i know it's only supposed to be a day but there were too many i wanted to do

DOCTOR DREAMY | PT.2 [M]

pt1 | pt2 | (ongoing)

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: smut, fluff, slight angst + expecting parents au

word count: 11,035

request: sperm donor ex-boyfriend jimin

description: Okay, maybe in hindsight asking your ex-boyfriend, who you never really got over, to be your sperm-donor wasn’t the brightest of ideas.

cr. 


six years prior.

“Do you wanna have kids one day?”

Jimin tilted his head as if to ponder the idea before tugging you across the bed until you were leaning against his chest, curious eyes catching your own.  

“Sure, I mean one day. One day, far, far away,” He said, pointing his finger off into the distance jokingly.

You laughed, hand skimming along the back of his neck. “Yeah, me too.”

“Any particular reason why you’re asking?” He said as he began playing with the strands of your hair.

“I dunno,” You shrugged. “We’ve been dating for a long time, just thought that it’s something we should know about each other.”

Jimin nodded, “No, you’re right. It’s kind of something you should figure out before things get too far in the relationship… Guess we waited a bit too long, but we’re on the same page, so that’s good,” He smiled, leaning down to place a short peck against your lips.

“So that means you think that information will be put to good use one day?” You asked, quirking your brow to insinuate.

Keep reading

House Rules (M)

Originally posted by nnochu

Summary: Frustration over recent political changes sets you off, and your loving husband helps you see the error of your ways.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 7,492

Warning: Dom!Yoongi, husband/wife relationship, teasing, punishment, edging, ass play, dirty talk, political themes

A/N: I could probably add more warnings. Rest assured, this is not vanilla. Enjoy!

Keep reading

It's not just the food that's revolting.

(long story)

Back in my college days, I lived on campus and ate the 20-meals-a-week meal plan at the cafeteria. It was… terrible. Seriously. I know people complain about their college cafeteria all the time, but they still gain their “freshman 15”. I lost mine. The food was disgusting. Sunday spaghetti was made from tomato sauce and Saturday’s cheap hamburgers. One week they didn’t bother ripping up the hamburgers: watery, sauce-tinted, overcooked noodles garnished with dry, leathery, two-day-old hamburger patties. It was still better than the other options. At first, they had a “make your own pizza” line, but removed it because everyone was using it, and “bread isn’t cheap.” I remember seeing a real salad in their “healthy eats” line and getting excited, because it’s hard to screw up salads, only to realize that it was literally floating in oil. The salad on the actual salad bar was not an option; it was changed out every morning, whether it needed it or not. Oh, sorry, I meant the ice in the salad bar. Not the salad, no. A student wrote his initials in the tuna and it remained for a solid week. Sometimes the salad would grow its own salad.

They had a big board set up for student complaints, and they would write responses back. Oddly enough, the board rarely had bad things to say; the manager, may he be haunted by a thousand bedbugs, confessed that he didn’t have time to answer every complaint, but he did read every one, and took the complaints into consideration. And, as far as we could tell, threw away all the ones he didn’t like.

Keep reading

After Hours [m]

pairing: reader x Yoongi

Genre: tattoed!yoongi, rapper!tyoongi, angst? fluff? smut, idk how to label this haha

word count: 16,212

warnings: graphic sexual content, alcohol, language

a/n: this is loosely based of Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist. i am v nervous about this as it isn’t the usual angst fueled plot I normally write. so if it’s crap, please be kind haha. i’m tagging the lovely @dimplecoups​ because i know you’ve been waiting for this. and @2seoke for always being the best babe.

Originally posted by lethargicmin

You looked in the mirror, making sure your face mask was properly in place. If you were going to look like a serial killer for the next 20 minutes, you at least wanted to look the part. Your bed was calling your name as you walked over to the soft mattress, choosing to ignore the missed calls and text messages from your best friend. This was the first Saturday night you had to yourself in months. No work. No brother. No best friend. You were free to do whatever you wanted.

Or at least that’s what you had originally intended. But as the door to your bedroom crashed open you soon realized that the night had other plans for you.

“Why haven’t you answered my calls?” your best friend Irene squealed as she plopped down at the foot of your bed. “It’s Saturday night and I know you don’t have to work tomorrow!”

You gave her a look. Well, you tried to give her a look to the best of your ability as the motions of your face was restricted by the sheet mask on top of it. “There’s a reason why I didn’t answer your calls. And just because my idiot brother gave you a key to our apartment doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here any time you want.”

Irene rolled her eyes, blowing a large bubble from the gum she was constantly chewing. She was clearly not amused at your disinterest on leaving your apartment tonight. You reached forward, popping it with your pointer finger. “You’re no fun, Y/N” she whined, collecting the gum back into her mouth.

“I can’t have fun when I’m always too busy taking care of you.” you quipped, reminding her of the last time the two of you went out. “I had to beg that cop not to give you a ticket for being drunk in public. Why aren’t you bothering my brother? I’m sure he would love to see you.”

Keep reading

Did anyone say idiotic fluff prompts?

‘I heard a high pitched whine and ran in to see you crying over a picture of a kitten and a puppy hugging yes i know that is cute but are you okay’
alternatively: ‘I started whining with you’

‘Hey I noticed you were down so here’s a box of kittens don’t ask me where i got them but we gotta return them before sunrise no it wasn’t illegal shhh h’

'Yes I killed this man but he was a bad owner and now his animal is mine and perfectly happy so I don’t see the problem’

'Are you reenacting Bet In It from High School Musical as a way of making this decision?’

