i always love the way he looks down at her that way

anonymous asked:

shiro is vld's damsel in distress and keith is his knight in shining armor

Ok so I know I joke about Keith saving Shiro like a princess, but actually, this is honestly how their dynamic is portrayed?? Keith is always shown as the first one at Shiro’s side when he’s in danger, always running to his rescue. If he has to choose between the mission and Shiro, he’ll take Shiro every time. But now, let’s talk about this idea he’s a knight for a minute. Because it’s very much a purposefully drawn comparison. In the comics, when the paladins are all likened to pieces on a chessboard, Keith is delegated to this role. The narrative literally refers to him as a knight by name. 

The imagery of Keith’s bayard also serves to reinforce this. Instead of a more sci-fi weapon like a laser gun or some advanced alien tech, Keith’s weapon of choice is a classic sword. Nothing evokes the image of a knight more than a sword and shield (which the paladin suit has). Keith’s belief system also feeds into this archetype. Time and again, he’s singled out as the most dedicated to the mission. He is a paladin first and foremost. When Pidge wants to leave to find her family, Keith is the one who lashes out and lectures her about how they need to defend the universe and make sacrifices for the greater good. When Allura is captured, Keith again notes that their duty as paladins must come first. Keith leaves the castle when he believes his presence will do more harm than good. And the paladin guidebook even lists his most important value as honor–a clear reference to knightly chivalry. 

Keith’s initial role in Voltron is also a clear indicator of his character. If the head of Voltron is a leader whose men will follow without question, if they’re like a “King,” then as Voltron’s “right-hand man” Keith is a loyal knight. And just like any good knight, Keith will call out rulers for failing to serve the people and treating their subjects unjustly. The way Keith reacts so strongly to Lubos is a good example of this. Again, nobility and honor are distinctly important to him. 

Another trope with a knight and damsel you often see in fantasy is that, like a typical knight, the protagonist highly values chivalry and champions a noble cause. But ultimately, that means learning to sacrifice their own selfish desires for the sake of the greater good. So their love interest is often seen as a distraction from the hero’s quest. They can’t afford to indulge in their feelings because the mission must come first. And often times, this culminates in a decision where the knight must choose to sacrifice the person they care about most–a representation of their own desires–because their duty demands it. 

And in his trial, who is it that’s sent to tempt the hero and divert him from his quest, who is it that Keith longs for most, the person he “desperately wants to see”? Who is the one person that Keith can afford to be selfish for, the one who he’ll throw away everything–including his obligations as a paladin–just to be with?

And we know that this is an archetype VLD is very much aware of and acknowledges in their narrative. After all, heroes who fail to give up their own wants and needs, chasing after their love and abandoning their duty–they’re often cast down, vilified, characterized as foolish and selfish and bringing about disaster for their arrogance. And Zarkon is the literal embodiment of this character. He’s a glimpse at what Keith’s future could look like if he continues down the same path and chooses Shiro over the universe. Just like how Zarkon chose his love over everything else. 

So when I mention all the sheith and zaggar parallels, I really do believe it’s wholly intentional. Especially given all the foreshadow that Keith will eventually reach the same crossroads where he’ll have to decide whether or not to sacrifice Shiro for the sake of the universe. But being that Keith doesn’t believe in things being so “black and white” and also the trope that a successor will surpass their predecessor, I believe Keith will figure out an alternative answer that will allow for both Shiro and the the others he defends to stay safe. 

Now, as for Shiro’s role as a “princess,” the notion is pretty interesting. Obviously, it’s a clear subversion of gender. But there’s never any shame or weakness to it. Quite the contrary, actually. Shiro is established as the strongest and most formidable member of Team Voltron. He’s their brave leader, their fearless protector, their unshakable rock. But he is so often idolized, seen as impossibly perfect and infallible, and this inevitably takes its toll. The fact that he allows himself to be vulnerable with Keith, to let Keith help him and take care of him, is never shown as a point of pathetic inability or weakness. 

Rather, Voltron portrays it as okay to admit that you aren’t strong enough, that you’re not okay, that asking for help is perfectly alright and there’s nothing wrong with admitting you can’t shoulder the weight of the world on your own. Shiro asking Keith to come save him is important because he never asks the others for help. He puts up a facade and tries to keep everything together in front of them. And when Keith says things like Shiro really changed his life, you can infer that, before this, Shiro was probably always the one taking care of him. So Keith always being the first to defend Shiro in turn reads as You were always the one protecting me, now let me stand by your side and protect you

This concept of sheith’s dynamic resembling a knight and princess is also established immediately. Their very first scene together is Keith saving Shiro, and it really feels like knight rescuing their lost love. Right away you associate these two characters with one another, see just how intimately familiar they are with each other. Keith fights fiercely on Shiro’s behalf but softens up when he looks at him, leans it closer and tenderly reaches out to him. And I’ve talked about this a lot before, but the way Keith mourns Shiro is distinctly reminescent of someone grieving a lover. 

The way he’s inconsollible and claims to be the only one who really cares about Shiro, the way he searches relentlessly and needs to be told time and again that it’s time to move on, the way his voice breaks when Black accepts him and he pleads, “Please, no.” Keith really loves Shiro. And his devotion to him, including leading Voltron in honor of his last wish as well as vowing to never give up on him, Keith’s desperation to be with him, this notion that he’d be all alone without him--yes, he loves Shiro. But it’s a love that’s passionate and intense and possessive and desperate in a way that platonic or familial love just isn’t

I think Kuron’s rescue and recovery in season 3 is also very remenescent of this whole damsel in distress theme. For one thing, Keith is established as Shiro’s sole rescuer, and the “reunion” scene is an intimate moment between just the two of them. Kuron’s hero is here to save him, and they can both finally be at ease. The start of the next episode is very interesting because it just seems like business as usual. The paladins are all off on a mission, but Kuron is nowhere to be seen. He’s taken out of the action. Instead, this is the first time we get to see Allura use her bayard. And she makes for a fearsome opponent. It’s a distinct reversal of how you’d usually see a knight go off on their quest while the princess waits back at the castle for their safe return. Here, Kuron takes on that position. And the way we see Keith dutifully caring for him at his bedside afterwards reinforces this idea. And it’s okay for Kuron to rest and take as much times as he needs. It’s okay because Keith will still lead in the meantime and he’ll always be there to check in on Kuron and help him through his recovery. 

Of course, there’s more than one way to save someone, and I think it’s important to make that distinction with Shiro and Keith’s relationship. Because it’s not Keith carrying all of Shiro’s weight for him and taking care of everything. It’s about Keith really supporting Shiro and reaffirming that he is a good and worthy paladin–“You mean, your bayard.” It’s the way that Shiro has already given himself up for dead but Keith looks him in the eye and tells him that he’ll be alright, that he can make it. It’s the fact that Shiro struggles with his trauma and still believes that he’s a monster, that he’s undeserving of the title “paladin” and that there’s no way he can stand against the empire and survive. Keith asserts time and again that Shiro is their leader, that Shiro is strong and kind and loving, that Shiro isn’t broken, that he deserves to live. It’s that Keith gives him hope, and Shiro is able to stand by his side and push forward because of it.

Ultimately, I think the best way to describe this dynamic is by just quoting what Josh said at wondercon about his favorite scene: “Shiro is in really bad shape and he’s waiting to pretty much get rescued by Keith. I love this clip because you really see the weak side of Shiro, you really see Keith’s determination to find him. And it was just really exciting for me to watch it. Because it really looks dire, and it really looks like he’s not gonna make it in time. And then–a hero comes through and saves the day with the lion.” Keith is really Shiro’s hero. And just like he’s promised, he’ll always be there to save Shiro–as many times as it takes

Maybe More Than Friends (Peter Parker x Stark!Reader)

Word Count: 4,729

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After Peter joined the Avengers, you were basically forced into spending a lot of time with him, being that your father is being that your father is the Tony Stark. Your relationship starts off fairly innocent being as Peter was fairly shy around you, and not to mention that Tony had strictly forbid you two from dating. But despite your best efforts, the sexual tension between you two is undeniable. And one night while the rest of the Avengers are out on a mission, leaving you and Peter alone, the sexual tension comes to a peak. Peter is 18 in this fic.

Warnings: Extreme fluff. Language. Smut smut smut

You remember the first time you met Peter Parker. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

It was a pretty unexpected meetup. You didn’t even know that he was in the tower. You were working in the lab with another one of your dad’s employees, helping design a suit for the new Avengers recruit, Spiderman. It was your first major job, and you were so focused that you hadn’t even noticed when your dad and Peter walked in.

“Hey, Y/N, meet the new recruit, Peter. Peter, meet Y/N, my daughter.” Tony said loudly as he entered the lab, startling you and making you hit your head on the wall.

Keep reading

12hues  asked:

#2, marichat identity reveal?

2. With a hoarse voice, under the blankets

Marinette doesn’t remember when Chat starts showing up at her balcony, or why he keeps coming back. She doesn’t know how he stretches his visits a little longer each time, or where he finds the energy or time. He comes when soft twilight gives way to the deepening blue, and goes when the quiet dark lays over all the city to sleep.

She does know, though, that there is something he finds, in her company and her treats and her home, that invites him back. And despite her grumpiness at the late hour and her eyerolls at his exaggerated theatrics, she never turns him away.

She knows that he needs this, whatever this is.

(“You don’t have to always do that you know,” Marinette says lightly once, more out of fond amusement than anything else. “Show off all the time.”

“How else would you see how strong and wonderful I am?” Chat jokes, flexing his biceps for her.

“I’m not even really seeing that now,” she snorts. “C’mon Chat. There aren’t any cameras or crowds around. It’s just me.”

“Just you,” he echoes faintly, a funny look on his face that somehow warms her cheeks. “You say that like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I mean… it shouldn’t,” she says slowly, because she isn’t interested in a performance. The curtains are down, the stage is dark, and all is quiet. “It’s only me. Just you, and me.”)

Marinette discovers clues about Chat’s life not unlike the way they sink into sleep: gradually, and accidentally.

It’s an inevitable fall. Nighttime brings all the barriers down in preparation for sleep and dreams, leaving them vulnerable and open, and it’s in this space that Chat unwinds around her.

This is how she finds out he hates spiders, that he loves Chinese food, that he watches anime. He tells her how he was homeschooled for the longest time, how he’s still new to this business of making friends, how he loves being a superhero. He fences, he plays the piano, he models, and despite the many glaring hints, it still takes Marinette a long while to piece it all together.

The realization settles over her when she’s telling him about her fashion designs. She lifts her eyes from the drawings scrawled over the pages of her sketchbook and up to the soft, bright green of his eyes.

He says, simply, “You’re amazing, Marinette.”

There is no distant rumble of thunder, no umbrella, no lucky bracelet passed between them, but she knows that admiring look in his eyes, that wry smile ghosting his lips. The air seems to charge between them, the buildup of something she should’ve seen long coming, and she carefully puts the sketchbook down. She sort of wants to yell into her pillow, or at Tikki, or maybe even at herself for landing in this predicament.

The panicked flurry in her chest quiets when she looks again at Chat. Whatever else, she knows she doesn’t want to yell at him. He needs this understanding, this openness, this friendship- he needs her.

Talking Adrien during class time, come morning, becomes significantly easier. She turns her flailing and nervous rambling around him into a fierce protectiveness over his well-being. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her, when he thinks she isn’t looking; and when she looks back at him, he doesn’t look away. That funny look in his eyes, the one that warms her cheeks, is much easier to read in the light of day.

Still, when the day settles down the sleep and night creeps over the horizon, Marinette unlocks her trapdoor and lifts her covers up for Chat. She knows now, what he finds when he comes back to her, what he doesn’t find at home.

No one should wonder what that kind of warmth feels like.

(As he settles down in the space next to her, the one she makes just for him, he murmurs, tentatively, “Love you.”

With the pads of her fingers brushing over his cheeks until she feels him smile at her touch, she murmurs back, “Love you too… Adrien.”)

All Our Secrets Laid Bare (Part Two)

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Prompt: The reader isn’t ready to confront Peter after all that happened the night before. However, the task of avoidance becomes increasingly more difficult as the day progresses. Having a fallout with your best friend is the worst.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,286

A/N: Part One
So I rewrote this part at least six times before begrudgingly deciding to post this version. I kept writing and deleting every version before this one because I didn’t like any of them. I don’t even really like this version, but I figured I made you guys wait long enough for a part two, and this was probably the best I was going to write. I’m sorry for any grammatical errors. I hope you can at least somewhat enjoy this poorly written imagine
.

Originally posted by spderman

You woke up to the sound of your alarm. As you slowly gained consciousness, the obnoxious noise echoed louder in your ears. You groaned to yourself and fumbled around for the snooze button. Finally getting the blasted thing to shut up, you groggily turned so that you could see the time. It was half past six in the morning. School started in one hour. You begrudgingly rolled (quite literally) out of bed and stumbled as you stood up. You stretched your arms above you head before yawning for what seemed like the longest time. Jeez, you were tired. Why were you so tired? Then it hit you.

Dinner. Relatives. Boyfriend. Peter.

Peter.

Closing your eyes, your entire body shifted as the memories from last night flooded your mind. You suddenly had the very strong urge to retreat back under your covers and never face the world again. You shook you head. Hiding wouldn’t help anyone. You huffed out a frustrated breath before deciding to head to the kitchen. Maybe a quick breakfast would lighten your spirits. You didn’t get very far though. Not even five steps in, your foot fell on top of a material that most definitely was not hardwood floors. You looked down to find that you had stepped on what looked to be a men’s blazer. You picked the jacket up and stared at it. It was Peter’s jacket. The one he gave you last night before you told him to leave. Before you had your emotional breakdown. Before you had ruined everything. You stared at the piece of clothing in your hands. Tears were already starting to form in your eyes, but you couldn’t make yourself look away. It was all so fresh in your mind.

“Hey, sweetie, I wa–”

You snapped your head up, blazer still held firmly in your hands, as your mom’s frame opened your bedroom door. She immediately cut off her words when she saw you. She looked down at the jacket you were holding, then back to your tear-soaked eyes. Her face filled with love and concern.

“Oh, honey,” your mom cooed as she went to wrap her arms around you.

