must be at least this tall

anonymous asked:

Silly question, but how did you become so...learned? Your imagination and world-building abilities obviously explode off of the pages, but all of that is combined tidbits of super obscure (at least to me!) real-world stuff. Like supernatural strychnine poisoning? WHAT the HECK

I’m a 36 year old nerd, Anon! I listen to debates for fun, I frequently become obsessed with topics (Occultism, tall ship seamanship, opera, alt-langs, Jonestown, recently robotics) and read about them exhaustively, most of my favourite books are classics of literature featuring obscure allusions that a modern reader must research to understand, and I once binge-watched QI for like two months ;)

Don’t let me fool you, I’m just a garbage dilettante with too much time on her hands.

Prince Aladdin

i just rewatched aladdin with the roommates and it got me thinking

aladdin wishes to be made a prince, but all genie does is get him a lot of stuff and money. that’s not what a prince is. a prince is the son of the king, someone in line for the throne. someone with a lot of money is just - rich. so what i think is:

genie goes okay, that’s a big one - and i can do it! but not on my own, not if you want to do it right. not if you truly want a chance to marry your princess for real, as a prince. and aladdin is a foolish, moral, kind boy - and he agrees. he’s fallen in love with jasmine, an innocent all encompassing love, and he’ll do anything for this sweet, clever girl he only knew for a few hours. so genie takes him across the desert, far from agrabah, and plops right in the middle of a skirmish and is like okay, good luck! and aladdin is like ?????

but there’s assholes with swords attacking a young girl, and aladdin doesn’t even have to think about that, just like when he stood in front of the whip for those little kids. there are three men against him, but he’s fast and clever and has been against a dozen trained palace guards. so it’s not easy to get out of there alive, especially with the little girl to protect, but he manages it with only a thin slice on his upper arm, and he’s endured worse for less. so he picks up the little girl and says “i think we should get out of here, hmm?” and she’s in a pretty red silk getup with tiny jewels encrusted on her like stars against sunset. and she nods and throws her arms around his neck. she won’t talk, only points in the direction of home, but aladdin’s okay with that, he’s used to quiet, scared kids. so he keeps up a steady stream of stories of agrabah, which seems almost like this other desert land. but there are more men with swords and aladdin is like what the fuck is going on, but he hides the girl in a corner and fights them too. and that’s how it goes all the way home. there’s no one on the streets really, and they all scatter when the men attack, and they keep on attacking, he fights his way all the way through the city with the girl on his hip or hidden away.

and he should have known, of course, but he was tired and bruised and bleeding by the time he realized the little girl is silently guiding him to the palace and he’s like why can’t you princesses stay inside??? but he walks up and the guards get one look at the child in his arms and whisk him through and multiple people try to take the girl away but she won’t budge from him, a stubborn pout to her lips as her hands remained locked behind his neck. and he’s finally tossed into a throne room where a tall old man is sitting in agony and two young men pace in front of him, each at least a decade older than aladdin. “they’ve taken our sister!” one of the younger men hiss, “i don’t care about their power or their connections, they’ve taken esfir, and we must go get her!”

“uh,” he clears his throat, “hi?”

and all three men whirl on him and the old man stumble-runs to him. esfir finally lets go of aladdin to picked up and twirled around by her father. the two men are rahim and shapur and they look in wonder at this dirty boy of fifteen who’s returned the girl to them, and he speaks with an accent and clearly is not from here and they get the story from him - he’s traveled across the desert because those in his own country want him dead. “you know,” rahim says as the king clutches at esfir in desperate relief, “you could have held her for ransom. you almost died saving her, and we would have paid handsomely to have her returned safely.”

and aladdin gives him a flat disapproving look, appearing in this moment four times his age, and says “people are not objects or bargaining chips. especially not lost little girls.” and rahim and shapur share an impressed conspiring look and they each grab one of his arms and lead him away. “hey! what are you -”

“do be quiet little brother,” shapur says cheerfully, “we really have to get you out of your rags.”

Keep reading

Family Reunions Pt 2

Jason Todd x Reader

A/N:  I really hope everyone likes this.  I really tried not to make it too long, but it’s whatever. (Requests are open please send them)

Summary:  After meeting part of the Batfam, to Jason’s surprise you invite all of them to dinner.

Part 1

After breakfast, Dick got a call from work and took Tim back to the manor.  Meanwhile Jason had finally woken up to the sounds of dishes rattling and shuffling in the kitchen.  He winced as he sat up glancing at his fresh bruises and raw shoulder.  As he drug himself out of bed and down the hallway to the kitchen he noticed three unwashed coffee mugs sitting on the counter.

    “Thirsty?” He commented, suspicious.

    “Jason,” she smiled. “How’s your shoulder?  I put some medicine on it this morning, I thought I might numb some of the pain-”

    “Did we have company this morning?” Jason interrupted.

    “Oh just your brothers,” y/n mumbled.

    “What?  They followed me home?!”

    “Jason!” y/n shouted over him.  “It’s okay, I talked out some things with Dick and Tim.  They just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

    “They followed me to our home, y/n,” Jason elaborated.  “This is not okay!  I’m going to see them.”  Jason started walking to their shared room to throw on a shirt.

    “Jason, no!” she said, making a poor attempt to block the door.  Jason glanced at her; how could she be so cute?  In his shirt trying to block him from leaving when he could easily pick her up.  “Listen I know your family isn’t the most functional, but they’re all you’ve got.”

    “Y/n, I need to have conversation with them,” he sighed, “about boundaries.”

  “Then you can talk to them tonight.  I invited your brothers, Bruce, and Alfred over for dinner.”

    “You did what?!”

    “Jason, listen!” She shouted.  “They don’t know me, at all, and they very suspicious people so I need to have a good impression.  Plus, you know they’ll come back here either way, they might aswell be invited.”

    “Well you need to uninvite them or I won’t be here when they come over-”

    “Jason Peter Todd they are going to be our guests and you are going to deal with it!” Y/n yelled, storming out of the room.  Jason threw his face into his hands and groaned, well tonight should be eventful.

————————————–

    It was around six twenty when y/n came out of their room in a new dress ready to meet Jason’s whole family.  She sauntered down the hallway pleased with the sight in front of her, a spotless apartment and her gorgeous boyfriend putting the finishing touches on their dinner.  She snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso as he kept their meal warm on the stove.

    “Hello, handsome,” she grinned into his back.

    “Hey, beautiful,” he smiled turning around and giving her a peck on her forehead.

    “Like what you see?” she asked.

    “I always do-”  Before Jason could finish his sentence there was a knock at the door.  “What the hell?  One of the neighbors?”

    “Don’t worry, it’s your family,” she stated.

    “How do you know?”

    “They never buzz in.”

    Y/n strolled over to the door and pulled it open to reveal Dick and Tim in the same clothes they were from this morning.

