just throwing it out there that they do let you be black!!

Unexpected Aspects of the Types

ENFP: They actually crave schedules and structure like nobodies business, if and only if it revolves around their passions. 

INFP: The “manic pixie dream girl” stigma is so wrong. 90% of them are more along the lines of “embittered memelords” with a splash of off-beat and sensible fashion. 

INTP: They’re actually excellent in social situations that they throw themselves into. Your odd aggressiveness and shouting is amusing and weirdly charismatic. 

ENTP: You’ll have to murder them a thousand times before they’ll admit that they actually DO crave harmony and peace more than chaos; Debate and verbal jousting (and memes) is just their way of getting there. 

ENFJ: The worst time management skills. Worse than all of the P’s put together, bar none. You got stars in your eyes and not a single “no” in your throats and it often leaves you ragged busybodies from over committing yourselves. 

INFJ: Despite their ‘mysterious and secretive nature’ stigma, if you engage them in a deep conversation about their passions, 9 times out of 10 they will splay their soul to you even though you met 5 minutes ago at a college party.

ISFJ: They’re known for being the kindly, grandmotherly type that just wants the best for their friends, but the flip side is they’re all basic bitches that secretly crave being a tool. They’re usually just too nice to go Full Douche™, praise the Lord. 

ESFJ: Despite being known as the social butterfly, the Fe and Si combination sometimes makes for an extremely judgmental, polarizing, and single-minded personality, and can seem like the most socially inept/oblivious person in the room. 

ESTJ: Weirdly enough, more often than not, they’re one of the most socially graceful and self-aware people in the room. That, or they’re utterly cringeworthy. Not really any in between. Just don’t get them started on politics (I’m begging you). 

ISTJ: Despite the ‘emotionless Traditionalist™ robot’ stigma, although they can’t offer consistent emotional output, all of the ones I’ve met are some of the most emotionally stable, mature, and available people I’ve ever met. 

ENTJ: Your responsible, efficient, and commanding CEO of a friend is actually the biggest procrastinator in the game, bar none. It’s hidden under a few hundred layers of self-confidence, but they need the stress of the last minute to feel anything in this world. 

INTJ: Massive internal war between fearless, emotionless sociopathy, and caring so deeply for a select few people that they’d give up every ambition to follow them to the ends of the earth without a single plan. TL;DR, their black and icy hearts are secretly hearts of gold and they absolutely abhor that about themselves. 

ESFP: Your favorite quick-talking, loud-mouthed, social explosion with all the friends is probably pretty lonely on the inside. Almost every ESFP I’ve met has huge commitment issues (big and pretty accurate stereotype), but few people realize it usually comes from self-knowledge of their sporadic nature, and they keep people at an emotional distance as a result, so they don’t end up getting hurt. Advice: letting people in and trying to make it work is infinitely better than loneliness in a crowd. 

ISFP: The EXTJ’s WISH they could be as soul-crushingly terrifying as your favorite superwholockian, equestrian painter friend when somebody’s crossed their family or friends. 

ESTP: The “sex, drugs, drinking, and more sex” cliche with ESTP’s is so dumb because literally every ESTP I know doesn’t care about alcohol or sex more than any other person I’ve met, but they ARE infinitely more obsessed with ultimate frisbee and bridge jumping. 

ISTP: The calm, rational, logical side of Ti is thrown completely out of the driver’s side window when they’re behind the wheel, because these hoes have the worst road rage I’ve ever seen, without exception.

Captain Steve Rogers, Lovecraftian Horror

Title: The Miskatonic Project
Rating: PG-13 for horror themes, death
Summary: Abraham Erskine may have invented something new with the Serum – or maybe he re-created something very old. Something…Elder.
Notes: I should be working on like three other fanfics but I had a TERRIBLE DREAM this afternoon and anyway this only took about half an hour to write.

***

Steve came out of the Vita-Ray machine…different. 

Of course he looked different – taller, thickly muscled, skin gleaming. But it wasn’t the change in his appearance so much as the…sensation people felt around him. Howard claimed not to feel it, and Erskine died before he could weigh in. Peggy felt it, but not in the way others did. To her, he seemed otherworldly, but like an angel or a religious vision – comforting under a layer of unreality. She even liked the strange black pupils he’d developed, so big and dark you could hardly see the whites of his eyes at all. 

Others, however…. 

She didn’t see him pull the Hydra agent out of the submarine after Erskine’s assassination. Only three people did – a cab driver, a little boy, and the boy’s mother. The cab driver wouldn’t say a word, and the boy’s mother stuttered and stammered so badly they finally gave up. The little boy just said, “Well, he got him,” and looked admiringly at Steve. 

Steve wasn’t wet, but the submarine lay on the deck of the pier, and the man next to it was dead, a rictus of horror on his face. 

(There is a readmore below! Read more!)

Keep reading

Side to Side

Pairing: Tom Holland!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Prompts: None

Word Count: 2465

Warning(s): Some swear words, slight smut (Nothing crazy but it goes there)

Requests: I have like 10 followers so like none of you pay attention to me (jk jk you guys are cool)

Song: Side to Side  (duh) by Ariana Grande

Author’s Note: This is kinda crap but I’m totally obsessed with Tom Holland and Spider-Man Homecoming so come on this wild ride and be trash with me! Give me feedback please I promise I’ll get to it in like 10 years

Summary: Reader and Peter (slant rhyme woo) are friends and both on the Avengers. They’re training in the gym and things get s t e a m y…

Keep reading

about last night (m)

Originally posted by hohbi

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: enemies to lovers | explicit smut, fluff and angst

length: 15k

summary: you had promised yourself; if you were to ever hook up with that asshole park jimin, it would be just a one night stand.

a/n: dis was a monster to write im so tired. i stayed up until 12pm to finish this and now its finally done :) also how does every new fic i write get dirtier and dirtier?? idk. 

Keep reading

Flustered

Title: Flustered

Word Count: A lot

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Warnings: Sexual themes but no actual smut

Summary: You want to prank Peter Parker and the best way to do it is to make him very flustered.

Part 2  Part 3

You were walking around the tower trying to find someone to mess with.  You saw Nat, Bucky, Wanda, and Clint sitting around the breakfast table.

Nat and Bucky were immediately out because messing with assassins usually ended with bodily harm.  You shuddered remembering that time you tried to throw a water balloon at Bucky.  Never again.

Wanda and Clint were out for the same reason.  They both knew you were about to do something before you even did it. Wanda you could understand, mind reading and all, but with Clint it was weird.  It was as if he woke up knowing when, where, and what you were going to do to him.

You moved on to the kitchen to find Thor, Steve and Vision.  You hated pranking Thor and Vision.  Thor just assumed it was some Earthen custom and laughed along with you.  Vision just didn’t get it, ever.

Steve was just too much of a gentleman to ever react or retaliate.  Where’s the fun in messing with someone if they don’t react?  You sighed disappointing there was no target for you here.

You walked around trying to find your dad and Banner.  You finally found them in their lab.  This made you groan.  Pranking in a lab was at best dangerous and at worst explosive.  Also pranking your dad usually meant you got grounded or lost mission privileges.  Not worth it.  That left you with one person.

Peter.

You walked into the lab with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Dad do you know where Spider-boy is? I need someone to mess with or my whole day just feels off.”

Tony looked up with a smile.” I believe he’s in the training room.”

This made you extra happy.  Not only did you have a target but your target was probably working out sweaty and shirtless.  So you turned right back around and went off to the training room.  

