once upon a time there was an attempt

know it all — p.p.

summary : may parker can’t fathom that you and her nephew aren’t dating yet- she can’t wait forever, you know, and she knows it’s going to happen eventually. when has may ever been wrong?

word count : 3k

author’s note : long time no see?? LOL sophomore year is successfully kicking my ass but i wrote this and it’s semi long so?? 

   May Parker prides herself on a lot of things- namely, her stunning resilience in the face of immense adversity, and the way she just seems to know things. She can’t help it, it’s her not so lame superpower and she uses it on Peter all the time, much to his annoyance. She earns a roll of the eyes whenever she says something out of the blue, so profound Peter can’t help but contemplate its credibility for the hours that follow their interactions. She knows things, she does, and she knows that you and her nephew are as meant to be as her and Ben were- are, she chastises herself sometimes- and she knows it so truly in the deepest recesses of her heart that the fact that you and Peter aren’t together is something that goes right over her head. 

   “Peter, hon, when’s your girl coming over? I miss having other ladies in the house,” she says one day, interrupting the silence that had settled upon the pair  as Peter recited the periodic table of elements so naturally in his head in preparation for a quiz the following day. Peter loses track somewhere between lithium and beryllium or maybe it was phosphorus, he doesn’t know anymore, when he hears May call you that, his girl, and he shakes his head at her wildly. “What? What’d I say?” May points her wooden spoon at him, and Peter’s reminded that she’s Italian for the fifth time that day. 

   “May, she’s not- she’s not my, like, girlfriend,” he stresses each syllable the word carries, practically throwing his pencil across the table when he turns his chair to get a better view of his aunt as she prepares dinner- pasta, again, because she claims it’s the only thing she can’t possibly mess up. “You know that! Y/N’s been my best friend forever.” 

    “You realize you can be best friends with your girlfriend, don’t you?” Peter can sense May’s eyes rolling even though he can’t see her since she’s facing the stove with her back turned. “You two have definitely kissed. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” 

    Peter’s entire face feels hot when she says that, his hands clammy when he presses them together against his cheeks, placing his elbows on the table to prop his head up. “That’s embarrassing, May. Why would you ever ask me that?” He runs his hands through his hair and the gel is so terribly packed on it that the carefully prepared hairstyle comes undone with one swift movement. “We haven’t, in case you’re wondering, which I know you are because you’re nosy.” Peter feels the spoon lightly poke into his back, a playful warning. 

   “Anyways,” May continues loudly, “as I was saying before, your girlfriend should come over for dinner sometime this week. I’m making pasta.” She grins before placing a bowl of penne in front of Peter, his least favorite pasta shape. Peter scowls at the penne but picks up his fork anyway and shoves some in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before giving May a thumbs up. At least she was proud of it. “I won’t make penne if you get her to come over.” 

    She knows she’s got him when she sees the slow, unsure nod start. He sticks his hand out, and May shakes it happily. “Only because of the penne. I want bowties. Please,” he gives his aunt his best, brightest, sweetest smile he can form, much like the ones that come so naturally when he turns his gaze to look at you- but May won’t bring that up just yet. “And don’t make girlfriend jokes in front of her.” His utensil stabs into the pasta as he thinks to himself, ‘cause if you keep it up in front of her, she’ll think I’m a weirdo and I’ll never genuinely get to call Y/N that, ever. Honestly, he’d much rather launch himself headfirst off of the Empire State Building than never get to experience kissing you, holding your hand, being with you in all those sorts of hopelessly romantic ways that he daydreams about regularly. He’s doing it again, slipping into that endless reverie he always seems to find himself lost in. But it’s okay. His mind is a chasm of soft loves and sweet words shared between the two of you. It’s a beautiful, long mess of a dream. 

   “You lost, Pete?” May snaps her fingers in front of his face, bemused. 

    “A little,” he sighs in that dreamy tone she recalls her own self indulging in so fondly in her younger years. His gaze becomes hazy again, like he’s on another plane entirely, but she lets him be. For now. 


    Peter knows he’s dressing up a little too much for just a friend. He’s spraying too much strong cologne and gelling his hair excessively and praying you won’t notice the fact that it’ll be dryer than the leaves in the wintertime, but it’s all too much for someone he insists is his best friend and his best friend alone, nothing more and nothing less, certainly not his girlfriend. Never that, right? Peter frowns at his reflection and tilts his head down, rubbing his head in attempt to remove most of the gel that had been a serious mistake in the first place. You preferred his hair curly, anyway. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest. He puts on the sweater that you once said looked lovely on him and he wears his nice jeans, the ones without that stupid hole near the butt cheek that you can’t really see unless you’re trying

   His cheeks flush when May gives a tiny, satisfied smirk upon seeing his perfectly put together outfit. He acts as if no time at all was spent on his appearance, but she knows him, like she knows everything else, and she knows that he’s been holed up in the bathroom for over twenty minutes now trying to see which shirt matched his eyes best and debating the chances of you realizing that this was the sweater you liked the most on him before he put it on and beamed at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was the color or the stitching or the fabric but he was starting to like this one much more, too. 

   “You look very handsome, sweets,” May says to him, squeezing his shoulder as she brushes past him to place a salad on the table. Peter surveys the salad with a strange look on his face. 

   “Why’d you make a salad? Since when does Y/N eat salad?” He raises his eyebrows at her, before adding with haste, “not that I don’t love your salad, Aunt May, ‘cause I do. I promise.”  

   Aunt May places her hands on her hips, peering at him through the tops of her glasses in a way that makes her look too wise for someone as young as she was. “I’m making a good impression, obviously.” 

   “You’ve known her for like ten years now, the time for good impressions is over, May. You missed your chance.”

   “This is the first time I’m seeing Y/N as your girlfriend, though!” Peter lets out the loudest groan imaginable, running his hands over his cheeks and slapping his forehead with great vexation. 

   “Still not my girlfriend,” he insists on insisting, taking the extra plates out of her busy hands and helping to set the small kitchen table. 

   May smooths back a loose strand of hair from his forehead with a kind, teasing grin on her face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want her to be, kiddo.” 

   He can’t possibly argue with that sort of logic, especially not when his aunt hits the nail right on the head in that peculiar way she has a habit of doing, so he just smiles and kisses May on the cheek. There’s a knock on the door less than a second later, and the pair scramble for the upper hand before Peter beats her to it and nearly flies to grab the handle of it and yank it open so he can greet you accordingly, slightly out of breath with his hair flopping to one quite nicely and a joyous smile making its way across his mouth when he sees you for the first time that day. May hovers earnestly behind him, hands fluttering over her nephew’s shoulders so she can push past him to wrap you in a hug if need be. Sometimes Peter has the impression that May adores you even more than he does; he wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that, or a bit offended that you seemed to return the blatant favoritism with ardency. 

   There was a brief second where your eyes raked over your best friend’s face with soft admiration, hidden as carefully as you could manage. When you met his appreciative gaze you felt the palms of your hands clam up and so you cast your look back to his aunt and playfully pushed past him to give her a hug. 

   Peter, offense overriding his previously somewhat moonstruck expression, backed away from you when you finally turned toward him with your arms outstretched. “Oh, now I get a hug? Interesting,” he rolls his eyes in a teasing manner, unable and unwilling to conceal his little, loving smile that appeared when you pried his arms off his chest and defiantly wrapped them around yourself as you hugged him. “Didn’t seem so interested in hugging me when you were shoving me away to get to May,” he says, craning his neck to stare at you whilst continuing to drag the embrace out for as long as possible. 

   “You’re still my favorite Parker,” you reply, poking his chest lightly. Then you turn away before you can say anything else that could be considered too revealing of certain, carefully concealed feelings that had the possibility of being detrimental to a beautiful friendship that had manifested over the years into something more, but not quite, not yet. “Sort of,” you put as an afterthought, lest he get any ideas about you feeling… something for him. “Anyways, what’s for dinner, May?” You anticipate pasta, and when May announces the dish with a great flourishing of her hand, you grin. Typical, yes, but nothing if not welcomed. 