You stood frozen for the longest time, not reciprocating the hug that your mom was offering. After a while, you finally seemed to awake from your daze and moved to embrace your mom as well. In that moment, you felt the tears that were forming in your eyes finally fall down your cheeks. You sniffled into your mom’s shoulder. She rubbed your back soothingly and whispered soft reassurances in your ear. The two of you stood like that for quite some time. Eventually, your mom backed away just enough to wipe the tears from your cheeks and look you in the eyes.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she said. “If you want, you can stay home from school today. I know what you’re going through must be difficult.”

You gave your mom the best smile you could muster. The offer was extremely tempting, but you had already made up your mind that you were going to go to school today.

“N-no, it’s fine,” you replied between sniffles. “I… uh… I think I have an English test today anyway, so… um… I wouldn’t want to have to make that up.”

Your mom smiled at you, “If you say so, sweetheart. I trust your judgement.”

“Thanks, mom,” you said. You really loved your mom so much. She was so supportive and was always there for you when you needed it.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to getting ready. Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, too.”

You watched as she closed the door behind her. Looking down, you stared at Peter’s blazer once more. You walked over to your closet, opened the door, and hung the jacket up in the very back where you could barely see it. You closed the closet door and sighed. Out of sight, out of mind. With that problem momentary resolved, you wiped your eyes one last time and set to picking out an outfit for the day. It was too late for breakfast now. You’d just have to grab a protein bar or something from the cabinet on your way out. You settled on some navy blue skinny jeans and a dark grey hoodie. You threw on your favorite black, hightop Converse and grabbed your backpack. You walked out into the main living space and kissed your parents goodbye. Quickly snatching a granola bar, you stepped out of your apartment and made your way to the train station to get to school.

As you were nearing the station, you suddenly hoped that you wouldn’t run into Peter there. The two of you normally rode the train to school together. However, you really didn’t want to have to confront your presumably ex-best friend any time soon. You sighed in relief when you managed to get in the train without spotting the boy. A small part of you was slightly disappointed though. You dismissed that thought immediately. The train pulled into your stop and you got out quietly, along with many other student-age looking people. You paused briefly at the front doors of the school. Once you walked through those doors, there was no turning back. You hoped to god you wouldn’t have too many run-ins with one certain brown haired boy.

Your wishes were instantly crushed after you turned the corner and saw Peter standing next to your locker down the hallway. He was awkwardly bouncing on his feet and glancing around, no doubt looking for you. He must have taken the earlier train to ensure he got there before you did. That jerk. You considered your choices of action. If you went to your locker, you’d definitely have to talk to the boy. If you waited until the break between first and second period to though, you could probably slip in and out completely unnoticed. You decided on the latter and turned around to head to your first period class. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt whilst walking away. Peter would probably wait there right until the late bell. He would probably willingly be tardy to first period just to get the chance to talk to you. You took a deep breath and continued walking. Your decision was already made.


Class periods one through four went by far too quickly for your tastes. The bell rang, signifying the end of fourth period and the beginning of lunch. You took your time packing up your notes before giving the teacher a small nod and heading to the cafeteria. Lunch today was going to be awful. You had no where to sit except at your normal seat with Peter and Ned. You had already wasted so much energy trying to avoid Peter thus far into the day. You partnered with Michelle instead of him in chemistry and you opted to work alone in pre-calc instead of with a partner. As you entered the busy lunchroom, your eyes immediately were drawn to where Peter was sitting. The boy was right next to Ned, as per usual. Maybe you could just casually turn back around and head to the bathrooms. Eating there didn’t sound appealing at all, but it was better than with Peter at this point. Just as you were about to leave however, you saw Peter jump out of his seat and run up to you. You cursed at yourself for not being fast enough.

“Y/N! Hey! Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me, and you most certainly have the right to, but there’s something I need to tell you. I–”

“Please don’t,” you interrupted.

You could already feel more tears in your eyes. You couldn’t do this. Not right now. You didn’t want to hear what Peter had to say. You were too afraid it was going to be something horrible. Something that would be sure to shatter what little dignity you had left.

“No, Y/N, hear me ou–”

“No. Stop,” you declared again.

“Y/N, please, just listen to m–”

“NO, PETER! You listen to me!” you shouted at him. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say. Do you not realize how difficult it is for me to stand here in front of you and not run away after everything that happened last night?! I-I can’t even look at you right now. Not without seeing all my shame and regret reflected in your eyes and back at me. So… I want you to stop… please… and just leave me alone.”

You let out a shaky breath. Tears were running down your face yet again. You could feel all of the student’s who filled the cafeteria staring at the two of you. It was all too much. You wanted to run away and hide. So that’s exactly what you did. Before Peter could react, you turned and ran in the opposite direction. You didn’t know where you were running to, but you soon found yourself bursting into an empty girl’s bathroom a few hallways away. You locked yourself in one of the stalls and leaned against the back of the door. You cried some more as a million different emotions ran through your head. You were so distracted that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open, or the footsteps that stopped just short of your stall.

“Y/N?”

You heard Michelle’s voice echo against the walls. You froze, not knowing what to do.

“Are you in here?”

You contemplated staying quiet, but knew that Michelle was more clever than that. She knew you were in here. She would probably wait forever just for you to reply. You sighed in defeat.

“Yes, I’m here,” you mumbled.

“Do you want to come out of the stall?” she asked.

“Not really,” you replied.

There was a pause before you heard, “Alright, I’ll just talk to you from out here then. In fact, why don’t you let me do the talking and you just stay in there and listen, okay?”

You nodded your head before rolling your eyes. Michelle couldn’t see you nod from inside the stall. She seemed to take your silence as approval though, seeing as she began to speak again.

“I don’t know what is going on between you and Peter. Based on what I just witnessed in the cafeteria though, I can guess that it’s pretty serious. At least for you. But let me give you a word of advice: you need to let the boy talk to you.

"Peter’s a weird kid, trust me, I know. I like to… observe… him. I promise it’s not as weird as it sounds. Anyway, I can tell that he’s hurting by not being able to talk to you. Whatever he’s got on his mind, he’s just dying to say it, and I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that what he has to say is a good thing.

"You probably won’t believe this, but if any part of you trusts me at all, Y/N, you’ll go talk to him. I see the way you look at him. I know you have some sort of romantic feelings for him, and I’ll let you in on a little- known secret too. He makes the same exact googly-eyes at you that you make at him. It’s honestly amazing you two haven’t noticed it yet. So please, just let the boy talk to you.”

You slowly unlocked the stall door and stepped out. You stared at Michelle with a mixture of confusion and awe.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked her.

“Why am I doing what?”

This,” you repeated, “telling me all this. Being so nice to me. We barely know each other.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I, uh, guess I figured since you’re a friend of Peter’s you must be a pretty alright person. Don’t tell him I said this, but I think Peter is way cooler than he gives himself credit for. I hate to see him upset. Which also means, by default, that I hate to see you upset. Whenever one of you is upset, the other one always is too. It’s like you two are connected spiritually or something. I don’t know.

"Plus, you seemed really nice in chemistry today. I usually end up working by myself since I don’t have any ‘real’ friends, but partnering with you today wasn’t all that bad. Even though I know now that you only did that to avoid Peter, it was nice that you picked me and not someone like Flash or whomever. You seem like a nice kid, and I figured since you and Peter are such good friends, you’d also be a good person to be my first 'real’ friend. It’s a stupid thought, I know.”

You tilted your head as you continued to stare at Michelle. She was quite the weirdo, in a good way of course. You liked that.

“Well, thank you,” you said. “And I’d love to be your first 'real’ friend.”

Michelle looked back up at you and gave you a quirky half-smile. Her speech really did help to lighten your spirits. She was right about the fact that you didn’t quite believe everything she said about Peter also having romantic feelings for you, but knowing that she cared really helped.

“I think I need a little more time though,” you continued. “Your speech really helped, but I honestly don’t think I’m ready to talk to Peter just yet.”

“Fine,” Michelle conceded, “but you need to promise me that you’ll talk to him eventually, and preferably sooner rather than later. I’m tired of seeing all the pining looks you two give each other when one of the two of you isn’t looking.”

“I promise,” you said, chucking at her comment.

Michelle nodded her head in approval.

“So, want to head back to the cafeteria and talk about how stupid my emotions are?” you asked.

“I thought we just went over this. Your emotions aren’t stupid. Actually, they’re probably recip–”

“I was joking.”

“Oh, right.”

“About my emotions though, not about eating lunch together,” you clarified. “Come on, we still have half an hour. If we hurry, we can probably still get the less gross looking mystery meat.”

The two of you walked back to the cafeteria in tandem. You heard a few mumbles and whispers are you walked through the lunch line and sat down at the end of the table with Michelle. Peter was just a few feet away. You could see out of the corner of your eye that he was looking at you. He looked sad, from what you could tell. He wasn’t attempting to grab your attention at all. What you said to him before really must have taken its toll. You frowned at the thought. You certainly didn’t want to hurt Peter, but keeping your distance was the only way you thought you could manage to keep your emotions under control. You took and deep breath and turned your attention back to Michelle. The two of you soon started talking about how you both had the same favorite book series. That conversation went on for ages.

The lunch bell rang and you went to go dump your tray. You and Michele figured out that you had the same fifth period, so you ended up walking to class together too. It was surprising how many classes the two of you shared without you even realizing it. As you entered the classroom, you walked past your normal seat next to Peter’s and went to sit next to Michele in that back. Peter walked into the class shorty after you and saw that you weren’t in your normal seat. You watched as his face and shoulders fell in disappointment. The two of you made eye contact very briefly before he looked away and sat down. You silently cursed at yourself for making Peter feel so upset. That wasn’t what you wanted in the slightest, but then again, you weren’t entire sure what you did want either. The bell rang and the teacher stood up in front of the class. Guess this whole mess would have to wait until later. For now, you turned your focus to the teacher as they wailed on about another historical revolution or something.


The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly. You didn’t really have to put forth any more effort in avoiding Peter. After your speech in the cafeteria, he seemed to be finally giving you your space. You didn’t know whether or not to be relieved or disappointed. There were so many variables at play that you didn’t know which ones to think about. You walked into your apartment building and smiled at the new concierge working in the lobby. That must have been the new guy that gave Peter so much trouble the night before. You scrunched up your nose momentarily. Everything always led back to Peter. It was impossible for you to escape him, even for a second. You rode the elevator to the twelfth floor and trudged your way to your apartment door.

Finally stepping inside, you dropped your backpack right at the door and shuffled into the living room. You flopped down on the couch, absolutely exhausted. You let the stillness of apartment calm your agitated nerves. Suddenly however, you sat up from the couch, nerves very much at full alert. It was quiet in your apartment. Too quiet. Where were your parents? As if on queue, your phone began to ring with a call from your mom. You answered the call a bit too eagerly.

“Hey, where are you?” you blurted out.

“Hi, honey, we’re actually at the airport right now. Your father and I got called in last minute for some long-term business trip. We’ll be gone for at least three weeks. I’m so sorry we couldn’t say goodbye to you in person. We barely had enough time to pack and get to the airport on time,” explained your mom.

“Oh,” you said, slightly stunned. It wasn’t abnormal for your parents to go away for long business trips, but you almost always got to see them off. You frowned at the idea of spending the next three weeks alone. Now was not the most ideal time to be left with nothing but your thoughts and a big, empty apartment.

“I know, I’m sorry, sweetie! The timing for this couldn’t have been worse. I hate the idea of leaving you alone after what you’ve been going through. How was school today though? Did that help at all?”

“Um… yeah, it helped a little bit. Nothing has improved with Peter at all. If anything, I think it’s gotten a bit worse, but I started talking to that girl, Michelle, today. Or rather she started talking to me. Anyway, she helped me today during a rough time. So that was nice. She’s a bit weird, but she’s cool. I think she helped lighten my mood by a fraction of a percent, which is technically an improvement.”

“Well that’s good,” your mom said. “Wait, no, that’s our flight being called right now! Don’t tell me we’re late! Sweetheart, I’m going to have to call you back. I don’t know when that will be, but you’ll find out I guess. Okay, love you! Bye!”

The line went dead before you even had the chance to react. You sighed before setting your phone down and looking around the room. Three weeks. No parents and no best friend. Just you and your thoughts. You groaned and fell back into the couch. This was going to be the longest three weeks of your life.


A/N: Sorry if this wasn’t the happy ending that you expected, but I want to make this story as realistic as possible, which means stretching the series of events out. That said, please let me know whether or not you guys want a part three to this story! Thanks for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed it!


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anonymous asked:

Could you do #107 please? Also I'm glad you are feeling better❤❤

Thank you so much sweet x

107 ~ “If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.”

There’s violence in living and in dying, in loving and in abandoning, in praying and in sinning. There is no soft way to survive. She’d always found solace in him though, and him in her. They were homeless hearts lost under broken streetlights looking for a place to rest and seeking refuge in someone else’s chest. They were each others shelter from the storm but lately there’s been cracks in the ceiling and it’s letting the rain in.

They’d been falling apart rather than together for a while now. He’s been rendered colour blind to everything but blue and their kisses taste of pennies. Her heartbreak was different to his, he was snappy and short with her like instead of dropping her heart from his sleeve he’d just add a few more nails into it instead. No, her heartbreak was more like signs of rumination cryptically written on abandoned buildings, trains, subways, bridges. Hidden well yet still there. Still important. Maybe that’s why he keeps acting the way he does, because he can’t tell that it’s affecting her. Continuing on with the passing insults and the tone of voice that makes her chest tight. He knows they’re breaking though, can see the darkness seeping through the iridescent happiness they’d built around them, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Can’t figure out where they’d gone wrong. It still hurts when he sees her cry though, that much he knows.

He’d gotten home earlier than expected. The house was cold and quiet. The coldness he was growing used to but quietness, however, was new. She was always doing something to keep her mind off of the brokenness around her, but today? Today it was quiet and it’s got him looking for her. It wasn’t until he was outside of their bedroom door that he heard it. Heard her. The sound doesn’t go to his head or his heart, it goes to his stomach and he feels sick because he knows exactly why it’s happening. She’s sobbing and it’s because of him. He’s almost scared to open the door, scared to see the fragments of the girl he’d picked away at.

“Baby?” It feels so foreign on his tongue as he pushes the door open and she’s gasping when she hears it. Palming her eyes and brushing away fallen tears before he can see her in the state she’s in.

