he's endeared by her

A Personal Connection

Author: @sebastianstandoffish

Pairing: Reader (She/Her) x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Bucky may or may not have a crush on Steve’s PA.

Word Count: 5,551

Category: Fluff/Very light smut

Warnings: Cursing (per usual), some smutty stuff but not all that explicit, etc.

A/N: A whole month! Time really flies. This was going to include more explicit smut scenes in it, but, after some deliberation, I’ve decided to put that into a separate work. It’ll be a continuation of this with actual smut in it. Hopefully the separation doesn’t disrupt too much and also allows readers that a) don’t enjoy reading explicit smut and b) don’t connect with an explicitly biologically female reader can still enjoy the story. Thank you for reading and understanding!


She had started out as a way to appease Tony, who had insisted that Steve needed a personal assistant. Stark blathered on and on about how much his life had changed after getting a PA and how maybe a little help with coordinating and the day to day tasks would “remove the stick from that star-spangled ass.”  

So, Steve had caved and asked Pepper to set up a couple of interviews with people interested in the job. After a parade of ecstatic fans and sexual propositions, he was just about ready to give up.

Instead, at the end of a very long day of being ogled and fawned over, (Y/N) had appeared with a rose-scented resume and two popsicles she’d bought from the street-vendor outside the Tower. Her smile was sweet and her eyes kind, a little wide at the opulence of the Stark equipment, but not predatory like the previous applicants.

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Mine

Originally posted by worldstyles

REQUEST: Jealous Harry smut

HARRY’S TEXTS // (Y/N)’S TEXTS

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pros of 4x01
  • someone (Clarke!!!!) finally thanked Bellamy 
  • Indra is alive! Indra and Kane are bffs 
  •  "Princess" 
  • Raven got thanked for saving everyone 
  •  Bellamy losing his mind anytime Echo came near Clarke 
  • “I wasn’t done talking” IM WET 
  • anything Murphy said 
  • Octavia sneaking into Roan’s room was honestly badass 
  • “Princess!!!!!" 
  • Roan is so fucking hot goddamn 
  • Monty and Harper were lil cuties 
  • Bellarke working together and caring about each other yesss my shit 
  • "PRINCESS" 
  • Clarke recognizing that the chip is a cultural icon and not hers to claim so she finally gives it up thank u 
  • Roan coming thru my man 
  • Bellamy not taking any of Echo’s shit 
  • Bellarke Power Strut 
  • "PRINCESS” I LITERALLY SCREAMED BELLAMY CALLED CLARKE “PRINCESS” !!!!!!
  • PRINCESS, WHAT ONCE WAS A DEROGATORY TERM USED TO INSULT CLARKE’S SOCIAL CLASS, IS NOW A TERM OF ENDEARMENT BECAUSE HE LOVES HER HE FUCKING LOVES HER
cold heart killer || stiles stilinski (smut)

word count: 6026

warnings: angst, smut, oral (both receiving)

author’s note: long time no post! so i’m back with a treat of both smut and angst! you’re welcome. i’m honestly not sure how i feel about this one, but i hope you all like it! 

pairing: stiles stilinski / reader

masterlist

coming soon

Nervous fingers drummed on the leather steering wheel as the thunder roared, grey clouds covering the bright California sun. Beacon Hills was due for a storm within the next couple days, but it seemed to be coming sooner than forecasted by the meteorologist on the nine o'clock news. Her car sped down the road to the high school, having gotten a cryptic message from none other than Theo Raeken. Theo was her lab partner for a science project and they would meet up at the school’s library when they worked together even if her boyfriend, Stiles Stilinski wasn’t a fan of the new addition to the small town they lived in.

Stiles was the only one who didn’t particularly trust Theo and it got on everyone’s nerves just a little bit. He’d never been as trusting as everyone else in the pack, even though some of them would have their doubts about people. Although, Stiles was a totally different story. He didn’t like anyone, he seemed to think the whole world was against him. It would take awhile for him to warm up meeting new people.

Earlier that day, a note was in her locker. Messy handwriting that she vaguely remembered was scribbled on the fold paper, her name in black ink. She unfolded the paper and read the message:

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Harry’s a Pilates Teacher and He Likes Bambi. A lot.

“James is never angry, thank you very much. He is the most content of all cats, actually. The vet says she’s never seen a more comfortable cat.”

“What sort of a name is James for a cat anyway?”

“I love Gavin and Stacey.” Harry stared back her, his face blank, willing her to go on. “James Corden.”

“You named your cat after James Corden?”

“Got a problem with that?”

“No,” he smirked. “Not at all.”

8500 words, be nice. I tried.

A big thank you to my home gals @islareeveswriting and @harrysmeadow for once again being true angels and reading this one several times for me, and spotting all the things that didn’t make sense which I’d missed. Where would I be without them?

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2

1x21 vs 2x14

do you wanna be a member?

JILY CHALLENGE | @howlingremus​ vs @queensaphrodite
         lonely hearts club (marina and the diamonds) + muggle librarian!au

for my amazing partner, @queensaphrodite! and for elena (@meraudurs) and nai (@hiddenpolkadots​), for inspiring me to write and create (and for helping me edit this <3)

The library closes far too early, in her opinion. Sure, it closes at eight, and sure, maybe she ought to try just showing up earlier, but in her defense, it isn’t solely her fault. She only gets off work at five, and there are just so many books to read. How are three hours anywhere near enough?

She frequents the place almost every day, knows it like the back of her hand. But there’s something off about it today. Maybe it’s the fact that the historical fiction section switched places with the biography section, but that was last week.

Lily grabs her books and walks up to the counter to ask Peggy whether or not there’s a copy of Everything, Everything available and oh shit that’s what’s different.

There’s a different librarian - a bloke - at the desk, with hair too messy to be legal, glasses too outdated to be unintentionally bought, and a shirt too wrinkled to ever have come in contact with an iron. He’s the kind of fellow who’d be perfect as the main character as one of the books Lily wants to check out - maybe a Peter Pan or a Percy Jackson kind of fellow.

