i'm not sure if this turned out the way it was supposed to be

Ok so what if a Langst spy au??? Just hear me out……
•Shiro is still missing, everyone is expecting Keith to take over until they find Shiro
• they hear about prince lotor, but don’t have any information about him, so Allura and the blade of mamora are planning on sending in an undercover operative to have intel on him.
•lance accidentally walks in on the meeting, and over hears them talking about it.
• lance volunteers to go, thinking that this could be his chance to be able to lift his weight and not feel so much as the 7th wheel.
• Allura is not amused, refusing to send Lance in, cause she does care for him on some level, not that he knows this
• but Lance makes some really good points that it’s not exactly a secret that Lance and Keith don’t get along, that if Lance were to make a big enough argument with Keith, that it could get the Galra to be interested in trying to recruit him
• Allura concedes, cause it’s the best plan that she’s heard through the entire meeting. But she only lets him go on one condition: once they find Shiro, Lance has to come back as soon as possible.
•they all agree that the team shouldn’t know about the plan until after Lance has successfully infiltrated the Galra.
• the plan works great. And Lance is successfully apart of the Galra. And lotor is especially interested in Lance, which is good for the mission, not for Lance though.
•ALOT of creepy one-sided flirting. Lance promises to himself to apologize to Allura for all of his incessant flirting.
•bad news, is the team takes it HARD. First the lost Shiro and now Lance!
• hunk is just begging whatever god are out there that this is just some sort of nightmare and that he’ll wake up from it at any moment. He still believes that Lance will come back to the team.
• Pidge is pretty upset, and thinks that if they got Shiro back, then maybe he can talk some sense into Lance and bring him back.
•Keith is LIVID. He can’t believe that Lance betrayed them, that he had said all those things about him, and just turn his back on the team. Keith believes that Lance has completely turned his back on them, that he isn’t coming back.
• Allura can’t figure out how to tell the team that Lance didn’t actually betray them.
• fast forward to a week or two after the ‘betrayal’ they face off against lotor again, and lance as well.
• somehow Lance and Keith are fighting on a catwalk, about 5-6 stories high. And Keith isn’t holding back. He goes on and on about how lance is a traitor, and how he didn’t deserve to be apart of Voltron
• it definitely hurts lance, but lance has pretty much figured out that Allura hasn’t been able to tell the team yet. But he can’t tell Keith, or else his cover is blown.
•Keith takes swing at lance with his bayard, and puts a huge gash in his face.
• Keith kicks lance into the railing, only for it and lance to fall. But lance is able to catch himself barely on the catwalk, but his hand is too slippery, cover in his blood.
•lance calls for Keith, to help him. Lance knows Keith would let him fall.
•Keith lets him fall.
•it’s either, Keith was in a sort of angry frenzy that he didn’t realize lance was calling for him until it was too late, or something else.
•either way, Keith is sure that Lance is dead, and leaves. Not able to look at the dead body.
•but lance isn’t dead. He’s close to it, but not there yet.
•Lotor finds him and has haggar save his life. Of course, lance doesn’t come out of it whole.
• he had to have his complete spine replaced with one of haggar’s prosthetics. He has a scar on his face from Keith, and his arm had to be replaced as well. But he’s alive.
• to say that Allura is relieved when she gets communication from Lance is an understatement. Especially after Keith told them all that Lance was dead.
• lance still sends information and warnings about certain attacks and plans that the Galra have for months.
• then finally the others find Shiro, and Allura is so glad because that means that not only is Shiro back, but that Lance will come back as well.
• Lance sneaks back on to the castle during a battle between Lotor and the team. (Carrying a flash drive with as much information about lotor and the Galra as it can hold)
• Allura calls a retreat and the other paladins go to the bridge once they have successfully wormholed out of there. You can definitely say that they are surprised to see her talking to some random guy who looks a lot like…oh my god it’s Lance!
•you can definitely say that there are some mixed emotions.
•hunk is so happy! He knew it! Lance was alive! He’s back! He’s going to be okay!
•pidge is kind of weary of it. She’s not sure what to think, he might be back, or it might be a trick.
• Shiro is just confused. the others didn’t tell him about Lance ‘betraying’ them, or that they thought he died. He’s just trying to figure out where Lance came from.
• Keith is drawing his bayard and putting himself in between lance and the others, ready to strike.
•of course NOW is when Allura finally tells them all that Lance was undercover and spying on the Galra. Of course their pissed that they didn’t tell them, mostly at Allura cause she was suppose to as soon as Lance was in.
• Keith now feels like he is the biggest screw up in the room, cause he sees the scar on lance’s face. He realizes that he left his friend to die, even if he was under he idea that he betrayed them. He sees how lance’s eyes go stone cold when he looks at him. He knows that he lost Lance’s trust.

Let Me Help

Spencer Reid x Reader (smut)

Requested: Yes. Anon: hey! I really love your blog and I was wondering if you could do a reid x reader where the reader has a wet dream about Spencer and she finally tells him about her dream after he asks her what’s wrong and it ends in smut?? thank you so much

Word Count: 3,589, Warnings: Swearing, NSFW, Oral Sex.

A/N: Oh my God okay so I went a little crazy on this one and it’s a full fledged long fic. I was writing this and I actually needed to take a break my palms were sweating because Reid is so fucking hot. Anyway, I hope you like it! Please let me know if you want a Part 2 ;)

- M xo

(Gif not mine, credit to owner)

Originally posted by hisirishsoufflegirl

Sprawled out on your bed, your naked form was being admired and touched by a handsome man. He glided his fingers up and down the sides of your thighs as he placed sensual kisses on your stomach. “God, you’re so beautiful.”, whispered Spencer. 

Wait what? Spencer? Hold on. Did you just have a wet dream about your nerdy co-worker?

You woke up in your bed covered in sweat as you tried to calm down your flustered state as you panted heavily trying to vaguely recollect the memories of the dream you had just had. It wasn’t a bad dream, in fact, it was amazing. You squeezed your thighs together in hopes of some sort of relief, but all you could do was think about the dream, which made your state even worse.

You sat there in silence as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. You’d been working at the BAU for 4 years now and you had never thought of Spencer that way. Sure he was tall, had gorgeous chiselled cheekbones and never failed to amaze you with his intelligent brain. Oh, God. Here you were thinking inappropriately about your co-worker at 3 in the morning when you had to be in for work at 7. There was no way you were going to act normal in front of him after this strange yet intoxicating image of you and Spencer practically having sex ingrained in your brain. All you could do was try to get back to sleep and hope that the flush would be over in the morning.

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@hellogarbagetime wanted to be mean to Tony, so here is Commander Rogers forgetting about Tony’s b-day. Happy birthday, Tony, enjoy.


Steve stumbled into his room, utterly exhausted. He looked at the pile of paperwork awaiting him and the vision of spending yet another evening on it was almost more painful than the bruises from his last Secret Avengers mission. It needed to be done, though, so he stripped out of his uniform and took a quick, hot shower to ease the lingering pain. Then, he splashed his face with cold water, and sat down to sign everything that needed signing.

When he was done, he looked at the clock and saw it was after nine … and he was late. He sighed. He was supposed to meet up with Tony, just pizza and movies, working on rebuilding their friendship—and he didn’t want not to go; everything between them was so fragile still.

But he was so tired. He’d probably just fall asleep and then Tony would be upset. He would be late anyway.

He fired off a quick text to Tony. Sorry, Shellhead, I’m beat—mind if I take a rain check on this movie?

The read icon flashed almost immediately, so he waited until Tony’s reply.

And waited.

Tony usually texted so fast Steve barely had time to look away from his screen when he finished his own message.

He’d gotten worried before Tony finally texted back, Sure. Just one word.

Huh. Maybe Tony forgot about their meeting himself, cooped up in his workshop. Steve was too exhausted to consider it further. He switched off his phone and went to sleep.

***

The following days, Steve was too busy between SHIELD and the occasional Avenging to write to Tony. Tony should understand, Steve excused himself, he was rebuilding his company, he knew what it was like to juggle too many jobs.

Mostly, Steve was scared of messing something else up. It was easier if Tony reached out first.

But Tony didn’t.

***

Steve was channel-surfing when he spotted Tony on tv and focused on the program.  Tony talked about Stark Resilient, their plans for the RT-powered car and more RT-tech in the future. Steve watched him fondly. He always liked seeing Tony talk about his projects. His whole face came alive, and he gestured, obviously excited.