'You’ve been wearing gym clothes all day but haven’t moved at all what do you mean its a 'mindset’ no you need to actually move’

'Can you take this seriously what no i don’t care if there’s a dog this is a crime scene’

'It was a normal day until you rolled in blasting the 'maria hee maria ha’ song and I’m so done’

‘If you don’t stop singing ‘Poker Face’ I will make sure you will have no flippin face’

‘Person C playing ‘Pony’ every time Person A and B have a moment of sexual tension’

‘Is that an alligator?!’ ‘Hey, show some manners, his name is Lieutenant Fred!’

‘I made a blanket fort and you can’t come in unless you admit I’m the best and my moves are the funkiest’

‘I know how to settle this; DANCE OFF’

‘Will you stop stroking my hair and whispering ‘my precious’?!”

‘What’s your favorite book?’ ‘Fifty Shades of Gray’ ‘Okay, another question, are you trying to make me shoot you?’ ‘Yes.’

‘Did you seriously learn the book word-by-word and do all possible research just to be able to sass your teacher when he thinks you don’t know anything?’

‘I stole your seat and in retaliation you sat on me’

‘You know, you’re not supposed to EAT THEM ALL AT ONCE, YOU COULD DIE’ ‘Your skin is like a pillow, are you an angel?’ ‘Great, now you’re high’

‘How many coffee’s did you have???’ ‘At least eleven’

‘Help me find my shirt’ ‘You know, as much as I want to…I don’t want to.’

‘Would you stop chatting with the fricking enemy

‘Are you eating a whole jar of Nutella in one sitting?!’ ‘I have problems leave me be’

‘Why am I the only sober one at this party and you’re completely wasted and clumsily flirting with me god at least you won’t remember my blushing’

‘You can’t just use ‘I have problems’’ as an excuse for everything!’

‘Did you just bake 20 fricking breads?’ ‘No…. I named them too, this is Breadly, Demi Loafato, Attila the Bun…’

Vow

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

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

Word Count: 8.6k

Originally posted by bwipsul

He’s a literal angel


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

“Hey, roomie.”

“I hate you.”

“You know you love me.”

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

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

“Let go of me, you pervert.”

“You told me to kiss your ass, now…”

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

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

Keep reading

First Kiss | Jungkook

Masterlist |

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff

Words: ~4,5k

Synopsis: “I love oreos, but you know that thing after you eat them and your teeth are black and it looks like you’re on some crazy drugs and your teeth are rotting or something?” You snickered at your own explanation and the way Jungkook’s mouth was open agape, eyes squinted as he tried to picture the image you were so unskillfully painting. “It’s annoying, but you still like them. It’s the same for you.

A/N: I’m a bit rusty. I hope it’s not terrible. For @maroukimarouki

Originally posted by vernonymous


It was Saturday night, just one of many you had spent with them. The setting of your friendly reunion was nothing special, just the chaotic living room of their dorm. The feast you were enjoying was not expensive wine or exotic cheeses, but coke, chips and gummy worms; and you could have not been happier, stuffing doritos in your mouth until you were about to choke, to perfectly recite the lines of Cypher Killer without stuttering —at least if you did not want to carry a penalty out.

Keep reading

Monkey

Once upon a time, my dear friend Palak @stylishmuser had a dream. She told me that dream and then, within the same day, this video happened. I’m here to put that dream into words. Please enjoy.

Also, @stylesunchained…I dared. I’m sorry.

————————————————————————————————

Harry was waiting patiently for someone on the other end of the phone to answer his call. He had called exactly when he always did; 6:30 on the dot in London, which was half an hour before his daughter went to bed. The nightly ritual had been the same for the past two weeks; he would call before bedtime, talk to his little girl as soon as she had her pajamas on, say goodnight before you tucked her in, and then call back after she was asleep and talk to you until his eyes started to droop. It wasn’t ideal - he would have much rather been home with the two of you - but it was better than nothing.

The familiar and sweet sound of your voice finally echoed in his ears and he saw your face pop up on the tiny screen.

“Hey you,” you smiled, “How are you?”

“Tired,” he replied, rubbing at his eyes a bit to keep them focused, “Lots of meetings and interviews today. Is she still up?”

“Of course. I’ve just had her run and brush her teeth; she should be out soon, she knows what time it is.”

Another few minutes went by as you and Harry talked about what had been going on, but you knew Harry was getting antsy to talk to someone else. As much as he loved conversations with you, he only had a limited time with his daughter before she fell asleep.

“(Y/D/N)!” you called, turning your head, “Daddy’s on the phone and he’s waiting for you!”

It was only a few seconds before the thumping of tiny feet could be heard running down the hallway. A moment later, Harry saw the wild hair of his three-year-old appear in frame and he chuckled.

“Hi, monkey,” he said, waving.

“Hi daddy!”

“I miss you. How are you?”

“I’m good. I went to Nana’s today and Auntie Gem was there!”

Harry grinned. “Was she? That sounds like fun. Did she let you play salon with her hair again?”

His daughter nodded, excitedly. That was one thing Harry was so thankful for; a sister who didn’t care if her niece wanted to poke, prod, braid or twist her hair within an inch of its life. Gemma was always game for a little ‘toddler spa day’.

“Daddy, guess how many more days!!”

“Hmm,” Harry thought, “I don’t know. Tell me.”

She held up both hands, folding two fingers down.

“Only this many! An’ then you’ll be home, daddy!”

Keep reading

Zimbits AU where your world is black and white until you hear your soulmate laugh

-

Jack knows his parents’ story off by heart.

Bob had been on the ice at an away game. The crowd was screaming; it was overtime. Things had been a bit tense. 

And then Bob had put a puck in the net of the opposition and that was it. The disappointed home audience had fallen into a quiet grumble after some polite clapping. Many hands were slapped on Bob’s back as the team skated towards the edge of the ice. Bob had been just about to leave the rink, and then-

A laugh. A snorting, wonderful laugh, and his world filled with color.