“Hi Harry, how was your day?” Her voice is soft yet scratchy and she’s turning to look are him, praying her eyes aren’t as puffy as they feel.

“Oh baby, no.” Taking in her exhausted appearance he’s all but running towards her to bring her into his arms and for the first time she doesn’t melt into his touch, instead she freezes. She’s stiff in his arms and he’s close to sobbing himself because of it. “What’s happened hm? What’s got you crying sweet?”

He knows what it is, he knows it’s because of the current state of their love but he’s hoping it’s something else. Wishing she’d tell him some asshole at work upset her. He just wants her to tell her it’s not because of him but he knows she won’t. He knows it is.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine. it’s fine.”

“Hey, hey no, listen to me. If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.” He’s pulling away from her to look her in the eyes and she doesn’t know what to do. He’s being so gentle with her. He’s talking to her like he used to, like he cares. It’s so alien to her, she’s been missing his love for so long, she can’t react to it in any way other than to start crying again. She’s held it together for so long and she can’t love and be loved like this anymore.

“What happened to us H?” Her words are shaky, there’s silent tears still finding their way down her cheeks and she’s staring at him with tired eyes.

“What do you mean poppet?” He hates himself for asking, because he knows what she means, he just needs to hear her say it.

“I mean when did we become this? When did our love become tainted and grey? You don’t kiss me anymore H, you don’t tell me you love me and I miss you. I miss you so much and that doesn’t make sense because you’re right here! But you’re not here the way I want you to be. The way I need you to be. I need you to be here Harry. I need you to be here loving me again.”

She spoke of her sadness and he took her words like daggers to the heart. His eyes are full of tears and regret and he doesn’t know what to do or say because she’s right. She tells him she loves him every night before they fall asleep and he cant even remember the last time he said it back. He’s looking at her and he knows it’s his turn to talk but he just doesn’t know what to say. What he does know? He knows he needs her to know that he still loves her. That he’s never stopped.

“I- I am so sorry my love. I love you, I love you so much. You’ve gotta know that. I can’t- I just- I love you.” He can’t think of anything else to say, settles for kissing her and as he does his hands are holding her face and his eyes are squeezed shut and the coldness in the house seems to be lifted and left replaced by warmth. They pull apart to breathe and he’s kissing her face, leaving no trace of skin untouched, whispering coos of “I love you” and “I’m sorry” and she smiling. She’s genuinely smiling because they’re finding their way back to each other. Their love isn’t lost. The storm is over. Their hearts are home.

im-an-indoor-person  asked:

I need tony and other characters with steve and bucky jealousy Like tell me how are they when jealous. Give me facepalming everyone and oblivious tony

Unfortunately most times when they’re jealous it’s people they cannot just threaten to beat up. They have to be diplomatic about it. Mostly they just turn bright red and look mulish. Honestly everyone’s more amused by it than scared.

There is, of course, Loki when he comes of age. He’s always been touchy-feely with Tony, since he was ten when they met and Tony didn’t think to set up boundaries as Loki got older (why would Loki be attracted to an old maid, Tony would be thirty with children by the time Loki came of age after all). So Loki continues to be touchy-feely, holding Tony’s hand, touching his arm, giving him little gifts from their homeland. Tony is super flattered by it all and thinks Loki is the most wonderful friend. It drives Steve and Bucky out of their minds with rage because Loki doesn’t even try to be sneaky about it; he does it in front of everyone: visiting dignitaries, other royalty, Queen Sarah. It’s embarrassing but they can’t really do anything about it because whenever they accuse him of anything Loki always looks at them with wide, innocent eyes and says, “But Tony is just my dear friend!” (They’re pretty sure he’s sincere about that though because Tony always looks surprised and pleased when Loki says that and Loki looks at him fondly.) ((“I swear on my son’s life if you ever try to sway Tony’s affections toward you,” Sarah hisses after she pulls Loki aside, and lets the threat hang there because she’s found it works better than actually saying what she’ll do. Loki is terrified because no one fucks with Queen Sarah and also his parents and Thor will be super upset if he starts a war with the Rogers. “Tony is just my friend!” Sarah continues to squint at him suspiciously. “I only do it because Steven and James’s faces turn red!” Sarah can accept that, she supposes.))

Then there’s always T’Challa, who has no designs on Tony at all but Steve and Bucky still kind of hover whenever they talk anyway, scowling petulantly. Tony always looks so enthused when they talk, usually about things that Steve and Bucky don’t understand even though Tony’s tried to explain it to them. Plus, Bucky and T’Challa have kind of a weird relationship where they hate each other but politically they agree with each other. It gets even worse when Shuri wanders over and joins the conversation because they’re both so smart and Steve and Bucky aren’t oh no oh no what does Tony even see in them???? (“Kindness?” Shuri says, raising her eyebrows. “Love and affection?” T’Challa adds, rolling his eyes. “Tenderness,” Shuri adds back, because even though she’s an alpha Tony still gossips with her like she’s an omega. “Gentleness,” T’Challa finishes, nodding. “Okay I get it shut up!” Bucky snarls, and then he and T’Challa glare at each other.) ((Tony wanders over from talking with Dame Margaret and smiles at them because they’re all getting along. “What are we talking about?” “You,” Shuri says before anyone else can. Tony blushes and covers his face. “Surely you can find something more interesting to talk about!” “That is absolutely one hundred percent not possible,” Steve insists, wrapping his arms around him, and Shuri and T’Challa roll their eyes.))

Sometimes they get jealous of Pepper, but Pepper has made it clear that Tony is, first and foremost, her leader, and second, her friend. Sometimes it’s just hard to remember that when Pepper reaches out to delicately fix Tony’s hair or the way his clothes are falling on him, especially when she leans in and kisses his forehead afterward. (“This is irrational, boys,” Pepper tells them. “We know,” they answer meekly. “I have never seen Tony in a romantic way.” “We know,” they repeat meekly. Pepper sighs loudly. “Would it make you feel better if we fought it out?” “…Yes,” they reply meekly.) ((“…What,” Tony says when Steve, Bucky, and Pepper limp into the castle, covered in dirt and grass stains and–is that blood?! “Alphas,” Sarah sneers, and then drags him away before he can ask more.))

They always get jealous of Rhodey. They’d challenge him to a fight but one time he heard Tiberius was nosing around again and before Steve and Bucky could do something about it, he wheeled himself out, knocked Tiberius down, and then crawled out of his chair so he could beat him with it. He broke his chair. Rhodey does not fuck around about Tony ever. (“He’s not my type,” Rhodey tells them when he notices them hovering. “Also if you ever even look at him wrong I’m going to heave myself out of this chair and strangle you.”) ((“Why are you so scared of Rhodey?” Tony asks guilelessly. “Rhodey wouldn’t hurt you. You’re my husbands.” “My precious sunflower,” Steve says, cupping Tony’s cheeks. Bucky shakes his head slowly, reaching out to wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. “That is precisely why he would murder us.”))

4

Moana: ENFP [Disney’s Moana]

DOMINANT EXTRAVERTED INTUITION: Ne

Moana is in love with the world around her; this is seen from a very young age as she constantly interacts with the world. She is of a curious mind and sees things from different viewpoints than others. She isn’t quick to come to her own conclusions of the world, but is open to the ever changing patterns of the world outside of herself (Ne). She sees the larger picture beyond her society or the fear of the ocean many have. She is constantly looking for new and better ways to do things and that includes voyaging. From a young age she sees there is a whole world outside her village and her island. She needs to go out and learn about it. 

She has classic Ne moments of discovery filled with enthusiasm that is contagious to the viewer. When she comes upon a new idea she lights up with excitement seeing the continual potential. We see this when she comes upon the ships, especially. Notice though, she isn’t one for details. She had the idea of setting sail and of discovery, but she never thought to learn to sail before her departure. She never really thinks her actions through before jumping to them. 

Now, there is a possibility to argue that she reflected on leaving for quite a while before voyaging into the great blue yonder, but I disagree with this. She always wanted to go out to the sea, the only reason she didn’t is because her father said no. Even then she was rebellious and looking for a sign to leave. When she makes the choice to leave it is quite spontaneous and not thought through. She didn’t really reflect on the consequences of her expedition nor did she prepare for her trip in any way. She didn’t learn sailing, or pack much. She acted first and in Ne improvisation fashion hoped she could just adapt as she goes and figure it out later. She is not a composed J type, but a restless Ne dominant craving new experiences.

SECONDARY INTROVERTED FEELING: Fi

Her Fi is secondary so it is often a tool for her Ne. Her judgments are heavily influenced and shaped by her Ne experiences. In addition, her Fi can only judge based on her own experiences. Hence, why she doesn’t get why her father judges the sailing into the sea based off of stories and past experiences. Her Fi is not conceptual like Fe, nor does she use dom/aux Ni/Si to learn from these stories or take them to heart. She hasn’t experienced the sea and doesn’t see why a little danger should get in the way of a new future. 

However, her Fi does make her alert to the judgement of her father. It is not the fear of disharmony (Fe) that this Fi user is feeling. She is feeling out her Ne ideas on people around her to see if her ideas (Ne) would be accepted. At no point does she agree with him nor believe in her heart that her societal duties should come first (Fe). Let us take a closer look at her lyrics in How Far I’ll Go:

I know everybody on this island, seems so happy on this island
Everything is by design
I know everybody on this island has a role on this island
So maybe I can roll with mine
I can lead with pride, I can make us strong
I’ll be satisfied if I play along
But the voice inside sings a different song
What is wrong with me?

We see she is aware of her society and the role she is supposed to take on. You don’t need to be a dominant Fe or secondary Fe to notice something like this. Fe would take her society and role into play in her decision making, but she explicitly doesn’t in these lyrics. She listens to the “voice inside.” This decision making process has nothing to do with her social role, her family role, etc. It has to do with her inner self, her Fi. She throws social expectations to the wind in order to make her choice!  An Fe user would not feel like they have to play the role, the very role would be instrumental in their sense of identity.

TERTIARY EXTRAVERTED THINKING: Te

It is her Te, not Fe as many think, that pushes Moana to accept her father’s and societies priorities over her own. At least for a while… She gets the rationale that her father is looking out for her and her people. That in a practical way he is making the best choice he can and she respects that. She even tries to “play along” for him. Eventually though, her Fi overrides this and she takes off on her own journey. In her heart though, she cannot fake it for him any longer. Her Fi rises as she has to be true to herself. How her father wants her to rule and take on her role is not how Moana does things.

INFERIOR INTROVERTED SENSING: Si

Moana has a disregard for the rules of her people and how things have “always been.” The more her father tries to stop her from using her Ne, exploring the world and ever-changing-ness of it, the more motivated she is to disobey. She feels that her father is tying her down, despite his best intentions. This pressure to control her is a major motivator in her defying him and his rules. His constraints are on her very freedom and sense of self. Living the way he wants would not only get in the way of her Ne freedom, but it wouldn’t be true to who she is, her Fi.

It is interesting because ENPs often get confronted with the fact that they prefer the expedient choice over (Ne) the honorable one (Si). And this tension is very big in Moana’s story, but comes full circle. Her disregard of her father’s wishes and his way of life for their people is Ne overcoming Si, but she discovers that the way of life that she sees as new and exciting is in fact the true way of her people. The very things she disregarded, traditions, were the exact thing she was really looking for. This is true of all inferior functions for us all! We are just uncomfortable with our inferior function and something in our life must push us to confront and overcome our fears of our inferior function. For Moana, she had to explore her freedom and the world to come full circle. To see the responsibility she has to her people and the value of traditions. Her Ne helps her come to terms with her Si, as she sees that the new isn’t always in conflict with the traditional.

crush // v.m.p.

you are seven the first time you hear the word crush. it sounds bad, wrong, not fun. a boy has just stolen your football, said to you “girls can’t play with this.” he tells you to go back to your skipping rope. you do. he’s what your mum would call a bully, he’s not worth your time, she’d say. she always says that when lauren mocks you for your lisp, always tells you not to get too involved. so you don’t. when you get home you tell her all about it, how an annoying boy stole what was rightfully yours – you’re angry, vengeful, upset – whilst your mum simply laughs. “he must have a crush on you,” she says, and you stare at her, shocked. you have never seen your mother not take you seriously. you have never heard this word either.

you are ten when a boy smiles at you across the field. he scurries back to his friends quickly after. your own friends are more excited about this than you are – “he probably likes you!” “you’re so lucky, it’s because you’re so loud!” you hear the word ‘lucky’ and feel important, special to someone. you want to be liked. you want to be loved. next time you spy what’s-his-face across the football pitch, you make sure to smile back. you can play these games, you can become the likeable girl. if it’s a competition you’re sure you can win, and that’s what this is. you look at your friends and suddenly you see competitors. it doesn’t feel fun, being in love.

you are eleven when you first kiss a boy. or he kisses you, you can’t quite recall. it is all action and reaction, the way your lips feel dry and it doesn’t feel as good as you expected it to. one kiss after another, no words pass between you and the mystery boy. there are no “I love you’s”, no passion, no meaning behind it. he leaves at the end of the day when all is said and done, after pulling you aside, whispering, “don’t tell anyone.” you wonder if he’s embarrassed of you. vaguely, you think you recall the same boy kissing another girl in the parking lot before summer camp. he has a girlfriend, you soon find out. romance is dead, you realise.

you are thirteen when you have your first boyfriend. he wants to be a rugby player, but this isn’t why you love him – he’s a musician, a pianist. he sends you videos of him playing songs dedicated to you, and you realise this may be the first time a boy has treated you kindly. you make things official – of course you had to be the one to ask – and you tell your friends. “I have a boyfriend,” you say triumphantly. your friends are happy for you, they really are – but they don’t like this boy and you know it. “he’s always putting you down,” your friend tells you, desperately trying to cheer you up after an argument. he’s been telling you your taste in music is shit, and quite frankly it was music that got you into this mess in the first place. you break up with him and focus on yourself. a boy is a bully is not boyfriend material.

