i am literally your queen now

  • Me, reading the first chapter of "Thrones of Glass": Ah well. This will be good, I think, but right now it looks like another love triangle, I'm-so-special YA book. Definitely not knock-your-socks off good.
  • Me now: This masterpiece literally changed my life. I am literal Aelin trash. I am literal Rowan trash. I will defend this book with my life. S.J Mass is a God. RoWAleIN. Recommending this book to everyone I know, because this thing is the best shet since the Bible. All hail this series.

anonymous asked:

A random person mistakes Lu for a child and tells Ciel that he has a "cute daughter". Lu is not amused. Ciel asks if she wants some cookies and milk before her nap time.

“I am not your daughter!” Lu fumed, literally stomping away from the unfortunate person who’d dared assume her age.  Everything about them was in the past tense now.  Lu’s gauntlets were stained with their blood.

Ciel followed her with a smile.  “Oh?” he teased.  Lu glared up at him.

“I’m a demon queen, the steel queen-”

“of sourcream,” Ciel rhymed, and couldn’t keep the grin off his face as Lu shrieked.

“You’re hopeless!”

“Sounds like someone’s cranky,” Ciel teased.  “I think you need naptime.”


“Would you like a little snack before you go night-night?”

Lu went silent, her tail twitching in annoyance.

“I want cookies. But no naptime,” she said sullenly, and only pouted more when Ciel couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer.

anonymous asked:

Wait, how do you know that Scout's mother was abusive? I'm not trying to be confrontational or fight or anything, I'm just curious.

This is literally 90% deduction from my part though, but really.
The only straight on proof I could give you right now is how Scout literally said that Scout was fat when he was a kid and honestly, I am not a mother but I’m almost certain you shouldn’t call your kids fat.
+ think with me, can you look at this woman and not think she’s at least a bit evil. 

She straight on looks like an evil Disney queen lmao.
I also made a huuuuge post about why I don’t really like Scout’s mother being shown all pure and innocent in the fandom. 
I can’t find it right now, but putting it short: she obviously had her eight sons by different men. You can’t look at me and say “she loved each and every single one of them”, because really she didn’t. 

I mean, sure, you can imagine her as pure and perfect as you want and that’s fine! Though after roleplaying Scout and spending a lot of time thinking about it? She really isn’t that good as the fandom makes her look like.

fearlesswift  asked:

7 and 18!!


7. Which is your favorite side project by any band member? Great question, Nicole. I’d like to kick it back to high school and say that my favorite SIDE PROJECT is the Postal Service (via ben from death cab for cutie, and my ginger queen jenny lewis). WAIT NO. ITS THE TRAVELING WILBURYS. THATS WHAT.

18. What is your favorite concept album? Ma’am, I have a few. Another appearance by my ginger queen: I’m Having Fun Now by Jenny & Johnny (concept: all of the songs are about snakes). The Village Green Preservation Society by KINKS. I’m always a slut for Sufjan Stevens and all he does is concept albums (My favorite is MICHIGAN). Is literally every David Bowie album a concept album? Wait. 

FF#52: Opposites Attract

Opposites Attract
An Olicity Flash Fic One Shot

FF#52: Coitus Interruptus

So, apparently, he was an ear man.

And, no, that wasn’t a mistake, and it surprised no one more than Oliver himself.

Before having been presumed dead for five years, Oliver probably would have described himself as a legs man. He gravitated towards tall, willowy women - girls who, despite their height, were almost… delicate. The skinnier they were, the more masculine Oliver felt. Now, looking back at his younger self, Oliver realized how stupid that was, how stupid he was. Rather than trying to find someone he was physically, mentally, or even emotionally attracted to, his pre-island self had slept with women who made his ego feel better. Now, after being back in Starling City for a little more than a year, Oliver was trying to figure out what he really wanted, what he really liked.

At first, he had refused to date. Although his father sacrificed his own life in order for Oliver to survive and right his wrongs as a husband and father, to be a better man, Oliver was hesitant to jump into a relationship. While he wanted to make his dad proud and prove to be a more positive influence for his sister, five years away and essentially on one’s own, surviving rather than actually living, was a lot to overcome. The city and everything that came with it - all those conveniences that Oliver had once taken for granted - were overwhelming. So, too, were the reactions he received from friends and family, let alone strangers. Everyone wanted to know his story when all Oliver wanted to do was move along from it. He knew that he couldn’t forget the five years he was stranded on Lian Yu… and he didn’t want to, because those five years helped shape him into the man he was now, but, at the same time, they couldn’t be his focus. He couldn’t stay in the past if he actually wanted to live in the present.

So, instead of immediately throwing himself into the dating scene, Oliver took the time to get to know himself and what he - not his mother, not his best friend, Tommy, not even his deceased father - wanted. As it turned out, while the endeavor should have been something Oliver was doing again for the second time, he quickly learned that it was a first. Maybe it had taken him twenty-eight years, but Oliver Queen was finally comfortable in his own skin, satisfied with his own plans and goals, and he knew what… and evidently who… he wanted.

And she had the sexiest ears he had ever seen.

Now, granted, her ears weren’t the only thing about her that he found sexy. He liked the way she walked. With ridiculously high heels and in those pencil skirts he still couldn’t comprehend how a woman could move around in, he could watch her for days on end. Sometimes, it was a saunter. If she was in a hurry, then her steps came across as more like a march. His favorite was when, if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she knew he was watching her, and she’d take her time, swinging her ample hips as she sashayed.

He liked her mouth and all of the smart, funny, and sarcastic things she said with it. Never before had he actually liked a woman for something other than what she could do for him, and, now here he was, gone for a girl who spoke so quickly and used words he’d never heard before, and, yet, that intelligence captivated him, made Oliver want to learn more and be better… not because she made him feel dumb or because he felt like he needed to change himself to be worthy of her but simply because she inspired him.

He liked her blonde ponytail, because, even when it sometimes felt like she was the shortest person in the room, he was always able to spot her as it bobbed along when she worked the crowd. He liked her shoulders. They were petite, and perfectly rounded, and they looked so unbelievably smooth to the touch that his hands actually itched to reach out and just… feel her skin. But he didn’t. Yet. However, the revelation that Oliver could feel attraction to a woman simply because her arms were bare finally explained why, in high school, girls weren’t allowed to wear sleeveless shirts. He had never understood that… at least, not until her.

He liked how expressive her hands were, how she talked with them, and how her nails were always a different color. He liked her nose and how it would scrunch up when she laughed or smiled. And he liked how she could reprimand someone - even him, most especially him - with a single lift of a finely shaped brow. It showed sass, and he liked her sass.

But, most of all, Oliver liked her ears. On the surface, the obsession seemed strange. He was man enough (now) to admit that. But, after thinking about the attraction, Oliver had come to realize that it was more about what all her ears represented and less about the ears themselves. Granted, they were cute ears, but he liked how, though she was always dressed conservatively enough at these events when he saw her, the long, dangly earrings she wore and the industrial piercing she sported showed that she had a small rebellious streak. Plus, because of her job, she always had one of those bluetooth earpieces in, so her hands would constantly lift to touch the device… so much so that, even when she didn’t need to use it, Oliver spied her nervously doing so out of habit. Without that quirk, that tell, she would have seemed too put together, too perfect, but the anxious tendency was relatable. It made her seem more human. And that - feeling unsure, having an idiosyncrasy or two, and feeling far too human sometimes - was something Oliver could sympathize with.

It was the only reason why, when he first found himself alone with her, he was able to locate the courage to not only approach but also strike up a conversation.

He was hiding.

There was no way to deny it, to sugar coat it. While Thea seemed to thrive under the spotlight and media attention that came along with their mother’s run for mayor, Oliver hated the additional scrutiny. Six years ago, it would have made him preen, but now…? Now, it just made him feel like his skin was too tight. Whether it was a political fundraiser, a campaign appearance, or, like tonight, a debate, the rooms were always just a little too hot and the people far too many. Oliver would not be able to take a deep breath again until he was once more in the safe and private confines of his apartment, and he, unfortunately, had hours to go before he could escape.

“Oh my god, I’m too young for this!” The exclamation was announced by a loud entrance and punctuated by the loading dock door slamming closed behind the sudden exit.

Oliver couldn’t help but smile. The words were overly dramatic, made even more exaggerated by the huff that came with them, but what made him grin was the identity of their owner. He recognized that voice. It was her. From where he was leaning against the edge of the building, his eyes previously glancing out into the empty and dark alley located behind the Starling Grand’s ballroom where the night’s debate was taking place, Oliver twisted his neck to the side to meet the sheepish gaze of the new arrival. He wished he knew her name, but, unfortunately, she never wore a nametag, and it wasn’t like he was going to ask anyone - and reveal his interest - for it. Hazarding a guess at what had her so agitated, he asked, “politics?”

