing scattered on the floor leading to the bed.
Summary: Dean’s use of a pick up line may have gotten him into more trouble than he bargained for.
Characters: Dean Winchester x female reader, Sam Winchester
Word Count: 2978
Warnings: Canon typical violence, language, additional warnings beneath the cut to avoid spoilers
Author’s Notes: Written for @impalaimagining Cheesy Pick Up Line Challenge. Congrats on 4,000! My line was “I lost my phone number, can I have yours?” This contains one of those cliched searches through a decrepit, abandoned building. This got away from me a little.
**My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.**
She sat on the corner of the bed, clutching onto the phone for her dear life. Shaky breaths pierced the silence of the room. She prayed hard. Please. A call. A text. Anything. Her heart ached for some form of contact. She needed to know that he was fine. She needed to know that she was not forgotten. She didn’t realise the tears until the tickle on her cheeks seemed to bother her. Deep breaths. You can do this. For Rosie.
The door creaked open. The squeaking reverberating through the now silent room. She shot up, hoping that he would be at the doorway. Instead, she sees her six year old daughter poke her head through the doorway.
“Mummy…” The little girl looks at her mother. Worry was evident in her eyes. “Are you alright?” She ambled towards the adult. Her mothers lips curled up into a smiled as she wiped the tears away. She had to stay strong for her daughter.
“Mummy is fine. Don’t worry Rosie. It’s just a little itchy.” She rubbed her eyes. By then her daughter had found her way onto her lap. With her tiny hands placed firmly onto her mother’s shoulders, she gently blew air into her mothers eyes. After much inspection, she shrugged and pushed the adult backwards.
They giggled when they fell back onto the bed. Her fingers danced on little body, earning giggles and squeals from her daughter. They swung pillows about, danced to music and sang their hearts out. The laughter of the mother and daughter filled the house, something that hasn’t happened in months.
After a good thirty minutes, they were exhausted. Rosie laid down on the bed and huddled among the pillows and blankets. Rosie was ready to sleep. She tucked her daughter in, placed a kiss on her forehead, and watched.
She scrambled to her feet when your phone buzzed. Maybe it was a text from him. She turned the screen on. It was a text from her mother, asking how they were coping. She let out a soft sigh, hoping that Rosie wouldn’t hear the disappointment.
“Do you miss him?” A soft voice spoke. The phone was placed down onto the bedside table. She hopped into bed and made herself comfortable.
“Mummy misses him so much Rosie…” Don’t cry. Don’t feel. Don’t. She inhaled deeply. She wanted to ask if she missed him, but he was rarely home for her to even know much about him. He was overseas for the first three years. He was busy with projects and films. He never had time to come home, and when he did, it was for a maximum of five days. He didn’t get to spend much time with Rosie. She thought that he was a friend of her mother. Rosie didn’t remember much about him, so much so that when he turned up for Christmas three years ago, she asked “Who are you?”. It disheartened him, so he made effort to calling home whenever he could. But after a year, work start to pile up, and she knew that she couldn’t blame him for not having enough time for her and Rosie.
“But it’s okay darling…” She flashed a smiled at her daughter. She wanted this to end. She wanted to forget. She wanted to put this behind her and move on.
“What do you think of moving?”
He groaned when no one answered the door. He rang it for the umpteenth time, hoping that someone would answer. He frowned. She was home most of the time, so he’d expect her to answer the door. He fished for his keys in his bag, and found them after what seemed eternity. He fiddled with the keys. He attempted to push one key into the keyhole, but it didn’t fit. He had forgotten which key was the one for the door, which key was the one for the shed, or the one that was for the mailbox.
He opened the door, expecting to hear the pitter pattering of feet, but instead, he finds himself standing in dead silence. He scans the house. It’s devoid of any signs of life. No more flowers that she loved, no toys strewn on the floor, no blankets piling up on the couch. It seemed as if no one was living in the house anymore.
He furrowed his brows. Where was she? Where was Rosie? He shut the door behind him, and walked around the living room unhurriedly. His hands ran on the couch, recalling every bit of memory he had of this place. There were few, but they came flooding back into his head. He could almost hear her laughter, her cries, her giggling, and their child.
His eyes stopped at the coffee table. A ring, a bracelet and an envelope sat neatly on the table. He quirked a brow. He picked up the ring, the diamond glistened in the now setting sun. It was the same as his wedding ring. The bracelet. The one he gave to his daughter on her fifth birthday. Or the one he sent. He ripped the envelop open to see a letter written in pencil. It was from Rosie.
