girls in glasses on their days off

6

#in which Kara likes to use her secret weapon now and poor Mon-El couldn’t stand a chance

Gilmore Girls study moods
  • Rory: Sitting in your room surrounded by notes, phone switched off, sweatpants on. Neat cursive handwriting, an empty coffee cup next to you, cross referencing your sources, old school encyclopedias, a CD you borrowed from your friend, only taking a break every 2 hours, focusing on your goals.
  • Lorelai: Kitchen table, papers everywhere, empty coffee cups scattered around the room. Hair in a messy bun and pencil behind your ear, determined when you want to be. TV on in the background. Taking a break every 20 minutes for more coffee and to call your friends to tell them how boring your study is. Accomplishing your goals despite the mess.
  • Lane: Jamming out to rock music while you work, pigtails, your work is surprisingly organised but you find it hard to focus. You've tried the pomodoro technique but it was hard to stick to, so you take tiny breaks to air guitar when a good part of a song comes on. Getting distracted by your roommates.
  • Luke: Your notes are all in one notebook, scribbled in with a classic blue biro. Black coffee in a mug, reading glasses that you never let other people see, a comfy worn-in office chair, the smell of wood. Not worrying about being neat, keeping things as simple as possible. You do what works for you. It's a relaxed environment.
  • Kirk: Studying in the library next to stacks of library books, 15 tabs open on your computer, desk full of pages. Gathering intense background knowledge of everything you come across. Calling your friends to tell them about new things you've learned. Quizzing yourself every 30 minutes, which counts as a break.
  • Sookie: Sitting on the floor with your notes spread out around you. Four different types of study snacks. Highlighter marks on your face somehow. Switching subject every 10 minutes to keep yourself interested. Hot chocolate breaks every 20 minutes. Thriving off encouragement from your loved ones. Papercuts.
  • Paris: Your study lasts all day. First at the library, then at home. Work organised into neat folders, a different notebook for each subject. Straight lines and hand drawn banners. Hair in a neat bun. Glass full of different color highlighters. Scheduled breaks every 45 minutes to increase productivity. Framed photos of people who inspire you. Thriving off of competition.
Whiskey

A Bucky Barnes One-Shot

Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 5,717 (yup…)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ Smut! Sexual penetration, oral (male and female receiving), face sitting, dirty talk, language, drinking, Bucky being everyone’s wet dream…

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long, but I worked HARD on this one and I’m totally proud of it! (and before anyone asks, Howl at the Moon is a real bar in Indiana!) Enjoy. :) 



You stood in the street and looked up at the new sign that was being hung up in front of the building.

Howl at the Moon

Your pride and joy. You smiled with a shake of your head. This bar had just started out a little hole in wall. Nobody knew about it, and you were barely making ends meet with only 2 people on staff.

Now, it was a world-renowned biker bar. People from all over the globe have stopped in. You have worked hard to make it what it is. The many roaring engines from motorcycles and loud laughter rule this spot.

It kept your life interesting.

The alcohol stays flowing all night long and the grill stays hot. Your most popular item on the menu? Beer served in buckets. You would be surprised at how many buckets these burly bikers can put away.

Sing-a-longs, dance-offs and dirty humor keep your patrons coming back for more. Your lady bartenders have been known to jump on the bar to dance to some old rock n’ roll. Yourself included.

Ashley, your best friend, came up beside you and looked at the sign as well. “It looks fantastic.”

You poked her with your elbow, “Well I would hope you think so, you drew up the concept.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her head, “I’m a genius.”

You looked up at the black wolf, nose pointed up at a blue moon with a howl. It was really going to stand out at night when it was all lit up.

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Vow

*swamped with homework and feelings and managed to shell this out a month late…I’m a mess™*

Request:  Hii can i have a drabble thingy game with jimin?TY😙😉 12,23 by  rebelliousjvmin

Word Count: 8.6k

Originally posted by bwipsul

He’s a literal angel


You were immersed in a deep sleep, tired from working on a large project that was worth half your grade. In you attempt to disconnect from the world around and sleep peacefully, you blocked out the sounds and all touch with reality. The sudden dip in your bed didn’t bother you, the presence of another body and an arm haphazardly wrapping around you, these were things you were blocking out. Until you felt a finger on your cheek.

“Hey, roomie.”

“I hate you.”

“You know you love me.”

“Kiss my ass, Jimin.” You used to think you were lucky to be paired up with your best friend in the dorms of your university. Until you realized he was a clingy, sassy and messy guy that never failed to annoy you. His leisure attitude towards school was opposite to your dedication to reading every word of your textbook. He was a jock, baseball being the reason he was here in your room and cheekily smiling at you.  

“I wouldn’t mind doing that.” You whacked him in the face with your pillow, wanting him to leave your room but he instead pulled you closer against his chest.

“Let go of me, you pervert.”

“You told me to kiss your ass, now…”

“I swear to god, Jimin, I’ll suffocate you in your sleep.”

“Kinky. I always wanted to test out breath play.”

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BTS Intro Post

Title; BTS Intro Post

Genre; Info(??)

Type; Intro Post

Group/Member; BTS – OT7

Authors Notes; Enjoy! I’m soo terribly sorry it’s so late! Hope it’s what you wanted!! 😊 Also this is a rlly rlly long post with lots of facts and photos so um ye…have fun. Tbh all this post does is just prove what a big ‘ol piece of trash i am because 95% of these facts were from memory, I typed all dis shit out guys…im fuckin dead now. These are all facts from websites that I remember, certain nicknames are not necessarily what I call them but some dso. kbye 😊 x

{Requested}

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♡ VALENTINE’S DAY (2010) SENTENCE STARTERS.

“ my closest relationship is with my blackberry, thank god it vibrates! ”
“ when i was a kid, most of the advice that my dad gave me was crap. ”
“ there you have it, folks. young love. ”
“ valentine’s day was a massacre in chicago where lots of people were killed. ”
“ i don’t feel comfortable taking my shirt off in public. ”
“ love is the only shocking act left on the planet. ”
“ if you’re ever with a guy/girl that’s too good for you, marry him/her. ”
“ i shut down my playerness from new years to st. patty’s day. ”
“ i need happy, i need romantic, i need love, and i need it from you. ”
“ i would crawl over cut glass to take you to the winter formal. ”
“ dude, he’s from indiana. they only celebrate love your cousin day. ”
“ did you even consider marrying me? ”
“ when you ask a girl to marry you, do you want her to just consider it? ”
“ then there’s the whole thing with my parents’ horrible… ”
“ oh don’t tell me, that’ll take the fun out of guessing. ”
“ i can’t stand the idea of some jerk hurting her, i just can’t. i can’t. ”
“ what’s the greatest love song of all time? ”
“ i’ve never had an inkling before. i wasn’t sure what to do with it. ”
“ what do you do with the flowers? ”
“ you don’t step in to love, you fall in. ”
“ apparently everyone and their mother felt that way but nobody had the guts to tell me. ”
“ have you ever seen someone fall head over heels in love? it’s ugly, bro. ”
“ love doesn’t exist unless you acknowledge it in front of other people. ”
“ unfortunately, the truth makes everything else seem like a lie. ”
“ it’s not about defiance, it’s about what a man will do for love. ”
“ that is a really weird way to talk to your boss. ”
“ this is the busiest day of the year for phone sex. ”
“ you know, i’d like to say yes. but… i don’t know if i can afford it. ”
“ when you love someone, you love all of them… ”

When I think of him, I think of warm bed sheets tangled in a maze on our bodies and the taste of cigarettes that lingered on his lips when we kissed. I remember I had a habit of tracing my fingers on the crevices of his body, lingering at certain tattoos and scars that may have defined the history of him. Looking back, I realize I hadn’t asked too many questions. I simply accepted his presence, like welcoming the dark night at the end of the day because it simply was supposed to be that way. I didn’t feel the need to probe and he never made me wonder. For all the mystery of him, he never evoked a curiosity in me. And that made me realize, there are just some people you love for who they are, because changing them would take the beauty of them away, like chipping off pieces of a glass window. You never ruin art.