He had frozen where he stood, ears caught on the sound of that laugh and the voice that followed.

“I told you, didn’t I? No one’s got it like Bad Bobby Z!”

It was his turn to let out a laugh and he did, with gusto. His voice boomed so loud it had seemed to reverberate around the arena, every head swiveling to the source of the noise.

Every time he told that story, Bob swore blind he heard his soulmate’s gasp in the ensuing silence. Alicia would roll her eyes fondly, stating that she did not gasp, thank you very much, and that the dreadful nickname she’d called him had been popular among hockey fans at the time. 

Whatever the truth, they’d introduced themselves moments later and were married within the year. It was like that, with soulmates. Instantaneous.

Jack’s not heard that story since before the Draft. He knows people think if he’d found his soulmate before- before, he wouldn’t have done it. But people tend to over romanticize things out of habit. In the end, soulmates and laughter and colors had very little to do with how he ended up here.

Keep reading

Knuckles : Boxer!Ashton (Part 2)

sorry it took so long! special thank u to Ashley (@thesaltyspice) for helping me come up with ideas for this a million years ago xx

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

“Look at that one.”

“That one over there?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a pout. “I want it.”

Ashton chuckles and looks to you at his side. “That’s the fourth dog you’ve said you wanted since we got here.”

It’s true, but you can’t help it. You always get dog-envy at the farmers’ market, exposed to too many cute pups at once for your little heart to handle.

“We should get one,” you say passively, adoring a large german shepherd trotting by with its owner. “Y'know, if we ever live together.”

Ashton smirks, turning his head. “I love how you’re not even worried about scaring me with plans for the future.”

Your cheeks redden, having not noticed the implications when you said it. It’s only been three months since the fight that started it all, since you and Ashton agreed to give your relationship a title, and you suppose you should be more careful about vocalizing your whimsical thoughts. Your guard just naturally falls around him, the pressure to play safe wiped away by his equal and obvious feelings toward you. Talk of commitment doesn’t affect him the way it does most people. If Ashton was going to run, he would’ve done so by now.

You glance down at his fingers between yours, smiling because you don’t think he’s let go of your hand all day. With his hectic training schedule for another upcoming fight and your demanding attendance at university four days a week, the two of you have recently been missing each other more than actually seeing each other, and it appears Ashton wants to make up for lost time in the form of suffocating your palm–not that you mind. For someone whose fists can be classified as lethal weapons, he has quite a gentle grip when it comes to you.

Keep reading

I am sick and tired of these stupid videos going viral on facebook about how technology has made us antisocial and that social media is evil.

Let me tell you a story. I’m half English, but live in Spain. I get to see my English family, at best, once a year. Sometimes not even that.

I love my English grandparents, but we don’t have many things in common. We can get a nice 20 minute talk going about what we’ve been doing lately, and then I usually fall silent whilst my mum talks about cooking with my grandma and my dad goes on to talk about science with my granddad. It’s so disappointing, because I barely see them, and I can only rely on their interest in what I’m doing with my life to start a conversation.

A few months ago we flew to England and stayed with them a few days. Whilst having supper, naturally (as always) the conversation started with how I was doing, and what I was planning to do with my future now that I had graduated. I told them I was thinking about moving back to Japan to start working there. Somehow, one way or another, we started talking about life in Japan, and my parents chipped in by commenting on their experience in Tokyo as tourists. “There’s so many people!” And then someone asked, “what’s the population of Japan?”

And I said, “Let me google that.”

So I pulled out my smartphone. 127.3 million. Can you believe it? That’s a lot! That’s twice as much as the UK, isn’t it? What is the population of the UK? Granddad says 60 million, but grandma says 62.

Google says 64.1 million.

What about Spain? 50 million, perhaps? 55? Mum says 48, dad says 40. Nope, it’s 46.77 million as of 2014, says google.

We all guessed at the population of the US, of Canda, of France, of Germany; we cheered when one of us had almost hit the mark, and gasped at unexpected numbers. We looked up the dates of historical events, we read random wikipedia facts, we searched Stonehenge on google maps and read about the theories behind it, we googled ‘disc symbols ancient’ to try and figure out what this paperweight my granddad had in his office was supposed to be because he couldn’t remember its name and immediately found out it was a replica of the Phaistos Disc. “‘Disc symbols ancient’! How did google know what we were looking for just from that? That’s amazing!”

We went on for hours, and it was so. much. fun. For three whole hours, three. whole. fucking. hours, every topic we talked about was somehow linked to googling facts or images on my smartphone, and do you know what my granddad said to me as we started cleaning everything up?

He said this thing I had was amazing, and he wanted one too.

Technology is not a conversation stopper. It’s a conversation starter, and if you don’t know how to be responsible, if you don’t know how to make use of this amazing thing we have to keep a conversations going, then the problem isn’t smartphones, or facebook, or twitter. It’s you.

People desperately want Cole to be a bad person and I don’t know why

He called black people “cannibals”?? 

I’m sure most of you band wagon haters don’t even know WHERE this claim come from (hence me calling you band wagons) so let me help. 

You all need to STOP twisting his words. When he tweeted this it wasn’t a BLM movement. In fact I remember the march and it had NOTHING to do with BLM nor was it against Bernie. One of the people in charge of the march said that the only reason they marched while Bernie was campaigning was because they knew there’d be cameras around and they just wanted to get air time for their cause. Regardless numerous people were hurt because of their actions; namely children were hurt, which was AWFUL. Regardless of what your cause is you have no right to march in anywhere and injure children for whatever reason. So YES that was Cannibalism and no it was not a BLM movement. 




Cole has shown his support MULTIPLE times for the BLM movement and has said multiple times that saying being pro BLM doesn’t mean you’re saying that all lives don’t matter.



