someone take it away from her

2

Where to begin?

I was under the impression that all things were calm and quiet after spending most of Saturday at the hospital with my sister. Her SO flew back to California. Round four of chemo finished. In a few days my sister will have radiation on her chest, later another bone marrow biopsy. She’s in good spirits, considering. We left her last night around 9pm and I made my three hour trip back to the city. It felt fine to be away. I felt hopeful. It lasted for about seven hours.

This morning I received a barrage of texts from my parents culminating in calling *me* an “impossible ass” “for supporting a ped*ph*le over your mother who has devoted her life to her kids. I may not know everything but I know that someone that old who can be Leah’s mother taking advantage of her innocence and depriving her of her youth and introducing her to all kinds of psychotic drugs is evil and a parent will fight to death to keep that evil away from her child.”

The “ped*ph*le” comment is in reference to my sister’s SO being older than she is. She certainly isn’t old enough to be her mother. My sister was 22 when they met, and 23 when they started dating, which to me is hardly part of “childhood,” although my parents still babied her before she was diagnosed with this rare and aggressive leukemia, so I can almost see where they are coming from with these comments. The drugs comment, I’m imagining is about my sister’s anxiety meds and antidepressants. At the hospital, the doctors took her off of them and switched her to Ativan, said that would be better for her. I’m not clear on what made our parents think Leah’s SO had anything to do with her prescriptions, when she got them from her therapist in the Bronx.

I am also not entirely sure how me staying out of my sister’s romantic choices while she is literally fighting for her life in the bone marrow transplant unit translates to me SUPPORTING her partner over my mom and dad. I’ve met this person three times since March, only inside of the hospital.

I told my dad if he’s not careful, when all of this is over, he’ll have lost two of his children. He said “I love you sweetie even when you’re being naive.”

I’ve suggested talking to a counselor/mediator/mental health professional at the hospital, together, as a family. My parents are Not Interested.

Dealing with them, plus Leah’s cancer, plus being her stem cell donor, holding down a very full time job, and keeping my life from falling apart at the seams…maybe someone else could do it gracefully. I am not that person. I’m a mess.

I cannot believe how perfect Chris was, from the moment we thought of him to the moment he played every second in this movie. Chris is one of the most talented actors I’ve ever worked with in my life. But also, he’s a real man, very comfortable with his masculinity, so much so that he’s not sexist at all. He completely takes other people on their own face value and is willing to leave space for them, and as a result he was a perfect boyfriend for Wonder Woman because it’s someone who could actually look at her and admire her and appreciate her and it didn’t take anything away from him. And then he just made us all laugh all the time.
—  Patty Jenkins, Wonder Woman Director (source)

anonymous asked:

i have a prompt for you: what if snape hadn't called lily 'mudblood' that day. what if their friendship had stayed strong, unbreakable. would he have grown to be a better person? would lily have loved him, rather than james? would harry just have another godfather? would james and lily have survived?

Okay you have successfully convinced me to write a Snape thing, which is a possibility I have audibly forsworn many times to my loved ones. But I’m a sucker for concepts like “Harry gets another godfather,” so, here we go.


When Severus was seven, he fell in love with the girl down the street. She had long red hair and dirty knees and she offered him half her candy bar one drizzly afternoon, waiting outside the school for her parents to come pick her up.

His parents weren’t coming— dad working late and mum at the pub recounting old Hogwarts glory stories, talking of years when her life was magical– but he didn’t tell Lily that. He was just waiting for the older bully boys who lurked in the empty lot on his way home to get bored and leave.

He ate the candy slowly in neat little bites while she grinned and told him about her big sister’s feud with the science teacher, like her Tuney was some sort of hero in a political espionage drama. She talked with her hands, narrow little things with freckled backs. He watched her wave from the back window of her mother’s car and then he started the long walk home.

When Severus was fifteen, James Potter dangled him upside down in the quad and laughed. Severus landed on elbows and knees. The bruises would stay for a week. The memories would not die with them— James’s cocky grin, the laughter in the spring air, the long whip of Lily’s red hair.

He felt small, bug-like, his knees pressing into the grass. His mother would come home some nights, kick the threadbare carpet, rattle the battered old pans in the cupboard, curse a Ministry that hated purebloods, that sucked up to halfbreeds and Mudbloods, that left the true wizards to rot in filth. He would curl up, make himself small, bug-like, imagine a chitinous shield growing over his shoulders, his spine, the softness of his kidneys. Some days, his father slept through this. Some days he screamed back.

After Severus met Lily, he would curl up under his covers, small, bug-like, and read through the comics she’d lent him with his hands pressed up over his ears. He wanted Professor X to come take him away. He wanted to be someone special, someone saved. He wanted a giant to burst through his door and frighten his mother and offer him a squashed birthday cake and a way out.