Hello Daddy. We’re leaving today. Mummy says that she wants to move out. She says that she wants to leave everything behind. I don’t know why. Sometimes, I hear mummy crying at night. I think it’s because she misses you. She is in a lot of pain, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave this house, but I want mummy to be happy. So that’s why I’m going with her. I’m going to miss this house, and I think I’ll miss you. I hope that I can see you soon.
He was shocked. He never thought that she’d be in so much pain to leave. He always saw her as a strong and independent woman. He didn’t understand why she decided to leave. How could she miss me that much that she’s willing to leave?
He thought about the last time he came back. It was nine months ago. He thought about the last time he called home. It had been seven months. He thought about the last time he celebrated her birthday with her. It was four years ago. Reality slapped him hard on the cheek. He realised that he had been such a terrible father and husband.
He picked up his phone and dialed the once familiar number. All that was heard was ringing. He dashed out of the house. He had to find her. He called his mother, his brothers, her mother and even her friends. No one knew that she moved. No one knew where she went. He sighed and thought hard of who she’d tell. Harrison. He dialed Harrison. He was right. Harrison knew where you moved to.
He made his way to her house.
He stopped in his tracks in front of the door. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Embrace her with his warm arms? Dot her face with kisses? Pick her up and twirl her around? His was snapped out of his trance when the door opened. He didn’t recall knocking.
“Come on Rosie! Let’s g-” she stopped when she saw him. She didn’t think that he would find out where she was. She thought that he was going to be out of town for another month. She thought that she would never see him again.
She stared into his eyes, she bit her lip. Emotions stared to flood in as if the floodgates had opened. Her hand flew to her mouth, holding in the sobs that threatened to slip out of her mouth. She attempted to close the door, but he stuck his foot out, preventing it from closing.
“Y/N.” Was all he said.
She flashed a small smile before she tried to shut the door again.
“Why’d you move?” He pushed the door open, allowing him to step into the house. She called out for her daughter again, ignoring the questions that came from him.
“Just answer me. Why did you leave?” He raised his voice a little. He was mad. He wanted an answer. He wanted to know why she had left the house they once shared.
“Do you really not know why?” She asked coldly. He looked at her expectantly, awaiting the truth.
“Do you not realise what has happened? Do you not understand the situation? I don’t feel like I am your wife. I don’t feel like you want me. I don’t feel loved by you anymore. Every day, I wait. I wait for a call or a text. I wait for you to show up at the door. Every day, my hope diminishes. Every day, I tell myself that you’re just too busy for your wife and daughter. I find out what you’re doing or where you are through the media. I read articles. I see Instagram posts. I see tweets. It is as if I’m not your wife Tom. It is as if I’m living hidden in the shadows. It is as if I’m just another fan. I don’t want to live as if I am not married to you. I don’t want to live in that house, holding onto the love that may not even exist anymore.” Her voice went weak. She was now crying. Hot tears flowing out like a running tap. She was letting go of all the pent up emotions from the past year. They were finally out.
“I don’t even know if you love me anymore. Every night I lay awake for hours wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with, and maybe even which woman you might have beside you. It pains me to think that way, but it’s all I can do. I can’t be hopeful that you remember me or you love me because I never hear from you. No calls or texts. What used to be surprises became skype calls. Skype calls became phone calls. Phone calls became texts. And it’s reduced to nothing. I haven’t heard anything from you for the past seven months Tom. Don’t you know how hard it is?” She let out a shaky breath.
“I want to call you everyday but every time I pick up the phone, I remember how you haven’t called in ages. I remember how I haven’t seen you in months. I remember the rumours I hear of you dating other people. It makes me think twice. It makes me think that you’ve moved on, and maybe forgot the woman you married.” Her voice was laced with bitterness and sadness. She was broken. She lacked so much love and care that she had fallen into pieces.
Tom stood in front of her, shocked at what he had heard. He never realised his actions would have had such a great impact on her. He thought that by working and earning money, he would supply you with everything you needed. He never realised that what you needed was him. Only now, after hearing her heart, he realises. He realised how their love was built on more than just the cash and gifts.
She turned away from him. She couldn’t bear to reveal any more of her brokenness. She wiped her tears, even though they seemed like a never ending stream. She felt something wrap around her legs. Her daughter embraced her legs into a hug. She laughed a little.
“Mummy is fine… don’t worry dear.” She said, squatting down so that she was at her daughter’s eye level. Her little hands caressed the crying woman’s cheeks, whispering ‘it’s okay’ over and over into her ear, and rubbed her back.