  Peter, gentleman that he is, pulls out your chair for you, and you let yourself imagine that he’s doing it as a chivalrous boyfriend and not simply a polite friend. He imagines the same, though. Imagines that he’s on a date with you and he pulls out your chair and smiles kindly and lovingly- and he basks in this image for as long as he can. May calls you over then, and the daydream is shattered. You make your way over to her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

   May lowers her voice before speaking, “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to explain something to me,” she starts. You nod, raising your eyebrows at her. “Explain why you and Peter aren’t together yet. Honestly, honey, I just can’t understand it.” She talks with her hands the way Peter does. 

   “Uh- what? I, um, I don’t… understand?” Your voice cracks a little, as if having May practically shove your less than friendly feelings for Peter back in your face wasn’t embarrassing enough. “We’re, um, you know, like, friends.” 

   Her hand waves dismissively, pushing that sentence away. “No, no, see that’s what he said, too! I have to disagree. I know everything, kiddo, and I know that you two are going to make it as a couple, so if that’s what your afraid of, don’t be. Go for it. I see the same thing in him that I see in you right now, and that thing is love. So, I’m going to need you to go make my nephew the happiest kid on Earth and tell him you’re falling in love with him, and you’ll see that he’s going to say the same thing to you. Trust me. Aunt May knows all,” she shrugs in a casual manner, brushing her confidence off, before she steers you around and gently pushes you back toward the tiny dining room table where Peter sits awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs with his lip caught between his teeth. 

   “Hi,” you almost whisper, settling down in your seat across from him. 

   He glances up. “Hey,” he says, smiling again. A reflex, in your presence. He clears his throat, then asks, “So, what’d you and May talk about?” He knows May loves him as if he were her son, which for all intents and purposes he is, but he can’t be sure of her secrecy. He wouldn’t put it past his aunt to let slip “accidentally” that he liked you, loved you, cared for you. 

   You take a sip of your glass of water that Peter must have filled in your absence from the table. You had a tendency to take sips of your drink when in uncomfortable conversations, or conversations you felt nervous in. He notes that. “Oh, um, nothing really… but if were gonna talk about it, I’d wanna do it in, like, private?” You twirl your straw around your drink, mixing the ice in the glass. Peter abruptly stands from his chair. You watch him sling a jacket around his shoulders and throw one of his sweaters at you, which you catch easily. “You wanna go now?” 

   He nods, licking his lips anxiously. “No better time than the present, right?” If you’re going to confront him and crush his heart with a single sentence that stands along the lines of I see you as a friend, he wants it done sooner rather than later. He wants it over with, so he can go back to his suffering in comfortable silence and start an attempt to move past this crush the way he had easily drifted away from his crush on Liz Allan. You fumble with the sweater as you stand. “May, we’re gonna step out for a bit!” Peter announces, opening the front door of his apartment and letting you slip out first. He doesn’t wait for her response before he disappears, too. May watches the two of you leave and feels her heart grow twice its size. 

  You’re standing outside the apartment building ten minutes later in the chilly autumn breeze, thankful for the cologne scented sweater that rests over your body like a warm blanket. Peter’s hands are never cold, and so they linger outside of his pockets as opposed to yours, shoved inside the front pocket of the sweater he’s given you. He reaches for your hands wordlessly and rubs them over his. “You’re always freezing,” he laughs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours with a new burst of confidence that you find endearing as you squeeze his hands. “Hey, wanna know something? You might know it already but, I figure I should tell you myself, if you wanna know.” He swings his hands back and forth, and yours swing along with his. 

   “Yeah, please,” you insist, twisting your head to the side to sweep the windswept hair out of your face. One of Peter’s hands comes up to brush it out of the way, typical and cliche and an overplayed move but none of that matters when the action is being carried out, because it makes your stomach constrict in that funny way and your heart melt into a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. His fingers linger over the softness of your cheek, and he keeps his hand there to see what you’ll say about it. You say nothing, let remain there. “You gonna tell me or not?” 

  “Should I- I could maybe…” he sucks on the bottom of his lip. “Forget it, I don’t know how to speak properly around you like this.” You start to protest, demand he tell you because you won’t be able to stop thinking about this if he doesn’t, but every word dies before it can touch the edge of your lips. Peter has his head lowered down toward you and he’s kissing you, a thought that’s crossed your mind more times than you were able to count but now, it’s happening. Real lips pressed against yours feverishly, shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment. When he pulls away first, it returns and collides with him as if he’s hit a brick wall, and his cheeks burn red. He makes no move to back away, still. “D-Did I step out of line? Was that okay? Do you hate me? ‘Cause if you do we can go back upstairs or you can leave and then on Monday we can pretend that this never happened because you’re still my best friend no matter what even if it’s awkward-” 

   Your hands clasp together around the back of his neck as you yank him down toward you again, and this time you kiss him back. You can feel him smiling so hard it makes it difficult to kiss him, but when you break away to tell him that, he just laughs and smiles harder and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t know how to stop now that’s he had the opportunity. You’re both laughing hysterically and trying to kiss properly and his nose bumps against yours repeatedly, and it’s the most perfect first kiss in the world. 

   He keeps his hand firmly grasped in yours when you go back upstairs to his seventh floor apartment, opens the door for you and everything. May is sitting at the table, turns her head to the both of you and peers at you from the top of her glasses. Peter raises his hand and yours, triumphant. May claps her hands together as he, your boyfriend, declares proudly, “Aunt May, I would like to formally introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who I hope will be sticking around?” He looks to you for reassurance, and gets what he needs from the happy kiss you bestow upon the side of his face. 

   “I told you two I know everything!” Is what breaks the joyous silence, and then the laughter starts again; a perfectly lovely family. 

Keep reading

8

Once upon a time, there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort, which could only be broken by love’s first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire-breathing dragon. Many brave knights had attempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed. She waited in the dragon’s keep, in the highest room of the tallest tower, for her true love, and true love’s first kiss.

4

Once upon a time while grocery shopping with @fallenangelruby, I decided to ride the cart into the parking lot. I do this every time only this time a larger man sadly lamented to my sis (as i rode into the sunset). Last time he attempted to ride the carts, he fell on his ass. He only wished he was small, so he too could ride the carts with such reckless abandon. 

Then she forced me to draw this scenario with Roadhog and Junkrat..

5 Years

- You and Harry are poor and Harry hasn’t seen Anne in years. He misses her so much that you suprise him with plane tickets to visit her.

A/N: This is quite short, but it’s such fluff I am in love.

Masterlist linked in bio.


“This is shit! All of this is shit!”

Harry’s hands violently shoved all his crumbled pieces of paper and music journals off of the kitchen table before pounding the sides of both of his fists against the wood, refusing to contain all the frustration that had only seemed to increase inside of him any longer.

He had been trying to write new music for the past three weeks. After visiting the local record label for what felt like the hundredth time since he’s moved from home, they still refused to sign him until he figured out a way to produce music that “didn’t sound like everything else.” He’s tried everything—from writing about his love life to writing about all the angry shit scrambled inside his head—yet nothing seemed to gain their interest.

At that point, Harry had run out of ideas. There was absolutely nothing else he could think of writing about that he hasn’t already, and it was as if every possibility of making music in his future had suddenly turned into a false hope.

It was all he had, though—writing and producing music was the only thing he had going for him and the only chance he had to make money. But it was so much harder than he ever thought possible, for he had been trying for years to gain recognition for his creations, yet nothing came to his avail.

He was on the brink of giving up on everything at that moment—everything.

“Fucking shit!”

Y/n ran from their shared bedroom into the kitchen after hearing the chaos Harry had riled up. By the time she reached the dining table—which was normally used both as a place for them to eat and Harry’s office—he was an absolute wreck. Between the mess upon the floor and the cries that seemed to obstruct the silence that had once been, she had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Harry, wh—what?”

“I can’t—I can’t live like this anymore!” He sobbed, his head in his hands as his lungs began to fail him through his words.

He couldn’t continue living through their financial crisis; between his dead-end attempts to make a career out of his music and Y/n’s minimum wage salaries, it was nearly impossible for them to live a life they both deserved. Their memories were trapped inside an apartment that could barely fit the two of them, all their passionate nights were shared on a mattress with no bed frame, and their life together remained stagnant for far too long.

Harry loved her more than he’s ever loved anything before, and the thought was enough to terrify him.

She deserved so much better than him—she deserved a man that could provide her with all her needs and wants. She deserved every bit of the earth and Harry could barely offer her a fraction of it. He could only provide her with his love and the scraps he made from his failures.