That first night, I wanted to be different, to be someone else, someone besides that prim girl with a tight chignon and an equally tight impression. I wanted to be free and light and raw. I wore my hair down, like a cascading stream of gold, as if by doing so would loosen me up. But two minutes into that rave, I felt like an outsider, a lost puppy amidst the sea of people whose bodies were so used to alcohol and the smell of smoke. Looking down at that bottle of beer in my hand I contemplated my exit options when I felt someone’s eyes on me. I looked up and there he was, so disheveled and rugged and everything that screamed danger even at a distance. He had those piercing blue eyes and that smirk that made you think of libertines and rakes and Casanovas. He stopped a few inches from me and grasped a few strands of my hair between his fingers leisurely, as if he had all the time in world, and said,

“I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful – a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.”

God, I fell so hard for that boy. His music collection contained of ear splitting music and unintelligible screams, but he had a corner bookstand full of John Keats and Robert Frost. He had a body that spoke of every nuance of strength yet he loved mine with a gentle passion and a fragile hold. I held him tight, afraid that he was going to slip from my fingers. At night I laid in his chest and felt every beat of his heart and every air he expelled. I loved him in fear of losing him. Every minute was tattooed in every tiny space of my young heart. I took all of him and held it in. I guess even then, I knew. A soul like that was never meant to be held for long. He had a gypsy spirit and even my innocent devotion and the gentle gaze of my love couldn’t make him stay.

So I let him go.

As gently as I loved him, I gently let him go. He slipped away in the middle of the night but not before he fluttered a single soft kiss on my forehead. I willed my eyes shut close and when I heard the soft lock of the door I broke down and let the tears fall.

When I think of him, I think of the musky smell of sweat-stained sheets, of ashes of cigarettes on the floor, of a hard body and a soft heart. I think of silent nights with nothing but the whisper of his breath. I think of the boy who loved poetry, who spoke those words in random, during moments when you least expect them. Even now, sometimes I would wake up and as soon as I open my eyes, I would remember the way his brown hair glinted under the morning sun, and how the first thing I would see is that tattoo at the back of his ear. I miss the way my hand would reach out and hold him closer, and how he would stir and hold me tighter.

Most of all, I miss that flutter of a kiss he left when he slipped into the night, leaving only a shadow of his beautiful soul for me to grasp.

I wonder how he is. Sometimes I see him tangled with another girl in different sheets, in a different place. Would he have loved her more? Would he touch her differently? Yet there are times that I would imagine him sitting down with a copy of “Poems 1817” on his lap and maybe he would skim by the page of “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” and think of me…

—  i loved him in fear of losing him, and alas, I did // Stories Series | Genefe Navilon
AriA’s File

Okay, what is the deal with Aria’s file? What on earth could be her secret? A secret that would put EZRA in jail, and make him pick Nicole over her?

AD says the following to Aria:

“Jessica DiLaurentis kept excellent records. If Ezra knew what was in your file he would definitely choose Nicole, and she would be visiting him in jail.”


Why would something …

  • in ARIAs file 
  • put EZRA in jail 
  • AND have him pick Nicole

???????????

One thing we know for sure is it had to be something that happened BEFORE Jessica’s murder, since it is something Jessica found out.

This can be interpreted in two ways:

  1. Jessica DiLaurentis found something incriminating about Ezra that Aria has kept a secret. But…. why would Ezra hate Aria because of it? Why would Ezra blame Aria if this came out? What is she willing to keep secret about Ezra that she would go against her best friends for? Does Aria know a secret about Ezra that if it came out would put him in jail? Okay, there are a few possibilities here, but why would it make Ezra choose Nicole over Aria? Thats the part I just dont understand. Ezra could be upset that Jessica found out something about him, but why would it make him give up his love for Aria??? 
  2. Jessica found out something about Aria that would cause Ezra to hate her and to do something that would put him in jail….Is this signifying that Ezra would kill Aria if he found out this secret?

I feel like the following photo is significant. The 4 glasses represent the four main girls, Spencer, Hanna, Aria & Emily. 

By shattering a glass, it is a symbol that she is no longer one of them, that she is going against the group to protect whatever is in her file.

The girls have always stuck together, so it has to be something HUGE if she is willing to go over to the dArk side. 

(Side Note: I swear to GOD if Marlene messes this up and its something stupid Im going to jump off a cliff) 

There has always been something sketchy about Aria. I’ve written a million posts about it and don’t want to go through every little thing again because we’ll be here all day, but I do want to go over a few significant things.


  • Aria and Eddie Lamb

When Aria goes into Radley to get info on Bethany’s old roommate, Eddie Lamb recognizes her and says he feels like they have met before. Aria acts REALLY BIZARRE in this scene. She is obviously hiding something. She has some kind of connection to Radley Sanitarium. 

———————

  • Aria and Jason

A part of me has always believed that Jason is A. I have written theories about it. He has always had a thing for Aria. The weirdest thing was when he had all of those close-up photos of her sleeping. He claimed Alison took them-but I just dont buy that. And later A had the same photos in his/her lair.

Then there is a very similar scene in later seasons, of Aria hanging up her creepy doll photographs in a dark room. It is a parallel to when Jason is in the darkroom with the pictures of her.

Its possible that whatever is in her file has something to do with Jason. This could lead in to why it would cause Ezra to choose Nicole over Aria.

—————————

  • Aria and Mona

What the hell did Aria whisper to Mona at this moment that had her running scared?????? Aria and Mona have always had an interesting relationship and suspicious conversations.

—————————-

  • The Dollhouse 

Aria had the mannequin family framed in her Dollhouse bedroom. The look on her face seems to convey that she KNOWS SOMETHING. Who/why they were taken there.

————

There are so many crazy possibilities as to what is in Aria’s file. The last few episodes of the show have really depressed me. I’ve been majorly disappointed in the writing and reveals. I am really hoping they give us something shocking and amazing for Aria’s secret.

Fingers crossed. 

Leave A Message: Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

Summary: AU, After a night of heavy drinking, Betty Cooper realizes she’s left a series of revealing messages on her crush and roommate, Jughead Jones’s phone. 

Words: 1,600

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, swearing, sexual dialogue but mostly embarrassing fluff. 

A/N: I’ve edited this myself so I apologize for errors. 


Betty Cooper’s head was pounding. She had made the mistake of going out with her roommates Cheryl Blossom and Veronica Lodge to celebrate the end of finals. Now she was sitting at their kitchen island cradling a cup of coffee, trying to figure out if IHOP delivered.

“Good Morning!” Cheryl sang as she skipped into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her luscious red was piled up on top of her head and her skin was glowing. She looked like an angel not someone who had partied hard the night before. “How are you?” She asked Betty.

“I’m so hungover” Betty groaned resting her head on her arms. “I’ve never been this hungover.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have done all those shots of Liquid Cocaine.” Cheryl chuckled and began taking out a few frying pans. “You want some bacon and eggs?” She asked.

“I do!” Veronica answered, her silk black robe trailing behind her matching her beautiful black hair. She walked up to Cheryl and gave her a soft kiss. Cheryl and Veronica had been dating since before they had left Riverdale and their relationship was goals.

“How are you guys not hungover?” Betty asked.

“We didn’t do three shots of tequila and then perform a Coyote Ugly style dance on the bar. You drank so much you should be dead.” Veronica informed.