you are fifteen when two unexpected things happen. you date a boy who may as well be perfect for you, and you start to notice a female friend in a new way. the tilt of her chin before she laughs, the way the sun catches her auburn eyes. it is a distraction, and not a welcome one. why can’t you be pretty? you feel threatened, you feel not enough. you never want to be alone again. your boyfriend is your sole consolation. “you’re beautiful,” he tells you, and sometimes you think you believe him. “way better than her,” he assures, and suddenly, you can’t. you can’t stop thinking about it, talking to him about it. you worry you’re talking him into loving her, so you split before he has the chance to leave you. your friends liked this one – they’re disappointed.

you are sixteen and you’ve had three boyfriends in the past five months. apparently, this makes you a slut. it is your friend who uses the word first, jokingly, and you remember laughing. other people start using it, though you can’t recall when it took on such a degrading tone. there is spite in it, but you play it right back – “at least I can get a boyfriend,” you snarl, breaking ties with the friend who first brought this ugly word upon you. it’s her fault, you decide. after all, she doesn’t understand. she doesn’t understand that none of them are interesting, that they’ve all been nice, charming, but it’s still not enough for you. you worry that you fall for every boy who’s nice to you. maybe they were right after all. when you ditch your friend, she calls you a “bitch.” and, well – maybe you are.

you are eighteen and you are a slut. you’ve had a long string of guys and you’re worried they’ll start to think you aren’t trying. your mum loves your current boyfriend. truthfully, he’s everything you’ve ever appreciated in a person. sharp, well-spoken, patient. he’s smart and he’s shooting for the moon. he wants to go to oxford university to study law, he wants to travel the world with you, he wants to marry you, and you aren’t sure why. you’ve been with him for seven months. you’ve reconciled with your friend. everyone likes him. everything is as it should be except it’s not. you don’t want to sleep with him. he’s mused about it before but is too nice to ask upfront. you can’t see yourself with him, travelling with him, marrying him – you are not his wife. you tell him this and he argues with you, says, “but I love you.” you cry in each other’s arms, but you know it’s over. maybe you killed romance.

you are nineteen and you’re out clubbing. at least that’s what you’ve been told, but you’re mostly babysitting your drunk friend. clearly you’ll be the one driving tonight. it seems like everyone is wasted, and you’re standing by the bar when you notice yourself noticing. there’s a girl across the room with dark skin and curly hair. she’s wearing a short, tight-fitted skirt and you know this because you’ve been glancing over at her all night. she’s doing the same. she gives you an obvious once-over and you shiver, turning away. less than a minute later and she’s by your side, ordering you a drink. you feel knots in your stomach and you politely refuse – suddenly you feel woozy, and she gently touches your arm, asks if you want to dance. pin-pricks race up from where her skin brushed yours. you want to accept, you step towards her, but then you think twice, hear the word slut echo through your mind. you leave soon after. you never see the girl again, but you can imagine her vividly when you close your eyes.

you are twenty when you tell your friends you might like girls. two of them are shocked, immediately placing a label into the equation that you never gave yourself – “oh, so you’re bi. when did this happen?” you say you don’t know, but you know that’s not true. you think back to when you were fifteen, to your disbelief your friend even exists, your disbelief your boyfriend couldn’t be interested. you think about this for a long time. you remember not wanting to sleep with boys. you remember you are not his wife when by now, you could’ve been. it is your other friend, your best friend, who isn’t shocked. she walks you back to your accommodation, asks you, “are you gay?” you say you think so, and she hugs you. it’s a lovely moment and you’ll always remember it. you don’t worry you might be in love with her. you know what love feels like now.

you are twenty-two and you have a crush. it seems like such a lovely word now. it doesn’t make you feel bitter, or angry. it makes you feel absolutely everything just that little more vividly, like you’re coming into being for the first and last time. she has copper hair and freckles and you imagine stringing them together into constellations. you imagine her taking you out. you imagine things like kissing, touching, breathing in the scent of each other and it feels weird but then it feels normal. you imagine things late at night when you’re cold and lonely that shock and embarrass you. you hear your peers sneering slut at you across the classroom in your mind. your best friend laughs when you call her at midnight. “it’s normal,” she tells you, “you’re just in love.”

you are twenty-three when you ask her out. she tells you she was waiting for you to ask, that she’d been dropping hints for months but couldn’t quite tell whether you felt the same. like all things, you think about it. how you’d stay up late at night texting her, drive down into the city to see her whenever you had the opportunity. how you called her a “good friend” when your mother asked. how you were afraid to be caught falling, scared of what it could mean, crying at night that you have an inability to love anyone properly. you ask her if she thinks you’re a slut. “how many guys have you been with?” she asks. you’re too unsure to be offended – something like fifteen, you say. she laughs. “you could tell me you’d dated every single guy you’ve ever laid eyes on and I wouldn’t think you’re a slut.” you tell her you’ve never dated a girl. you ask if that still makes you a lesbian. she looks at you seriously. “you just like girls?” you nod. “that sounds pretty gay to me.”

you are twenty-four when everything comes full circle. you are with your best friend and your girlfriend. you’re going home to visit your mum, and this time there will be no mincing your words. there will be no “good friend”. there is no slut, there is no shame, there is no doubt anymore. there will also be no boy, which is undoubtedly what your mother is expecting. when you arrive she is happy to see you, but you can tell she’s surprised. she invites you all inside before you can explain. your best friend offers to go and make some tea, gives you a look that says you’ve got this. you settle down on the sofa, thinking about copper curls and hips and curves and freckles and eyelashes and the quiet intimacy of catching eyes with a girl across a dance floor, how you can iterate that to someone who doesn’t understand. “mum,” you start, your voice shaking. “mum, one time, a couple of years ago, I had a crush.”

you are twenty-four and it’s taken you this long, but rest-assured no one can take this from you now.

SnK Chapter 96 Poll Results

The chapter 96 poll closed with 1,469 responses. Thank you to everyone for participating. Let’s do this!


RATE THE CHAPTER
(1,402 Responses)

There was an increase of strong NOPES with 6.5% rating this chapter a 1 verses .07% for chapter 95,  but otherwise like last month, the majority gave the chapter a favorable rating.

With every chapter focusing on the Warriors, they steadily climb the list of some of the greatest characters I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading about. I love everyone in this manga, but the complexity, moral ambiguity, and tragedy of these three just continues to astound me. No matter how this manga concludes and no matter how imperfect AoT is as a whole, I applaud Isayama for writing some of the best antagonists I’ve ever seen.

Warriors background and sob story is always good to see. However, I do want a bit more progress in the story. I can wait a bit longer to see Paradis cast.

96 is probably the highlight of Marley focus so far, and is a well deserved title. It honestly never crossed my mind for some reason that we would see the opposite side of the attack on Paradis, and it did surprise me with how much of a rush and danger it was for RBA.

I liked the other chapters better since they weren’t all about flashbacks; they had a nice mix between current and previous events

I don’t really like the Marley chapters but this chapter has been amazing. Best chapter of this arc so far.

It has a huge emotional content but I feel like it had less substance than previous chapter. The insight on Annie is interesting though.

i think seeing the fall of wall maria from RBA’s perspective was a very good (and heartbreaking) decision for yams to make, and a good way to segway into finally revealing what the SC are up to hopefully lol

It seems like Isayama has a thing for writing heartbreaking and sad chapters in August *sides eyeing to chapter 84* and btw, I’m still not over serumbowl. I don’t even think I'llbe over that someday ;;-;;

It was really insightful to see more of RAB and actually see R&B relationship with Annie (I honestly thought Annie hated them and vice versa). We didn’t see 3 monsters but 3 little kids, traumatized and forced to shed innocent blood

fuck this chapter, i dont even mind the marley chapters but this literally told us nothing interesting aside from royalty not being subjects of ymir

 

Keep reading

The Life I Choose

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

Anonymous asked:

hmm can u do a royal!au for bucky? like a royal/servant type of thing with a happy ending?

Characters: Bucky x reader

Summary: Royal!AU in which you are by far the fairest of all of the maidens that reside in the land, the beloved princess of your kingdom. Now at an age of marriage, but no Lord by your side, your parents have scoured bordering kingdoms for suitors, but after denying to marry any one of them in the conquest of true love, the king and queen force your hand. Fearing that the rest of your life will be consumed by a loveless marriage, you flee into the gardens and find James Barnes, the dashing young servant who knows the grounds of the palace better than anyone else and ask him to help you escape.

Warnings: implied smut, bad editing yikes

Words: 3696

A/N: This goes out to the adorable anon that sent me this request. I’m a SUCKER for royal!AUs so I jumped on this one! Thank you for the request anon, hopefully this was what you were looking for :)


Sitting in your chamber, with a brush in hand, painting a deep hue of scarlet onto a stark white canvas that lay in front of you on a easel. Painting was a major hobby and quaint distraction of yours. 

Your satin gown hugged you perhaps just a little too tight around the waist, the corset pulling you in and making you look slim, but always just a bit uncomfortable. You’d gotten accustomed to the feeling, much like you’d gotten accustomed to the lifestyle you lead.

The jewel of your Kingdom, Princess (Y/N). The beloved girl whom every man wanted to wed and whom every woman wanted to be. You were the golden girl, the most wanted woman in the entire land, but you couldn’t care less. 

More than anything, more than all of the expensive gowns in your wardrobe, more than any gold or silver jewelry, and even more than a fresh set of oil paints, you wanted true love. True love it seems, was not in the cards you held firmly in your hand. 

True love was not meant for royalty, it was meant for people who had nothing else to value other than love, not for a princess, but nothing would stop you from finding your other half, even if it meant drastic measures to ensure it.

You were known for being a bit on the daring side, pushing boundaries that were put in place by the kind and queen, but at the end of it all, you always obeyed your orders and fulfilled your duties… until today.

“M’lady, the king and queen have asked that I send for you.” The voice of a maiden spoke softly from your open door.

“Thank you, I’ll be there in a moment.” You nodded your head as she curtsied and scurried off.

You hoisted yourself from your chair, placing your paint set on the gold detailed table next to you and made your way down the long corridor to the living quarters.

You already knew why they’d sent for you, they’d already done this too many times to count over the last year. They were most likely going to force you to meet with their newest potential suitor which they claimed was good enough for you to marry. 

You hadn’t even liked any of them thus far, so much as seen yourself married to them. You were appalled at the thought of marrying a man you didn’t love, so you rejected each and every one of them.

When you opened the large doors, you were expecting to see another well dressed lord accompanying your mother and father, but you did not.

You greeted your parents formally, with a nod of your head and a curtsy. You gave them a quizzical look as the servants around them stood and waited for their next orders.

You made a point to know each of them by name, unwilling to be cold to any one of them as they did so much for you. Winifred had been your governess as a girl, she stood next to your mother and smiled at you with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

You knew something was very wrong from the moment you stepped into the room, but you couldn’t tell what it was.

Your eyes cast over to Winifred’s son, James, the young man who mainly worked in the garden tending to your mother’s roses. The two of you had played together as young children in between Winifred’s lessons. This was put to a stop by your mother one morning, telling you that you weren’t to play with the Barnes boy any longer. 

You parents were stuck up, they didn’t allow you to socialize with the servants, but of course you broke the rules regularly and made friends with almost all of them. James - who the other servants affectionately called Bucky - was an exception. It seemed that he wanted nothing to do with you.

“(Y/N).” Your father said, his tone cold.

“Father.”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“I do not.”

“It’s come to our attention that you have yet to choose a husband.” He said.

“It’s come to my attention that you have yet to produce a half decent suitor.” You quipped, and watched the eyes of James Barnes widen slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“None of your remarks.” You mother said, “You are going to marry and that is final.”

“I am not against marriage, mother, I am against marriage for land and power. When I marry, I will love the man who takes my hand in his, not just be dazzled by the ring he places on my finger.” You said firmly, unmoving from your spot in front of them.

“Enough.” Your father said, “We have chosen for you. You will wed the first suitor we chose for you this Sunday.”

Your mouth went dry, you couldn’t believe what they’d told you.

“I will do no such thing.” You said.

“It is not your choice anymore.” Your mother said, “I will fetch you to be fitted for your dress in an hour.”

Tears clouded your vision as you stormed out of the living quarters, slamming the doors behind you. When you made it back to your room, you collapsed into a fit of tears on your bed, viciously undoing the corset that held you firmly in place. You needed comfort.

Through your crying, you wiped your makeup off and threw on a casual servant dress instead, one that you had asked your seamstress to make for you when you’d gotten sick of the heavy gowns. 

You disassembled your done up hair, and brushed it out so that it fell naturally around your face. Wiping away the last of your tears, you packed a bag.

Your journal, paints and sketch book, some extra clothing and a sizable amount of money. That was all you needed. You slung to pack over your shoulder and exited the room as quietly as possible.

Tiptoeing down the hallways, your heart almost jumped into your throat when you saw Winifred.

“(Y/N).” She whispered, looking at your appearance, “What on earth are you doing?” 

“I am leaving.” You said, “I can’t do it.” You said trying to keep yourself composed.

“I know you can’t,” She said with sad eyes, “Take the back exit into the garden, no one will see you that way.”

“Thank you.” You replied, giving her a tight embrace, “For everything.”

You retreated down the back exit of the castle which was vacant of servants, and ran into the expansive garden that had been tended for so well. You darted across the field, but stopped dead in your tracks when you heard voices.

Hiding behind a rose bush, you listened in.

“The roses are just wonderful.” You mother said.

You shrunk down a tad farther upon hearing her voice, knowing she was accompanied by your father. If they caught you, they would confine you to your room until your very wedding.

“Thank you, your highness.” 

You recognized that voice to, it was Bucky.

“They’ll look lovely for the wedding.” You father remarked, and you had to hold your tongue.

“I’ll make certain of it.” Bucky’s voice was cold, almost as if he was saying it through gritted teeth.

You watched your mother and father make their way back to the castle is disgust, still unwilling to believe that they were actually trying to force you to marry.

“I doubt that small of a bag will hold you off for very long.”

Bucky’s voice made you snap out of it. You popped your head out from out of the bush in shock. You saw him, with shears in his hands, gently trimming the flora around him.

“How did you-”

“The king and queen aren’t quite as observant of their roses as I am.” He said simply, turning to you and offering you merely a shrug before tending to the flowers again. You watched as the strong muscles of his back worked against the cotton of his shirt, moving gracefully in his back. 

Bucky was a mystery to you. When you were children, you were the closest of friends, but when you were separated everything changed, he only ever spoke to you if he had to.