She deserved so much more than him.

“Oh, baby.” She whispered.

She kneeled down to where he was sitting, pressing her forehead to his as she played with the hairs that raided the nape of his neck. She was well aware of how hard their living situation was—especially for him.

He worked hard enough for the both of them. He worked relentlessly, often times skipping meals or refusing to have a proper night’s sleep until he had something done—whether it was a new song idea or even a newly written verse. Stress took over his every move and Y/n knew he wasn’t living a healthy lifestyle.

He was losing himself slowly, and it pained Y/n beyond words to see him live the way he was. She wished she could offer him more help than she was already giving him, but she was busy, too, and she never felt more upset with herself.

“I need my mum.”

The words he’d spoken an innumerable amount of times fell from his lips without much thought.

He hadn’t seen her since he decided to move away with Y/n, which was four years ago at the time. He had sacrificed his entire life to start a new one with Y/n. He figured that moving away with her to a different city would be his opportunity to start fresh on his music career and start making enough money for him, Y/n, and his family.

He had sketched plans upon backup plans to get his music going. He searched through all the different venues, music companies, music managements—everything he could think of—and spent nearly every hour practicing and writing.

He never expected that what he had to offer wasn’t good enough.

To those he showed his music to, there was a list of improvements they felt he had to make. They claimed that his music was either too mainstream or too different, and there was absolutely no in between. He found himself in a rut with his creations and it was far too late to move back in with his family since he nor Y/n were making enough money to pay their rents, bills, and a plane ticket back home.

Anne wasn’t able to afford visiting him either, though, so there was absolutely nothing the either of them could do besides wait until Harry’s music career started to take off—if it ever did.

He missed Anne more than anything. Although he was in love with spending every day with Y/n and getting to experience all of his miserable life with her, he missed the feeling of his mum being around him all the time. He missed absolutely everything about her, especially when he had his emotional breakdowns.

She was his rock and his provider his entire life, and he relied on her for everything until he decided to move away. She kept him sane through all his hectic times and was there for him when nobody else was.

Anne wasn’t only his mum, but she was his best friend, and continuing to live without knowing when he’d be able to see her again was Harry’s own personal hell.

“I know, darling.” Y/n whispered as she let his tears soak her shirt and his body shake in her arms.

He kissed her where her heart was as he squeezed her more into him. His entire world was in his arms and he’s never needed the weight of it more.

“Don’t ever think I regret my life with you, love, please don’t. But my mum, Y/n, my mum—I miss her so much. Phone calls don’t mean shit to me because I’m not w—with her.”

She only nodded, letting him vent to her without any interruption. It brought her comfort whenever Harry was having a breakdown, as sick as it sounded—it just brought her peace knowing that he was letting out all of the emotions he kept in for her sake. He was human, after all, and he deserved to have his moments.

“I need her, Y/n. I need her to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I need her to kiss me and tell me how proud she is of me even though I’ve done nothing but fail those around me—like I fail you—and just hold me like she did when I was a kid.”

She shook her head instantly, slowly pushing his body away from hers in order to her eyes to meet his. They were red and soaked with tears, but they were beautiful and was always what got her weak in the knees.

The pads of her thumbs wiped away the tears that fell onto his cheeks, making sure to kiss him a couple of time while doing so.

“You never fail me, Harry. You give me a new reason to fall in love with you every single day and I thank God for you every time I look at you. Your love never fails me, nothing you do fails me. So never think that again, you hear me?”

And she really meant it more than ever, especially in that moment of Harry’s vulnerability. Her heart always hurt knowing that he wasn’t aware of how much she actually did give her, even if it wasn’t materialistic. Nobody provided her with as much love and safety as he had, and it was something she’d never be able to get enough of.

He got her through all her troubled times and all her insecure moments. She needed him and wanted him more than anything money could buy, and she’d spend the rest of her dying days attempting to make him believe it.

“You’ll see your mum soon, okay? If I can promise you one thing, it’s that you’ll see her soon.“

She kissed his cheeks again before they sat in silence together, all wrapped up in each other’s arms as they waited for Harry to finally calm down. They hadn’t found a lot of time within the past three weeks to spend loads of time together, so even just the half hour of holding one another was enough to mend him quite quickly.

“Can you promise me something else?” He breaks the silence, his voice slightly hoarse from the screaming that took place earlier.

She nodded.

“Can you promise me that whenever I see my mom again, that you’ll be there? I want you to meet her so properly and make her see why I want to marry you someday. I really want her blessing.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, grazing her lips softly against his forehead before muttering a small “I promise.”


That was a year ago.  

Ever since that night, Y/n made it her first priority to find a way for Anne and Harry to reunite. She never wanted to see that side of Harry again, and she’s been through the God awful pain that came from missing a parent. Y/n had lost both of her parents in a car accident, and she never wanted Harry to go through what she had to for the following years.

So, she started working double shifts at her job—gathering and saving as much money as she possibly could for a couple of months straight. Airfare was quite expensive, especially since she planned on buying two round-trip tickets and intended on being able to pay the rent and bills for that month and somehow buy food and necessities during the trip.

She intended on leaving it a surprise for Harry, as well, and was able to make up plenty of excuses as to why she wasn’t able to be at home as much. He was quite upset, but she found it was quite easy considering Harry was keeping busy with his music throughout that time as well.

To say she was exhausted was an understatement. She had never worked so hard in her life and never thought she had it in her to make as much money as she did. It made the living situation slightly easier during the time. She knew every lost hour of sleep and every extra second spent working would all be worth it in the end.

And it was all worth it, especially now.

The confirmation for her order is right in front of her; two round trip tickets to Holmes Chapel. It’s a sight she’s been desperate to see for a year now, and she lets out a sob as she reads the words over and over again. It’s real, it’s happening, Harry’s ticket to happiness is right in front of her and she has never felt so accomplished in her life.

As she prints out the tickets from her nearly broken down printer—that took her almost two hours to fix—she contemplates whether to wait a week for their sixth year anniversary or just go to him now and gift it to him.

But as she stares at the plane tickets in her hands, she just can’t keep it a secret any longer.

Y/n’s holding everything Harry’s needed right in between her fingertips. Everything that Harry has worked so hard for is right here, inked on printer paper right in front of her and there’s just absolutely no way in hell she can keep this information from him—he’s waited long enough.

She eagerly makes her way to their bedroom, a slight squeal leaving her lips as she makes her way to the doorway of their room. She sees Harry in the bathroom, dressed only in a pair of black boxers as he shaves the stubble under his chin.

He smiles softly upon her entrance, but quickly goes back to shaving the extra bits of his facial hair. She bites her lip at his nearly fully exposed body, but quickly regains her composure as she remembers exactly what she’s here to do.

“Sweetums?”

Harry pats the excess hair from his razor as he looks up.

“Hm?” He hums, his eyes drifting away from his reflection in the bathroom mirror over to where she stands beside their bed.

She has tears in her eyes, but they’re much different from those Harry has seen before. Normally, along with her tears comes a frown on her face and red-tinted cheeks—only the smallest examples of how much her features drown in sorrow whenever she’s upset. But as he stares at her in the way she looks now, there isn’t a trace of sadness within her. Instead, her lips are up in a slight grin and the eyes that are filled with tears are staring at him in admiration. She’s glowing, too, and he swears he wants to look at her in this way for the rest of his life.

“What’s that, love?”

He nods his head slightly, referring to the two pieces of paper that are clenched between her fingers.

She takes a step closer to him as her eyes gleam at the man she’d do anything for. She wishes nothing to be as close to him as possible in this moment, but also wants to be far enough so that she can fully see the product of a man who’ll finally be reuniting with his mother.

“I got you tickets to see your mum, Harry.”

As soon as the words leave her lips, Harry nearly chokes. He drops everything on the floor—his shaver and his comb hitting against the counter and nearly breaking to pieces around his feet. His hands grip along the edge of the sink, face paling and eyes widening at her through the bathroom mirror.

He almost thinks he misunderstood her somewhere—that maybe what she actually said got scrambled in his head to somehow make him hear what he could only dream of hearing. But her face reassures him that he did, in fact, hear her currently and that he just couldn’t believe it.

Y/n’s tears fall down her cheeks as she giggles, observing how he still hasn’t moved a single muscle and the color in his face still hasn’t returned.