“I wish I was dead.” Betty said sliding off her stool and laid on the floor. “The tile is so cold. I love the tile.”

“You’ve seen better days, Cooper.” Jughead Jones exited his bedroom from the other side of the loft and sat in the stool Betty just occupied. Jughead was Betty’s fourth and final roommate and she had developed a deep crush on him since the four of  them had moved from Massachusetts to California for school.  

Jughead had blossomed in the sunshine state. He had taken up surfing and gotten a tan, transforming himself into a ripped golden god. Whatever girls didn’t like about his moodiness in Riverdale, they loved here. Betty hated that she didn’t make a move sooner and now that he was bedding Californian goddesses, she knew she didn’t stand a chance.

“Oh god.” She muttered rolling onto her back. She was so dehydrated she could hear herself blinking. She focused on Jughead messy mop of black hair when he appeared above her.

“Up we go.” He said lifting her into the sitting position. “Take these,” he dropped two extra strength Advil in her palm. “And drink the entire glass.” He instructed.

She did as she was told and steadied herself against him when she stood up. “I need to go back to sleep.”

“Yes, you do.” Jughead agreed walking her back to her room. “Do you need to use the washroom?” He asked.

“I’m not a child, Jug.” Betty snapped.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you not just rolling around on the floor moaning?” He cocked an eyebrow and helped her into bed. She got underneath the covers and he tucked her in. “Get more rest, you’re gonna need it.” He winked and left her room, closing her door.

Her brow furrowed at her choice of words but she was too tired to give it much more thought than that.

She woke up at 3 in the afternoon feeling much better. Still hungover but manageable. She stumbled out into the living room and found Jughead reading a book. “There she is!” He exclaimed. “I got more Advil out and grabbed some water. There is some left over Thai from lunch in he fridge if you are hungry.”

Betty grabbed the Advil, headed over to the kitchen and began heating up her food. Once the Thai was nice and hot she made way back over to the couch.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked not looking up from his book.

“Mmmm” She answered with a mouth full of food.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” He questioned.

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“So you don’t remember dancing on the bar?” He inquired.

She shook her head.

“You don’t remember leading the whole bar in a rendition of ‘Come On Eileen’?”

“How do you know this? You weren’t even there”

“Cheryl was sending me videos.” He paused. “Do you remember making a phone call?”

“It’s 2018, Juggie, no one makes phone calls anymore.” She rolled her eyes and took a gulp of her water.

“You sure about that?” He asked again.

“I haven’t spoken on a phone in like two years.”

Jughead took out his cell, began scrolling and finally pushed a button. He held it up so they could both hear it.

“Jughead, mother fucking, Jones.” Betty’s gravelly drunken voice rasped out of the phone.

Her eyes widened and she started choking on her food.

“You fucking idiot with your stupid hat and your stupid attitude and your stupid face like you don’t know how amazing you are. Well, I guess you kinda do now with that revolving bevy of girls in our apartment all the time. And what is wrong with me huh? I’m hot, I’ve had six guys hit on me tonight. Six!”

She heard herself yell through the phone and she buried her head in her arms. “No, no, no.” She repeated over and over again.

“I’m smart too and my personality is okay, so what’s your problem Jughead, huh? I’ve been told that my vagina is like, the actual best. Like, what do I need to do? I guess there is a possibility that you aren’t interested in me but I’m the tits so why wouldn’t you be.” She paused. “Another thing, you actual piece of shit-” She was cut off and he lowered the phone.

“Please tell me I didn’t call you back.” She asked, looking at him through her fingers.

He was smirking and she wanted to smack him. “That was the first of fifteen messages. My favorite was how you told me that you obsess over how big my penis is but it’s probably just normal size and that you should stop worrying about it because this isn’t a romance novel.” He chuckled.

She made a whiny, crying sound, her face burning hot.

He didn’t say anything like she expected. She expected him to tease her, she expected him to tell her that they were friends but their relationship wouldn’t be anything more than that but he didn’t. She felt his weight on the couch beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“Would it made a difference if I did?”

“Uh, yeah, kind of a big difference, do you know how you appear to others? Do you know how intimidating you are?” His voice was soft and sincere.

“What are you talking about?” She snapped, rubbing her temples.

“You’re beautiful, smart and funny. You make everything seem so effortless, you should date an architect or something.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with architects?” She moaned, falling back into the cushions of the sofa.

Jughead sighed. “Betty, did you ever think about just asking me out?”

She threw him some serious side eye. “Oh yeah Jug, I’ll just walk up to you and be like, ‘Hey, I know we’ve known each other forever and I’ve ignored you for most of it but now that you’re all hot and dating models and shit, you wanna go out on a date?’” She scoffed.

“Okay.” He replied.

“What?” She sat up quickly, wincing when he head throbbed.

“I’ll go out with you.”

“Why? You date hipster girls who wear glasses they don’t need and are way too big for their face. You date girls who always look good in a romper, always have perfect Coachella hair and eat avocado toast everyday. I go days without showering, I’ve slept in the library more than once, I’ve dropped a McDonalds hamburger on the ground and still ate it because I had spent my last dollar on it and it was all I could eat for 17 hours until I got paid. Last night I threw up in my hamper-”

Jughead cut her off with a kiss. Betty was taken aback by the sudden gesture and it took her body a moment to relax and really accept what was happening. Betty had fantasized about this moment every night for months. What he would smell like, what he was taste like, how he would feel. He tasted like the cinnamon tic tacs he was always eating, spicy and sweet. He smelled like clean laundry, the sea and coconuts from using the girls shampoo all the time. Betty ran her hands through his hair bringing him closer to her. His body was hard and muscular and he pushed it against her, his skin warm and tan and so different from what she expected.

He parted from her, a smile on his face. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Liar.” Betty whispered, her eyes still closed.

“Betty, I’ve had a thing for your since the ninth grade.” He admitted, kissing her again.

“Do you want to take this into the bedroom?” She cooed running her hands over his chest.

“No, Bets.”

Her head jerked back. “What? Why? You take all these girls to bed and not me?”

“Betty, you aren’t all girls, you’re the girl.” He smiled and kissed her again.

She smiled back. “Can you please, for the love of god, delete all the messages I left you.”

“Um, absolutely not, this shit belongs in the MOMA.” He took out his phone. “Prepare yourself for message number two.”

tacmc  asked:

Drunk Rhys, Cass, and Az talking about their women when they get home from a night out. PLEASE.