When Severus was fifteen, he slammed to his knees on the green Hogwarts quad. Laughter burrowed into his ears, like curses, like the nights his father screamed back, and when Lily stepped toward him he snapped, “I don’t need help from a Mudblood.”

When Severus slouched up to her door that summer, Lily didn’t invite him in. She leaned on the open frame of the door, arms crossed. He had so rarely seen Lily neither smiling or incandescent with rage, but she watched him with snakeskin eyes and a set mouth, still.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t–”

She twitched a strand of hair over her shoulder, the irritation the closest thing to an emotion he could spot on her. He was watching, desperate– this was Lily, she gave things away. She talked with her hands. He never felt lost, with her. “But why,” said Lily. “Why are you sorry? Because I’m upset, or because what you did was wrong?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You did, and it’s not the point. I don’t care if it’s the part you care about, Sev, it’s not the part that matters. That was an awful thing to say– to say to anyone. You were cruel because you were scared and embarrassed, but Sev I could really care less. You were cruel.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Sorry’s not enough, Sev. Be fucking better.”

He jerked back and tried to turn it into some kind of laugh. “Language, careful, your mum might hear.”

She shrugged, and stepped back through the open door, and shut it in his face.

He spent the summer reading comic books, haunting the local library, then the local park once it’d closed, and then sneaking home when he was hopeful his parents would be asleep. He tried to think about bravery, but sometimes he just thought about Lily’s hair, the way it went more golden in summer. He tried to think about nobility, ethics and grace, but the clouds chased each other, fat and white, across the sky and he wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him.

His father took him fishing by a dreary brown creek and they sat in silence. Severus could hear every creak of the rods, every lap of the water, every inhale and movement his father made. He thought maybe if he just said nothing, nothing ever, he’d never say anything again that made Lily’s face go so flat and distant. If he said nothing, maybe nothing would hurt.

His father reached back for a beer can in a swift movement and Severus froze himself unflinching. He sat in that silence afterward, slowing his heartbeat, picking apart the sudden rigid shell of his shoulders. His father hummed, cracking the can open like a gunshot.

He sat alone on the Hogwarts Express that year, stuffed in a compartment with a handful of second years who gave him half the seats while they giggled among themselves about the haircut of someone named Gertrude. Every summer’s end, for five years, he and Lily had boarded the train together, pressed their noses to the window glass, and watched the land rush by.

For the first month of school, Severus practiced pausing before he spoke, for seconds, minutes if he needed them. Sometimes he’d add an answer after the conversation had already moved on, bent over his mashed potatoes, weighing words as carefully as he weighed salamander eyes and mandrake root.

(If you crushed firedrake seeds with the flat of your blade, instead of cutting them, they made a more potent potion. The textbooks told you to stir six times counterclockwise to make Sleeping Draught, but he knew–because he had thought, and tried, and tried again–that if you did five counterclockwise and two clockwise the draught would turn that perfect turquoise and the sleep would be dreamless and sweet and deep. He kept notes in his textbook’s margins, because it helped to remember.)

In the second month, he tried to listen. People were starting to think about life after school, a big yawning chasm they were supposed to fill with themselves. People were starting to fall in love, puppyish and petty. People were starting to believe in the war, whispering, dreaming, fearing.

In the common room, one of the kids said something about Mudbloods and Severus’s head snapped up. He tried to imagine a shell growing into his shoulders, over his spine, covering all the soft parts of him. He wanted his covers, he wanted to shrink, he wanted Lily’s boxfuls of comics, but he rose to his feet and snapped back. Sometimes saying nothing hurt people, too. A small Muggleborn in green and silver ducked away to her dorm, clutching quietly at her sleeves.

For the third month, he tried to watch– not for warning sneers or cocky grins, clenched fists and broad shoulders, all the things he’d been watching for since before he could name them– but for the way shoulders might go rigid, the way fists might clench but hide, wishing for something to shield every soft part of them.

Severus was bony and pimply, sixteen years old and graceless in it, but he could be an interruption. He could mock with the best of them, flicking his brows and twisting his nose, and asking pointed questions. He could talk, smart-mouthed and snide, until the focus turned to him, and then he could survive anything they handed out. He could give as good as he got. The pauses were shorter, these days, before he spoke, but they would always be there, an echo offset from the shout, an avalanche that struck late and terrible.

When kids cried in bathrooms or empty classrooms or the library, he didn’t move to comfort them, though he heard them. He didn’t know how. He wrote his own curses, out in the forest where he could scar the trees in experiment, and they all turned out bloody. He loved few things, even Lily, as much as he loved pouring all of himself into his work, until something new and his own grew out of it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever invented something kind.