“And that’s all for tonight,” the presenter said finally. “Thank you, Mister Stark – and we hope you had a good birthday!”

Tony smiled, but there was something off about it: he was no longer enthusiastic. This was his perfected press smile and Steve hated it. “Thank you.”

What could—

Oh. Oh.

Tony’s birthday.

Steve didn’t have to look at the calendar to confirm his sudden horrible realisation.

Of all the days he could’ve blown Tony off—he was an idiot. And he hadn’t even realised. Good job rebuilding friendship, Rogers.

He had to make it up to Tony.

His mind went into tactical mode. His first thought was, of course, to throw Tony the best party ever, but he discarded it quickly. Tony hadn’t prepared a party this year, no; he’d just invited Steve in for a quiet night.

Steve swallowed. He’d just invited Steve. Tony wanted to spend time on his birthday with Steve and Steve only.

Steve really hoped he wasn’t misinterpreting it.

***

Steve showed up on Tony’s doorstep the next day, a cardboard box with the sweetest chocolate cake he could find in New York in one hand, and a bouquet of red and richly yellow roses in the other.

“Wow,” Tony said at his sight. “Did I miss something?”

“I did,” Steve said. “I’m sorry.”

Tony shrugged. “No big deal,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at Steve. “I know you’re busy. I might not remember the job, but—”

I’m sorry,” Steve repeated. “I should’ve remembered.” He offered the flowers to Tony. “Happy birthday.”

Tony seemed uncertain as he accepted them, but he smiled. “I appreciate the colours,” he said, turning to walk inside.

“I also have a cake,” Steve said, following Tony.

“I hope you realise this means I’ll subject you to a Star Trek marathon while we eat every last crumble,” Tony joked.

“I hoped for that,” Steve said honestly. “And …”

He hesitated. He never used to hesitate with Tony, but maybe that was a good thing, maybe there could be a new beginning here too.

Tony put the flowers in a vase and turned to Steve, raising an eyebrow. “And?”

Don’t be a coward, Rogers.

Steve leant in and pressed a quick kiss to Tony’s lips before he could talk himself out of it.

Tony stared at him, wide-eyed and silent.

“I—” Steve started saying, but Tony shook his head to stop him.

“That’s your idea of a late birthday gift?” he asked.

Steve wasn’t sure what to say.

“You could at least make it a proper kiss,” Tony said. “If it’s the only one—”

“No,” Steve said. “Not the only one. Just the first.”

And then he leant in for the second. Tony met him half-way.

Another 100 Random RP Starters

- does include some swearing; feel free to edit when sending in an ask to fit character’s speech

  • “No. No, no, no. Don’t you dare try to pin the blame on me.”
  • “Did you even bother to think about the consequences?”
  • “Listen here you useless paperclip!”
  • “Meerkats are murderous little bastards.”
  • “For the record, I hate everything.”
  • “Do you even remember me?”
  • “Did you know the guy who wrote Sherlock Holmes may have killed a man?”
  • “I’m going to join NASA and fling myself into the sun.”
  • “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”
  • “Please don’t. Just… don’t.”

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sweeter than sugar (m)

Originally posted by life-ruiners

Words: 19,371.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader.

Genre: Sugar daddy au + fluff, smut.

Summary: Jungkook comes to you with a proposition to give you money in return for your company and all you know is that being spoiled has never felt so sweet before.

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@lumenlight prompted me, “Sterek AU where Stiles tries to seduce Derek but Derek has the habit of only dating older people (Jennifer, Kate …). So he says no to Stiles and Stiles is really disappointed but by chance he keeps seeing Derek and with time Derek realizes that he may have made a mistake?”

Hope you like it!! 

~4000 words, rated M. (I don’t usually write smut, but I felt like this was that kind of prompt.)

on ao3

Stiles usually doesn’t venture as far out of town as the Preserve—there’s not much out here but trees—but today that’s kind of the point. If he’s going to start up a jogging regimen to prep for lacrosse in the fall, he’s sure as hell not going to do it in his own neighborhood, where all his neighbors can (and will) watch him flailing around looking stupid.

He doesn’t actually end up jogging at all, though, because before he finds the trail he’d marked on his map, his Jeep abruptly sputters and dies on him right in the middle of the road. That’s also about when it starts raining.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles groans, hitting his head on the steering wheel a few times.

He pulls out his phone to call someone—his dad, a tow truck, Scott—and there’s no signal. Right. Because he wanted isolated, and he got it.

There’s no sound at all except the drumming of the rain on the roof of the Jeep, coming down harder and harder, taunting him for being such a fucking idiot.

He thinks about waiting it out, but who knows how long that could take, and if he doesn’t make it back home in time for dinner or at least get somewhere where he can make a phone call, then his dad is probably going to think he got eaten by a mountain lion or something.

“Fuck it,” he mutters. He pockets his phone and keys, grits his teeth, and jumps out into the downpour.

*

He has to walk for about twenty minutes before he finds any sign of civilization. It’s a house, or at least part of one. It’s tucked away down a long dirt driveway on the edge of the Preserve and looks sketchy as hell. It’s been burned, badly, and even though it looks like maybe someone’s been fixing it up, it’s still not exactly what Stiles would call habitable. Part of the charred roof is caved in, and most of the windows on the second floor are shattered, their jagged glass gleaming ominously in the dim light and the rain.

Stiles would assume it’s abandoned, except that there’s a shiny black Camaro parked out front. That at least looks well cared for.

It’s that detail, plus the rather compelling fact that this is probably the only house for at least a mile and Stiles can feel his feet starting to rub raw in his wet tennis shoes, that finally gives him the courage he needs to squelch his way through the mud and onto the porch to knock on the door.

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alphaandhismate  asked:

Hey Rachel got a question for ya. Do you think Stiles would feel inadequate compared to all the buff sexy werewolves and push himself​ to the breaking point trying to look like he belongs? Cause I have this headcanon where he decides to work out to make himself look like he belongs beside the wolves but it doesn't work out to well and he winds up doing more harm than good. Which upsets Derek when he finds out (because he loves the idiot but he won't admit it)

Aw I can absolutely see this. Stiles, already prone to insecurity and the feeling of not being good enough, slowly being worn down by that itching knowledge in his skull of being that he’s not as strong as any of his friends, not as attractive as any of his friends, and sure as hell not as useful as any of them, right? Sure, he’s smart. He knows that. But what the hell use is that in battle? He can’t dive in front of a bullet to keep the others from hurting, can’t stand beside the others and fight at anything close to their level.

And no matter how much he smirks at enemies’ jibes and plays off as enjoying being the group’s token human (”means I get to leave all the heavy lifting to you guys, right?”) it’s a feeling that would keep building up over time, pushing at the back of his skull every time the pack insists he be left behind on a certain mission, that he should stay where he’s safe, or gets offhandedly told he’ll just slow the others down. Every time they go running out in the preserve and he gets to sit behind and watch the car. Every time he goes out with the group and finds himself wondering what he looks like in everyone else’s eyes: this circle of beautiful beyond belief, supernaturally perfect people and then… him.

He couldn’t share his worries with the others –– Scott would get that worried look in his eyes and insist Stiles is perfect the way he is. Lydia might not share the same speed and strength as the others but she’s always been supernaturally beautiful, and she’s got her own banshee tricks to help out in a fight. So he keeps it inside, bottles it up… and he starts to push himself. Stays after school lifting weights until his limbs are wrecked from it, goes out running until his legs are shaking under him. Thinking one more lift, one more mile, one step closer to belonging.

And it starts working, too. He’s able to keep up with the pack sometimes, on their more casual runs. He’s gaining muscle, losing any last hints of baby fat. But there are hollowed shadows under his eyes too and he’s not eating enough, probably, but that’s fine. It’s fine when he wrestles with Liam and ends up with a purpled bruise blooming out across his ribs from a too-hard tackle. It’s fine that he can’t really sleep anymore because his muscles are always burning. It’s fine because he’s started looking at pictures of the group after pack events and almost seeing a group of people who fit together, not a handful of perfect people around a lanky, awkward him. Who the hell wouldn’t sacrifice a little comfort and the ability to lift his arms above his head for that?