    “Hi boys,” she greeted.  “Come on in, Jason’s making dinner.”  They followed y/n into the kitchen where Jason was.

    “Hey baby bird,” Dick grinned.  “How’s the shoulder?”

    “Sore, but fine,” Jason responded, uninterested.

    “Hello, Jason,” Tim said.

    “Hey, replac-,” Jason was cut off when he noticed a hard glare coming from y/n.  “Tim.  Hello, Tim.”  Dick and Tim glanced at each other almost in shock.  He must really like y/n.

    “So where’s everyone else at?” y/n asked.

    “Oh, you know, Bruce has always been very punctual,” Dick answered.  “I bet he’ll buzz in exactly at six thirty.”  Right as Dick finished speaking someone buzzed in to come up to their appartment and low and behold Dick was right, it was six thirty.  Jason pressed the entrance button and in a few minutes there was a knock at the door.  Y/n was at the door in a matter of seconds primping herself on the way over.  Jason grinned at her, everything she did just made his heart beat a little quicker each time.

“So baby bird,” Dick started, “it looks like you’ve got a keeper.”  For first time in many years Dick heard Jason chuckle.

    “At least you’re right about something,” Jason snickered.

    Y/n opened the door and was greeted with a very tall handsome man who she knew to be Bruce Wayne, Alfred; who she’s seen pictures of; and a boy Jason calls “Demon spawn” also known as Damian Wayne.

    “Hello you must be Jason’s girlfriend-”

    “Y/n,” she interrupted.  “It’s really exciting to meet you, Mr.Wayne.  Please come in.”  

     “Please call me Bruce,” he responded.  They followed her from the doorway into the living room, which was now converted into a dining room.  Y/n ignored Damians judgmental glares while looking at her home.

      She smiled and turned toward the kitchen, “Babe; Bruce, Alfred, and Damian are here.”

As everyone got situated around the table a nice coversation erupted, curtisy of Alfred.  The conversation was steady and calm, putting y/n’s nerves to ease.  Everyone seemed to be getting along.  Even Damian tried to get involved in the conversation and occational bickering with his brothers.  Eventually the topic that everyone was wondering can up.

       “So y/n,” Dick started, “how did you and Jason meet?”

       “Oh my god,” Jason and y/n said simultaneously.

       “You tell it,” Jason smiled at her eagerness.

       "Okay so I had an exam for a course I was taking at Gotham University. I was studying like a mad man during the night-“

        "At four in the morning!”

         “Oh shush. So anyway I was studying and I was blasting Alexander Hamilton, one of my favorite musicals, when this idiot comes banging-”

        “Knocking.”

        “Banging on my door! So I open the door and he starts yelling at me about how he can hear my music all the way across the hall. So you know what I do?”

        “She shut the door in my face.”

        “And guess what he does.”

         "I started knocking again.“

        "Banging again! So I opened the door didn’t say anything and then closed it.”

        "Slammed it in my face, again.“

         "So to calm myself down I went to the kitchen and got something to eat.  So I turn around and see him sitting on my couch!”

         "Your window was unlocked that was dangerous.“

          "He just sat there!” she gaped.  “We stared at each other for like 2 minutes before he says ‘You’ve got guts here’s my number you should text me sometime when you’re free.’ And then he just left!”

         “God I’m good,” Jason smirked.

          “Why didn’t you call the police?” Tim gasped. “He broke into your apartment!”

          “Well he was right it was dangerous to leave my window unlocked,” she stated. “And I established just how dangerous it was when I found Redhood bleeding on my couch a week later.”

         “I basically forced her to date me,” Jason chuckled.  Everyone turned to Bruce who was laughing.

        “Maybe one of you boys,” he jestered to Dick and Tim, “should use that dating tactic.”

         “The second time he broke in he was weak, vunrable,” Damian stated. “This would have been the perfect time for you to have run and called the police.  Why didn’t you?”

         “Very true, but by then I had figured out who he was,” she smiled. “How are the police supposed to put someone in jail who’s already dead?”  It was safe to say the rest of dinner went smoothly and according to plan.

Bon Soir [Lafayette x Reader] Part One

Description: You, an American patriot from a loyalist family, catch the eye of the Marquis De Lafayette one night at a tavern. After your first night with the enigmatic frenchman, you realize how turbulent life can really get in a time as turbulent as this. 

Warnings For This Chapter: Smut, alcohol, mild swearing, and mild Lams, where I could slip it in ;) 

Notes: So, there will be five parts to this story. It will, if we’re being honest here, be updated probably once or twice a week until it is finished. This story is a mix of Hamilton’s characters and actual historical stuff, and there will also be lots of appearances from the rev set in this fic, so brrrah, brrrah!! Enjoy. 

||Part Two||


It’s a beautiful night in the colony of New York, the moon full and the usual chill in the air slightly warmed. Besides it being a lovely night, it was also quite rowdy- but during these turbulent times, you couldn’t expect less from the Northern colonies.  

You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders… it’s really not a night to be out for a lady, but you couldn’t care less. Your family still clings to the proverbial olive branch, one of the less popular voices of loyalist reconciliation. You’re a patriot, through and through, and any chance you have to escape your frankly shameful homestead under an anonymous family name at night to “cavort” with those who share your views on freedom, you take.

Slipping down a dark alley with the hood of your cloak pulled up, you find your way into the even rowdier Fraunces Tavern. Looking around, you smile. Men clinking their sloshing drinks together, shouts and jeers at the king tossed around liberally- this was the beginning of a revolution, and you’d be damned if you missed it.

“You lookin’ for a good time, honey?” some guy with a heavy Boston accent asks you from the table next to the door, and you turn to him.

“I’m looking for a drink, and whatever good time I can derive from that.” The guy still stares at you, waiting for a follow up, so you decide to win even more favour by voicing your views. “Fuck the king?”

The entire table bursts out in cheers and pounds their fists and mugs down repeatedly as you smirk and saunter past them. You get to the bar, and ask for a Sam Adams, before turning around and surveying. To answer the drunk man’s question, you aren’t actively seeking that sort of good time, really… but, nights like these were full of exceptions.

“Here you are, miss,” the friendly bartender nods to you, then pauses, “I’ve seen you in here a couple times now, and I don’t recall your name.” He looks genuinely confused. “Who’s your husband?”  

“I’ll let you know once I find one,” you wink, and cross the tavern to occupy a booth. Just as you’re lifting up your skirts to sit, the door crashes open, and in come four very loud young men.

“What time is it?!” one yells, and the other three yell back, “Showtime!” while cackling and slapping each other on the back.

You roll your eyes again, imagining all the fights they were sure to start tonight. The bartender seems to know them, and pours four ales for them as well. Snatching up his drink, the short one with the ponytail and goatee marches right up to the table in the middle, getting up on it and chugging half his mug.