He didn’t try to find Lily, but he came back from the Forest once and almost tripped over her, half-napping in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. He stumbled back into a gargantuan gourd while she pushed hair out of her face and peered up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a pause that rumbled and roiled in his gut, that he clung to with both hands, breathing into it and letting his shoulders go soft. “I’m sorry I said it. I’m sorry I made you feel small because I was feeling– small.”

Lily sat up a bit, in the little semi circle she’d built herself of books and scrolls and gobstones and snacks. She had built fairy circles like that, when they were children, of the flowers he’d transfigured for her.

“I’m sorry anyone has to feel that way, ever,” he said. “They shouldn’t. I’m angry anyone has to feel that way.”

“Me, too,” she said, and, fishing around in the detritus that surrounded her, handed him half a candy bar. “C'mon, you want some tea? Hagrid said he’d put a kettle on for me if I finished my Arithmancy.”

When Severus was in sixth year, Remus Lupin almost killed him on a moonlit night.

Severus had wanted answers, had wanted to get them in trouble, had wanted something a bit like vengeance, and Sirius had told him about the Whomping Willow. Sirius had grinned when he’d done it, small and bitter, and Severus had wondered if he was fighting with James again, wondering why else he’d sell out his friends.

“I didn’t think–” Sirius tried, the morning after, watching Remus across dry toast and cocoa, big juicy bowls of melon.

“You never do,” Remus snapped. (A bare handful of years later, standing in the smoldering ruins of James and Lily’s house, Remus would think about Sirius’s erratic gaze, the sharp edge of his voice, his last name, and wonder if he should have seen it coming. What here was premeditated? What was mischief? Sirius had once almost painted Remus’s own hands with red blood.)

But for now, Remus was sixteen and angry; he was sixteen and guilty of things that might have happened. He didn’t speak to Sirius for a month.

James refused to speak with Sirius, too, but he only lasted a week. Moony was sulking and Peter was busy studying his little heart out, and James got twitchy without proper and regular socialization.

“I’ll punch him in the nose,” said Lily, when Severus told her. She shifted where she sat cross-legged on the library table, like she might go off and hunt him down that second.

“Black doesn’t deserve the attention,” said Severus.

“Getting his ass kicked by a girl? That type of attention?”

“Getting his ass kicked by Lily Evans,” Severus said. “It’d be an honor and you know it.”

Reports of violence outside Hogwarts got worse. People were disappearing. People were whispering, fearing. The papers were ignoring the important things, and feeding off the fearmongering, or so Lily announced in the library while Severus was trying to study.

Alice and Lily had spent years sharing hissed rants in humid greenhouses. Over an undulating bed of luminescent deadly nightshade, Alice bent her head close to Lily’s and asked, “Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”

Keep Reading (Ao3)

Keep reading

okay but what I really wanna see in infinity war is someone takes Wanda’s powers away and they start cackling (because everyone fucking says Wanda is shit without her powers) but then she flips back up into a fight stance and her opponent looks horrified and starts swinging, she starts fighting back because holy shit she’s been trained in hand to hand combat just like any other avenger should their main weapon get taken from them wow isn’t that a thought

also Clint standing somewhere off, clapping wildly and tears of joy springing from his face

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt: Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist linked in bio


If she closes her eyes hard enough, and just at the right moments, Y/n can feel Harry in Dan.

It’s quite peculiar, how she finds Harry in almost anything. It’s something she finds so riveting yet so dangerous at the same time. He’s everywhere, he’s in every breath she takes and in every move she makes, and it’s something that brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort yet an overbearing sense of instability.

Dan—an individual full of insecurities and excitement—who varies oh, so differently from Harry, can feel like him if she really tries hard enough. His arms don’t hold her quite the same, and his lips aren’t as soft and flavorful, but if she squeezes her eyes shut, and she loses herself in the memories of Harry, it’s like he’s almost back again—only in the most minuscule of ways.

Which is why, now, in this moment in time, Y/n can barely keep her eyes open.

It’s the first time Y/n brought Dan to the house, letting him stop by to watch a film after his shift. It’s a little something he’s wanted to do for a while, and after many coffee dates and many pleads from Dan, she finally took the step of being completely alone with him.

Gabby decided to go to a friends house and insisted they take their time together. It started off wonderfully; a bottle of red wine, a box of chocolates, and a bag of popcorn while they watched Jaws.

It was all wonderful, until Dan decided to make the move.

Dan is on top of her, lips connecting to hers in a lustful motion. It isn’t that Y/n doesn’t want to be in this position, but more of her being hesitant to do so. She hasn’t kissed anybody since Harry, and although Dan is one of the nicest people she’s ever met, she can’t find it within herself to keep moving any more forward.