She giggled. From the orange glow of the overhead emergency lights, Oliver witnessed her former frustration be replaced by amusement - amusement he put there. If he suddenly stood up a little straighter, his shoulders rolling back a little farther, he felt the pride was justified. “No. Hot flashes,” she responded. He must have looked confused, because she was quick to explain herself. “I mean, not literally, because obviously I am too young for hot flashes. Not that having hot flashes makes you old. I’m sure your mother has them, and I’d call Moira Queen a lot of things - maybe not to her face, mind you - but definitely not old.” She flushed, embarrassed Oliver would guess, and seemed to give herself a little shake. “And I’ll be shutting up now, because… awkward.” Biting her lip, the woman he’d secretly been watching for weeks at all of the bigger campaign events (she only seemed to cover the ones where both candidates were in attendance) apologized, “sorry about… that.”

While his own moments of self-consciousness were never caused by saying the wrong thing - not that she had in his eyes, Oliver wasn’t a stranger to the feeling of social discomfort, so, rather than dwelling on the moment and trying to make her feel better by reassuring her that he took no offense at what she said, he decided to simply steer them away from what she was viewing as a verbal misstep. “It is uncomfortably hot in there,” he agreed, nodding his head back towards the ball room. “You’d think a place that has been in business for as long as the Starling Grand has would know how to regulate its thermostat a little better.”

“From your lips to City Hall’s ears! I know it’s fall, and politics is a serious business, but I might just say ‘screw professionalism’ and wear a sundress to the next debate.” Okay, so now maybe Oliver wasn’t hoping for better climate control at these campaign events. “My dry cleaners will thank me.”

“The candidates should provide everyone in the audience with one of those handheld fans that also spray water.”

She groaned. She actually groaned at the idea, and, speaking of dry cleaners, Oliver’s dress pants all of a sudden were feeling a size or two too small. “Oh my god, that would be amazing, but, while your mom’s campaign can afford that, Mr. Diggle’s can’t.” While he hadn’t read any articles that claimed his mother’s opponent’s campaign was struggling financially, the reveal didn’t surprise Oliver either. John Diggle was a former army officer turned public servant who really did seem to be running for mayor because he wanted to make Starling a better place for everyone. He was a family man, a father, and, if Moira Queen wasn’t Oliver’s mother, he’d probably vote for John Diggle himself. The woman beside him suddenly shivering pulled Oliver away from his thoughts. “And it is now offical: my body is bipolar. I’ve been out here less than two minutes, and it’s gone from ‘get me naked now’ to ‘layers! I need more layers!’ I’m suddenly freezing!”

And as he looked down on those dainty shoulders that looked so smooth and soft, Oliver noticed that she had tiny, little goosebumps all up and down her arms, neck, and what was modestly exposed of her chest by the classy dress she wore. “Here,” he quickly offered, shrugging out of his suit jacket. Before she could protest - which Oliver could see she was about to do, he was already slipping the fabric around her small frame.

“I really shouldn’t,” she said, but, at the same time, he watched her pull the coat further around her body and… did she just subtly inhale his scent? Before he could fully absorb what he believed had just happened, she was saying, “now you’ll be cold.”

“I don’t really get cold. Not anymore.” It was a reference to his time away, and, yet, despite his family having to badger and cajole information about those five, lost years out of him, Oliver simply volunteered such personal insight to her freely and without provocation. The best part? She didn’t tense up, or ask for clarification, or demand more from him, or even wince sympathetically like every other person he’d ever talked with about the island. Instead, she just smiled at him and seemed to snuggle even deeper into his jacket. Encouraged by the moment, Oliver found himself flirting with her, “but, since I did do something for you, I think it’s only fair that you return the favor.” In response, she gave him one of those eyebrow quirks he found so intriguing. “You know who I am, and you’re wearing my coat, so it only seems fair that you tell me your name.”

“It’s Felicity,” she told him. Oliver could hear a soft, distant buzzing coming from her earpiece, and he watched, disappointed, as her hand lifted to the tiny piece of tech. He knew the interruption meant their moment together was coming to an end. As she slipped the suit jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to him, she added, “Felicity Smoak.” And then she was gone.

The second time Oliver spoke to her, to Felicity, came at the second debate. During the two weeks that had passed since their previous encounter, he’d noticed her several times at other, large campaign events, but there were always too many responsibilities and too many people between them for him to approach her. Plus, Oliver tried to be respectful of the fact that she was there to work and not to talk with him. The fact that the world and people in it did not revolve around him was perhaps the very first hard lesson he had learned while stranded on Lian Yu. Plus, while Oliver didn’t need to work in order to live like most people (one of whom he assumed was Felicity), he took pride in his career nonetheless and wanted to show that he recognized Felicity’s. In the past, both he and the press had often times taken advantage of each other. Though, now, they were certainly far from his favorite aspect of being a Queen, he couldn’t find fault with Felicity for being a journalist either.

As he slipped away from the crowds and made his way outside, Oliver found himself hoping that maybe Felicity would need a quiet, cool moment to herself, too, and, while he was out there, they’d be able to spend a few moments together again. When he first started to join his mother on the campaign trail, fulfilling his political duties as her loving son, her campaign manager and staff had fought Oliver on his ‘breaks.’ They wanted him front and center at all times but quickly learned that, whether they liked it or not, he would find a way to disappear for a few minutes… even if he had to dodge the security they insisted upon. So, they had quickly compromised and, as long as Oliver promised to come back (and he always did), they allowed him his fleeting moments of freedom.

However, as much as he wanted to see Felicity, he would have sacrificed the opportunity to ever spend time with her again if it meant she wasn’t already outside, struggling to breathe, and in the middle of what was obviously a very painful and very serious panic attack. So lost in her own fear and agitation, Felicity never heard Oliver come outside, nor did she notice his approach. She was doubled over and wheezing, clawing at her own throat and trembling. Despite his own traumatic past, Oliver didn’t hesitate to touch her.

Kneeling down in front of her so that she could see him… though he found her eyes tightly pinched shut, Oliver calmly spoke. “Hi, Felicity. It’s Oliver Queen. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I don’t know what happened, but you’re going to be okay. But we need to get your breathing under control again, alright. So, I’m going to stand up, and I’m going to walk around you, and I’m going to wrap my arms around your waist and pull you up so that you’re leaning against me. And then I want you to try to match your breaths with mine, okay? We’re going to count, and we’re going to breathe, and you’re going to be fine.”

As he did exactly what he had explained to her, Oliver was surprised to find how desperate he was to not only help Felicity but also to protect her. Even before all of the changes that had come with being lost at sea and then rescued five years later, Oliver had always been a kind person. Selfish, sure, but never maliciously so. Pre-island Ollie would have helped Felicity, too. However, once she was alright again, he would have walked away without a second thought… unless she wanted to give him her number so that she could later show him her appreciation. There would be no walking away tonight, though… at least, not emotionally.

Whether Felicity said she was alright or not, he’d still worry about her, and Oliver wasn’t sure how he’d push down the absolute need he felt to find out what had happened to upset her so much so that he could hunt it down and prevent it from ever hurting her again. The only person he’d ever felt so protective of before was his little sister, but how he wanted to shelter, to watch over, and care for Felicity was nothing like how he would treat Thea.

“That’s it. Breathe in. And then hold it. One, two, three. Now, exhale. One, two, three. In. One, two, three. Out. One, two, three.” After several minutes, Felicity joined in. Though Oliver would still direct her in what to do, she’d count with him. Eventually, her breathing was back under control, and her shaking stopped, but, still, he didn’t let her go. And Felicity didn’t seem to want him to let her go either. Where his arms were wrapped around her waist, she held onto his wrists, and, somewhere along the way, she had tucked her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder underneath his chin.

“It seems like I’m always making a fool of myself in front of you,” Felicity whispered. Her eyes were closed tight behind her square, two-toned glasses, but that did nothing to prevent Oliver from seeing the mortification written across her fine features. “You know, normally, I’m pretty put-together. I’m hard working, successful.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Felicity,” he reassured her. “I see the woman that you are, and she’s… remarkable.” This time, when a soft pink colored the apples of her cheeks, Oliver hoped it was from pleasure. “The fact that you let yourself be so open and honest with me? I take that as a compliment. I like to think it’s because you trust me.”

She pulled slightly out of his arms, enough so that she could turn around and face him. “And not just because I have a lack of a filter?” Oliver shook his head to negate her suggestion, and she grinned. “I think it’s because I don’t have a filter, but I like your version better, so let’s go with that instead.” Unfortunately, the brief bubble of humor disappeared almost immediately. Biting her bottom lip, Felicity looked up at him. “About what you just walked in on….”

“Felicity, you don’t need to say anything.”

“But…” she tried to interrupt him.

However, Oliver refused to allow her to do so. “As far as I’m concerned, what I saw was somebody who needed a friend, and I’m glad I was here for you. If you want to confide in me, know that I will always listen to you, Felicity, but don’t feel like you have to tell me anything.”