Lily blinks.

Well, fuck.

He looks up from fiddling with the cuffs of his button-down, meets her gaze for a moment, and cocks an eyebrow.

“You’re the first person under forty I’ve seen so far.” His voice almost seems to echo, and it’s much louder than most librarians tend to be.

Lily can’t even tell if he’s being dense or just kind of cocky, but she’ll place her bet on the latter. It’s clear as day in the way he holds himself - self-assured, unashamed, even a bit arrogant but still good-natured.

She crosses her arms. “That’s not true, and you know it. You’re literally right next to the freaking children’s section.”

The bloke laughs, a sound almost out of place in this quiet library. She owes herself twenty dollars.

“Check and mate, I guess. But then again, it’s not like I can really see them.” He taps his glasses with a ridiculously long finger. “They’re getting smaller every day, I swear.”

Lily even smiles at that for a second, before stuffing it back where it came from. This arrogant, loud-mouthed (they’re in a fucking library, has he no sense of volume?), far-too-handsome idiot has no place in this library of hers.

(All the same, she wouldn’t mind reading about someone like him.)

“Yeah, sure” she says, quickly, trying to get to the point. “Listen, do you guys have another copy of Everything, Everything?”

He shrugs. “Hell if I know.”

Lily is done with this bloke. She makes her way around the desk to where he’s sitting, pushes away his chair (“Oi, what d’ya think you’re doing?” but he doesn’t sound particularly annoyed, just curious), opens up the catalog page on the monitor in front of him (the first thing she sees when she opens it up is a March Madness bracket - she now kind-of-sort-of-really wants to punch the guy), and soundlessly types in the words Everything, Everything.

No more copies available, but there’s one currently on hold. And it’s not hers. Damnit.

The guy standing behind her takes a look at her screen, and she can hear him let out a breath. “Oh, shit, that book? Isn’t that the one with like the mysterious guy and the girl who’s supposed to be sick but - “

Lily hastily shoves out her hand, as if to slap it over his rambling mouth. “No spoilers!” she all but yells. And she realizes that she’s being such a hypocrite right now, so she adds, a little bit more quietly, “Please.”

The bloke smirks, like he knows exactly what she’s thinking. “Alright, then.” He peers over at the screen once more, and Lily presses the power button. She gets up, and moves over to the side of the desk that she ought to be on.

“Well,” she says curtly, trying not to smile (for some reason) at this endearing annoying stranger. “Thanks.”

He grins at her. “Don’t mention it.”

Suddenly, something occurs to Lily. “Hold on,” she says slowly. “You’ve read this book?”

For some reason, the bloke turns red. “Er - um, no? I got it for my friend…Marlene? And like I read the summary on the back -”

Lily smirks. “Liar. You’ve totally read it.”

If possible, he turns even redder - it’s quite a funny sight. “I was bored, alright? And it was lying around - I really had bought it for Marlene - and I…may have skimmed it?”

Lily laughs and tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear.  “Why are you acting so defensive? It’s just a book, relax.”

“Well, it’s not as good as the Percy Jackson series.” Besides the point, but Lily can’t deny that it’s true.

“Fair,” she admits.

She notices a watch on his hand (it looks extraordinarily beat-up, made of old leather and a face of cracked glass), and checks the time. Crap, the library closes in a few minutes. “I really should be going,” she says, making sure she has all the books she wants before turning around.

(She’s not sure if she’s imagining it, but the librarian’s face seems to fall slightly.)

Just as Lily’s about to head back, she hears a quiet “Wait.” She turns around.

“What is it?”

“Er.” The librarian looks…pretty sheepish, and he rubs the back of his neck. “What - what does it say on your shirt?”

Lily almost rolls her eyes, and she pulls back the cardigan she’s wearing.

I left my heart in a book,” the guy reads. He looks back up at her.

“Is that, like, for a book club or something?”

Lily stares at him in confusion. “Sorry?”

“The shirt - you must’ve got it from some sort of club.”

“I…got it from Macy’s? So no, not a book club.”

He looks quizzically at her. “You know, you should probably make that shirt a book club, then.”

Lily raises an eyebrow. “For hearts in books?”

“Yeah, something like that. Like, aggressive bibliophiles or something.”

She perches herself on the desk, her legs starting to get tired of standing, and almost ends up knocking over a stapler. “Who’d join?”

“I would.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, and I’d grab some friends, too. Get some drinks, maybe some fries, and master the art of abandoning our poor, forsaken hearts in some dusty old books.”

Lily actually lets out a laugh. “I - don’t think that’s what it means.”

“But wouldn’t that be more dramatic?”

Come to think of it, it would be. Lily tries to envision it, but the only thing that really comes to mind is some sort of cult with an obsession for Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley. And they, of course, take their fries with a small cup of blood.

Anyways. She shrugs, and gets off the desk. “You do have a flair for the dramatics, then. Say, who the hell are you?”

His hands fly up to his hair - for what, to make it even messier? - and ends up almost knocking his glasses off the bridge of his nose.

“Stop giggling, bloody hell. And it’s James.”

Against her better judgement (sod it all, rational thought), she reaches over and pushes up his glasses. His hazel eyes follow her fingers, and he looks a little bit cross-eyed. It’s all a little bit sweet.

“James, is it? Well, I’m Lily, founder of the Hearts in Books Club.” The bloke - James, now - snorts at that, only causing to Lily to giggle even more.

James looks down at his watch . “I think the library closes right about now, you’d best be off.”

Lily swears under her breath, and James raises an eyebrow.

“Now, what was that?” The accent he’s putting on sounds a bit like some old-fashioned English professor, which kind of goes with the button-down, but not with the hair. “You do know you’re near the children’s section, next to so many impressionable young minds - you wouldn’t want to give them the wrong idea -”

“Oh, sod off,” she says, but not before glancing over to see if there’s anyone under the age of ten watching them. She checks to see if she still has all her books, and actually turns to leave.

“See you, Jimmy.” She smirks.

“OI, WATCH IT!”