And everything about it feels wrong.

Between all the touching, all the kissing, all the feelings within her, she can’t stop thinking about Harry. She can’t stop thinking about how much she misses him and how much she wants him back. She’s still in love with him, so much so that doing this with someone else makes her feel dirty—makes her feel like she’s betraying him.

And it’s all too much, because no matter how hard she closes her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to feel him, he’s not there, and she can’t help but seem to think that he never will be—not anymore.

“No, no, stop.” She whimpers, shaking her head in an attempt to reject Dan’s restless lips.

He doesn’t stop, however, too engaged in the moment to really understand the words stuttering from her mouth. He continues kissing her, instead, moving down to her collarbones.

At this point, Y/n starts to hyperventilate. Between the sobs daring to escape her chest and the lack of air from her previous activities, everything is straining against her. She doesn’t fully understand how she was able to get this far without it being with Harry.

“Stop!”

Her arms push Dan off of her until she’s alone on the couch as he’s panting on the floor. She can’t breathe. Her chest is tightening and her cries are so harsh that her lungs are collapsing inside of her.

She reaches her hands up to the roots of her hair, pulling back on them as she tries to gather all the oxygen she can. At this point, her head feels light and her sight is completely blurred by the tears flowing out of them—ones that she doesn’t even try to stop.

“I’m s—so sor—ry.” She hiccups, her head falling to her hands.

Dan gulps as he tentatively stands from his spot on the floor, his hands up in front of him as if in a panic—trying desperately to figure out how to fix the mess being made in front of him.

He looks around the room, as if in search for something to guide him through this situation, but there’s nothing. All the room occupies is a broken woman, sobbing breathlessly on a couch in front of him, muttering incoherent phrases under her breath.

“Okay,” he huffs out, nodding his head to himself, “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?”

He occupies the empty spot next to her, hesitantly wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. In all honesty, Dan is complete shit at helping people during emotional breakdowns, and considering this one had happened so suddenly, he had absolutely no warning that he would be put in this position.

Y/n feels bad, she does, considering Dan doesn’t deserve the treatment she’s given him and surely doesn’t deserve what was once an innocent date to end up a complete disaster. But she can’t help it, and she can’t stop now, no matter how hard she tries.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

His voice is nothing but a whisper, and the words that spoke out from his lips nearly brings every movement in Y/n’s body to a halt. She never told him that it was Harry who broke her heart, and to be honest, she doesn’t even find the strength within her to begin to question how he even knows of Harry—especially his relationship with her.

Of course, their relationship has been publicized for years, but Dan is a very closed-off type of person. He’s not much into music, either—another part of him that differs so drastically from Harry—and spends a majority of his time working or spending time outside rather than succumbing himself in social media.

He looks down at the rose ring wrapped around his pointer finger, twirling it around with the hand that was once wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders.

He knew the moment he saw Harry’s reaction that this ring very much belonged to him. He wasn’t quite sure why she sacrificed it so mindlessly—why it seemed to have no story behind it. But between everything Gabby’s told him and everything he’s gathered from her previous relationship, she wanted nothing more than to get rid of every reminder she had of him.

He doesn’t feel worthy enough for it, though. If Y/n and Harry don’t find their way back to each other, he feels she should at least give it to somebody that she loves, not somebody she needs to help her get over her heartbreak.

He slides it off his finger, placing it gently on the palm of his hand before closing his fingers into a fist.

“We can’t keep doing this, Y/n. Not if you can’t talk to me.” He mutters softly, “Not if you’re still in love with him, we’ll be getting nowhere.”

This makes her cry harder. She still doesn’t have the audacity to look up at him, no, how could she? After everything she’s done?

This is why she always ends up alone. No matter how in love she is, no matter how much effort she puts into a relationship, they always end up leaving her. It’s happened long before Harry, and she was so convinced he’d stay when he came around. She was so dead set on him being her forever, but the same thing happened again. He left, just like everyone else.

And now, Dan is leaving her, and although she can’t exactly blame him for doing so, it’s another wound to her heart—it’s another pain in her chest that only seems to increase with pain.

He sighs sadly at the sight in front of him, upset with himself that he’s probably a partial reason for her soul-shaking sobs and lack of air, but he has no other choice. If he stays with her, he’d be forcing her to love someone she doesn’t. He has to let her go if it means to possibly make amends with her happiness again.

He takes one of her shaking hands away from her face and bringing it towards his lap, spreading her fingers away from her palm so that he can set the ring softly against it.

She sobs at the sight, bringing her opposite hand to her mouth as she tries to quiet herself down.

“This was Harry’s, it always was. This belongs to you, Y/n, not me.”