“hE ABUSED HIS EX”

Bitch where? Were you a part of the relationship? Can you even find the so called tumblr post that she supposedly said this? Some of y’all know NOTHING about this. You just hear it from the grapevine and jump ship like brainless followers. 

Why would you think it’s okay to hold Cole accountable for something a possibly bitter ex wrote on tumblr??? DO you realize how serious it is to just label someone an “abuser”. That’s not a fucking joke and not something you should throw around just because you heard it from this twitter page you follow. 

I’m a creative fucker and I could literally sit here and write a whole essay on how your dad, or your bother or Usher or some random person abused me but it’ll be all FALSE. Writing it on social media doesn’t make it true. Y'all need to stop acting so foolish and gullible.

You know what’s interesting and paradoxical? While the court never believes abuse victims, social media believes them too much. There’s no balance. Victim shaming is real and unfortunate but let’s not act like SOMETIMES they are not telling the truth.  

How many cases have there been where the *white* woman admits years later that she was inherently lying about being abused years ago. 

So I’m sorry if I’m not going to sit on my my ass and judge some one based on some random crap I heard online. 

For all we know Cole probably converted her from Lays to Doritos and she’s calling that emotional abuse.


You people just like to take one small thing a celeb says, twist it to make them look bad (WITHOUT DOING YOU RESEARCH EVEN THOUGH GOOGLE IS FREE) and then everyone just jumps on the bandwagon. You are all jobless, pathetic, hateful people. You’re BULLIES; you think you’re being these great millennials but you’re just lying bullies. You pull this crap on all these celebrities and tarnish their image as if its as normal and easy as breathing. Its not fair and its not right. I can’t even imaging being a celeb and having to deal with all this crap; half of y’all wouldn’t last a day with your thin skin and fake woke ass. 

I am sick of the tumblr/social media expectation that celebrities are supposed to be your idea of “woke” or that makes them a bad person. News flash: there’s a real world out there where people are living real lives. No one has time to search all over tumblr to find out the right way to say this or that. 

At the end of the day WE ALL say things that can be taken the wrong way. Its not because we’re trying to be mean, we mean well, we just don’t know any better because NOT EVERYONE KNOWS EVERYTHING AND NO ONES PERFECT. (<- @ all you people calling Lili Reinhart “homophobic” when she’s continually shown her support for the LGBTQ community)


There’s just this cumulative desperation I’ve noticed in the tumblr society where you all try to take who a celebrity is an twist it to fit into what you want them to be. 

They say one thing that gets distorted and all of a sudden you all think you have the right or the power to erase all the good they’ve done and label them bad people. I’m so sick of it. 

GET OFF your high horses because NONE of you people are perfect. And I’m sure there are multiple things you say in just one day that someone somewhere in this world would take the wrong way and deem YOU to be a shitty person.  

At the rate you are all going ALL celebrities are shitty people. Heck WE ARE ALL SHITTY people. 

Complice

Originally posted by apgujeon

Park Jimin. Hogwarts!au. 7k words. Fluff. 

↠ Unraveling the reasons to Park Jimin’s assortment into Slytherin.


Park Jimin, for lack of a better word, is magnetic. An eye catching grandeur. A brilliant meteor cutting through the dead of the night. A glitter of gold and silver. It is no exaggeration when you say you would find yourself singling him out of many other ground-swept robes, clicking heels, wand wielders. It’s not the hair, no –not the locks of fireplace or charcoal ashes, it isn’t also the distinct pitch weaving through buzzing chatters nor is it the recurring dark smoke filling the air at the back row in charms. Thinking of the reason alone sends a pang of melancholy through your veins as your mind tries to block out the patches of defiled memories almost instinctively. But the unavoidable fact of the matter is, Jimin was once your world.

Keep reading

The Elsewhere Child

He was supposed to take my memories when he brought me here, the seelie knight, who had been commanded to escort me home with a simple “take it away, it’s too old now and it bores me” from the noble who had kept me for the past while. I traded him my singing voice for them though, and now where once sweet music poured from my lips only hoarse and untuned notes fall out without any of the tempo or melody they had before. Now I think I made a bad trade. It might have been better, if I didn’t remember, or remembered something else entirely.

I stare at the boy next to me in the circle, I was asked to join this circle as a way to make me feel part of something, part of a circle. They call the circle a support group for abducted children. Children who were abducted and got away, that is, I don’t think there’s a support group for those currently abducted. Their abductors wouldn’t allow them to attend, I suppose. The boy is speaking about the man who touched him, speaking of the horrible way he loved that man, because he was a child, and he had to love someone. Are his memories true? Or is he like me? Did a faerie take him away, and replace the memories from Under the Hill with these tragedies? Why? Did he commit some crime? I cannot say.

I am fascinated by the girl who sits next to the girl directly across from me in the circle. She tells us to call her Angie. She wears ratty clothes, not the sort of poor chic that seems to be an underlying trend, with jackets made of patches and ribbed cloth sold at malls, but real grunge. The tears in her sleeves reveal razor scars, her hair is short, she wants to look tough, she wants people to cross the street to get away from her when they see her coming. She is not tough. She is nervous, always nervous, always afraid, though she hides it well. None of these things are too interesting to me, those things I can see anywhere, but I thought context would be important so that the fact that she’s a pathological liar would not be the only thing you knew about her.

She is a pathological liar.

Her lies fascinate me.

After group chat, I take her aside and we talk, sometimes just for a few minutes, sometimes for hours, and I watch her fabricate thousands of untruths, from tiny white ones to huge fantastical ones as bright and colorful as her life has never been. Some days, I believe everything she says and some days I question each word, trying to figure out her secret.