Here you go, BFF. This became much fluffier than I anticipated it would be. Enjoy!
.
.
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Collapsing on the couch, Rhysand loosened the topmfew buttons on his shirt. The sleeves were already rolled up, exposing his inked forearms and as he stared at the designs, he could have sworn the swirls were moving.
A can popped up open behind him and turned to see Cassian walking into the living room carrying two beers. Azriel was only a few steps behind him, a glass of scotch in his own hand.
“Don’t you think we’ve had enough?” He asked, even as he took the cold can from his friends hand.
Plopping down next to him, Cass took a large gulp from his own as Azriel took a seat on the fire place. “The girls are off getting primped and pampered at whatever spa Mor took them to. This is our night. Let’s enjoy it.” He held the can in the air, toasting the evening.
Truth be told, their evening had begun about 5 hours ago, in a bar in downtown Velaris. A couple of beers, turned into a few more, which became a couple of shots, and then a few more.
After Ubering home, they elected to just crash at Elain and Azriel’s new home.
As it were, Cassian was staring around the room. “So did you even get a say in the decorating?”
Az just quirked a dark brow at his brother. “What do you mean?”
Cass motioned around the room. “Dude. There’s fucking flowers everywhere.”
Azriel rolled his eyes as Rhys began to chuckle. “Right, or I could decorate my home like you decorated the apartment to surprise Nesta.”
A drunken outright giggle bubbled through Rhys’s lips as he remembered the look on Nesta’s face as they all walked into the apartment for the first time, her unknowing Cass had decorated it with the finest Illyrian war memorabilia he could find. He spent weeks returning and shipping old weapons and documents back their former homes, and soon his own home looked less like a museum and more like the place he’d live with the love of his life.
A set of hazel eyes turned towards Rhys. “And what are you laughing about? That man cave you always bragged about looks pretty good as an artist’s studio I guess.”
Rhys pursed his lips. “Touché,” he said.
The males laughed and fell into a gentle quiet.
“How the hell did we get so lucky?” Azriel whispered, breaking the silence, his speech slightly slurred.
“I don’t know, man,” Cassian said, as usual the most intoxicated of the trio. “But I’ll do anything I can to make Nes happy for the rest of my life.”
The men looked at each other, and the coincidence was not lost on them. The three outcasts who had grown up as brothers had fallen in love with the three most beautiful women who had even walked on this earth.
“There’s this thing that Elain does,” Azriel mused, leaning his elbows on his knees, empty glass between his legs. “Before I come to bed. She’ll get into my side first, and warm it up for me, before scooting to her own side to fall asleep. After I finish my paperwork or whatever I’m doing, every night, without fail, my said of the bed is warm, and my pillow smells like her.” He leaned back on his hands and looked at the ceiling. “It seems stupid, but, I don’t know.” He paused. “No one has ever loved me that much.”
Cassian kicked his boots off and rested his socked feet on the edge of the the coffee table. “Nesta wakes up at 5:15 every single morning to make me coffee.” His brothers’ eyebrows shot up. If there was one thing known about the eldest Archeron sister, it was that she valued her sleep. Cass only nodded. “She wakes up on her own every morning to get up and make me coffee while I’m in the shower. Since we moved in together, there’s been a fresh cup of coffee, made just how I like it, steaming on the bathroom counter, waiting for me when I get out of the shower. And she’s already curled up back in bed, fast asleep.” He stopped at looked at his brothers. “No one has ever loved me that much.”
Rhys smiled, thinking about how three years ago, he’d accidentally spilled his drink on a girl at the New Year’s party his friend was throwing, and today, she was his wife and somehow, her sisters loved his brothers.
“What about you, man?”
Rhys’s head snapped up at the sound of Azriel’s voice. He and Cass were looking at him, the misty haze of the liquor from the night softening his friend’s faces. “What?”
“What does Feyre do to prove that she loves you?” Cassian asked.
Rhysand sat back and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“She does…,” he paused and thought.“Well, everything.” He smiled. “If I have a shit day at the office, I come home to one of my favorite meals without having to say anything. If I’m aggravated at a client, she takes me to the gym to train instead of sitting there and getting angrier and angrier. She’s my other half. It’s not just that she loves me. I’ve never loved anyone that much.”
Cassian held his can out in front of him. “To the Archeron girls. May they never figure out how much better than us they can do.”
With a laugh, the clinked glasses and finished off the rest of their drinks, hearts and dignity intact.

Daffodils, Mugs, and Rising From the Ashes

Fandom: Avengers/Captain America

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Requested: Nope, I just really wanted to a fluffy Bucky Fic

Summary: You and Bucky always eat breakfast at the same time everyday, and everyday you invite him to spend time with you, and everyday he turns you down, until he doesnt. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4218

A/N: I have had this idea in my head for ages and I finally typed it up. I still feel like its a bit rough and doesnt flow very well but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   as usual feedback is greatly appreciated! Feel free to reblog!! If anyone wants to draw Bucky in the gardening scene that would be great. I also suck at titles.



             “Hey Buckster,” You greet Bucky Barnes as you enter the kitchen of the Avenger’s tower one morning.

             “Hello,” He says, his signature frown on his face at your nick name for him as he looks up from the paper he was reading.

             “It supposed to be warmer today, I’m going for a walk around the park, would you like to come with me?” Going to grab your favorite mug for your coffee, you found that it was on the highest shelf. Cursing whoever emptied the dishwasher last, you attempted to stand on your tip toes to reach it, but couldn’t. “Buckster, will you do me a favor and grab my mug for me?” He nodded, moving over to you and reaching the cub with ease. “Thank you. So, what do you say about the walk.”

             “No thank you,” He said simply before returning to his breakfast and paper.

             Every morning you planned something to do, walk, attending to your flower garden on the top level of the tower, or Sundays and Wednesdays it was the farmer’s market, sometimes it was to read outside, other times a run, anything that you could invite Bucky along to. You had been doing it since about a week after he arrived, which was about three months ago, now. Every morning you ate breakfast at the same time as him, and every morning you’d ask if he wanted to do something with you, and every morning he would say ‘no, thank you.’ Then, every morning you would sit down and talk to him, well, at him, while you both ate or drank coffee.          

             “I know Clint calls me hot-head for the pun, but it just doesn’t make sense, I am a relatively calm person, I think.” You rant to a non-responsive Bucky about the nickname that Clint gave you. Being an Enhanced with the ability to summon and control fire it came the opportunity for a multitude of puns, all of which the team would take advantage of. You enjoyed the joking for the most part but sometimes it made you a bit upset because you were self-conscious about your enhancement, feeling that fire was far too destructive of an element for yourself. “Anyways, have a good day Buckster.” Hoping off the stool at the breakfast bar, you rinsed out your mug and put it in the drying rack just as Sam and Steve walked in from their morning run.

             “Goodness, it’s hot.” Sam commented, both of them with sweat stains down their shirts.

             “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” You tease, waving as you walk out the door. You swore you heard a stifled chuckle from Bucky.


             “Good morning, Bucko,” You grin at Bucky the next day, walking into the kitchen and making your way to the cabinets as usual, “How was your yesterday?”

             “Fine.” He responded shortly, glancing up from the paper.

             “Damn it, who the hell keeps putting my mug on the tallest shelf?” You mutter as you attempt to grab your mug again on your very tip toes. Before you could turn around to grab a chair, you felt the presence of someone right behind you and saw a metal arm reach out in front of you and grab the mug for you. “Thank you,” You grinned up at him as you took it from his hand once he held it out for you. “I’m going to the farmer’s market today, I was thinking about getting some fresh flowers to brighten up the place in here and possibly some veggies, wanna come with?” With a fluttering in your stomach at how close he was standing to you, you took another shot in the dark, prepared for disappointment.

             “Sure,” Bucky nodded once.

             A look of surprise washed over your face for a moment but it was quickly replaced with a grin so bright it rivaled the sun. “Awesome! We can go after breakfast?” You ask, practically jumping with excitement. He nods, a corner of his lip quirking up in what you believe to be a smile.

             After you practically shot gun your cup of coffee you quickly change out of your pajamas and grab your bag, you meet Bucky back in the kitchen. You spend most of the walk to the park where the farmer’s market was in comfortable silence. “What is your favorite type of flower?” You ask as you near the tents and spot the flower stand.            

             “I don’t know,” Was all the answer you got, but you smiled anyways, mentally picking out the type of flower you were going to get for him.

             You hummed to yourself as you stood in front of the buckets of beautiful plants, finger held to your lip in thought as you decided which types would be best where in the tower. “Do you like these for the kitchen?” You ask, pointing to a particular type and looking to Bucky and only receiving a shrug in response, “Yeah, you’re right, they won’t work, far too flippant.” Looking around for a more appropriate bouquet you miss the smile that graces his lips at your comment. After choosing what you felt to be a sufficient number of flowers you gathered them up in your arms and paid the vendor.

             It wasn’t hard to notice the stares that you were getting, of course you would be recognized, you were part of the Avengers. But every time Bucky got noticeably uncomfortable with people’s heads turning to look at you, you redirected the conversation to take his mind off of it.