~

Once she turns the corner, she can’t stop smiling. And even once she gets home and picks up her books and tries to - tries to lose her heart in them, damnit, she can’t stop thinking of James and the Hearts in Books Club and that damn hair.

Fuck, she thinks.

~

Lily returns to the library the next day, of course - she needs to pick up the sequel to Six of Crows, the novel she just finished.

(And she may or may not want to see if James is there.)

(He isn’t. Peggy is back, and though she loves Peggy, she’s a bit disappointed.)

(What is wrong with me, she thinks.)

After finding Crooked Kingdom, finally, she traipses over to the holds section. As far as she remembers, she doesn’t have anything on hold, but it’s always good to check.

There’s a book in her slot.

Furrowing her brows, she reaches up (and, quite embarrassingly, has to get up her tippy-toes; damn her lack of height), and grabs it. It’s hardcover, feels pretty new, and strangely enough, it doesn’t have that clear library binding around it.

The cover reads Everything, Everything. It’s the book she wanted yesterday - the one that the library shouldn’t have an available copy of. Confused, Lily opens the front cover, and the first thing she sees is a little note on a yellow Post-It, scribbled in Sharpie.

Lily,

Can this be the first book of the Hearts in Books Club?

See you Thursdays and Tuesdays.

- James.

There’s a little smiley face doodled next to her name, and Lily feels a strange, swooping feeling that she normally only feels at the end of a really good book.

And oh, fuck, she can’t stop grinning.

(But maybe, when she gets home, it’s something more than the book itself - something having to do with the note on the inside front cover - that prompts her to read it over and over again).

(Maybe. Just maybe).

sunshine

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Sarcasm laced his words.

Coal eyes took in the bright opal ones of the girl in front of him. Despite his best efforts, his prickly attitude and cold shoulder, she wouldn’t leave him alone to sulk. She was a burr, persistent in attempting to befriend him.

She simply laughed, a bubbly sound. “Actually, my name is Hinata.”

He couldn’t help the small quirk of his lips. “Of course it is.”

one of the saddest moments for me in the revival was the moment that lorelai revealed that when she was thirteen, she was called “weird” and “loud” and essentially told that there was no way she was actually a gilmore because of this.

she was so different, so not what a girl, especially a girl of her circumstance, was supposed to be.  so here’s this vivacious, witty, quirky little girl with bright blue eyes who probably makes jokes and says the wrong thing and has a thirst for a life outside of what she knows that even the kids, with their trickled down opinions from their parents, bully her.

and it crushed her.  the thought of not being a gilmore, of not belonging, crushed her.

yes, her mother and her never saw eye to eye, and lorelai probably sensed she never quite fit in - believing that she’d fill that void in the form of a boy -  and then her whole school all but admitted as much to her, that she was never going to fit in.  ever.

the life she had was suffocating her, because for as many doors as money opens, it closes so many other options that lorelai found much more appealing.

and then she found stars hollow.  this weird, eccentric, quirky little town where she actually fit in.  she wasn’t the weirdest person there - she was simply one of many.

she fit in.  she belonged.

and with this acceptance came a guy who found it endearing that she was “weird” and “loud”…he even loved her for it.

for lorelai, it was never about not wanting to be a gilmore, if anything, it was about her never feeling like she was.  and ultimately the altering of the definition of what being a gilmore really was.  not money, not perfection.

strength.  loyalty.  love.  forgiveness.  acceptance.

anonymous asked:

What if Claire travelled through time from her life of the 18th century to Jamie who lived in the 1940s ?

Fast-Forward: Part One.

Hoisting her skirts, Claire dragged in another jagged breath as she ducked and dived through the low hanging branches of the rowan trees that surrounded her. She could hear the far off hollering of the redcoat soldiers, their bugles piercing the silence as the dusk began to creep in.

Her back throbbed painfully as the almost-healed scars of her first run in with the army grated roughly against her tightly pulled bodice. The memory of her recent flogging sat painfully behind her eyes as she fled through the dense underbrush of the Scottish forest. As soon as she’d been able, she’d run. Picking her way through the underbelly of Fort William, Claire had successfully navigated her way through the cells, eventually picking the lock on the door that led out onto the pile of bodies dumped from the most recent hangings. Half blind and in agony, she’d crawled through the stench,  up and out into daylight, her legs protesting as she moved without grace, falling and catching herself as her vision blurred.

Fight or flight had raged, her mind telling her one thing, her body another. But flight had won. To stay there meant death and she wasn’t willing to accept that just yet.

Randall’s words pulsed through her, causing her stomach to clench and she stopped to throw up what little she had in her belly, clenching her fingers around the rough bark as she gasped and expelled water and bile into the mud that lay at the base of the trees.

One loaf of bread, an innocent desire to simply feed herself and she’d been thrust into disarray, her life rendered forfeit for her theft. With no family and no allegiances to a husband, Claire had been living the life of a spinster, doctoring the sick and roaming from village to village to make a living. Captain Randall had been the dark mark that brought that living swiftly and sharply to an end.

Her father and Captain Jonathan Randall had been acquaintances…once upon a time. Knowing Claire was soon to be too old for marriage, and in a political move that seemed beneficial for his career, Henry Beauchamp had pledged her hand to the redcoat captain, deeming the match prosperous for all.

Claire had not agreed, and as such had made extremely vocal complaints on the matter.

Spurning Randall, she had vowed never to be linked with the man, his reputation for being a bit of a brute notwithstanding, she couldn’t see herself married to such a cold hearted man.

Her father had been devastated, his anger at Claire seemed never ending. But when the winter came, and with it a fresh batch of smallpox, those concerns paled into insignificance.

It wasn’t long before her mother was dead, followed quickly by her father, leaving Claire completely alone in the world.

The all too real threat of Randall caused her nothing but anguish and so she fled. Carrying only what she must, Claire had taken herself off into the highlands and reinvented herself. And for a time it had worked. She’d built up a grand relationship with the locals, her vast knowledge of the plants coming in very handy with sickness.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire forced away the urge to sob uncontrollably, her arm gripping her middle as she steeled her shoulders and began to calm her throbbing heart.