It’s a strange thing, I was taken before I really knew my name, and each faerie that’s kept me (I was a pet for them) called me something different. Do I even have a true name? I’ve been Jane Doe since I showed up, stumbling barefoot and confused into a police station moments after midnight (at least the knight knew to leave me near a place of authority), so I’ve been introducing myself as Roe, like the deer. They ran my DNA through the missing children’s database (I didn’t understand what that was at first, was shocked at how closely humans had approximated magic with computers), but there was no match. I told them I didn’t know how long ago I’d been abducted, and suggested that it might have been before the database was made. They laughed and said I was eighteen, and DNA technology had been around much longer than me. I tried to explain that time was different where I had been kept, but they simply patted me on my head and told me they were sure that it seemed that way to me at the time.

They stared at me worriedly when one of them brought me a McDonald’s Happy Meal, and I asked what she wanted for it. She told me nothing. No one here ever asks for anything besides courtesy in return for their food, but old habits are hard to break. Even now, in my foster home, I cannot help insisting that my hosts confirm that this food is a gift freely given. They asked me to help them cook and I broke down in tears because there was a cast iron skillet on the stove (“Please don’t make me, iron burns, iron burns, and it gets under your skin and makes you go grey and lifeless like a flower severed from its roots, plea-please, please don’t make me”). It took them an hour to convince me that they weren’t trying to force me to poison myself, and the food burned (“I said I would help you, you asked me to cook and I agreed, but, but please don’t make me, it burns, it’ll burn me!” “It’s alright darling, you don’t have to cook if you don’t want to.” “But I said I would! It was an oath!” “We’re sorry, we wouldn’t have asked if we’d known it would upset you, you can help some other way if you like.” “You… absolve me of my oath?” “Yes, of course we do darling!”).

I am more comfortable with iron now, I am not one of the Fair Folk, after all, it will not harm me. Correction, a blade of iron would harm me, but not because it was made of iron. It does, however, mess with my glamor.

It is a difficult thing, growing up bathed in magic and yet to have none of your own. A pixie once spoke of how she envied my hair, and I said, on impulse, “do you want it?” So a trade was made. She gave me the ability to change my appearance, and she walked away with my hair. I expected my hair to grow back after a time though… it did not. With my glamor I can have the appearance of having whatever hair I please, and sometimes I change it daily, but when I sleep or when iron is near my bare head is revealed. It is assumed by my hosts and everyone around me that I have many wigs, I have told them I do not, but they don’t believe in magic, so they insist on believing this instead.

I hide when I hear thunder, duck into a bathroom and put everything on backward and inside out if I’m in public, or simply sit quiet if I’m home. The first time I did this, it shook me to my core when someone told me “You know, your shirt is on backward.” I started to panic, until I realized that I could see myself too. It was a revelation, discovering that there was something humans could see that the Good Neighbors couldn’t.

It still boggles my mind how much people throw away, tears and menstrual blood caught on napkins, or gifts from that one aunt that they held onto for so long for the sentimental value but can’t keep now because they have to move into a smaller apartment, or the shirt they can’t wear anymore because it smells like their ex. They could trade these items to faeries for so many things, and yet they simply throw them away. What a waste.

My hosts insisted I should have a proper education, and after three years of homeschooling (to get me caught up) I applied to attend the local state college. There I found more people who fascinate me the way Angie does. There’s Lisa, who fights for animal rights, and Kyle, the leader of the Gay Straight Alliance group, and Riley, who’s going into the Peace Corps next year because they want to help the world. I ask them all the time why they do what they do, what they expect to get back, and they tell me that ideally they’ll make the world a better place, and that will pay them back eventually, but that they don’t do it for what they’ll get back, they do it because it’s right. I don’t understand. There’s Cheyenne, who always gets into intense political debates with other people over dinner in the cafeteria, and she believes so intensely about things that don’t even affect her, and she fights for them, and she tells me she does this because it’s right, and I don’t understand. I’ve never met anyone who cared about anything other than themselves Under the Hill. Faeries can’t lie, they can’t go back on their word, they honor their deals and make sure you honor them too, they repay debts and ensure they’re repaid in turn, they amuse themselves playing or squabbling over power, but they do not do things for free. They don’t care about things for free. They don’t defend the innocent, protect the weak, or forgive the ignorant. The culture shock coming here is bewildering.

If I could I’d honor my debts, leave a pile of gold at the doorstep of everyone who’s done me a kindness, but I have not the magic to do so. The drainage ponds hold no sirens, the falling snow has no frolicking pixies between its flakes, there is no magic for me to use here… or is there?

Perhaps I can’t call upon the magic Under the Hill, perhaps I can’t summon gold or make deals with darklings, but I can find magic here, I’ve seen others do it. I’ve seen a moon so beautiful it sends shivers down your spine captured by a little lense-box and put onto thick shiny paper. I’ve seen songs and stories written with such emotion that it moves those who hear them to tears, to laughter, to dancing, to life. I’ve seen kitchen witches cure colds with hot chicken soup, and I’ve seen holy men ward off tricksters they can’t even see with the power of their belief.

Perhaps I can find a way to create my own magic, and do what other people seem to strive to do to repay their debts. Perhaps I can make the world a better place, and learn the magic of humanity. And as for the places where magic does live? Where the boundary between worlds is thin and the drainage ponds and snowflakes carry faerie magic within? …I think I’ll be staying far away, for my part. I might still have a lot to learn, but I think I like it better here.