“It’s….” She blew out a harsh breath, rocking back on her towering heels. “It’s a really long, really complicated story.”

“Considering the fact that my long story takes place over five years on an island whose name translates into ‘Purgatory,’ it’s safe to say that I understand.” Again, Oliver found himself voluntarily talking about his ordeal with her, even in loose terms, and it just felt… natural.

Rather than commenting upon his confession itself, Felicity made one of her own. “You are nothing like what I expected, Oliver Queen.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so… for both of us,” Felicity answered. And then she did this strange blink… which Oliver guessed was supposed to be a wink. It was awful and, consequently, adorable. “However, right now, neither of us have time for a long story… let alone two. We have a mayoral debate to listen to, but maybe….”

As her words trailed off, Oliver found it his turn to grin. Agreeing with her, he simply said, “maybe,” before they both turned to go back inside.

If Oliver ducked out for a break earlier than his body necessarily needed, he felt like he was owed the concession. For more than six months, he’d played the dutiful son. There were weeks when his life felt like it belonged more to the public than it did to him. His schedule had been so solidly booked that the only baseball he’d been able to take in that year had been over the radio while at work or in the car while driving to an event. In his opinion, the only good thing that had come from his mother’s mayoral run was Felicity Smoak. After yet another two weeks of only getting to see her from afar - never talking and certainly never touching, he was hoping tonight would follow the same pattern as the first two debates, and he’d run into her outside in the alley before the event started.

Despite their vast differences and even more varied backgrounds… or perhaps because of them, the two candidates for mayor, his mother and John Diggle, had together incited quite the political fervor in Starling City. While Oliver had never been one to pay much attention to elections, his knowledge usually limited to his father’s grumbles, gripes, and glad handing, the press had been quite vocal about how important this election was and had reported record numbers of voters coming out for events, particularly the debates. That’s why, for the third debate, Oliver found himself at the city’s indoor arena… only, unfortunately, he was not there for a sporting event.

As he stepped outside, silently closing the loading dock door behind him (the one benefit of being a candidate’s son was that Oliver had free reign to the places at these events that were not open to the public), he found Felicity leaning against the railing on one foot, the other she was twisting at the ankle in circles and flexing back and forth. “Tell me again why I wear such high heels?”

He didn’t know how she knew it was him, but he also didn’t waste the time in questioning her either. Deciding to be frank and taking the opportunity to jump right into flirting with her, Oliver answered, “because they make your legs look amazing.” While he now knew he wasn’t necessarily a legs man, that did not mean that Oliver didn’t appreciate Felicity’s legs, especially in her professional dresses, especially in her aforementioned heels.

“Nope,” she contradicted him. Dropping her right leg down, she started to balance on it while lifting her left and repeating her same stretching actions. “It’s because of how they make you look at my legs.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to argue with that. Instead, he instructed her, “come here,” nodding over to the part of the loading dock that wasn’t railed off. Before listening to his directions, Felicity watched him hop off the side of the elevated concrete slab. With a puzzled expression on her face, she just stood there, unmoving, while Oliver, meanwhile, shrugged out of his suit jacket.

As he went to spread it onto the dock for her to sit on, she yelled out, “what are you doing? You’re being dirty… I mean, you’re going to get all dirty. If you do that.” He ignored her protests. “Which you already did.”


Felicity rolled her eyes. “Well, since you asked so nicely….” He could tell by her twitching lips that she wasn’t really annoyed with him and, instead, was actually fighting a smile. Initially tucking her legs underneath her, she lowered herself down gracefully onto his coat. “You have me where you want me, Queen, so, now, what are you going to do with me?” Felicity’s eyes widened at her own remarks, but she also didn’t take them back.

Wordlessly, Oliver reached for her legs. Grasping them by the calves, he pulled them out from under her and then around so that they were hanging off the edge of the loading dock. Locking their eyes together and then refusing to break the contact, he stripped off first her left shoe and then her right, carefully placing them together beside her. She watched him avidly, her only physical response a quick dart of her tongue out to lick her full, fuschia lips. Lifting her left leg by its narrow, elegant ankle, Oliver extended it outward. As Felicity held it up for him, he wrapped his hand around her foot and, starting at the ball and working his way down the arch and to her heel, he kneaded the sensitive flesh.

Just as Oliver was about to switch to her other foot, Felicity released a deep, satisfied, extremely erotic moan. “It wasn’t until you actually touched me that I realized that, while I ache, it’s not my feet where I want your attention, Oliver.”

The admission was blatantly sexy, but, somehow, Felicity made it seem sweet as well… probably because it surprised her more than him, and, if he had been half aroused since he first saw her earlier, he was now painfully hard. As he dropped her foot, Felicity simultaneously opened her legs so that he could step between them. Starting at her ankles, he slid his fingers up, up, and up. Fast. Though Oliver would have liked to take his time, he had no idea how long they would have together. Granted, it was just the two of them at the moment, but somebody could come outside at any second, looking for either of them. While this wasn’t exactly conventional dating or the right way to start a lasting relationship, he had wanted Felicity for months, and maybe unconventional could be their thing. After all, his past was certainly atypical, and Felicity was the most singular, extraordinary - in a good way, in the best way - woman he had ever met.

In a matter of seconds, Oliver had his hands wrapped around Felicity’s hips, and he was pulling her towards and then off the edge of the loading dock, its height too high for what, without a conversation or discussion, he knew they were about to do. As he brought her towards him, he also pushed the skirt of her dress up to rest around her waist, and Felicity, seemingly reading his mind, wrapped her legs and arms around him, holding on tight. Oliver made quick work of unbuckling, unbuttoning, and then unzipping his fly, while Felicity made quick work of locating his wallet from his pocket, searching through it for a condom, and then exclaiming in triumph when she found what she was looking for, what they both so desperately needed her to find. And their team work only continued, because, as Oliver pushed her lace panties out of his way, Felicity sheathed him with the protection.

And then he was blissfully, deeply, fully seated inside of her.

It wasn’t until Oliver was already pulling out of her tight, scorching body and thrusting searchingly back in again that he kissed her. With Felicity already panting, Oliver was able to deepen the kiss immediately. It was wet, and sloppy, and kind of clumsy, but it was glorious. He was lost in the blur of desire and satisfaction surrounding them until Felicity ripped her mouth away from his and cried out, a note of pain mixing with her pleasure and making him realize that, in their haste and their haze, he had backed them up to the point where Felicity was leaning against the concrete of the loading dock, what was bare and exposed of her fair and lovely skin scraping against the hard and porous surface with every thrust of his hips up and into hers.

He didn’t stop, however; he couldn’t… unless she asked him to, which she didn’t. Instead, Oliver lifted his hands from where they were holding her hips and wrapped his arms around her back, not caring if, by the time they were both finished and a satisfied, sweaty mess, his arms could very well be bloody and raw. He didn’t feel a single abrasion either, because the slight shift changed their angle, and, now, every single time their hips met, Felicity would gasp just a little bit louder. Each beautiful, sensual sound she made drove him that much closer to his orgasm, so, luckily, he could tell - he could feel, and hear, and see - that Felicity was even closer.

Suddenly, her gasps turned into words. Lifting his gaze from where it had been staring possessively at the very spot where their bodies were intimately joining, Oliver was at first confused. “Yes. … Fine. … Just. … Steps. … And. … Walking. … And. … Wow. … Exercise.” While just seconds before both of her hands had been on him - one pulling on the short locks of hair at the nape of his neck and the other using her nails to bite into the skin of his right shoulder through his white, dress shirt, now, only her left arm was wrapped around his neck, while the right was touching her ear. Touching her earpiece. “Yeah, I… know, Digg. You have… no idea… how much… I… needed… this workout. I mean,… a workout.”

Despite the words, Felicity’s body was still very much in the moment. However, Oliver froze. Even when she tried to use her legs’ grip around him to encourage him to return to their previous movements, he couldn’t. Because he finally registered that her earpiece wasn’t a bluetooth device but, instead, a comm unit, and, during the entire time they were having sex, she must have been connected to….

“John Diggle,” Oliver realized, pulling entirely out of her. Though Felicity grumbled at his withdraw, he knew that the sudden disconnection didn’t hurt her. He made sure to carefully put her back onto his jacket which was still spread out on the loading dock. Loose and still obviously aroused, Felicity watched him in bewilderment as he briskly pushed himself back into his pants, condom still on and their combined juices making both his slacks and his hands a mess. Although Oliver would find a bathroom and clean up as much as he could as soon as he could, he was going to be uncomfortable for the rest of the night… not to mention on edge and unsatisfied.

Eventually, Felicity confirmed his suspicions. “Yeah. I was talking to John Diggle. We’re friends, though, so I call him Digg.”

“So, that’s why you’re always at these events?”

“Well, yeah, I guess I come to support him, but I’m also here because I’m kind of his campaign manager, Oliver.”