“You’ll be at home for a month and you’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

She takes another step closer to him, her smile never fading as he finally lets out a choked sob. Tears are already forming in his eyes and his hands hold tighter against the sink, but words seemed to be trapped in his throat and all that his brain can process is the pounding of his chest and the air that has yet to be knocked out from his lungs.

“I know that when we talked, you said that if you ever had the chance to see your mum again that you’d want me to come with you. I figured that that would be unfair to you, since you have spent so much time with me and haven’t been able to see her in so long. I decided to compromise and—and I’m only visiting for the first week but I figured it’d be enough time to—Harry?”

Her eyes narrow i concern as she watches him nearly fall backwards from his prior position, nearly tripping over his own feet as he finally turns around to look at her properly. Neither of them say anything as Harry stumbles towards her frame—eyes still bewildered and face still pale. He nearly trips over the sheets on the floor, but he quickly regains his balance before his hands find their way upon her cheeks.

He wants to say everything he’s thinking—he wants to tell her how thankful he is and how much he loves her. He wants to express every ounce of gratitude and give her everything she’s ever deserved in this moment. Hell, he wants to get on his fucking knees and worship all the blessings she’s ever given him and love on her until she can barely speak anymore. But all that falters nearly seconds after he reaches her.

“Harry—“

He sobs—complete soul shaking sobs. Everything he’s feeling completely overwhelms him to the point where he ends up on his knees. His body collapses and his lungs are constricted but he has never felt so good in his life.

Y/n falls with him, cradling him again her chest as she presses chaste kisses along his forehead. Her hands rub up and down his back in an attempt to calm him from his cries, but he doesn’t back down. He’s hasn’t felt this amount of happiness in so long that he feels there’s nothing else his body can do.

He reaches his hands up to her face again, admiring her from what he can see between all the tears in his eyes and the squinting of his lids. He presses his lips to hers, but the kiss doesn’t last long before he’s sobbing again—bringing her face down to the dip of his shoulder while he holds her there.

She giggles, shaking her head softly.

“Didn’t I promise you, love?”

My Fake Boyfriend - part one

Originally posted by thedailystyles

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Summary: You refuse to go on a date with Harry, but when you tell your ex that you will be attending his engagement party with your new boyfriend by your side, you may just need him.

A/N: send me a message or an ask if you would like a part two to this! If no one wants it then I won’t be prioritising it in my ‘to write’ list.


He was late, you thought as you glanced at the analogue face of your watch.

You immediately cursed yourself for thinking such a thing. For him to be late, there had to be a prearranged meeting where a time was set for him to arrive. Just because he came into your store at 11 o’clock sharp every Saturday morning for the past month didn’t mean he was obligated to come today. Besides, you shouldn’t care. No. You didn’t care.

It was a quiet time of day in the cupcake patisserie. It gave you plenty of time to prepare all of the cupcake orders you had later in the day. You were just pulling a tray of red velvet cupcakes out of the oven for an order to be ready at midday when you heard the familiar twinkle of the door chime. It took all the self-control you had not to whip around and check to see if it was who you thought it was. If it was him, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You took your time sliding the tray onto the cooling rack and taking off your oven mitts before turning to greet your customer. You fought the smile that threatened to creep its way onto your face and chiselled your face into a mask of nonchalance as you took him in.

Harry leant his forearms on the counter, a smirk on his face and amusement in his eyes. While dressed in one of his much more casual outfits, you were sure that the brown knit sweater he adorned was worth more than all your clothes combined. A moment of silence passed between the two of you before Harry spoke. “Mornin’ love. Sorry I’m late, I got caught up in a meeting.”

“Late?” you asked, as though you hadn’t thought that. “Who are you again?” you asked, as though everyone in the Western world didn’t know who he was. You knew this boy’s status and you refused to allow him to believe you cared in the slightest. Which you didn’t. Your growing attraction to him had nothing to do with that.

Keep reading

Tease ; Steve Rogers

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, s p a n k i n g, really dom!Steve, daddy kink 

summary: the captain proving a point that you shouldn’t underestimate his abilities of pinning you against the wall after you had been teasing him of being so submissive


It was never not a fact that people considered Steve as a pure and innocent angel —people would think he’s as soft as cotton and as pure as angel, but of course they thought wrong. Steve had been deceiving the audience with his act of being a ‘sinless’ person he is though hiding the fact that he can be an actual animal and sometimes even wilder especially when in bed.

Keep reading

The Shortest Meta I will ever write:

At the end of TAB, Sherlock talks to John about what he thinks their life would look like in the future. He goes to the window and he makes his Victorian mind palace change to present-day mind palace. We never see him leave the mind palace because all of series 4 is that projection, exactly as he said it would be. That’s why The Final Problem features John’s Victorian chair and flashes of The Waterfall scene.

The reason “TFP as John’s TAB” is an excellent reading with only a few minor holes is because Sherlock is trying to see himself through John’s eyes – he did that multiple times in TAB. The times we believe we’re getting John’s POV in series 4 is actually Sherlock taking it upon himself to attempt to empathize. That’s why they can both see Mary in TLD. That’s why the greenhouse scene concerning Irene happens twice – once through Sherlock’s POV, once through John’s. Sherlock and John have so much in common, this isn’t a new idea at all. They were mistaken for one another in TBB. They are two halves of the same whole. Series 4 doesn’t switch POVs, it’s Sherlock controlling both.

“I’m you, aren’t I?”

The men of figure skating: heading into the 2017-2018 season

Once upon a time, in a frosty February day in 2010, Evgeni Plushenko was standing unimpressed on the second step of the podium. He had come to win his second consecutive Olympic gold and become the first figure skater to do so since Dick Button. But as he was standing on the second step of the podium, an orange bro whose name was Evan came and sh00k his hand and climbed on the highest step. Little did the orange bro know that his stunt at that competition (not attempting any quads at all due to a stress fracture sustained in the previous season) would give birth to what we call today the quad generation. Evgeni would have probably sold his soul to Putin the devil just so he could finally play with the kids he’s been looking for all his life. So here we are in the eve of the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics, the top 6 men can execute at least two different types of quads and Yuzuru Hanyu will probably never retire unless he lands the 4A in competition, the only quad (4 and a half revolutions) that has never been landed before and will probably never continue to be landed on a regular basis due to the difficulty and increased injury risk. Unlike the ladies field, the men have the “big 6″ who are very likely to lock the first 6 positions at the Olympics and then there’s the rest. I will focus on these 6 skaters under the cut and make a list of other skaters to look out for because ice is slippery and you never know. 

Keep reading

she-shakes-the-pine  asked:

Do you know the real story of Pocahontas ? If you did I'm sure you would want to remove her from every post including her, its ironic and contradicting that you are advocating for women of colour while also promoting colonialism

Okay this message is super patronizing but I’m going to answer it openly and honestly.

Yes, of course we all know the real story of Pocahontas. We’ve talked about it numerous times, reblogged critiques of it and had open discussions with followers about it. Our focus on this blog is looking critically at Disney films while also celebrating the film characters for what they are and the effect they have on people. We’ve also openly stated that the film should remain a one time mistake—that Disney should learn from it, and that they should leave it in the past and not attempt to drag it into the future with the this trend of live action remakes and shows like Once Upon a Time

THAT BEING SAID, I was an NDN girl growing up in the 90s with literally no access to natives in pop culture beyond the toxic portrayals in old westerns and whatever my dad could find in bookstores and video rental stores in a time before the Internet made it possible to find things instantaneously. When Pocahontas came out, I freaked out. I remember my dad freaking out. He took me opening weekend to the theater to see it. He was so excited that, at last, there was a mainstream native american character he could show me. And she was strong and she was brave and she was beautiful and she was resilient. And she meant a lot to me growing up.

But I was also lucky enough to not only have a father that knew his history, but to be surrounded by family on our reservation who were hell bent on my cousins and I learning, from a young age, Indigenous history. And it’s something I continued into my education. I took 6 semesters of Indigenous History courses so I’d say I have a better grasp than most people on the subject.

But that’s why this blog exists–to educate and inform, to highlight both the good and the bad effects of not just Pocahontas, but all the characters of color in Disney’s history. And frankly, if we banished every character because of the way their white creators mishandled them–either through ignorance or indifference–we’d be left with nothing and nobody to talk about.