“Please don’t tell anyone you saw me here, I beg of you.” You pleaded from behind him.

“I don’t intend to,” He said softly with one sharp clip of the bushes before turning around again, “But you won’t survive outside of the palace with only that bag.” He nodded down at the leather parcel slung around your shoulder. 

Your eyes left his, breaking the intense eye contact for a moment.

“Your highness-”

“My name is (Y/N).” 

“You know I can’t call you that.” He said.

“If I can call you Bucky, you can call me (Y/N).”

His eyes were unsure of you, but he finally caved.

“(Y/N), you won’t be able to make it passed the gate, let alone live out there in peasantry.” He spoke to your softly.

“A life of peasantry is the life I want.” You said.

“Don’t say such things.” Bucky replied, gently taking you by the arm and hiding you both behind the bushes further out of the sight of the castle.

“A life in peasantry is a life with love.” You said, “I cannot marry a man I do not love.”

His eyes searched desperately for something to tell him that you weren’t going to make such a rash move, but he knew he couldn’t convince you otherwise.

James Barnes had been hopelessly in love with you since the age of 6 when he first laid eyes on you. The two of you were the best of friends for a few years, constantly sneaking into each other quarters to talk to one another, but when your mother had found out, she banned him from ever speaking to you unless it was an order.

It hurt him so badly to distance himself from you, from the woman he loved so much, but he couldn’t disobey his queen.

“Come with me.” He said, leading you down to the stone gate which scaled upwards.

He moved a few rocks to the side, revealing a large opening where you could crawl through. You looked up at him in disbelief, and wanted to thank him, but he stopped you.

“I won’t let you go alone.” He spoke.

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“You’re not asking.” 

When you’d both made it to the other side of the wall, Bucky lead you down several flights of cobble steps until you made it to the village.

People walked along with carts full of flour and bread, vendors selling everything from baked goods to trinkets on the street. You smiled happily and skipped along the road.

Bucky watched with a boyish grin on his face at your joy, he couldn’t believe how happy a princess could be in such a simple life.

“This is wonderful.” You said, a marvelous smile on your face.

Bucky smirked at you as you both passed by a flower vendor, he stopped while you went ahead and purchased a few stems of lilacs with the last coins he had in his pocket.

When he caught up to you, he tapped you on the shoulder and when you turned around, proudly presented the flowers to you.

“Bucky, you shouldn’t have.” You said, your eyes gleaming at the beautiful wild flowers he held out for you.

“I remember you loved these when we were young.”

“They’re still me favourite.” Your sheepish grin made you avoid eye contact, but didn’t make you bashful enough to shy away from pulling him down gently by the collar of the shirt and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, this is one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me.”

Bucky tried to ignore the blissful tingle that remained on his cheek as you pulled away from him.

He tucked a few fallen tendrils of hair back behind his ear as he nodded at you before leading you further into the village. 

You held the lilacs tightly in your hand, and watched Bucky from your place a few strides behind him. No man had ever given you flowers like he had before. Suitors had tried to woo you with massive bouquets of endless lilies and daisies and roses that meant nothing to them in terms of cost or sentiment. Bucky had purchased the flower that he remembered you loved with what little money he had. Your heart skipped at the thought.

When you reached a cozy looking home, Bucky opened the door for you and you stepped in. The entire thing was made from wood, a delicate fireplace on the side with a closed off bedroom and a tiny kitchen.

“You can stay here for as long as you need.” He said as he took his jacket off and hung it on the hook behind the door before closing it.

“I can’t possibly expect you to house me-”

“Nonsense.” He said with a small laugh.

“Thank you for your kindness.” You said, gently touching his arm.

“You’re welcome.” He said quietly, and you suddenly became aware of how close he was to you as his breath hit your face.

He was so close to you that he could feel every fiber in his body screaming at him to kiss you, but he knew he couldn’t.

“I should put these in water.” You said, nodding at the lilacs.

“There is a vase in the cabinet.” He said and you went to go fetch it.

You placed the clear glass vase down on the water, pouring the small pot of water that resided on the windowsill. He watched you every move, how gracefully you moved throughout his small home. 

More than anything, Bucky wanted to refute the voice in his head that told him this is what kind of a life they might have together. Living in a small home, tending to flowers, living a simple life. But more than anything, Bucky’s brain couldn’t shake the image.

“I’m going to cook us something to eat.” He said.

“I’ll help you.” You smiled, finished placing the lilacs neatly in water.

“You haven’t cooked a day in your life.” He laughed.

“Everyone must start somewhere.” You said.

So you helped him by cutting up the vegetables he grew in the garden out back while he prepared the small amount of chicken over the stove. Once your job was done, he threw your handiwork in the pot with the meat and seasoned it, making a soup.

“Bread.” You muttered.

“Pardon?”

“You said I’d never cooked, but I can make bread.”

“I doubt that highly.” He said.

“Perhaps I’ll have to show you.”

“I suppose you will.”

So, you set out to scour his kitchen for the ingredients you needed, placing them on the table and beginning your work. He sat back and watched you work with a determination he hadn’t seen with any member of a royal family.

You wiped your forehead as you kneaded the dough carefully then placed it in a small bowl to rise.

“Now we wait a few minutes, then put it on the fire.” You said proudly.

Bucky smiled at you and shook his head, marveling at the beauty of your face with the splotches of flour on it.

“You are absolutely stunning.” He said, long before his brain could prevent it.

You looked at him, a shocked smile on your face. He tried to stutter out an apology, but you replied first.

“You think I’m stunning?”

His gaze shifted to your eyes again, their beautiful colour making him weak in the knees. He was so in love with you, so hopelessly and forever enamored with everything that you were.

“I do.” He said, moving past you to tend to the soup.

Without another word, you put the breadpan in the stove and watched Bucky stir the soup gently. You looked at his face, the handsome face that you seen many times before, but you saw it differently this time. You saw the strong curve of his jaw, the arch of his brows, his plump lips, and all you wanted to do was kiss him.

But of course, you didn’t.

You took two bowls out of the cabinet and let Bucky pour the soup into them while you took the bread out and cut it into a few slices. You brought the meal out to the small table that served as a dining room and sat across from each other.

“This is perfect.” You said with happiness dripping from you voice as you stared at the dinner you’d helped make.

“I am surprised you think so.” He said.

“Are you really?” You asked as you dipped your spoon into the soup.

“No, not really.”

You looked up at him and smiled as you took a bite, acknowledging how amazing the soup was. You barely spoke during the course of your dinner, each of you enjoying it far too much. Bucky did compliment your bread, however.

You helped him to wash out the bowls and dry them, placing them back in the cabinet once you’d finished.

You ears perked up when you heard a local jupiter outside begin to play a tune with a few others, a slower song.

“They come around every few nights.” Bucky explained, “I typically leave the windows open to hear them.”

You took his hand and gently lead him into the clearest space of his home.

“Dance with me.” You said, and Bucky couldn’t refuse.

Taking your hand in his, he held you close to him as you moved to the beat of the song gently, holding eye contact with every passing second.

Bucky’s eyes trailed down to your lips but quickly shot back up again, refusing to allow himself the fantasy of kissing you, not when he knew it was a farce.

“Perhaps,” You said in a whisper, “I was meant to run into you today.”

“Why do you think that?” He whispered back.

“Because I’m beginning to believe that it was you I was meant to love.”

Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat at the words, he couldn’t understand how you could say such a thing. 

“(Y/N)…”

“You’re the only one who’s ever truly cared for me, Bucky.” You whispered to him, “I’d be a fool to ignore that.”

His eyes closed in a desperate need to comprehend the situation around him. Your breath hit his face as he continued to gently sway back and forth with you so close to his body.

“Kiss me.” You whispered to him and he didn’t waste any time at all pressing his lips to yours desperately.

You tasted just as sweet as he imagined you would, your soft lips as delicate as the roses he tended to. His strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you even closer to him. Your hand rested on his face, stroking along his cheek gently. This was what you’d dreamed of.

His tongue entered your mouth and your knees went weak. A kiss like this was meant for a fantasy, but here you were experiencing it in reality.

“Take me to bed.” You practically begged him.

He groaned at your words and picked you up, carrying you over to his bed and laying you there.

When he saw you looking up at him with the softest eyes he’d ever seen, he knew he would do anything to keep you with him forever, to hold you and love you and make you his wife. 

He made his work quick, receiving delicate sighs of approval, moans of his name, things he’d only dreamed of hearing falling from your lips.

And as you laid completely bare next to him, sleep and fading ecstasy clouding your vision, he kissed your lips and held you close to his body, pulling the blankets over you to keep you safer in his grasp.

“I have never had the pleasure of loving someone so much as I love you.” He whispered into your hair.

In reply, you nuzzled into him even further, his arms securing you in place.

“I’ll make it my life’s goal to ensure you never have to live without that pleasure.” You breathed out.

Bucky knew that you both couldn’t stay in his home like this, the search for the kingdom’s missing princess had probably already started. You and he would need to flee the village together and go to a neighboring land if you were to be free of your parents. You were aware of it too, but for now you didn’t care.

For now, you were tucked in the embrace of the one man who loved you more than anything in his life. For now, you didn’t need to worry about finding solace in another kingdom, because you found it in Bucky, and for now that was enough.

When you did manage to flee, you both found the refuge you needed in the village a kingdom over, where you built a home much like the one Bucky had left.

You spent your days painting many things and selling your artwork to make money, Bucky managed to get a job as the royal gardener for the kingdom’s king and queen there as well. 

Bucky had been working day in and day out and you couldn’t help but be worried for him, until he came to you with a ring and it all made sense. It seemed he’d been saving.

The wedding you had was nothing to be admired, just the closest of friend’s you’d made were invited and Winifred, who made the trip from your kingdom in secret. It was everything you’d hoped it would be.

The wedding that you’d ended up with was much more than just a marriage, it was an open profession of love for the man who had helped you escape your fate, and whom you’d fallen in love with along the way and that held beauty beyond words.

Finding Home (Part 3)

Steve x Reader

Modern Day AU

Summary: US Army Capt Steve Rogers has never had a family of his own, but after receiving a random card while on deployment - he suddenly feels like he has one. Sometimes home can be a place, sometimes it can be a person, and sometimes it’s a place you’ve never been. A story of love, family, and home.

*based on the movie The Christmas Card*

Finding Home MasterList


The next day Steve found himself once again parking his bike in front of Maria’s, he debated with himself for a minute about going in.   The hope of seeing you again pushing him off his bike and into the diner.  As the bell above the door rang, Maria looked up at him with a smile.   He returned the smile with one of his own, making his way to the seat he had sat in before.   He was slightly disappointed when he found it and the ones around it empty.


You spent most of your night trying not to think about the handsome soldier you had met the day before.  Urging your father to hurry, you jumped in his black pickup, waiting impatiently for him to get in beside you.  Maria had texted you telling you the mystery man had come in for breakfast.  Once your father was in the truck you took off, heading to Maria’s as quickly as you could.  You had no idea why you wanted to see him again, but you did.

Steve had looked at his watch for the fifth time.  Last night Maria had been quick to serve him his food, delivering it to him with a small smile.  This morning however, he couldn’t get her attention if he stood on the counter and did a jig.  She had taken his order and given him a smile that suggested she knew something he didn’t and told him it would be a few.  

“Need a refill on your coffee?” Maria’s voice broke into Steve’s thoughts, he nods and scratches the back his neck, an indication of his nervousness at asking her what was causing the delay.

Keep reading

Coincidences Part II (Bucky x Reader)

You guys have waited way too long for this and for that I’m sorry. But here it is, so I won’t start it with my usual long-winded preamble. 

Happy Reading!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU thingy)

Words: 5046 (yikes, that’s the longest fic I’ve ever written)

Warnings: The usual tiny bit of swearing

Excerpt:  For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely.

Series Tags: @melanie451 @sebstanwassup @colagirl5 @winenighthoe @lovemarvelousfics @gotnotfeature @sebastianst-n @alwayshave-faith @hollycornish @iggytheboywonder 

Tags: @langinator @fairchild21

Originally posted by little--batman

Originally posted by gliceria


Your name: submit What is this?

New Message from Mr. Catarcs

3:42 a.m u up?

You blink your eyes blearily and shift in bed. The sheet is wrapped around your legs like sweaty vines, constricting your movement. You growl angrily and throw them off, sitting up and relishing in the cool air of your apartment. Despite the frigid cold outside, you somehow still manage to wake up sweating. Maybe you’re a mutant. 

Glancing over at your phone, it dings again to impatiently let you know that you still haven’t opened the text that woke you up. Usually your phone is switched to silent because of your job at the diner. There are always so many phones going off that it’s almost impossible to tell which is which. It’s just easier having your phone on silent because then you’re never worried about whether your phone is ringing or if it’s someone else’s. It saves you a lot of unnecessary anxiety. 

But ever since last night’s conversation with James, you decided that you wanted to hear your phone ring with a text. It’s the first time in your life that you don’t want to miss a text. 

You pick up the offending piece technology and swipe it open. Sure enough, the text is from James and you grin despite the fact that this message is the same one that woke you at—you squint at your alarm clock—3:49 a.m. 

Deciding you are both thirsty and in need of some time in the open air of your apartment and not under the suffocating sheets, you get up and stretch. The floors are cold as you pad to the kitchen and fill a glass with water, shooting a text back to James. 

3:51 a.m I am now

You wait for an answer while downing your glass of water and putting the empty glass in the sink again. Maybe he fell back asleep when you didn’t answer right away. 

For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely. 

You have no proof of this, and absolutely no reason to believe he isn’t a creep except for a gut feeling. You resolve to ask his age whenever he decides to answer you. 

You think about that. He could lie to you and tell you that he’s 20 when he’s really a lot older than that. The only way you’d truly know is if you meet him in person. 

Suddenly you’re a little dizzy. This is just way too much to worry about at four a.m. You decide to just talk to him. You genuinely like his personality, and you don’t have to worry about all that other stuff until you actually meet him. If you actually meet him. That’s a big, neon-colored, flashing sign in the middle of absolute nowhere if.  

Your phone dings and you look over from where you’re clutching the counter. You don’t notice how hard you were gripping the counter until you pull your palms away and it stings, lines etching themselves across your palm. 