You had to sneak up to the training room due to the giant wall of windows.  You peaked around the corner to look in and your heart almost stopped.  There was Peter Parker working out in just low hanging athletic shorts. Sweat was dripping down his abs and his messy hair was in his eyes. You looked skyward for strength to not melt into a puddle right then and there.

You looked around the room trying to formulate a plan.  You saw his suit in a gym bag near the door and an idea popped into your head.  You smiled, you really were just too evil.  You tip toed towards the door as not to be seen.  You quietly creaked open the door wincing at the sound it made.  You froze looking up at Parker but he was so concentrated he didn’t even notice.  You sighed and went over to the bag zipping it open and grabbing the web launchers.

You smirked and continued to sneak up on your unsuspecting victim.  Once you got close enough where you couldn’t miss you stopped.  “Ohh Peter.” You drawled finally gaining his attention.

He turned around with a confused look right before you webbed his hands to the floor.  He yelped as he fell and tried to wriggle out of it.  You slowly sauntered over to your prey with a smile.  Once you reached him you sat down straddling him.  This made him immediately stop wiggling.

“Now that I’ve caught my Spider what to do with him?”  You whispered leaning in.  Peter gulped as you got closer.

“Y/N I was training let me go thi-” You rolled your hips as you leaned closer.  He squeaked as his face turned to a fiery red.

“What was that Spidey?” You giggled.

He gulped before continuing “I-I s-said let me go and stop this.”  He stuttered out.

You feigned an innocent look. “Stop what?”  And rolled your hips again.  He closed his eyes and took in a ragged breath.  His arms were bulging trying to be free of the webbing.  You rolled again for good measure.

“S-s-stop that.”  He whispered his eyes tightly closed and even his ears were burning red.  You giggled at the state you were putting him in.  Looking down at your master piece you knew one more thing would seal the deal.

You started at the base of his neck and started to kiss and suck.  Slowly moving up to his jaw.  You heard him groan and it took all of you to not stop and laugh. Moving along his jaw you finally got to his lips.  You pulled him in cupping both of his cheeks.  The kiss was passionate as Peter tried to lean in but only getting so far.  You continued to roll your hips as you were kissing him making him moan. You broke apart both breathing heavy. 

When you broke apart his eyes fluttered open and they were dark and full of lust. You wanted to stay there forever continuing this sweet torture but that wasn’t the plan. 

You briskly got up and started to leave.  Peter made a sound of protest, wiggling harder to be free.  He tried to call you back. “Y/N wait you can’t just leave me!”

You just smiled, blew a kiss and said, “If you get free come and find me.” 

Black Panther: A guide for people who aren’t familiar with Wakanda

Who here watched the Black Panther trailer and misplaced their pants after it ended?

Just me?

Fine.

There are rules in Wakanda. You close all the doors in Wakanda if it is a hot ass summer day because you do not want to let the cool air out. You always defrost the chicken before mom comes home. And the most prominent one is…

You do not fuck with Wakanda.

Wakanda is what happens if white people stayed their nosey asses on their side of the Mediterranean and minded their own fucking business. Situated in Eastern Africa just below Kush, Wakanda is an isolationist country that hid away from colonialist and invaders as well as fought off indiscriminately any would be invaders that thought they were about to bring bullshit. The countries main resource is vibranium, the shit that Captain America’s shield is made of, which derived from an asteroid or meteor than landed in Northeast Africa.Because of the technological advantage of the mineral, they gained a centuries long head start on the rest of civilization and instead of doing the fuckboy way of conquering people for the sake of conquering people, they minded their own business and glowed the fuck up in hiding pretty much ignoring African Colonization or any rival tribes.

Do not fuck with Wakanda.

The general politics in Wakanda functions like a monarchy. While the title of Black Panther, king of Wakanda, is a hereditary title, it is earned.

If you noticed in the trailer, T’chala was battling Killmonger probably over the title of Black Panther which is something you can challenge. After all, Black Panther represents the best of all Wakandans, physically and mentally. 

“King of Wakanda” Before you get mad, yes, women can take part in the contest to be Black Panther. In fact, T’challa’s sister tried to take the mantle off her father, but an unfortunate turn of events allowed her brother to succeed before her which is the source of jealousy between her and her brother. And yes, Shuri was also in the Black Panther trailer with the Panther Gauntlets.

Anyways, Wakanda is the most technologically advance civilization in Marvel’s Earth if not second to Latveria. Because of the this, it is sought after from likes of the KLAW, Erik Killmonger, Norman Osborn that one time he was president of the United States, and Doctor Doom.

Because of that, The Black Panther has bodyguards despite of his prowess. They are called the Dora Milaje.

And yes, they are comprised of women. They are not really wives-in-training in general. Just those two above were wives of T’challa. Yes, plural. No, they aren’t bound to him. And yes, if Shuri became Queen of Wakanda as well as Black Panther, she would also have bodyguards/wives or husbands-in-training as well. I can feel the feminists ready to throw T’challa under the bus as some black male power fantasy which he is, but Wonder Woman wears red, white and blue and is from Greece and no one questions it.

Anyways, the Dora Milaje are warrior women. They are celebrated in Wakanda as the greatest of their warriors and defenders of their nation. They are independent as well. In the latest Black Panther comics, one of them was sentenced to execution because of an assassination attempt. A lover of hers took offense to this charge and broke her out and here it is.

And this is a pair of Dora Milaje sparking a revolution against T’challa in order to turn Wakanda into a Democracy. And they are also Lesbians. So shut the fuck up, liberal feminists. 

Originally posted by capheusonyango

So we talked about Wakanda—

“But Ubernegro, Wakanda had to have it’s enemies. They were not this perfect African civilization because reasons.”

Like several superheroes, Wakanda’s enemies of ones of their own making.

I mentioned the Klaw whose sole ambition is to invade Wakanda for it’s Vibranium(and yes, the Klaw is supposed to be synonymous with the colonizers and the whole dynamic between them essentially mirrors that). After the Klaw’s successful assassination attempt of T’chaka, it was revealed that one of Wakanda’s own assisted him,. When it was found it, the traitor along with his family was exiled which consisted of also little boy, N’Jadaka. With the knowledge that his father was forced to help the Klaw, N’Jadaka felt deep resntment towards the royal family of Wakanda and thus began the transformation of Erik Killmonger. 

Killmonger was granted repatriation by T’challa and instead of being grateful, the nigga tried to dethrone him and destroy Wakanda by himself because he is a bitter ass motherfucker. And thus started a long blood rivalry that ended with Killmonger’s death by Mephisto.

But during this rivalry, Killmonger created a country called Niganda and they were taken in as refugees of Wakanda because T’challa is really nice. However, because of in nation disputes between the classes of Wakanda(yes, there are class divisions in Wakanda and not everyone is happy that they are ruled by a God King), ad they did not like the Killmonger refugees and the Kiollmonger refuggees all resented Wakanda so…war happened.


First you have the women of Wakanda. If you have not noticed, women are often the first victims of war on either side. Wakanda women are sick ofthat shit and are sick of praising men(ignoring that there is a female Black Panther). Fueled by the former guard wives of T’challa now lovers and partners of eachother, the Midnight Sisters, they hope to overthrow T’challa and the Wakanda royalty. And yes, they are totally not fucking with men’s bullshit.

Their goal is to create an independent country from Wakanda free from men. 