She nods, trying her best to smile at him as a form of appreciation, but it fails miserably. He understands, though, that she cares, and doesn’t ask her any questions.

“I’ll let Gabby know to come home now, okay?”

He kisses the top of her head, the way he always does, before removing himself from the couch and toward the front door.

“Take care of yourself, Y/n. I mean it.”

And then, he’s gone, leaving Y/n alone in an empty house and her haunting thoughts. She feels the world is closing in on her, only giving her a restricted amount of air and a limited amount of light to see what’s in front of her.

She’s alone—she’s left by herself in a dark room that’s only being illuminated by the television light, where nobody can hear her, where nobody can touch her, where nobody can see her; in a place where she just can’t trust herself.

She’s left alone, as she’s always left, and she just can’t take it anymore.

Her emotions become so strong that her body collapses onto the floor, her head throbbing and throat burning from all the tears and cries. She can’t breathe, her lungs failing to take in oxygen and her chest is pounding.

It’s so bad that if Gabby doesn’t come home soon, she actually believes she’s going to die. She feels the tug on her heart and feels how hard it is for it to do its job properly—she practically feels it overworking itself.

“Oh, God.”

Gabby finds her on the floor, making her immediately drop her purse and run to her collapsed body. Y/n is a withering mess underneath her, completely drenched in sweat as violent sobs erupt from her body.

She’s quick to sit her up properly onto the floor before lifting her back onto the couch, running a comforting hand down the side of her neck as she begins to shush her down to a calm state. However, her attempt falters when Y/n shakes her head to remove Gabby’s touch from her neck.

“I can’t—I can’t—“

She tries to find words to explain what’s happening to her right now. Between the pain in her body and the feeling in her head, her brain is scrambling with so many fearful thoughts that the only thing she can truly comprehend is being saved from this horrifying feeling.

“Hospital.”

Gabby is taken aback when she says it, completely astonished by just how serious this all is. She realizes this isn’t a situation that she can fix on her own, and it makes her feel like such a bad friend that she can’t give her what she needs.

Tears fall from her eyes in panic, well aware that her friend is undergoing something far worse than a mental breakdown, but also knows that the hospital won’t be able to help her.

Only Harry can.

“Let me call for help, okay?“ She asks softly. “I’m gonna send help.”

When Harry sees Gabby’s contact light up his phone, something inside of him instantly fills with worry. He knows, without a doubt, that Gabby hates him more than anybody ever since what happened. And knowing her so well, she would never reach out to him, especially when her negative feelings toward him were so strong, unless it’s serious.

“Gabby?”

“You have to do something, Harry.” She cries through the phone, peaking over her shoulder to look over Y/n from her location in the kitchen.

She’s still a mess, holding her hand over her heart as if it were going to mend the pain. Her head is thrown over the back of the couch, her other hand running over her face continuously. Her sobs haven’t settled, only seeming to increase with panic over the unfamiliar reaction occurring over her body.

“She thinks you don’t want her and—Harry she thinks she’s dying. Her heart is so broken. She keeps saying her heart is going to fail her and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. She—she was trying so hard. Harry, please, you have to—you have to—“

Harry leans on his elbows over the kitchen counter, huffing out a shaky breath when he hears both Gabby and Y/n’s cries through the phone. He rubs his hand over his face, doing anything to prevent the tears nearly pooling out from his eyes.

He’d be lying if he said that guilt isn’t eating him alive in this moment. And it’s not that he hasn’t felt any remorse or any guilt since he’d broken Y/n’s heart, but he’s now fully aware that he has to look at the damage he’s done. He’ll have to witness all the pain, all the heartbreak he’s put her through, and nothing makes him feel worse.

“I’ll do anything.” He whimpers. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I promise, I won’t keep doing this to her, you have to believe me. Just—“ he lets out a broken breath, reaching his hand up to rub his eyes to prevent any tears from escaping, “just tell me what to do.”

Gabby wipes the tears from her cheeks, yet again peering over to watch over Y/n on the couch. To her dismay, there is absolutely no improvement.

“Come here, pick her up, and bring her home. Just talk to her, please. Nothing makes her feel worse than believing you don’t want her anymore. Hell, even if you don’t—I don’t know with you anymore—just give her something. You’re the only one that can fix this.”

He sighs, nodding his head before making his way out of his house without much of a response to her. He’s only concerned for Y/n, and is so focused on getting to her so that he can prove to her that he’s changed—that he’s not the same Harry he was and is going to be there for her for as long as his life lasts, even if she doesn’t allow it.

But it’s upon arrival he realizes how much more serious this is than he thought. She’s completely breaking down, every inch of her shaking and fear written on her face. She’s a complete and utter mess, a completely wrecked version of such a beautiful, unbroken woman who had so much love in her heart and surrounded by so much love in the air.

