in their lives they have found nothing that engages them quite as much as each other

SugarDaddy!Cal Pt. 7

Sorry for the long wait you guys. I wrote this chapter while eating grilled cheese sandwiches and a cup of sweet tea lmaoo. As always don’t be shy to send me feedback and I need 100 notes for the next chapter, but I’m sure you know this by now.


One/ Two/ Three/ Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/
Sixteen/ Seventeen/ Eighteen/ Nineteen/Twenty{END}

The first thing you felt when you woke up was pain. Excruciating pounding in your head to be exact. Just the slightest movement made it worse and you silently vowed to never drink again, although you knew for a fact you were lying. You got a whiff of the scent of waffles and shot up, rushing to the bathroom to empty your stomach from the alcohol and the small bit of food you consumed the night before. God, did you feel awful.

You flushed the toilet and sat on the cool tile floors for a moment, deciding on whether you were strong enough to stand or not. It was then you realized that you were staring into Calum’s room after noticing the messiness and his navy blue and grey duvet hanging halfway on the floor. You stood up and grabbed your spare toothbrush to clean away the horrendous taste that was left in your mouth. After you splashed your face with cold water a couple of times, you decided to go find Calum. It had to be at least eleven or twelve, because usually Calum would still be asleep beside you when you woke up.

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Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 10

Alright my lovelies! @outlandishchridhe is still busy doing her awesome nurse-y things, so we haven’t had a chance to plot anything for Vegas. But… I’ve got a bit of Red Jamie written, so I thought I’d spoil you all. Just remember, you asked for this. You’ll get 10 today and 11 on Thursday. But then you’ll have a full week to wait for 12. @diversemediums is a total rockstar and I love her brain. We’ve come up with some really great plans for the future of this series. Enjoy!

Catch up on part 9 HERE

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Make Me Happy (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Bucky Soulmate AU: you have your soulmate’s handprint tattoed onto your body in the place where they first touch your skin. [~3800 words]

warning: language, also: fluff

Originally posted by enochianess

Growing up, Bucky had always kept his soulmark hidden. Not even Steve had seen it, which stung a little bit, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t even trust his best friend enough to show it. He had assumed that it was in a place which made Bucky uncomfortable, but still. It’s not like he would have laughed or teased him about it.

 The truth is that Bucky never had a soulmark.

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PDA - Peter Parker x Reader

Originally posted by irenelair

A/N: !!PLEASE READ THIS IF YOU’RE REALLY INTO OOP!! I’m going to be skipping over OOP for now (I usually do a request/other story and then a chapter of OOP but I’m going straight to a request bc I want to.)

Request: (by anon) Ok so I was wondering if I could request a Peter Parker x reader imagine where the reader and Peter are both living at the tower and dating and like they get caught showing PDA all the time by all the avengers so they convince the two to have a bet to see how long they can go without kissing and stuff (pssst…my prompt lists are 1 , 2 please specify which list you are requesting from)

Warning: cursing, fluff, oh god, so much fluff, food, love actually, making out

Words: 1398

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The Countdown

Don’t let the first line confuse you; this story is completely Destiel ;)

Ten hours. Ten hours until he married Crowley.

Castiel glanced down at the engagement ring on his hand, smiling softly. He knew that he was up way too early; he should try to go back to sleep so he could rest up for the big day ahead. All of the wedding magazines said to get as much rest as possible. But he found he couldn’t. He was too excited, and it’s not like he could just shut it off.

Plopping down onto the bed, his eyes studied his spackled ceiling. It was the same ceiling he’d been staring at since he was a young kid merely speculating about this distant moment. So much had changed since those juvenile speculations. He was older now, wiser. He knew that the man who’d starred in those early visions was just a fantasy. Here and now, in reality, he knew that, that…that man would never be the man Cas would say “I do” to. That man was just a fantasy, and Cas was here in reality.

Nine hours. Nine hours until he married Crowley.

Dean stared down at the phone in his hand, willing for the courage to rise. He needed to tell Cas. He needed to tell him now, before it was too late. He couldn’t leave it unsaid, not any longer. He’d been running for long enough. It was time to stop running and stand.

Eight hours. Eight hours until he married Crowley.

           Naomi gazed lovingly at the scrapbook opened across her lap, her fingers brushing reverently over the glossy photo of the young boy with dark hair hugging the young boy with the green eyes and the smudged face. Naomi had watched them both grow up, the neighbor kids, always in and out of each other’s lives. At one time both Naomi and Mary had thought … but that didn’t matter anymore. Things had turned out so differently than they’d ever planned.

           The young, dark haired boy would marry in eight hours, someone who was not in any of these childhood photos with him. But that was okay. Naomi already had a new scrapbook prepared for the photos that would come, photos of anniversaries and children and pets and vacations. Photos of a different life would fill the new scrapbook. Naomi felt a wisp of sadness, a tiny little pang at the thought that the new scrapbook wouldn’t have any pictures of the boy with the smudged face.

Seven hours. Seven hours until he married Crowley.

Michael sat in the garage, shining the barrel on his shotgun. Not that he planned on using it. Just in case the groom decided to pull any hanky business, like running away. Michael had already seen his little guy cry enough in his lifetime. Today’s tears, if there were any, would be tears of happiness, and nothing else.

Six hours. Six hours until he married Crowley.

           Anna tried wrapping the long strand around the barrel of the curling iron again, cursing her lackluster hair’s inability to hold a curl. She’d be the best looking maid-of-honor this city had ever seen, even if it killed her. It wasn’t so much the fact that she was maid-of-honor; she’d been maid-of-honor before, and it hadn’t mattered quite so much. But they’d already been warned by the mayor’s staff that the newspapers would be out in full force for the ceremony, capturing the exact moment when the city’s most beloved mayor took his new groom. With an exasperated huff, Anna released the non-curl and started again.

Five hours. Five hours until he married Crowley.

Dean couldn’t wait any longer. He had to tell Cas. He had to tell him now. He pressed Send.

Four hours. Four hours until he married Crowley.

And Cas was seriously sneaking out for coffee with Dean now? Sam sighed and shook his head as he set down his phone. It was almost indecent, the bond between those two. Sam understood that they were childhood best friends; he had grown up with both Castiel and Dean, he’d been there for all the good times and the bad between them. But Sam wouldn’t run out mere hours before his wedding for a coffee date with anyone, much less the childhood best friend he’d been in love with once upon a time.