Yes, black women would totally carve a declaration of war into a black man’s chest to send a message that “you niggas ain’t shit” to the God King of an African Nation because they do not give a fuck.


Then you have the Nicangan refugees who hope to create another Nicanda outside of Wakanda. They want to continue the wishes of their former King, Killmonger, and overthrow T’challa by inciting rage amongst his people who are upset that T’challa left Wakanda for a period time and let his sister to near death, Wakanda to burn, and came back like he did not do these things.

They are led by Zenzi and Tetu.

So yeah. Welcome to Wakanda.

anonymous asked:

so, um. if you have any particular feelings about labyrinth--specifically Sarah--uh, go wild.

WILD PEACHES  [AO3]

.

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time. 

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid. 

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips. 

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

Keep reading

After the Parade

“Hush,” he says.

Above them, Cabal ships drag thick black smoke across the flickering twilight, and flames rise from the Tower. Legionnaires scour the streets, seeking out the cries of the wounded and afraid.

“Hush,” he says again, as the child starts to sniffle, and he pulls her into the shadows cast by an apartment block as a patrol makes its laborious way past. He was made to protect, made to serve, but he feels clumsy now; the hand on her shoulder is almost larger than her head and she has no armor to protect her bruised and burned skin from his rough gauntlets. When he tries to wipe the tears from her face he worries that he will be the one to break her.

He followed her screams, just as the Cabal did. He had no rifle to kill the Legionnaires that would have silenced her; dispatched the first one with his boot-knife but was not quick enough to catch the second unaware. It is dead, but his chest-plate is cracked and burned and the thing that eats the Traveler has also eaten his Light.

She is wearing yellow. A summer dress, for a celebration. When he offered her his gore-spattered hand she took it at once, and did not look back at the splayed and broken limbs visible beneath the rubble around her as though she knew there was no one left to wait for. He brushed dust and chips of concrete from the tight black curls on her head, and when she tried to smile her gap-toothed smile at him despite it all he knew that he would die the second death to save her.

They pick their way through dust-covered streets and alleys, one grimy hand holding his armored fingers, the other wrapped around the silent shell of his Ghost. He told her to keep it safe, and she clutches it to her chest with an intensity that would do any Titan proud.

To those behind the Wall, love and service. To those outside it, fury and fire. He is young: the Order’s maxim has never meant much to him, but here at the end of an Age he feels each word burning in his chest and he wraps his Mark around her shoulders like a cloak, like a little Hunter, to keep the nearness of the night from her as best he can.

When they hear the distant bursts of gunfire he waits until the chatter fades, then leads them in a different direction even though it gives him hope to know the City is still fighting. Perhaps if he ran to the violence he would find weapons or more Guardians, but he will not risk it. And so hours pass as they slink across the city, and as slowly as his wounds force him to move she still takes ten strides for every one of his. She has only one sandal, silver leather wrapped around a tiny leg, but he thinks that a single piece of armor is better than no armor at all.

He finds a battered pulse rifle in a street that leads to a square, tries not to wonder where its owner went. The magazine is full, but it is all he has and there is no Ghost at his shoulder to synthesize ammo. He bends to pick it up, never letting go of the hand that holds his own, just as a troop of Legionnaires turn the corner in front of them.

He pulls the child behind a crumbled wall. Waits one heartbeat, two; no slug throwers roar in response. Even so, they are between him and the direction he has lead, and he doubts he has the strength to cross the City again.

Love and service to those within. Fire and fury to those without.

The Legionnaires do not notice, but neither do they move on. More join them, and they begin to spiral out in all directions, continuing their search. It will not be long before they find him and the child. A narrow street, once hung with banners but now collapsing from the rooftops down, will lead her west, to the walls, away from Cabal patrols - as long as there is a distraction.

He lifts her chin as gently as he can.

“You have to run,” he whispers. He is bad at whispering. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“That way,” he says when she stares at him in silence, pointing with his outsized hand down the shadowed street.

He gives her a delicate push, points again. She blinks, once, then toddles into the dark, Ghost held close as though it will protect her. Perhaps, if there is a way to undo this disaster, it someday will.

He props the rifle atop the ledge, lifts his visor and sights with naked eye. There are so many, he thinks, and then bites back a laugh - there are only eight.

Love within. Fury without.

The rifle barks. One Legionnaire dies and the others spin in confusion, firing in the direction of his cover. He ignores them, squeezes the trigger again. And again. And again.

Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within -

Something tugs his arm. He looks down into the eyes of the little girl, and pure terror finds him.

“I said run,” he growls, but she does not, her face set in a scowl. He shakes his arm and she does not let go.

A micro-rocket bursts against the barricade and he ducks, throws his body over her, sprays the rest of his bullets in response. The child buries her head in his cracked armor, her frail body shaking.

Never has he been so afraid to die.

He feels a fool. He tosses the rifle down, wraps one arm around the child and pulls her close. With the other he slams his visor shut. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and when at last there is a break in the constant fire he lurches to his feet, lifts the child to his chest, and runs.

It is hard, so hard, to move full Titan-plate without his Light to drive it. His body aches. Something inside is probably broken, and he does not know how long it takes a body to heal without a Ghost.

A slug hits him in the back and he stumbles but his armor holds, and he sprints down the street where he tried to send the child, the sound of jump-packs following behind. He ducks his head and cups himself around his charge, makes himself as big as he can, plows across the debris-choked pavement. The girl begins to cry again, though to his ears it is not the sound of fear but of fury, and before long he is roaring with it, and the two of them roar together down the long, narrow street as explosions scatter bits of ruins that once were homes. He does not know where he is going, knows only that he must go somewhere, that he will not stop until the child is safe or his legs no longer work; that when he has nothing left he will throw her from him and tear the Cabal apart with fists alone, Light or no.

He has stopped counting the impacts. Every step is a knife in his chest. The Legionnaires must be close but he does not turn, lest the shield that is his body fail. He can feel himself slowing, a sensation that fills him both with wonder and despair, but he cannot force himself to let her go despite his promise. Something cracks against the back of his leg, and he is too tired and too hurt to correct. He lands heavily on one shoulder, slides ten grinding yards, arms still wrapped around the child. At the very least, they will have to rip him apart to get to her. Maybe, if he dies quickly, they will not notice her at all.

Gunfire interrupts his thoughts, along with the sound of footsteps and the roar of Cabal. Hands grab him, drag him out of the street, but still he does not uncurl. He sees Hunter cloaks, Warlock robes, a Titan mark.

“Hush,” he tells the child, head still tucked close, while they cower in a doorway and around them Guardians fight.

“Hush,” he tells her, over their surprised cries of pain.

“Hush,” he tells her, over and over, until at last all is silent and he dares to lift his head and stand.

He helps the child to her feet, and though he leans against the doorway it is her tiny hand in his that keeps him upright. He looks around at their saviors: most are near as bruised as he is. They nod their heads, pat him on the back, and he opens his mouth to ask for forgiveness, for leading the Legionnaires here, but a Hunter shakes her head as though she knows what he will say.

Two Guardians lie dead. Truly dead. One Hunter, one Titan wearing the Mark of the Gatewatch. He waits the half-second for their Ghosts to revive them, feels sick when they do not rise. He swears that he will learn their names and add them to the Order of the Pilgrim Guard.

Someone makes cooing sounds and tries to take the child, tries to give her water, but she refuses to let go of his hand, refuses to surrender his Ghost. For a moment they stand there, all seven of them in a circle around her, and it is as though a different light has risen to bond them all.