“Rosie…” He said. He watched in amazement as his daughter cared for her. He watched how she whispered ear, how she wiped away the tears, how she reassuring she was towards her mother. All theses things, he did for Y/N before. But now, he finds his daughter doing what he should be doing for his wife.
He bents down and takes his wife’s hand. She mutters something to her daughter before turning to him, standing up again. The little girl ran into another room, maybe to to give them some space.
“I am so sorry.” He starts. “There is no excuse for what I’ve done. I’ve been a terrible husband. A terrible father. And I know that I should’ve done so much more. I should’ve called. I should’ve made more time for you. I am so sorry. Forgive me love. Forgive me. Give me another chance. I love you. I love you so so much, and I will be here for you from now on. Please Y/N.” He slips the ring into her hand. “Please love. Let me show you how much I love you again.”
She looked at the ring in her palm. She admired the details on the ring. She saw the diamond. It was worth thousands, but their love was worth so much more. So much more than this little ring. She used her finger to outline the ring, touching the cold hard metal. She sighed. How could she let go of the love he gave her? But how could she forgive him for abandoning her? She looked up at him. His brown eyes pleaded with her. They begged for forgiveness. They begged for another chance to prove how much he can love. He took her other hand, his warmth now seemed familiar. She looked at the ring, then at their interlocked hands.
His eyes showed it all. It showed the pain he felt. He could feel what you felt.
“I can’t let go of the love you gave me. I can’t let go of the only man I’ve ever loved. I can’t let go of you Tom. I love you too much that it hurts sometimes. I love you so so much.” She smiled at him. He could see the sparkle in her eyes, the ones he fell in love with every time he looked at her.
He was overjoyed. Excitement coursed through his veins. He picked her up, causing a squeal to escape her lips. She pressed her lips on his, savouring the sweet taste of them. He smiled into the kiss and silently thanking God for blessing him with another chance.
A giggled from behind them made them pull apart. There stood their daughter by the stairway, her smile is as a thankful hymn. She was ecstatic. Her mother was finally happy again. She was no longer in pain because of her dad. And she was elated to have her father back, to finally be with him after so long.
“Let’s go for dinner.” Tom gestured towards the door. He knew that they were heading out for dinner when he arrived. Rosie ran up to him, embracing him with her short arms. He picked his daughter up, and peppered kisses on her face. She giggled.
Y/N had opened the door and was ready to leave. She took his hand and smiled. The warmth she felt in her heart now was indescribable. She felt as if her heart was going to burst.
As she walked on the sidewalk, she thought about her situation. It was dumb for her to run away. It was dumb for her to not try even harder. But it was all alright. It always turns out alright in the end.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
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He glanced at his wife, her breathing steady and quiet, her
body outlined by the light of the moon. Rowan had been away with Aedion for the
last week, overseeing Terrasen’s new recruits, and he had spent hours making it
up to Aelin earlier that evening. Considering how often she moaned his name,
and the marks on his back from her nails, he figured he was forgiven.
With a smile, he pulled up the thin, white blanket to her
bare shoulders, and kissed her forehead gently.
“I love you, Fireheart.”
As he stood, he swore he heard her mumble Buzzard, but when he looked back,
eyebrows raised, she was still sound asleep. He pulled on his pants with a
chuckle and grabbed a blanket from the chair by the fireplace on his way out
The creaking of the stairs had stopped, and the
pitter-patter of small feet were now heavy on the main floor. Wrapping the
blanket around his broad shoulders, Rowan silently took the stairs two at a
He found her by the window, watching the city-goers walk by
their private residence under the streetlights. She had her chin perched on her
knees and her arms wrapped around her legs as she sat on the window sill, her
golden hair a mess and her pajamas rumpled. She was clinging to her white-fur
blanket, the one she was given by Gavriel the day she was born.
He leaned against the door frame, watching her, admiringly.
He thought back to the first time he held her in his arms, bundled in that same
blanket, when terror and love and utter joy flooded him. He remembered looking
into the eyes of his firstborn, his daughter, and knowing he was in trouble.
She had put him through hell since the day she’d been born, and she was only
four. There was a lot more hell to go.
And he loved every minute of it.
“Didn’t your mother tell you to stay in bed?”
The small figure jumped at her father’s voice, her cheeks
turning pink as she turned to face him. “Maybe….”
The silver-haired fae crossed his arms as he tried not to
smile, and failed. “Ana.”
When her lip began to wobble, he ran to her side and pulled
her into his arms. Once her small arms had wrapped around his neck, and her
head was lying on his shoulder, he sighed.