Spinning away from her and beginning to pace away, in his agitation, Oliver almost ran his hands through his hair until he, thankfully, remembered that he couldn’t. “You have to be kidding me!”

“Oliver.” When he didn’t turn back around to face her, Felicity demanded, “Oliver, look at me.” And he did. He wasn’t sure why, but he listened to her. No, scratch that; he did know why. He listened to her, because he was hoping she could somehow make this better. He needed her to make this better. “Why did you think I was here?”

“I thought you were a reporter.” He gestured to what he now knew was a comm device that always kept her contact with her candidate, the candidate who was his mother’s very electable opponent. “That you were always talking to your producer or your editor on that thing. I never imagined…. But you knew who I was,” he accused her.

“I did, and it didn’t matter to me, Oliver. After the night of the first debate, you weren’t Moira Queen’s son to me any longer; you were a sweet, really hot guy who I liked. A lot. And, after I told you my name, I figured you felt the same way. Well, not that I was a hot guy, but that you liked me for me and despite us being on opposite sides of this election.”

“I… I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, that’s now glaringly obvious,” Felicity quipped. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted that your mom and her campaign staff think so little of me that they didn’t even see the need to tell you who Digg’s campaign manager was or if I should use the fact that they underestimated me to my advantage.”

Unable to just hold his hands out in front of him any longer… like an idiot, Oliver shoved them into his pockets and then shrugged. “Maybe both,” he suggested. She smiled at his response, nodded in acknowledgment, and then slipped her shoes back on. Without prompting, Oliver went up to her. Wrapping his hands (they were at least dry now, and most of the fluids had been wiped off on his own pants) around her tiny waist, he lifted her off the dock and planted her back on her feet directly in front of him. “So, what now,” he asked her. And, then, recalling exactly where they were, who he was with, what they were doing there, and who he was about to have to go inside and face, Oliver groaned. Unfortunately, it was nothing like the sounds Felicity had previously made. “What am I going to tell my mom?”

“Tell her the truth,” Felicity resolutely stated, patting his chest once in reassuring tandem with her advice. “Tell her that you just had coitus interruptus with her opponent, the next mayor of Starling City’s, campaign manager and that, next time, you plan to see it through and better not leave a girl hanging.”

Any and all apprehension Oliver had previously been feeling disappeared when he realized that Felicity wanted more from him than just a quick fuck in a back alley to relieve some pressure. Sure, he had known that he wanted more, and he didn’t think she was that type of woman, but they had made no plans with, no promises to, each other. They were still standing toe-to-toe when he smiled down upon her, asking, “next time?”

“Well, yeah,” Felicity responded, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. “At least, I’m hoping there’ll be a next time… after this seemingly endless campaign is over. I can’t tell you how nice it’ll be to go back to just one full time job.” At what must have been his confused look, she explained, “I’m not a professional politician, Oliver. I actually work for your family, in QC’s IT department. I volunteered to run John’s campaign, because I believe in him, he’s my friend, I knew he couldn’t afford to pay someone, and no one would work harder to get him elected than I would. Starling City needs John Diggle.”

Sadly, considering he was at the debate to support his own mother, John Diggle’s opponent, he believed Felicity might be right about who the city needed at its helm. But that was not what Oliver wanted to focus on, because his interest in Felicity was not dictated by who would eventually win the election. “So, until next time, then?”

“Yeah… next time. With a bed… and a ceiling over top of it. And dinner would be nice as well. Maybe a date. That is, I mean, if you would… want that, too?”

“Felicity, honestly, I’m not sure if I have ever wanted anything more.”

“You know, if anyone in your family should be running for office, it’s you,” Felicity shocked Oliver - both with what she said and with the rapid change of subject. That was another thing he liked about her: how Oliver always had to be vigilant around Felicity Smoak, how she kept him on his toes.

However, that didn’t mean that he necessarily agreed with her. “I highly doubt that, Felicity.”

“No, I’m being serious,” she proclaimed. And the sincerity in her voice kept him from rolling his eyes or pulling away from her. “Think about it, Oliver. You are the ultimate redemption story.”

“I didn’t do anything special, though - nothing that anybody else in my situation wouldn’t have done as well. I just… survived.”

“You did more than that, Oliver. You took a horrible situation and made the most of it. When you came back, no one would have blamed you for being angry, or bitter, or jaded, or intent upon making up for lost time, but, instead, you renovated your family’s old steel factory to create a youth center and homeless shelter in your father’s name.” Pausing long enough to make sure that he was meeting her gaze, Felicity then shocked him even further when she said, “while I might not be a professional politician, I can read opposition polling, and you, Oliver, are the reason why your mother has gotten as far in this campaign as she has.”

“I… I don’t know what to say except… thank you.”

“There’s no need. I didn’t do anything besides read the research that you wrote. Well, not literally,” Felicity conceded, rolling her eyes slightly at her own expense. “My programs compiled the research that others wrote about all of the things that you have done. But you did them, Oliver. Not the press, not your mother, not my programs, and certainly not me.” Then, throwing him for another loop, she confessed, “you know, we still haven’t selected a deputy mayor yet.”

At first, Oliver wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but then he realized that it must be something that was worrying her, weighing on her, and he was both grateful and gratified that Felicity felt like she could confide in him. Maybe they hadn’t gone on their first date yet, but they already felt like a couple. Leaning forward, he dropped a gentle kiss against her forehead. Once he had pulled away again, Oliver attempted to sooth her concerns. “You’ll figure it out. I have complete faith that you’ll pick the best possible candidate, Felicity.”

Neither of them mentioned that, by admitting his faith in her, Oliver was also admitting that he believed John Diggle would win the election. Felicity beamed up at him. “You know, I think you just might be right.”

“Come on,” Oliver nodded towards the stairs off to the side of the loading dock that they’d need to take to get back inside. “The debate’s going to be starting soon.”

Felicity didn’t protest, so Oliver stepped away first. He could hear her following him as her heels clicked against the alley’s pavement. However, just before he could place his foot on the first step, he felt her much smaller hand slip into his and tug him back. “Oliver, wait,” she beseeched of him, and of course he did just that. Turning around, he was surprised to find deep lines of apprehension and uneasiness on her brow, wrinkling the bridge of her nose, and pulling down the sides of her mouth. Once they were facing each other, she locked together both sets of their hands, weaving her slender fingers through his much larger digits. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What? What is it?” Attempting to reassure her, he promised, “anything.”

“After the debate tonight, I need you to go to your mother and tell her that, if she’s keeping anything from you and your sister, then she needs to confide in you. Now. Before it’s too late.”

“Felicity, you’re starting to scare me here. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t. Or, at least, I shouldn’t. What I know, Oliver, it should come from your mom, not me and certainly not some opposition research that the other side, my side, leaks to the press a week before the election.” Taking a deep breath, she pushed onward. “But if she refuses to tell you, or you feel like she either lied to you again or held something back, come to me, and then I’ll tell you. You and Thea both deserve the truth, Oliver, and I care too much about you to allow you to find out your mother’s secrets from some shark of a reporter… even if it is technically unethical of me as Digg’s campaign manager. What’s more, I’d feel like an even worse human being and definitely a horrible maybe-girlfriend.”

“Wow.” Oliver had no idea what to say. “So, this is really bad, isn’t it?”

“I mean, it’s not great,” Felicity remarked, wincing. “But, if it’s any consolation, I know already, and it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.” With a quick shake of her head, she edited, “I mean, what I think of you.”

He decided, at least for the moment, to savor the progress he and Felicity had made that night and not focus on whatever bombshells his mother was hiding from him and Thea. Instead, he’d worry about his mom’s secrets tomorrow. After all, she was going on stage for a televised, political debate in less than ten minutes. There was nothing he could do about Felicity’s cryptic warnings now anyway. “As my definitely not horrible definite-girlfriend, I think you can say feel, Felicity.”

To support his statement with action, Oliver leaned in to kiss her one last time before they had to go inside. However, just before their lips touched, he could hear her comm unit come to life. While he still liked Felicity’s ears, he suddenly really hated that piece of tech. “Not now, Digg,” Felicity mumbled to the man on the other line, grinning up at Oliver as she looped her free arm around his neck. “I’m busy kissing your deputy mayor.”

Felicity was giggling when her lips touched his slack and stunned mouth. It took Oliver what he felt to be an earned and justified moment to adjust to her revelation, but he quickly pushed his shock aside, because, while perhaps he didn’t know how he felt about serving as John Diggle’s second-in-command, he did know exactly how he felt about kissing John Diggle’s campaign manager. He liked it. A lot.

He liked kissing her mouth, of course, but he also liked kissing her fingers, and her nose, and her bare shoulders. And, when Felicity tried to walk away and head back inside, Oliver found out that he liked to kiss the back of her neck where her bouncing ponytail could tickle against his face. As for her ears, well… he liked to take their lobes, their top ridges, and even her industrial piercing into his mouth and bite down… almost as much as Felicity seemed to like it.