“To the revolution!” he finally bursts out with, and almost trips off the table. The large one with the beanie catches him, shaking his head with a grin, and the second shortest one with curly hair and freckles joins the talker with a close arm around his shoulder.

“Now this is the place to be, amiright boys?!” freckles shouts, taking a long drink.

“Oui oui, mon ami,” another voice chuckles, and your interest is immediately peaked. A frenchman in the colonies? The excitement of these taverns is incomparable, and it is exciting to say the least to hear someone from so far away- you know a little of the language, or what you had learned as a girl.

You watch in quiet admiration as a tall, athletically built man with dark hair tied up in a bun and a close trimmed beard steps out, carrying two mugs of ale. He hands one to beanie man, and plops his own down on the table. “We must tell the king casse toi with our war effort!”

“We will, Laf,” beanie assures, “But first? Horses.”

“What?” freckles and goatee both say at the same time.

“Corsets,” beanie laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I meant corsets.”

“Hercules, you are an idiot,” Laf deadpans.

“I’m the most mature one here,” Hercules shoots back.

“Easy, when tes amis are Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens.”

Hercules lets out a booming laugh, and is soon joined by Laf’s own charming snicker. Alex and John are too enamoured with their own private conversation to notice much.

Your eyes train on Laf. If he was french, he must have a longer name than that… you’re determined to know it. He was undeniably a charmer- he was handsome, dashing as a prince, and very stylish. With the words he had uttered earlier, you found it safe to assume he’s as passionate about American independence as you are.

You make an excuse to walk by.

Heyyy there,” goatee (Alexander)? calls, swivelling his head to look at you.

Bingo.

Hercules lets out a low whistle as you turn to face them. “I don’t mean to be too forward, but madamn.”

"What the ever loving merde is that supposed to mean, Hercules?” Laf’s face scrunches up, and Herc just shrugs.

“Works on most of ‘em.”

“I’m Alexander Hamilton, bastard, orphan, son of a whore,” Alex jumps up, grasping your hands, and you can see the gears in his slightly drunk mind turning. “So I’d love to flirt for like, a really long time because you’re pretty and everything, but there’s a revolution to plot-”

“-And drink to!” John adds.

“-And drink to, as my beautiful lover Jackie just piped in and waaait, I’m probably not supposed to say shit like that in a tavern full of guys who will probably have me castrated for it, but hey, we die like men, right?”

“Yo, um, sorry 'bout him,” John blushes with a slight slur, coming over to guide Alex back to his seat. “He gets- *hic*- chatty when he’s tipsy.” You just laugh, letting them know it’s no big deal. John doesn’t seem very interested in you romantically or sexually, only greets with a good natured- albeit tipsy as well- smile. Hercules gets up to introduce himself.

“Hercules Mulligan. I’m Irish.” He drops his voice down to a whisper. “That’s kind of my thing.” Laf gets up to hip bump Hercules out of the way, take your hand, and press a kiss to it. You blush deeply.

“Bon soir, belle mademoiselle. I am Paul Yves Roch-”

Heeere we go,” Alex slurs.

“-Gilbert de Motier de Marquis de Lafayette,” Laf finishes with a glare to his friends, then turns back to you with a gaze that could only be described as… lust ridden?

“Plaisir,” you reply in french, and his eyes widen, his entire body straightening like an arrow in excitement.

“You speak my mother tongue, cherie?!”

“Only a little,” you confess with a timid giggle, “I’m not French, monsieur Lafayette, only acquired some words from my studies.”

“Gorgeous and intelligent,” he flirts, “A lady after my heart.”

“Handsome and bold,” you volley back, “A man after mine.”

“OHHHH SHIT!” John shouts, and Alex begins to laugh.

“GUESS WHO’S GETTING IT IN TONIGHT?!”

“Not you two,” Laf growls, and John and Alex tumble over each other watching you both. Hercules just rolls his eyes, and downs his drink.

“Care to drink with us?” Lafayette offers, outstretching his hand, and you happily accept. Hercules gets up to grab you another beer, and slides it over to you. John begins to chug his second, and you smirk, taking it as a challenge. Downing yours to the last drop, you’ve finally earned the respect of Hercules Mulligan as he bangs on the table and shakes his head.

“You are getting better and better as the night goes on,” Laf whispers, and you laugh.

“Is that the alcohol talking?”

“On the contrary, cherie, I am still on my first… though I may be thinking with something other than my mind,” he alludes, and you feel a shiver run through you.

He is very attractive.

“What brings you to the colonies?” you ask Lafayette conversationally, and he takes a sip of his ale.

“Revolution.”

“You’re here for congressional duties?” you feign ignorance, though you know how to identify a congressman- powdered wigs, brightly coloured jackets, and stuffy mannerisms. Nothing Laf possessed.

“Ah no, mademoiselle. War is imminent- that is the talk here and overseas. I will fight as one of you for your glorious country!”

“Ayyy, to our fighting frenchman!” Alex lifts his mug, and John raises his as well.

“Very brave,” you murmur, “I wish I could serve in the continental army.”

“You can still do your part at home,” Laf assures, taking your hands excitedly, “You can make gunpowder, you can sew uniforms, you can…” he suddenly hesitates, lowering his eyes, “Pray for and write letters to your husband.”

“Why does everyone in this tavern assume I have a husband?” you tease, and he looks back up.

“Forgive me. No one has, eh… courted you yet?”

“Courted me? Oh, quite a few. I have yet to accept,” you giggle, “I suppose I’m just as hard to please as the next young lady.”

“I, too, have very specific tastes,” he nods, and bites his lip, “Mais, it would be very nice to have a woman to boost my morale on the battlefield.”

“Wait… hey, what’s your name?” John laughs, “We didn’t even ask!”

“Oh,” you blush, eye contact with Lafayette broken, “Um…” You sigh. It shouldn’t be any trouble to give them your real name. “(y/n) (y/l/n).”

Everyone repeats your name, raises a glass, and drinks. Lafayette smirks at you a moment longer, then drinks as well.

As the night wears on, you start to become even closer with the group. Stories are passed around, drinking games are played, and talk that would’ve sounded like treason in many other colonies flowed freely from your mouth with the boys. As the night begins to dwindle with the candles burning down close by, hands begin to wander, skirts began to lift a few inches, and blood begins to rise.

“Raise one last glass to freedom,” John finally says, somewhat soberly, as everyone stands up, “Something they can never take away.”

“No matter what they tell you,” Herc adds, placing a hand over his heart.

“Raise a glass to the… five of us, here tonight,” Alex nods, looking to you, “Our cause is a great one.”

“King George will never stand a chance,” you finish, and everyone downs their last sip and sits back down. With that, Laf takes your hand, rubbing a thumb over your knuckle. You turn to him, and take note of how he’s staring at your lips. Danger and adrenaline course through your veins, imagining just what he could be picturing right now. Practically in his lap by now, you shift your hips a little, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“It is getting late, ma cherie,” he murmurs, obviously holding back, and begins to stand.