Russell Means, one of the most prolific and important indigenous civil rights revolutionaries, was an actor in the film. He thought that the overall effects of the film outweighed the historical inaccuracies, as long as those inaccuracies were talked about. He said,

It’s so revolutionary, it shocked me when they showed it to me. The first thing that shocked me was the truth. The Eurocentric males are admitting why they came here–to kill Indians and to rob and pillage. That’s never been done before. This is also the first time, other than on “Northern Exposure,” that a human face has been put on an Indian female. Here’s this young woman who’s wiser than her father or any man in the village, and she causes peace to reign. It’s beautiful. (x)

So do I have conflicting feelings about the film? Absolutely I do. As I’m sure everyone reading this blog does. And we’re never gonna shove the movie down anybody’s throats or yell at them for not watching it. People are allowed to have their own feelings about stuff. And as long as people acknowledge the truth behind the movie and not try to divorce it from the real history, I don’t have a problem with someone loving the movie.

This blog focuses primarily on how pop culture and media representation affects children, for better or worse. And the fact remains that not only is this movie already a step above most Hollywood depictions of Natives in that the Natives are actually played by Natives, but it remains the ONLY source of indigenous representation that is accessible to children. Bluntly, right now, it’s all we’ve got. If you don’t think that has some significance, that’s your opinion. 

So we’ll continue to showcase Pocahontas on this blog because to not to would be to erase her from Disney’s legacy–both the good parts and the bad.

-Lauren

Its happening again guys, All three; Camila, Lauren and Ty have basically confirmed exactly what I touched upon about the “cycle” going on in my previous post. The first day of Camila’s solo tour with Bruno Mars, Ty and Lauren attempt to confirm their relationship, once again removing and destroying any association L has with Camila/Camren. The pictures the girls took at their BEATS 1 photoshoot have been out for a few days now, so why did Ty decide to wait until C’s first show date to post a pic of L on his Instagram story captioned “❤️😍😘”. If they were romantically together, wouldn’t Ty have had access to the pictures at the same time as L? Anyway, now L’s turn. On her Instagram story, she so happened to be listening to “Love U Better” Ty’s latest single. His song was released on the 10th of July, so why has it taken L 10 DAYS to start promoting his music. After C’s performance, it seems like a pretty desperate attempt by management to confirm ‘tyren’ to me. C’s new music screams Camren. Her lyrics “half of my heart is in Havana” and the “stop playing it safe girl/sneaking in LA” all correlate to L in some way. Even asking fans to imagine they're “in Jamaica” a few weeks after L spent her birthday there with Ty. Why did she specifically mention Jamaica? She could have chosen any Island with the same Caribbean vibe, so why Jamaica? These apparent ‘leaked” pictures from a photoshoot taken few years back where both C and L look extremely comfortable with each other, so happened to be ‘released’ a few days before C goes on her first solo tour. Doesn’t this just create a certain buzz/excitement in our little camren fandom? Management know this. It is all too ironic to be a coincidence. Their behaviour is paradoxical to the narrative we as a fandom are expected to believe. 

My prediction is this: The process of attempting to fully shatter any idea of camren will continue. However, both C and L and/or management will drop a (not so) subtle hint confirming a romantic relationship between the two. I think maybe a HD leaked picture of the two is to come out (literally) along the way. As the fandom will have seen L with other people (Lucy now Ty) it will be easier for fans to accept that camren once was a thing, then to finally move on. From that, the shipping will stop and the speculation around camren can then be put to bed. The only way management can rid any trace of camren is to confirm it. There’s definitely big things coming.

Fake Stars (Klance fluff)

I wrote this cute little story a few days ago. It’s basically Lance and Keith bonding over family and it has some langst in it too. Enjoy!


Ocean eyes met the bright illusion of stars in the open space of the vacant bridge in the Castle of Lions. 

Lance wasn’t usually one for deep thoughts and life evaluations, but he simply couldn’t shake the simple question he had been asked by an inquisitive Pidge earlier in the day.

He had been dejectedly complaining about missing out on Earthly parties and other events that made home what it was, when the green paladin objected to his longing whines and caused his eyes to turn a different shade.

“What was so good about Earth anyways?”, she had asked. Lance knew Pidge hadn’t intended the plain question to be complex, or have any other effect on him other than getting him to cease his protesting. Despite that, he couldn’t help but allow the thought to linger in the back of his mind throughout the day’s meetings and practices.

Constantly Lance had yearned for his home of endless seas and crisp air, but whenever he claimed he desired the comfort of his planet of blue sky’s he utterly disregarded the stormy aspects of it.

Even though it had been his dream to be an astro-explorer, the Garrison destroyed him, in both physical and emotional ways. From the first five minutes of initiation Lance was treated like a weed in a garden of brightly colored roses.

 
Not good enough.
Not serious enough.
Not smart enough.


Both Lance and his parents had exhausted themselves for years, trying to salvage enough money for him to be able to afford to attend a prestigious school such as the Garrison. The day his acceptance letter arrived in his mailbox was known as the day Lance chipped a tooth from stubbornly presenting his incessant grin to the world.

It wasn’t that Lance hadn’t anticipated the all-around serious attitude of the Garrison, he was knowledgeable enough to understand the basic actuality that the space exploration program would not tolerate slacking off. However, what he hadn’t expected was the amount of pressure that every member of the Garrison would force onto his, at the time, naive shoulders.

Week after week after week, Lance would swallow his pride and face the fact that he lingered at the bottom of his class. No matter how many sleepless nights he had poured into his work, no advancements has been made; he was nothing more than a disappointment to himself, and to so many others.

What made his situation even worse was the fact that he had absolutely no friends before he came to know Hunk. Every student Lance encountered was a robot, hardwired for success and discovery. His class-clown routine didn’t impress anybody, and he wasn’t oblivious to the harsh side comments about how he would only last a week before the stress broke him.

Those comments haunted his mind and had driven him to throw every ounce of energy he had into making his dreams a reality. Sadly, the only reality he faced was the fact that the snide claims about Lance breaking, had inevitably come true.

The blue paladin was pulled from his reminiscing thoughts at the sharp sound of a bay door sliding open. Lance expected Coran or Allura to come strolling through the door, however he was met with a very solemn looking Keith, complete with his usual closed off stance and scrunched eyebrows.

The red paladin didn’t seem to notice him peering at him from the floor, though he did notice the display of stars that scattered the room. Lance arched his body and propped himself up on one elbow as his friend carried himself across the diameter of the room.

“Looking for somethin’?”, Lance asked, a carefree tone laced his words despite the somber thoughts that continued to subconsciously swirl around in his head.

Keith, who was circling himself as he stared at endless stars, pivoted his body and focused his sharp gaze on the blue paladin, a crease forming in his forehead. “What are you doing here?” His voice had a slight edge to it that brought Lance’s curiosity to life.

He scrunched his stomach muscles together in an attempt to sit all the way up. He locked eyes with Keith and arched a brow. “Can’t a guy just think for a while?” He cocked his head to the side, deepening his stare. “What about you, Hot Head? You trying to get away from that brooding cloud that follows you everywhere?”

The brief and mild expression Keith wore faded into annoyance the tick Lance started talking. He broke their eye contact and flickered his eyes to the floor. “Mind your own business.”

Lance frowned, which was something he didn’t do very often. Keith seemed…far away. He wasn’t snapping back like he usually would, and that fact threw Lance’s motives off. “Dude,” he called to his distant friend with a slight smile, and gestured for him to come closer by a tapping his right hand on the floor beside him.

Hesitantly, Keith crossed the bridge and lowered himself to the floor five feet away from Lance. His chin was tilted to the ceiling of the bridge and the stars that rotated the room at a still and comfortable pace. He sighed, “So, what are you thinking about?”

Lance, bittered by the space between him and his friend, scooted over until he and Keith were a mere one foot apart. He lied down and pressed his back to the floor, then grabbed the back of Keith’s crop jacket and pulled him down alongside him which induced a grunt from the distraught red paladin.

“Earth. My family…I miss them,” Lance said, admittedly. “To be honest, I hated my life at the Garrison. I wasn’t anything there, everyone was always better than me. You were always better than me. But even though I couldn’t amount to anything, I still had my mom and dad, and my siblings. I had home.” He paused, closing his eyes before quietly adding, “I don’t have that anymore.”