She could still see the look on her father’s face the night she rudely destroyed his vision for her future. She could still see the look of thrill on Randall’s face the night he’d pulled her in for stealing, his eyes alight with pleasure as he’d had her hog-tied to the wagon and flayed until she’d nearly passed out.

‘You’ve got to keep going, Claire,’ a small voice whispered to her, the nightmare of her ordeal not yet over as the dull reminder of her predicament whistled through the air and reached her ears.

The army were closing in on her, and fast.

Bashing her fist against the tree, Claire swallowed back another wave of sickness. The light was slowing dwindling and her familiarity with this part of the forest was severely lacking.

Ahead a brief glimpse of sunset through the diminishing tree line caught her eye, the hints of orange and red sparking like firelight on the almost invisible horizon. The wind rose as she puffed her way through the heather and bracken, her toes bleeding and cut as she trudged barefoot upwards.

Pushing away the imminent urge to curl up and sleep, Claire forced herself out of the forest. The hill itself seemed innocuous, the tall stones standing proud at its peak catching the last of the light as she dug her hands into the damp grass and forged her way up further, closer to the top.

Her hair swung wildly in the wind as she reached it, the mass of curls tangling further as the sweat of exertion poured from her brow. Scrambling through the detritus that sat harmlessly in the centre of the stone circle, Claire turned her head, her eyes just catching a flash of maroon through the trees.

“No” she whispered, her knees quaking as she thrust herself low to the ground, pulling the threadbare tartan blanket over her shoulders as if to shield herself.

The voices were louder now, their coarse cries swirling around her in the rising breeze. It wouldn’t be long, she realised, and they’d be upon her. Not having the momentum to continue, Claire slid herself forwards on the ground, crawling through the filth at the base of the largest of the central stones, her hands shivering with cold and fever as her wounds began to throb harder, the cuts opening and allowing fresh droplets of blood to roll down her already moist spine.

Smacking her back against the solid stone, she cried out as the pain shook her.

Suddenly, and without warning, the ground seemed to shift beneath her bottom, the earth trembling uncontrollably under her as the world began to spin right before her eyes. Shifting her head, Claire clenched her fists in an effort to keep herself still, the piercing shriek that replaced the soldiers calls echoing in her eardrums, deafening her. Her arms flailed wildly as her body seemed to tear apart, her limbs being pulled from their sockets as the hurricane continued.

As the maelstrom ceased, Claire felt herself dip in and out of consciousness, her hands screwed up tightly in her hair as she sunk her head closer to the grass. Tickling her nose, the distinct smell of smoke roused her and she uncurled herself slowly.

Fear took root at the base of her spine as she crawled on all fours around the stone, not daring to touch it again, afraid of what it might do.

Peeking her head around, her eyes caught sight of the scent that had brought her round. A fire had been lit just to the side of the hill, it’s flames drifting up into the night sky as it burned away.

Something was off, Claire realised, her chest constricting as she glanced behind her.

Lights twinkled below in the valley, a whole range of them glowing at the base of the hills.

Inverness? She questioned to herself. But how could she see it so distinctly?

Furrowing her brow she turned back to the immediate call of the fire, her frigid body cold to the bone.

The same unknown feeling that told her something wasn’t quite the same flared. She should have been captured by now, clad in irons and marching with the soldiers back to Fort William. They had, after all, been right behind  her just a moment before.

But she hadn’t been.

In fact she felt the distinct feeling of safety. Only the prickle of a notion that seemed to whisper to her that she had nothing to fear from those men here.

Taking the chance, Claire stood once more, letting her shaking knees bear the weight of her as she crept as silently as she was able towards the heat.

“Where am I?” She sighed, her voice trembling as she spoke to the darkness, her hands forming fists at her side as she prepared herself for the unknown.

He heard the snap of the twig before he saw her. Raising his head from his position collecting kindling from the sparse forest that lay to the righthand side of the hillock, Jamie gazed at the battered woman who now stood bashfully in front of his wee fire.

“Ah Dhia!” He whispered, his voice catching in his throat as he hid himself behind the largest tree.

The fire lit her face, the dark streaks of muck illuminated by the light. She was pale, far too fair skinned for a healthy person. He could tell from the way that she held herself that she was in pain, but he couldn’t pinpoint why from his hiding place.

Not wanting to spook her, he crept on his tiptoes to the edge of the trees, holding his hands up in surrender just in case she turned at an inopportune moment and he caught her off guard.

Her dress was peculiar, he realised, her bodice old and torn but still not of this time.

A costume, perhaps. But something about her told him she wasn’t an actress or a member of the local historical society. No, she seemed all too comfortable in her outfit for it to have been a replication of 18th century highland attire.

Wiping his hands on his kilt, Jamie readied himself. Curiosity won out and he began to walk slowly back towards his fire as he watched the strange girl fall to her knees, the relief on her face endearing her to him further.

Without a word, he stepped even closer, the heat of the fire reaching him from where he stood. She still hadn’t seemed to notice him, and the closer he got the more afraid he became of startling her.

“Hey…lassie…” he called out, keeping his voice low as he approached.

Claire threw herself to her feet with some force, her joints protesting as she turned on her new companion. From the tone of his voice, and from the Scots lilt, she didn’t immediately assume danger, but as shaken as she was, she wasn’t completely assured of her safety either.

Her eyes went wide as she caught sight of the man who’d called out to her. His red hair sat slicked back atop his head, fighting in the breeze to free itself from whatever concoction he’d smeared through it. His kilt was bright, something not quite befitting any other plaid she’d seen worn before and his boots were large and shiny.

Shaking her head, she held her hands up in a similar pose. Still she couldn’t pluck out the sounds of the army close by, and the thought that they’d magically disappeared began to sit nervously in her belly.

Where was she?

“You don’t need to fear me, aye?” The young man interjected, stopping only inches away from her as he dipped his head in mock surrender. “I willna hurt you. Promise.”

His smile was reassuring, and Claire dropped her hands and drew in a much needed breath.