What Soul? - Peter Parker x stark!Reader

Words: 1318
Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
Featuring: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers
Warnings: kinda cliche af
Requested by @betty234
Hey! I Saw your requests are open. Could you please write a Tony Stark x reader, or maybe Peter Parker x reader one shot, with the whole soulmate au where they have tattoos that symbolizes each other and he already likes her. Thank you so much”
Summary: In this world, soulmates are strange. The tattoos only appear after you have officialy met your soulmate; meaning some people never get theirs. They can also change what they look like depending on what is going on during the day. When your tattoo gets mistaken for a hickey, you have to explain what’s going on, but only find out it is much deeper then you could have ever imagined.
Authors Note: i havent actually written a soulmate au before, so this was fun! After the april fools joke today, I thought it would be a good idea to post a real imagine xD

Ao3

Peter Masterlist. Masterlist.


“Hey, Steve,” You sing-songed as you walked into the common room where the American flag himself was sitting. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot, kiddo,” Steve put down the book he was reading and listened to what you had to say.

You showed Steve your computer. “I’m learning about World War Two…”

Steve laughed, “You know my experience was much different than what they might be asking you.”

You shrugged and agreed with him, but hearing his stories of those days were always interesting. “I actually had to help Peter with this topic last month,” Steve nodded, and your face turned to confusion. You didn’t really know many people your age, considering you’ve been homeschooled all your life. It was just easier for your father to keep track of you by having you home all the time, and it became much easier once the Avengers became a thing. “You know, Spider-Boy. Your dad is always helping him out with his powers.”

“Oh, right! The one that’s always super awkward around me,” You nodded, a little laugh following. You scratched your neck, moving everything ever-so-slightly out of place to reveal what was on your neck.

“Hey! What the hell is that?” Steve moved your hair out of the way and turned your neck so he could see what was hiding. “Oh thank goodness, it’s not a hickey. I would have killed you!”

Keep reading

Someone gave my mom an old photo album. I really wish they hadn’t…

by reddit user sleepyhollow_101

Every once in a while, something very interesting will come into my mom’s library.

We live in a small town, so people often go to the library for answers, knowing that my mother has an extensive background in researching things like history and genealogy. Those are the people we get most often, actually: people with questions about their own family history. Oftentimes they’ll come in with partial records and ask my mother to fill in the gaps. She’s always more than happy to do it. Not only is she good at it, but it also serves as an acceptable reprieve from the relative boredom of small-town life.

Keep reading

So, I love how everyone is getting all into the eldritch horror visibly fae knowingly magical encounters. The descriptions are SO COOL. 

But I’ve been thinking about how our understandings of the Fair Folk originated not with people who had these super obvious encounters with this visible magic figure. Instead, they come from people attuned to the ways in which this world as it is, is magical and frightening and overwhelming, and decided that eldritch monsters were the most logical and comforting explanation. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about how so many interactions with the fair folx could happen without the student knowing it….how many of these interactions and deals may have happened already. A few true stories: My roommate joined ROTC her freshman year. Four years of university for free, for five years of military service. Don’t tell me that there is just flesh and bone under the glamour of a military uniform, under the medals worn by those who watched her sign her contract. The Fair Folk have always loved games, and to gamble your life in the future of uncertain war is certainly worth $60,000 tuition per year for four years, plus a monthly stipend.  I have a friend whose financial aid is paid by a grant from some folks from New York City. In exchange, once a year she dresses up, takes out her piercings, and goes to dinner with them.

Sit with us, tell us the stories of your studies, sing for us. Oh, you don’t sing anymore? But you sing so lovely. Sing.

At these dinners, she does not let her smile drop.  I worked with a senior who would be Successful. They did everything, could not say no, every opportunity bigger than the last and they could Do It All. Directing a musical with a full orchestra in the biggest theater, performing across town themself in a different show each weekend for months on end, five classes and a thesis. One night, drunk and at 2am, a time were the glamour drops and world blurs into honesty, they said “I am so fucking lonely.” That is a powerful trade: love as fair as can be, a beating heart, community. But they wanted to be able To Do It All and they did.  A few years ago, the school was raising money for the endowment (the school is always raising money for the endowment). They were holding a fundraising dinner, with Big Important People who must be Inspired by Students Like You in order to donate. They gathered together the most talented performers of the whole university. Dancers whose bodies defied physics, pianists who seemed to play with extra hands, singer whose voices rang inhuman. Maybe there is a reason we already had those skills, it’s hard to know. We’ve all made so many sacrifices already to end up at a school where we can get not a single credit for our talents. Maybe something is already taking its due. Still. They gathered us, and planted us through the field to mime silent excitement as the Big Important People entered the tent in a procession. They had us perform for them – but never in the way we do best. Bottle up your talent, make it look like this. Dressed us all head to toe in white. Gave clear instructions.

Hand them this book. Collect these cards. They will write a wish. If they speak to you, just smile. Do not speak back.

They had us wait behind the kitchen.

Whatever you do, do not eat the food.

The university knows how to make a deal. They know what a little Talent and a little Dignity is worth. And we already owe them so much…why not this too?  In the morning I went back to where the tent had been, only to find an empty football field.  —— I feel like I have to add that the last story is literally 100% true. The others I have taken small creative liberties with (mostly the ‘lonely’ one cause I don’t want that person to be identifiable). But this one is hundo percent reality. Nothing I could add about it would make it sound less weird. They set up this crazy huge tent for it and thousands of dollars of lights and projection equipment, and the next morning had taken down the entire thing. They had this whole projection thing that took up a side of the stadium with a video about how great the university is, except I’d never even HEARD OF most of the professors or programs they interviewed or discussed in it (like its a big uni but still). Went to go look them up the next day, but couldn’t remember the names. They had us count a specific number of steps from one section to another. They had us do a weird running pattern on the stadium stairs that was supposed to look cool but I think just opened a portal in to my own personal hell. I still have the white sneakers and sweatshirt they gave us but I legit have not worn them since that night; I’m slightly scared to wear them but somehow can’t throw them out. When the donors walked in to the tent, we literally just stood around the field jumping up and down with excitement (silently) and waving flags (silently) and for the first time I understood Artaudian horror. They had cards at their table that they were supposed to write these messages on, and then we would collect them in these books, and honestly the whole night is pretty hazy but it was weird. The whole thing was directed by Tony Award winner Diane Paulus (I swear to you this is true). Guys I’m low key pretty sure I’ve been to a revel and let me tell you, you are not a participant. You are there, but at best you are quaint entertainment, to be hidden in the corner when you’re not amusing them. You will do what they ask you (tell you). And there will be a part of you sitting on your shoulder saying, are you really doing that? And the answer will be yes, and it won’t be until after you leave that the wave will crash over you, nearly drowning you in the question, as you sputter awake asking, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK JUST HAPPENED? 