             “Would you like some help carrying those?” He asked after noticing you struggling to balance all of the floral arrangements as you picked out vegetables.

             “Oh heavens, yes please.” You sigh in relief and smile as you hand over about half of them. When your hands brush each other you see his eyes flick to look at you but you just keep your attention on the flowers, not wanting to make him think that it wasn’t okay. You realize afterward that this is the first time you’ve ever touched him.

             “Why do you like flower so much? You always talk about them when you ask me to come with you here, and your garden.” Bucky speaks up as you begin walking back to the tower.

             “Well, I suppose it has to do with what I feel fire is, which is annihilation and destruction, so I like something that’s the opposite of that. I like to surround myself with life and growth because maybe it’ll cancel out in the long run.” You try to sound nonchalant as you admit something you had never said aloud, let alone to anyone else. Bucky stays silent, but you know that in his silence there is understanding.

“I picked these out for you.” You say quickly after you return to the tower and set all the purchases down and holding out a grouping of daffodils. “Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, just as we, The Avengers, are for you.” You left out the other specific things those flowers also meant.

             “Thank you, Y/N.” He tried his best to smile at you as he watched you carefully arranges the flowers in vases and put them in various places around the tower. He noticed he was the only person who got his own personal bouquet.


             “FRIDAY?” Asks as he lays flat on his back in his bed, unable to fall asleep.

             “Yes, Mr. Barnes?” The AI answers back.

             “Look up Daffodil flower meaning,” He stated, before quickly adding a “please” at the end. While he did have to use technology a bit in his years working for Hydra, he was still confused as to how to navigate the world-wide web, so he mostly turned to FRIDAY to answer his questions.

             “Daffodils symbolize chivalry, rebirth, and since they are the first flower to boom in spring, they are considered symbolize the end of winter.” FRIDAY answers back smoothly. Bucky smiles at this, it was perfect. He knew that Y/N knew enough about flowers to know the full meaning. His heart swelled with happiness and affection, she specifically chose ones that not only meant rebirth, as she had defined them, but ones that specifically marked the end of winter, and gave them to him. But he was drawn from these thoughts when the AI’s Irish lilt filled the silence of his room once again, “To a lesser degree they are known as the flower of unrequited love.” Bucky’s heart beat sped up at this and his head swam. Had Y/N meant it that way? If he were to think she just didn’t know, he would be contradicting his earlier thought of that she knew flowers and their meanings well. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Barnes?”

             “No, thank you.” He croaks out. He lay there for the rest of the night, thoughts running too fast to let him find peaceful sleep.


              Bucky didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up. Late, much to his dissatisfaction. It was only about half an hour later than when he normally woke up. Walking quickly down the hall he cursed to himself, he liked to be in the kitchen before you so he could see you scuffle in, wish him good morning in your far-too-chipper-for-how-early-it-was voice, and invite him to whatever it was you were doing that day, and more recently, help you grab your mug from the top shelf of the cabinets.

             As he neared the kitchen he heard the sound of glass shattering followed immediately by a loud thud and an ‘oof’. Running into the room, he finds you on the floor, seemingly haven fallen off the counter, mug broken.

             “Hey there, Buck-aroni, mind giving a girl a hand?” You groan, trying to push yourself up.

             Bucky moves to your side to help you, “You’re bleeding,” He comments when he sees that the shattered mug had left ceramic bits sticking out of the side of your arm and leg as he pulls you to your feet. So preoccupied with worry, he fails to see the blush spreading across your cheeks at the close contact.

             “Oh great,” You mutter, hissing in pain as you attempt to pull a particularly large shard from your thigh.

             “I can help, I’ll go get a first aid kit.” When Bucky returned, first aid box in hand, you were sitting on a stool and attempting to pull more pieces. “Stop that.” He ordered softly, moving your hand away so he could begin pulling them out more carefully with the tweezers.

             “That was my favorite mug.” You huff between curses as he began carefully working on cleaning you up, “I was trying to get it from the top shelf so I climbed on the counter, but it was wet and I slipped.”

             “Why didn’t you grab a chair or wait for me to get it for you?” He glances up at you, guilt settling in his stomach.

             “I was too lazy to get a chair and I didn’t want to hassle you. Plus you might have been sleeping in.” You shrug.

             “Good morning Inferno, Frosty- oh god what happened here?” Tony asks as he enters the kitchen to fill his mug. You doubt he slept, based on the caffeine-wired look and dark circles under his eyes.

             “I fell,” You say with a roll of your eyes. You hated your title, and everyone knew that. Being an enhanced, you came from Hydra, a different branch than Bucky, so you hadn’t crossed paths at all. You joined the Avengers a few months before he did, and right away you had expressed your dislike of your name.

             “Oh right, sorry about that. Say, why don’t you like Inferno again?” Tony asked, leaning against the counter.

             “An Inferno is defined as huge, out of control, fire, or simply, as Hell, because I was designed to reign hell down upon Hydra’s enemies. I don’t want to be Hell.” You replied simply, though there was an edge to your tone.

             Bucky glanced up at you, this being the first time you had ever explained your hatred of your title, and your reasoning resonated deep with him.

             “Well, how about we come up with a new one for you.” Tony shrugged, sipping his coffee.

             “What are we coming up with a new one of?” Steve asked as he entered the kitchen after his morning run with Sam. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Bucky crouched in front of you, gauze in hand.

             “I couldnt reach my mug so I stood on the counter to get it and slipped getting off and broke it, thus why I have mug shards in my arm and leg.” You answer his unspoken question, thinking it was directed at why you were hurt rather than the true meaning of as to why Bucky was the one helping you. Little did you know, when Steve and Bucky were alone, you were pretty much all Bucky could talk about. Yesterday, Steve swore the only things that came out of his best friend’s mouth were about your trip to the farmer’s market and how happy he was you gave him flowers. “But Tony suggested we come up with a new like code name for me, since I despise Inferno so much.”

             “That’s a great idea! How about Blaze? That sounds cool?” Steve offered, grabbing food from the fridge.

             You shook your head, wincing slightly as Bucky cleaned a larger cut. “That makes me sound like I’m a stoner or something.”

             “Stoner?” Steve frowns in confusion and you just shake your head to say ‘you don’t wanna know.’

             “Combustion?” Tony suggests thoughtfully, “Flaming flammable person? Magma?”

             “What about Phoenix?” Bucky asks suddenly, looking up as he wraps the final cut with a Band-Aid. “This is your new life, rising from the ashes of what Hydra made you,”

             “I love it.” You grin, nodding, “That’s perfect.”

             Bucky smiles slightly, and Steve nods in approval of it as well, all while Tony walks away muttering about three people in the Avengers now with bird-related names.

             “I was going to go work in the garden this morning but seeing as it hurts to move and I have a mission coming up and need to heal, I think I’m going to watch a movie. Want to join me, Buck-aroni?” You ask as you push yourself off the bench gingerly.

             “Yeah,” He nods once, and you smile in response before leaving to go pick out a movie in the other room.

             “Buck-aroni?” Steve asks, smirking.

             “Steve.” Bucky warns, shooting his friend a good-natured glare.

             “I think it’s cute, the nicknames,” His best friend shrugs in response, “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking her up on her offers to spend time with you.”

             “What do you mean?”

             “Every morning without fail she asks you to do something, no matter how many times you turn it down, you got to like someone to do that. We’ve all seen it, so don’t even deny it, so she obviously wants to spend time with you, and I’m glad you started doing it.” Steve shrugs, taking a bite of the toast he made.

             Before Bucky could response his attention is pulled away by you calling his name to join you in the movie room.


              “Good Morning, Buckaroo,” You wave at him before going to the cupboard to steal someone else’s mug for the day until you went to the store to get a new one.