And even though Harry knows she believes she’s going to die, apart of him believes she’s already dead. The life inside of her has burned out and is now just a product of what once was. The Y/n he always known is long gone—so far gone he almost doesn’t believe it’s her.

He looks at her with the most distraught and sympathetic look Gabby has ever seen. She has never seen so much guilt in somebody before that—no matter how much she hates him—she can’t help but feel sorry for him, too.

“Baby, hey. Hey now, it’s alright.” He whispers, kneeling in front of Y/n’s shaking figure and tentatively reaching for her hair so that he can attempt to calm her down. “I’m here now, I’m right here.”

A pitiful sound leaves her lips when she looks up at him; something between a whine, a sob, and a groan. It’s messy from her throat being raw from all the screaming and cries, and it leaves an indescribable pain that only makes her cries stronger.

She can’t even think properly, everything in her body overworking itself. It’s something she’s never experienced before, and all the fears of it being permanent rush through her veins—leaving her with an overwhelming amount of anxiety.

“She’s having a panic attack.” Harry mumbles to Gabby, making sure to rub gently over the back of Y/n’s neck. Although panic attacks weren’t common for her, whenever she was overwhelmed and stressed, this gesture always seemed calmed her down.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t drive with her like this I—Gabby, how do I focus with her like this?” He cries, the situation in front of him making his body turn to shambles, “Especially when it’s my fault? How do I—do I keep her here until she’s calm? I don’t—I don’t know—”

Gabby shakes her head, reaching her hand over to graze his tense shoulder. She squeezes the muscle softly, almost as a sort of reassurance.

“She needs home, Harry—” she whispers, “she needs you.

He nods, choking back sobs as he brushes the hair out of Y/n’s face. The skin of her face is red and completely soaked, but this is the first time he’s seen her since the morning in the grocery store, and she’s never looked so beautiful.

“I’m going to take you home with me, Y/n. But I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?” He asks, holding her face delicately between his hands, “Breathe with me.”

Y/n sucks in a deep breath when Harry inhales deeply, attempting to rid all the anxiety and pain settling inside of her. Her inhale is broken between hiccups and cries, but as she keeps eye contact with him as she tries to calm down, a little part of her feels revived.

“It hurts.” She whimpers between sobs, referring to the pain in her chest and the throbbing in her head that just can’t seem to heal.

She watches as Harry’s face scrunches with an agonizing cry, and she knows he’s aware of exactly what she’s talking about. She’s been brokenhearted for so long, she doesn’t even think he’s the least bit shocked when she tells him her heart is hurting.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispers as he kisses her forehead gently. “Let’s get you home, yeah? Make you feel better?”

And as much as she wants to hate him, or yell at him for everything he’s done to her and make him understand just how much of her life he’s ruined, she genuinely feels like her body is going to collapse at any given moment. She needs him, even if it’s just for right now, she has to just focus on everything happening in the now. Harry’s come back to her and she’s about to go back home.

Because if she doesn’t think about the present moment—Harry holding her, Harry kissing her, Harry about to take the both of them back to their house—she’ll never find a way to fix herself. She’ll be stuck in this anxiety and pain for far too long—so long that it could actually kill her.

So she closes her eyes, only focusing on his touch and his breath fanning over her wet face. She forgets the t-shirt, she forgets all the times he’s ignored her after declaring them to take a break, and she forgets about Jessica. At least for right now, she can focus on all that tomorrow.

She nods, and it’s then Harry notices how much more calm she is. Although she’s still crying and still incapable of speaking much from the aching in her throat, she’s breathing properly again and her once undying sobs have turned into soft whimpers.

He leans in so that he can properly wrap his arms around her, hooking one hand on her back and the other under her knees. There’s no way in hell she’s capable of walking—not like this, and in all honesty, he would much rather hold her now than leave her side for another second.

It’s when Y/n is being held so close to him again that the aching in her chest seems to almost vanish completely. And although there is still a weight on top of her lungs, and still a slight uncomfortableness in her heart, she’s finally able to breathe again.

“I’m gonna make this all better, okay? I promise you, gonna fix you.” He mumbles with his lips against her hairline, making sure to keep rubbing the back of her neck softly.

It’s a promise he intends on keeping—a promise he never plans on breaking again. He could never live with himself if he were to keep putting her through all of this pain. She’s the most undeserving person—he knows that—and he knows she’s too pure to go through all that she’s been through the past couple of months.

The car ride is completely silent, only Y/n’s cries and small sniffles filling the empty space. Although she still isn’t completely calm, she’s improved so much since he first came to pick her up and it is able to keep his mind at ease. At least while he drives.