“Are you mad, daddy?” she asked.
Rowan sat down on the cushioned couch that sat in front of
the fireplace and wrapped his blanket around his daughter. “No, why would I be
“Mommy gets mad when I get out of bed,” she said,
He laughed. “Mommy doesn’t get mad. She just wants you to
get a good night’s rest, that’s all. So you can grow big and strong.”
“Does mommy get mad at you when you get out of bed?”
He pulled back and looked into those curious, pine-green
eyes. It was the only trait she’d gotten from him. “Yes. So, don’t tell her I
was out of my bed, and I won’t tell her you were out of yours. Deal?”
She held up her pinkie in answer, and Rowan wrapped his
“Deal,” she giggled, and fell into his chest.
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked her, after a minute. “It is
“I thought you were on my side,” her high-pitched voice was
He held up his hands in defense.
The little girl sighed. “Uncle Aedion told me a scary story.
Aunt Lysy got mad at him, but he thought it was funny.”
Aedion and Lysandra had taken Aliana to the square earlier
that afternoon for lunch, and to find a dress for Friday’s gathering.
Apparently, Aedion liked to add his own fun to the agenda.
“Scary story?” he brushed her hair back behind her ear.
“About snow leopards.”
“Yeah, about how they eat little girls with-with blonde
Rowan made a mental note to kick Aedion’s ass tomorrow when
they met for their early morning workout. “Uncle Aedion was just joking, Ana.”
She frowned. “Well, he’s not very funny.”
The corner of Rowan’s lips tugged upward as the little girl in
his lap yawned.
“Go to sleep, Ana,” he kissed the top of her head. “I love
“Will you stay?” she asked, pine-green eyes growing wide.
“Of course,” he promised, pulling her tighter against his
Another yawn escaped. “Love you, too, daddy.”
They sat there, just the two of them, in silence as he
patted her back, giving her the comfort that only he could.
“Hmm?” he asked, realizing he was dozing off.
“Can I be a bird like you?”
It took him a moment to realize she was talking about
shape-shifting, and the thought made him laugh, breathily. “You can be anything
you want to be, my Little Fireheart.”
But, when he didn’t get a reply, and he looked down at the
four-year-old cradled in his arms, her eyes were closed, and her breathing was
A small flame rose, and grew, from within the fireplace.
Rowan glanced toward the door frame and gave its occupant a
soft grin. He whispered, “I thought I wore you out.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was humor there, and love. “I
came to see why I was the only one in bed.”
He held out his free arm, and before he could take another
breath, she was there, lying her head against his shoulder and taking her
daughter’s feet into her lap.
“She’s getting so big,” she sighed. “I don’t understand why
she thinks I’d be mad to find her downstairs. Remind me to kick Aedion’s ass,
by the way.”
Rowan chuckled. “I’d be scared of you, too, Majesty.” Aelin
stuck her tongue out at her husband. With a smirk, he continued, “How long were
you standing there?”
“Long enough to come to the conclusion that you two must
keep a lot of secrets from me,” she narrowed her eyes as if to say liars.
He shrugged. “A pinkie swear cannot be broken.”
She nudged him in the ribs, then continued to rub his chest
with her finger in lazy circles to the sound of his quiet laughter.
“She’s perfect,” Aelin whispered, as Rowan’s eyes closed. “I
still think that, every day, just how perfect she is. She reminds me of you.”
“She’s just like her mother,” Rowan whispered, back. “Yes,
she is perfect. And beautiful. And kind. And smart.”
As he opened his eyes, he caught the tear that had fallen
down his wife’s cheek.
“There was a time when I didn’t think I would ever have this
life,” she whispered. “There was a time when I dreamt of this life, with you.
Sometimes, it feels like a dream after all that we’ve endured.”
“I often have to remind myself that it’s not,” he kissed her
head as the flames in the fireplace grew. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“To whatever end.”
“Always,” she smiled. “To whatever end.”
Aelin fell asleep a minute later, and Rowan sat there,
holding them both tightly, lovingly, admiringly, until the flames turned to
embers, the logs turned to ashes, and sleep consumed him.
Summary: After receiving a very rude letter of your ex on the mail saying that he is going to get married. You see yourself not knowing what to do, you can just let it go or accept the help of your hot neighbor and pretend he is your boyfriend.
All happened in slow motion, one moment you are pushing Lucas away from you and the other Bucky is holding Lucas by his shirt lifting him in the air. Bucky punches him in the face, you can feel that Bucky didn’t use half of his strength and that he even pulled his punch back a little.