“It is,” you nod, moving to brush your fingers along the hem of his blue coat, and grasp your fingers firmly in his lapel. His eyes dart to meet yours, dark and warning, and his fingers find yours as he lets out a wistful sigh.

“(y/n)… I am a gentleman, and you have had too much to drink.”

“I assure you,” you grin, turning the tables and ghosting a kiss over his knuckles, “I have not.”

He spends a long time staring at you, debating mentally. You can feel him hardening in his breeches under you, but despite his uncomfortable expression and beading sweat, he doesn’t make even the slightest nudge to meet your grinding movements.

“Are you quite certain?” he finally asks, interest beginning to spark again in his eyes as he realizes that maybe you do want him like this.

“All I want is to feel your lips on my neck,” you confirm with a whisper in his ear, and he slots his large hand around your wrist, standing you up. The three others don’t even question it as Laf leads you out the back door, and the once the heavy wooden door closes, you’re both free. He immediately presses the front of you right up against the brick, pulling your hair aside and grazing his teeth over the back of your neck.

“Then, if there are no reservations on either of our parts, I will give you everything you need,” he growls, and continues his attack on your neck, showering kisses up and down. You flip around so that you can face him, and he pins you back again, opening up the neck of your dress just a little more for better access.

Lafayette’s gaze is hungry. Your excitement is known to him as he reaches under your dress, unbuttons your underclothes and realizes you’re already wet for him.

“So eager,” he groans, “Such an eager little kitten, desperate for her papa, hm?”

“Oh,” you sigh, his words sending pulses down to your core. He pulls your underclothes off, but as his long fingers are about to breach you, he pauses.

“You… have been touched or taken before, yes?”

You bite your lip, look around, and nod shyly. If word of that got out around here, you’d be off the market, as it were…. not that you particularly desired to on the market, but that was a different matter entirely. His face blossoms into a grin, and he lifts your legs up to wrap around him.

“Hold onto me, cherie, do not let go,” he murmurs, and once your arms are secure around his neck as well, he uses one hand to unbutton his breeches. You can already see the outline of his large cock, and once he has everything undone, he pulls it out.

“Monsieur, you’re so big,” you whine, and he gazes at you, licking his lips.

“We can make it fit, ma cherie,” he whispers, “Spread your legs a little wider for me… that is it, kitten… like that.”

You keen under the pet name, and he positions himself at your entrance before finally pushing in, groaning together with you as you tighten around him.

“Oui, oui, yes…” he breathes, “That is good… so good for me…” He sucks his lip between his teeth, and after a few seconds, begins to move, nudging you back against the wall with each deep thrust. He’s very large, so he has no trouble hitting that spot that drives you crazy, but he makes it even better when his fingers find your clit; Laf has a different approach than most men do, though- the select few you’d been with (if they make the effort to find it at all) rub with harsh, rough pushes… Lafayette massages you in slow circles, making you moan for him.

Leaning forward, the intensity between you increases as your foreheads meet, lips drifting close to each other and parting, almost kissing but not for minutes at a time. The teasing was getting to him, and he finally surges forward, breathing in your breath. You give his bottom lip a feisty bite, and he smiles, drawing away.

“You are a true northern belle, mademoiselle (y/n),” he mumbles, panting, “You are not like other ladies.”

“Oh, on the contrary sir,” you reply, “I simply don’t bother with the false customs. I say, fuck tradition, and fuck anybody who wishes to advise me otherwise.”

“There is a revolution on because of Americans who share your general mindset, ma chou,” he grins, and kisses you again.

As you both begin to race toward your climax, his thrusts increase, and you’re soon being pounded into the wall, legs tight around his ass and cries being muffled in his blue coat.

“Please… ah, Laf….”

“(y/n), so perfect, j’aime votre parfum…”

As he whispers your name, you hear voices, and turn to see two men walking by the alley on the road, in hats and coats. They sound southern.

“What if th…th-” you gasp, and Laf strokes your cheek.

“They will not see us, it is too dark. Besides, why would anybody pay attention to a stray kitten, begging in an alley, like you?”

“Ah,” you throb again at his dark laugh, and he shrugs.

“Also, the alleyway behind a tavern is where all the drunkards stumble out to vomit. No respectable man or woman wants to see that.”

“What an arousing image,” you scowl, and lean in for another kiss.

“You are so beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips once you part, and licks a line up your neck to just below your ear; you’re losing yourself to the pleasure. “Do you think you can come for me, ma (y/n)?” Laf rasps in your ear, stroking over your clit fondly, and you nod with a little whine, crying out his name softly as he slams in particularly hard. Circling his hips to guide you through a long orgasm, he lets out a little gasp of his own after you’ve finished. As you shake and pant his name, he sets you down carefully before quickly pulling out and taking himself in hand, jerking frantically a couple times and coming like a shot against the brick wall. Your name falls from his lips a few times like a prayer, and soon, you’re both sated and exchanging lazy tongue kisses, tasting each other’s mouths in the night air.

It’s chillier than it was earlier. You should get home before your one of your sisters or father notices you’re gone.

“When do you leave to join the ranks?” you ask, staring into his eyes. He does up his buttons precisely, patiently and one at a time.

“Very soon, I assume, cherie.”

“How very childish of me, but… what you said, about having someone to look out for you…”

“Mmm?”

“Will you…” you look down, embarrassed, and take off a ring on your pinky finger. “Remember me over a couple beers with your friends?”

His eyes light up, and he presses a long kiss to your cheek.

“When I wake up and when I fall asleep, (y/n).”

You smile a little. “Thank you for your service.”

He kisses your hand one last time. “If it takes fighting a war and, eh…” he leans in to your ear, brushing your hair back, “getting better acquainted behind a tavern to meet, it will, most certainly, have been worth it, ma chou,” he smiles back.

You dance and sigh your way home, ignorant of every redcoat who gives you a second dirty look. With men like the Marquis de Lafayette and his friends leading the troops, those bastards’ll be back home where they belong in no time.

you know how you always look at an idol in videos and are like ”you are such a smol bean omg” and then you remember they are actually taller than you and you’re left shook af

Something New

***PLEASE NOTE: This is a series. You can find all parts linked below.***

Pairing: Lafayette x Reader

Summary: Things get sweet with Lafayette.

Words: 2.1k+

Part One | Part Two

A/N: So I honestly didn’t know where this was gonna go but then I was tired and let my brain flow and this happened. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! (shout out to Ale for being my awesome beta)

Tags: @merrahonthawall @thehamiltonpost  @butlinislin @daveeddiggsit, @nadialinett14, @librarychild, @spidey-boii, @me-hoy-me-trash, @serkewen12, @daveedish, @linmanuclmiranda, @autistic-alien, @runnerriley, @hamilsquad-writings @hamilbroke


It had been a few weeks since the incident with Lafayette. After the 3rd week, you pushed thoughts of the Frenchman to the back of your head. There was no point in thinking about him when he hadn’t shown his face in so long, each passing week your hopes lowered until they had mostly diminished. He was just a stranger anyway; a really kind and beautiful stranger but, still a stranger.