[x]

Did this with number 1 from those post break up prompts I reblogged a few days back! 

Character A is on their way to sell the engagement ring they once bough for Character B (but the never got to propose) when they run into Character B again.

Wolfstar of course :)


Sirius wished the universe had at least had the decency to make it a cloudy, dreary, possibly miserable but that might be taking it a bit far, day. If this was what it had led him too, it was the least it could do, really.

He stared at the blue sky through the small front window of James and Lily’s flat, then back down at the small, velvet box in his hand. His thumb was poised to open it, nail in the soft crease between the top and bottom… and he couldn’t.  He couldn’t. If he saw it again he’d never get rid of it. And it was of no use to him. Not anymore. He’d spent enough hours staring at it, the gold rim, the small inside engraving. It had promised him everything and, now that everything had been lost, it was just a heart breaking reminder. It was worthless. He knew this. But he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see it sitting there, cold in the box still. It should be with him. A sudden image of Remus kissing him, palms to his cheeks, and feeling the cool pressure of the ring on his left flooded through his mind. He pushed it away with difficulty.

He shoved the box into his pocket, grabbing a jumper from the back of the couch and pulling it roughly over his head while calling to James.

“Going out!”

“Okay!” A beat, and then, “Actually, wait, wait!”

Sirius turned from the direction of the door as James appeared in the kitchen doorway, tea in hand. His other rubbed the back of his neck.

“Are you, um…” He coughed, eyes flicking down to Sirius’ hands, searching, “Are you going…”

“Yeah.” Sirius said too quickly. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, and?”

James shook his head a little, shrugging and bringing his tea to his lips, “Nothing. Nothing, alright. Right…”

He shuffled his feet a little and Sirius rolled his eyes, “I’m fine,” He definitely wasn’t fine, “I’ll be back in a bit, yeah?”

James didn’t look any more at ease but he nodded, “Yeah.”



The day felt just as nice as it looked and Sirius scowled at the sun, defiantly putting his hood up and his head down.

The feeling of the box knocking against his thigh with every step was excruciating, a constant reminder of what he was about to do.

It should be with him.

His feet felt heavier with every step, every bump, and he found himself staring at the lump in his pocket. He clenched his fists tighter and tighter at his sides until his nails felt like pin pricks and the box felt like a scorching iron across his skin.

“Fucking hell-“ He dug it out of his pocket roughly, just as he collided with something— someone. Sirius’ head knocked right into a rather bony shoulder making his swear again, only to have the word mix with another curse.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t see.. you.. oh.”

Sirius’ heart started thrumming painfully in his chest. Remus straightened up in front of him.

Sirius went straight back to cursing the universe. Not now. God, please not today.

Sirius just stood there, unable to open his mouth. Remus looked… thin. His hair fell in messy curls over his forehead, as apposed to the usual neat swoop to the side. Really, Sirius couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. They were rimmed with soft purple, and as golden as ever. He thought he might drop to his knees, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, under the weight of the sheer longing that was coating his heart.

Remus opened and closed his mouth a few times before, “It’s a bit hot for a hood.”

Sirius blinked because what? “Wh- What?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed, “I- I don’t know why I said that. But- I- don’t you think?”

Sirius stared a moment more, then slowly raised his hand, swiping his hood from his head, “Right. The sun was just feeling a bit too…” He shook his head, still caught too off guard by how—normal—this conversation sounded.

Remus just nodded distractedly, eyes suddenly not on Sirius’, but trained on Sirius’ hand that was still resting on Sirius’ shoulder from removing his hood. He looked uneasy, panicked even.

Sirius watched as he swallowed thickly, voice coming out horse, “Meeting someone?”

Sirius knit his brows, cocking his head slightly at the sudden question, and the look crossing Remus’ face. How could I be meeting someone when that look is out there somewhere needing someone to kiss it away?

“No. ‘m not, why?”

When Remus’ eyes didn’t move to his, Sirius followed his gaze. His stomach dropped at what he found on the other end. The small, velvet box was still grasped in his hand. In plain sight.

“I- Oh. Fuck, no-” He realized what this must look like to Remus and it only made his heart tighten further. The mere thought that Remus could have it in his head that Sirius would ever, ever be with anyone else right now drove a knife in and twisted it, “No, Re- Remus,” Sirius corrected himself quickly at the way Remus winced.

“It’s fine.” Remus mumbled, “I- I don’t know why I asked. I guess I just…” He trailed off, “Dunno.”

Sirius’ mind whirled, desperately trying to find some lie to tell. He definitely wasn’t about to give Remus the truth, not with the way he wouldn’t even look at him.

“I- This is- I mean, I bought this for— these.” He corrected himself as a thought formed in his head, “I’m going to sell. This is- these are… cuff links. For James’ birthday. He- He didn’t like them.”

Remus’s eyes, which had still been fixed on the box, found Sirius’, “Oh.”

Sirius, gripped the box tightly in his palms, thumb, out of habit, wedging the opening but unwilling to follow through, “Y-Yeah.”