They need ships. Weapons. Food, maybe. The child, at least, must eat. The Hunter offers water again, and he wonders how many new scraps of fabric she has taken for her cloak. A different Titan, this one wearing the Mark of the Six Fronts, hands him the dead Hunter’s rifle - then looks down at the child, still clinging to his hand, and passes him a sidearm instead.

They turn their backs to the Tower, and continue their slow march to the western wall. Perhaps they will find supplies along the way. If not, so be it - they are still Guardians, and they will save what light they can.

Love within. Fury without.

The Cabal have no word for ‘retreat.’ Soon, they will learn that the Guardians have none for ‘mercy.’


Words: @themothyards

Art: @artdailybykitty

The Holy Grail of Sam Wilson Fanfic Recs

A list of recommended Sam-positive fanfics and authors by @lunaaltare and @unclesteeb. For more information on how this list was created, click here. 

Just a special reminder to check out @samwilsonbirthdaybang! Let’s keep creating awesome works!

Thank you to everyone who contributed to this list in any way!! HAPPY READING!

Holy Grail of Sam FanFic Recs And Authors:

Dreadnought by lunaaltare [Sam/Steve/Bucky, 60k, Explicit]

It’s 2015. So when a Nazi organization bags and kidnaps a bisexual black man to be their next asset, he guesses they’re trying their hand at this whole progressive thing, too. 

Make Me Your Home by Unclesteeb [Sam/Steve, 3k, Teen]

Sometimes, things need more than dusting and cleaning. Sometimes, things just require a lot of hard work.

When There’s Rain Showers by AmarieMelody [Sam/Bucky, 12k, Explicit]

In which Sam and Bucky are married and have a certain code language.

Humor, fluff, more humor, and gratuitous smut at the end.

Keep reading

Wolfstar Raising Harry AU Headcanons

* Toddler Harry with his little leather jacket just like Sirius’s
* Sirius, in dog form, carrying toddler Harry all around the house on his back
* Because Sirius and Remus don’t want to act like they’re replacing Harry’s parents, he grows up using “my Moony” and “my Pads” the way most people say “my mum and dad”.
* When Harry was little, he was scared of thunderstorms. He’d run and hide under Remus’s oversized sweater, wrapping his arms around Remus and shaking.
* Sirius always made pancakes in crazy shapes- a snitch, a broomstick, a dragon, a castle- and sometimes in different colors with food dye.
* Little Harry not understanding why his Moony had to lock himself in the basement for the night once a month
* At night, Remus would read Harry bedtime stories, both the Tales of Beedle the Bard and the Grimm Brothers stories, because that’s what Lily would have wanted.
* Harry jumping up and down with excitement when Sirius and Remus decide he’s old enough for a real broomstick
* When they went out shopping, Harry would hold both his guardians’ hands and jump in the air and swing between them for a second every couple steps
* When Remus and Sirius were busy, Andromeda would babysit. Harry loved playing with his older “cousin”, Tonks.
* After a very eventful trip to the park during which they discovered Harry was a parselmouth, they bought him a pet snake, which he named Sherman. At first, Remus wasn’t very happy about it (he didn’t much like snakes), but then he noticed that Harry’s room stayed cleaner than it normally did. When asked, Harry revealed that Sherman had started refusing to play with him until he did his tidying. After that, Remus was rather fond of the creature.
* Ignoring protests from Sirius, Remus bought Harry a few academic books (Elementary Transfiguration, Defense for Dummies, A Simplified History of Magic, etc.) a full year before he got his Hogwarts letter.
* Harry always writing his name as Harry L. B. Potter (for Lupin-Black), because he wanted to acknowledge them as his parents without giving up his connection to Lily and James
* Sirius tearing up when he and Remus put Harry on the Hogwarts Express for the first time
* The Weasley twins showing Harry the map, thinking he’ll be astounded, but he just goes, “Oh, my dads made that!”
* Harry was warned about Snape by both Remus and Sirius (albeit in very different ways) ahead of time, so he studied his Potions book diligently over the summer and answered all Snape’s questions correctly with an infuriating smirk on his face.
* The Mirror of Erised still shows Harry’s parents, but Remus and Sirius are there too, because he can’t imagine life without them.
* The first time Harry jinxes Malfoy at school (for making extremely offensive comments about half-humans), he gets a Howler the next morning that yells only “NICE ONE, SON” in Sirius’s voice.
* Sirius thinks it’s hilarious that people think Harry is the heir of Slytherin in 2nd year. “Sherman wants to know why he doesn’t have his own secret chamber too!”
* When Remus teaches in 3rd year, Harry is thrilled. He proudly announces, “That’s my Moony,” when Remus takes his seat at the staff table. In the evenings, he hangs out in the DADA classroom to do his homework, often accompanied by Ron and Hermione.
* Harry showing up to class late and Remus, trying to look stern but still smiling a little, says, “I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m going to have to give you a detention,” to which Harry grins and responds, “Yes, /sir/,” because he spends most evenings with his Moony anyway, and Remus never docks points or schedules the detentions to interfere with Quidditch. Occasionally, someone tries to complain to McGonagall about Harry being shown favoritism, but she just shrugs and says, “He’s serving detention, isn’t he?”
* Harry casts his Patronus by thinking about the first time Remus took the Wolfsbane Potion and could stay home on the full moon.
* After the mud-throwing incident in Hogsmeade, Harry runs up to the DADA classroom to tell Remus all about it, and they both laugh, and Remus says, “That’s my boy, haunting the Shrieking Shack just like his Moony.”
* Harry constantly sending Remus messages like, “How can I accomplish this thing without technically breaking any school rules” and Remus almost always has an answer.
* Sirius dying of laughter as a very aggravated Harry recounts, via the two-way mirrors, his attempts to secure a date for the Yule Ball
* Sirius and Remus arriving in a panic less than five minutes after Barty Crouch Jr was unmasked, with Sirius actually looking close to tears. They resolutely refuse to leave, no matter what Madam Pomfrey says, though they consent to be silent. Harry falls asleep holding both their hands.
* Harry trying to sneak into Order meetings under the Invisibility Cloak, so Remus and Sirius get in the habit of Summoning his glasses before they start to check if he’s in the room. Harry, with his father’s cleverness, retaliates by teaching himself how to make things Unsummonable.
* When Harry tells them that he has to go on a mission for Dumbledore, Sirius snorts and says, “You don’t really think we’re letting you go off on your own, do you? We’re coming.”
* The last time Harry sees Remus and Sirius before going to sacrifice himself, they’re fighting back-to-back against a pair of Death Eaters. Harry whispers, “I love you. Don’t die,” before turning away.

anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Boredom Be Damned (Peter Parker x reader)

Originally posted by tomhollandisdaddy

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary:  Prompt #2: “You’re hot when you’re angry.”

All Peter wanted to do was get his homework done before adventuring into the night, but Y/N walks in and turns his study session into a flush session.

Requested: yes @myfriendmagislit

Warning: slight language

Here’s another request for #2! So excited to write this bc this user is the og:) hope you enjoY!!! This is also kinda long so oops lol and I HOPE YOU LIKE IT !!:-) @myfriendmagislit

MASTERLIST <———————-

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Were you supposed to be on your way to Peter’s right now? No. Did you tell Peter you were on your way to him right now? No.