4:03 a.m srry didnt mean to wake u

Before you can even formulate a response, he’s texting you again. A double text. Gasp.

4:04 a.m just couldnt sleep. i was wondring if u wanted to talk

You tilt your head at your screen. He’s up in the middle of the night, and the first thing he does is text you? Why? Does he not have other people he can talk to? A stupid part of you, the same part that wants to meet him in person, thinks that maybe it’s because he wants to talk to you. 

Maybe he does. Probably not. It’s too much to hope for. All his other friends are probably asleep. Regardless, not answering is not an option. Well, it is, but it’s not one you’re likely to explore, not when your chest has those freaky bubbles in it and your stomach is doing that stupid flippy-thingy. Nope. This, you decide, feels like High School when a cute boy texted you first and the instinct to giggle shot up to level 12. 

4:06 a.m alright. what about?

Capitals, Y/N. What the hell happened to capitals?

You take your phone and pad back into your room, perching yourself up against the headboard with your knees drawn up to your chest and your phone in your hands as you wait for a response. Worrying your bottom lip, your mind drifts to work. You’ll have to get up in about three hours to be at work on time. Man, you’re going to be tired. 

It’s then that your phone dings. You decide then that talking to him makes it worth the fatigue. 

4:11 a.m twenty questions?

4:11 a.m Fine, but since you woke me up you have to go first.

The three dots that mean he’s typing pop up three different times before the response finally comes through. 

4:15 a.m whatd u go to school 4?

You laugh. 

4:15 a.m getting down to the nitty gritty personal stuff I see

You think for a moment. Telling him what you do isn’t divulging too much about yourself, so you decide it’s okay.

4:16 a.m lol yup thats me. i want the deep personal stuff. might just ask what ur fav color is nxt

4:16 a.m 1. editing; 2. sorry, that’s sacred info

4:17 a.m 1 ah i understand y ur a grammar nazi now…2 obviously

Thinking for a moment, you decide that favorites are just too cliche. Any conversation anyone has with some new friend ends in questions that start with “What’s your favorite…” You really want to know how old he is, but you figure you need an ice breaker before you get to the actual nitty gritty. 

First, though, you must take the bait to piss him off:

4:19 a.m What would you have done if I hadn’t gone to college?

With a yawn, you lie back down and curl on your side, sitting your phone on the nightstand in front of you with your eyes glued to it. Once you realize that staring at it isn’t going to make him type faster, you turn over. 

You’re totally not too eager. There’s no—

Ding!

You flip over so fast that you rip the sheet from the other side of the bed and end up with half of it between your stomach and the bed. It pulls from the bottom corner of the bed and is slightly uncomfortable, but you don’t care. 

4:22 a.m high school?

4:23 a.m I didn’t go to high school FOR anything 

You’re not sure if the use of caps-lock is weird, but you send it off anyways, deciding that emphasis on that one word is crucial to your meaning. He replies within seconds. 

4:23 a.m i mean dunno bout u but i went to learn

You laugh, probably louder than is necessary. 

4:24 a.m Touche. What’d you go to school for?

4:26 a.m repeating questions isnt alowed

Frowning, you wonder if he actually didn’t go to college. Should you push it? Maybe you should just change the question. There’s a part of you, the curious part that wanted to be a reporter when you were young, that really wants to know. 

There isn’t too much time for you to think all of that before he’s texting you again. Usually, you’re the one to mercilessly double-text. James, it would seem, has you beat in this department. Also, you didn’t want to double-text a complete stranger. 

Before you even look at the text, it hits you again: this is a complete stranger. The thought of not answering enters your mind again, but you push it down. No harm in just talking if neither of you meet, right? Right?

Right. 

4:27 a.m i joined the military right out of HS

It’s a real Oh moment, and you find yourself staring at your screen as if it’s a real person. The military? What are you supposed to say to that? What’s the protocol for a text that you’re not sure how to answer? Should you just leave it alone? No; if you leave it alone then he’ll think he freaked you out. He hasn’t. Your brain is just short-circuiting on an answer. 

Should you think him for his service? No. Not yet. You don’t want to call too much attention to it in case he doesn’t want to talk about it or he’s had bad experiences, but you’re still not sure how to respond. Have you taken too long already? 

You summon up some courage and type out a message. 

4:31 a.m Oh wow. Well, what would you have studied if you had gone?

You cringe, totally not meaning for that to sound like you were completely skipping over the issue altogether. James doesn’t seem to mind though, if his response is any indication. 

4:32 a.m hmm history i think. ive always liked ww2 4 some reason

4:33 a.m well you’ve got AP european history girl right here. 1 of only 11 in the whole senior class to take it. 

4:34 a.m well, smartypants i get 2 q’s bc u asked 2 

You feel that you handled that effectively, and you were already beginning to formulate a plan in your head while he thought about his questions. 

See, you know next to nothing about the military or what it’s all about except that it is for valiant people who want to serve their country. You can respect that, but you want—nay, need—to learn more. Convincing yourself that it’s purely for research purposes and not for anything else.

Regardless, you need to know more. It’s probably better to get it from someone who has been through it rather than from some cold, impersonal online source. And besides, you just so happen to know someone who was in the military. Someone who, in fact, lost a limb in the line of duty: Bucky Barnes. 

As far as you know, Bucky lost his left arm in the military. You’d asked him before how he lost it and he hadn’t answered you, opting instead to change the subject to Steve and his new (at the time) art studio. It had been suspicious, but you understand that it must not be easy to speak about something like that. 

You’ll have to go talk to Steve tomorrow morning to get Bucky’s number, but you think that maybe you’ll treat him to lunch in exchange for him giving you some details about the whole military thing. At the company, you get an hour off for lunch, which is just enough time to go out, interrogate a friend (respectfully, of course), and head back before the hour is up. 

The plan was formed and you had your head already set on it. By the time James’ reply comes in, you’ve tuckered yourself out thinking that whole plan out. It is really late—er, early—after all. 

4:41 a.m 1 how was ur day 2 how r u likely to spend a friday night

4:43 a.m I feel like I’m taking a Buzzfeed quiz

You yawn again and type out your answers.

4:44 a.m my day’s just begun. it’s four a.m. And probably reading or something

You put your phone down, thinking that you’ll just leave it there and wait for his reply, but you end up turning over and falling asleep. 


In the morning, you turn your phone on silent again while you get ready for work, playing some music while you apply some light make-up. 

It turned out that James hadn’t answered you anyway, so you would have been up waiting for a text that wasn’t going to come. Good thing you passed out. 

Glancing at the clock, you notice that it’s 7:02 a.m and that Steve should be up. You don’t have to be at work until 8 and it’s not a long bus ride to get to work so you figure you can spare half an hour to haggle your best friend into giving up Bucky’s phone number. You wonder why you haven’t thought to get it sooner, figuring that you just never needed it. 

You and Bucky only ever hung out with Steve or the rest of the gang. He was a friend of yours, but the two of you had never been too close in the two years of knowing each other. That said, you had heard a lot about each other even before meeting from Steve, and Bucky had expressed in the past how annoying he found it when Steve was constantly mentioning you in casual conversation. 

It was the same with Bucky for you. Steve had been talking about his best friend Bucky ever since you had met him. It was in that way that you and Bucky had gotten to know each other sort of inadvertently. 

Heading out the door and across the hall, you knock on Steve’s door lightly a few times. He’s a light sleeper anyways, and you don’t want to wake the whole hall with loud knocking. You only opt for knocking this time in case he’s not decent or something. Otherwise, you would have used your key.

Sure enough, Steve answers the door within a few minutes, clad in flannel pajama pants, a white V-neck, and holding a steaming cup of coffee. It smells amazing, and you realize then that in your rush you’d forgotten to make yourself some. 

“Got another one of those and half an hour?”

Steve raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let you in. He’s a morning person, so you were sure on your way over here that you wouldn’t receive any resistance. 

“What do you need?” he asks you, pouring you a cup of coffee not unlike how he’d done it the night before. He pours in a generous amount of milk and some sugar before stirring it and handing it to you, just the way you like it. 

Blow, sip—“Mm,” you hum. “I need Bucky’s phone number.” You say it as nonchalantly as you can manage so as not to raise any flags to Steve, but by his surprised expression you can tell that you’ve raised them all. 

“Bucky? Why?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. “He has some info that I need.” It sounds so covert and cheesy that you almost giggle, but you manage to keep your composure while sipping your coffee again. 

Steve tilts his head to the side almost imperceptibly, leaning his back against the counter across from you as you sit at a stool by his island. Said island juts out from a wall to half-enclose the kitchen area like a wrap-around ‘J’ with the island as the tail. 

After a few moments of silence, it becomes clear that Steve is waiting for you to elaborate, and when you don’t indulge, he sighs, setting his cup down and crossing his arms. 

“Okay, but don’t call him now,” Steve says, already ruffling in a drawer for a pen and paper. “He—he has trouble sleeping, and he needs as much of it as he can get before he has to work. And he’s taking Friday off so he has to log in more hours to make up the difference.” Steve hands you a piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it. 

“Got it,” you said, taking the paper and sticking it in your bag. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he smiles at you. “No problem.”

You stand and head to the door, plan in motion and feeling good about it. Then you remember something and turn as you’re walking toward the door. 

“Steve?”

He lifts his head from where he’s still standing in the kitchen sipping his coffee. You realize you’ve left yours there, but decide that it’s okay. You’ll survive. Somehow. 

“Yeah?”

“Mom is bringing over pasta around two, but I won’t be home,” you can already see his eyes lighting up. “I told her to make extra and that you should be back by then. Can you—”

“—keep it here until you get home?” He knows you so well, it’s scary. “Yeah, but don’t expect me not to try some of it first.”

You fix him with a warning finger. “I’ll be over at seven and I will expect there to be enough for dinner and lunch tomorrow.”

He holds his hands up. “Hey, we all know my metabolism requires a lot of calories per day, and two is just in time for a late lunch.”

“Steve,” you warn. 

“Alright,” he laughs. “I’ll leave some of your mother’s pasta for you for dinner.”

“That’s all I ask.” 

You walk back over, kiss his cheek, take one more sip of your coffee, and then leave. 


You tap your foot on the ground impatiently as you wait at your desk for the clock to turn from 11:29 to 11:30 so you can head for a bathroom break to call Bucky and find out if he’s busy for lunch. 

James hadn’t texted you all day, but you figure that’s okay. He doesn’t always have to text you. He has a life. You push him mostly out of your head, or you try to. You fail miserably. 

He’s the reason you’re meeting with Bucky anyways. As much as you don’t want to admit it, that’s the truth. Of course, you can’t tell Bucky that. You’ll just sound stupid. And then Bucky will tell Steve and Steve will have some sort of “talking to strangers is bad” intervention with you. You definitely don’t want to endure that. 

11:30 hits and it’s officially been half an hour since your actual bathroom break. You don’t want to call attention to yourself in the office that you share with a whole bunch of other people in too-tightly-packed cubicles. You grab the slip of paper Steve had given you and head to the elevator. 

By the time you make it to the downstairs bathroom, you realize that you forgot your phone upstairs on your desk. Great. Now what are you going to do? If you go back up to get it, you’ll look suspicious. Of course, you shouldn’t really care what your coworkers think of you, but you do. Everybody says they don’t care about peer acceptance but most actually do. 

It’s human nature.

You sigh angrily and look around. The lobby is all marble floors and a little shop where they sell overpriced snacks and drinks. There’s a desk to the left of the elevator bank with one woman sitting in a black wheelie chair making and taking phone calls.

Can you just ask her to borrow one of her phones? There’s an empty seat next to her. Maybe you can explain your situation and just ask this woman if you can borrow the phone. 

The only thing is that you don’t know this woman. Your supers rented the office space with the endless rows of cubicles  from the people who owned the building. This woman obviously works for the building management, and not for anyone you know. 

You decide it’s better that she doesn’t know you. It’s less personal. You can call Bucky, discuss details, and be done with it. 

You sidle over and lean on the high desk. Its polished marble top is so high that you have to lean over it a little to see the woman. She’s plump, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a squished face. She looks the opposite of friendly. She’s wearing a black headset that you realize is some sort of Bluetooth. 

You wait until she is done speaking to talk to her. 

“Um, hello?”

She doesn’t look at you for a moment, reaching up instinctively as if she thinks you’re in her headset before she realizes she’s speaking to a real person. She eyes you. 

“What?”

You were right to guess she wasn’t very friendly. 

“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone,” you say kindly. “I have to call someone and I accidentally left my phone upstairs.”

She looks bored and eyes you for another second before looking back at her computer screen. “Just go up and get it.”

“It’s urgent,” you lie. Man, this is going to be awkward after you make the call right in front of her and she finds out its personal.

She eyes you again. “You have five minutes.”

You smile at her. “I’ll only need three.”

You wait as she plops one of the black phones on top of the counter, and it’s so high that you have to go up on your tiptoes to see the number pad. 

“Type extension 382 first, then the number.”

With that, she gets back to her work and you pull the phone from the receiver. You flatten the paper on the desk and do as she instructed. 

You wonder if he’ll even pick up. This will be an unknown number to him, and you know that if it were you, you wouldn’t answer. 

It rings three times before a familiar, gruff voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Bucky? It’s Y/N.”

He sounds surprised. “Y/N?” There’s a pause, a honking noise, and then he sounds as if he’s realized something. “Steve gave you my number.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I had to call you from a work phone, though.”

You catch the woman looking up at you briefly and can tell she’s annoyed that this is a personal call. You’re sure this call needs to be as short as you can possibly make it or else you’re afraid she’ll just cut it herself. 

“Oh.”

“Listen, are you busy for lunch in, like, half an hour?”

Bucky thinks for a moment on the other line and the lady looks at you again, her gaze becoming more venomous. You’re pretty sure that once she looks at you a third time she’s going to end your call for you. 

Just as you’re about to scold him for an answer, Bucky speaks up. 

“Yeah, I’m—”

You feel bad, but you have to cut him off. 

“Okay, great. Meet me at the Deli down the street from Steve’s studio at 12 sharp. My treat.”

Bucky chuckled on the other end. “Your treat? What do you need from me?”

You smile despite the situation. “Just your brain.”

“Sure you don’t want Banner or Stark for that one?”