Seeming genuine, she allowed him to walk closer, his hand reaching out now as he tried to remove some of the loose leaves and twigs from her mussed hair.

“Got yerself into a wee bit o’ a swivet have ye?” He spoke, his voice soft and calming as he took her in. “I’m James Fraser, Jamie to most. Who might you be?” He asked, curiosity obviously getting the better of him.

Inhaling a deep breath, Claire made to answer him. But as she did a wave of nausea overtook her and her throat trembled with the force of it.

Faster than he’d imagined, Jamie reached out just in time to catch the stranger as her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted.

“Christ!” He yelled, seeing her face pale and her shoulders slump.

Gathering her up, Jamie slipped his arms beneath her legs and held her to his chest as he strolled back towards his car.

“I guess this means yer coming wi’ me,” he chuckled, placing her softly on the cushioned leather of his back seat. “My mam always said I ha’ lassies falling for me. She isna wrong, aye?” He joked, brushing her curls away from her forehead as he covered her with his own clean blanket, closing the door softly behind him as he climbed into the front seat.

Placing the key into the ignition, Jamie switched on the headlights and glanced back over to his unconscious companion, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he took in her prostrate form.

Memories of old stories filled his mind as he tipped his head, viewing her with a sort of caution that seemed to spring from the idea of her miraculous appearance.

He had been alone up here. Craigh na Dunn was a notorious spot for the local druid woman, but only at certain times of the year. Beltane had just passed and as such, those who came here to dance had been days before to complete their ritual. That’s why he’d chosen that moment to flee his sisters monotonous wedding preparations. That’s why he was still in his kilt and not in his trousers.

The thought hit him then. A fairy. One of the magical folk.

The stories his grannie use to tell him sprung to mind as he put a name to the sourcery.

Madness, he scoffed, shaking his head at the myriad of daft thoughts that had begun to spiral in his mind. What a daft notion, of course she wasn’t a fairy!

“Please…” he heard as his guest began to cry out behind him, “don’t…no…please!”

Reaching backwards, Jamie laid his large palm against his cheek as he maneuvered the car towards the main road.

“Hush, lassie,” he cooed as he drove slowly, the lanes narrow and windy as he steered the car in the direction of Lallybroch and home. “Nobody will hurt ye here, rest up.”

The calm voice penetrated her nightmares as Claire twisted herself away from the harsh slap of the lash. Kind eyes and a flash of ginger broke through the angry vision of Randall and her capture. Clambering for some sort of foothold, she managed to find purchase on skin. A hand encircled hers and she gripped it with all her might, holding on as if it might rescue her from drowning in the hell that held her hostage.

‘Hush now…I’ll protect ye, I promise….’ the voice said, the waves of it breaking the shores of her horror and dissipating the pain. ‘Sleep now, mo nighean, rest.’

Depictions of romance and attraction in Yuri on Ice

Valentine’s Day has come and gone, and with it so has Chris’ birthday. To celebrate, Kubo has posted the following image on instagram (+ a cropped version on twitter):

No comment is made about the hand he is holding. Couple that with the very soft, fond smile on Chris’s face, directed specifically at whomever he is holding hands with, and we can say that this picture holds romantic implications.

Romance in Yuri on Ice and its depiction has always been a hot topic. Particularly about Victor and Yuuri and, lately, particularly about how its portrayal felt lacking to many people upon the conclusion of the series and how the staff seems to be downgrading their relationship into subtext territory instead of having it stand on firm, canonical ground. Count me in as one of the people who found it lacking and who is disappointed with the staff, particularly Kubo, since the finale aired.

Arguments in favor of the staff’s treatment of Victuuri and its portrayal in the finale tend to be extremely similar. Three points that usually come up are 

  • That the depiction of romantic relationships in Japan is always subtle and ambiguous because “cultural differences” (covered by @soobaki here)
  • Censorship
  • That what we have with Victuuri is already “enough”, usually followed by the baseless (and honestly offensive) accusation that people like me want to see them make out or have sex on screen to be satisfied

Plenty of comparisons between Yuri on Ice and other anime have been made to explain our side of the argument but today I want to look at the way Yuri on Ice depicts romance outside of Victuuri; from ambiguous to explicit, from one-sided to unquestionably engaged. I will do this to show exactly what I mean when I say I want a non-ambiguous confirmation of the nature of Victor and Yuuri’s relationship outside of coach/athlete and to underline that, within the same series, not all relationships are equal in how they are treated.

Note that I will not cover any married (or divorced) couple.

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Why Gilbert Blythe is still one of our favorite book boyfriends

So, with the resurgence of love for L.M. Montgomery’s books due to Anne with an E (Anne the series for you lovely Canadians), and how everyone on here and other social media sites are “aoijwepoijvpsoempseotpaoijrtvpo” over our new version of Gilbert (Lucas Jade Zumann) or staunchly “aoejrpoiwcmpraowiruec” over Jonathan Crombie’s version, or even “ierq2945sig;fgjapturoaijf;alksdjf;lkj” over the book version, I started thinking about what it was that makes Gilbert so easy to love and adore. 

Now, I have not read Anne of Green Gables in I don’t know how many years. One of my reading goals for summer is to tear through the series (as I only read that first one). But I do own the 80s movies, watched them often when I was younger, so I feel like I’m not completely underqualified to give my opinion.

It was @thebluepaladyn‘s post here that put my thoughts in order. Gilbert likes Anne for all the reasons she thinks (and others think in the new version especially) she’s lacking. Give the post a read before continuing here. I’ll wait :).

I’m writer, by the way. And I write all types of stories, but some I write just for my own enjoyment (and maybe a few friends’ as well). When I do, I write a character that’s more of an extension of me. She’s far more uninhibited, confident and conventionally beautiful than me, but at the core, she’s me. We’ll call her June for the purposes of this post. 