You were bored as hell, it was as simple as that. You tried to entertain yourself in numerous ways, even attempting to do your pre-scheduled homework for tomorrow night. But that put your state of mind into greater boredom. So, you decided you would carry your bored, sorry ass all the way three blocks to Peter’s apartment. It’s not that you only did this when you were extremely bored, you did almost every day. It just turns out that today, Peter didn’t mention to you anything about working on homework or hanging out for the night. This surprised you to an extreme length, due to the fact you and Peter were stuck like glue all day, every day.

So, you being the nosy ass you were, you decided to investigate. Which worked out perfectly because you were bored as well! Of course your sneakiness did play a part in your feet carrying you to Peter’s that night, but it wasn’t only that. And it wasn’t just the boredom.

Maybe it was the pulsing excitement that ran through your veins every time Peter would run up to you with good news about his exciting double life. Or maybe it was the way your heart grew heavy in your chest when Peter’s lean, muscled body would sit closely next to you as you worked on homework, the heat radiating off his frame to hit yours. Or it might be just spending time with your best friend—correction, beautiful best friend, that caused your feelings to intensify as you got older. Maybe it was all of those things and more, that caused your mind to shift your boredom to Peter.

You admitted these intense feelings a while ago, your instinct immediately knowing your affection for the brown eyes, sweet smiling boy as soon as you laid your eyes on him ten years ago. Your friendship blossomed, consisting of ever lasting laughs and good times, it was what everyone dreamed of in a relationship.

The only problem was, the feeling was only one sided. To your dismay, they were extremely one sided. Your friends would constantly say otherwise, swearing that he looked at you the exact way you gazed at him, but you never saw it. You knew they were just trying to make you feel better. Especially due to the fact Liz Allen was someone who constantly popped up in conversations between you and Peter. This obviously made you feel instant loss and regret. But if Peter was happy, you were happy.

You slowly let your yearning thoughts of Peter vanish before arriving at Peter’s door. You sigh, grabbing the key underneath the mat Aunt May had told you about and open the door, the silence hitting you. You shut the door slowly, walking through the living room area, searching for Peter in the so far vacant house. As no sign of Peter approaches, you walk to his bedroom door, knowing that he’d be in there. Your knuckles hit lightly against the white door, shoving one hand  in your side jacket pocket and the other holding your thermos with water as you wait for the door to open.

You hear the jiggle of the door knob and and look up, seeing a wondrous sight that made your eyes look everywhere place in the world besides Peter’s eyes.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here?” he questioned kindly, quirking his head to the side at your sudden appearance at his door. You tried to remember to breath as your eyes came in contact with a very shirtless, very ripped, and very hot Peter standing before you. Clutching your cup tightly,  your eyes lingered on his sculpted abs as your mouth stood agape at the sight before you.

Thank god for boredom. What would you without it?

“Y/N?” his voice quickly snapped your dirty thoughts of him out of your mind, disrupting everything good in this world. Y/E/C meets a playful brown as your mouth snaps shut, shaking your head vigorously as you leap out of a hazed state.

Almost breathlessly you rush out, “Oh! I-I was just really bored. Needed something to do,” you finish, shrugging your shoulders at your lousy interpretation of boredom.

He raised his eyebrows, opening the door farther for you to enter. You took note of his right muscle flexing at the stretch of his arm before he spoke, “Okay. Yeah, I’m just trying to get my homework done. Tony asked me to do something when I got done, and May’ll kill me if I leave without finishing it.”

You shook your head as a sign of understanding, noticing his seemingly stressed state as you sat down on his bed. He shut the door, turning towards you with his hands on his naked hips, “But yeah you can hang here, I’m just gonna finish the assignment for Algebra. You know how picky Ms. Roberts’ can be,” he chuckled lightly, smiling in your direction.

“Oh and those papers next to you are the chemistry homework, if you need to see it.“

You nodded, a close mouthed smile adorned your lips at his sweet gaze. He sighed before sitting down at his desk, continuing his work, leaving you there.

Is this a fucking joke? Is he seriously not going to put on a shirt? He’s never done this before! But, would you want him to? The view from here is fucking incredible. Boredom be damned.

Your eyes once again scaled his half naked body, but this time it was the back view you got to see. The lamp accompanied his brain in helping him finish his work, the remnants of the light shone on his back muscles. You felt your mouth open once again as you carved the muscles with your eyes, craving to run your fingers over every curve of his body. His bangin’ body was another added bonus to Peter Parker. His sweet smile, incredible personality, and extraordinary intelligence were the major factors that made you fall for him. But this, fuck. This was part of the premium package you didn’t know you had signed up for.

You dazedly watched his shoulder move with arm as he sketched the answer quickly on his paper, and sometimes bring his arm up and run his fingers through his ruffled brown locks. You suddenly remembered the drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, that had probably been there for minutes. You reached your arm up rapidly, attempting to wipe the drool silently and sneakily.

Well, that plan failed.

Because as soon as your hand hit the corner of your mouth, your elbow also hit your thermos, knocking it over and open, all over Peter’s chemistry homework that was lying next to you on his bed.

Fuck.

Eyes widened, your heart rate picked up as you made eye contact with the now soaking wet papers lying sloppily on his bed. A gasp emitted from your throat at the sight of the black ink spreading all over the drenched papers. ruining it even more. Well, your gasp awoke Peter from his intense gaze on his work to quickly looking behind him. His eyes grew at the sight of you directed to the now wet papers and thermos lying on top of them. Your mouth agape, you dared to look at Peter’s gaze hitting you like a brick wall.

He ran over to his ruined work, fingers picking up the wet paper, his gaze flashing from the homework to your guilty Y/E/C eyes staring deeply into his own, "Y/N WHAT THE HELL!”

You gaping lips barely stuttered out a response as you reached over and picked up the thermos, “P-Peter I’m so sorry! It was an accident I swear!” you rushed out, throwing the empty thermos to the ground before yanking the remaining papers off his bed and throwing them in the trash can next to you.

“Y/N THIS HOMEWORK TOOK ME FOREVER ARE YOU KIDDING ME. I WAS SO CLOSE TO BEING DONE! I CAN’T BELIEVE…”

Your eyes shut off instantly as Peter’s voice grew weak and strong at the same time, defeat yet anger taking over his demeanor. But, instead of listening to his rant about your previous actions, you watched his arms point from you to the papers, his bicep flexing every moment he stretched them. His eyebrows furrowed and raised at your gaze just staring at him like he’s speaking gibberish. But, you were noticing his arm and neck veins popping out at the stress in his voice and your insides turned gooey, his state turning you on a lot.

“… Mr. Stark needs me! He finally asked me to do something for once and I  was so ready! Now May won’t let me go! Jesus Y/N, could you of been a little more careful? You-”

Your mind shut off his anger towards you, clouding with scandalous thoughts you’ve never thought of before. This caused your thoughts and apparently brain to shut down as you interrupted his rant.

“You’re hot when you’re angry.”

Oh my god. Those words did not just come out of your mouth. What the fuck are you thinking?! Holy shit he thinks you’re some creep-

“W-What did you just say?” Peter questioned, chest slowly deflating from his previous state. You felt your cheeks sprout bright red as his figure inched closer to yours. Your brain finally wanted to work again, your eyes peeking up from staring intently at the floor after your previous comment. His nerves rose immediately, realizing your thoughts on him.