.-

Derek’s the one who notices first, because of course he is. Drops in through the bedroom window one night like the supernatural stalking creeper he used to be, and finds Stiles collapsed to an exhausted heap against the side of his bed. Too tired and too sore to have stripped off his sweat-stained shirt or make it the extra step to lay down on it. He forces a smile when he spots Derek, but it’s more pained than it should be. Wavers at the edges. Derek ignores his opening jibe, doesn’t comment on the way Stiles tries to push himself up on unsteady palms and falters, a spasm of motion that starts and dies just as fast. Just moves silent, sits down next to him on the floor at the foot of the bed. There’s a world of words in his silence, a disapproving air Stiles can feel deep in his bones, and he finds himself saying “I’m fine,” low and head ducked, like it’s a lie.

It’s not a lie. But it’s not exactly true either, is it?

Derek’s eyes are on Stiles’ face now, flicking down his damp shirt, over his faintly trembling limbs, and it’s like he’s seeing too much suddenly, seeing through walls Stiles is too tired to pull up. People aren’t supposed to see him at this point in the day; they’re supposed to see him in the morning when he has the energy to grin and bounce and keep up with the rest of them like it’s effortless. They’re not supposed to see the tired bruises under his eyes or the way he shakes from hours of trying to hold himself at a werewolf’s level.

He wets his lips, a flash of frustration burning bitter through him.

“Look, I’m not strong like you guys.” It’s not news. It’s been a constant refrain for the past two years of his life, ever since Scott was bit and turned into a superhero sports star girl magnet and left Stiles standing awkwardly in his dust. Stiles couldn’t ask for the bite, Scott wouldn’t understand. And he doesn’t think he wants it either, not really. He doesn’t want the claws or the anchors or the pulls to the moon. He just wants to be able to keep up with them. Wants to not be the funny one in a group of supermodels. Doesn’t want to be the weak one in a group of heroes. Doesn’t want to be the one holding them back.

He bites over a frustrated sound, frowns at Derek’s faintly pinched brows, manages to lift one bone-dead arm and snaps out even more harshly: “I’m not… hot.”

It’s not the whole issue, it barely touches the issue, but it’s too much already and he scowls after he says it, daring Derek to snort or mock him or roll his eyes and agree, obviously, but that searching look only seems to sink deeper and Derek murmurs, “You’re wrong.”

Which is just… it’s worse than laughing. Because Stiles could handle people dismissing him, mocking him. He’s used to that. What he can’t take is Derek fucking Hale feeling so goddamned bad about his patheticness that he’s reduced to lying to try and comfort him.

“Oh, right, sure. I’m hot. You guys are all freaking Greek gods with all the muscle and the… faces.” He snorts, falling back against an overworked spine that protests the pressure. “You can’t even talk. You’ve always been the hottest person ever. You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be the one no one ever wants.”

Derek’s eyes flick down Stiles again, reassessing, and Stiles winces over the realization that Derek’s trying to find something, anything likable on his wiry frame.

Don’t––” He starts, because he physically cannot handle that, but Derek’s saying “You’re wrong,” again, and it’s soft and warm in a way that doesn’t sound like pity.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself feel it. The “oh yeah?” he shoots back is sure and challenging, almost smug in its confidence because maybe he’s not beautiful beyond all reason like the man next to him, maybe he’s not strong and desirable and wanted but at least he’s smart enough to realize that.

Derek lets out a growl of frustration and turns where he’s sitting, crowds in close with palms pressed to either side of Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles is on the edge of rolling his eyes because does Derek seriously think he can intimidate Stiles into changing his mind about himself, but then “you’re wrong” falls out a third time, a too-warm growl of a whisper, and Derek closes the space between their lips.

Stiles loses his conviction in the contact.

Derek’s hands move over him while they kiss, dragging soothing tips and scolding pinches over his wrecked muscles in ways that leave him groaning, touches sinking you’re beautiful and you’re wanted under his skin in ways the best words probably never could. Hands trail down to play across Stiles’ fingers, silently praising the cleverness of them. Beard-rough lips drift up to kiss across his temple and a warmth of admiration seems to melt into him with each press. And Stiles can barely move, arms aching protest as he lifts them to thread into Derek’s hair, body quivering in ways that shift between exhaustion and want.

When Derek finally leans back Stiles whimpers, wanting more but too worn down to chase him. But Derek’s watching him from inches away in the dark room, and there’s no reflected flaws in those dark eyes now. Just you’re beautiful, you’re wanted. You’re important

Stiles runs light thumbs down Derek’s beard, lets out a light laugh he barely recognizes.

“Guess I believe you,”

(And from now on, on nights when the pack goes out running, Stiles and Derek find a more interesting way to occupy themselves by the cars.)

anonymous asked:

Could you write some more supercorp? Just any supercorp? :) how about a jealousy fic where either kara or lena are jealous? And we could throw in some - I wasn't sure if you were going to assassinate me but I'm glad you didn't because I fell in love with you anyway... I'm really bad at this, sorry :D. I would be happy about any story if you have the time :) :) You are amazing, just like in general. I love your writing, delicately crafted and heart-wrenchingly beautiful!

“what on earth is this? and it must be from earth because this, this in front of me?” kara wiggles her finger slightly, somehow encompassing the entirety of the scene in front of her. “this is some earth bull crud.”

“bull crud?”

“don’t change the topic, lena! what is going on here?”

lena narrows her eyes for a moment, before a small annoyingly smug smile crosses her lips. her really nice lips. kara has to focus on something else. not her lips.

“supergirl, are you jealous?”

“what?”

“you’re jealous i got rescued by the guardian.”

“NO.” kara crosses her arms. to prove it, she turns to james and smiles. “thanks for rescuing her by the way, ja- guardian.” the guardian sets lena carefully on the ground and makes a very purposeful thumbs up before taking off around the corner. kara watches through the wall as he jumps into a van and takes off his helmet. if he’s going to be any kind of hero, kara should probably give him some lessons on disguises. sure she has some issues with secrets but at least she waits until she’s hidden before putting on her kara disguise.

“supergirl?”

“i can take you home, if you want,” kara offers. she doesn’t look right at lena because for some reason her insides are all twisty and uncomfortable. “or to the office.”

“supergirl…” kara folds her arms over her chest. lena sighs. “my office. please.”

normally, she would take her time flying lena anywhere. she likes to show her the city and let lena enjoy flying. today, she just wants to leave.

“is everything okay?” lena asks, and she steps in front of her mirror to pat down her hair. “supergirl?” she calls.

kara can still hear her, and the slight trace of hurt, even from several blocks away.

//

“hi kara, it’s lena. i was just wondering if we were still on for dinner tonight. there’s this new restaurant-”

kara presses the off button on the recording grumpily as she paces her living room. she is supposed to meet lena in, she checks her watch, seven minutes and she’s still not sure whether she’s going to go. she has no good reason not to except that her stomach still feels….weird.

people use that as an excuse all the time though, and it makes her stomach feel worse but she types out a message to lena and sends it.

-be there in five, comes lena’s reply and kara stares down at her phone with slowly dawning horror.

lena is coming to her home, where she is in fact not sick or ill or barely clinging to life as she may have implied in her message.

“i see you meant to join me tonight after all,” she says sweetly from the front door which, yeah, alex may be right in saying she should start locking that. “nice dress.”

“oh, uh, thank you.” kara glances down at the dress and flushes. it was the seventh one she had tried on, she’d been as nervous about this as she had with adam or james or- oh no.

“you don’t look sick,” lena says. “if you wanted to stay in tonight that’s all you had to say.”

“I-”

“unless you didn’t want to hang out at all.” lena rolls her eyes to the ceiling, shakes her head. “i’m sorry, how foolish of me. i’ll go-”

“no, no stay.” kara zips to the door, blocks it with her body. “you can stay.” she thinks she’s misreading the way lena is staring at her: a little bit amazed, a little bit in awe, and smug. mostly smug. which makes very little sense but lena makes everything senseless. or she makes kara senseless. kara doesn’t know which, because she doesn’t have the sense to figure it out.

“thank you. you can stop blocking the way, i know when i’m beaten,” lena says, and she places her handbag on the bench. “shall we order in?”

“yes. but no seafood, right?”

“that’s right.” lena looks surprised. “i’m allergic, how did you know?”

kara frowns. “you mentioned it last time we went out.”