Three hours. Three hours until he married Crowley

Cas stared down into his tepid coffee, his entire body numb. The sunlight shining through the window reflected off the tear streaks that flowed down his cheeks. His lower lip quivered as he attempted to pull his breathing back under control. He couldn’t look at the other person at the table yet. He was still too shocked. There’d been a time once when he wanted this. He’d wanted it more than anything. But now … Now?

Two hours. Two hours until he married Crowley.

Naomi called up the stairs again, her brow furrowing. Where was that boy?

One hour. One hour until he married Crowley.

Crowley checked his bowtie again, then his cufflinks, then his hair. He fiddled nervously with the buttons of his shirt, studying his reflection in the mirror. The love story of the century; that’s what the papers were calling it. He still wasn’t sure about that. He wasn’t even sure about … The knock on the door was unexpected. The note was even more unexpected.

At two o’clock, Castiel was supposed to marry Crowley.

It was supposed to be an event worthy of the love story of the century. 

Instead, Castiel Winchester was boarding the plane with his new husband; it was the beginning of their love story of a lifetime. 

Dean wasn’t running anymore; Cas wasn’t just dreaming anymore.


a/n: This could be for any guy tbh. I did cry while writing this. Also this has an important message. Please please pleaseeee DONT DRINK AND DRIVE!!!! You can hurt yourself and others. I’ve seen it happen multiple times.

What’s the most depressing word in the English language?


Why? Because it emphasizes that we were almost there, but not quite. That’s what happened with my relationship with Y/N.

We’ve been going out for almost 6 years. I remember the the day we met like it yesterday.

She was sitting on the beach, tanning, when a football hit her right on her head. She always had a tough skin, so she was fine. But she started giving us this attitude. Blabbering on about respect and being total dumbasses. But I don’t even know what she said. One of the guys told me. I was too busy admiring her. She looked absolutely perfect. Like a goddess, only angry. I was able to get her number, and a week later we went on our first date. 6 years later, I proposed that day. 6 months later, today actually, we were almost married. There’s that word again.

It was 2 days before the wedding. She wasn’t nervous for the actual reception, but all the other stuff. Like invitations, food, dj, all the unimportant stuff. I remember she was sitting at the kitchen table, at 2am, with her glasses and her famous messy bun, staring at the computer and papers surrounding her.

I came downstairs and was surprised to find her, considering she said she was going to bed at midnight.

“Babe, what are you doing up?"I asked.

She didn’t hear me, still staring at the computer screen.

"Babe"I said again, a little louder.

She looked up at me and rubbed her eyes, pushing her glasses on top of her head.

"Why aren’t you asleep?"I asked, massaging her shoulders.

She pushed off her, making her way towards the fridge and opening the orange juice.

"I have so much to think about still. People are still saying they don’t have the invitations, and I’m sure someone isn’t going to like what’s there for food, and-”

“Woah woah woah woah. Why are you worrying so much?"I asked her.

She looked at me like I had 13 heads.
"Um, are you insane?"she asked me, sitting down on the counter. I came between her leg, my hands resting on her thighs.

"Babe, everyone is there to see a wedding. It doesn’t have to be a perfect wedding. All that matters is that I’m marrying a perfect girl, and gonna have a perfect life"I said, my hands running up and down her sides.

"You’re annoying you know that"she said, leaning in.

"I know"I smirked, kissing her lips.

"I love you"she said, releasing from the kiss.

"I love you more"I said. She laughed and kissed me again.

The next day, she was going to get her nails done and her dress picked up.
She called me before she went.

"Babe I’ll be back in like 2 hours"She said.

"That’s so long. We need to be together for as long as possible before we’re married"I whined.

"Nate, you’re such a dork. I love you”

“I love you more"I said.

I wish I said it again. And again. I wish I said I’ll come with you. I wish I would’ve made her wish 5 more minutes. Because she wouldn’t have left.

The next call I got was from the police. They called me to tell me they found a woman, with the name of Y/N Y/L/N, found in a car crash. That was the last think I heard before I dropped the phone. I rushed out, crying, to the hospital. I saw them drag her in. They rushed her to the ICU. They didn’t let me in. I tried so hard.

"But we’re family!"I yelled. "We’re almost married!” They still didn’t let me in.

I sat in the waiting room, as one of the nurses accompanied me. She told me it was a drunk driver. People started rushing in. My parents, her parents, her family, my family. Her friends, my friends, our friends. Everyone was waiting.

But no one talked to me. I isolated myself. I told myself this couldn’t be happening. She would wake up, and tomorrow we would get married. We would live happily ever after, like it’s a movie. Except all movies don’t have a happy ending.

After 3 hours, they allowed some people to visit her. They let me go in first. I walked in and she had tubes in almost every part of her body. She was scratched up and bruised. I saw all the cuts over her body. But she still looked like a goddess to me. I sat next to her, holding her hand. Her hand was ice cold. I tried to warm it up with my hands.

I sat there, waiting for good news. If I wanted, I could’ve waited for eternity. But after another 2 hours, they said there was no more brain activity. They declared her dead.

I sat there. I sat there and cried my heart out. What else was there to do? I was supposed to go to bed, happy as the next day, I would be marrying the love of my life. Instead, I watched the love of my life, lifeless.

As I sit here, looking at the wedding plans sprawled out across the kitchen table with her laptop open. I look at the screen, a picture of us, smiling as she showed off her engagement ring. I still had the ring I was supposed to give her today in our room. It was supposed to slip on her finger like a glove. We would be kissing, saying our vows.

I knew I would have to explain it to someone. We were almost too perfect for each other. We were almost married. And I almost thought it was too good to be true. I guess it was.

Instead of planning out the wedding, I’m now planning out the funeral. I may have gotten hurt before, but this one hurts the most.And the worst part it, nothing could cure it.

It was almost a happy ending. Almost.

The Roommate Part 2

Part 1

Summary: After living with you for about a week, Jason needs your help.
Word Count: 1200

    The first week went by like a breeze. You seemed to wake up before Jason did so you tried to be as quiet as possible while you got ready for work. What you didn’t know is that he was still wide awake, stitching his own wounds all the while trying not to get any bloodstains on the carpet.