Sure Lucas would wake up in pain and with a black eye tomorrow, but Bucky could have killed Lucas with just a punch, after all he is a super soldier. Bucky drops Lucas on the floor and his expression soften when he looks at you “Are you okay?” He asks gently.
You nod and he takes your hand. You watch as Lucas gets up from the floor and all you can feel is rage because Lucas has a smirk on his fucking face. How dare him kiss you? Why did he think that he had the right to kiss you? For that moment you let the rage take over you.
Imagine:On everyone’s 18th Birthday a Tattoo of their soulmates name appears.-Part 3.
You and the girls sat around the table, you had traced your hand over your tattoo more than 10 times. Smiling down at your wrist, you liked how his name looked on your skin but you couldn’t accept that he was your soulmate.
“Y/n, what’s wrong?"Malia asked as she took yet another slice of cake.
"It’s a mistake, its the wrong name"you answered, still tracing your fingers over the swirly ink.
"I don’t understand?"Lydia spoke out.
"Y/n the soulmate tattoo is never wrong? What makes you think that it is?"Allison asked.
"Stilinski-Uhm Stiles, he’s never actually looked at me in that way"you frowned.
"How do you know?"Kira questioned.
"I just know, trust me I’ve seen him when he likes a girl"you motioned over to Lydia.
"This is not what this is"you raised your arm.
"Then what is it?"Malia chomped.
"A mistake"You mumbled before taking the piece of cake from Malia.
It was 1am, Lydia and Allison were sprawled out on your bed, snoring lightly. Kira was curled up on your bedroom’s sofa and Malia was asleep on your floor covered in blankets her leg up in the air.
You glanced at Malia’s awkward position and you shook your head smiling to yourself as you watched out the window, this had to be a mistake right? The smile faded from your face as you thought about Stiles.
Suddenly a shadow moving around in your front garden made your heart jump. It was getting closer to your door and you felt sudden fear.
Stumbling over your own feet you leaped over Malia and grabbed your baseball bat, unintentionally knocking over your lamp. It smashed on the floor, waking up Lydia and Allison.
"What was that?"Allison squinted her eyes, before rubbing them.
"And why do you have a baseball bat, I didn’t know you played baseball?"Lydia asked, curiously as she sat up.
"I don’t play baseball, someone’s in the front garden"you informed the two half asleep girls that were now pulling the blankets around their body.
"Well you aren’t going down there by yourself"Malia yawned as she stretched.
"And you are definitely not leaving me behind"Kira said tiredly.
"I’m sorry for waking you guys"you apologized.
"Seriously? We’d be mad if you didn’t wake us up"Allison replied as she took out a bow&arrow.
You all looked at her with widened eyes, slightly amazed at the fact she brought a weapon out of her pocket.
"Please don’t tell me that’s always in your pocket"Lydia laughed.
"24/7"Allison smiled proudly.
"Lets go get this intruder"Malia said as she whipped out her claws.
The five of you tiptoed around your house, before hearing a loud knock at your door.
You turnt to eachother.
"At least they knocked"Malia shrugged before lunging at the door, swinging it open.
You all ran towards the door with your weapons in the air.
You heard Allison shout, telling you all to stop. When you lowered your weapons you noticed who it was.
"Yeah?"he looked up from behind his hands, he was shaking slightly.
"What are you doing here, we thought you were an intruder"you explained.
"I need your help at the high school"Scott said to the 5 of you.
When you arrived you noticed that there were 5 figures already standing in the car park.
You immediately recognized one to be your ‘soulmate’ Stiles, Liam Dunbar stood next to Isaac and Jackson. Theo made his way over to the group.
You heard Malia growl under her breath.
Stiles froze when he saw you walking over. He quickly rushed over to you, placing his hand on your arms.
"Y/n, you can’t be here, you need to go home"He ushered you back to the car.
"What?! Why not? Scott said he needed our help so we’re here?"you protested quickly.
"I’m going to kill Scott"he mumbled angrily.
You both walked back to the group,Stiles was swearing quietly to himself and when you re-joined the pack he dragged Scott to the side.
"What was that about?"Lydia murmured next to you.
"I’m not quite sure"you replied as you watched Stiles and Scott argue. Stiles had red cheeks when he returned, Scott looked frustrated.
"Okay so the new Alpha pack is inside the school, they have something that we want"Scott spoke out to the whole group.
"Deucalion has a new alpha pack?"you asked, slightly frightened.