“W-What? I didn’t say-”

“Yes you did. What did you say?” now Peter’s soft brown eyes were gazing intently in yours, his own cheeks matched yours, both flushed and embarrassed. His heart raced at your sudden exposed feelings towards him, and he couldn’t of been happier.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, biting your lip in guilt as your eyebrows furrowed, “I really didn’t mean to say that. I meant to s-say t-that you were scary when you’re angry, not h-hot. Not that you aren’t hot when y-you’re angry, because you are, obviously I mean look at you! O-Oh my god, I’ll just shut up!” you hollered, an extremely nervous chuckle sprang from your throat, attempting to cover up your immense awkwardness.

Peter’s cheeks flushed even more as he heard it roll off your pretty lips once again, a smile played across his own. His eyes sparkled at your red cheeks staring at the floor. He stepped forward slightly, his head daringly leaned towards your ear, his own nervousness growing per second.

Your heart beat sped at his closeness as his lips brushed your tinted-pink ear, his hot breath whispering against your heated skin, “Maybe I should make you angry sometime.”

And you’re pretty sure you died right then and there.

Inner Vixen

Warnings: SMUT (Ages 18+)

 

Summary: You’re fed up with being the blushing, shy girl, usually too insecure to return any of Bucky’s flirtatious advances. But with a little help from liquid courage, your inner vixen makes an appearance.

 

Word Count: 3.6k

“Barnes. 6 o’clock.” Natasha whispered keeping her eyes focused on you standing right beside her at the bar. Tony’s latest rager had started approximately an hour ago and, though you would never admit to nervously awaiting his arrival, she noticed your eyes lingering on the entrance every now and again.

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His First. (A Dirty Harry Styles One Shot)

- In which Harry is a bit.. inexperienced in the bedroom.

Harry thought he could hide it. He thought he could get away with it. But, when everything came to him so all of a sudden, he realized that he was trapped, and the only way to get out, was by telling the truth. 

And so he did.

“What?” you ask breathlessly, your hands at the mid of Harry’s patterned shirt, fingers frozen on the buttons, pulling the colorful fabric away from his tall and lanky form.

“I-I’m.. yeh are my first.”


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strilondes & co stupid s’mores post

Karkat: his marshmallow is engulfed in flames. dave keeps telling him to take it out. this only makes him more stubborn. shut up I’m doing this my own way. he has created charcoal. it is disgusting. he’ll eat it anyway because dave will make fun of him if he doesnt. dave makes fun of him for eating it. he cannot win

Dave: he keeps making his marshmallow touch other marshmallows. except karkat’s because it is on fire. everyone regards this with benign amusement except john who keeps telling him to knock it off you damn doofus you are going to knock them off into the fire. challenge accepted. they are passive aggressively trying to knock each other’s marshmallows into the fire. in an inexplicable turn of events roxy wins. they didn’t even realize she was trying. dave blames john. john blames dave. roxy feels bad and makes them both perfect s’mores after. they accept this, begrudgingly. roxy sits between them. she puts her arms around the both of them. leans forward and innocently asks if there are any other challengers. no one accepts

Dirk: perfectly roasts his marshmallow. burns his hands pulling it off the stick. pretends that this didnt happen. is annoyed by how it is impossible to eat a smore without getting marshmallow shit all over his face. no one look at me. fuck, everyone is looking. rose is raising her eyebrows at him. jake is grinning at him. just eat it. come on

Jake: bets karkat he can eat more of them than he can. they lose track of who is winning somewhere around number nine. karkat accuses him of cheating b/c hes breaking off the graham cracker pieces outside the lines so his are smaller. jake calls him a whiny soft gut wiggler. karkat mashes a half melted marshmallow into jakes hair. they eat six more each and then bond over a mutual inability to endure even a whiff of the scent of marshmallow or chocolate without gagging for months thereafter

Rose: likes her marshmallows slightly burnt. makes fun of dave for barely toasting his. dave scoffs at her. you just like ur marshmallows the way you like your soul, black and shriveled. rose grins. why thank u dave. youre so sweet. she makes aggressive eye contact as she consumes half the smore in one bite. graham cracker and marshmallow go everywhere. god damn smores and their notorious structural instability. dave and roxy snort when they laugh. rose wipes her face with a paper napkin, balls it up and throws it at them. at least my marshmallows are warm inside. yours are cold & nasty and that’s the facts

Kanaya: doesnt super get it b/c lets face it sweets are kind of ???? when you’re a vampire who constantly craves the coppery taste of questionable liquid sustenance. she eats four anyway because it seems to be The Thing. It’s actually not the worst thing in the world. she slowly collects all the dark chocolate. these are mine. jane asks where tf the dark chocolate bars all went. kanaya looks up, a half melted marshmallow speared on her fangs, sucking the melty fluff out of the middle. it was definitely not me, she says, around a mouthful. uh. yes of course not, jane agrees. she sits back down. her eyes are v. wide. no one questions it again. kanaya privately delights at her good fortune. her story is rock solid and no one suspects her at all and now all these delicious bitter bars are hers and also half rose’s because she’s pretty sure that’s how human marriage works ?? ? ..?

Roxy: puts 7 marshmallows on a stick and creates a toasted gradient. eats the marshmallows directly off the stick. dirk informs her the noises shes making as she does this are borderline obscene. please stop. roxy makes aggressive eye contact as she eats the next one in line like a fuckin marshmallow corncob. dirk throws a marshmallow bag at her. roxy asks him if the marshmallow stick hes using has any relation to the one lodged up his ass. jake chokes on his 14th smore. jane apologizes on their behalf to everyone else present. roxy queues another 7 marshmallows, smirking

Callie: collects one (1) smore from everyone b/c she wants to try out everyones styles. she compliments them all effusively but secretly likes jane’s the best. she cant believe shes finally found this, a sweet that she can also roast mercilessly over an open flame. truly these are gods gift to cherubs. she eats them steadily with no sign of stopping. ppl begin to notice. they become concerned. they are running out of marshmallows. callie. callie we had like ten times as many bags as any reasonable group of people could ever hope to go through in one sitting. what is happening. callie waves them off. she’s still crunching away. she is Content

Summer Playlist

Aries: “Let’s get lost you can take me home, somewhere nice we can be alone, bikini tops coming off” // Lady Gaga, Summerboy

Taurus: “And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind, I can never leave the past behind. I can see no way, i can see no way, I’m always dragging that horse around” // Florence + the Machine, Shake It Out

Gemini: “She was mine, I was hers, And all that’s in between. If she would cry, I would shelter her, and keep her from the darkness that will be” // Ed Sheeran, Sunburn

Cancer: “If you are breathing in my tears, I won’t let them dry. If you’re still squirming in my scar, I won’t let it heal. Even if it hurts, it’s okay if it’s you. Even if they are sad memories, it’s okay if they’re mine” Lee Hi ft. Jennie Kim, Special

Leo:  “So don’t you worry your pretty little mind, People throw rocks at things that shine and life makes love look hard.  The stakes are high, the water’s rough, But this love is ours” // Taylor Swift, Ours

Virgo: “What is love if you’re not here with me? What is love if it’s not guaranteed? What is love if it just ups and leaves? What is love if you’re not here no more? What is love if you’re not really sure?” // V Bozeman, What is Love

Libra: “I’ll be as honest as you let me, I miss your early morning company, if you get me. You are my favorite ‘what if’. You are my best ‘I’ll never know’” // Fall Out Boy // Fourth of July 

Scorpio: “We’re nothing like we seem, passionate words are never spoken. You don’t know how I bleed when I leave your side” // Beyoncé, Satellites 

Sagittarius: “Moods that take me and erase me, and I’m painted black. You have suffered enough, and warred with yourself. It’s time that you won” // Glen Hansard, Falling Slowly

Capricorn: “You hold me without touch, You keep me without chains. I never wanted anything so much, than to drown in your love and not feel your rain” // Sarah Bareilles, Gravity 

Aquarius: “Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing through my open ears, inciting and inviting me. Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns and calls me on and on, across the universe” // The Beatles, Across The Universe 

Pisces: “Take my hand, stay Joanne. Heaven’s not ready for you. Every part of my aching heart needs you more than the angels do” // Lady Gaga, Joanne 

An Overrated Cliché

Summary: That Spider-Man kiss video was definitely cliché and cheesy, which is exactly the reason that Spidey and Y/N have to do it.