It was a Tuesday that you had your first real conversation with him. It was your day off before your rotation changed to night shift. You just happened to be sitting in the kitchen dining area when he walked in. It shocked you because you hadn’t even realized he had left.

“I made some pasta, if you’re hungry?” you offered politely.

“I’m starving,” he answered before checking out the aforementioned pasta on the stove. He dumped the remainder of the pot into a bowl and took a seat in the chair across from you before he began shoveling the food into his mouth.

So, how do you make money, Jason?” you asked curiously as you twirled your fork in your pasta purposefully.

“I do some security work,” he answered before filling up his mouth again. You picked up on his tone. He didn’t want to go into details about what he did. It made you curious, but you decided to push that feeling aside in favor of getting him to open up a bit more.

Have you always lived in Gotham?” you asked. He swallowed and nodded.

“Born and raised,” he chuckled.

“Do you have any family?” you continued to question. He stabbed his food and sighed.

Not really,” he answered. “What about you, (Y/N)? What do you do for a living?” he seemed almost annoyed that he needed to engage in conversation to deflect attention away from himself.

Well, I’m a nurse at Gotham General,” you answered pretending to ignore his tone. If you wanted him to open up, you couldn’t pry. You had learned that the first year of being a nurse.

Really?” he seemed impressed.

“Yes, really, I typically work in the ER, but I love sneaking up to the pediatric unit and seeing the children,” you smiled as you told him.

You’re not from Gotham, are you?” he asked, still slowly working on his large helping of pasta.

No, I’m not. I’m from (your hometown) originally,” you answered honestly. “I have to admit, it is quite different here,” you added.

Gotham’s not like any other place on earth,” he replied with a slight grin.

Have you traveled much?” you asked casually before taking a bite of your food.

I’ve been here and there, but not for too long,” he answered. “I always end up back here,” he added.

Well, you know they say there’s no place like home,” you offered him a smile. He seemed almost sad at your statement. “I don’t have any family either,” you admitted after a long pause. “My mom died when I was really young, I don’t really even remember anything about her. All I know is what my dad told me. He died a few years ago in a car accident. I didn’t know what else to do, so I moved here,” you told him. He stared at you silently from across the table, as if he was trying to figure out why you were telling him this information. “I like it here,” you added before taking another bite of pasta.

Your conversation shifted into a more generic topic. He asked about the rent, and when it would be due. You told him that you needed it before the 5th of each month. You tried to get him to talk more again, but he had closed up. You decided to give him space and as soon as he finished his meal, he vanished into his room.

You spent the rest of the day doing tediously chores and errands. It was the night before your shift change. This meant that your next shift was 8pm-8am the next night. You found that the best way to prepare for this shift change was to stay up all night the night before. So you got your coffee together and started your movie marathon.

It was nearly three in the morning when you heard a crash coming from down the hall. You shot up from your spot curled up on the couch and rushed towards Jason’s room. You hesitated. If he was seriously hurt, you needed to just go in, but what if he had just rolled off the bed in his sleep. You couldn’t barge in. So you knocked gently.

“Jason? Are you ok?” you asked loud enough that maybe if he was asleep it would wake him. All you heard in response was a groan. You opened the door and what you saw was nothing like what you expected. Jason was collapsed on the floor beside the window covered in blood. You rushed out of the room, towards the bathroom where you kept your first aide kit.

You grabbed it and ran back to Jason’s room. He hadn’t moved an inch. You gently cut open the gray and red tee shirt he wore and found what appeared to be a gunshot wound. You worked quickly. There was no exit wound, which meant the bullet was still lodged in his shoulder. You filled a syringe with Novocaine and gently injected it around the wound. You gave about five seconds to become numb before you pulled out a pair of tweezers and started digging out the slug.

Jason groaned in pain and shifted as you agitated his injury. He arched his back in an attempt to get away from you. You held him down firmly and chewed your bottom lip nervously as you continued to pull out the bullet. It took you about two minutes and as soon as you had it out, you started disinfecting the hole and suturing it closed. You placed a fresh gauze over the stitches and taped it down.

You sought out any other wounds and found a few cuts and what appeared to be a few grazes from bullets. You put a total of twenty stitches in him before you were satisfied. It was until you were done that you noticed his incredibly fit body littered with scars. You couldn’t deny it made him look sexy.

You found some inner strength and helped the barely conscious man into his bed. You pulled off his boots and tossed them in the floor. That’s when you noticed his room. The desk in the corner was covered in first aide supplies. There was a large black duffle bag next to where Jason had crashed through the window. You felt the urge to look inside, afraid to find drugs or stolen money, but you ignored it in favor of tending to your patient.

His vitals were strong, he would be just fine aside from the pain. You couldn’t help but worry what he had been doing to get shot at. You also couldn’t figure out why he had tried to sneak through the window.

“You’ve got some explaining to do Jason Todd,” you sighed as you began cleaning the drying blood from his chest.       


I F   I T   W O U L D   P L E A S E ♡

15 Days of Valentines ♡ | a Jon/Sansa meme
↳ 4/15: Blind date/Setup | Arranged Marriage

With a reputation tarnished by falsehoods, twenty-one year old Sansa Stark in unable to find herself a husband in a time where a woman’s utmost requirement is to be married off. At wit’s end, and fed up with her turning down every husband he can find for her, Ned Stark arranges one final match for his eldest daughter; only this time, her charming suitor is a former acquaintance.

I took some liberties with the theme; there’s no denying that. But it’s also the only thing I could conjur up today so let’s just… go with it? I’m leaving it with one chapter for now, but if it’s enjoyed then I may write more to it one day. Anyways, enjoy! :)

Below or AO3

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26 May 2017

[The Mill with Robert and Aaron]

AARON: Morning Robert! Check out this mug I bought yesterday - wait…yesterday? Was that before or after I decided to forgive you for cheating on me? - Nevermind, anyway, look “Property of World’s Best Husband”! Isn’t that adorable?

ROBERT: Is that to remind me of what I’m not?

AARON: Yes and to prompt you to thank me for being the best and most forgiving husband in the world because this mug is totally mine.

ROBERT: You’re the best and most forgiving husband in the world and you totally deserve that mug. I’m so glad the Plot took the day off yesterday and we got to have some real, deep, meaningful conversations about all of our issues and our love for each other. #QueenMaxine It’s almost like we were in one of those fan fiction stories I spent half of our break reading. But at least you’re Plot Aware now. I’m glad we’re in this together now.

