forties queen

I Won't

Originally posted by spderman


Hey guys! I am still alive, if you were wondering, and I’m incredibly sorry about how long it’s been since I’ve posted an imagine. I’ve been very busy over the last few weeks with preparing to go back to school, as well as working and making time for friends and family. I’ve been wanting to do this one for a while, and here it finally is. This one is kind of short compared to my other imagines, but this one is more of a teaser for a possible multiple part imagine. Let me know if you think I should continue this or not. Anyway, I hope you like it!

-H

Pairing: Tony Stark x Peter Parker (platonic), slight Happy Hogan x Peter Parker (platonic), eventual Peter Parker x Enhanced!Reader (not really in this part)

Warnings: None

Words: 652

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anonymous asked:

"we were both drunk when you proposed to me and i accidentally posted about it across social media so now we’re hungover and trying to figure out this mess bc we’re not even dating" AU Percabeth maybe?

“I mean, we could just delete all our social media and live underground like hermits.”

Annabeth hesitates before taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, that sounds like a reasonable and well-thought out plan.”

“I thought so too.”

She kicks him and snatches her leg back to her side of the couch before he can grab it hold of her foot. They’ve been sitting at each end of Percy’s couch for the past hour under a blanket, with their phones on silent on the coffee table a few feet away.

Annabeth had been the first to wake up, with her face smushed into Percy’s pillow as her phoned merrily pinged away from an unknown place in the room. She’d rolled over and groaned out loud at the movement, waking up Percy in the process.

“Why?” he’d asked. “Make it stop.”

“I’m trying.” She stumbled around and eventually found her phone underneath a towel. then she’d fallen back on the bed next to him and blinked at her screen, sitting up sharply a few seconds later. “Oh shit!”

“What?”

“Do you remember what we did last night?”

Percy looked startled and still half-asleep. “We didn’t have sex, did we?” he asked, lying fully-clothed on top of the covers.

“No. Idiot. I’d hope you would remember that.” Instead of explaining, she thrust her phone in his face.

He blinked at it for a moment. “Oh shit.”

“Do you think people really believe it?” she asks him now.

Percy gives their phones a pointed look and Annabeth cringes as she saw the screen still lit up with dozens of unread messages, mostly from Piper. She sinks a little further down into the couch.

“Dammit.”

“I’m sticking with the hermit plan.”

“That’s not a plan. It’s not even a pla-”

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Why we still can't get enough of Queen

Forty years of Bohemian Rhapsody

“Even Mercury’s charisma would have counted for nothing, though, without his and his colleagues’ copper-bottomed musicianship. Mercury tickled the ivories as eloquently as he sang, May and Taylor were talented backing (and occasionally lead) vocalists, and all four of them wrote. Admittedly, Mercury and May dominated in the songwriting department, but Queen’s output would be considerably the poorer without Taylor’s neglected rock-out I’m in Love with My Car, while it was Deacon’s Another One Bites the Dust that cracked America for the band.

The result was the most fabulous and unforgettably melodic collection of songs, with that uniquely lush, instantly recognisable “Queen sound” running through almost every one. Stylistically, they were glam, but too good to be glam rock; technically brilliant, but too entertaining to be prog rock; hard-rocking, but too joyful to be heavy metal. The guitar was obviously their favourite instrument – ah, but so was the piano. Nothing seemed to be beyond them.”

READ MORE: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/what-to-listen-to/bohemian-rhapsody-40-years-queen/

Arrow Ficlet: Love Actually

This is all @andcreation‘s fault.  AU based on Love Actually, with Oliver as the President and Felicity as his babbling assistant.


Pulling up to the White House–to his new home–Oliver Queen, the forty-eighth president of the United States, tried to soothe his nerves.  But his thumb and forefinger kept rubbing together.  It was his one nervous tic, one he hadn’t been able to eradicate.  

“Nervous, sir?” asked John Diggle, the first Secret Service agent he had been assigned and the one he trusted the most.

“What do you think, Digg?”

A soft chuckle escaped the agent.  “You’re hiding it very well, sir.”  

Oliver couldn’t help huffing out a laugh as the car pulled in under the South Portico.  “Nice to see you lie about as well as you shoot.”  

“You wouldn’t want me to lie better than I shoot, would you?” Diggle asked before stepping out of the car.

When Oliver stepped out of the car, waving to the photographers, there was a smile on his face.  One that would be described as “the charming grin of Ameria’s new president, only the second bachelor to hold the highest office in the land.”

But then it was a whirl of introductions and that charming grin faded, as the duties and responsibilities piled onto his shoulders.  