"No, we don’t know who the leader is this time"Theo answered.
"We’ll split up and look for Mason"Liam ordered.
"They have Mason?!"Kira exclaimed.
"That’s who we’re saving to tonight"Stiles nodded.
"No matter what we’re getting Mason out of there, he must be terrified"you frowned before running back to the car.
You returned with your baseball bat, The pack looked at you and Stiles blankly.
"What?"you both said in sync.
"Why do you have the same bat?"Isaac asked.
You both looked at each other before raising your bats to reveal that they were the same.
He smiled down at you before Scott started to pair everyone off.
"Liam and Kira you take the Library”
“Allison and I will search the canteen whilst Isaac and Malia go through the changing rooms"Scott nodded. The two pairs left to start searching for your friend.
"Umm, Stiles and Lydia check the basements, and Theo and y/n can look in the classrooms"Scott quickly announced before he started to walk off.
"Nope not happening, Theo is not going with y/n. He can’t keep his hands to himself and he might just run off and leave her"Stiles shook his head.
"Fine, I’ll go with Stiles"you said.
"Did you just call me Stiles?"he smiled.
"Yeah I did"you smiled back.
The two of you hadn’t noticed that everyone else had left.
"Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home, because I can?! Scott will understand I just-it’s just- out of everything and everyone your the only one that feels like home. It’s always been us two like in 3rd grade up till now, everyone has come and gone but you? You’ve always been here if I lost you I don’t know what I’d do"he stuttered out before running his hands through his hair.
"I’m not going anywhere, I promise I’ll still be here tomorrow and you can bump into me again like you always do"you answered with a smile before holding his hand.
"Okay lets go save Mason"he looked towards the school.
Part 4??-Stiles’ 18th Birthday comes and he gets his soulmate Tattoo, although it’s not what it seems…
request: ron weasley finding himself waking up in his younger self's body + "Harry might have forgiven you, named his sons after you two, but I'm not Harry and I'll make sure he will have a life beyond your plans"
He goes to bed a man and awakens a
Ron Weasley is thirty years old. He
has fought a war and survived it, too; he’s loved and lost and loved again,
he’s buried one brother and sired two children and he’s—lived. The evidence of
this is all around him, in the ache of his bones and the premature gray streaking
his hair. It’s in the tired smiles he and Hermione will share on the days that
still—still, even now, even years
later—rest heavy on their souls with loss.
When he slips underneath the covers it’s
with the warm weight of his wife by his side and the knowledge his children are
just a room over. He shuts off the lights with a weary wave of his wand and
closes his eyes with a soft sigh. Hermione grabs his hand beneath the sheets and
her fingers are warm. She squeezes his hand. He smiles, soft, and squeezes
back. He falls asleep with her hand in his.
Ron awakens from his sleep a child
of eleven years, with gangly limbs and unscarred skin and no body lying beside
him. He wakes up alone, young, and scared—falls straight out of bed into a heap
on the floor, threadbare blankets twisted around him, his brothers snoring
across the room. His hands are smooth and soft, free of calluses. The hair on
his head is thick and a brilliant red, no gray in sight. His bones do not ache.
His eyesight is as strong as it ever was.
Ron awakens into a world he outgrew
years and years ago—and screams.
At first he is inconsolable, and no whispered
words of comfort from his mother can calm him. She is too young and he is too
small, and the sight of her starts the angry helpless tears anew, grief
clogging his throat.
At first Ron mourns, mourns the loss
of the future they all bled to create. He mourns his wife, his children. His
friends. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but Ron has lived too long not to
listen to instinct, and he knows—he won’t be going home. He won’t be going
back. He’s lost them all.
That’s when the sorrow turns to
Ron is old. Old at thirty, true, but
hasn’t he earned the right? Haven’t they all? He’s betrayed and been betrayed,
he’s bled a thousand times and lost so much—friends, family, innocence. His
childhood was a warzone and he’s spent the last twenty years making sure his
children never grew up the same way. His life wasn’t always happy but it is
better, it’s bright. It’s his.
So how dare they, whoever they are,
whoever is responsible—how dare they take that from him. He fought for that
happy ending, his brother died for it, and the rest of them nearly followed.
How dare they dishonor that sacrifice. How dare they take Ron from a time of
peace and place him right back into the bloodbath.
How dare they.
He spends nearly a week in this
state, caught between rage and sorrow, tottering back and forth between the
two. His family has noticed, and he can tell by their worried glances that he’s
starting to freak them out. Even the twins are acting…. Far nicer than Ron
remembers them to be, but that certainly doesn’t help—Ron can’t look Fred or
George in the eye, and every time Percy places a hand on his shoulder he
He’s a mess. He knows it, they know
it. One week back in the past and he’s already screwed up.