“well now i know if i see any around that it’s no honest mistake but an assassination attempt.”

“why would i try to assassinate you?”

“who needs a reason?” lena laughs. “are you sure you’re feeling up to this? you don’t look very well.”

“i’m fine,” kara tells her. “are you alright? i heard you got saved by the guardian.”

“yeah.” she shrugs. seems to glance sideways to kara but why she would do that kara has no idea. “he was alright but supergirl catches me far more neatly. i have a bruise.”

“a BRUISE?”

“it’s alright, I’ll just make sure to never get into trouble without supergirl in the future.”

“good idea.” kara nods, the knot in her stomach dissolving. “good. yeah. she’s great, you do that.”

My opinion on the “James vs Snape” issue.

I love the HP fandom, but I just hate how in this fandom Snape gets more love than he deserves, meanwhile James Potter gets more hate than he will ever deserve. I can’t believe that it’s 2017 and people still believe Snape was a hero and James was a terrible person.

James Potter was a jerk when he was a teen and yes, he bullied Snape. But he was 15, and “a lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen”. Tell me that you weren’t an idiot sometimes at that age, I dare you.

If he was such a bad person, then why was he totally okay with Remus being a werewolf? He loved his friends like nobody else, and it’s canon. He became an unregistered animagi so that his werewolf friend wouldn’t have to suffer through the full moon alone.

Do you realize that when James Potter used Levicorpus on Snape, he had already been planning on becoming a death eater and had been trying to out Remus as a Werewolf? This is actual canon from DH.

You have to remember that even if James was an idiot, Snape was no saint either. Remus even said that Snape “never lost an opportunity to curse James”. In fact, it’s mentioned by anyone who talks about the marauders and Snape that the animosity and hexing between them was mutual, so don’t tell me that only James hexed Snape.  We don’t actually know how one-sided Snape’s bullying was. But if what Remus said it’s true, then it was mutual. Even if Snape’s worst memory is true as told,  this happened after he was openly associating with pureblood supremacists, dismissing the use of dark magic as ‘a joke’. 

You need to remember that James despised Dark Magic, and he couldn’t even just say the word “mudblood”. He was the complete opposite to a pureblood supremacist.

He grew up and became Head Boy. He matured, and did it enough for Lily to fall in love with him.

After school (possibly even in his final year), James grew up, and became part of the Order of the Phoenix as soon as he left Hogwarts. He realized what a douche he was to people and changed for the better. He joined the Order because there were innocent people dying for no reason, and he knew he could fight and help. He joined because he loved Lily and he wanted to make sure there was a future for them, a future where they could live happily ever after. And then he died trying to protect his family. He faced Lord Volvemort wandless, unarmed, so his wife and their baby could escape. James Potter was many things but he was not an idiot. He knew that facing Voldemort at that point would be the last thing he did, but did it anyway. He decided that Lily’s life, and Harry’s, was more important than his own. 

You have to rememeber that literally everybody from Hagrid to Lord Voldemort thought James Potter was a good and brave man. 

On the other hand, Snape called the girl he was ”in love with” a mudblood infront of the entire school. He directly verbally abused her with a racial slur and became involved in a movement that wanted to kill her and eradicate her kind. He chose to shatter their friendship because his ego was hurt that a girl was helping him, even though she probably was the only person who was nice to him. 

His treatment of Petunia was terrible. He’s been bullying people since before he even went to Hogwarts. Since he was little, he thought muggle-borns and muggles were inferior. 

He created a spell that could kill his enemies when he was at Hogwarts. And after that, he finally joined a terrorist organization that wanted to kill people like the woman he was supposed to be in love with. He probably killed and tortured people. He was a loyal Death Eater for multiple years.   

Snape may have loved Lily, but his love for her was selfish, seen in the fact that he was willing to let her husband and her infant child die. Actually, I don’t think he loved her. He was obsessed with her. Or at least, he loved the idea of her that was on his mind, not the real Lily Evans. If he had really loved her, he would have tried to save her family, knowing that she would suffer if they died. But he was willing to let a baby and an innocent man die if it meant he could save Lily. If it meant he could have her. 

And when Lily died to protect her child, he realized that he made the wrong decision and “changed”. He became a spy, and I know it was hard. I understand that. I acknowledge Snape’s efforts as a spy and his contributions to the war. In the end, he turned out to be a brave man who tried to rectify his mistakes. But that doesn’t really change how a terrible person he was.

He abused his students, he bullied them. He targeted Neville, knowing he already had self-esteem issues, knowing what happened to his parents.  He threatened to poison his pet. He consciously targeted someone he perceived as weak, to the point where he became Neville’s worst fear at age 13. A fucking teacher was his biggest fear, not the people that tortured his parents into madness. Don’t you see how fucked up is that?!

Snape body shamed and insulted Hermione, who was an intelligent and hardworking student (just like Lily). He made her cry. 

Yes, he tried to protect Harry, and saved his life more than once. But he also verbally abused him, a neglected, abused, orphan who had done nothing wrong but look like his dead father. A father that he didn’t even know, by the way. Snape mocked and insulted him at every turn. Snape did everything that he could to make Harry’s life miserable because it was his way to have his revenge against James. This is not a 15 years old boy bullying another, it’s a fucking 30 years old man abusing a kid because he couldn’t let it go his hate about a dead person.

He tried to have an innocent man killed because of what happened when they were 16. Yes, Sirius was an idiot for that, I’m not denying it, but he didn’t coerce Snape into doing anything. He just gave him information. It means that Snape, on his own, decided it would be a great idea to sneak into the Shrieking Shack just to prove that Remus was a werewolf. 

He caused Remus to lose his job after spending years suffering in poverty. He deliberately made Remus’ students to write an essay on how to spot and kill a werewolf, to emotionally attack and possibly out him as a werewolf. He later did out him to the entire wizarding world, just because he was angry because Sirius didn’t die.

After seeing the abuse Dursley’s inflicted on Harry, he thought it was funny and felt no sympathy. Harry was fifteen. The same age that Snape was when he was (supposedly) “bullied”. He didn’t care about the abuse, he didn’t see himself in Harry. He thought  it was funny. Fucking funny. 

Usually, people at 15 are jerks and bully each other. But teachers aren’t supossed to abuse kids. 

James Potter was a jackass, but he didn’t join the equivalent of a magical nazi organization when he left Hogwarts. He didn’t experiment with dark magic and he died protecting his family. He grew out of it. He was a good person in the end.

Snape only betrayed Voldemort because he was chasing after Lily. He only left the death eaters because he wanted to protect Lily, if Neville was the chosen one, he would remain in his position as a Death Eater.

So sorry if I prefer James over Snape all the way.

Concept: Mickey and Emil have been friends basically since they both began skating. They’re really close, and when I say close I mean HELLA. Sleepovers, friendship bracelet exchange when they were 12 (Emil still wears his outside of skating, and while Mickey will never admit it he still keeps his in his wallet of all places), the whole deal. Sara is also part of their friend group, but she’s definitely not as close to Emil as Mickey is.

And then puberty hits and Mickey suddenly becomes very aware of Emil and his closeness to Sara. In reality, nothing’s really changed, but he’s begun to get a weird tight feeling in his chest whenever he sees Emil smiling and laughing with Sara. He begins to be a lot more protective over Sara because that’s what it’s gotta be, right? Sara is getting prettier each year, and as her big brother he has a responsibility to keep men from taking advantage of her. Even if it’s Emil, who he’s known for years. Anyways, there’s nothing else this feeling can be, right? Right. Nothing more than protectiveness.

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Mirror For The Sun - Part 8: Change of Plans

Masterlist  -  Series Masterlist  -  Part 7 - Part 9

Summary: (Bucky POV) Nat tricks you into leading a road trip with Bucky, Sam and Steve. Her plot is partly to get the boys to travel for fun for once but mostly to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky, who seemingly despise each other.

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 3171

Author’s Note: Gah sorry this took so long. I’m already starting on prt 9, so hopefully it won’t be as long for the next one.

Originally posted by gliceria

This morning is a battle. It’s a battle to focus on really anything but Y/N. I’m just not sure what to make of any of this. I have no idea what she’s thinking while she flits around the campsite packing up the sleeping bags and tent while Sam works on breakfast. She doesn’t seem any warmer to me than she is to Sam, playfully dodging his reach when she steals a piece of bacon, or than when she grabs Steve’s arm to get an extra lift to push the tent bag on top of the car. I can’t figure out if this morning was just a weird thing in an emotional moment or if it was something more.