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queen-elenya-hawk  asked:

Royai + 28

Prompt was more of an inspiration than a theme. I hope you like this nonetheless, and thanks for your request :)

PG13ish for nudity.

send me a number and a ship  //  28. waiting




Riza didn’t wake up with the break of day, fresh and rested, as Roy had thought she always did. Instead, Hayate was her dependable alarm clock, barking softly by the bed when the time for his walk was getting close.

He only understood that when she sluggishly slipped out of his embrace. He opened his eyes, suddenly feeling cold, and they fell straight on her naked form. He let them trail over the subtle sway of Riza’s hips, her small waist, the curve of her breasts, her long hair. Then he caught a glimpse of the marks on her back. Though still a reminder of painful events, they evoked in Roy a boundless wonder that made his heart burst, for Riza was a phoenix, born from the ashes of war and grown to represent everything admirable.

She was simply breathtaking.

There was no hurry, no unease in Riza’s demeanor as she got dressed. Roy was completely lost in her deliberate movements, her unassuming beauty, the silent hours of a day that had yet to begin. In such a serene ritual, he felt like an intruder. But when she was finally ready, her eyes found his, and it was clear that she didn’t mind.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Captain.”

“I trust you know where to find everything you need,” her voice was kind, yet firm. “See you at the office, then?”

“Sure.”

That was his cue to get out just as soon as she left with Hayate. But the pillows smelled like her, and her side of the bed was still warm, intoxicating. Roy couldn’t let this morning end so abruptly, with the knowledge that if he left, they would pretend the previous night never took place. That might’ve been Riza’s intention, and maybe for the best. But Roy couldn’t have that. He was getting too old for such pretenses, too wise—or too tired—to let go of the little moments that helped him remain strong.

Roy was in no hurry, but he mustered all the strength he had to tear himself away from the covers and get ready for the day. Waiting for Riza to come back was one thing, but having her find him still in bed would be catastrophic. Not only would this disregard her wishes, but it would make them recklessly late for work.

Instead, she found him fully dressed, halfway through his morning coffee.

“You’re still here, sir.” It was a detached observation.

“I’ll be gone when I finish here, Captain. You don’t need to worry.” His attention shifted to a paper bag she was holding with one hand. Hayate was sniffing it curiously. “What’s in there?”

It took Riza a few seconds to answer, as she placed the item on the table.

“You can look for yourself, sir.”

Something was off. Riza didn’t say another word as she filled the kettle and set it to boil for her morning tea. Riza always made an effort to be hospitable, even when his presence was unexpected. So maybe he’d crossed a line. Maybe he should have left, let the magic linger as a pleasant memory. Now he’d placed her in a difficult position, one that was almost impossible. Her fury would’ve been easier to handle than her curt silence, which made the air denser and the knot in his stomach tighten.

As it was, Roy could only comply with her words. He reached inside the bag and found an oddly warm, flimsy cardboard box, which he promptly opened. The smell of baked dough hit his nose first, sweet and enticing, and then came the sight of absurdly tiny breakfast pastries. It was quite a delightful assortment; there was chocolate, apple, and sweet cheese, among others he could not identify. But something else caught his attention, something that released the tension he’d been holding inside. He only pointed it out when Riza finally sat down in front of him.

“You got two of each, Captain. Not something you can eat all by yourself.” Roy leaned forward, studying her blank expression. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. But I believe you asked me to leave.”

“I gave you a choice, sir.”

Now it made sense. After all, Riza was not one to forsake responsibility over her actions. Neither, he hoped, did she want to.

“In that case, Captain, I will stay a little longer. I have no coffee left, but I have developed a weak spot for fresh pastries.” He picked one at random, examining it for a second, before his gaze returned to the striking woman sitting in front of him. Then he smirked. “I must say, you’re remarkably good at finding my weak spots.”

Riza brought her tea to her pale lips. For all she tried to hide it, a smile had finally broken her stoic facade. It grew uneven as she let the cup down on the table, light twinkling in her eyes.

“Believe me, sir, I know.”

The Queen of Tarot

She is the essence,
of the lies;
A honey trap,
for truths to be lost;
Slipping under her crafty watch,
and her tyrany,
many are wounded;
she cries for attention;
She summons,
the ghosts for your haunting;
she is deceptive,
in her stormy calm;
Vindictive,
when her own blood is sought;
Masked,
behind horrors,
her mirrors,
reflect the evil purport;
She keeps a polished silver platter,
she dreams,
of your bruised heart.

© soulreserve 2015

(For the poetryriot prompt ‘Slipping Under’)