“I’m sure,” the woman was giving you her last angry glare. You had to go. “See you then, Buck.”

“Looking forward to having my brain probed. Bye, Y/N.”

You hang up, thank the lady, and make your way back upstairs as fast as you can. 12:00 can’t come quick enough. 


Bucky wonders what you want to talk to him about as he drives a company truck to the deli and parallel parks a couple blocks down. The flatbed of the truck is filled with mismatched pieces of junk, from broken computers to the plastic from the top of a printer. It’s all stuff that can be broken down and reprocessed at a plant. 

The city is taking down an old building and putting a new office building up in its place. It’s Bucky’s job as the assistant to take all the not-so-useless junk and dispose of it somewhere where it can be reused. 

He doesn’t have to be at the plant until two, and he finished loading everything up early, so he has about two hours or so to spare. 

Walking into the Deli, he’s hit with a wave of merciful heat and he immediately pulls his coat off. The deli is small with few patrons a small line for take-out. One woman is sipping an iced coffee through a straw while she types madly on a computer. Two men are sitting at a table wearing yellow vests and eating huge subs. Bucky wonders if he would have ended up as one of them, working for the DPW if he hadn’t begun working with the demolition company. 

It takes him barely a moment of looking around to find Y/N sitting in a corner flanked by two windows with an empty seat across from her. There’s a wrapped sandwich and a water sitting on the table in front of the other seat. 

She’s smoothing out the wrapper of her own sandwich as if the creases in the paper wrapping are offending and should not be allowed to exist. 

“Hey,” he says, walking over and taking a seat in front of her. 

She looks up at him and smiles. “Hey,” she shoots back, and then nods to the sandwich. “Got you a BLT.”

Bucky’s suspicions are steadily growing. He pulls the paper from around the sandwich and lays it on the table as Y/N had done, though he couldn’t care less about the creases. He looks between the sandwich and the girl, eyeing both with the suspicion of someone who thinks he’s being played. 

“What’s this about?” he asks. 

She swallows and puts her sandwich down, looking like she’s about to ask him a ground-breaking, life-changing question. Her eyes quickly flick over to his arm and he’s suddenly very sure he knows what this is about. 

But that’s strange. Yesterday—or really early this morning—he was talking to Y/M/N about him having been in the military. Now Y/N is eyeing his arm like she really wants to ask what happened but she doesn’t want to sound impolite. 

Then there’s the fact that they’re both editors. That’s weird. And how Y/N reminds him of Y/M/N. 

He’s an apopheniac, he has to be. He’s seeing coincidences where there really aren’t any. It’s his brain playing tricks on him. In truth, maybe he just wants this strange girl to be Y/N. Though, probably not. Then again, maybe this whole time he thought he was jealous of Y/N for being so close to Steve, he was really jealous of Steve for being so close to Y/N. 

That thought derails him so fast that he doesn’t hear it when Y/N actually asks her question. 

She lets out a breath as if it’s a load-off to finally ask him, and he’s struck with the realization that if he says he didn’t hear her, she probably won’t take it well. He waits for her to say something else, but when she doesn’t he takes a leap of faith based on her glance at his arm. 

“You want to know how I lost my arm,” he says, rather than asks. If her expression of shock and discomfort is any indication, he’s screwed up. 

Big time.

Shit.

“I mean,” she straightens in her chair. “I guess—it’s sorta part of it? Yeah.”

She sounds so lost and he feels so bad. 

He still has no idea what her original question was though. ‘Part of it.’ His thoughts drift back to his earlier conversation with the girl he’s been talking to over text. The military. Could that be what Y/N wants to know about?

No, it’s just too weird. There’s no way. But he has to know. 

“The military? You want to know about the military?”

She nods, looking slightly guilty. “Yeah,” he tries not to let his breath of relief show, “I—uh, fact-checking. I’m fact-checking an article.”

Bucky nods slowly, sandwich forgotten. She’s a terribly liar. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Sitting back as if she’s been punched in the gut, she blinks once, twice, three times—“I’m not lying.”

“Your body language gives you away.”

“Is that something you learned in the military?”

Bucky chuckles. “That’s something I learned from a whole lot of spy movies. Seriously, why do you want to know?”

She takes a bite of her sandwich and speaks around it. Altogether, not the most sexy, but that’s okay. 

“Research,” she says slowly.

Bucky creases his eyebrows. “For?”

“For a project?”

“If you’re going to lie, at least lie with conviction,” Bucky says. “One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to lie the right way.”

Laughing, she pulls her chair in a little more and sits forward. The picture of seriousness, she says, “Alright, if I tell you, you need to promise me you won’t tell Steve.” She sounds reluctant to tell him at all. This must not have been her plan. 

Bucky draws a cross over his heart with his index finger. “Cross my heart or hope to die.”

She shakes her head. “Gotta be stronger than that. You have to pinkie promise.”

He gasps dramatically. “Not a pinkie promise. This must really be serious.”

Reaching over, she swats his arm. “Buck, I’m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, holding up his pinkie. She links hers with his and he’s momentarily struck by how soft her skin is. Then it’s over. “Tell me.”

She steels herself, he can see it. Jeez, it must really be something serious or she wouldn’t be swearing him to secrecy using childish, yet efficient tactics. It strikes him that she tells Steve everything, same as him, so for her to say she doesn’t want him to know must mean it’s not necessarily something good.

He lets himself think for a moment that she might be about to confess that she’s the mystery girl he’s been texting. It’s much more likely, though, that she’s about to tell him she’s got feelings for Steve or something. 

Steeling himself as well, he waits as she takes a deep breath. 

“I may or may not—”

“You may,” he corrects. She glares at him. 

“—have answered a text from a guy who was trying to text someone else—” 

This is where Bucky stops listening and his internal monologue becomes one word: 

Fuck.

hotel; tom holland

pairing: tom holland x reader
word count: 1,409
warning: lol, the word fuck
summary: you and Tom meet one night at the bar in a hotel
not a request!
my other work


‘Ill see you guys tomorrow. I’m going to make a quick stop at the bar’. Tom said goodbye to his friends. Jacob, Harrison and Zendaya. They were staying at a hotel in (your country) for a press conference for Spider-Man Homecoming. ‘okay, goodnight’ Zendaya said and they all walked off. 

When Tom got to the bar you caught his eye. One of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. You were wearing a nice black dress. He really liked that you had (y/h/c) hair. 

Tom walked over to you. ‘Is this seat taken?’ He asked smoothly. You almost choked on your drink and spilled it out of fright. ‘I am so sorry miss. I guess I sneaked up on you a little. Let me buy you a drink’ Tom apologized and sat down. ‘No, don’t worry. I just did not see you coming, you were just.. there’ you giggled. ‘I’m getting you a drink, it was my fault’. He ordered the drinks and turned to you. ‘Hi, I’m Tom’ He held out his hand and smiled. ‘(Y/n)’ You shook his hand and returned the smile. The bartender put down the drinks. ‘Thanks for the drink and cheers’ You held up your drink and clinked your glas with Tom’s. 

‘You’re not from here, are you?’ You asked. ‘No, I am from London. Just here for work. You do live her?’ He asked. ‘Yeah, I live about five hours from here’.


A couple of drinks later and you were in a deep conversation. You told him about your job and your favorite tv shows. A huge part of the conversation was about you. ‘But we only have been talking about me, what about you?’ 

‘Well, I have a dog, I am a dog person. I have three younger brother’s. I like working out-’ He was rambling, not giving away anything about his career. ‘I can tell’ You commented. ‘What now?’ He smirked and laughed. ‘Nothing, nothing’ You said lightly. ‘As I was saying, I like to work out. I love Marvel. Not much more to me’ He smiled. 

‘So your a bit of a nerd?’ You asked. ‘You could say that, yeah’ He said. ‘You hate it don’t you?’ He bit his lip. ‘No, I’m not really into that stuff’ You looked away and clenched your teeth. Awkward. Then you started humming the old Spider-Man theme song. ‘Oh my god, I thought you were serious for a second’ He laughed with you and pushed your arm lightly. ‘No, I love marvel’ You were still laughing together.


‘Excuse me, I am sorry, but my shift is done so I have to ask you to leave’ The bartender said. ‘We’ll be gone in a minute, have a good night’ You said to the guy and took Tom’s hand and dragged him off his chair to the elevators. You realized you were still holding his hand and let it go. A blush crept on both of your cheeks. 

You walked into the elevator and you and Tom’s hands both went to the same button for the fourth floor. They accidentally touched. It did mean you were on the same floor. Tom looked up at you and smiled as he pressed the button.

When you walked out of the elevator Tom spoke up. ‘I had a very nice evening, (Y/n)’. ‘Me too, Tom. You’re a cool guy’. 

'I guess bye then..’ Tom says awkwardly. 'Bye’ you respond. Tom put his key into the lock of his door. You put your key into the door next to him. 'So we’re neighbors too’ Tom says with a chuckle.'Yeah I guess so’ You say with a little laugh. ‘Goodnight’ you say with a smile and walk in your room 'Sleep tight (Y/N)’ He looks at you walk in and sighs. Then walks into his own room.


You let yourself fall on your bed. He was amazing. But what if you never see him again. You also forgot to ask his number. “maybe he’s out for some fresh air” You thought to yourself and rush out of your room. 

When you walked out into the hallway you sighed. There was no sign of him. There was just silence and dimmed lights. You walked back into your room, very disappointed.

You still couldn’t sleep. Your head was full of thoughts about him. He looked so familiar. 


You were sitting down for breakfast, scrolling through your Instagram feed. Someone sat down at your table. You looked up and were glad to see Tom. ‘Hey, Tom’ You said with a warming smile. ‘Hey, (Y/n). Mind if I sit?’ He pulled out the chair across from you. ‘no, not at all. sit down’ You put away your phone. 


‘Do you know those people? They keep looking over here’ You gestured towards a table that wasn’t too far from you. Tom looked at the table and chuckled. ‘Those are my friends, don’t worry about them’ He put a reassuring hand on your hand. You nodded and continued eating your breakfast.

When you took a better look at Tom’s friends you saw that the girl that was sitting with the two other guys was Zendaya. ‘uh, Tom? Is that friend of yours, could it be that she is uh.. Zendaya?’ You bit your lip, not tyring to come over as a fangirl. ‘Yeah, she is. We became really good friends over last year, you’re a fan?’ He was surprised you knew her but not him. 

‘She is my queen. I love that she has a role in the new Spider-Man movie, which is gonna be awesome’ you stopped yourself for a minute. ‘The new Spider-Man movie’ You mumbled. ‘Oh god, now I know why you were so familiar to me. You’re the new Spider-man and- and you were in Civil War’ You were not convincing him that you knew him. You were convincing yourself. ‘Yeah’ He said with a little side smile. 

‘I- I am sorry, I have to go’ You stood up from your seat and walked towards the elevators. ‘No! (Y/n) wait!’ You heard Tom call after you, but you ignored him. 

You stepped into the elevator and turned around. You could see Tom trying to get in, but he was too late the elevator closed. 


When you walked out of the elevator you got stopped by a smirking Tom. ‘You know the stairs are a lot faster’. ‘Could you move out of my way, please’ You said in a very soft tone. ‘Sure, but first tell me what’s wrong’

You sighed and looked up at him. 

'Okay well, I just really like you, I know after one night. Yes I do. I don’t know why but, you have something special. And I get that you’re not interested in me, because if I had not met you I would see your new movie and probably fan girl over you for a couple of months. And I am just an ordinary girl, you are way too good for me. I’ll just leave you alone and won’t tell anybody we’ve met’ You tell him and try to walk away. 

‘Stop walking away from me’ He says as he stops you. ‘Don’t you get it? I like you too, we have this crazy connection. You’re not an ordinary girl! How can you say that? You’re so cool and interesting! I am not gonna let this or you go’ He took your hands in his. ‘You’re not?’ You asked while you were heavily blushing. ‘No, now can I ask you something?’. You nodded. ‘Can I have your phone number?’ He asked very subtle. ‘Yes, you can’ You said before you both burst into laughter. 

‘I- I really want to kiss you, but it may be a bit too fast forward’ He smiled at his feet and scratched his neck. ‘fuck it’ You said and threw your arms around his neck. It was a very cute soft kiss. He pulled away, his hands were on your waist and your arms still around his neck. ‘I am going to check on my friends, they must be wondering where I am’. He pulled you in for a quick peck and then released you from his grip. ‘I’ll call you’ he said with a wink. 

‘You better will’ You winked back at him.  


A/N: Really enjoyed writing this, thought it was p cute.

If anyone is interested, I am going to make a permanent tag list for the people that would like to get notified whenever I upload fan fiction about tom. Most people follow me so they don’t forget my account (well that’s what I always do) but half of them still miss out on stuff. If you want to be added let me know!

give this a little like or reblog if you liked it, requests are welcome, 

and I’ll see you in the next one

August Fluff Month - Day 16: Flowers

@miraculousfluffmonth

“Chat!” Marinette screeched angrily, her cheeks painted pink in frustration. “How could you?” Chat Noir shrugged, eyebrows furrowed and personally very confused by his own actions.

“I’m sorry Marinette, it’s the cat thing!”

“I know but… Ugh!”

Marinette stomped away, slamming the trapdoor behind her. The superhero stood stunned. There was no malice in his lack of understanding her fury, but he now instead had to think of a way to apologize to her. She was within reason to be upset with him, but he wasn’t sure what he could have done about it. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he leapt from the balcony and travelled along the rooftops of Paris back home.

Adrien was still thinking about this at school, and even as he was going home. A flower shop caught his eye from the car, and he made a note to visit it later on. Flowers always worked. At least, they did in movies and books.

Later in the evening, when his father suspected least of his whereabouts, Adrien snuck out as Chat Noir and into the alleyway next to the flower shop. Transforming back, he quickly bought a small bouquet of purple hyacinth flowers, and a pot of pink miniature roses for her flower box. He returned to the corner and transformed once more, heading off toward her balcony to present his peace offerings.

She was waiting for him.

Before Marinette could get a word in, he bestowed upon her his gifts.

“I’m sorry for eating all the flowers on your terrace!” he said, almost shouting. Her eyes widened in shock and she looked back and forth from the flowers to his face. He was extraordinarily nervous, which in turn made him undeniably adorable. With extreme gentleness, Marinette reached out for the lovely arrangement of purple flowers, and the pot of green and pink.