             This morning Bucky had made sure to be there before you, a small box with a ribbon in hand.

             “I have something for you,” He avoided making eye contact and he seemed nervous, which made you frown. As he held out the box, you took it carefully.

             “Bucky, you didn’t have to get me anything.” You say as you carefully untie the ribbon and open the box. Inside was a new mug, covered in vintage style flowers. “Oh, this is wonderful, thank you!” Setting the cup down you move across the table to pull him into a tight hug. Bucky stiffens at first but then wraps his arms around your waist.

             “Am I interrupting something?” Sam says teasingly as he enters the room, Steve not far behind him.

             “Oh no, Bucky just got me a new mug because I broke mine yesterday, isn’t is pretty?” You pull away from Bucky and hold up the mug. While you admiring the details of the flowers you missed the knowing smirks that Steve and Sam shot Bucky, and the blush that rose to his cheeks in response.

             “Oh, Buckaroo, I’m working in the garden today and could use some help, want to join me?” You ask over your shoulder, pouring yourself a coffee.

             “Of course.”


              You quickly pulled out your phone to snap a picture of the moment. You and Bucky had just finished weeding and potting new plants in your garden and were gearing up to head back inside, but the picture perfect moment was too much to pass up. His hair was pulled up with a hair band, a flower tucked behind his ear from when you placed it there earlier, dirt smeared on his face, and neon pink gardening gloves on his hands. 

             “Smile!” You command with a laugh, holding up your phone. He didn’t have enough time to think of what he was doing before he flashed you a dazzling smile that made your heart flutter.

              ‘Well, I have my new wallpaper.’ You think to yourself as you grin down at your phone.


             “Steven Grant Rogers, stop putting my mug on the top shelf! Unlike you, I am a short person who can’t reach it!” You yell as you walk into the kitchen that night and find Steve emptying the dish washer.

             “I don’t put your mug on the top shelf, I always put it on the bottom.” He puts his hands up as if in surrender before pointing to your mug. And sure enough, it was on the bottom shelf of the cupboard.

             “Then how does it get to the top shelf every morning?” You frown, crossing your arms.

             “I was on a mission a few days ago and someone else emptied it, maybe they did.” He shrugs before returning to putting the dishes away.

             Opening a screen located inside the island, you try to remember the first day it was on the top shelf. “FRIDAY, pull of video of the kitchen from four nights ago, fast forward.” Steve comes and stands beside you as you watch the playback of the night sped up. “Normal speed.” You order as you watch Bucky come on screen and begin putting the dishes away, and sure enough, puts your mug on the top shelf. “What a little shit, I asked him to get it down for me the next morning and he didn’t even tell me he was the one who did it.” you mutter with a shake of you head.

             “But I was here the next day, and I put it on the bottom shelf.” Steve prompts, putting the pieces together as to what was going on.

             “FRIDAY, go to the next night, fast forward,” You say, watching intently as people whiz quickly on the screen, including Steve putting the dishes away, as he said. Leaning against the counter, you and Steve waited as the foot traffic stopped and the lights went off, “I don’t understand, how did it-“ but you were cut short when the lights turned back on around 2am, and Bucky walked in, opened the cupboard, and put your mug on the top shelf. “Pause, please.” You ask FRIDAY and the picture stops. “Why would he do that?” Frowning, you ask the question more to yourself than to Steve. “Go to 24 hours later please,” And at the same time the next night, you saw Bucky come in and move your mug yet again. “I don’t understand.”

             “Well, you said you asked him for help the first day, right?”

             “Yeah and the next day I was just going to grab a stool but he grabbed it for me before I could.” Frowning in thought, you dismiss FRIDAY and close the screen.

             “It could be because he liked helping you?” Steve offered, hoping you’d pick up on what was happening. You were smart, just oblivious sometimes. “That was the day he went to the farmer’s market with you, right? It could be that that gave him an excuse to be by you? You could ask him about it.”

             “Could be.” You nod, staring to understand what was going on. “I’ll ask him about it.”

             And by ask you meant wait until 2am and catch him in the act.

             At around 1:45 you crept softly into the kitchen, keeping the lights off so Bucky wouldn’t think anything was out of the ordinary. Waiting in the darkness, you felt your heartbeat pick up with nerves. What if Steve was wrong? But why else would Bucky move your mug every day? When you heard footsteps approaching, you panicked and scurried softly away, staying low and peaking around the corner as Bucky entered the kitchen. You knew it was weird to spy, but you didn’t have the courage to confront him. You figured, tomorrow morning, you will quickly try to get the cup yourself without him interfering, and if he does, you’ll stay up the next night and confront him for sure.


             “Good morning, Bucky!” You try to sound as normal as possible as you stroll into the kitchen.

             “No nickname this morning?” He asks, a small amused smile on his lips that makes your heart swell with happiness.

             “To be honest I’m running out of them. I thought about Buckaboo but that just sounds weird.” You laugh when he scrunches up his nose at the nickname, “See?” You tease as you open up the cupboard and prepare yourself to jump on the counter again. After making sure it was dry this time, of course. Putting your hands on the counter, you jump up, but as soon as your feet leave the ground you feel two strong hands on your waist, lifting you to reach your mug. After you clasped onto your mug tightly, he lowered you back to the ground. “Thank you,” You murmured, turning around to face him.

             “Of course,” Bucky smiled, lingering in front of you for a moment before returning to his spot at the breakfast bar. After pouring your coffee and adding the amount of sugar you like, you took your place next to him, falling into your usual routine of talking at him. Though, today, he talked back, looked up from the paper, made eye contact, added comments here and there. You didn’t think you had been happier in years.

             “I was thinking about going for a walk this morning, would you like to join me?” Bucky asks softly during a lull in conversation, turning the tables. You can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, but his words are smooth, probably from rehearing it repeatedly.

             “I’d love to, Bucky.” You grin.


             You walked along the streets until you reached a small park. Collectively, you decided to sit on a bench and people watch for a bit, enjoying the nice weather.

             “Bucky,” You say after a moment and he turns to look at you, “You do know there’s a video camera in the kitchen, right?” Watching as his face goes void of color and he starts to stammer something out but you just smile softly and hold up your hand to stop him. “Just tell me why, I want to understand.”

             He takes a deep breath, looking down at his hands as he tries to formulate the right thing to say. “Every morning you always ask me to do something, anything, with you, to show, what I think and hope is, your affection. Or at least that you aren’t afraid of me, and enjoy my company. I guess I was looking for my own version of that to show you the same things.”

             Scooting over on the bench you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight hug, “Thank you,”

             “I looked up the full meaning of daffodils too, by the way.” He says as you pull away, and it was your turn for your face to go pale.

             “I knew you shared the same sentiment about your title as I did, so I figured a flower that marked the end of winter would be appropriate.” You quickly tried to cover your tracks, hoping that was all that came up when he searched the meaning.

             “It’s not unrequited.” He says simply, ignoring your explanation.

             “it isn’t?” You choke out, you voice small as you look at him.

             “It isn’t.” A large and genuine smile graces his lips, “Thank you for not giving up on me every time I turned you down for your morning activities.”

             “Of course,” A bashful blush rises to your cheeks as you glance between his eyes and his smile.

             “Can I kiss you?” He asks softly, and when you nod he closes the distance between you two, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to your lips.


[Extended ending]

             “What the hell is this?” Natasha throws a tabloid magazine down on the table in front of you and Bucky as you drink your morning coffee together the next day.

             You pick up the magazine and study the front page with your boyfriend. There was a picture of you two kissing in the park plastered across the front and smaller photos of your morning walks and farmer’s market visit scattered in the corners, headline reading “INFERNO AND WINTER SOLDIER COUPLE NAME: TEMPERATE?”