June always gets a guy (it’s my story world and I’m a cynical hopeless romantic, so sue me). Sometimes I write the beginning of the relationship, or sometimes I write a one-shot of a more settled relationship between June and whoever the guy is. In rereading some of these stories, I realized that June’s guy often loves her for the very things I wish someone liked me for: too talkative, likes to sing loudly in the car, has hips (significantly), discusses story for hours, dances around the kitchen when no one is watching…etc., etc. June’s guy loves these weird, silly things about her. Some are just quirks, some are what others see as flawed in June. June’s guy makes her negatives (in her head) out to be some of her best features.

That’s exactly what Gilbert does. He marvels at how smart Anne is, he likes her red hair (’carrots’ turns into an endearment in the 80s version), he thinks she’s pretty, he admires her bluntness, her dramatic nature (sometimes, he also pulls her in when she needs it); in the 80s version, he tells her what she should really write and when she heeds him, she’s successful. 

In fact, he reminds me of Jess Mariano in the revival of Gilmore Girls, (or Jess reminds me of Gilbert) when Jess shows up and somewhat straightens Rory out (ugh, won’t go there).

Gilbert Blythe is that guy: both encouraging and challenging his girl, Anne, so she becomes a better person. That’s why he so loved. That’s why we still get a little weak when he walks on screen (and you know, cute as anything). It’s more than looks because cute guys can be jerks, or they can be shallow, or badly written stalkers who are forced to seem romantic, but are really just horrible horrible partners in a relationship (that’s another post). 

Gilbert is exactly what I would want myself and any female I know to strive for in a partner. 

Virtuosa || Peter Parker

Prompt - Y/N is a piano virtuosa and an academic genius, and Peter has the biggest crush on her. He hears her playing in the music room and she catches him, and it’s all fluffy and cute. 

Warning - none, except cuteness and fluffiness!

A/N: this is gonna be so cute guys, you’re gonna love it! Although it’s gonna be really short.

not my gif

Originally posted by marveling-over-imagines

Peter was a pretty smart kid, he got good grades, he paid attention in class, but his mind could not even compare to the mind of Y/N. 

She was the real genius. 

She was mostly quiet during class, not paying attention and reading a book, or there’d be sometimes when he’d catch her drawing in her notebook. She didn’t need to pay attention, she was just that smart. 

She’d read books about biomechanics or neurology, and she seemed to be so engrossed in what she read that she’d never acknowledge the bell ringing. He found it endearing. 

He found everything about her endearing. 

Whenever he saw her, his heart would skip a beat, his face would flush a gentle red, and he could never help the soft grin that would etch its way onto his face whenever he saw her smile. 

Her smile was beautiful, it was perfect. In his mind there were no words to describe the girl that he was so helplessly in love with. 

But she was so far out of his league, the girl was only fifteen and already had a full ride scholarship to the university of her choice. She was already so far ahead of him and there was no way he could catch up. 

He fantasized about one day being the cause of that beautiful smile of hers, to be the cause of her melodic laughter, to just make her happy. He’s done some pretty risky things, he’s fought people who wanted to destroy him, he’s saved countless lives, but going up to the girl he so desperately admired? He could never. 

His daydreams would just have to stay daydreams.

The bell had just rang signaling lunchtime, he was in no rush to go to the cafeteria. His friend, Ned, was absent today and he had nobody to talk to. He walked slowly, dragging his feet. When he walks by the music room and hears the sound of a piano playing. 

Naturally, he was curious as to who was playing the piano so beautifully so he slowly opened the door to the music room. There, sitting on the bench of the large sleek black piano sat Y/N singing and playing a song that he recognized as ‘Ordinary People’ by John Legend.

We’re just ordinary people

We don’t know which way to go

Cause we’re ordinary people

Maybe we should take it slow

Her eyes closed as she sang, her fingers sliding over the keys so effortlessly. Her voice like silk in the wind, it made him feel a certain peace that he only felt while swinging through the city that he so valiantly protected. Undeliberately, he closed his eyes leaning on the frame of the doorway, being completely enthralled by the girl’s dulcet tone.

He was so engaged in her singing and playing that he wasn’t aware of the fact that Y/N had stopped playing when she realized that there was someone else in the room. 

“Peter?” She says.

Her voice startles him, his eyes jerk open and he’s suddenly thinking of ways to get out of the situation without embarrassing himself any further. 

“I’m s-sorry, I was j-just listening, I didn’t mean to- I’ll leave,” he managed to stutter out his words. 

In that moment he wanted to curl up in a ball and die, or maybe cry himself to death, anything was better than enduring this embarrassment. 

“No it’s fine, you don’t have to,” she assures him with a gentle smile, his heart might’ve escaped his chest by how fast it was beating. 

“A-are you sure?”

“Yes Peter, stay.”

His cheeks flushed pink when his name left her lips. 

“You know my name?” He asked, she looked at him weirdly. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I? You’re one of the few people who don’t ask to copy my homework,” she chuckles, the ends of her lips tilting upwards at her joke. 

He couldn’t believe that she was actually talking to him, he wanted to pinch himself but decided against it. If it was a dream, he sure as hell didn’t want to wake up. 

Y/N slid to the left of the bench and pat the space next to her, signaling that she wanted him to sit next to her. He hesitated, but when he saw her waiting for him to sit he inched over to the bench and with minimal hesitation planted himself next to the beautiful girl.

She looked at him with wonder, she had always found him cute. 

She kind of suspected the fact that he had a crush on her. Whenever he’d be looking at her, she’d feel eyes on her, she’d turn to look and he’d turn away. It was more than obvious. 

He would get flustered around every girl, but around her is a completely different story. When he’s around her he can barely think let alone talk. She tried to ask him something once and he couldn’t even make eye contact afraid that she’d see the love in his eyes and the blush on his cheeks. 

She thought it was adorable. She thought he was adorable.

He watched her fingers dance on the keys, her eyes closed and lips singing a song.

“Do you play?” She asked him, it took him a few seconds to realize that she was asking him something. 

He snapped out of his daze, “W-what?”

She giggled. Peter’s heart fluttered at the sound. 

“The piano. Do you know how to play it?” Her lips curled up into a warm smile, and Peter could feel his sanity melting away at how much he loved this girl. 