Keith scoffed beside Lance, which caused him to tilt his head see his expression. Amusement was splattered on his pale face, a small crease playing at the corner of his mouth. Keith spoke, “Don’t be an idiot. You still have a home, and don’t even think of saying you’ll never return to Earth because you know that isn’t true.” A melancholy sigh escaped from his lips, and his dark eyes grew to be half-lidded. “I never had a home, I was thrown away from my orphanage, and from my foster homes. Then, I was thrown out of the Garrison. The closest thing I have to family is Shiro and he’s…” His voice trailed off.

Lance knew how much Keith had been hurting since Shiro’s disappearance. The boy hadn’t spoken to anyone for days after he went missing. Shiro was everyone’s rock, and his absence brought nothing but devastation that knocked each team member off the rails in their own way.

“I don’t have anyone,” Keith finished, though he sounded distracted.

A pause erupted between the two of them. Lance wasn’t one for sentiment, and he had no idea what to say to someone who seemed so utterly lost.

“Well,” the blue paladin started with a slight shrug. “Let’s make our own family then, right here in space.” Lance didn’t expect his words to have any effect on Keith, and he was surprised to find his friend’s face turning a foreign, sickly color. It took a good minute before Lance came to the realization that Keith was flustered. His giggling response to the situation was immediate. Not once had he ever seen the dark and deadly red paladin turn into the rosy mess that he was now. Lance grabbed Keith’s forearm as an attempt to help calm him down, and their eyes met each other as a result.

“Are you blushing?”, Lance asked with a sly grin.

Keith’s reddish skin tone deepened as a scowl spread across his features. “I don’t blush.”

Lance chuckled once more. “Okay, tough man.”

Silence fell upon the foily pair for a second time. Serenity took over Lance’s mind. Maybe Keith wasn’t such a bad companion after all.

“Um, by the way,” the red paladin said after basking in the quiet for a few minutes. “That idea doesn’t sound so bad…you know, the family one.” His voice was strained and definitely conflicted, but everything he wanted to get across successfully found its way into his friend’s brain.

Lance’s hand lingered on Keith’s forearm gently, and suddenly he didn’t feel homesick anymore. The boys’ gaze drifted back up to the constellations that hung above them. Lance knew someone would come worriedly looking for them, but that knowledge didn’t stop him from desperately wishing that this infinite moment under millions of fake stars could stretch out into eons.

An open letter to recast owners

I’ve been debating with myself wether or not to post this because I’ve been away from the hobby and this ‘discourse’ for some time doing my own thing and generally trying to get my shit together but then someone had the bright idea of posting that delightful list and attempting to brand myself and some 700 people as bullies and stalkers. Not cool bro, not cool at all.

So this is my open letter to the recast owning community, particularly those like the admins of the above blog. I always welcome discourse, if you want to discuss any of this or any of my points then I more than welcome you to my inbox, it’s always open.


Greetings fellow doll lover,
The thing I really, really want to emphasise above all else is that we get it. We really do.
Who wouldn’t want something they’ve been wanting forever and a day for cheaper than usual? It’s only natural and we’re a generation (or two) of people who’ve been brought up to search for a bargain every chance we can. So we understand the temptation. But the issue of recasts vs supporting artists goes much deeper than just the price tag and that seems to be where the disconnect is, at least from what I’ve observed the last few years.

Allow me to make an analogy;
Imagine, if you will, that you’ve got yourself a job cleaning floors, be it for a bit of money on the side or your sole source of income.
You’ve got yourself all set up, you’ve bought the brooms, the dustpan, the garbage can and bags. Not to mention you bought all those cleaning chemicals which weren’t cheap at all. So you’ve come up with how much you charge your clients based on the cost of your equipment and you manage to squeeze in a little on top to cover your labour and time. You come up with what you consider a very fair price considering the time, effort and cost involved in your work. Sounds fair right?
Now imagine you’re cleaning a floor, you’ve done a good job, you could eat off that floor. Some guy comes along, tells you what a good job you’ve done and even picks up a piece of rubbish for you but the second your boss appears to pay you what you’re owed this other guy, we’ll call him Mr R quickly shows him the garbage can, telling your boss at length what a wonderful job has been done and he’ll only charge half of what you where asking for.
Oh! Well your boss loves that idea, a perfect floor for half the price! Who wouldn’t jump on that deal! So MR R leaves with the money, having done a tiny amount of work compared to you. You’re left out of pocket and with nothing to show for all that time and effort your poured into your work.
How would that make you feel? Maybe you could let it slide if it happened just once but imagine that Mr R keeps coming back, he’s got the money now to follow you to your next job and the one after that and so on after all.

I’m hoping it’s obvious where I’m going with this… on a simplified level that’s exactly what recasters do. They make money off the hard work, skill and all that time an artist pours into making dolls and deny those same artists potential sales by poaching customers with an artists own work. I don’t know about you but I’d find that so incredibly beyond galling if it were me in the artists shoes. And if your work is constantly being sold out from under you, why bother to continue?

That is the crux of why recasts are so harmful to the BJD world. Creating a BJD from scratch takes skill (something which might have entailed formal education and the debts that go with it), a hell of a lot of time and development and a lot of money sunk into it along the way for equipment and materials. Why should anyone sink all that into making dolls when someone else is going to come along, make the minimum amount of effort and make money off that artists hard work?
And if artists decide they’ve had enough and it’s just not worth their time to make dolls anymore then we ALL loose out. Even recast owners. Because what’s there going to be to recast if dolls aren’t being made in the first place?

There’s been many good posts made about the costs of producing dolls and I encourage and implore you to go look for them. Do some research on what’s involved in producing the dolls we all enjoy and you’ll come away informed and hopefully with a good sense of what it’s like for the artists who’s work we all covet.


So much of the narrative being used by blogs like bjdrecastpositive and the people behind them relies upon is attempting to paint anyone who disagrees with them as bullies and stalkers.  I can’t speak for all 700 people singled out on that list they complied but I know that I’ve never stalked anyone in my life (who even has the time or energy for that?) and I certainly don’t bully anyone. Being vocal and disagreeing with something someone posts publically is not bullying.
And once again I implore you to use your own common sense and take that list and posts like it for what it is; an attempt to shift focus away from the real issues at hand.
There’s some very impressive mental gymnastics going on (which we’ve seen before) comparing recast owners and their side of the ‘debate’ to the struggles of the black community or the LGBTQA community among others, not to mention all that intersectionality but and I really must emphasise this as hard as it may be to hear it; recasts owners are not the victims, they are not being persecuted or discriminated against. That isn’t what being disagreed with in a debate is. That isn’t what having your decision to buy a fake doll called into question is.
And a decision is exactly what recast ownership is, with the exception of course of the poor people who get scammed, it is a conscious decision to put luxury wants above all else, regardless of whom it hurts. How ever someone wants to justify it to themselves on no level does deciding to buy a fake doll and having that called into question compare to being persecuted for your skin colour or sexuality. And I honestly cannot believe that’s even something I have to explain. The mind boggles.

Like I said at the beginning. I get it, I really do. None of us are pretending to be perfect or to have never made questionable decisions but the point is that we are all capable of looking back on our decisions, realising it was a mistake and doing the right thing. Be that by changing our ways or by making amends. Even some of the big name doll companies have made such journeys, Dollzone started out as a recast company, they decided to change their ways and they’ve since flourished into what they are today, likewise Fairyland fucked up pretty big by copying the designs for their steampunk weapons a year or two back but they realised they’d messed up and made it right. We are all constantly growing and learning. It’s part of life and learning from our mistakes is a fundamental thing we all share.

All I’m asking with this letter is to encourage recast owners and supporters to simply put themselves in someone else’s shoes, to think about the implications of buying fake dolls and to have a good hard look at their decision to do so. There are so many alternatives, be it layaways or this awesome list of dolls under $300 that @bluekitsune put together. The alternatives are there, you just need to look for them.

LOOK HOW CUTE GOLD GETS WHEN HENRY APPEARS

his cute-meter goes up like 300% in a single instant

that’s his little grandson (he doesn’t know it yet) u___u

at this point, Henry’s just a cute little boy who reminds him tremendously of Bae and it makes me want to crawl into a hole and eat ice cream

Peter Pan Imagine - “How’d You Like Your First Taste Of Darkness?”