             “Temperate, I dig it.” You nod, tossing the magazine back at the other woman and turning to Bucky, “What do you think?”

             “I feel like Sam personally called them to give them that idea.” He chuckles with a shake of his head.

             “I meant what the hell as in why didn’t you tell me you were together!” Natasha scolded you with her hands on her hips.

When I Met A Girl

***I wrote this for my English assignment and yeah… Enjoy****

When I was seven I met a girl who made me giggle. My first
day at school and she walked up to me, her hands filled with sand, “Here, have
this, you’re my new friend.” I took it gratefully, stunned by this tiny girl
with glasses too big for her face. I carried it around with me until I was told
off; sand wasn’t allowed in the classrooms. We’d sit together and laugh and cut
out tiny pictures of animals we would tape to our tables. She’d tell me stories
of older siblings and slide her glasses up her nose right before they’d fall off
her face. I’d sit there and eat my lunch, chiming in every now and again to
tell her about my funny memories, which always resulted in her laughing so much
she began to snort.  But summer was the
best, because the sun seemed to focus on her, making her blonde hair light up
and set her apart from our other classmates, always making me smile. She’d buy
red icy-poles from the canteen and would later hold my hand with her sticky
sugar coated ones during play time. It seemed as if nothing could compare to
her gapped tooth smile and messy hair.   I remember thinking of our days as being the
best thing in the universe, having endless fun and never growing tired of silly
jokes or colouring in.

When I was ten I met a girl who made me smile. We’d sit in
her room with Avril Lavigne playing on her TV and her parents arguing from the
kitchen. I’d bring over my mum’s lipsticks and eye shadows and we’d give each
other colourful makeovers to help pass the time. She’d welcome me into her pink
room and her freckled cheeks would glow underneath our messily made blanket fort,
then we’d sing along to the music, our hands together as we danced across the
room. She embodied happiness and wore yellow flowers behind her ears, sometimes
woven into her two long braids. I remember movie nights with her feeling like
they could last forever, the morning never seeming to come as we lay in bed and
laughed at our own jokes, staying up past midnight and sneaking into the
kitchen to steal ice cream and cookies for snacks. These nights were magical
and held a kind of sacredness, nothing bad could enter our forts, nor could
parents or siblings. She gave me confidence, energy and ice cream.

When I was thirteen I met a girl who made me laugh. This
girl was fearless, she approached me with certainty and demanded that I be her
friend. She’d text me at four in the morning and we’d talk for hours on end.
This girl was my best friend, this girl was beautiful and she knew it.  She’d take me by my hand and we’d run home
from school, collapsing on her bed, laughing, as we shook off our school bags.
She’d sit me down and open up to me about the things that erased the confidence
from her eyes, she told me about her mum and car crashes and things that made
her cry. I’d hug her and tell her it would be okay, because I felt as though I
needed to protect this girl, and I wanted to make her feel secure. We would
climb trees on her uncle’s farm and she would laugh when she had to help me up
to the highest branch, before kissing me and smiling the biggest smile I had
ever seen. I’d laugh nervously, my brain buzzing and my cheeks flushed, then
she’d kiss me again and we would just sit there, staring at the sunset. “Don’t
tell my dad.” She’d always say as we climbed down. For the longest time I
didn’t know if she meant don’t tell him that we’d climbed the tree or that we’d
kissed, I figured it out the next summer when her uncle came down to the back of
the farm to call us up for lunch and found us kissing. I was sent home and when
school started she wasn’t there. My teachers told me she was sent away to live
with her aunt in New South Wales.

When I was sixteen I met a girl who made me cry. This girl
was filled with shards of glass and storms. She was a hurricane that would
bring me along and then drop me to the ground when she was done. This girl
wasn’t kind or good for me, but she was captivating, she made me feel special
and loved and important. She’d pick me up in her old, beaten car and pause to
tie her long golden hair out of her face as she told me of the night’s plans.
When I was with her there were colours, there were lights and there were fields
of experiences and firsts and the little things that mattered. She’d put her
arm around me and promise me that tonight was going to be the best night ever, and
then we’d dance for hours on end, to music neither of us had ever heard. Whenever
we went out she’d be surrounded with crowds of older boys and pretty girls, but
she always managed to look down at me with her big green eyes that told me none
of them mattered, that nothing else mattered, because we were together and the
night was young and we had a car that could take us anywhere. But this girl was
poisonous. When we were alone she’d yell and scream and push me around. She’d
fill my ears with stinging words and leave me crying on her door step at the
end of each night when she was done with me. And for whatever reason, the next
day I’d come back, and we’d go out, and she’d love me, until we went back to
her house and she’d blame me for the car breaking down, or my parents finding
out we were drinking, or for her forgetting her keys. She’d blame me and I’d be
sent away shaken and scared, but I still came back.

When I was nineteen I met a girl who made me dance. I
complimented her on the scarf she wore to class every day, she had smiled and
whispered, “My dad bought it for me from Spain,” then she looked at me properly
and leaned in closer, “You have very pretty eyes.” I blushed and thanked her,
she smirked and resumed paying attention to the lecture. This girl was amazing;
she was charismatic and could charm anyone. She knew every student and every professor.
She was smart, creative and emotional in all the right ways. She was all things
bright and all things extroverted.  This
girl was warm and this girl was lovely. She wore flowing dresses and took me to
sophisticated parties where we would stand in the corner and laugh at every one’s
ridiculous outfits, we’d get tipsy on champagne and spend the rest of the
evening in dingy cafes in the city that smelt like old smoke and pancakes. My
year with her was the best year of my life. Her dad would buy plane tickets to
fly us out to Spain to stay with him. We’d spend hundreds of dollars on
expensive Spanish food and waste hours watching street performers, dancing, and
just being in each other’s arms. She was the first girl I had fallen in love with,
and every moment with her was special, was magical, and was perfect. The night
before she left to move to Spain permanently we laid together in her bed and
cried. Eventually we stopped and I laid beside her, playing with her long red
hair as she rested her head against my shoulder, “This won’t be the end, long
distance works for a lot of people,” we’d tell each other. When she left, we
lasted for two months before we mutually agreed it wasn’t working, it took me five
months to properly recover. She was my first love.

When I was twenty-three I met a girl who made me jealous.
This girl could never love me back, this girl was the one that got away. I fell
for her despite myself. I really couldn’t help it, everything about her made me
smile; the way she covered her mouth when she laughed, how she did her makeup,
the way she cut her hair, the skirts she wore that would billow around her
every time she spun around, which was often. This girl was kind to me and took
care of me, she was my friend and was there for me when I needed her. We moved
in together and it felt like torture, I wanted so much more than what we had,
but I couldn’t have it, so I had to remain content with our current friendship,
with inside jokes and crying on each other’s shoulders. For then, it was
enough, but I couldn’t help pining. She eventually met a man, and for months I
was taken over with jealousy, why did he achieve what I could not? Soon she
moved out and moved in with him, they became engaged and I was forced to let go
of my feelings. Yet we still remain friends, and we have dinners together and
laugh about my younger self and her love stricken feelings.

When I was twenty-seven I met a girl that made me sparkle.
This girl, she was The One. She’s the girl that made time stop, that froze
everything around us every time we kissed. The girl that made my stomach fill
with butterflies and my head fill with romances. This girl was every definition
of perfect. I could stare for hours and hours and hours at this girl and her
beautiful blue eyes, at her constellations of freckles that littered her back,
I could stare and he stained lips and her short wavy hair, I could stare at
this girls tanned legs and I could listen to her angelic voice until the day I
die. I fell in love with all these, all of the beautiful perfect pieces of her.
I fell in love with her flaws also; the stretch marks pulled across her hips,
the small mole on her jaw, the scar in between her eyebrows from when she was a
child, the regretted star tattoo on her finger. Everything about her enraptured
me, she was perfect to me, and I too her. She’d surprise me in the mornings
with sweet coffee and a sweeter smile. This girl would take me on adventures I
will never forget.  She made me feel like
a million stars, she made me sparkle, she helped me love everything, she helped
me follow my passions and to realise what love felt like. This girl was lovely.