Needless to say, they were late for that third and final debate… at Felicity’s insistence. And perhaps that’s what he liked about her most of all: that, in liking her, he had the ability to make her happy.

A/N: So, I know what you’re thinking when you see this one shot. You’re thinking that I should’ve been working on Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen. And you’d be right. But, on my way to work yesterday, this idea popped into my mind, and it wouldn’t leave me alone. It was good timing, though, because a friend of mine gave birth yesterday, and she declared that, in return, I needed to provide her with something new to read. Well, consider my small role played. As for Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen, I make no promises, but this is a long weekend, and my plan is to work on that story as well. Finally, you’ll notice that this one shot is entitled as a flash fic. While the prompt was indeed a flash fic prompt, this was definitely not written in an hour. I can write fast, but not thirteen pages in an hour fast. Several hours worth of writing time elapsed after my alarm sounded, but I don’t think anyone will complain about a story being longer than it should’ve been. At least, I hope not. Anyway, that’s it. Rambling over. Now, I hope you read and, hopefully, enjoy!


song tag [reloaded]

becuase this little shit @letmeknow-tomorrow tagged me in this once again after i tagged her i am doing this but now only with kpop songs ayyy

Rules: Put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and tag 10 people

1. Tresspass - Monsta X
2. Sin - DEFSOUL (Jaebum from GOT7 and i love this song so much)
3. I swear - Sistar
4. Spring Day - BTS
5. The Way You Are - Yugyeom (GOT7)
6. War of Hormone - BTS
7. Chyper pt.4 - BTS
8. Flower (You) - VAV [underrated kpop song go and have a listen now]
9. The 7th Sense - NCT U
10. Need U - Monsta X

i literally have no idea who to tag because i already tagged so many ppl in my previous one but i might still have some lovely and cute mutuals left so @pinqk @loginsareannoying @nottechae @ari8o6 @chanyeolsdeepvoice and of course none of you have to do this if you don’t want to!

Fic: Fuck the Princess

Read at AO3

for @evergrove

Summary: Emma’s not the pretty princess she thinks her parents want. Regina likes her that way.


Finally, Emma’s voice came, sounding a bit rusty. “My parents have a literal fairytale marriage. Twice, now. And here I am this giant fuckup who had a kid out of wedlock and went to jail and now I’m like not- married to somebody with a rap sheet a mile long who’s the second best thing that ever happened to me.”

“After Henry,” Regina agreed with a little chuckle. “But Emma, you’re not a fuckup. There’s nothing wrong with you having a different life than your parents. You don’t need to feel bad about any of that.”

Clarke and Lexa fight:

Clarke: Lexa, we need to talk…
Lexa: Clerk, OMG not now I’m just about to open this CANDLE package that I ordered from Amazon!
Clarke: What is your problem Lexa?! All you do is talking about those STUPID candles! 
Lexa: What…did you say?
Clarke: I am trying my best here and all you do is candles,candles,candles..
Lexa: Well, maybe I would do YOU if you took a fucking BATH! Your hair is greasier than burger at McPolis!
Clarke: OH YOU DID NOT JUST GO THERE SISTA! You are such a DRAMA QUEEN! Literally Roan was there fighting you and you layed on the ground all dramatic when literally you could stand up in 0.3 seconds and kill the shit out of Roan with your bare hands!
Lexa: Well at least I DID NOT DO IT FOR MY PEOPLE!
Clarke: Well I am not the one who cut her NIGHTGOWN up to my fucking right lung and put GLITTER on my fucking neck in order to get laid!!!
Lexa: Oh whatever, I need someone whose gonna understand my PICK UP LINES anyway!!

scarfblogs  asked:

SENDS HEARTS AT MAXIMUM VOLUME ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️


Emily Scarf, I literally do not believe you actually exist because HOW CAN A PERSON BE SO TALENTED AND HUMBLE AND SWEET AND HILARIOUS AND SUCH A TRASHBAG ALL AT ONCE? But, like, a very elegant trashbag. One that’s filled with…edible gold? 

Talking to you has resulted in me laughing until I can’t breathe and crying because of how freaking happy I am to be your friend. I love you so much and still cannot believe there was once a time where we were quiet mutuals who barely spoke when now we meme at each other several times a day? *runs to California and throws self in your arms*

send me a heart and I’ll shower you with love <3

!! follow forever !! o(^▽^)o


I’ve hit 3k followers! I plan to release a little fic or two in the future in celebration, but it all depends on how my schedule is  (✿´‿`)

Below the cut are the blogs I will follow forever

★ = favourites
♥ = mutuals (some are side blogs so some of them aren’t technically “mutuals”  ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ )
✉ = i have a message for you!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Tag a quality blog, You’re it! Quality doesn’t mean that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how many followers you have. Send this to 15 blogs who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love them ♡♡♡

@uncomfortable-writers @zoevesper @lotr-stuff-and-imagines-i-guess @lotsoffandomimagines @hymnofthevalkyries @sweet-sweet-squad @yourenotmytype @blessedbebucky @bow-down-im-your-queen-now @parksofanarchy @madman-with-a-snogbox @pastapizzacheesedragon @ineedthesons @traceyaudette @sam-samcro @1800-fandoms 

(I am literally going through my followers list for this and I feel like crap for not putting all of you on here just know I love every single last one of you!)

Day 8- Coming out

It was getting late and Emma had a pretty strong feeling she should have went home hours ago. Somewhere around the first glass of cider, just after Henry came into Regina’s study to say goodnight to both of them. But Regina didn’t ask her to leave, she never even suggested that it was late and her couch was so comfortable and the combination of the delicious dinner and the cider made Emma all mellow and heavy and it was just easier to accept the offer of a second and then a third glass.

By the time they were finishing their third glasses, Emma was curled around a cushion, her knees brought up to her chest and Regina was opposite her on the couch, her bare feet tucked under her as she sat with an elbow propped on the back of the couch. The brunette’s hair was a bit tousled from her hand that ran through it from time to time and Emma’s eyes couldn’t help but follow them every time, feeling envious of those fingers. Not that she would say that out loud anytime soon because they didn’t talk about anything like that. They were friends and friends weren’t supposed to want to run their fingers through the other’s hair and maybe just maybe gently fist a handful as they pressed their lips against the other one’s plump, red, inviting ones… Woah, get a grip, Emma!, she scolded herself.

The fight against the Evil Queen and then defeating Hyde made it impossible for Regina to really concentrate on losing Robin Hood but now that life slowed down a bit, she had time to deal with everything and Emma was incredibly happy to say that after months of grief and sleepless nights and crying, her best friend was finally feeling better. Much better, if her current rant about being unable to find a date because of the Queen was any indication.

“I mean, seriously Emma. Nobody would even consider going out with me. And it’s because of her.” Regina huffed in annoyance.

“That’s silly Regina. Everyone knows that’s your past. You are not her. I mean literally, you’re not her.” Emma argued, her words just the slightest bit slurred from the alcohol.

“People won’t realize that. They see me, they remember her. How am I supposed to find a partner now?”

“Robin knew about your past…”

“Yes but he was my soulmate. That’s different. I knew he would accept me, I knew because of the…”

“Yeah I know, I know..the pixie dust thing.” Emma cut her off, for some reason feeling uneasy with the whole soulmate subject. With the whole Robin subject. She didn’t like him, it was ugly and rude to say, especially after the man died, she knew, but her mind was a bit blurry from Regina’s cider and it wasn’t like anyone could hear her thoughts, she was free to think whatever she wanted.

“So here I am, stuck in a town where nobody would dare or would want to go out with me. I’ll totally die alone…” Regina pouted a bit and Emma grinned at how adorable the other woman looked.

“Look, the Evil Queen wanted to murder my parents, almost succeeded the last time too, so nobody has more reason to hate or fear her than me. But I’d totally go out with you if I didn’t know for sure you were straight.” Emma assured the brunette vehemently, only realizing what she said once it was already out of her mouth.

Regina’s surprised brown eyes snapped to her face and Emma felt a blush creep up her neck as her mouth opened and closed, not finding a decent explanation for what she just admitted.

“I…eh…I mean…” she stuttered awkwardly.

She and Regina never talked about their sexuality before. It wasn’t like she wanted to keep being a bisexual a secret, she wasn’t ashamed or anything, it just never came up. While she was with Hook it was never mentioned and if she was honest, ever since she came to town, she only had eyes for one woman. And that certain brunette was sitting across from her on that very couch, blinking at her  with utter shock and something like… was that amusement in her eyes?

And Regina, well, Emma knew about Daniel, Graham and recently, Robin. Regina never showed any interest in a woman or talked about any other lovers from the Enchanted Forest so Emma just assumed…

However, judging by the way Regina’s brown eyes glinted with something predatory in them as she suddenly eyed Emma, maybe she assumed wrong?

“And might I ask, Em-ma, what made you so sure I was straight?” Regina basically purred, putting her glass on the coffee table as she crawled over to the blonde on the couch.