And he doesn’t miss her hand sneaking over the console to intertwine her fingers with his. He doesn’t expect it but he also doesn’t mind it. If anything, it makes him feel better just as much as it does her.

When they pull up to the driveway of their once shared house, every bit of composure she’s withheld in her body is breaking down by the second. Her strength is wearing thin, and knowing she’ll be reuniting in the house where Y/n and Harry once had everything makes her more afraid than ever.

Harry notices her sudden shift in mood and doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle himself from his seat and walk around the car to where her exhausted figure is sobbing, slumped against the passenger seat. He sighs meekly before unbuckling her, as well, and lifting her against him the way he had before.

“Hey there, s’alright, I’m here. We’ll work this out, but you need to sleep first, yeah? Looking very pale and I know you well enough to see you’ve been lacking sleep.”

Although they both know Y/n isn’t going to respond, she wants to continue listening to him speak. It’s something she hasn’t heard in so long, and she wouldn’t even care if he was talking about the goddamn weather, she just wants to hear him again.

He keeps talking, too, because he notices the effects of his voice on her anxiety and how the muscles in her body relax under his words. He’ll stop at nothing to make sure she’s okay again, even if it means having a one-sided conversation.

“You know how you are, too—grumpy and sensitive when you’re tired. Almost take my head off if you don’t get more than seven hours. Remember that one time at my mum’s Christmas dinner party? Barely slept the night before from wrapping so many gifts that you genuinely got upset with me for not knowing your favorite alcoholic beverage.” He chuckles softly. “Funny lil thing.“

Through the nonstop crying and the frown that hasn’t left Y/n’s lips in what feels like an eternity, the first smile stretches from her lips. It’s the smallest closed mouth smile he’s ever seen, but it’s there, and it’s the most genuine feeling of happiness she’s had in so long.

When Harry unlocks the door, he wastes no time making his way over to their couch. He knows very well that she wouldn’t want to sleep on their bed, considering she’s well aware of what he did with Jessica on that bed and he wants no reason to upset her any further.

He sets her down in front of the couch, petting the top of her head softly before gathering a blanket and a pillow for her to sleep on.

He sets it up like a bed, almost, before turning to leave so that she can have her privacy. He doesn’t think she’d want to sleep with him, so he decides to sleep in the guest bedroom since he knows she’d always pick the living room couch over that room.

But before he gets too far, Y/n weakly captures his fingers in hers, pulling him back towards her.

His head snaps down to her finger, noticing the rose ring being worn beautifully on her middle finger. He almost chokes when he sees it on her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in half confusion and half in awe.

“Please,” she whimpers, “stay.”

He snaps out of his trance at her words, slowly nodding his head as a small “of course” falls from his lips.

He lays comfortably on the couch, looking up at her when he finds a position where she can lay beside him.

“If you want you can take the—alright” he huffs.

His eyes narrow as he watches her lay on top of him—fully on top of him; her cheek nesting right where his shoulder meets his neck as her arms slither around his sides until her hands meet under his back. Her legs tangle perfectly in between his, and in any other circumstance, this probably wouldn’t have been an ideal sleeping position for the either of them. But Y/n is exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she feels this is the only position she can sleep.

Harry doesn’t mind, and easily ignores the subtle uncomfortableness in his back as he wraps his arms securely around her frame.

Although Y/n is already fast asleep on top of it, he’s unsure how he can close his eyes for longer than a blink. This could be the last chance he has to be with her in this way. He’s unsure what tomorrow holds for the both of them and their relationship—it could end entirely or create an entirely new beginning.

With the possibilities almost endless against their favor, he doesn’t want to miss a second of what could be the last of her in his life. So, he embraces the feeling of her tight hold, the little puddle of drool on the shoulder of his t-shirt, and the tickle on his chin from her loose strands of hair, because this could be the last time he feels all of that.

But he also can’t help but feel that small bit of hope still latching onto him. That somewhere—deep down—he knows they belong to each other for the rest of their lives. And that, maybe, if the universe decides that their relationship should end tomorrow, he knows destiny will find a way for the both of them again.

So, he holds her a little tighter, breathes her in a little harsher, and soaks up all the extra warmth in her body, and prays that everything will be okay.

anonymous asked:

Maybe Dark!Annabeth fighting a child of the big three and she knows that defeating them with physical, raw power isn't possible, so she attacks mentally. She defeats them with words, something Annabeth constantly does throughout the books to her enemies. Making them so angry, distracted, and/or sad that they lose focus and she easily takes the victory.

Annabeth feels him coming before she sees him.

There’s a charge in the air. A gathering static that threatens to strike with every movement she makes, but never quite gets the guts to do so.