Word Count: 2235

Warnings: Heights and Swearing.

A/N: casually drops this after almost a year without writing like okay!! okay!! please enjoy this (it has good format!!) :0 and thank you to @buckys-fossil for actually tolerating me and proofreading this, i love you!!! also this is a gender neutral fic!!!! if you followed me when i was strictly an aesthetic blog well then, hello i write fics too

Originally posted by kimtaeyoen

Summer weather was the worst.

Summer holiday wasn’t that much better, what with having cabin fever and all. It had been a week since you had left the comfort of your apartment and three hours since you flopped onto the couch and lay there. All of your friends had been busy, Michelle doing her protesting, Liz with college preparation. It left you with nothing much to do other than lounge around your home.

The fan placed on the coffee table was set on revolve and hit your body with cool breezes. Laying on your side and absentmindedly watching season three of Phineas and Ferb, you felt jealous that those children were creative enough to make the most of your summer. It was a big contrast to you, as you hadn’t done anything the entire few weeks of summer there had been.

A thought suddenly came to mind and you decided to act on it. Shutting off the TV and fan, you put on actual clothes and took care of your hygiene before fixing your hair and pulling on your sneakers. Making sure to had some money and the house key, you texted your mom.

to: mom
hey i’m leaving the apartment for the first time in days are you proud of me

It didn’t take her long to reply.

from: mom
Fine with me, I was about to kick you out and make you do something.

You laughed at her text before tucking your phone away and leaving the apartment and locking the door.

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On Camera

Or that one time Lance decided to live-stream when he really should’ve been resting. The (established) klance YouTuber AU that no one asked for, but you’re all getting. Domestic klance sharing an apartment is my jam, and throwing a little angst in there is a bonus.

I’m actually really happy with this, and if people like it I might do an actual long AU thing with this setting, so feedback is appreciated! For now though, just a one-shot. This is also proof that the best writing for me happens at 3 AM… oops. I hope you enjoy!!

Psst @taylor-tut this is that thing I not-so-discreetly mentioned in my tags, have a wonderful day.


Lance McClain was a rulebreaker in every way, except for one thing. He believed it was always necessary to have a routine, and never stray from it. If asked, he’d inform you that a steady routine was the foundation for a steady life.

Showering every morning, brushing his teeth every night, thinking of a cheesy one-liner for Keith each day without fail, the list went on. Little things.

One of his many routines was to live-stream, always on Sundays. Because who did anything besides sit at home, definitely not with a hangover, on Sunday?

New videos went up on Wednesdays, but the carefully edited ones on YouTube and his live-streams were very different. Many fans even preferred seeing him live, mainly because he couldn’t stop himself from making bad jokes, and was usually too lazy to straighten his bedhead.

And they would always ask him to go bother Keith in the next room, which Lance more often than not was obliged to do.

So when he woke up late one Sunday with a killer headache and a stuffy nose, Lance wasn’t about to let it get in the way of his routine.

He discovered a note from Keith on the kitchen table that said he’d be out running errands, and Lance lamented that he hadn’t been awake to tell Keith to get soup. After shooting him a quick text, the only response Lance got was “You don’t even like soup.”

Lance chuckled softly, which quickly led to a series of wet coughs. Clearing his throat, he began to set up his camera, wrapped himself up in blankets, and started the stream.

“Hey guys,” he said with a small wave, and winced at how raspy his voice sounded. He sniffled, and edged the off-screen box of tissues closer to him.

The chat was quickly flooded with “HELLO”’s and “LANCE!”’s. By now, all the fans knew when he went live. Lance was, however, surprised to see several inquiries about his health.

There were quite a few “Are you okay”’s, and even some “You seem sick”’s, with one of Lance’s personal favorites being “You look like shit.”

He read off the last comment with a short laugh. “Thanks, KeiththeKutie05.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Nice name.”

After a short pause of him continuing to scan the chat, he spoke again. “I’m fine though, just got a cold or something. Nothing could stop me from live-streaming!”

As the viewers seemed satisfied with this response, Lance wasn’t surprised to see the usual repetition of “Where’s Keith?” in the chat. He sighed.

“Mullet Boy is running errands,” Lance told them, rolling his eyes for effect. “Probably going out to buy a new pair of fingerless gloves.”

Keith and Lance had been sharing an apartment for some time now, and the Internet was very invested in their relationship, or so it seemed. Keith was annoyed by the whole thing at first, but Lance found it entertaining that his fans seemed to like Keith better than him. Lance could, admittedly, relate.

Eventually, the accidental publicity that came with dating a YouTuber inspired Lance to make a collab channel for them, though Keith never got his own. He insisted that he was too awkward to film anything by himself, which Lance secretly found adorable.

Numerous people began telling Lance to prank Keith when he came back, to which Lance grinned. Playing tricks on Keith during live-streams had become somewhat of a tradition in and of itself. “Maybe I will,” Lance tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You guys got any ideas?”

Lance read through some of the responses but saw nothing particularly appealing, then perked up at someone asking when he’d do a video with Hunk again.

“Actually, I got some good news for you guys,” Lance declared, sneezing into his elbow before continuing. “Hunk and I are going to be playing videogames on Pidge’s channel sometime next week, and Hunk has both of us coming over to his and Shay’s for a baking video. I haven’t decided what we should do for my part yet. Maybe a Q & A?”

Once again, Lance’s eyes scanned through the suggestions until his eyes snagged on one he liked. “Cards Against Humanity, huh? With YouTube’s shitty new rules it could get demonetized, but I do love that game, so why not? I’m positive Pidge owns it, and I can tell them to bring it over. Maybe I can even convince Keith to play with us.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic response that got.

“I think I’m going to get myself some more coffee,” Lance decided, looking down at the empty mug resting on a coaster. “Last night Keith made me watch this really scary movie, so I naturally had trouble falling asleep. Gotta have coffee to keep myself functioning. Do you guys prefer coffee or tea? Keith and I are both coffee people, but he likes his black. No sugar or anything, disgusting if you ask me.”

Lance almost regretted this comment as a war of opinions on black coffee slowly took over his computer screen.

“Well, anyway, I’m gonna go to the kitchen real quick. I’d bring my laptop but… I’d probably spill coffee on it, and we can’t have that.”

Lance stood, and was about to start towards the next room when his vision abruptly blurred and refocused. He knew immediately something was wrong.

His legs felt like jelly, and the room seemed to spin as he took a single step forward. Had he only been fine when he was sitting? Lance had half the mind to sit right back down, but his brain was growing muddled, and direction simply didn’t make sense.

Lance’s migraine flared abruptly in intensity, and then suddenly the wood floor was rushing up to meet him. Everything went dark.