Nine to Five (Part 2)

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Summary: Father Stiles AU. All Y/n wants is to find a new family to care for, when she comes across an AD in the newspaper, she couldn’t be happier. Stiles hires a new nanny for his daughter, but he soon realizes that he hired someone that would soon become much more than just a nanny.

Do let me know what you think about this, pretty please. Feedback is always wanted. I don’t know who made the gif, if anyone does, please let me know and I’ll credit it <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3


It was eight o'clock when you were rushing around your apartment, grabbing everything you thought you would need for the day. It was your first day at the new job, and you swore your clothes were already dripping with sweat. “Best of luck!” Lydia shouted from her room as you grabbed your backpack and rushed out the door to your car.

You lived twenty minutes from Beacon Hills, but you still wanted to make a good impression by showing up early, especially since you’ve never met Rosie before and Stiles had to introduce you before he left for work.

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Rain or Shine

Request: “heya! i loved ur draco fic “sanctuary” it was incredible! could i make a request for a long ish draco fic about the reader having a shitty few months and it feels like everything sucks, but draco her best friend starts saying all the wonderful times they are like yet to have, and includes them falling in love by accident, and then confesses his love for her and then smut? Xoxox”

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: depression, self-harm, negative thoughts. A lot of this writing is easy for me because I’ve been there, and I’m okay now. But if you’re not feeling too good, I’m always here to talk, I love you. P.S. I made this super fluffy bc Draco cares about you a lot :’) 

PART 2 

Originally posted by littleshivers210

The light peeking through the window stirred you, awakening your mind but somehow not your body. With lead in your arms and legs, you rolled to the side of your bed, checking the clock. You were once again late for class. Already a steady stream of tears was beginning to slide down your cheeks, and you pulled the duvet over your head. The last time you had slept in, you had received a very stern talking to by Professor McGonagall. And you were already so far behind on your transfiguration homework, your pile of responsibilities seemingly never ending.

Once again you let your thoughts wander where they should not go. To blood filled bathtubs and rivers running red. To the sound of a swinging rope, weighted with something heavy. To the feeling of nothing. You argued with your inner monologue, talking to yourself as you sobbed under the covers.

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Identical Twins.

Connie had been best friends with her twin sister Jessica since before she could remember, but never spent as much time with Jessica as she would have liked.

Connie didn’t understand why her sister was always being sent to the doctor. She didn’t seem sick, and doctors were for sick people.

Once she learned about germs, Connie had tried to catch Jessica’s sickness, so they could be together at the doctor. It didn’t work.

Connie had always felt protective of her sick twin, almost like a big sister.

So Connie never complained when Jessica got all the best toys. She tried hard not to be jealous of the attention Jessica received from their parents, who were so busy they barely had time for Connie. But Connie knew that they were important scientists who did important work.

Connie even kept her resentment in check when Jessica was sent to private-school.

It didn’t matter; she had friends at her public-school, and every evening she would be able to play with her twin.

Though their parents were furious, Connie was delighted when Jessica ignored her acceptance to a prestigious university so they could attend the same college.

When their parents died in a tragic car accident, Connie and Jessica moved into their family’s old house. With eachother’s support, they mourned their loss and re-entered the world. They graduated and found jobs; they dated men. They remained best friends.

On their 30th-birthday, the twins’ gifts to eachother had been plane tickets to Paris.

Applying for a passport, Connie requested her birth-certificate from the department of records and received a shock: the certificate listed no father, and a stranger’s name where her mother’s should have been. Worse, the certificate recorded only a single birth.

Connie knew it was a mistake. She called the records office and the hospital, but they denied any impropriety.

Connie felt uneasy. But, it was crazy; they looked exactly alike!

One night, Connie surreptitiously swabbed the rim of Jessica’s water glass. She paid the DNA-lab for rush analysis. The results showed their DNA matched: identical twins.

Connie was relieved, but deeply confused. The records had to be wrong. She would prove it: she would find her real birth-certificate.

Connie took the day off work. She spent hours going through her parents’ box-filled attic, finally locating a section devoted to family papers. It seemed that they kept every drawing, every piece of homework, and every report-card from the girls’ schooling. It was touching, but Connie kept digging. Eventually, she found a small fireproof lockbox.

She pried it open with a screwdriver.

Inside were some old papers and a Polaroid. Connie sifted through the papers, triumphantly locating the birth-certificate.

Her heart sunk.

It matched the one from the department of records.

Jessica’s was there too: their parents’ names printed in the appropriate fields, a single birth.

Tearfully, Connie looked at the Polaroid. They were newborns, both sleeping. She flipped it over and noticed an inscription in faded ink: “Jessica and control, 1986”

3

If anyone wants to know what I’ve been up to all day, I’ve been playing around with a story about Anubis as a broke college graduate in modern-day Cairo, with foreign-sponsored Set running for president in the backdrop. Nobody knows Anubis is Anubis or even that something’s off about him except for Sumayyah (glasses girl), who’s a mythology enthusiast but is often mistaken as having a crush on Anubis each time she tries to track and expose him. Rabia, the old lady, manages the apartment area they both live in–however, she really just wants to become a famous singer. If this were a real cartoon, she’d be providing most of the musical sequences, lolol.  

so I just had a pretty incredibly exciting celebrity run-in on the bus home from work (in Vancouver). I was sitting across from these two ladies who were talking to the girls beside me. As soon as I saw them, I immediately thought I recognized them as the White-Faced Women from Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Their faces, their glasses, their hair, their voices were all a perfect match, and the way they talked to the girls and joked off of each other clearly pegged them as actors. Given that ASOUE was my favourite book series for years and years, there was no way I couldn’t say anything, so I hesitantly asked if they were who I thought they were, and lo and behold, it was them! (Joyce Robbins [Woman 1] on the left of my pic, Jacqueline Robbins [Woman 2] on the right).

They were on their way back from a long day of shooting season 2, and they were raving about how amazing the new season was, even bigger and better than the first. They gushed with affection for the books and how Netflix has lovingly brought it to life with such great accuracy and creativity, Daniel Handler’s amazing writing skills for paper and screen, all the crew that make it possible, and the endless fun of working with Neil Patrick Harris. They had spent a good portion of the day working on learning a dance with him, and were both exhausted from it. I commented on how it made sense, then, that their hair was done up like that, since they’d just come back from filming. They revealed that they always wear their hair like that, and that Netflix liked it so much at the audition that they made it a part of the costume, and even put it in the wigs they wore for disguises.

They also asked me stuff about me, and I could barely get words out in my giddy excitement. It was pretty pretty cool. The people around us on the bus didn’t know what they were from, but were smiling fondly at their enthusiasm about their show and their work and my enthusiasm about meeting them!

anonymous asked:

Oh my god you should do a part 2 where months later Harry comes back ans he regrets everything and talks about wanting 'us' back to the reader but the reader is Just like "there was no us" lmao I would die

girl don’t die on me but here ya go
masterlist // there’s no us

The day had been busy, like most of your days were lately. Ever since Harry left, doing just fine on his own, you picked up your work load and rarely had a day off. And now with award season around the corner, you found yourself drinking a glass of wine and going through photos of several outfits and accessories for your clients to wear over the many events coming up. You were in the middle of finding the perfect shoes for a Fendi dress when there was a knocking on your front door. 

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