“Y/N! You’re spacing out again!”

Taylor’s voice brought you back into the moment, how long had you been shaking this margarita? You sighed and poured it out, giving it to the woman in front of you and starting a Bloody Mary. It was a Wednesday, the club wasn’t dead but it wasn’t packed either, you could breathe easier during this shift. You smiled and slid the Bloody Mary to the customer, thanking them as they dropped $5 in the tip jar. You were washing out a cup when a voice behind you called out an order.

“Can I have a Jack and Coke?”

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Healing Hands (Part 2)

Ivar x Reader
Healing Hands: Part 2 of 2. 8,341 words.
Here’s Part 1 for anyone that missed it.
Warnings: A little angst, a lotta smut. I wouldn’t read this at work ;)
Wow guys, I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to finish this update! I really didn’t mean to keep you all waiting for so long but life kicked my ass a little bit this month. Thank you all so much for your support and all of your kind words, I honestly never expected such amazing feedback. I was so nervous writing for a new fandom but you all have just been so encouraging and so kind. I really hope that each and every one of you enjoys Part 2 and that it lives up to your expectations! Thank you again, everyone!
Tags: @skeletoresinthebasement @peculiarleah @ivartheboneme @theburningspirit  @splendor-e I’m sorry if I missed anyone!


The days that followed Ivar’s cruel rejection were some of the bitterest you’d ever known. You weren’t sure just what to expect from all those hours at the prince’s side but outright exclusion wasn’t something that had even crossed your mind. Everything seemed to be going so well. You and Ivar constantly lost track of time as you engaged in passionate conversations, talking about everything and nothing and whatever was left in-between. You knew Ivar well know, perhaps well enough to call him a friend and you had secretly hoped that he shared these feelings.

You had even started to wonder if Ivar was more than just a friend. Even before that final blissful evening, the chemistry between you both was undeniable. In all of your years of working with patients in all sorts of intimate situations, not one had responded to your touch like Ivar had. Not even the most flirtatious warrior would gasp and whimper in a way that only a lover would yet Ivar practically melted in your hands.

Then, there were the looks. He may have been a man of few words when it came to discussing anything emotional but disappointment was always noticeable in Ivar’s bright eyes whenever you bid him goodnight. Then every morning, that disappointment vanished again when you arrived and exchanged private, flirty stares that were completely missed by Ubbe.

There was no way of really telling where the shy smiles and tantalizing glances were heading but you were certain that they were heading somewhere. That was why Ivar’s rejection hurt even more. You tried to be rational by reminding yourself that you weren’t Ivar’s lover and he had no obligation to explain anything to you but rationality didn’t keep you warm on those cold, lonely nights. 

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jealous

based on this request :: can you pretty please write something about y/n and harry going to a party and harry getting all jealous when a dude flirts with y/n?? thank you !!

i took a weird spin on this (i think) but i hope it’s acceptable ;) not going to fit with everyone, i’m sure, but i tried!! gonna be honest, don’t really like this piece very much (just feel like i could’ve done better) but i didn’t want to keep this anon waiting any longer. hope you enjoy anyway :)) 

WARNINGS :: some *maybe* offensive song lyrics and a bit angsty?¿ idk man it’s pretty PG - PG-13ish 

masterlist 

O V E R V I E W

“Wha’ in the ever living fuck does that bloke think he’s doing?” Harry slurs a bit on his words, the scene before him making his jaw set and eyes narrow.

“Jesus, they’re just singing. Lighten up a bit, mate.”

And maybe it was the excessive amounts of drinks that were consumed that was making Harry a lot more open about his emotions but maybe he just really hates this boy that’s looking at her as if he has a chance.

or

harry is y/n’s and y/n is harry’s

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The Night Ahead (Part 2)

summary: bucky came out of cryostasis after just a few months. with the help of steve, he’s trying to piece the fractions of his mind back together. while flipping through old HYDRA files, he remembers something from his days as the winter soldier: you.

pairing: bucky x reader (sort of?? it’s complicated)

series contains: angsty angst, sadness, bucky reliving memories as the Winter Soldier, violence, people die a lot, bucky trying to cope, really awful translations of German, Russian, and Romanian (thanks to google translate i apologize in advance)

a/n: thank you for all the nice comments and love for this fic! i appreciate it and love you all for it. hopefully this part is just as enjoyable as the first, and it’s now from the reader’s perspective. also, i had issues with the tags last time. almost half of the people didn’t end up getting tagged? so hopefully tumblr isn’t an asshole this time. MASTER LIST | PART ONE

Originally posted by multi-fandom-imagines13

The Belmont Inn sat in solidarity upon one of the many hills located in rural Montana. Looking upon the Inn from the town nestled in the valley below, there’s a single winding road that reached the Inn’s entrance. The Inn itself had been around since the early 1900s but received a facelift a couple of years ago. It was one of those buildings that were created with the intent to merge with the surrounding environment rather than stand out. Made from spruce wood, both the inside as well as the outside reminded people of the old country. It was impressive, but an overall simple architectural feat. It was one of my favorite places.

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Push It Real Good

Read on AO3


Akielos Gym is deceivingly spacious considering how tiny it looks from the outside. It’s located on the far edge of the city, a tiny crook in the wall beside two hardware stores. But once you’ve walked down the long corridor to the reception desk and up the stairs, it opens into a wide, open space that must cover at least four or five of the downstairs properties. The rent must be obscene, but considering the pretty little penny that Laurent is fishing out for his membership, he figures the owners can easily afford it.

The thing is, Laurent hates the gym. He really does. But his new boss recommended the place and he keeps asking about whether Laurent has been yet, and so here he is: stood in the middle of the gym with one tall, dark, handsome, and obscenely muscular man who calls himself Damen. He came in last week to sign up and fill out a ridiculous number of forms, but today is his first day with his personal trainer. Apparently, everyone that signs up gets a personal trainer free for six weeks. It sounds great in theory, a good deal, but that means that Laurent actually has to show up to the gym and that when he’s there he actually has to exercise.

“Laurent, right?” Damen asks, stopping them in front of a row of treadmills. He’s holding a clipboard flicking through all the forms Laurent had signed the week before. Laurent tries not to fidget.

“Yes.”

“If you could tell me what you want to get most out of this, it’ll be easier for me to plan your sessions.”

“I don’t want to get anything out of it.” Laurent says with a sigh.

Damen looks down at him with a frown and an amused upturning of his lips. “Are you here under duress?”