It’s also a battle over the next stop. She’s sitting stubbornly on the picnic table holding her atlas while Sam begs her to get in the car. Steve is rolling his eyes and I’m barely holding back my laughter.

“Come on! You’re being such a princess!” Sam scoffs, “Get in the car.”

“No! Vegas is not part of the plan!” She shouts back defiantly.

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you turn away (like i’m not here at all)

this came out way faster than i expected and way longer than i planned but anyway, this is based on this video by @vp-dot-png so credit to them for the basis and thanks for letting me use it (also if you listen to the song from the video - ‘phone down’ by lost kings ft. emily warren) - it’s like 10x better). i really needed a distraction from my current main project so this was really fun to do

[read it on ao3]


Lance finds Keith sitting in the dark in the computer room, the harsh blue light of his tablet casting shadows across his face. He stands in the entryway for a minute, watching Keith tap insistently at the screen, his legs folded underneath him and his hair unruly. He’s still wearing his paladin armor. Lance sighs and tugs his jacket tighter around himself.

“Keith,” he says. There’s no response. “Keith.”

Keith doesn’t jump, just twists around to glance at him, his gaze sort of vacant. There are dark bags under his eyes, the boy having barely slept in weeks (a fact Lance can personally confirm), his cheeks are sunken, and his face is paler than usual. “Oh, hey,” he says absently, turning back to the tablet screen.

Folding his arms across his chest, Lance steps into the room and leans against the wall. The boy in front of him looks so very different from the one Lance knew. Thought he knew. There’s something off about this the boy here, something vague and distant, like his whole existence is blurring around the edges. Something’s missing, like that one puzzle piece you realize you lost only after you’ve completed the rest of the puzzle.

He knows what’s happened to Keith, what’s happened to all of them, and he gets it, he does. Loss does horrible things to people. But he wasn’t prepared for this, for how hard this would be. For how much things would change. For how much Keith would change.

(He thinks he’s probably changed quite a lot, too, having been thrust, yet again, into the role of protector. He’s used to taking care of people, but this is different.)

He’d expected it to be better, now that they at least have a lead on Shiro’s whereabouts. It’s not much, barely more than a rumor, but it’s still a lead. And yet, Keith is still obsessing, like he’s been doing for weeks.

Lance sighs again. “What are you even doing in here?”

“Working,” Keith replies shortly.”You should try it sometime.”

“You don’t have to be an ass, Keith,” Lance says levelly, forcing himself to keep his voice casual. Forcing himself to stay calm. “We’re just worried about you.”

Keith’s fingers still on the tablet, but he refuses to look at Lance. “Who’s ‘we’? You’re the only one bothering me right now.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and his fingers go back to tap-tap-tapping.

Stop it, he thinks, wishing he had the courage to say it out loud. Stop treating me like I don’t mean anything to you.

“The others are worried about you, too,” he says instead, stepping towards Keith. “They just don’t have the energy to deal with your bullshit.”

“And I assume you do?” There’s a certain level of malice in Keith’s voice, a certain bite that used to be quite rare for Lance to hear, especially directed at him.

Whereas Lance is usually all bark and no bite, Keith has plenty of both and no qualms against using them.

“You know, Keith, I’m not sure I do,” Lance shoots back, and almost feels bad for it. But damn, maybe he isn’t up for this right now. Their last mission ended only hours ago, he hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours, and he hasn’t even bothered to eat yet. He’s tired, so very tired of living like this. He spends practically every minute of every day waiting for the other shoe to drop and it’s exhausting. “I just -”

Keith cuts him off, finally jerking around to glare at him. “You just what, Lance? Did you need something or are you just here to -”

“Would you stop?” Lance shouts, frustrated tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. “You’re acting like a goddamn brat, Keith, and it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Oh, fuck off, Lance,” Keith snaps back, running an angry hand through his hair.

“I’m worried about you!”

“So what, you think you’ll just give poor little Keith the ‘we care about you’ speech and earn your Good Samaritan points for the week? News flash, Lance, I don’t need your worry.”

Keith turns away from him again, and Lance can’t do anything but stare at him. Lance opens his mouth, closes it again. Clenches his hands into fists and buries his fingernails in his palms. Breathes in. Breathes out.

Says, “Look, Keith, I know you don’t want to hear anything I’ve got to say right now.” He ignores Keith’s not-so-subtle scoff. “But I can’t just sit here and watch you self-destruct.”

Keith doesn’t even respond.

Lance barrels on, gesturing wildly. “God, Keith, I wish I could leave you alone. I wish I could just walk away and let you fall apart, but I can’t! Because you’re falling apart and I’m trying to hold this goddamn team together! You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, and I get it, Keith. Shiro’s gone and we’re all hurting.

“I know he’s important to you and I know you’ve lost him before and I know you’re in pain, but this is important, Keith. You’re gonna kill yourself if you keep up like this.” Lance is crying by now, hot, angry tears streaming down his face. And he aches, he fucking aches, because this has been going on for weeks. He’s always been good at taking care of other people, but he can’t take care of someone who’s not willing to let him.

“We need you, Keith,” Lance says, pleading, begging for Keith to give him something here. “I need you.”

And that’s it - that’s all he’s got. He’s poured his heart out, he’s given everything he has to this boy who won’t even look at him, and there are no more tricks up his sleeve.

But Keith still doesn’t even acknowledge him.

And Lance knows he’s being selfish, he does. He doesn’t mean to be - his biggest concern here is that Keith is okay, that the whole team is okay, but buried underneath that is his desire for Keith to just talk to him. It doesn’t have to be about Shiro or his feelings or anything like that; he just wishes they could go back to talking and laughing and making dumb inside jokes and just being together.

He wishes Keith would at least look him in the eyes.

“Are you even listening?”

Keith waves his hand dismissively and mutters, “Whatever,” and Lance can’t take any more of this.

Throwing caution to the wind, Lance marches forward, grabs Keith’s wrist, yanks him around, and smashes their lips together in a bruising kiss.

The last thing he sees before his eyes shut is Keith’s eyes widening in shock. The kiss tastes of salty tears and the bloodstains of their latest battle. Their noses bump together and their teeth clash, but Lance doesn’t care. He buries one hand in Keith’s hair, uses the other to tug Keith closer by the collar of his armor. Keith’s free hand hovers at Lance’s shoulder, and then the tablet clatters to the floor and his other hand comes to rest on Lance’s hip.

Lance feels something loosen in his chest, like he can finally breathe again.

Keith pulls away after a moment and Lance has to force himself not to follow.

They’re inches apart, both breathing heavily and staring at each other’s lips. And Lance says, “Can’t you just…take a break? Come to bed. We can talk, or - or not talk! Whatever you want, Keith.”

He’s finally getting somewhere, he thinks. Keith is looking at him, really looking at him, without a hint of the iciness Lance has grown used to. There’s no distance between them, right now. For the moment, they breathe the same air, exist in each other’s space.

Lance is only just thinking, I missed this, when Keith steps back.

Keith’s expression hardens and his eyes grow distant once again; he turns away, pulling his hair into a ponytail as he does, saying, “Lance, I don’t - look, can we talk about this later?”

Lance makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. He’s been free-falling ever since this whole thing started, and Keith is supposed to be there to catch him.

Thing is, Keith is there. He just hasn’t noticed that Lance is falling.

With a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh, Lance rakes his fingers through his hair, practically yanking strands out of his head. He should just let him go. Surely it would hurt less than this.

But his feet are moving before he can stop himself and he’s yelling before he even knows what he wants to say.

“What could be so goddamn important, Keith, that it can’t wait until the morning?” Keith turns to him in surprise, takes an almost automatic step backwards, effectively trapping himself between Lance and the table behind him. “We have a lead already, you can stop obsessing for five minutes! You’re scared and upset, I get that, but you can’t take it out on everyone else! On me.”

“I didn’t -”

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it, Keith!” Lance throws his hands up in frustration. Keith is looking at him like he’s the one who’s unrecognizable, even though it’s the other way around. “Shiro’s gone, but we’re still here. I’m right here and it’s like you’re looking through me.”