“Well from your surprised look, I’d say until now, you thought I was straight too.” Emma shot back, heat curling deep in her stomach as she let go of the pillow, leaning forward to get closer to Regina.

“You were with Hook.” Regina hissed his name, not even bothering to hide her disapproval.

“And you were with Robin.” Emma muttered, their faces now only a few inches apart.

“Apparently you haven’t heard enough stories of the Evil Queen darling.” Regina growled. “I might be a different woman now, but we do still share some… qualities.” she smirked before letting her eyes trail down to Emma’s lips, licking her own and making the blonde’s breath hitch.

“Like?” she squeaked.

“Like taking delight in devouring beautiful blonde women.” Regina whispered then she didn’t wait any longer to close the distance between their mouths, sealing her lips against Emma’s in a wild, sensual kiss.

Emma didn’t hesitate to return it with the same eagerness, both of them moaning when her hand found the back of Regina’s head and slipped between the silky strands, her other hand settling low on the brunette’s back, pulling her impossibly close to herself.

“Oh… Women?” Emma panted against Regina’s lips with a grin when they broke apart for air for a moment, an eyebrow raised challengingly.

“See dear, that’s where she and I are different.” Regina breathed with a heaving chest as she gazed into Emma’s eyes with a mix of smoldering passion and utter adoration. “I only want one.”

And that’s the last one…. It’s been a blast everyone! Thank you so much for reading and all the likes and reblogs! They made me very happy! You guys are the best! Swen ROCK!!!


So this next song is my absolute favorite and it has nothing to do with the fact that Elsa raps in it. It’s presumably called ‘Cool with Me’ and of course plays on Kristen’s love of puns and double-meanings since this is the song that takes place where the For the First Time reprise is, when Anna confronts Elsa in the castle. But in this version of the film, Elsa is the villainess Snow Queen and Anna is at the palace because Elsa has kidnapped her during her wedding ('Life’s too Short’ which is on the deluxe soundtrack was also another song meant for this scene). Anna gets a bolt of ice in the heart, but in this version, Elsa does it on purpose. Anyway, this song is absolutely amazing and would play out beautifully on the stage so story issues aside, I would so love to see it be reworked and added to the Broadway musical. It just has to be heard to be believed. And oh, did I mention Elsa raps in it?

(Elsa opens the palace door to greet Anna)
E: So what’s new? How are you?
A: Well I’m mad you decided to kidnap –
E: Yeah, sorry 'bout that.
E: How is town? A: Okay.
E: How’s my crown? A: Hey!
A: Is that what this is all about?
E: Let’s have a chat!

E: I wanna make peace between you and me A: Oh yeah?
A: You got a funny way of showin’ it!
A: I invite you to my wedding E: And I came, are you forgetting?
A: Then you trash the church and freeze the guests and ruin it!

E: You’re not here so we can have a fight
E: Air our dirty laundry and spit out our spite
E: Oh no, forget the tension, there’s no need for descension you see –
E: I wanna make you cool with me

(Elsa brings Anna into the palace, Anna is in awe of Elsa’s growing power)

E: Yes, I know, have some snow
A: No, thanks, I should be getting back –
E: I think you should stay (slams door shut) A: (spoken) Elsa?!
E: Elsa’s dead, now instead, you’ll address me as the Snow Queen A: (spoken) Nah, no way!
E: I got a gift, I’m a superstar A: (spoken) And your point is?
E: That people should revere me!
A: Yes, you’re really quite the showman with these mean and mutant snowmen –
E: Hey, if no one wants to love me, they can FEAR me!

E: You’re not here so you can be afraid
E: I want you to begin with all the friends I’ve made
E: Okay, you’re gonna love’m, you’ll become one of 'em, you’ll see
E: You’re gonna be cool with me

E: Svensen is cool with me, Jensen is cool with me. Jorgen and Fjorgen and Bjoergen is cool with me. Gunthar and Gunnar think I’m okay. Diedrich and Friedrich and Jose. And Olaf’s my first one, he’s kind of my worst one (O: I have a perfect physique!) I find jobs that’ll suit him and always include him and NOBODY calls him a freak.

E: We’ve been falling out for way too long
E: So let’s forget I’m right and forget you’re wrong
E: Okay! Let’s try forgivin’, maybe we could live in – harmony
E: We could really have a ton of fun
E: If you could just chill out! and say what’s done is done
E: Okay! Let’s not be bitter and that’s why I am liter-ally
E: Gonna make you cool with me!

(Elsa intentionally shoots a bolt of ice into Anna’s heart so she can feel what Elsa feels. Olaf takes Anna into her chamber)

E: Poor pathetic little perfect queen
E: Didn’t think your sis could be ever this mean
E: Now you’re on your own and you’re gonna feel alone as can be

E: Cool with me, cool with me

Not following stitchkingdom.tumblr.com already? Just imagine what you’ve been missing!

Royally Yours: Part Three

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You’re unwillingly engaged to the Crown Prince of another kingdom, whom you had known as a child but then lost contact with. Time, deceit, and politics brings you two back together, but it’s a dramatic stretch to the ascension of the throne.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Grant Ward, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Pepper Pots, Peggy Carter, Bruce Banner, Lincoln Campbell, Betty Ross (more to be added)

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Grant…wyd babe (;


Originally posted by eggsaladstain

Originally posted by stanxstan

   “Your Majesty,” the maid says, taking a step back from you and allowing your dress to fall at your sides. “Your dress is gorgeous.”

You bring yourself to smile at her compliment, running your hands over the laced fabric of the red and gold dress. “Thank you.”

She bows to you, and exits your chambers, leaving you to the silence you’d woken to. Your mother had visited your room moments before you’d returned from the fort’s look out, leaving Prince James and his lover to their privacy, and you had managed to evade her when the guards had sent her on her way in your direction.

Grant had not visited you since he’d left you in the evening before, which was not usual of him to do, but you had refrained from asking Bruce or Lincoln if they had seen him. Even you had to respect his distance if he was making it.

“Your Grace,” Bruce says, stepping into your room. “Princess Rebecca.”

The young, long haired brunette girl walks into your room, thanking Bruce and approaching you. She smiles as she looks around the room.

“I remember playing hide and seek with my brother when we were young in here,” she begins to say, and motions to the sofa parallel to your bed. You give her permission, and she sits.

“What can I assist you with, Princess?” you ask her, folding your hands together as you sit across from her.

“Nothing, really,” Princess Rebecca replies, hands grasping each other in her own lap as well, “but I wish to know if you would join me to eat breakfast.”

Your stomach clenches at the invitation, and she seems to notice your displeasure because she adds, “I will be your only company, Your Majesty. Our parents have already eaten and my brother is hunting.”

“Hunting?” you ask.

“He’s an excellent marksman,” Rebecca tells you. “The best in the kingdom.”

“Really?” you respond, slightly interested in this discovery. You can recall the temper tantrums Prince James had once exhibited as a child for not being able to aim rocks correctly to hit the crows that had perched in your favorite climbing trees.  

“Yes,” Rebecca nods, starting to grin. “Bucky can shoot arrows and hit targets like no other.”
You smile to yourself. “Bucky?”

Rebecca blushes. “That’s what I call him, Steve too. James is too formal for us.”
You chuckle, and rise to your feet. “I would enjoy being your company for breakfast.”

“Wonderful,” Princess Rebecca grins, and takes you by the hand, pulling you out of your chamber doors, laughing.

You run to keep up with her, feeling a certain sense of childishness in your chest as her giggles and youthful gleam engulfs you in her wake, making you smile again, the only reason you have smiled truly this morning.

The princess brings a feeling of escape from the real world as she takes you away from the halls that lead you away from the throne room and instead deeper into the castle.

“Where are we going?” you ask when she slows to look around.

“The kitchens,” she replies, and then tugs you by the connection in your linked hands to the right. You come upon a servant, who yelps at the sight of you both.

“Your Highnesses,” the young woman gapes. “What are you doing down here? This is no place for royalty!”

“Relax Betty,” Rebecca shushes her. “We’re here to find Pepper.”


Rebecca winks at you, and pulls you past Betty, nearly tripping you on the stone floor as you struggle to keep up with her.

“Why are we going to the kitchens?” you question, and Rebecca doesn’t respond until she’s stopped in front of an open doorway, the kitchen staff working beyond the small threshold.

“Pepper always makes pastries in the morning,” Rebecca explains, “and she always saves a few for me in case I miss breakfast, like today. So, I decided I would share my special secret with you in turn for your friendship.”

Your words have been stolen from you as Rebecca guides you through the workplace smiling at every person you pass together, until she’s finally stopping near the back of the giant room, the grassy yard beyond the back entrance to the kitchens.

“’ello Pepper,” she says to an older woman, and the blonde haired lady whirls around, flour all over her frock and a shrewd expression on her face.

“Rebecca, what have I told you about coming down here?” the woman questions, and you raise an eyebrow at the way she speaks to the princess.