“Something like that.”

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One For Both Teams Part 1

Summary: Starting fifth year in a completely new area proves less confusing than Y/N thought, as she easily befriends a number of people. The only thing is, not all of them get along, and Y/N finds herself torn between them (High School AU).

Author’s Note: So, the idea for this was mostly inspired by this photoset, ie the picture below (thanks to @i-want-to-fuck-that-dorito-man for pitching it to me). Also, I got really hyped up because I’d just bingeread “Through the Window” by @avengersimaginings which is so good, you guys. Check it out.

Chapter List

Masterlist


Part One

“Got a thing for two-faced bitches, have you?” 

You drew a deep breath and forced yourself to remain calm. Things were getting way out of hand.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re on his side?!”

“You know I’m never one to back down from a fight, but trust me when I say that he’s not worth it,” you murmured quietly, leaning close to his ear so he would hear you better. 

This wasn’t going to end well.


“No, thanks, mum. I don’t need a lift.”

“Are you sure? It’s on the way, and-”

“Mum, please,” you said, laughing as you pulled on your shoes. “I’ll find my way.”

She frowned and glanced at the clock on the wall.

“You only have half an hour.”

“The school is fifteen minutes down the road. I’ll be fine. Thanks for offering,” you said, smiling. You leant up to give her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek as you got up, before opening the front door. “I’ll see you later. Enjoy your first day at the office!” you exclaimed, flashing her a smile as you started walking.

“You, too,” she joked, waving. You waved back, and started your walk to the school.

A soft breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees as you walked by, and you felt oddly calm. You had done this so many times by now that it was completely normal, and you didn’t feel as anxious as you used to. As you walked, you noticed other students walking further up the road, waving each other over and greeting each other excitedly. You thought nothing of it, and soon you were by the front gates of the school.

You had walked past the school before, when you were finding out where it was and all, but when you saw the size of it, you forgot to think about the amount of students a school that size could take in. You took a deep breath and pulled the folded piece of paper out of your pocket, trying to flatten the creases as you opened it and made your way through the gates.

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Freeze You Out

( PROMPT: You’re a superhero and I’m a supervillain and we ‘meet for the first time’ as civilians and you’re oddly familiar somehow but hey you’re cute so )

A/N: I’m going to London in a few weeks and I am so excited!! ( Please send me requests I can work on during the 13 hour plane ride!! )In other news, my assignments are almost done, and I am already celebrating my new freedom! I hope that I’ll get to meet Tom Holland there in London. Guess who’s a thirsty desperate hoe?

Taglist (permanent): @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter |@tomsleftbrow | @tryn25| @tanglefire | @midnight-memorial | @tiny-friggin-human |@tacklemyackles| @fangeekkk | @beamagtuto | @captainaudreystark | @hellosuperewczi | @dasia-aye

“We really have to stop meeting like this, Spiderman,” You croon, your voice raspy and hoarse from the cold. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you were in love with me.”

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Classism, anyone?

There’s something about the idea of Dean liking to read or Dean being a neatfreak that really seems to unsettle some people. At least that’s the impression I get by how people react to certain gifsets I made. Images of Dean reading or browsing through books keep prompting comments about how “confused” Dean is by them; my recent gifset on neatfreak!Dean has brought forth all sorts of attempts to prove that Dean is actually a slob, ranging from “Sam thinks he is messy (Tall Tales), so that must make it true” to “Dean doesn’t care about cleanliness, he just likes to complain a lot”.

Now, some of this might be down to the confusion as to what makes a character a character instead of a cliche. People argue: “Dean’s a hunter, so he can’t be a neatfreak.” But it’s intriguing contradictions like this which make a character come alive.

However, I can’t help but notice that there’s a classist attitude to which parts of Dean’s characterisation cause more controversy than others. In the first two seasons of SPN, the show itself deconstructed that classist attitude towards Dean piece by piece. So, honestly, I’m a bit at a loss as to why it’s still rearing its ugly head in fandom in season 12?

I’ll Give You The Sun (unofficial scene)

My skin prickles with excitement or maybe it’s just fear. I don’t know. My legs feel like lead that I have to keep lifting high enough to take each step. My hands are clammy and it’s not even that hot. My chest feels like a piece of wood the nail is being driven into. The words keep appearing in my head over and over : I’ll be there. Was he messing with me? Brian isn’t someone who’d do that but how could I know that. I haven’t seen him for years. For all I know, he would have drastically changed. But here I am, finally getting to see, repenting for my mistakes and hoping…maybe hoping there’s a chance for another.

The woods seem like they’ve changed, as if the trees simply sprouted legs and changed places. Maybe they know something’s happening today. They’re watching me, every move, every breath. Every single day without fail, I’ve been here, been within the envelope of this sanctity. Today it’s like breathing fire. Jumping off Devil’s Drop seems like a much better option.

I imagine being at CSA, painting and drawing behind a canvas. Would it feel as liberating as it used to be? The pressure to be perfect would begin to grow, it might not feel like second nature. It’s been so long since my hands have created. I look down at my hands, the lines that run along my palms, and the shapes of my fingers. It’s been so long. I don’t know if I’m ready for it yet. Jude’s jealously might have been a good thing after all. It loosened the screws for me, released the tension that made me want to be better than her, better than others, to be the Michelangelo of art. I’m me now. I’m my own person. I’m Noah the artist now. Not Picasso the artist or anyone else, wanting to be better and perfect.

I lean against a tree and breathe in the forest air. My fingers curl around the rock in my pocket, the one Brian gave me years ago on the rooftop of my house. One of his broken meteors. In the distance is CSA, the back of the studio crowded by the trees. I decide to visit it sometime, it holds memories after all. Memories of Oscar. Huh. I snort. Oscar. Jude somehow managed to find Oscar amongst every other guy who lives here. Oscar of all! Oscar bloody Ralph! That’s where I got to know Brian too. Brian who watched me swear like a madman and sit outside the studio for a very long time just so I can have classes. It’s embarrassing every time I remember it.

I start to wonder about him, what he might be like now. Maybe he’s tall, like really tall and funny and smart and popular and just Brian. He was all those things before and maybe he’s a better version of all that now. He’s coming to meet plain old Noah. I’ve created a wall of lies around me, everything I’ve done and pretended to be, all lies. Perhaps he might not come after all, maybe he’ll think it’s a waste of time, there’s absolutely no reason why he’d want to see me anyway. It’s stupid. I’m stupid for thinking we might have something. I’m stupid for wanting him after all this time.  He could’ve found someone at Stanford. Someone who’s not a weird, fake Picasso. He doesn’t need to see this lying version of myself.