Keith glanced at his phone as he moved around to the back of the car, where he’d stored the groceries, and had to repress a fond smile at the Twitter notification on the screen. Lance was, apparently, live-streaming. Keith thought he might actually miss his time-slot for once, but he figured by now he should be used to the Cuban boy’s dedication to routine.

Lance’s channel got some negative feedback from more ‘sophisticated’ YouTubers for being… all over the place. A dedicated beauty guru, or PrinceLotor as his channel was called, had dragged Lance on Twitter on more than one occasion.

Lance was anything but consistent when it came to videos. He did whatever he felt like doing that week, and the fans loved it. Sometimes he played songs on his guitar, sometimes he did prank-calls. He would film Q&A’s, or tell stories about all the interesting stuff that happened in his life— Lance’s bad luck was rather famous. He recommended TV shows, did hauls of what he got for holidays, vlogged on occasion when he went to stores, you name it.

But Lance’s favorite thing to do were collabs.

Hunk, an incredibly smart engineer, had a baking channel as a hobby, and Lance was his favorite assistant.

Pidge was a newer gaming channel, but their obsession with theorizing about the game’s lore while playing and busting other fan theories made them grow in popularity quickly. For two player games, Lance was ideal.

Allura was an extremely popular beauty channel, and Lance let her give him makeovers whenever she wanted to. Shiro could use extra actors in his short films.

And Keith… well, the two of them had a channel together that had no pattern whatsoever, much to Lance’s dislike. Absolutely spontaneous and random, usually doing things by popular fan request, like dancing or karaoke. And uploads were by no means regular.

Keith was surprised at how much he had started to enjoy it. Lance had been telling him he should start an art channel, with animations and speedpaints and the like, and Keith wasn’t… that opposed to the idea. It could be a useful source of income, to help with all the debt he would come into after graduating college. But he’d never tell Lance.

Without thinking too much of it, Keith swiped right across his screen, taking him to Lance’s tweet about the live-stream in order to like it. He was about to close his phone again and begin taking groceries up to their apartment when his eyes snagged on something odd.

Lots of the replies to Lance’s tweet mentioned him, particularly the recent ones, even tagging him in it. Keith couldn’t fathom why they would be talking about him if he wasn’t on the stream, unless Lance was complaining about him live again.

Keith bristled. Lance better not be still annoyed at him for the movie the last night. Signs wasn’t scary at all, and not even a real horror movie! Lance simply stated that ‘he didn’t mess with aliens.’

But when he looked at all the mentions, Keith felt his irritation give way to confusion, and then panic.

“KEITH GET TO UR APARTMENT”, “YOU BETTER GO CHECK ON LANCE”, “HOLY SHIT HES COLLAPSED KEITH HURRY YA ASS UP”, and the one that really sent Keith reeling “UH GUYS IS IT JUST ME OR DID WE WITNESS LANCE’S DEATH ON CAMERA?”

Keith slammed the trunk, all groceries forgotten as he sprinted into the apartment building and ran for the stairs. They only lived on the third floor, and he was not about to wait for the slow, crowded elevator.

He fumbled to fit his key in the lock and opened the door to the living room, only to spot the live-streaming set up, with no Lance. Keith rushed forward, but drew up short when he realized that Lance was in fact passed out on the floor in front of the couch.

“Oh my god— Lance!” Keith sank down beside him, turning his boyfriend over. “Lance, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Lance’s eyes opened slowly, and Keith felt relief flood his system, despite the uncharacteristically pale skin. “K-Keith? Wha… I thought you were shopping?”

“I’m back,” Keith answered shortly, wincing as he pressed a hand onto Lance’s forehead. “Jeez, you’re on fire. Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?!”

“Are you a fire?” Lance mumbled under his breath, and Keith furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What? No, Lance, I was saying you have a fever.”

“Because you’re hot and I want s'more,” Lance continued, as if he hadn’t heard him at all. Keith was suddenly painfully aware that the live-stream was still going, and that his face was even more flushed than Lance’s, and not because of a fever.

Keith glanced at the computer sitting on the coffee table briefly, noting that most of the chat was full of random keyboard smashing. He smiled apologetically. “At least he’s conscious,” he shrugged, hoisting Lance up off the floor and propping one of his arm’s around Keith’s shoulder. “I’m going to take this idiot to the hospital, he’s way too hot.”

“So you finally admitted it,” Lance’s voice was barely audible, and Keith glanced back down to see him grinning up at Keith tiredly.

“I meant your temperature, dumbass. Next time, tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

And with that, he shut off the stream.

home after rain

blue orchids short story

pairing: jungkook | reader
genre: too much fluff.. too much cute
word count: 3.986
author’s note: surprise! \o/ I honestly have no idea how or why this happened. yesterday I just… started writing, and here we are, a few thousand words later. also, bear in mind that this is a sequel to blue orchids, so you need to read that one first if you want to understand this short piece. hope you all enjoy!

This story is set six years into the future within Blue Orchids’ universe.


The sun rays are melting on your skin. It has been a while since the skies opened up like this, leaving the sun bare to the living, its warmth a pleasant gift after days of storm and gloom. The sand under your legs and feet is, fortunately, not scorching — not yet, at least. The early morning is still warming up to the pristine sun, and the salty winds of the beach are still a strange mixture of the growing heatwave and the remnants of past iciness.

You cannot remember the last time you visited the beach, but it does not feel foreign or uncomfortable. It feels like you belong, mind at peace and body molding to the sand as your extended legs allow your toes to brush against the gentle waves that break and ebb away, water still too chilly to enjoy at its fullest.

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Cranky || Peter Parker x Reader

@acrilic​: you could write like cute jealous!peter where you start spending a bit more time with another friend of yours and one day peter comes through your window cus he’s so done and wants to tell you that he likes you sm and he just starts rambling and you kiss him to shut him up efmldka i feel like that would be cute idk

Warnings: Swearing, angry teenager hormones™, prolly bad grammar, jealous & angry cinnamon roll Peter, kind of angsty??

Notes: i hope i don’t fuck this up :)) dammit this got too long. sorry for that. this is probably bs but heck it’s my first imagine. pls read it all it took like five hours and give me a shot :’) prolly going to write a series. enough talking,,, i hope you enjoy and ignore my self-loathing note. also give me your opinion on this! i would love to read all of y’all’s opinions.

****************************************************

Peter Parker and (Y/N). Two nerds, best friends, crushing on each other and too oblivious to notice. 

You had a Spanish exam the next day and you planned on hanging out on your house with Peter. You knew Peter’s little secret and you insisted him to come hang out with you instead of some bad guys that tried to kill him. You never could see him hurt, you couldn’t live with that in your conscience, that you could do something to help him.

Peter: (Y/N).
(Y/N): what
Peter: Sorry, but I can’t go to your place tomorrow… :( please forgive me.
(Y/N): you’re going to try and flirt with some cute girls with your suit, huh? go on, i forgive you dude. i’m your wingwoman ;) 
Peter: What? no…
Peter: Anyways thank you! You’re the best! We’ll hang out some other day, okay? :)
(Y/N): yeah, yeah. also please call me when you’re at the cafeteria, please i have no clue how to get there.

You lock your phone and stuck it in your pocket again, waiting impatiently for the class to end. After the bell rang, you were heading to the school’s Cafeteria. You were trying to guess where it was since it was pretty far from your classrom. Walking through several hallways and not finding anything, your eyes met with a cute boy, standing against the wall, looking through his phone and with his earbuds on and bopping his head up and down at the beat of the music.

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