“Not to,” Rebecca shrugs, “but I missed breakfast today and so did (Y/N), so it’s an exception.”

Pepper glances at you, her pursed lips and analytical gaze unwavering. “Your Majesty.”

You nod to her, and she turns around, handing Rebecca a small carrier covered in a white napkin that looked more like it belonged on the table of the king rather than covering the contents of a wicker basket.

“Now get out of here, you little pest,” Pepper says, waving Rebecca along and you try not to chuckle at the woman’s negligence to address the princess with her title.

“She is something,” you say to Rebecca once you’ve both exited the kitchen from the back entrance.

“She’s glorious,” Rebecca responds, smiling as she sits in the grass under a willow tree. You sit beside her as she removes the napkin from the basket, and offers you a pasty. You take it gratefully, not realizing how hungry you were until Rebecca had revealed the treats, and nibble at it.

“I think they’re blueberry,” Rebecca comments, chewing a large bite of the pastry.

You chuckle, and bite your own, savoring the food as the flakes melt in your mouth.

“So is it true?” Rebecca asks after a moment.


You glance over at her, seeing her delicate expression as she fiddles with the sugar stripes on the top of her pastry.

“That you’re married to my brother.”

You let out a long breath, and set the rest of your breakfast on the napkin Rebecca had thrown aside. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“But Bucky doesn’t love you,” Rebecca responds.

“And I don’t love him,” you reply.

“Then why did you marry?” Rebecca questions, becoming defensive.

“Our parents forced us to,” you tell her, not seeing a reason to lie to her. “My mother had sent word to James about me requesting his hand in marriage, which I did not authorize.”

“Why would she do that?” Rebecca asks, brow creasing.

You let out a puff of breath before bitterly saying, “The former queen believes that in order for me to rule Sokovia powerfully, I must have a man at my side, and she chose Prince James for me, not listening to me or respecting my choices.”

“But, you are the Queen, and she is not,” Rebecca says slowly. “Why can she still have that kind of control over you?”

“My mother forged my signature on a marriage document that our parents brought before a priest earlier yesterday evening,” you inform her. “The king, I assume, did the same for James’ own name.”

“They literally signed away your freedom of choice,” Rebecca murmurs, looking at you with a deadening amount of pity. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s already happened,” you breathe. “There’s nothing we can do now, except keep living.”

“Our parents are already planning a wedding,” Rebecca reveals. “I overheard them this morning speaking on their way to the dining hall. They plan to have you and Bucky publicly wed in three weeks’ time.”

“Fantastic,” you mutter, picking at the grass near your feet.

“How are you not more displeased?” Rebecca asks you. “Don’t you love anyone enough to fight for?”

You chuckle. “Rebecca, I was taught from a young age that I would marry someone I may or may not love, but time would change how I feel for that man.”

The princess stares at you. “And you believe you could ever love Bucky?”

“I do not know.”

When you find Grant, he hugs you closely, mumbling apologies for his temper into your hair and holding you so tightly you fear he’s afraid you will be ripped out of his grasp.

“Grant,” you say, pulling away from his closeness and creating space between your bodies. “Your behavior was not out of line.”

“It was,” he shakes his head. “I should never have acted like that in front of you.”

“You speak as if I have never seen you angry,” you chuckle, holding the sides of his face. “I know what is happening irritates you, but what is, is. This is out of our control now and we can all only follow along with it.”

“You will be unhappy,” Grant argues, not backing down. “You don’t love James nor this kingdom. To be happily wed, you must know the person you are marrying and be in love with more than just their beauty.”

“I have faith James and I will reconnect and be able to join our kingdoms willingly,” you respond, hardly a truth as you become wary of Grant’s rage yet again. “In our minds, at least.”

Grant scowls, and backs away from you. “I am not speaking to you as your advisor, (Y/N). I’m speaking as your best friend that loves you. Dearly.”

You stop, your mother’s words resurfacing in your memory: And you believe Grant has those best interests in his head alongside you, as your advisor? He is blinded-

Grant waits for you to speak, but when you don’t, eyes only remaining on his face, his shoulders lower.

“You being married to another man behind all of our backs pains me,” he admits quietly. “I have loved you for so long, (Y/N), and I have waited for you to tell me that you love me in return, but if least of all I can’t have you, then I want you to be with someone you do love, even if that isn’t me.”

Your lips part and you inhale sharply. “Grant-”

“Don’t say anything,” he cuts you off, grasping your shoulders and squeezing them. “Please, I beg of you (Y/N), do not say anything.”

You still try to speak, but you can’t find the words to use.

“Let me escort you to the dinner,” he says, taking your arm. “Let me escort you at least once while you know I love you before everything changes.”

Your body is not in your control as he guides you through the too long halls and turns, back into the dining hall. You do not meet his eyes when you feel his gaze on your face, and you release him as soon as you are close enough to your seat across the grand table from Prince James.

Grant dismisses himself as you stare in utter shock at the silverware before you, still not able to be certain that the conversation you’d just had was actual. Your mother is in the seat beside you, and the king and queen on opposite ends of the table, their children sitting where you and your mother are not. There is food in front of you, but your plate remains empty as the royals around you begin to eat.

“(Y/N),” your mother says, and you look at her for the first time since you’d left the conference chambers. “Are you feeling ill?”

You swallow, and realize you do feel unwell, but instead of answering her, you stand. Your chair makes a loud grating noise on the stone floor, and you manage to find your voice as you say, “Excuse me, your Majesties.”

You informally dismiss yourself from the hall, rushing down the corridors and towards the fort.

You stumble as you reach the courtyard, grabbing the wall of the castle before you push yourself out the exit doors, running to the fort like wolves were on your heels as you climbed the stairs to the watch tower, holding your skirts as your chest tightened with oncoming tears.

A sob rips through your lips as you burst out onto the top of the fort, the ocean’s spray dampening your face to hide the tears that begun to spill from your eyes.

“O-Oh my-y God,” you tremble, body shaking. Grant loves you, he loves you and it terrifies you more than anything. Only last night you’d admitted to yourself Grant was the only man you would ever willingly take as your king, as your husband, but now, knowing the truth of his feelings, this realization was thrust into your face, forcing you to think of your own feelings.

Just this morning, Rebecca asked you if you loved anyone, and you had told her no, but now, with your thoughts so disarrayed and your heart pounding with something other than fear, you couldn’t be sure.

“(Y/N)!” You hear your name called over the wind from the sea, and look back with blurry vision at the approaching figure of the Crown Prince.

“James,” you breathe, and pick up your skirts to get away from him, but he catches your arm, having run the rest of the distance between you two.

“Are you mad, coming out here while it’s storming?”

You didn’t realize rain had begun to fall, thinking it was the spray of the ocean, and you curse yourself for being so stupid.

“He loves me,” you blurt, and James stops, looking at you.

“Who loves you?” he questions.

“Grant loves me,” you tell him, and he gives you an estranged look.

“Who the hell is Grant?”

“My advisor,” you tell him, pulling your arm away and running your hands through your hair. “My closest friend.”

“You didn’t know?” James asks over the wind, head tilted. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Obvious?” you repeat, eyes wide. “I didn’t know!”

“You always were pretty naïve,” James mutters, his voice carried to you by the wind, and you glare at him.

“This is not a joking matter!” you shout.

“You’re married to me, (Y/N),” James replies loudly, “There is nothing that can happen between you two anyways.”

You take a step back from him. “Really? Nothing can happen between Grant and I, but you can have a red haired lover?”

James’ face goes hostile, and he straightens his back. “She is not my lover.”

“I don’t care who she is, James!” you cry over the gusts.

“Then why did you bring her up?” James demands, confronting you. “Why did you tell me about Grant? I don’t care about him the way you don’t care for Natasha.”

You grab James’ arms, finding it hard to stand on your own. “We are married, whether we like it or not, and whether it be our choice or not. We do not love each other, and we do not know each other the way we used to, but we are trapped together now.”

“I know,” James snaps, holding one of your elbows as the winds become stronger. “We cannot annul our marriage, but that does not mean we have to consummate it.”

You stare at him, rain beating down on you both, until you look away.

“What do I do about Grant?” you ask him, finally.

“Why are you confiding in me about this?” he questions, and you laugh bitterly.

“Because are my husband, and we are meant to share our thoughts with each other,” you respond, “and you were also once my dearest friend, and I wish to reanimate that friendship, if I must remain at your side for the rest of my life.”

“Do you love him?” James asks, accepting your response.

“I don’t know,” you respond, gripping the Crown Prince’s arms.

“If you don’t love him, then tell him, but if you do, tell him you don’t,” James advises you. “Loving someone outside of our marriage is dangerous.”

“Is it a risk you are willing to take?” you ask him in return.

“I love Natasha,” he responds seriously, “with everything I am.”

“Is that why you met with her last night?” you question him, and he stares at you for the longest time before nodding his head.