AARON: *Tiniest Smile* *Resigned Look* #ThisPlotSucks

*Little kiss and hug* - for the fans

[The Woolpack with Rebecca and Chrissie]

*Marlon and Carly are being adorable with April to show the positive side of having children*

CHRISSIE: Look what you have to look forward to!

REBECCA: Yay! …So do you think it’s really a good idea to be here in the pub…that’s owned by Aaron’s family. I mean I know they moved out yesterday but they could totally still come in.

CHRISSIE: Robert doesn’t dictate your life, Rebecca, the Plot does, usually through Robert because you only exist for him. But we’re having sisterly bonding time again so I’m going to get you some food before you turn on me again. You really are fickle.

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Gaston x Reader: I'll Pass — Part 1

A/N: Ok! Finally I’ve started that gaston x reader thing I’ve been thinking up for a while. This was originally a oneshot but I’ve decided it probably would be better as a little series. I’m not sure on the title, never was good at those, but keep a look out for the next part!

You stiffen, hands hovering over a muffin as dread seeps into you. You squeeze your eyes shut in hopes that the familiar call is just your mind playing tricks on you for being up so early. To your disappointment, it’s not.

“Y/N, I thought I’d find you here!” The deeply masculine voice seems to echo through the town square, though it goes mostly ignored by ears that have heard it many times before.

“And why’s that Gaston?” You sigh, finally picking up your muffin and passing a few coins to the bakers hand.

“Well, I’ve memorized your routine….or, most of it anyway.” Gaston says proudly, following behind you as you walk away from the bakery.

“Oh? And can you tell me where I’ll be going next?” You ask, though it’s laced with annoyance and sarcasm.

“Mm, most likely the flower stall, you fancy those white daisies and blue forget me nots.”

“Wrong!” You cry, whipping around and taking some satisfaction at the look of surprise on his face. “I’ll be going to the….”

You quickly find yourself scrambling for a place in your head as Gaston had, in fact, been correct about your next destination and favorite flowers. Your mind, previously focused on an escape route, suddenly reels at the realization.

“How did you know that?” You ask.

Gaston had been pursuing you for a while now, five months to be exact. When Belle ran off and married the prince, Gaston had fallen into a deep depression that not even LeFou’s lovely singing could cheer up. It seemed he’d be destitute the rest of his days, that is until he laid eyes on you. You had the privilege of being a well educated woman who had moved here after your parents passed and you found no more interest in the city around you. You were somewhat well off, and made a living making art and sewing. When you’d strode through the entrance to little Villeneuve like you could take on the whole town, you quickly gained attention. You did not only visit the castle to paint or sew for the prince, but to also read and chat with Belle. You two had become fast friends, and you’d also earned the title of being weird by association, not that you minded. That was, until word got to Gaston and he had to see for himself so he made it his mission to track you down. And track you down he did, he cornered you one day and you were….overwhelmed.

Never had you been courted, and never had you met a man so full of himself. Were it not for his personality you could’ve found yourself extremely attracted and distracted by his beautiful features. You learned from Belle how persistent he could be and despite all your best attempts to lose his interest, Gaston refused to leave you be. Had it been anyone else, maybe you’d have been flattered by his attempts, and maybe you’d understand how he knew your favorite flowers. But this was Gaston, he cared about nothing other than himself and conquering you.

“Like I said, I’ve been memorizing your routines and I noticed you looked at those flowers every time you stopped at the stall.” Gaston explains.

You’re a little caught off guard by his surveillance but you won’t let that cloud your judgement. Huffing, you turn around and continue your walk to the flower stall. As usual, Gaston is right on your heels like an attention starved puppy.

“So I was thinking–”

“How dangerous.”

“You and I could have dinner tonight. I’ll bring my latest kill for you to cook and we can discuss our relationship.”

You take a deep, slow breath as you try to bite back your frustration. Gaston was so oblivious and couldn’t look further than his own feelings to see how his words may affect others. He simply expected you to swoon and fall at his feet, then fill his house with little boys and do nothing but keep him happy and charmed. And you would do no such thing. Your parents lived as equals, each doing just as much as the other and working hard to keep each other happy. You would not fall into a marriage where you were the only one working and giving. You realize Gaston is still going on about what you two could do later as you near the flowers, so you interrupt, “I can’t have dinner with you tonight. Or any other night for that matter.”

Gaston pauses, eyes searching your face before asking, “Did you have prior engagements?”

“No, Gaston.” You sigh out, beyond annoyed and wanting nothing more than to vanish into thin air. “I simply don’t enjoy your company and would prefer to eat alone.”

Your bluntness catches him off guard, and you smirk slightly at this minor victory. He opens his mouth to speak again, eyes glinting with a hint of triumph, as though whatever he’d come up with would change your mind. So you stop him before he speaks.

“While I appreciate this–” You gesture with your hands, trying to find the word. “Persistent game of yours to see when I’d give in, I find it rather annoying and would like it much more if you went after some other girls. Like the Bimbettes, they’re quite lovely after all, and would love to cook you meals.”

You turn away before Gaston can say anything, and start looking at the flowers. Your fingers caress the petals of a poppy with the tenderness of a mother. The old woman running the stall smiles at you and starts up the daily conversation of how you should look into gardening and maybe becoming a florist like herself. After all, she couldn’t live forever and her flowers would need a gentle hand to take care of them. As you laugh and politely decline, saying maybe when you’re older, you notice her eyes flit nervously over your shoulder. You glance over your shoulder to see Gaston is still there, only standing and silent as he watches you. His eyes are narrowed in thought and your skin prickles. With a hiss you straighten up to look up at him.

“If I went to see you tonight at the tavern, would you leave me alone?” You growl.

Gaston jumps slightly, caught by surprise and blinking to clear his thoughts. He quickly begins to nod before blurting out, “That would be wonderful.”

“And you’ll leave me alone after this? No flowers, no following me around, no obnoxious bragging?” You fold your arms, hoping to make your message as clear as possible.

This was a single, one time date. It would never happen again and after this Gaston would have to move on.

“I….” Gaston reaches up to smooth back some of his raven hair that threatens to fall loose.

He almost looks nervous, like he’s debating wether or not to take the offer.