In the end, it is his mother’s
desperate tactic of using his upcoming year at Hogwarts to try and cheer him up
that snaps him out of his stupor. Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione, Luna, Neville. War
and blood and friendship and –
Ron has three weeks until he boards
the train, three weeks until the year that changes everything is kick-started
Ron thinks of war and blood and
brothers who died too early. He thinks of Harry, tired and old even at seventeen,
blood crusted on his cheek. Hermione, eyes flinty, shoulders set back as she
prepares to fight for her life. He thinks of Luna caged in the Malfoy cellar
and Neville as he slayed the snake, and he thinks—
No. He knows.
They earned their happy ending, once
upon a time. But that future is gone, now, so maybe—maybe this time—
Maybe Ron can find it for them.
Maybe this time, no one has to die.
Ron has three weeks before Hogwarts.
Three weeks before the train. Three weeks to save the world.
And Ron may not be the hero, or the
chosen one—but he has always, always, been good at strategy.
When he steps on the train it’s with
fear in his heart and excitement lodged in his throat. The bag looped around
his shoulders is filled with roast-beef sandwiches Ron has never liked (but
Harry will eat them and so he doesn’t mind), used books, and a hand-me-down wand.
But there are also journals, made invisible with illegal spells Hermione slaved
over years ago, journals filled with diagrams and plots and important things
Ron cannot afford to forget.
(He hopes, just a little bit, to
perhaps buy a pensive. One day. It’s a stupid
idea, but—is it so wrong for Ron to want to see his children again, even if
only in his memories?)
Ron steps onto the platform and it’s
like stepping into Hogwarts the first time—it’s bustling and loud and alien,
almost menacing in its confusion. He sees faces of future enemies and future
friends alike—Draco Malfoy, sharp features soft with baby fat, sneer
ill-fitting on his sallow face; Neville Longbottom, shoulders hunched near his
ears and toad clenched in shaking hands, no confidence to be found; Lavender
Brown, her pretty face glowing, small hoops dangling in her ears, no blood
beneath her perfectly manicured nails.
It shakes him to the core, and
though Ron is young, now, young and small and as gangly as the rest of them, he
fancies himself a stranger. They are so young, all of them, young in body and eyes
and soul. It hits Ron right then and there that though he may try, he’ll never
see those brothers- and sisters-in-blood in these children. They’re here before
him but they’ll never be as he remembers them to be, once upon a future.
He nearly flees onto the train, but the
twins are close behind, their eyes watchful and worried. Still, he cannot meet
“Gotta go,” Ron tells them, before
they can comment, and then he dashes up the steps and into the corridor. He
waves out the open door with half-hearted enthusiasm when his family looks
back, uncertain. He smiles to put them at ease, and maybe he even means it. It
makes him feel better, being on the train: the only way to go now is forward.
His mother beams at him, waving
wildly, Ginny bouncing on her heels beside her. For the first time their young
faces do not fill Ron with grief. Instead, as he waves wildly back, something
warmer rises in his chest. Something like hope.
There’s a whole future before him, and
Ron is ready. All the pieces in place. Voldemort best be ready, because Ron has
been playing this game his whole life. He’s not planning on losing now.
Ron wanders the train, careful not
to sit down. He’ll have to wait until the train is about to leave to find Harry,
and as he glides past the youthful faces of his year-mates he finds himself
settling. He sees Hermione and smiles at her as bright as he can—it hurts to
see her, but the small smile she gives back leaves him giddy for the rest of
A whistle blows. Ron wanders forward,
already knowing where to go.
Harry is at the back, as he always
is, leaning against the widow with his eyes half-lidded as he watches. Ron
watches him, too. Sees the shadows under his eyes and the quiet slump of his bony
shoulders and marvels, again, at how young they all are.
He thinks too of Dumbledore, and
Snape, and children named after heroes and villains alike. Harry had forgiven
them, but that was years ago, and Ron has never been the hero. Never been all
that good at forgiving.
They’re young, all of them. Just
children, and that fact is clearer to him now. They are all just children.
He’ll have a life beyond your game of chess, Ron thinks—promises. This time, he’ll be better. He won’t
let himself be blinded by jealousy or necklaces that whisper in the night.
He’ll save them all, be the friend he tried to be and this time succeed at it—and
this time when Harry looks back at these years, he’ll have more happy memories
than bad ones.