Peter Pan gets you to darken your heart against your will.

- Peter Pan x Reader

- Fandom: Once Upon A Time

- Warnings: violence, light cussing, intimacy

~

“Pan, don’t,” I pleaded, grabbing his arm as he attempted to walk away.

“(Y/n), don’t even try,” Pan snapped. “I hate all these dirty pirates coming to my island thinking they own the place. They need to be taught a lesson.” He freed his arm of my grasp. “And one day you’ll understand that.”

“No, I won’t,” I contradicted. “I will never understand your senseless violence. How you think fighting others is fun. How you kill for sport!”

Pan only shrugged. “Then you don’t have to participate. Stay here if you want. Be the girl that you are, afraid to get even a little bit of blood on your hands. But mark my words, (y/n). Living on Neverland, living with me, your heart won’t stay pure and red forever.”

“Can’t you at least give them a warning first?” I tried desperately.

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, pirates don’t listen to warnings,” Pan scoffed. “You should know that by now.” He backed away, yanking his knife from its sheath. “Lost Boys! Let’s go have some fun!”

At that they all took off into the forest hooting and hollering, weapons raised, rushing past Pan, who stood there grinning like a proud father. “See?” he said. “Look how excited they are. Look how wild they are. Here on Neverland, it’s kill or be killed. The pirates will learn that soon enough.” He chuckled lightly, before his expression darkened. “And you will too. Sooner than later.” (gif)

“I will never—” I cut myself off as Pan suddenly disappeared into thin air. Gone, just like that. Stupid magic. I wanted to scream in frustration, but just loudly groaned instead. The sounds of my campmates cheering and whooping their excitement faded into the distance the farther they ran. I stood there, alone in Pan’s now empty camp, helpless to stop the many deaths that would happen today on the hands of the Lost Boys, justified by Pan’s way of thinking that shedding blood was fun.


A few days later, I was by a stream, getting a refreshing drink with cupped hands. I splashed some water on my arms and behind my neck to help cool off from the sticky humidity of the jungle we called home.

Suddenly, someone screaming “help!” erupted close by. I shot up, alarmed, and quickly pulled my dagger from its sheath. What in the world…?

“Help!” This time he sounded more panicked.

I rushed towards the sound without a second thought, knowing one of us Lost Boys was in trouble. I raced through the thick undergrowth, swerving trees and taking many thorns whipping across my legs. The commotion grew closer. The boy continued shouting for help as I burst into a small clearing and saw Devin struggling with a large, ragged, beefy man—a pirate! I could tell by the looks of him. Devin was holding up the pirate’s wrist above his head, in which a knife was gripped in the man’s hand. If Devin faltered, this pirate’s knife would sink into his head.

“(Y/n)!” Devin yelled desperately as he saw me. “(Y/n)!”

With no hesitation, I lunged forward and barreled into the pirate, thrusting him away from Devin. The pirate’s knife slashed me across the shoulder and I gasped at the pain, before stabbing my dagger into his side.

He let out a shriek and stumbled backwards with it still in his body. He twisted the handle then pulled it out—I grimaced at the pain I know it must’ve caused, before realization came over me. Shit! Now he had two weapons and I had none.

I took the few steps backwards that brought me to Devin’s side, relieved that he at least had a spear. The pirate rushed at us, bellowing, and Devin and I both ran opposite directions. The pirate went after me, either because I’m the one who stabbed him, or because I had nothing to defend myself with. I took off blindly into the trees, panic surging through me.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me; adrenaline giving me extra speed. I made the split-second decision to head towards camp. There, the pirate would be way outnumbered and we could easily take him down.

I ran through the thick trees like an expert compared to the blundering man behind me, and the distance between us grew bigger with each step I took. I was used to the forest, he obviously wasn’t, and that gave me the advantage.

Very abruptly and very unexpectedly, my legs were whipped out from under me by literally nothing and I slammed into the ground. The surprise and impact of the fall knocked the wind out of my chest and left me dazed for a moment.

Just as I flipped myself onto my back, the pirate was on top of me. I screamed as the knife sliced down my collarbone and I writhed beneath him, vainly trying to free myself. Our struggle consisted of me trying my best to knee him and get up while also holding his arms away from me so I wasn’t cut with the knives. But this man was big and heavy and strong, he was on top of me, he had the weapons, and it was no doubt he now had the advantage.

I don’t know how but I managed to knock one of the knives out of his hands. Now all he had was my dagger, in which he raised high above his head to plunge into my neck. I ferociously grabbed his wrists just as he brought them down, straining to keep them up. The tip of the blade was just a millimeter above my throat.

The pirate bared all his weight forward to try and push the dagger into my neck. My arms trembled with the effort to hold the blade up, and I knew within moments my arms would collapse and I’d be a goner. I cried out for help, my heart pounding and my arms burning.

“This is for my crew!” he roared, spit flying from his mouth. “My crew! You slaughtered them all! And now it’s my turn to show no mercy!”

“That wasn’t me!” I gasped, almost on the verge of tears as I barely kept my own dagger from ending my life. “I had nothing to do with that!” My arms began to shake with the effort to hold his up; three more seconds and they’d give out.

Abruptly, the pirate was shoved off me, toppled over by another person, and they both crashed to the ground. Devin!

I gasped for breath, laying there in shock and exhaustion for only a second, but I didn’t give myself time to regain my strength. I scrambled to my feet to see the pirate and Devin wrestling for dominance, crushing foliage in their wake. I spotted my dagger lying in the grass—the pirate must’ve accidentally let it go when Devin smashed into him, just my luck.

I rushed for the dagger but tripped back onto the ground in my haste and exhaustion. Scrabbling onto my feet again, I grabbed my dagger and whipped around. To my horror, the pirate was now on top of Devin, choking the life out of him. Devin uselessly clawed at the man’s hands, making terrible choking noises while his face turned blue with suffocation.

“No!” Screaming a battle cry, I brought my dagger down into the pirate’s back, right into his heart. He immediately released his hold on Devin, who loudly sucked in air. The pirate’s eyes widened in shock, his face contorting in agony. I twisted the blade, then wrenched it free. His mouth gaped and he fell onto his side with a thump. His body stilled, never to move again.

Devin pulled himself away from the now dead man, heaving and coughing for breath. I flopped onto the ground, stunned, my vision blurring for a second. I really just killed someone. I just killed a person!

“Thank you,” Devin spluttered, rubbing his neck.

I shook my head, unable to process what just happened. I became aware of my wounds; a cut on my shoulder and a cut on my collarbone, both trickling blood that stained my shirt red and stung like fire.

“He just came out of no where and attacked me,” Devin continued.

“I can’t believe I did that.” I finally said. “I-I killed him.”

“He would’ve killed us if he had the chance,” Devin pointed out hoarsely.

“I just murdered someone,” I breathed, as if I hadn’t just heard Devin’s good reasoning.

“Congrats.”

Devin and I both jumped at the new voice; I turned my head to see Pan standing there, casually leaned against a tree with his arms crossed. A smirked dangled on his lips, his godly eyebrows arched with relish. “How’d you like your first taste of darkness?”

What?” I wheezed, rising to my feet. “How long have you been there?”

“I saw it all.” Pan grinned. (gif) “You fought well, (y/n). I knew you would.”

Anger boiled in my chest. “Why didn’t you help?” I demanded. “He almost killed me! The dagger almost plunged into my throat!”

“But it didn’t,” Pan said.

“And what do you mean ‘I knew you would?’“ I spat, my mind reeling as the unbelievable dawned on me. “Did you…did you set this up?”

“So what if I did?” he walked forward. “Anyways, I asked you a question,” he went on. “How did you like your first taste of darkness, (y/n)?”

“You set this up,” I snarled. Emotions coursed through me: hurt, betrayal, rage. “When I fell…that was you, wasn’t it? You made me fall with your damned magic so he could catch up to me, didn’t you?”

Pan’s reply was a smug grin, which in other words, meant ‘damn right’. That was enough to make anger take over my actions. I shoved him against a tree with my dagger to his throat. “How could you?”

He only smiled and laughed. “There it is! Your fire. I like your fire.” (gif)

“(Y/n), back off him,” Devin warned.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Pan still smiled widely. “I like where this is going.”