“Please, Keith,” Lance says softly, lacing his fingers through Keith’s and holding their hands up between the two of them. Keith’s eyes follow the movement, skirt over Lance’s face, and finally settle on a spot just above Lance’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and doesn’t sound very sorry at all. He sounds far away, even now. “You should go to bed.”

“Like you care about my wellbeing.”

“I do.” He says it so fiercely that Lance almost believes him. Keith bends to pick up his tablet, pulling his hand out of Lance’s, and when he stands back up, his shoulders are hunched. “I hear you, I do, I just - I can’t do this right now.”

“You’re hearing me -” Lance shakes his head in disbelief  “- but you’re still not listening.”

Keith scoffs and says tiredly, “I really don’t have time for this right now, Lance.”

Lance rubs at his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling, and thinks back to before. Before Shiro disappeared, before Keith started shutting him out, before all of this. He can see Keith’s bright smile, saved just for him, and he can hear Keith’s laugh, the unrestrained one that he only lets Lance hear, bubbling up in the confines of one of their bedrooms.

He stares at the collar of Keith’s armor  for a long moment. Closes his eyes. And gives up.

“Fine,” Lance says, lets his arms drop back to his sides. He blinks back a new wave of tears, sets his jaw, lifts his chin, and tries not to let his voice waver. “Let me know when you decide to stop treating me like something stuck on the bottom of your shoe.”

Despite himself, he can’t bring himself to move without giving Keith a chance to reply. When he doesn’t, Lance turns jerkily, unsteadily on his heel. He makes it halfway to the door before pausing.

He’s a little hysterical and more than a little pissed off when he calls, voice sing-songy and silky sweet, “Or, y’know, don’t! Whatever floats your boat, Keithy-boy!” He looks over his shoulder to find Keith leaning on the desk, tablet lying a few feet away from him, forgotten.

“I’m done,” he says to the back of Keith’s head and walks out of the room.

He doesn’t see Keith turn at the sound of the door opening, and he doesn’t hear Keith say his name as the door shuts.

Lance isn’t sure he would’ve looked back anyway.

inimitablebiscuit  asked:

Erm Flintwood please if you're still doing 150. * Winning smile *

pairing: marcus flint x oliver wood

setting: modern, non-magical, soulmates-at-first-touch au

word count: 1394


Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet.

Wait.

No.  

It’s worse than that.

Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet, the flats of his knuckles crunching against the guy’s jaw, hard enough to draw blood and leave a mark and hurt—and then there’s a strange fluttering sensation erupting in the pit of Marcus’s stomach, a comforting, calming warmth suffusing the blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones and it’s exactly like how they’d described it in Health class, the awareness—the connection—slotting into place so seamlessly that he’s astonished he’d never noticed something missing before now.  

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus blurts out. “Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Marcus’s soulmate—who’s tall and lean and has the prettiest brown eyes, what the shit—is just sprawled out on the dirty arena floor, blinking and blinking and prodding gingerly at the bruise that’s already beginning to blossom—

“No,” the guy says firmly. “This isn’t happening.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus immediately snaps. “I rejected you first.”

The guy snorts, kind of irritatingly sarcastic, before grimacing. His emotions, so far as Marcus can tell, are all over the place; shock and dismay and frustration and—very, very deeply—a flickering, almost unwilling tremor of interest.  

“It wouldn’t work, anyway,” the guy goes on, more loudly. “You have terrible opinions about hockey.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus snaps again. “You’re the one in the shitty jersey.”

“He’s won three Cups.”

“Yeah, and he was a fucking healthy scratch for two of them,” Marcus retorts. “Try again.”

“Hockey is a team sport,” the guy says hotly. “It isn't—it isn’t about individual accomplishments.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he drawls, “but your shitty jersey is still shitty.”

The guy’s mouth falls open, and Marcus can feel the sour note of his indignation—the jagged spike of his outrage—as clearly as if it were his own. “Jesus fucking Christ,” the guy sputters, shaking his head like he’s got a nervous tic. “What are you so—what are you so angry about?”

Marcus raises his eyebrows. “Um,” he says slowly, because, really, what the shit, “I’m not angry. I’m confused.”

“No.” The guy frowns. “You’re definitely angry. I feel it, like—” He gestures vaguely to his chest and upper abdomen. “Right there. Like heartburn.”

Marcus’s nostrils flare, and he scratches viciously at the side of his neck to distract himself from the fact that this complete fucking stranger with boy band hair and, and Bambi eyes is apparently better at deciphering Marcus’s emotions than Marcus is.  

“Oh, hell,” the guy sighs, “now you're—embarrassed, don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to—hey, come on, where are you—where are you going? You can’t just—hey! Come back!”

Marcus does not come back.

And the ensuing wave of regret that pulses through Marcus’s sternum is lukewarm and salty and depressingly difficult to pinpoint the origins of.

It’s not his, he thinks stubbornly.

Probably.


Marcus lasts two and a half days before the persistent invisible tugging at his gut becomes too annoying to bear.

He follows it.

He follows it to a bench in Riverside Park that’s near where the gross little fish and chips stand is, and the scent of old frying oil undercut by whatever the fuck is currently decomposing in the Hudson is—less nauseating than it arguably fucking should be, seriously, what the shit.

But—

His soulmate, his soulmate, is sitting with his legs spread obnoxiously wide, wrists crossed and hands dangling in his lap, squinting intently up at the clouds like he’s waiting for them to tell him what to do next. It’s endearing. Maybe. Marcus’s stomach is in knots—a tangled mess of dread and unease and, abruptly, relief.

“Oh,” the guy says, quirking his lips into something that Marcus chooses to generously describe as a smile. The bruise on the guy’s jaw is a lurid, chalky looking violet, partially obscured by the auburn of his stubble. “You found me.”

“Of course I fucking found you,” Marcus says, dropping down next to him. Their knees brush, just for a moment, and it’s like—lightning, bright and fierce and sizzling, coiling around the base of his spine. “There’s been this—this buzzing, in the back of my head—”

“Yeah,” the guy interjects glumly. “I know. I would've—if you hadn’t. I would’ve tried to find you.” He pauses. “I missed you, I guess, which is—weird.”

Marcus scowls down at the sidewalk. There’s a crack in the cement, and it’s dirty, gritty with loose gravel around the edges, splintering off into a dozen hairline fractures before disappearing into the grass. He can feel his own surprise at the guy’s admission, and it’s so—uncomfortable, knowing that there’s nothing he can hide behind. Making himself smaller, holding himself still; they’re not antidotes for anything, not anymore, and this guy—his soulmate—he’s got a rabbit-fast heartbeat and an intimidatingly focused way of feeling things. Marcus wonders how he’s supposed to get used to that.  

“I’m Marcus,” he eventually offers, voice emerging gruffer than he’d have liked. “My name, I mean. It's—Marcus.”

The guy turns, slightly, to look over at Marcus. “Oliver. I’m Oliver.” He hesitates before he goes on, sounding nonplussed, “I still can’t believe you fucking hit me. Over a jersey.”

Marcus huffs. “It’s a really shitty jersey.”

Oliver grins, short and sweet and self-deprecating, before nudging at Marcus’s ribs with the point of his elbow. “I’ve, uh. I’ve been told I’ve got kind of a…bad habit of, of taking things too seriously.” His mouth twists, and the stabbing ache of some long-ago insult, or argument; it lances through the pads of Marcus’s fingers, stinging and sharp. “Obsessive. That’s what—I dunno. That’s what I’ve been told. I can be…obsessive. About—whatever.”

“Obsessive,” Marcus repeats, shaking out his hand. “That’s your—one big fault. Enthusiasm.”

Oliver shrugs, easy and casual, like it doesn’t matter, like Marcus can’t literally feel the crippling uncertainty—the tension, swampy and thick—weighing down his limbs. “Enthusiasm is…too nice of a word for it, I think.”

“Bullshit,” Marcus hears himself say, with absolutely zero fucking direction from his brain, or his conscience, or his admittedly flimsy sense of self-preservation. “Enthusiasm is the perfect fucking word for it.”

Oliver startles, slightly, eyes widening a fraction. There’s a coolly refreshing burst of—happiness, maybe; gratitude, definitely—coating the back of Marcus’s tongue. Citrus. Summer. Chlorine and coconut. It’s fucking nice.

“Oh. Um. Okay,” Oliver says, haltingly. “Thanks.”