“I haven’t got all day, Gaston.” You snap, wishing for him to make up his mind and move on.

“While that sounds delightful,” Gaston starts, though something in his tone makes you worry. “I’m afraid I’ll decline.”

Respect Your Leader - Mercy (POV) x the whole team - SFW

Mercy is sick of her team bickering, and decides to assume control of them. Crack humour, with implied F/F/F/F/F.

Speed prompt, written in 120 minutes.

[AO3] | []

I’d hardly collected all my medical supplies and disembarked from the ship, and already I could hear that my ‘team’ were at it. Not this again, I thought, sighing at length. I’d just about had it with all their senseless bickering.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tracer didn’t sound at all happy about discovering who else had been assigned to our mission. “I thought spiders preferred dark and damp environments. You know, like toilets.”

Widowmaker—who was actually keeping mostly to herself today, I thought—looked equally as unimpressed to be grouped up with Tracer. “I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about ‘damp’,” she fired right back, “You haven’t been near anything wet in your entire life.”

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When Robin had set out the night before he never thought it would be anything other than a fairly routine trip, a chance to further get to know this band of aptly named Merry Men that another version of him had forged a family with.  They’d been hesitant of him at first, some still are, but Tuck has been welcoming.  He’s listened patiently and intently to their unbelievable story, then shook Robin’s hand and pulled Regina into a warm hug.  Since then, the man has become the only true friend Robin could ever claim to have.  Asking Tuck to accompany him to acquire an item that would change Regina and his lives had seemed natural; as did the endless ribbing he received the entire trip back to the castle.  It was all in good fun, Robin could tell the older man was happy for him, happy for them, and the jovial back and forth had continued until the ground shook and the skies turned black.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Tuck asked, pointing to the east and the billowing darkness that was fast approaching.  Robin didn’t bother to respond.  Both men quickened their pace as the black magic seemed to nip at their heels.  It was a race back to the castle that Robin had no intention of losing.

She’s standing on the balcony when he enters the courtyard, breathless from the sprint.  He can’t see her features, couldn’t possibly make out the hardened determination there, but he knows.  Somehow he just knows what she is about to do.  He screams her name as he sees the red of her cloak flutter out with the raising of her arms, but her name is swallowed up by the wind and the CRACK of magic that explodes out of her palms.  He stands frozen below, awestruck at the sight of her wielding such power.  In his mind he always knew her capable, but to see her standing alone against the force of this dark magic, to see her holding it back by sheer strength of will…Robin has no words to quantify the mixture of adoration and terror that courses through him.

Regina is at the eye of the storm.  Her magic flows freely, stronger than she’s ever felt it before and she knows it’s because she doesn’t draw on the rage that always simmers just below the surface, but of the image of a boy, realms away, who called her mom and who she will not leave to face this darkness alone.  They just need time.  Her family can escape if she just holds on.  She swears she hears Robin call her name when the force against her is almost too much. His voice carried to her by the winds and it gives her that little bit of strength she needs to hold on.  

He watches her until the destruction forces him inside and then he’s running again, desperate to reach her while he still can. The darkness pushes; Regina pushes back.  She holds out until she knows she can do no more, until she knows she’s given her other half every second she possibly can.  Even through the menacing cyclone, she feels him behind her.  She drops her hands to take his, exhausted, as he pulls her to his chest, shielding her as best he can against the inevitable.  She feels his heart beating steadily under her hand before she feels nothing at all.  

Robin’s watching her now as he does each night from the shadowed corner of her balcony.  He adores this nightly ritual that she thinks she keeps to herself.  Loves to watch her undo all the trappings of her alter ego and slip into the skin she’s growing more and more comfortable with each passing day.  He’d spent brief, chaotic moments with the other Regina, but often wonders if she ever stared her demons down the way his Regina does. Maybe he’s biased, but he doubts that she is as much of a force as the woman he watches in the mirror.

He thumbs the ring still in his pocket, flips it over and over between his fingers as his gaze roams her bare back, her curves, but always back to her eyes.  He’d thought about being conventional; dropping to one knee, reciting some love sick poetry, presenting the jewel as he bowed before her as if waiting for a blessing to be bestowed.  But their journey had never been conventional; their love never followed any script.  In fact it seemed to defy them all.  She was a woman, split from herself; he, a man that shouldn’t exist.  And yet they had found each other.  Loved each other in a way that was uniquely their own.  

His life became an adventure the moment she walked into that tavern.  It was a slow burn to love (the slowest he thinks) but worth every scorch along the way to be able to say that he has found himself in the dark heart of his not-quite-evil queen.

She runs her brush through hair again, the perfect curl refusing to give up its shape.  There’s a far off look in her eyes tonight, a smile pulling at her painted lips.  He wonders if she thinks of her son, of the life she gave up for a second chance at a happiness of her own.  Or of the family that her almost sacrifice helped to save.  Or of him.  Or of the simple fact that they are alive after everything and allowed to go on to whatever adventures they create.  His heart beats faster thinking back on what they could have lost, of how precious each second of life is, and how he doesn’t want to squander another moment of it. His mind is made up in an instant and he’s scrawling a message on the parchment in his pocket, pulling thread loose from the cuff of his shirt, and fastening the diamond his lucky arrow.  (No need tempting fate when his future is so near.)

She doesn’t even flinch at the hiss of the arrow past her ear, or the whack of it embedding in her vanity mirror.  It’s hardly the first arrow that has nearly taken off her head.  She knows it’s his, glances at it with a coy smile before she sees ring hanging from the shaft, still swaying with the momentum of impact. It’s only seconds before she moves, but it feels like an eternity before she reaches for the ring, holds it securely in her palm as she tosses the string aside and reads his proposal.  Ready for a new adventure?  Her smile is instant, bright, elusive, yet always satisfying.  It’s the only answer he needs.

She turns towards the balcony and finds him leaning against the wall, bow slung casually over his shoulder, smile matching her own.  She moves towards him slowly, reaching for his hands when she’s close enough, letting him pull her forward to close the distance.  “Ok, thief,” Regina says as he takes the ring from her palm and slips it onto her finger.  “Where do we begin?”

Imagine making up with Sonny after an argument

(A/N: Dedicated to all the supportive people on this site. You know who you are and I can’t thank you enough. I hope you enjoy this!) 