Remus’s expression suddenly changed. His eyes shifted from glazed over, and seemed to fill with a flicker of… something.

“Sirius…” Remus took a step forward.

Sirius’ eyes nearly closed at the way Remus said his name. Like he used to.

“Yeah…” Sirius breathed.

Remus’ eyes flit over his face as he stares down at him, “James’ birthday is in March.”

“I..” Fuck. “Yeah. It is.”

“It’s July.”

Sirius closed his eyes, taking in the close proximity of Remus’ presence and being silently furious with himself at the same time, “Yeah.” He sighed, defeated, “It is.”

Remus’ voice came out soft, “Can I see?”

Sirius’ eyes flashed back to the pools of bronze, panicked, “They’re really not much. Pretty plain. I mean-“ You never saw it. You didn’t want it. “They aren’t- It doesn’t really matter. He didn’t want them.”

Remus cocked his head, “How do you know?”

“Because he kind left before I could give them to y- him.” Sirius sighed, feeling heat bubble in his chest. He wasn’t sure what emotion it was, there were too many flowing through him.

Remus’ brow furrowed, “Well if you had stopped him maybe you could have found out. Let me see.”

Sirius flushed. They definitely weren’t talking about James anymore. “How was I suppose to know he wanted to be stopped?”

“Of course I wanted to be stopped!”

The silence that followed left what little space there was between them now heavy with Remus’ words. They were both breathing hard. Remus’ hand had somehow made its way over Sirius’ on the box. Sirius was burning at the touch.

Remus closed his eyes, letting a breath out through his nose, “Of course I wanted to be stopped.” He repeated.

Sirius stared at him, the crease between his eyebrows, the frown on his mouth, the tightness of his jaw. He swallowed hard, voice coming out shaky, “You can’t expect me to know that, that’s- that isn’t fair. You were so.. You were so angry with me, I thought-”

Remus opened his eyes, fixing them on the ground. The sun cast eyelash shadows on his cheeks. He looked more tired and thin than he had when they started. He shook his head, “No, it isn’t fair.”

Sirius’ heart tugged when Remus let his hand slip away.

Remus still wouldn’t look at him, “‘m sorry, I… I don’t know.”

He turned, carefully avoiding brushing against Sirius again, and started to walk away. Sirius reeled at the loss of contact, the sudden empty space in front of him. He was thrown back in time, standing in their old flat. He was staring into Remus’ tear stricken face one moment and was hearing the door slam the next. There was a velvet box in his pocket and he was very, very alone.

Not again. He decided. Not again.

“Remus.”

Sirius turned at the same time Remus did, eyes meeting. He was sure his looked wild. Remus’ looked just as untamed. He tried to slow his breathing, fingers tightening around the box.

He took a step forward.

“It isn’t cufflinks.”

Remus let out a breath, “No?”

“No.” He took another step, slowly closing the distance between them, “It’s-“ His eyes flitted over Remus’ face, hating ever worry marked there, every frown, each tired rim around his eyes, “God. It’s what I should have stopped you with.”

“You couldn’t have known-“

“I should have known.” He took the final step, thumb finally flicking the box open, “I should have let you know how much I…” He didn’t look down at the ring. Instead, he watched Remus’ eyes widen, he watched his lips part. He watched what he had wished he had watched for months. What he could watch for years. Remus’ eyes went back to his and they were glassy. He looked so tired. Sirius needed to fix it.

“Re..” Remus’ brows knit, eyes shutting at the nickname. He let out a soft noise when he felt Sirius’ hand on his cheek, holding him together.

“Re, I should’ve know. I- I know now, okay?” He ducked his head a little, desperately needed Remus to look at him, “Please, Re-“

But Remus was kissing him, hands on Sirius’ cheeks, a few tears on his own. And Sirius was melting, nearly dropping the box, the ring, as his arms made their way around Remus’ waist.

He closed the box as he kissed Remus. He had a lifetime to give him that ring. He needed this now, they needed this now. He slipped it into Remus’ back pocket, causing him to let out a watery laugh against his lips, and smiled as he wound his fingers in Remus’ hair, pulling their mouths back together.

And with Remus against him, laughing into his kiss, Sirius thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad the sun was out today after all.

The Only Exception (Part 5)

Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3,844

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, sarcasm, hot firemen, draaaamaaaa, did i mention angst? this is getting ridiculous.

A/N: Cliffhangers are mostly unintentional. I got so many ACK HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME messages that I wanted to post the next part. Warning: it’s mostly just to move the plot along.

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 -

Originally posted by sebuttianstans

Keep reading

Sleepover-Sirius Black Imagine

Request: helloo i was wondering if you could do a sirius x reader where everyone knows they love each other but they don’t admit it & for some reason one day all the marauders are sleeping in the girls dorm (like a sleepover lol) but its v cold and they don’t have enough blankets, sirius and reader have to share and they wake up cuddled up to each other and just fluff?? 

Warnings: none

Requests are always open, hope you enjoy! xo


Sirius and Y/N had been in love since they first laid eyes on each other. The two were attached at the hip and seldom seen apart; in rare cases when they weren’t together, they were utterly miserable. Everyone knew they were in love-well, except them.


“Face it Padfoot, you’re in love with Y/N,” James said, smirking as he watched his best friend shoot daggers at the boy talking to her across the common room. 

“Shut it, no I’m not. She’s my best friend, I have to look out for her,” Sirius replied, clenching his jaw as the boy stepped closer to her.

“We’re her friends too, but you don’t see us getting angry just because some bloke is talking to her, Sirius,” Remus chided.

“I’m not angry,” he snapped.

“No, just jealous,” James chuckled, earning a pillow to the face.

Keep reading