There’s a moment when I feel like I need to leave, to pretend this never happened but it’s like I’m stuck here. The trees won’t let me go just yet. I can’t get up to leave but my stomach is squirming with every minute that passes. It was a crazy idea to send him drawing after drawing from my invisible museum. What was I even thinking? At the time it felt like the only way to get through to Brian, to apologize, to show him how I feel. Now it feels like I’ve made a mistake. What if he didn’t like any of the art? But then he wouldn’t say he’d be here. But he could also be taking the piss at me.

If mum had never caught us that day in the bedroom, I wonder if this would be different, if we would be different. Brian might have stayed for a long time. If that stupid closet game hadn’t happened, then I wouldn’t have avoided Brian, everything would’ve been right, mum would’ve never caught us, Brian would be here. Nothing would’ve gone wrong. But things always go wrong. We’ve got a knack for bad luck.

The leaves stir and the trees yawn, and I drag my gaze towards them. Jude had given me the trees for Oscar, not just the trees, everything but the flowers. She sacrificed almost all of her world for Oscar. I know…I can feel their love like a thick string that won’t break, that rolls longer, the distance they part. I want that with Brian. We have something too, I know we do. I wouldn’t be wanting him after so long if we didn’t. I remember mum’s words. Stay true to your heart, she said. I wonder if she’s here, watching me waiting for Brian. I wonder if she’s smiling with Grandma Sweetwine. Only Jude would know. Jude sees their ghosts.

When the light seeps through the forest, getting sucked away to another part of the world, and paints the sunset as farewell, I begin to grow anxious. I was an hour early, to calm my racing heart and to get my wits together. I wanted to be the first one here. I hadn’t brought a watch but I know it’s a little bit past five o’clock. Would he have kipped out like this? The Brian I knew wouldn’t, but I know nothing about the Brian now. It’s still too early to panic or feel disappointed. I can’t help it. I pull out the brushes and start painting in my head. I paint the Brian I imagine him to be now.

I paint an angry Brian, squinted eyes, turned lips and red cheeks, tossing a single rock in his right hand. I paint him in colours after that, lots and lots of colours that speak his soul. The rocks lay by his feet, floating and the colours that flood out of him like waves are dotted with stars. He is the stars, he is everything this world has to offer in this thick haze of untruths and alienation. How cheesy. This is something Jude would think although it seems like we’ve switched personalities over the years.

Leaves crunch underneath heavy footsteps and everything melts in my head. I drop the brushes, I throw the canvas and I am standing up with frantic fervor, wiping my hands on the bottom of my jeans. My stomach drops, turning uncomfortably with each breath held moment.

He appears like a blinding star and the trees move to let him through. His flaming hair has been cropped short, exposed. He’s grown taller and broader around the shoulders and I can only imagine what I must look like to him. I am tall and big but not as big as he has grown to be. He smiles but I stare at his squinty eyes, my favourite part of him. The closer he gets, the shorter my breath becomes. There’s no bounce to his steps anymore, there’s no bag of meteorites in his hand like I kept imagining him to be.

“Hi.” He greets. I drop my gaze and kick at a stone. The familiar sound of his voice reminds me of old times. 

You haven’t changed. I scoff, in my head at least. I have changed I want to scream at him, I have changed because of you but none of that matters anymore. All that change is built on a foundation of utter lies. “Hi.” I say instead, hardly breathing at all. Are my lungs even working?

It’s like the world has stopped spinning the moment Brian steps into my circle. I remember the day he threw stones at Zephyr and Fry, the day when it felt like he was on my side, a freak like me, revolutionaries. I don’t know if we’re still the same anymore, maybe somewhere deep. I know he’s changed a lot of things but he’d been brave and strong. He became who he is inside by not being a coward, but me, I am one. Who I am inside isn’t who I am on the outside.

“You’re quiet.” Brian flicks at my shoulder. I wonder how he can smile after everything I’d done. He doesn’t look mad at all.

“I’ve always been quiet.” I tell him. He laughs.

“Not in your head, you’re not.”

It makes me look up and I am immediately entranced by his copper eyes, bright and shimmering like the stars that fall out of his bag. “I thought you’d be mad.”

“Why?” I watch his hands slip into the pockets of his trousers. There aren’t any pockets on me. I can’t do anything with my hands, I let them hang by my sides, hoping I don’t do anything stupid.

“You know why.” This whole thing is making me feel weird. Why had I even agreed to this? Jesus. I’m going to mess this up real bad. Where’s effing Clark Gable when you need him? “How–how have you been?”

He shrugs, moving his hands in his pockets. “Good I guess. Stanford’s pretty good. I’m sure you’ve heard of–stuff.” Of course I have. I don’t tell him that.

“I’m sorry. I missed you.” Is all that comes out of my mouth. My mouth needs a jail, not my hands. I should be apologizing more. He should be getting mad at me, yelling even, fists flying. We should be talking about what’s happened in the past few years of our lives and what not. Not about how I’m missing him. I know he does too. Nothing seems to matter in this bubble of mine he has stepped back into. I can’t even pick up the brushes in my head. I am too focused on his eyes, the way they move and change colour, his lips and the space between his teeth.

“You know,” He says, moving closer and prompting me to take a step backwards. “I’ve missed you too.” I gulp, watching his hands emerge out of his pockets. My chest is thumping like a freaking jack hammer. I remember the two boys at the party. Is it going to be us again? That same feeling under this same tree? What if it doesn’t feel the same anymore? Not even that stupid bird is here to yell Where the hell is Ralph? anymore. In my head I ask him if he’s kissed anyone else, another boy and if he liked it. In my head he’s saying yes, nodding.

His hands rest against my chest and I back against the tree. Why is it always a tree? We could kiss on Devil’s Drop. Wouldn’t that be ironic? I laugh in my head. My stomach churns. His hands are big and warm. They sear through my shirt, through my skin, touching the red, beating thing in my chest. He breathes in my face. I breathe on his face. I wonder if my breath stinks. I should’ve popped a mint or something. His smells like chocolate.

And then I’m kissing him. Hard and frantic. My head explodes with fireworks, the type of fireworks that are colourful and not burning. Brian is all over me, his hands, on my back, in the loop of my sweatpants, underneath my shirt. Mine are shakily pulling at his hair, trying to merge into him, become one. He feels like the stars, a kind of chilly comfort.

I remember the way it felt to kiss him the first time. The colours flowing in splatters and the urge. We tremble, kissing like kids with pathetic crushes or more like lust. Huh. No one can know. Ever. I remember it again. This time it won’t matter if they know. I stumble but before he can question I pulling him into me, my back against the tree, pulling and pulling. I tug at the hem of his shirt, sliding my hands under and over the hard expanse of his stomach. Effing Clark Gable! A shuddery groan escapes my mouth. I feel embarrassed. He’s doing it to me now. All those thoughts. Millions of endless thoughts. I hadn’t said it the last time.

What if he leaves again? He squeezes my narrow hips. “I love you.” I breathe.