WARNING: Mentions of a troubled childhood/Extensive drug use/ Explores impact a troublesome home can have on a person later on in life (I have not experienced this personally so I apologize if you have and feel that this isn’t an accurate representation) 

Imagine making up with Sonny after an argument

Love had always been a nice idea to you. For your whole life, you thought it was a nice idea, whenever anyone talked about it or being in it, you thought it was a nice idea. But you never really believed in it.

How could you?

Throughout out your whole life, you hadn’t ever seen it. No one in your life growing up had been in a stable loving relationship. Your parents were addicts and sure may be way before you were born they were in love but you never saw a glimpse of that. By the time you realized what was going on they hated each other. They couldn’t stand each other and it got to the point where every birthday and every other day for that matter your wish was for the to separate or even better divorce.

And maybe that’s extreme what else could you wish for? For them to stop doing drugs? You knew that wasn’t going to happen.

They were too far gone.

Its safe to say that you had a difficult childhood. Both your parents were addicts and basically teenagers when they had you. They were high school dropouts, unemployed and miserable. The drugs they took, took the pain away and that’s why they couldn’t live without it. Life was too hard for them so they did what they had to do to escape it all.

Escape life with each other.

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anonymous asked:

am I the only one which totally think about Cor as a single parent? this would be so adorable... he alone with a daughter (poor cor.. let's hope she won't be so stoic like him as a teen) <3

This is so cute! I’m not sure if this was a request or just a submitted headcanon you wanted me to respond to immediately, but I wanted to write something for you just to make up for how long it took me to get to responding to your ask dearie <3 :D Hope you like it! (Plus, Papa Cor = adorable)!

Tagging: @blindbae, @itshaejinju and @lady-asuka because Cor <3

A Precious Bond (A Papa!Cor drabble)

There was no doubt about it- Cor was quite literally freaking out. After the tragic death of his wife after giving birth to their daughter, Cor was left on his own to take care of the small fragile girl. The midwives all around had looked at Cor with pity in their eyes as his misty steel eyes regarded his daughter with ambivalent feelings of adoration and spite. Initially, he had blamed her for the death of his beloved wife. He had blamed Kari for the heartache that he had felt as he watched his beautiful wife’s life slip away from her eyes.

But then, months later as he was leaving for work, Kari had grasped onto is finger with an iron grip. Familiar steel blue eyes gazed almost desperately into his own and that was when he fell in love with his daughter, despite all the pain she had supposedly brought into his life. This child was his. This little infant was his legacy. This baby needed him.

And so… began the reign of ‘Princess’ Leonis.

Over the years, Kari grew up healthily and happily with her father. Though she had bonded well with the nursemaid that had been caring for her since her birth, her first person to call for help when monsters were under her bed, or even in her dreams, was her big, strong hero of a father.

She’d call Cor Leonis- the Immortal marshal of the Crownsguard. And he’d come running, immediately dropping everything he was doing just to protect his baby girl.

At the age of five, Kari was a little heartbreaker. Even Prince Noctis, at the tender age of two, would bury his face into the nearest grown up’s leg due to his extreme shyness around the raven-haired, blue eyed beauty. But over time and exposure, Kari and Noctis were joined to the hip and developed a sibling-like relationship. This meant many play dates, supervised by the king and the marshal personally. Kari was something of an older sister to Noctis, and was quite bossy with him.

“Noct, eat your vegetables!”

“No- they’re icky!”

Regis would refrain from breaking out into a grin, side-eyeing an amused Cor as he’d address his son. “Listen to Kari- she’s older and wiser than you.” Regis would gently chide. This would set off a brief episode of crocodile tears before Kari would proceed to shove pieces of carrot and peas into Noctis’ open, wailing mouth. Funnily enough, the small prince would eat every bite. It was quite the endearing picture.

At the age of twelve, Cor began to worry about his daughter. She was growing into quite the strong beauty, even at her young age, and he didn’t want her to attract any unwanted attention. Given her mature nature, Cor was almost certain that some knuckle-head would end up mistaking her for a teenager and do something terrible to her without her understanding what was going on. And so… Cor decided to have ‘the talk’ with his baby girl.

“Kari. Do you know about the stuff teenaged boys and girls sometimes do behind closed doors?” Cor asked one day, during dinner time. Kari turned a curious look up at her father, and Cor had to avert his gaze from her curious, steel blue eyes. That was the precise moment he realised why so many soldiers were intimidated by his neutral gaze. Those eyes looked cold, calculating and all-knowing. Still, he knew his daughter was filled with warmth and all the prettiest things in the world.

Cor took a deep breath when Kari said nothing. “They have sex.”

“Papa… ew. I know what that is. I thought you were going to talk to me about interrogations or something… gross Papa. I’m trying to eat.” Kari spoke quickly, her tanned skin breaking out in a barely visible blush as she shoved some of her steak into her mouth. Cor was impressed with the even tone at which she answered him, but he still had to continue to talk about… the stuff. It was for her knowledge. It was for his baby’s safety. Repressing a blush of his own, Cor pushed his mashed potatoes around on his plate before spearing a piece of steak and holding it on his fork in mid-air, the steak not quite reaching his mouth as he tried to think about how to say what he wanted to say.

Kari rolled her eyes at her father, which Cor did not exactly appreciate, and sighed.

“Look Papa, I know what sex is. It’s when a guy and a girl like each other a lot and then decide to make babies with their penis and vagina. It’s supposed to feel good or something, but I personally think it’s gross and you don’t have to worry about it right now. I want to join the Crownsguard like you did, and I want to make you and Mama proud. That’s all. So can we eat our dinner and read our story and then go to bed?” Kari said, slightly exasperated.

Cor could only nod, dumbfounded at her maturity and level of knowledge. “Sure. But just be careful… if any guy comes on to you-”

“They won’t, you’re my Papa. They know they’ll die if they do anything to me-”

“Yes,” Cor conceded, a smile on his face, “but if they don’t know that-”

“Then kick them where the sun don’t shine and then run on back home, straight into the panic room, and then wait for you to come to my rescue?” Kari smirked around a bite of steak.

Cor stared at his cheeky daughter with disbelief. When had she become so sarcastic and sassy?

“Sure… or you can just contact the Crownsguard after engaging in self-defence.” Cor reiterated. Kari smiled up at her father from the other side of the dinner table.