“I wanted to elope with her,” James admits. “Before I got your mother’s message.”

“I’m sorry,” you say to him, holding onto his shirt. “James, I am so sorry.”

He shakes his head, and pulls you towards him as the wind pushes you closer to the edge of the fort, and shields you from the intensity around him. As he leads you back in the direction of the stairs down from the watchtower you hear him say,

“It’s not your fault.”


@a-steroides @princeofsassgard @soundslikehuman @crazybarnes @creativexdreamer @fav-fan-fic @allyp1023 @sergeant-james-bbarnes


Seriously people wonder why I love Jan: Look at how freaking competent she’s being. Simon’s all “oh no he hurt Wanda!” and Vision is like “I come from your same brain patterns so I too am going to be dumb about this” and Hank’s being all “I’m literally going insane right now look at my wonky text bubble” and Jan is like “you idiots the villain is MONOLOGUING let’s get him to keep this up GEEZE do I have to do everything by my perfectly manicured and fabulously outfitted self??”

I want to know what is going through your mind right now. Like I can’t even try to make up excuses for you because I can’t come up with any, and that is shocking because I am the queen of making up stories. I am trying so hard to give you the benefit of the doubt but it’s ridiculously difficult to do so when you are giving me nothing to work with.

It’s like I’m going crazy trying to think of scenarios. I am thinking the worse of the worse and it’s driving me insane. I am literally standing on the edge of a cliff right now, and not knowing will eventually push me off. All I can think about is, “What happened?” Do you even know yourself? Because I can’t come up with an answer. I always have an answer to everything.

My phone is on ‘do not disturb’ right now because my heart can’t take not seeing your name on it. When it was on vibrate, every time I heard it or felt it, my heart would either skip a beat or beat rapidly hoping it would be you (even when I know it’s not). And at this point, I have stopped hoping to hear from you. But every now and then I stare at my phone and I want to pick it up and call you. And you know what? I almost do.

Even my best friends questioned what happened and what changed. And I do not know what to tell them but all I can think of is how this is how it always is. Things change and I am the last one to find out. Don’t I deserve to know, too? I mean, you can’t make me fall for you and then change your mind without telling me. That’s not fair. I thought we weren’t going to play these kinds of games.

I told you once I stopped crying because it made me feel weak. I told you that in the past few years, I have learned not to get attached and develop emotions, and I have taught myself to not cry for people who do not deserve it (which is anyone who makes you cry because no one should do that). I told you that I couldn’t even cry sometimes even if I wanted to because I couldn’t bring myself to. But look at me now. I have developed the feelings I promised myself I wouldn’t have and I haven’t felt so out of place in so long, till now. I don’t remember the last time I cried in the shower. I don’t remember the last time I sobbed, unless it was during a movie or a novel. I cannot recall the last time I really let the tears free fall, but you did it. You did it, alright.

I applaud you for getting to me.
—  Ming D. Liu, Things I want to say to you right now (II)

anonymous asked:

You know what's laughable you honestly thinking SQ is endgame, boy are you in for a rude awakening by the season finale. Let's just say Regina and Emma finally succumb to their feelings for both their guys. Enjoy and call it the "penis" parade all you want. :)

Hello, tactful anon.  Pleased to make your acquaintance!  I’m not out to get into any ship wars of any kind.  I’m very much a “ship and let ship” kinda girl, so I contemplated whether or not to even respond to this.  Please keep in mind that anything I post is MY opinion (which I am entitled to, by the way) and just because it doesn’t match with your opinion doesn’t make it any less valid. 

Okay, now that that’s out of the way.  What makes you so sure that SQ *isn’t* endgame?  A&E once said that when they originally conceived of this show, the rough idea of it contained an Evil Queen, her curse, and the Savior who was the only one who could break it.  There was no mention of Hook or Robin Hood.  These characters were literally thrown into the show in Seasons 2 and 3 respectively, coincidentally as the Swan Queen fandom’s influence began to grow exponentially.  There are any number of reasons these male LI’s were introduced, which I will save you from hearing about because there are literally dozens and dozens of metas which already expound upon this at length, but I would ask you if the rapid push to make CS and OQ canon seems a bit like a distraction from the original jumping point of the series, which has always been about Regina, Emma, and their relationship to Henry and one another.  It certainly seems that way to me.

We have already seen numerous theories that RH is working with Zelena to get Regina’s heart for any number of reasons (to get his wife back, to protect Roland, etc.) and they are supported by actual events that have transpired on the show.  Jane Espenson has reiterated that Regina giving her heart to RH as prematurely as she did was out of character.  I’m sorry, but the way this forced “romance” is being thrust at the audience does not have me convinced that it will be anything less than a plot device to advance Zelena’s new curse.  It breaks my heart in the sense that Regina is being put through senseless torture AGAIN, but at the same time it is nice to see that she is finally letting her walls down to someone, because I think that will eventually allow for her bond with Emma to grow stronger and potentially one day allow her to love her in a romantic sense.

As for Hook, Emma’s mannerisms when he is around do not appear to me to be one of a woman who is interested in his advances.  I do think the writers are trying their damndest to make him into a more likeable character by showing the good that he is capable of, but Emma (and we, the viewers) have already seen that Hook’s self-centered ways are still very much alive and well: “If it can be broken, that means it still works”, anybody?  He’s delighted that Neal is out of the picture and has no qualms about letting Emma know he doesn’t care that she’s heart-broken.  Why would this appeal to Emma, who we have all seen evolve from a character who once only acted in self-preservation, but now acts to protect her son and her family first?  She is someone who has grown roots in Storybrooke because of Henry, and Hook?  Hook has all but been reduced to a root-less, whining, puppy-dog pirate. 

And then we come back to Swan Queen, the two women who A&E recently said were so alike in their tendency to build up walls against love?  The two women whose plot lines are mirroring one another’s even more with each and every passing episode?  As I said before, while I’m perfectly aware that CS and OQ are playing out before us right now, I do not believe either of these ships will be endgame for all the reasons I stated above.  And when the relationships end and both women are as confused and hurt as before, who do you think they will turn to?  They are flip sides of the same coin.  They both have had their lives’ destinies pre-determined by forces greater than themselves, which has left them without the option of choice in virtually every aspect of their lives, love interests included.  I believe that the real “true love” of both women is Henry, and that he will bring them closer as he always has in the past.  In choosing Henry, they are choosing each other.  Whether that means closer in the romantic sense, or closer in a platonic co-parenting sense, I don’t know yet.  But TPTB would be missing out on a fantastic opportunity to tell the most revolutionary fairytale re-telling of all time if they chose not to make the Savior be the one to tear down those walls Regina so carefully built up; the Savior, born of the very woman who unwittingly took away Regina’s true love, seems destined to be the one to give that love back to her.  We have seen Emma and Regina make magic together that literally transcended realms, and we know that Rumple said that true love is the ONLY love capable of accomplishing that feat.

So now I beg of you, dear anon - when’s the last time CS or OQ transcended realms, moved the heavens, or saved an entire city with their “love”, hmm?  Please do tell!  In the meantime, enjoy your penis parade…it ain’t gonna last long.  ;)

anonymous asked:

OMG you are truly the Queen of all dirkjake fanart. i am literately fangirling right now! you're such an amazing artist i love all of your art. i think i look at your blog like everyday or something, (hope im not being kind of a stalker here lol) but yeah you are so amazing tbh you are my fave artist on tumblr. not joking. have a good day ;3

sdkfj thank you very much!

Anon:OMG I saw your post of DirkJake pics and I wan’t paying attention,and the third one looked like Jake had a Bugs Bunny tail.  Know I know Jake is part bunny.

omfg hahah what’s up doc

Anon:omg i love the way you colored the first picture in that dirkjake photoset!

Anon:I really like the comic booky style of that first dirkjake picture! It’s super cool :3

thank youu! it’s mostly about the outlines, I like drawing them that way sometimes 8’)


how did u notice but yeAh probably lmao

Literally if you post something of Mitch from his “fetus” years

I will unfollow you and others will come and attack you in your sleep…

No seriously though, Mitch has said multiple times he doesn’t want videos and pictures of him in that awkward in between stage. The Sing Off doesn’t count because that was televised.

Please be kind to our queen and respect his wishes.

When you’re in Denial Rowan Whitethorn Style

Aelin: Alright well come to bed

Rowan: What? No, I can’t share a bed with you

Aelin: Why not!?

Rowan: It sends the wrong message…because thats not what we are

Aelin: But–

Rowan: No, its different here now. We can’t be like this, I have to put my foot down. You’re my queen, I am you’re warrior. We have eyes on us, and people can’t think I share your bed. Its inappropriete and i wont abide by it. I wont budge on this

Aelin: Fine, but i don’t feel like making up a couch for you to sleep on, so come sleep in my bed and I’ll wear basically no clothing and flaunt my body for you

Rowan: Okay

*Literally sleeps in her bed every night after*