For the future Ron lost, for the
future he could yet have again—Ron will make sure of it.
He slides back the door and smiles
when bottle-green eyes glance back. A whistle blows loud and piercing. Beneath
his feet, the train begins to move.
“Hi,” Ron says. “Can I sit here?
Everywhere else is full.”
Harry nods, slow and careful. Ron
smiles his brightest smile, and for the first time, feels no grief, no fear, no
It’s a new day, a new game, and Ron
is ready to play.
A/N: This is my submission for @kas-not-cas 2.5K dialogue challenge. Congratulations on the followers, darling! That’s amazing and you deserve so many more! They’re not due until July, but inspiration hit me pretty hard with this one, and for once, things just sort of flowed. Hope you guys like it!
He’s been criticized for this ever since Iron Fist dropped and I am so sick of it. In this post I am going to defend that Danny does not have privilege.
So he was born to wealthy white parents. From what we’ve seen and heard, they were good people. His life must’ve been great, and it was. Except for Ward, who basically tormented Danny. In IF 1x01, Danny says to Ward, “You were a dick as a kid, and you’re still a dick now. You used to lock me in the freezer at the Rand cafeteria. At one of the company picnics you put a dead frog in my sandwich. You would kick me in the balls every chance you had.” Two of those are physical abuse, and Ward is five years older than Danny and at some point knew that behavior was wrong. Yet clearly no one knew, as it went on and Danny’s parents would have stopped it.
Next, the plane crash at ten. He watches his mother die and finds his father’s corpse, he is the only survivor. That’s awful enough on its own. Of course he’s taken in by monks of K'un-Lun, who aren’t the great people Danny sometimes says they are. In 1x03, he says to Joy (apologizes in advance for the mispelled Chinese words, I did it phonetically)
Danny:“Everyone there, and I mean everyone, said there was no way a shaoguilou like me could do it.”
Danny: “Yeah, it sort of means like an ‘outsider’. It’s what they called me.”
Joy:“Sounds kind of mean.”
Danny:“Sort of cool too. Besides, it just made me want the job more.”
Joy:“Yeah, sure, I get that.”
Danny: “So problem was, I never thought through why I wanted this job. I mistook my stubborn will for a sense of destiny or something. I never really counted the cost of what it might mean for my life.”
Joy: “You got the job?”
Danny: “Yeah. I fought the whole way for it. I earned it.”
He was called an outsider by the people who saved his life, and basically decided to become the Iron Fist to prove himself. These were the only people he was around. Sure, Davos seemed nice enough and he had fond memories, but that doesn’t change how harsh that was to a traumatized kid. He thought the only way to get them to really care for and accept him was to become the Iron Fist and serve them for all his life guarding a cold pass. Let that sink in.He continues to describe his daily routine to Joy as “First off, my room was nothing like this. Six by six. A dirty mat on the floor. I had a blanket, you know. A literal pot to piss in. Every morning I’d walk a mile uphill with jugs the size of my abdomen just to get me and my surfu’s daily ration of water. That was the easy part. Then it was training, all day every day. When we weren’t training it was fighting, sparring. Every moment was a struggle. Failure led to a beating. Victory led to the next fighting style, the next lesson.”
Joy:“Sounds like abuse.”
Danny:“Well, it made me what I am today.”
“Failure resulted in a beating” “Every moment was a struggle”. That’s not a healthy life at all, especially for a traumatized child to grow up in. Oh, about that trauma, they basically taught him to repress it and never actually confront and heal from it, as a drug-induced vision of his mentor tells him “Grief is weakness”. Joy rightfully calls it abuse, and he looks uncomfortable and avoids it. He says “It made me what I am today”. Not who, what. He has been told he is an outsider, trained to serve and fight the Hand for them, culminating in him becoming the Iron Fist, the ultimate weapon and slave. No wonder his name means so much to him, they basically objectified him. Yet he remains loyal to them, and that actually makes sense too. They saved his life and he probably feels immense gratitude and debt towards them.
Danny Rand did not have a perfect, privileged life. The first ten years were much easier than the later years, yes, but he still suffered. So don’t throw that “he’s an entitled white boy” crap at me.
Oh yeah, and what Luke tells him about beating up that kid? Danny didn’t know he was just a Harlem kid, Danny just knew he worked for the Hand. And we know how deceptive the Hand can be, Danny more so. He probably thought the “I don’t know” were lies.
So take your Danny Rand hate elsewhere, he is a hero who deserves to be loved and protected.