A tentative silence descends between them on the bench. Marcus drums his fingers against the inseam of his jeans, jiggling his foot and glaring at a rotting spear of tree bark and swallowing around a metallic-tasting lump in his throat that he instinctively wants to label curiosity.  

“Sorry,” Marcus grunts, slouching forward. “About the—hitting you. I just—sorry. I was angry. I get angry.”

Oliver stares at him, bottom lip clutched between his teeth, and there’s a swirl of something taking root in his lungs, something chewy and rich, like caramel, so that every breath he takes in is like burnt brown sugar crystallizing against the roof of his mouth, but then there’s more, too, a champagne bubble pop of amusement, and—

“It’s alright,” Oliver says wryly. “I heard I was wearing a pretty shitty jersey.”

Marcus snorts, and then groans, and then laughs, almost despite himself, before confessing, as quietly as he can manage—  

“Yeah, I’m…not really sorry, anyway.”


The things I do for you people.

I wrote a Darkiplier x Reader fic for the @darkiplier-support-group charity event, and since we smashed our goals, I would be wrong not to post it.

First of all, this is based off of the idea of @ask-sadisticdark, and I thought it would be interesting to write a lot of angst and a liiiiiittle bit of fluff based on someone who can’t feel love. The quick disclaimer is that I am obviously not supporting abuse in relationships by writing this.

Second, I write, but I haven’t publicly written a “fic” since I was a preteen. 

Third, Don’t make fun of me too much for this. It’s for charity, okay?!

And no, there’s no smut, you sinners.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can we get the RFA trying to comfort an MC who feels inadequate joining the RFA because everyone's so accomplished in there (either rich, a genius, or talented tbh) and she was just kind of thrown in because of Unknown? I'm sorry if that's oddly specific, but I just had that thought earlier and I love your scenarios/imagines. Thanks~!!!

i’m such a huge piece of shit for taking this long. i have over 60 requests. i suck ass. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry but like i have other stuff i need to do and inspiration just doesn’t come and it would turn out really shitty otherwise. oH, and thank you so much! and also, it was kind of easy to write this since i can kind of relate. i’ve been feeling like that lately.


Two days ago, the entire RFA attended an interview since the association started getting more and more attention with each passing day. Your actions not going unnoticed by the world, so it was only natural for the world to want to know more about all of you.

You were ecstatic about the interview.

They started with Jumin, CEO of C&R International, who was followed by Zen, renowned and incredibly talented actor, then Jaehee, (was/is) head assistant at C&R International and an incredibly hard working woman. After her, they started interviewing Yoosung, who was now an incredible student at one of the most prestigious universities in Korea and who had an extremely bright future. 

Seven decided not to take part in the interview for security reasons, but he was a genius and the brains behind the app and security of the organization. But everyone knew he was essential to the RFA. 

Finally, it was your turn to be interviewed. You had the possible answers for the interview well-rehearsed thanks to Zen. Everyone had done an amazing job which only made you strive for perfection.

How did you join the RFA?”

“What do you do for the organization?”

“Is it true that you took the last Coordinator’s place?”

“Do you think you’re living up to the last Coordinator’s prestigious reputation?”

You noticed that the questions started getting harsher and harsher, and it wasn’t until some technical difficulties with the lights and sound, that the interview came to an end.

You were sure Seven had something to do with it. 

Your friends and lover weren’t dumb, they noticed the anxiety that soon started suffocating you thanks to your body language. Zen was the first one to notice, so when the interviewer asked if they could continue the interview elsewhere, he intervened and told her in his ever-charming way that they were unable to stay any longer. 

It didn’t surprise you when the interviewer and the producers decided to call it a day.

You were finally home. Everyone was gone because they all had work to do and you conveniently had a day off.

Sitting on the couch, you started going over the interview and it suddenly hit you.

You weren’t worthy of being in the RFA.

There was a sudden tightness around your throat as the fact that the only reason you joined was because you had to. That the only reason you were part of this amazing organization was because you had been dumb enough to listen to a stranger and go deliver a phone that wasn’t even yours. The only thing you did was put yourself and the entire organization at risk.

You were not special.

You were nothing.

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The Dare

“Let me get this straight they dared you to kiss me?” Bakugou was leaning against his doorframe. He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s a load of shit. Why the hell would they dare you to kiss me?”

Uraraka nervously twiddled her fingers. “You’re right. It is kind of silly, but I um-” she bit her lip.

“Spit it out.”

“I don’t want to fail the dare!” she clenched her fists. She went on saying that this was one of the easier dares of the night.

“Well why the hell didn’t you pick truth?!” Bakugou retorted, turning to go back in his room.

“WHAT WUSS PICKS TRUTH?!” Uraraka blurted before covering her mouth. Bakugou stopped. He took a deep breath before turning to face her again. He had a slight smirk on his face.

“So you think people who choose truth over dare are wusses, huh?” He laughed. Uraraka felt her face redden, but nodded. “Better make it quick before I change my mind. Because I don’t have time for this.” It took a moment before his words registered to her.

Uraraka nervously approached him. She stood on her tiptoes. She closed her eyes as she pressed her lips to his. His lips were surprisingly soft.

Bakugou’s body stiffened for a moment. His fight or flight response was kicking in. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

“Psssst bro, you’re supposed to close your eyes!” Kirishima whispered from across the hall. He gave the blonde a cheeky grin and flashed a thumbs up.

Bakugou shot him a look that said ‘You’re dead after this is over.’ but took the red head’s advice.

Everything melted away for a moment. The gentle pressure against his lips was the only thing he was aware of. She tasted like cherries.

Then it was over. Uraraka backed away sheepishly rubbing her neck. “Sorry about that, but thanks for letting me do the dare.”

Bakugou felt his face burning. “Yeah whatever.” he turned hiding his face from her.

Cheering started as the other students, who were watching the dare unfold, came out of their hiding places.

“Man your face is so red Bakugou, are you okay?” Kirishima snickered.

“Does this mean you enjoyed the kissss?” Kaminari sang.

“It means YOU’RE DEAD!” Bakugou roared and charged the troublesome duo.

“You did it!” Mina cried as she threw her arms around Uraraka.

“I’m surprised he let you go through with it.” Tsuyu commented.

“Anyway so how was it?” Mina pressed. “Is he a good kisser?”

Uraraka’s face turned a deep red. Momo interjected. “Girls, give her some space. She can tell us all about the little kiss later. But we really should be heading back downstairs.”

“WAY AHEAD OF YOU!” Kaminari cried, trying to hurry up and close the elevator before Bakugou reached Kirishima and him.

“Hurryuphurryuphurryup!” Kirishima whispered, rapidly tapping the close door button. Both boys let out a sigh of relief as the doors began to close. That is until Bakugou’s hand wedged between the door stopping it from closing fully. “OH GOD!”

The girls were laughing on their way downstairs. Maybe Bakugou would join their game sometime.

I need a fic now where before the fight with Rhea, Kara gives the necklace to Cat for safekeeping in case she doesn’t make it.”- thank @xy0009 who graciously let me write this for her 


“Aren’t you supposed to be out pummeling that alien queen into the concrete?” Cat asked, watching Supergirl land gently on her balcony.

“I am, soon. Sooner than soon,” Kara said, looking at the countdown that was playing on the corner of all the screens behind Cat’s desk. Fifteen minutes left. “I just had a talk with Kal. Er, Superman.”

Cat’s eyebrow lifted at the accidental name drop, tucking away the information for… nothing, probably. She couldn’t exactly start printing every little slip up Kara made in her presence. But it was always nice to know more than other people. “Did he give you some tips on not getting snatched by that god-awful cape?”

“No, although that would be helpful if he had any,” Kara said, twisting the end of her cape anxiously around her arm. “He just said some stuff about… about fighting for people that you cared about. His girlfriend, mostly.”

“Superman has a girlfriend?” Cat asked, sidetracked for a moment at the thought of Lois Lane finding out that her precious superhero was going home to someone else.

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Of Loyalty and Duty

Prompt: In an effort to save two kingdoms, an arranged marriage was made. At his request, Prince Lin-Manuel Miranda was to be wed to you, the youngest daughter in your royal family. RoyalAU. Written for the hamwriters write-a-thon Day 1.

Pairing: Lin x reader

Words: a whopping 5,803.