“Thank you, I love them both.” She took a deep breath of the flowers, glancing affectionately at their beauty. “I’m sorry for getting so angry. I know you didn’t mean to eat them. I was just so shocked. And I loved those flowers. But these roses are absolutely beautiful.”

“I thought they suited you,” Chat admitted.

They spent the rest of the evening in relative peace, having come to terms with their respective feelings regarding the situation. Short after, Chat Noir left into the night, likely headed home. Marinette sighed contentedly while walking down the steps into the kitchen of her home, intent on placing the flowers in a vase to preserve them as best she could. At the noise, her mother walked in.

Sabine cooed at the sight of the flowers on the table, and seemed to recognize them.

“Oh!” she remarked. “I see Adrien dropped off a lovely bouquet of flowers for you. You know, I saw him buying them just down the way.”

Author’s Note: In the language of flowers, purple hyacinth means “I’m sorry” or “please forgive me”. Pink roses mean “perfect happiness” or “please believe me”. I found them rather relevant.

Caring Is Sharing

Requested by: Anonymous (so I hope this finds you)

Tag list beauties:
@zacksabre @dorkyvillain @fluffyhales @morgancorbin @rabidwrestlingfan @wildandfreepinkv0dka @laochbaineann @pandoorii @gallifrayliveson @wrestlingnoob @rollinsdar @fuzzyslipperz  @somehow-lovable-trash @hardyslynch @alexahood21 @squirrel666 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @codchrist @baleesi @cam0flug3 @shadow-of-wonder @finish-her @spine-buster @thebadchic @earl-01 @mainlywwe-shitposts @mrs-storm @awkward-walking-potato @karleedaniels27 @balthazarstardis @mylittlepartofthegalaxy

#139 - “Is that my shirt?”

TYLER BATE X READER

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blacksmithgendry  asked:

since you're excited about Gendry returning and the image of you writing while holding your baby in a wrap is hilarious, can I please have Gendry wearing his baby in a wrap while Arya is out and about and she comes home to find them both asleep on the couch? whenever you have time again is fine :)

Oh my god. This is perfect. Shit, I’ll just make it a continuation of this fic. A fair warning: I put next to no thought in their kid’s name. I just thought up a meaning, looked up some names, and picked one.


Ryder would not sleep. Look, Gendry loved his son – loved him more than he’d ever thought himself capable of loving anything – but the boy would not allow Gendry a moment’s rest. Every time he thought the kid was out for the count, he’d lay him down – and then seconds later, Ryder’s eyes would spring open, he’d kick the blanket off, and let out the loudest wail. It shouldn’t be possible for a baby of a month old to be so loud. It was ungodly.

It didn’t help that it pulled at Gendry’s heart in a way that he’d never thought possible. He’d considered himself hard – had to be considering how he’d grown up alone – and he’d heard children cry before. Growing up in an orphanage did not allow for an easy, soft, quiet childhood. But there was nothing quite like hearing his own son cry. It jerked him away from whatever he was doing. It broke his damn heart.

All Gendry had been trying to do was take a piss for the past hour, but every damn time he laid his son down, Ryder would cry out and Gendry found himself rushing over to him. The last time he’d tripped over his undone pants and nearly sprawled face first on the ground. A little crying wouldn’t hurt Ryder – how many times had he said that when he lived at the orphanage? – and yet somehow it hurt him now that it was his own child.

Weak. Even worse, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Ryder knew it.

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new to this

This is 4000 words Max + Lucas friendship with a lot of Max/Dustin and Will/Lucas background.  It takes place when they’re around sophomores in high school.

Max’s elbow was stinging like a son of a bitch and her wrist was aching and it was all because of Dustin Henderson.  Dustin fucking Henderson and his stupid smile.

“Shit, shit,” Dustin muttered as he threw down his bike on the grass and knelt beside her, looking at her arm in concern.  She’d always loved teasing him about how serious he got about injuries, always calling him Nurse Dustin for fun (even though she really did think he’d be a good nurse).  But now she didn’t find it funny at all, not when he was making it worse by making it nearly impossible for her to breathe properly.

It had been a stupid mistake.  She knew how to do that trick; she’d mastered it earlier that week and gotten it down perfectly.  But she’d made the terrible and foolish decision of looking over at Dustin in the midst of the execution, and suddenly all she could think about was wow, how have I never noticed his dimples before?!

And then her board had hit the ground without her feet and then all she’d been thinking was shit I’m about to fall and then she’d done just that.

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anonymous asked:

May I ask "Loss + Reincarnation" Slbp Inuchiyo and mc? Thanks!

[Special thanks to @a-night-on-polaris and @kata-ru for helping me plot this one out!]

There were many things she regretted in this life; no matter how the years went by, certain things weighed on her until her back hunched and her fingers fumbled uselessly with chopsticks. Words she had left unsaid sapped the color from her hair and sucked the life from her skin, leaving a wrinkled mess of white. Perhaps her mother had been right… she spent her years, the best ones of her life, alone and distant while being surrounded by the children of a man she had loved and let go.

So when Inuchiyo fell ill, she nursed him at any opportunity; fevers broke in and out, his body riddled with old war wounds and enlarged masses of growth that the doctor said were poisoning him from the inside. There was nothing they could do. His wife kept her as far from his room as she could until in a break of lucidity Inuchiyo asked for her by name.

“There you are.” he smiled, the violet of his eyes dusting over to lavender.

She smiled. “Here I am, Lord Maeda.”

He frowned. “Not to you. I told you everyone else can call me that, but I’m always Inuchiyo… for you.”

Coughs rippled from his throat, drawing his body feebly from the futon; it took all of her control to hold him up, straight, arms weak but his weight even weaker. It tore her heart to pieces, to know this was it. He would not have many more of these attacks before he would not be there at all.

“You…idiot.” he reached for the hand stabilizing her on the floor, his grip just as warm and alive as she had always remembered. “We’ve both been so stupid.”

“We have.” she agreed.

“I couldn’t give you this life, but the next… I swear, the next will be for you.”

There was strength in his voice, the determination in his eyes and for a moment he looked exactly like the young man he had been, rescuing her for the magistrate or chasing off unruly customers at the restaurant. A friend. Her greatest love, and the one she had never been able to let go.

“You… won’t be lonely.” 

She smiled, holding back her tears. “Neither will you.”


Inuchiyo passed that night, in the early hours between evening and dawn, without a soul at his side. 

It did not take her long to follow him.


The sun was so warm that day, but with the breeze it was a perfect afternoon to take the long way home through city park. Busses were quicker, and the train was probably more economical, but none of it compared to the fountains in the lake or the flowers and pagodas. It made her feel at home no matter the time of day… in the evening with the fireflies, in the morning with the doves… in the afternoon, when people ran to-and-fro.

Even when they were running into her, and she was falling– falling, and tumbling, and tangled, her arms unable to protect any part of her from the hill she rolled down; her shoulder hit, and then the person who had run into her had wrapped their arms about her; over and under, up and down, until they hit the bottom of the hill.

She blinked. “I’m sorry–”

“There you are.” he smiled, all dark hair and violet eyes.

She wondered at the tears that leaked across the side of her face, at the familiar way her hands reached for his face as if it were hers to touch at all. 

“I swear I was trying to catch a frisbee. I didn’t… I didn’t know it was you, when I ran into you.” he was babbling, and blushing, and she choked out a laugh.

Inuchiyo was laughing too, reaching to wipe at the water leaking from her eyes.

“Come on stupid, don’t cry. I told you this life was for you, remember?”

“Of course I remember.”

How could she have ever forgotten? It was the only thing that kept her walking, each day, step after step. Somewhere in the depths of her soul she had always known, had always hoped, one of her steps would bring her back to him.


Mix & Match Writing Prompts

I was thinking about that churro lady
  • Peter either swung down to her because he saw that she was confused or she just like tapped this random spandexed stranger on the shoulder to ask for directions
  • Both are so hilarious to imagine
  • “You’re the hero! The one on the news!”
  • “Yes ma’am, th-thank you”
  • Peter getting really happy because a stranger just called him a hero
  • Him beaming through the mask
  • “I’m supposed to meet my son at this little coffee shop on 31st” 
  • “Oh yeah! I go there all the time with my aunt”
  • Peter getting paranoid because revealing that he has an aunt might have somehow compromised his identity 
  • Him pointing down the street a couple of different ways
  • He has to bend down a little bit to talk to her which feels nice because he’s self-conscious about his height
  • The lady pats him on the hand and says “Thank you, thank you”
  • “Yeah, yeah, no problem, Miss”
  • She sees the churro cart across the street as Peter’s beginning to leave
  • “Oh! Wait!”
  • He sees where she’s looking and jogs back to her side
  • “Do you like churros, sir?”
  • “Yeah, yeah, churros are, uhm, churros are good”
  • Peter being flustered again because she called him “sir”
  • He sub consciously deepens his voice a little bit for the rest of the conversation after that comment
  • “I’m going to buy you one. C’mon, c’mon”
  • Peter insisting that “it’s fine, it’s fine, I - I just ate lunch”
  • “Nope. I’m buying you a churro”
  •  He’s really smiling now
  • “Thanks, Ms. Lady”
  • He helps her across the street and she tells him about how she used to get churros all the time with her kids “but now they’re a little too old for that”
  • “No one’s too old for churros”
  • She laughs a little bit “Yes, I suppose”
  • She gets the churro and the guy behind the stand is in  a w e
  • She insists on getting multiple napkins for him to hold it with
  • “We don’t want your… costume to be getting dirty now, do we?”
  • Peter resisting the urge to inform her that it is not a costume, it’s a suit
  • Just agreeing instead
  • Karen adds that “Mr. Stark would not be happy if you got your suit dirty”
  • Peter jumping a bit because he’s still not used to his new suit and Suit Lady
  • “My grandson really likes you, you know. He always looks for you out the apartment window”
  • Peter’s heart swelling
  • “Wow, that’s - that’s awesome. Uhm, tell him I said ‘hi’, tell him Spiderman says ‘hi’”
  • “Alrighty, dear, I will”
  • Her insisting that she remembers the way to the coffee shop
  • “Okay, uhm, thanks for the churro, I’ll eat it on my way home, thanks a lot”
  • She smiles and pats him on the shoulder and walks down the street
  • Peter totally downplaying how giddy he was that someone recognized him when he called to give his report for the night

In the aftermath of it all, Catarina can’t find it in herself to be mad anymore.

At the start, after Magnus had portaled home, staggering and hurt and halfway to death with this boy leaning against him, asking that she help this Shadowhunter first… she remembers healing him – Alexander – and feeling rage. With runes stark on his skin and blood on his knuckles, he had been every inch a Nephilim. The Nephilim who had stolen Magnus’s heart.

She remembers the way she’d frowned at his unconscious face, comparing him to the strip of photographs Magnus left on his desk. Watching him lying there on a makeshift cot in the living room, suffering from the shock of blood loss and broken bones, she couldn’t imagine him making funny faces, couldn’t imagine him looking at Magnus with soft, sweet eyes. Couldn’t imagine that he’d want Magnus’s touch, that he would smile that boyish, lopsided smile with her best friend’s arms looped around him.

She remembers thinking, you don’t deserve him. This Shadowhunter, this lying Head of the New York Institute, didn’t deserve Magnus and his love. Magnus, who had started sleeping exclusively on the right side of the bed, who looked at Madzie with something wistful in his gaze every time she ran toward him, who always protected his people at the expense of his own happiness.

He’s too good for you, she had thought as she glared daggers at the boy in front of her, with his angel blood and penchant for prejudice. But she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t rolled him down the stairs, and had gone to help Magnus instead; her best friend, drained of magic and still stubbornly trying to heal himself. She’d gone to the balcony afterwards to clear her mind for a minute, to rest her hands, and now, as she turns around to check in on Magnus…

The Shadowhunter is missing from his cot. Classic. Rolling her eyes, she opens the door to the master bedroom.

They’re lying in Magnus’s bed together, Magnus’s head pillowed on Alec Lightwood’s chest, nearly asleep as he slowly heals from the wounds of battle. His body still lies stiff from the aches of demon venom coursing through his blood, skin paler than its usual golden hue, bruises littered everywhere, yet his arm is still curled possessively around the Shadowhunter’s waist in a familiar motion.

And the Shadowhunter…

He’s looking at Magnus like he’s a miracle.

His eyes never leave Magnus’s and his face is soft and warm and content, like he’s holding onto something he thought he’d lost forever. He looks young like this, the way he smiles and whispers secrets into Magnus’s ear, the way his fingers trace patterns on his bare shoulder, the way he readjusts the red silk blanket so that it’s tucked carefully under Magnus’s chin.

Magnus can’t see it, with his face buried into the Shadowhunter’s shirt, but from the doorway, Catarina can. This boy… he’s truthfully, honestly, painfully in love. The type of love Catarina hasn’t seen Magnus receive in too long, the type that’s as helpless and natural as the sky is blue. And a part of her still wants to be angry, to shake Alec Lightwood until his teeth click in his skull, to tell him, don’t you ever hurt him, but from the way he’s staring down at Magnus with his heart in his eyes, she thinks he already knows.

Catarina starts to turn around, when unexpectedly Alec Lightwood’s eyes dart up to meet hers at the sound of her loafers swishing faintly against the rug. They stare, frozen for an awkward moment, and she nearly laughs at loud at the way his cheeks go rosy pink. She opens her mouth to say something, to make fun of him maybe, or tell him to let Magnus sleep, but right then Magnus shifts, groaning low in his throat, and the Shadowhunter breaks his gaze, mumbling something into Magnus’s hair that makes her friend smile gently.

Wordlessly, Catarina magics the door closed, staring at the smooth black wood as Magnus and Alec fade from view. In the kitchen, she makes herself a cup of chamomile tea, hands wrapped around the soothing, fragrant heat as she sighs in exhaustion. The two of them… they don’t make sense to her, not at all. They shouldn’t work. But Magnus is Magnus, and he’s never done anything by halves. If his happiness comes in the form of a too-tall Shadowhunter with gentle eyes and a cautious smile, then Catarina will be the very last person in this dimension to tell him no.