“Okay Papa. Good talk!”

Cor sighed, feeling tired all of a sudden. “Indeed.”

Funnily enough, Cor didn’t have a thing to worry about, even when Kari had found a man to give herself to at the age of nineteen, because Kari was a strong young woman who knew the difference between what was right and what was wrong. Kari knew how to separate work from play, she knew to respect him and his wishes, and she knew exactly what kind of man he’d approve of.

So when Cor followed Kari and Gladiolus into their favourite diner and witnessed their date and affections, Cor was mostly happy. But a part of him was upset- as most fathers would be. After all, he was losing his daughter to a man truly worthy of her love. A man who was capable of protecting her just as well as Cor had protected her up until then.

She had found a new hero.

But years later, in the thick of the darkness, when the King of Light was nowhere to be found and the whole of Eos, including Cor, was beginning to lose hope- Cor received a letter from his Kari.

‘Papa, you’ll always be my light in the darkness. That will never change- you protected me and taught me so much and you remain to do those things even when I am no longer by your side in body. Just know… that I am always with you in spirit, and your love will always reside in my heart. I love you Papa- I don’t say that often enough. I just wanted to tell you that because… times are hard right now and we don’t know what will happen tomorrow. But… I love you and I miss you and I hope that we get to go on a hunt together or something because I want you to read to me and put me to bed like when I was little because I’m scared and I don’t want to tell anyone but you. Because you’re my hero. You’ll always be my hero. Papa… take care of yourself and don’t die on me. Not yet- I don’t want to be left here in the darkness without you.’

Admittedly, Cor cried openly at receiving the letter, though no one looked down upon the legendary marshal for it. He was a father after all- a worried father. Cor kept that letter with him, in his pocket, as a good luck charm and as a motivator. Stay alive. Stay immortal just a day longer. And another day. And another yet…

Until he could tuck his baby girl back into bed and reader her a story until he could watch her steel blue eyes shut into a peaceful sleep at least one more time- he’d have to stay alive and live just one more damn day…

He could never deny his precious daughter any wish.

i’ll take the fault in the faultiness | savifrost/flashfrost

description | Having her live with him was, perhaps, a mistake. He knew, as he knows most things, the past and the future are clear to him. Though he resolves that it’s the torment of it all that suits him now.

A/N | I’ve been wondering how much they would explore with the humanity in Savitar. As in, if he’s capable of pain, then he’s possibly capable of love. Thank you @anisstaranise for being as patience as you are talented in getting the best writing from me. Also, amazing inspiration from all the savifrost and flashfrost coming out lately. Always amazing from this fandom!


The bannister leading to her makeshift bedroom is cool against his grip, and he distinctly hears the moans of someone new she’s lured into their dilapidated living space. How she takes her willing victims in, their salivating and cowering at the sight of her, pulls at the twisted way his lips curl at these sort of things now.

Eventually, she comes down. And she comes down from whatever afterglow that had come from her latest, nameless kill. He had heard the cries for help before he even stepped foot on their grounds, knowing that the poor soul couldn’t have met a painless death. She hardly lets her raucous activities stop her, nevermind giving him notice of them. He decides he likes this about her, it’s precisely one of the reasons he sought her out in the first place.

He takes his hand off the melting ice on the railing, and nods as she climbs down the steps to meet him, appraising his smirking lips. ‘You’re not satisfied.’

Her icy irises narrow. ‘What?’

‘You’re still hungry.’

She strides past him and crosses her arms against her chest, she doesn’t turn when she peers out their only window, a dusty, near-shattered pane of glass. ‘Didn’t know you cared, what with your current plotting and scheming, darling.’ She means to snark at him, as she has been since his offering of their living arrangements several weeks ago.

She is right in a way, with all that’s set out for them to do and the faint prickling at the back of his neck that an imminent threat could suddenly derail his plans. Then there’s this; ‘There’s a lot I still care about.’

The scars marring half his face seem even more puckered and angry when he continues to grin, as though they fight against anything that feels unnatural.

She turns to face him, only to find him closing a sudden distance between them. She cringes at the space he invades at his super speed. ‘What is that–’

‘I know they’re trying to sway you,’ he says, and he doesn’t mention Cisco or his other self or even Julian by name, because he dangles a silver chain before her and that’s all it takes. ‘I see it happening, just like I see it in your eyes now.’

She’s looks wholly taken aback, and she must not know that there’s a perceptible quaking she’s mustering to hide. The ghost whites of her eyes flicker of a familiar darker warmth. All because he marionettes a diamond ring in front of her, weaved through the chain he clasps.

‘Remember, pain is what we share. They don’t know, they’ve not felt loss like we’ve lost, what was ripped from us.’ He near snarls at the thought. ‘If you stay, I can make you stronger.’

Having her live with him was, perhaps, a mistake. He knew, as he knows most things, the past and the future are clear to him. Though he resolves that it’s the torment of it all that suits him now. Even now, as he watches her take Ronnie’s ring, he knows down to his cold, cold core, where he knows no amount of kindling can survive. He knows that when she pierces him with her glare, and stalks off with the present he’s given her, he is content in this misery. With her, equally as broken.

This is how it starts.

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let me be your coffee pot

“There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” AU

Title from ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by Arctic Monkeys. - ao3.

Day one: AU/AH of KlarolineInfinity Week!

Caroline was beyond frustrated.

Sleep-deprived, coffee did nothing to calm her, full bent on getting a good grade. Apparently, Mr. Salvatore, her annoying and inappropriate Communication teacher, had taken a sudden like to technology —that wasn’t related at all to the fact that he showed up hungover at the last classes of the year, refusing to teach them anything, sending power points of the contents to them instead— and decided to take the exam through an online platform.

A message appeared on her laptop screen when she was reading a question about engaging people in the media, startling her.

You’re now running low on reserve battery power. You need to plug the power adapter into your computer and into a power outlet. If you don’t, your computer will go to sleep in a few minutes to preserve its memory contents.

Groaning, she looked around, noticing not even one plug in sight. It didn’t surprise her, considering the old vibe of the store, it was a miracle that it had wireless connection to begin with. Hell, she had actually contemplated turning around upon first looking inside “Original Coffee”. Ancient shelves containing jar of coffee grains instead of a machine, and a counter guy dressed in a Viking costume? Weird.