“No, I don’t,” he mumbled, feeling almost ashamed that he didn’t play the instrument. 

“Perfect. Mind if I teach you a few things?” She asks giving him a questioning look, he shook his head. 

“No, not at all.”

She cracked her knuckles and positioned her fingers over the keys, clearing her throat before beginning to play. 

I’m just a little bit

Caught in the middle

Life is a maze

And love is a riddle

I don’t know where to go

Can’t do it alone, I’ve tried

And I don’t know why

She sang so beautifully. The song was different than the last one, this one was more upbeat and showtune-like. But he just couldn’t help but smile. It seemed as if that whenever she’d start to play, a smile would automatically replace the expression she had before. He loved that. 

Slow it down, make it stop

Or else my heart is going to pop

Cause it’s too much, yeah it’s a lot

To be something I’m not

I’m a fool out of love

Cause I just can’t get enough

She stopped, she genuinely wanted to show him a few things. She wanted to share her favorite hobby with the boy infatuated with her. They both knew that he’d never actually learn how to fully play the instrument, but it was worth a try. 

She talked him through the names of the keys, and other basics. He hung on to every word she said because she’d never talked to him this much, and he loved hearing her soothing voice. 

They’d joke around as Peter continuously messed up.

He had never talked to her as much as he was now, and she loved hearing him speak just as much as he loved her hearing her speak. 

They both played different keys on opposite sides and laughing at the discordant sounds, but when their fingers accidentally touched in the middle, she finally sees him from a new perspective. 

They turn to glance at each other, but their stares stay. She’s, for once, able to look at him. His features, how fluffy his hair looked up close, his pouty pink lips, his wonderful chocolate brown eyes. They were so close that Peter was afraid she could hear his heart beating wildly in his chest. 

‘God, he’s attractive,’ she thought. 

He couldn’t help the thoughts penetrating his mind, she was just so beautiful. He decided to make a move. 

He was ready to say something, to confess his love.

But the bell rang. 

With hesitation, she moved her hand from his and stood up grabbing her belongings. His lips contorted into a frown.

She turned to him, “Come on, don’t wanna be late to class now, do we?” She grinned. 

She waits for him and they walk out of the music room. Together. 


A/N: alright I know the ending sucked major testicles, I’m sorry, but it was cute. Right?

4

I’d say they get along decently…they’re not extremely close or anything but they’re pals at the very least! If one were in trouble, the other would not hesitate to help them out ^_^

He is the one to find her.

On numb legs, he walks and walks through blood and destruction and she’s there.

Cassian stops moving only when he’s in front of her, and she’s, she’s-

Nesta doesn’t move, her eyes are half open but the color in them -that blue, the smoke under glass, the sky- is fading and her fighting leathers are glistening as if they are wet with something thick and warm and red and-

He doesn’t fight, doesn’t try to stay upright when his knees give up.

His hands move without Cassian realizing it, move toward Nesta as they always did, as they always will.

He cradles her in his arms and there’s no sharp intake of breath, no pounding of her heart, there’s just- nothing, nothing but the fading warmth of her body, the way in which her arms fall to the ground, lifeless, and the thud of it makes him realize for a moment that there’s no clash of swords, no battle cry that he can hear.

He feels nothing, he hears nothing, he is-

Nothing.  

His lungs are being crushed by the weight of a string that’s been cut, the air he is breathing feels like an unwanted guest and it only make him realize how her scent is changing and it makes him sick, makes him want to scream and roar and rage.

But he chuckles, a broken sound, a twisted parody of what it used to be.

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” he says to her, using the little endearing name he had -has, has, has- for her, but it’s just a broken sob “I know you don’t like to be kept waiting.”

He is aware of the shattering sound his siphons make, he knows that his power is building and building and building, and he knows what it means.

Good.

He moves her hair out of her face with the tip of his fingers, cups her cheek; his fingers linger and his eyes are on her, always on her as his hand moves to unhook the last remaining siphon, the one near her head, on his chest.

Cassian kisses Nesta’s forehead, shatters the siphon between his fingers, lets it all out.

It’s blast of red and in those last moment, he thinks she would have loved it.

Nothing is left of them, of the battlefield, of everything.

 

 

When Starfall comes, the Night Court is in mourning.

There’s a little group on a balcony, a Lord and his Lady, a Shadow and his Light, an Ancient creature who never felt so tiny.

The stars are falling, one by one.

Two stars are the only exception.

Two stars that burn red and bright, two stars that are so near each other they seem one, stubbornly keeping their place in the sky.

They all look up, and a smile graces the lips of the Lord and his family, all looking up to watch those two stars who are looking down on them, their light like protection, their twinkle a little song, a melody, three words once loved and still kept

To defend, to honor, to cherish.

Hold Me

I just remembered I had this lying around and decided to post it before I passed out. Just my short contribution to Marichat May!



Marinette had no idea how she ended up with a needy kitten on her lap. After a series of events involving her mooncactus, a silly Chat, and a bleeding hand, it was really the least she could expect.

Thankfully, Marinette always kept a spare first aid kit around. Though skilled with designing, she still managed to wound herself when she got too excited or rushed without sense, loosing herself in the process and causing dire consequences for her poor, poor fingers.

The Parisian had rolled her eyes as her Chat overexaggerated loudly after the bleeding cuts on his fingers has started to register. She didn’t pay it much concern, knowing well enough that he’d handled far worse.

And yet- for feelings were traitrous indeed- she couldn’t help the endearment bubbling within her; not when he stood there, balanced on her window sill, lower lip stretched out in a ridiculous pout; right hand held out meaningfully, dripping crimson.

He stared at her intently as she muttered a comment under her breath and introduced his wound to the wonders of plaster.

He continued to stare, as if fascinated by Marinette, the plaster, her first aid kit, added to his now non-bleeding fingers. His wide, emerald, cat-like eyes shifted from the beige plaster to her eyes, and despite herself, she felt an odd warmth spreading in her chest; Chat tilted his head, and she half expected him to smirk or make some sort of witty, flirtatious remark. Say something like, “Won’t you kiss that better for me, Purrincess?”