A/N: Hate me if it’s too AU, it’s okay. I was nervous as hell to post this, but thanks for several special people (you know who you are) I continued and went along with the idea. I didn’t realize it would turn into this monster. I had too much fun writing this and I WILL continue it after the write-a-thon. I didn’t send this to my beta to proofread because I’m stupid and I get too excited to share my work, especially when I feel really proud of it. Cheers to @hamwriters for setting this whole thing up, letting me explore the limits to my writing, and bringing the community together as a whole. I will try my best to finish out the week without my brain exploding. As always, let me know what you guys think. <3 Lola


You blinked back the tears that threatened to fall as you surveyed the scenery outside the carriage. You had to admit that it was beautiful -  you’d never seen the leaves in such various colors nor fields of farms that expanded beyond the horizon. While the Miranda kingdom focused on agriculture, industry was predominant in your kingdom so the view was unfamiliar to you.

You angrily swiped at the tears that escaped your treacherous eyes. In less than two weeks, you were going to be ripped away from the place that you’d called home. The population of the Miranda kingdom was increasing exponentially and they lacked the technology to produce enough food for their people. Your parents, despite their indifference to the Miranda’s, offered them an accord: in exchange for the industrial secrets that would help them prosper, the Miranda kingdom must give them military aid if the hostile empire from the North decided to attack. The treaty took days to settle, but in the end an agreement was made.

However, there was one caveat: Prince Lin-Manuel Miranda was to be wed to you.

Your hands balled into fists at the thought of the Prince. You’d met him on several occasions, but your most recent encounter with him was forever burned into your memory. You attended a wedding with your two older sisters at a neighboring kingdom and the celebration feast was just as glamorous and lavish as the ceremony. Prince Lin-Manuel was the life of the party, batting his long lashes while he flirted and danced with the women on the ballroom floor. When he came to greet you, you felt woozy, having consumed endless glasses of wine, and he managed to convince you to dance. He twirled and chatted you up the rest of the night, shooing away others who wanted a chance with him. Before you knew it, he was tugging you along the corridors of the castle, hands fumbling against the corset of your dress and his lips hungrily kissing yours.

Heat crept up your neck, still vividly remembering when another guest stumbled upon the two of you. You were mortified – you were a good girl, you didn’t do those types of things, especially with a playboy like him – and promptly shoved him to the ground. He lets out a shout of surprise and you turned and ran back to the ballroom, begging your sisters to leave with you.

When your parents broke the news of the treaty to you, you were furious. How dare they choose who you married?! You wanted to marry a man that you loved, not some fool who chased after women like it was his profession. You became even more angry when they told you that he gave his parents an ultimatum, demanding that he was to be married to you and not either of your sisters. You were convinced that he only did that to infuriate and toy with you, a payback of sorts from that night.

The carriage slowed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You craned your neck out the window, staring as the gates to the castle swung open, allowing your carriage to enter.

“All I’m asking of you is to be on your best behavior tonight,” you father murmured across from you, “It would be beneficial to you if you treat them kindly, considering that you’ll be living with them from now on.”

Your mother, who sat next to him, reached over and placed her hand over your clenched fists. “I know this isn’t the most ideal situation for you, but please, think of the future of our kingdom. We would be doomed if it wasn’t for you.”

You stayed silent. You had fought a long and futile battle with your parents about the arrangement. As the youngest of three, you were less involved with politics and lived life as freely as you liked within the castle. Your eldest sister had the daunting duty of leading the people of the kingdom, a position that you were not jealous of. But now that you were to be wed to a future King, your dreams of being free from the responsibilities that came with royalty were shattered.

But your parents were right.

Your people would die if you chose to refuse the engagement. The military was too small and would be outnumbered and overpowered if the North attacked. You needed the help from the Miranda’s.

You took a deep breath. “I will try my best.”

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I'm A Good Listener

Originally posted by noahsweetwne

I needed to write something for Jughead I apologize. Anyway this is a small drabble about a reader who’s been feeling a bit sad lately but is scared to talk about it. I don’t know if it’s just me but a lot of time I feel like I have to hide a lot of my emotions with a smile or laugh. That’s kind of what the readers going through. Hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Jughead Jones x reader
Warnings: hints towards mental illness
Fandom: Riverdale

“Rough day?”.
You turned to see your best friend Jughead jogging to catch up with you. You gave him a wary smile.

“Could have been better” you admitted adjusting the strap of your backpack. If you wanted to go into even more detail today had been dreadful. You almost weren’t sure if you’d make it through the entire day but you didn’t want to worry Jughead with your problems. Besides you’ve always been the happy person. It would be out of character to show that you were upset.

“Want me to walk home with you?”.

“You don’t have to”.

“I’m heading that way anyway. Come on” Jughead encouraged starting to walk. You hesitated but soon followed him.
“I haven’t really talked to you much today” Jughead randomly brought up, after a few minutes of walking in silence.

“Oh yeah I just sort of… wanted to be alone I guess”.
Jughead raised an eyebrow at this.
“It’s nothing really. I know I’ve been a bit off lately but really I’m… fine”.

“[Y/N] we’ve been friends for a long time right?”.

“I suppose so”.

“Then please don’t talk to me like I’m stupid and don’t know you at all” Jughead said stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, making you freeze along with him. You weren’t sure how to respond so with a sigh Jughead continued.
“Whatever’s bothering you, you can talk to me about it”.

“Jug…” you looked away feeling as if you couldn’t meet his eyes without bursting into tears “I just didn’t want to bother you with my problems”.

“Are you serious? Jesus [Y/N] who do you think Archie comes to with most of his problems? By now I think I’m a pretty good listener”.

You let out a half hearted smile. Damn you Jughead Jones. Even in the toughest of times he made you laugh or smile. Sadly the happy mood quickly passed and you became serious again.

“I ah. You’re right I’m not okay. I haven’t been for a long time Jug”.
You looked down at your feet but to your shock Jughead took your hand in his unexpectedly and held it tight.

“[Y/N] you have a lot of friends you know. I’m sure I’m you favourite but we’ll save that discussion for another day… it’s okay to be sad. No ones asking for you to be happy all the time”.
Yet again you were able to let out a small chuckle.
“I’m your friend remember? I’m going to be here for you for as long as you’ll put up with me. I’ll be here when you need to talk”.

A small smile made its way across your face. It wasn’t fake this time however, it was a genuine smile of relief. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t taste a few of your salty tears that had managed to finally escape your eyes. It felt good to cry though. You needed to let it out.

“I don’t know what I would do without you”.

Jughead smirk/smiled at you.
“Come on let’s get you home huh?”.
He pulled you along and right then you noticed that he was still holding your hand protectively in his. He didn’t give any sign that he was going to let go either.

I know this is technically a day late, but let’s pretend I totally posted this yesterday… 

Neil starts outlining a plan in his head as he ducks between students and buildings. Group projects are the bane of his existence, but he has to do them if he wants to pass, and he has to pass if he wants to be eligible to keep playing Exy. At least this time Joseph Peters isn’t in his group, but he still prefers individual assignments. The faster he gets his five slides done, the less he has to interact with the group.

Neil cuts across the Green because it’s faster, but he has to weave through a sea of bodies. The warmer weather of spring has drawn out many students from their hoards in the library. From sunbathers to studiers, the grass is now marred by waves and waves of bright colors and tanned skin. The combination of laughter and the singing of nearby birds tangle together in the air like a tangible cacophony, and the rays of the sun lick down along the ground, creating a blissful atmosphere.

Neil sidesteps around a group of sorority girls and ducks to avoid getting in the middle of an ultimate frisbee game. By the time he makes it Perimeter Road, the crowds have thinned out, and it’s easy to cross the road and head up towards Fox Tower.

His dorm is dark when Neil unlocks the door. For some reason all of the lights have been turned off, and it instantly strikes Neil as odd. He knows he can double check the schedule taped to the fridge, but he distinctly remembers Nicky’s class getting out earlier than his. Even stranger still is the fact that someone has blocked out the windows, so only a few straggling bands of light seep in. The stark darkness puts Neil on edge, settling deep in his chest and making waves of anxiety begin to churn. He knows it’s been three years, that there’s no need to run anymore, but that doesn’t stop the disquiet in his bones or ease the itch now sparking in his muscles. He’s considering heading up to the roof and texting Andrew when the lights flick on.

“Surprise!”

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