she is the lost princess dammit


Second ever fic for @atc74‘s 2k followers GIF challenge! This was fun to write. I hope you enjoy it. 

Feedback is always welcome!

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: a couple swears, fluff, I think that’s it

My gif:

The air is crisp and cool; a perfect autumn evening. The sun was just beginning to set, trees casting long shadows across the ground. A few red and yellow leaves cascaded to the ground on a light breeze. All was peaceful…until you came barreling through the scene.

Keep reading

Copy and paste a part of a WIP and then tag some friends.

Emma starts to fidget. “I wanna see horses. I’ve never seen horses before. And the wedding … will there be a princess?”

The excitement in her voice is clear as a bell and Dean just knows that he lost already. He maybe would have been able to fend off Jo and her insistence – a big, fat maybe –, but if Emma would start to join in as well?

Dammit, Dean isn’t that strong. Probably no one is.

“You don’t need to be a princess to have a wedding, you know?” Dean explains. “I mean,  Uncle Benny and Aunt Andrea got married last year, remember? And neither of them is of royal blood.”

Emma frowns. “I know,” she says, the duh apparently heavily implied. “But they had no horses.”

Dean can’t really argue with that. “Yeah, you got me there.”

“So, please, can we go then?” Suddenly Dean is confronted with a serious case of puppy dogs eyes, so powerful and mighty that they should have been declared illegal. “You will be the bestest dad ever! I mean, you already are, but then you would be even more bestier.”

Dean can’t help chuckling. “More bestier, huh?”

Emma nods enthusiastically and almost jumps into his arms. “Yes! You will be Super-Dad!” She grins, clearly proud of herself, before she apparently remembers who she’s talking to. “No, you will be Bat-Dad!”

For Heaven’s sake, even Bat-Dad? That sounds like the promotion of the freaking century!

How is he supposed to resist?

Just a little part of “After All These Years” ;)

I was tagged by @deanwinchcester, thank you for that :D

And I’m tagging: @itsmajel, @wanderingcas, @destielonfire, @casanddeanwinchester, @runtosleepdreamer

Feel free to ignore, of course :)

anonymous asked:

Consider this... Clarke healing Lexa's wounds after the duel with Roan. Clarke: "Lexa, do you know how hard it is to heal a palm?" Lexa: "As hard as stopping a sword with your hard, Clarke."

“Lexa, do you know how hard it is to heal a palm?”

The Commander doesn’t even blink, her expression stoic as ever. “As hard as stopping a sword with your hand, Clarke.”

The cloth in Clarke’s hand stills and she intensifies her grip on it, breathing out sharply. One, two, three seconds to maintain her composure. She gets back to tending to Lexa’s hand, which sits with its back on Clarke’s palm, the wet cloth brushing against nasty, bloody cuts.

As she cleans the wounds, Clarke feels green eyes watching her intently. She tries to ignore them, until it all just becomes too much and she tosses the cloth aside.

“Dammit, Lexa, why do you have to make it so hard?” Clarke hisses, anger and something else entirely making her nostrils flare.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees the Commander’s head tilt ever slightly, a confused expression on her face. “Make what hard, Clarke?”

There it is again. Clarke. She thinks that in this precise moment, maybe she would actually rather be called Princess. Wanheda, even.

Anything but the way her name rolls off Lexa’s tongue. Anything but the way she clicks the ‘k’ and breathes the word out as though it were sacred, fragile, ephemeral. Lexa lost the right to say her name like that a long time ago, at the foot of a mountain.

Hating you, Clarke thinks in response. “Just stop talking,” she grunts instead, picking the cloth again.

Lexa bows her head and sits quietly for a moment. “I meant everything that I said,” she whispers, breaking the silence and testing Clarke’s patience.

Clarke’s jaw clenches. She knows. She doesn’t want to know. So she ignores it, focusing her undivided attention on her task.

“You don’t have to heal my wounds,” Lexa insists after another beat. “It’s okay. I am fine.”

Clarke’s head snaps up and for the first time since they entered the tent, she looks directly into the Commander’s eyes.

“You almost died today, Lexa,” she speaks harshly, and knows it is careless to let so much concern seep into her voice.

Lexa’s gaze is steady, unwavering, and her chin is held high. “I did what I had to do. It’s a risk I would take again, Clarke.”

For what?, Clarke almost spits back, but she backtracks just in time, too afraid of the answer.

Lexa holds her fiery stare and as green bores into blue, Clarke has to look no further for the answer. Feeling a sudden urge to escape the tender intensity of Lexa’s regard, Clarke’s eyes fly down, unintentionally stopping over plump lips.

Clarke hates herself for staring, for being unable to tear her eyes away, for swallowing around an invisible lump in her throat, for being affected by it. Most of all, for wanting to kiss those slightly parted lips instead of punching them.

In a moment of rare strength, Clarke manages to peel her eyes off Lexa’s lips and avoid her dark eyes as well. She returns to the task at hand and can’t help the gentleness of her strokes.

Silence falls upon them, but Clarke can’t quite stand it.

“Do you know how hard it is to be civil around you?” she hisses.

This time, Lexa takes her time to give an answer. Just as Clarke thinks there won’t be any, the Commander’s soft voice makes itself heard. “As hard as it is to heal a palm, Clarke.”

when i was little there was this movie i used to love about this girl who lost her little sister and went to a magical land to find her and at the end she became the princess and for little me it was great except for the one part in the last 30 seconds where they gave this 8 year old girl a male love interest like even little me thought that was 100% unnecessary just let her be a fucking solo ruler god dammit