Everything slows. His hands cease to touch me. Mine slips away from him. But there’s not an inch of space between us. Now would be a good time for someone to come barreling through. But then he smiles, a knowing grin. Fucking jerk. He pulls me by the collar of my shirt and goes, “It took you so fucking long.”

There Is No Escape - Part 1

Summary: You are rescued from the waters around Neverland by Captain Hook and his crew with no memory has to what happened to you. But when you return to the island you soon find out.

Captain Hook/Peter Pan x Reader

Warning: None

Words: 1345


Your body is cold…..so very cold. You don’t know how you ended up in a vast ocean of water, or how long you had been in it, all you know is that you couldn’t swim any more. There had been no sign of land when you had first found yourself in the water and after swimming for however long you had been there was still nothing around you. Nothing but deep, dark, water. Every muscle in your body is aching beyond belief from the constant shaking as the cold temperature begins to affect you down to your very core.

This is it. This is how you were going to die. It’s a depressing thought but it is the only one that seems to be so very clear in your exhausted mind.

As your eyes begin to lose the fight to stay open and your face sinks beneath the gentle waves of the ocean you feel something wrapping itself around your wet hair, gripping it tight, before pulling you up and out of the water you’d been convinced was going to be your grave.

“Got her Cap’n!”

The deep, harsh, voice that now fills your ears is unrecognisable but you simply don’t care. All that matters now is that you are going to live another day. The hand that had pulled you out of the water now places you onto a hard surface and it is only now, as your eyes slowly fought to open a little, that you can make out several figures standing over you. Your vision isn’t as sharp as it would usually be though so there are no details on them that you can pick out….aside from one.

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anonymous asked:

So I'm sure you saw that Niall made a dream jar to be auctioned off for charity for that BFG movie. With it he said “As a little boy, I liked the idea of floating above the trees and looking down on the world from above. Now I like the idea of having someone with me for the ride.” Could you please write a fluffy, but smutty blurb about this for me please! You're writing is the absolute best! I love reading your stuff! You'd make my life complete if you did this for me!

Valentine’s Day was never your favorite holiday.  If anything it was a holiday you just sort of got through more than anything.  You’d only had a boyfriend during Valentine’s Day once in your entire dating career and that was when you were 14.  He took you behind the gym at school, slammed a rose in your hand and then tried to kiss you in a way that resembled a wet vacuum.  So…not the most romantic thing in the world.

However, this year was different.  You’d been dating Niall for six months now.  And you’d never been happier.  Sure, he was ¼ of the biggest boy band in the world who was now going solo and that meant a few insults from his loving fans lobbed your way but he made it all worth it.  He was sweet, attentive, kind, loving and most of all when he kissed you it sent tingles to your toes and electricity to the ends of your hair.  So…far and away different from the wet vacuum.

You’d both agreed weeks ago not to do anything for Valentine’s Day.  Neither of you really appreciated the holiday to begin with.  So why bother living up to the expectations?  Besides, Niall treated you like every day was Valentine’s Day.

But then he’d created his Dream Jar to promote the movie BFG and also to benefit a couple of London charities.  To say you’d been blown away by his jar would have been the understatement of the year.  It was so…intimate.  While Niall was intimate with you in private he was never really that guy that was intimate so publicly.  It put him in a whole new light for you.

This boy.  This man.  This angel of a human being at the end of the day just wanted to ride in a hot air balloon with his love and look on the world below him.

And today, you were going to make that happen.

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Slow Burn - Part 1

Pairing: firefighter!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,995

Summary: The reader is reluctantly setup on a blind date and it doesn’t go as planned. Is there an instant spark or is it a slow burn?


Ding dong!

Ding dong!

“Y/N! Open up!”

Shit. You were hoping he forgot.

You lazily walk over to the door and pull it open. “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?” You say dryly.

Your friend Justin looks you up and down and shakes his head.

“Why aren’t you ready?” He asks annoyed.

“Ready for what?” You say trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Justin just gives you a bitch face and then invites himself in.

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1| Pas De Deux

Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 2763

Masterlist | Prev | Next |

The cab drove away, leaving you on the cobbled driveway with your suitcase, alone. The school loomed up in front of you. It was like an old manor house. Three stories of red bricks and large windows, complete with stone gargoyles and brick chimneys. You almost groaned. God what was you getting yourself into? This place was not fit for someone like you. You ran your hand through your hair as you tugged your heavy bag up the steps.

The dark brown double doors looked far more menacing than they should have been. A knocker was nailed into the left one. It was shaped like two crossed ballet shoes. Above the doors, engraved on a stone plaque was an elegant script, declaring

Amour de la Beauté

Ballet Academy

Well, no backing down now. This was it. Amour de la Beauté Ballet Academy. One of the best dance schools in Seoul, some would say in the world, but of course to you it didn’t really matter. It may be one of the best, but in the end it comes down to the dancer. And you were hardly a ballerina. You glanced down at your faded jeans and trainers, your print t-shirt and your Dad’s old bush shirt. Yeah, graceful and elegant for sure. You shook your head and bit your lip, trying to foster some determination, and rapped on the door with the shoe knocker.

Oh God, you shouldn’t be doing this, you were going to make a complete fool of yourself and they’ll probably throw you out…why had they even let you in here? You were an Academic first, an amateur dancer second. But then why had you even wanted to come? You couldn’t go to classes here, you couldn’t study English in any way but correspondence school, You would miss out on your exams…but then, you remembered what you had told your Dad.

“I love Ballet, Dad! It’s my passion.”

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themosthumanpower-deactivated20  asked:

Hc request where newt is working on his book late into the night and when he goes to bed he finds several of his creatures cuddled up to the reader and he falls more in love with them and carefully crawls into the bed trying not to wake any of them?

I hope an imagine is ok? :)

Master list

Imagine: Newt walking in on you asleep with his creatures.


Newt yawned, running his hands through his hair as he stretched his tall body. He didn’t even know what time it was, but it must be late. You were already asleep, or at least he believed so. He hadn’t heard much of anything going on in the house.

He rose from his seat, walking over to the bedroom and opening the cracked door to peek in. His green eyes landed on the many shapes lying in bed, a smile instantly forming when he realized it was you amongst his many creatures.

He walked closer to you, pulling the blanket higher up on your body and kissing you softly on the head. If it were possible, his love for you grew, and he stood back just admiring you and his creatures. Because, you were his whole life now.

Originally posted by newtonscamnders

Moaning Mona Lisa [m]

Genre: Smut/Fluff ⚠️ (Oral? Taehyung’s tongue? idk lmao)

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 3297 he’s my bias… I got carried away… I’m sorry…

Summary: Taehyung can’t finish his painting until his muse can relax…

A/N: This is the fourth installment of my Spring Day drabbles series! I only have three left to do. They should be up later this week! Check out my other ones thru the link at the end of this post 😊

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