The shining screen reminded her that she had fifteen minutes and forty seconds left to finish the exam.

She cursed her bad luck. Had she walked under a ladder that day? She really hoped not.

Although it wasn’t completely her fault, on second thought, it was Katherine’s.

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Mari Ruti on love and desire

[Excerpt from Chapter 7 of The Summons of Love]

The Bedrock of Desire

I have already proposed that there are lovers who stand out from the rest because we experience them as so irreplaceable that even a definitive parting of ways does not entirely banish their imprint. The reason for this is that such lovers touch what I would like to call the “bedrock” of our desire. This bedrock is the deepest kernel of our being, articulating what is most archaic, least socialized (and therefore most idiosyncratic) about us, particularly about our ways of seeking satisfaction in the world. As a consequence, whenever a lover manages to awaken this kernel, he or she almost by definition cuts into unconscious layers of our interiority that are absolutely fundamental to our being yet also a little mysterious—shrouded, as they are, in the impenetrable mists of our prehistory. More specifically, such a lover activates currents of desire that are so essential to our sense of self that we would not recognize ourselves without them.

In chapter 1 I mentioned that although we may, across the span of our lives, meet numerous people who pique our curiosity, there are usually only a few who raise our passion to a feverish pitch. Those who do are the ones who—often unintentionally and without being fully aware of their power—brush against the bedrock of our desire. They stir our desire on such a primary level that we sense that our destiny is inextricably intertwined with theirs. This is how we sometimes come to feel that certain people are “fated” for us—that we do not have a choice but to respect the thrust of our desire even when this desire gets us in trouble.

The famous French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan explains that whenever this happens, our lover comes to coincide with what Freud already called “the Thing”: the unnameable object of desire that we incessantly circle but can never attain. This Thing, in Lacan’s rendering, is a fantasy object that we imagine having lost and that we therefore spend our entire lifetimes trying to refind. It connects us to our first objects of desire (usually our parents) so that when we meet its echo in another person, we tend to feel the agitation that Plato linked to the transcendent yearnings of the soul; we tend to feel as if we were in the presence of something unfathomably valuable. Indeed, there is nothing in the world that incites our desire as forcefully as a lover who seems to reincarnate the Thing. However, because the Thing is a fantasy object rather than something that we once actually had (and then lost), we can never recover it in any decisive sense. We can only ever move toward it in an imaginary way.

Our inchoate sense of having lost the Thing makes us feel that we have been deprived of existential fullness. Arguably, this is precisely what gives rise to the human condition of lack that I talked about earlier in this book. At that point I emphasized that, contrary to what might at first appear, this primordial malaise is productive because it induces us to pursue various forms of secondary satisfaction. Lacan’s analysis of the Thing augments this insight by revealing that the trajectory of our pursuit is by no means random but consists of a very specific configuration of passion in that the shape of our desire corresponds to the shape of the loss we infer having endured. It is because the Thing for which we seek substitutes spawns a very particular nexus of fantasies that only a precious few of the objects that we chance upon manage to satisfy or engage us. We are constantly, and sometimes quite compulsively, on a lookout for the exceptional object that, we believe, can make us whole. As a consequence, we fall in love when the object we find appears to fit into, and even to seal, the void within our being; we fall in love when we (unconsciously) sense that we have discovered a little piece of the Thing. In this manner, even when we are unable to identify what it is that we are searching for—even when we cannot explain the “why” of our yearning—the Thing as an unconscious object of longing gives us the treasure map of our desire.

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Part 27 - Distractions

Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole is an ongoing story about our MC, who could easily be anyone in voltage fandom. She woke up in hospital bed only to discover that she’d somehow been transported Voltage universe.

This story is ongoing, so if you missed a part, or are new to the story, please use the master post since tumblr is being buggy and not linking in this post!

Part 27 - Distractions

I followed Shun, Toshiaki, Toma, and the doctor (Yukihisa Maki) to a posh bar that was tucked away in the city’s center.

I fit right in with my stylish cocktail dress and heels, and Shun treated me exactly the way I’d imagine he’d treat a lady. He held the door open for me, and as I walked by, I felt his hand gently rest on my lower back as he guided me to their usual table, all the while whispering in my ear how pleased he was to have bumped into me.

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The Female Gaze

I think, in the end, it was about the women, not the gay. I think the groundbreaking new thing BBC Sherlock wanted to do was to strengthen and re-evaluate the role of women in Sherlock Holmes adaptions. But that went horribly wrong.

Mofftiss always said they wanted to right something with their adaption that everybody else did get wrong. Well, what could that have been, as Holmes has even been portrayed as a mice? We all hoped for Johnlock… as this has been a reading of the canon especially appreciated by female/queer fans, because it takes into account a somewhat different interpretation from the cis white het male reading. Sherlock Holmes is somewhat ideal as a character to captify female readers - as he retorts to thinking and talking and not to violence in the first place to solve a problem, which are classic female strategies. Holmes mostly employs his brain and not his fists - which sets him apart from most male action / crime solving heros in a way women can relate to (but remember Gatiss’s poem, advocating a more physical Holmes? Making him into a cis white male het hero…?) 

But as S4 clearly showed us that Johnlock wasn’t the goal - what else could have been the new, groundbreaking thing everybody had gotten wrong before?

Especially around TAB, but also before, Mofftiss talked excessively about the role of women in Sherlock Holmes adaptions; that the Zeitgeist when the stories had been written didn’t allow for many strong female characters. TAB was sold as a story about strong women and their empowerment - which sparked anger, because the women were portrayed as murderous furies. I’ll return to this later. The point here is that there were even panels at Sherlocked in 2016 harping on “Women in Sherlock”, emphasising their importance.

So, I think what Mofftiss felt necessary for a modern adaptation was to strengthen the role of female characters. Only, the brave thing then would have been to make Holmes and Watson both female. Which Mofftiss didn’t.

This got very long and is therefore continued under the cut.

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Pairings- Clint Barton x Reader

Requested by anon-  Could you please write a Clint Barton x reader where the reader is a new avenger and archer like clint and doesn’t talk to the Avengers and keeps to themselves and clint finds them shooting arrows and they grow close xx

Bear with me, I haven’t ever written Clint before. Plus this GIF is adorable. And also the one with the cat. The cat one is not relevant at all to the story. I just like that GIF.

Originally posted by pip-hamilton

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