But he didn’t. Instead of going by the script she’d written in her mind for this encounter, he glanced out at the blooming full moon and drew his plastered fingers to himself, rubbing them with his good hand gently as if examining their softness, marvelling at their realism.

“Merci beacoup,” he mumbled quietly, and his voices was soft and strangely delicate, and oh so familiar that it made Marinette’s heart leap and shatter at the same time.

The sudden change in the mood astounded her more than she cared to admit- perhaps the night had stolen away some of Chat’s grandeur, perhaps she was just hallucinating a world where her partner was more than the flirt she knew him to be.

That would explain so much, in highsight. Chat was, to her, a one dimensional character from a novel. He wasn’t an uninteresting one, but he was flat and to the point- his flaws and redeeming traits shone out like the sun, revealing everything and hiding nothing. She failed to grant the shadows that appeared with his light a thought.

She had never attempted to distinguish Chat from the person he was as a civilian. He was just silly, flirtatious, loyal Chat to her, with the mask or without it.

But then again, Marinette had never exactly considered Ladybug and herself the same person.

She would rather avoid anymore complexity for the night, though. Her biggest concerns were a superhero on her window and her amateur clinicial skills, and maybe - just maybe- the look they shared together in that moment.

Because she really had remembered seeing sadness in his eyes, but she didn’t remember to ask Chat why he was at her window in the first place, messing around with her cacti and getting a hand full of thorns as a punishment. She didn’t fully remember him slipping down from the sill and reaching over to give her a hug that was similar to the one he enveloped her in after the Animan incident, not that he drew the parallels.

She did remember that Chat had tried to pull away.

She very vividly recalled pulling him back with fiercely insistent eyes that bore into him and that just knew without an inkling of a doubt that he needed her, right then and there. That this night was meant to be more than a silly cut and a silly box of bandaids.

And now they were here, in an intimate position she never could have imagined. They were so close she could feel his breath and the radiant warmth of his body- she felt charged and stifled by his aura all at once, like the suffocation of being under the ocean and the first breath of resurfacing. Her hands were in his hair, stroking its messy locks, mumbling tunes from lullabies she couldn’t fully remmeber. (Subconsciously, she refused to entertain the notion that his hair had a very familiar lustre, an unearthly glow she somehow recognised but also didn’t, not really.) Marinette thought his face might have twisted in an expression of agonising pain at some point in the middle of an old Chinese lull, but she couldn’t have been sure; the expression melted into one of peace as soon as it had appeared.

When she woke up, Marinette found herself wrapped around her favourite magenta blanket which oddly smelt like comfort, uncertainty, and a specific alleycat.

#Buffering

It’s just so, well… him.

The reaction, that is.

When Molly walks out of the bathroom in a dress before going to Mrs. Hudson’s birthday party, when she pads out into his bedroom in her shorts and t-shirt before climbing into bed… Sherlock always stops.

Stares.

His eyes turn slightly glazed and his expression slackens.

Just for a moment he’s gone away- buffering, John calls it- and then just as suddenly he’s back. Looking sheepish. Glancing away guiltily. Sometimes he even bites his lip.

There’s something about it that Molly finds terribly… endearing.

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The one with their happy ending.

The sixth and the final addition to the Divorce Series AU. This is the longest writing I’ve ever written, it’s 5k+ words. I’m really proud of it and I hope you enjoy and understand the ending, tell me how you feel about this. I’m so sorry for the delay. Let me know in my ask box if you guys are liked this part. ENJOY! :)

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Confessions - Kakasaku

“I love you.” The words tumble out of Kakashi’s mouth before he’s fully aware of what he’s saying.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, during which the battle noise around them dies abruptly. At least, it does for him, and somehow, that’s enough.

“I love you,” Kakashi repeats, voice firming on the words. “I’m in love with you,” he amends.

The shocked expression on Sakura’s face is almost enough to make him laugh. Almost. “Wh-what?” Her uncharacteristic stutter is endearing, and he chooses to focus on that. Part of Kakashi’s mind warns that they’re in the middle of a battle, this is neither the time nor the place. But they’re shinobi, hardly normal by any standard that could measure them. In the moment, battle-time confessions make perfect sense.

Kakashi doesn’t fight it. “I have for so long that I don’t even know when it began.” The words drive the air from his lungs, or maybe that’s the fight, but either way, he can’t breathe. The ground welcomes his collapsing knees.

There’s a soft chuckle rising in the back of Sakura’s throat. Her green eyes are impossibly brilliant against the drab grey and brown backdrop around them. Kakashi could lose himself in their emerald depths and not care to come back up for air. Her pale lips curl into a smile. “Oh?”

This time, Kakashi really does laugh and brushes a gloved hand over her dirty, scuffed, perfect cheek. “Yes,” he answers, working his fingers through the tangles in her vivid hair. “You’re the hum of combat, the calm of a rainy day, the fire that pushes me. You’re everything.”

“I love you too,” Sakura breathes, eyes fluttering shut. Her words tighten the knot forming in Kakashi’s chest, rather than loosening it. They throw the world into color around him. The blue of the sky has never been quite that bright before. Sakura’s pink hair catches the breeze and twists around her forehead. The blood on her chest is achingly crimson as it pulses between the rip in her armor.

“Sakura?” Kakashi shakes her gently and gets no response. He had known it was coming from the moment he saw her wound. There was so much blood.

Uncaring, Kakashi scoops her body into his arms and presses a kiss to her cheek. It’s tender and uncertain, two things Kakashi would have never imagined in himself. “You have to hold on,” he whispers, voice on the edge of breaking. “You can’t tell me that you love me, then leave me alone.”

Sakura doesn’t reply, and Kakashi forces himself to look away. If he can get her to Tsunade, there might be a chance, but it’s a slim one. Cradling the woman he loves against his chest, Kakashi turns north, the last place he saw the medic. Enemy and war torn land stand between them, how much, he isn’t certain. But, Kakashi knows the price is worth hearing Sakura say she loves him again. If he can make it time.