“How can you defend him?” I looked at Devin like he had two heads. “You could’ve been killed too!”

“But I wasn’t,” Devin reminded me.

“How are you not even the slightest bit angry?” I asked, bewildered. I took my gaze off him and returned it to Pan, who was watching me like a hawk would watch a mouse.

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Devin said. “If Pan set this up, who am I to judge? What’s done is done.”

There was no point in trying to argue some sense into Devin. He and the other Lost Boys basically worshiped the ground Pan walked on. So it was no wonder Devin isn’t upset about this like I am. I held Pan’s stare a moment longer—my expression was fiery, hurt, his was amused. He was enjoying every second of this, even with my dagger at his throat. Disgusted, I yanked it away from his neck and backed off him.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” I seethed, unable to bring myself to look at the dead pirate lying just a few feet from us. This would haunt me forever.

“I know exactly what I’ve done,” Pan assured. “And it turned out exactly the way I wanted it to, too.”

“You’re a monster.” My hand trembled as I slipped my dagger back into its sheath. “You made me end someone’s life. That’s not okay! This isn’t just some game, Peter!” I only called him Peter when I was really angry, and he knew it.

“You’re not getting it, are you?” he growled. (gif)

“What is there to get?” I glared at him furiously. “You’re a fucking asshole. This..this is like the biggest sin of all sins…this is murder. Oh god, I-I’m a murderer now…”

Pan looked at Devin, waving his hand in dismissal. As Devin left, Pan grabbed my arm and before I could pull myself away we were engulfed by thick green smoke. When it cleared, we were in a completely different part of the jungle, across the island from where we were standing just moments ago.

“What the hell, Peter?” I took a step away from him, looking around in dismay.

“You want to bring up sins?” he said. “Here on Neverland, the rules are different. Murdering isn’t considered a sin. It’s considered fun.” He lowered his chin, arching an eyebrow and smirking. “But sinning can be fun too.”

Pan suddenly disappeared and reappeared right behind me, his body so close to mine I could feel his body heat. My heart started to beat faster as I tried not to show how intimidated I was by how close we were. His breath was warm on my ear as he leaned forward and said quietly, “I can show you what fun really is, (y/n). I’ll show you sinning.”

He brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear then began kissing my neck.

[Steve, Bucky and the Avengers board the Milano in a misguided attempt to rescue Tony]

Quill: Where are my manners? We haven’t been formally introduced. Peter Quill. Now, what are you doing aboard my ship?

Steve: Well… You have my husband.

Quill: I’ve had many a man’s husbands.

I Like the Way You Sound ((George x Reader))

summary: george walks in on y/n singing and likes what he hears

requested:  Hey could you maybe write an imagine with George Weasley, where the reader is a Gryffindor and is sitting in the Common Room at night and is singing and George walks in and is listing to her singing. And maybe they are kissing at the end of the night with freds help? Pretty Please?

warings: none (possibly some swearing)

pairing: george x reader

prompt(s):  none

__________

The Gryffindor record selection was definitely an interesting one. You were going through the collection, and you hadn’t found a single one by anyone you’d even heard of. You wondered if muggle music was as frowned upon here as muggles themselves. You finally choose one, glancing around to make sure no one was there, before sliding it into the record player. As soon as the music cuts through the silent room, you feel a flash of recognition. It was similar to a song you’d heard before. A muggle one, even. 

It only takes you replaying it a few times for you to learn the lyrics, and only a few more for you to sing along, sitting back down on the couch and attempting to study. 

The song has just ended once again, and you’re about to get up to reset it again when a voice cuts through the air. “Wow. You can sing.” 

You jump, nearly falling off the couch when you take in the boy in the doorway. “Oh… I didn’t know anyone was awake.” you flush, quickly turning off the record player with a flick of your wand. 

He flashes you a friendly smile. “Yeah, no me either. So what are you doing up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” you explain sheepishly, relaxing into the couch as he takes the seat next to you. You recognized him as one of the Weasley twins, but he was a year or two older than you so you weren’t able to distinguish them. 

“Me either. Must be something in the water.”

“Or my bloody singing woke you up. I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize I was actually singing aloud.”

He shakes his head quickly. “No, not at all. I was already awake, and I… like the way you sound. You have a really lovely voice. 

You can’t help but smile. “Thank you.”

He opens his mouth to respond when the singing lady bursts open, a boy that looks remarkably like the boy you were sitting next to, barging in. “Georgie, you’re taking bloody forever. What could possibly-” the boy trails off when he takes in you and George, and your proximity. “What’s this?” Fred gives his brother a sly look.

George flushes. “Nothing, Fred. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Oh, nonsense. It can wait. Clearly there are more pressing matters at hand.” Fred turns to you. “You would be?”

“Oh, uh, I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I see you’ve met my brother George here. Got the better lips between us, didn’t he?”

Your mouth drops open, and you think you see George frantically shake his head at his brother out of the corner of your eye. “Heh. Yeah. I better get back to my dorm,” you begin to stand up.  

“Wait! You can’t go yet!” George protests. He shoots Fred a look, who responds with an innocent shrug. 

Your brow furrows. “Why not?”

George freezes, clearly looking for some kind of reasoning behind what he just said. “Because we want to play a game!” Fred fills in for his brother.

“Oh, sounds fun.” you sit back down beside George, and the boys exchange a look that you don’t quite have time to read. “What game?”

“Well, there’s 7 Minutes in Heaven, Too Hot, Spin the Bottle-”

“Alright, Freddie. Not quite the kind of games we’re going for.” George cuts in. 

Fred puts on an innocent frown. “Why ever not?”

George rolls his eyes at his brother, giving him a shove. “I thought you said you had to use the loo, you giant git.”

“Oh. Right! Right. That’ll take me about half an hour, I reckon… You know, digestive problems, always a blast. Feel free to start without me.” he shoots a wink at his brother, proceeding to whistle his way out of the commonroom. 

You laugh when the door closes behind him, turning to George. “George?”

“Y/N?” he mirrors your tone, arching an eyebrow at you. 

“I think maybe your brother wants us to kiss.” you whisper tauntingly.

“Really knows how to set the mood, that one.” he plays along. “Is he the only one? That wants us to kiss, I mean.”

“Not sure… I mean, you could try it…Y’know, for experimental purposes, of course.”

You see his lip twitch with the effort of concealing a smile. “Of course.”

He leans towards you, not wasting any time as he sets one hand on your cheek to lead your lips to his. You feel the kiss in your fingertips as your hands run up into his hair, pulling him closer which earns no protest from him as he drags you into his lap, his own hands resting on your sides. 

“George?” you murmur, when he pulls away. 

“Y/N?” he copies your tone, his nose still brushing yours, as he allows his eyes to fall shut again. 

“Your brother isn’t the only one that wants us to kiss.”

“No. I suppose he isn’t.”

And then your lips connect again, and you’re just the right kind of breathless. 

gif isn’t mine

masterlist | requests | prompts

Innocent [Bucky x Reader]

Originally posted by literarynicotine


Summary: “ Hi! I just wanted to request a Bucky x Reader angst/fluff imagine inspired by Innocent by Taylor Swift. You can take it in any way you’d like I just really think the song fits Bucky well. Thank you so much:) ” - Request from Anonymous

Series Warnings/Themes: ANGST (Get some tissues), A pinch of fluff, and profanity.

Author’s Note: Thanks for the request, Anon! This was a bit of a challenge to write, but a fun challenge nonetheless!

Y/N = Your Name

Permanent Tags:

@chamongangae


Bucky Barnes has never seen this much blood.

His flesh hand presses up against your side, putting as much pressure as he can in attempt to stop the bleeding. You were running out of time, and he knew it. His comrades weren’t close enough to save you. He’s never felt so helpless.

Once upon a time, Bucky would have frozen at the sight of blood. After HYDRA’s experiments, he struggled with PTSD. That was long ago. Although he still feels unease around gore and has flashbacks to gruesome experiments, Bucky Barnes has found the ability to ground himself and lessen the panic. It was thanks to your support that he had the will to learn. 

This was a different story.

It wasn’t so much the violence and injury that bothered him. It was who these factors affected. 

He couldn’t do enough to save you. 

Keep reading