That’s Jason Grace for you. Son of Jupiter, chosen of Juno, and just a touch too soft to do what needs to be done. Oh sure, he’ll kill monsters if he needs to, but when the monsters are gods, his solution is to become a priest.

It’s about finding a compromise, he’d said. And making sure that we’re heard.

Annabeth’s finding there are better ways of making noise.

“You got here faster than I expected,” she remarks as he touches down in front of her. She’s perched on the crumbling remnants of a wall that’s thousands of years old. Some small, distant part of her regrets what is about to happen here, but not enough to change course.

“Your pattern’s getting old,” he says. His gladius is out and he holds it warily between them. Annabeth keeps her drakonbone sword at her side. “The others can hold Percy off long enough for me to stop what you’re doing.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re the only one coming?”

He tries to hide his grimace, but that’s the danger with fighting your friends. They can read you too well, and a smile curls over Annabeth’s mouth at the confirmation. She hops off the wall, landing lightly on the dirt.

“What made you think I’d be at Pompeii?”

Lightning crackles in the sky overhead, raising the small hairs at the back of her neck. He nods at the scaffolding in the distance, empty of workers this early in the morning. It’s a grim dawn, about to get darker.

“No tourists today. You might’ve turned against the gods, Annabeth, but you’re not a murderer.”

Isn’t she? Annabeth has lost count of the number of monsters she’s put in the ground (under the ground). How many demigods died in the war with Kronos? They bleed red the same as mortals, and her hands are as stained as anyone’s.

So are Jason’s, and irritation pricks at her face. She smooths it away with a cool smile, carefully tracking him as he starts to circle her. She has a certain amount of faith in Jason’s willingness to ‘save’ his friends, but she’s not an idiot.

“So I should start picking locations with people if I don’t want you to interfere, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s obviously not what I’m saying.” His gaze flickers over the ruins stretching behind her. “So this is all rigged to blow, huh?”

“Leo does good work.”

He winces. He can play on whatever friendship the two of them might have had all he likes, but that betrayal is the real knife in the guts and they both know it. Annabeth coerces her expression into concern, the cogs of her brain turning the right muscles to give it the realism it needs. She takes a half step forward, and Jason doesn’t step away.

“He misses you, you know.” Her voice is a soft thing. Caring. “Misses both of you.”

“If he misses us so bad, he should come and see us.”

“You really think we’re going to be welcome at Camp after all this?

“You haven’t killed anyone.”

The yet sits between us, and it doesn’t matter anyway. The gods would be more likely to forgive her if she had killed someone. They could have murdered thousands of mortals and not been struck down, if they’d just done it far away from the last vestiges of godly power in this world.

Gaea had plotted to bring down Mt Olympus, and that’s definitely on Annabeth’s list. But she’s always been a methodical sort of girl, and divine power runs deep. Best to stamp out all traces of it, one relic at a time.

She sighs. “We don’t plan to. You know that.”

“You’re trying to kill the gods!” Lightning cracks again, closer now. It takes more strength than Annabeth wants to admit to to avoid reaching for her weapon.

“And how many times have they tried to kill us? At best they don’t give a shit, Jason, you know that.”

But he’s shaking his head. They’ve had this fight before, all of them, enough times that she could probably just record it for him to save energy. He’s long since stopped listening to sense, and she doesn’t bother with more than a cursory attempt to convince him.

“You’re too late for this one,” she says. “I’m proud of you for getting here before it blows, but you were right. It’s ready to go.”

His grip shifts on his sword. And - there’s something in his expression that prompts her to brace for an attack, because it’s not defeat. This time, she thinks. This time might be the one where I push too far.

It’s sad, sort of, but relief swamps that soon enough. It’s not that she wants to fight old friends, but it would make everything a lot simpler. To just be able to fight, without caring what happens to them anymore. To draw battlelines instead of blurring them

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growls. “But even if the rest of your team is ready to destroy this place, they’ll stop once you’re a hostage.”

Annabeth laughs. It’s a miscalculation, but she can’t help herself. “The others might. But hell itself couldn’t keep Percy Jackson from me, Jason, and you’re no Tartarus.”

“I can deal with Percy.”

He can’t. She wonders idly if he knows that. Everyone’s aware of Percy’s power these days, but that’s what he’s like with her at his side. Jason, she suspects, still has a little too much optimism left about what Percy’s self control would be like without her. What it would be like if he even thought she was in danger.

“Right, well, that’ll be your mistake to live with.” She squints up at the sky, trying to judge her next play. Being a hostage would accelerate certain things that she’s not ready to set into motion just yet. Most of all, she doesn’t think that Percy is quite as ready to fight the others as she is.

Not yet.

“You made a miscalculation,” she said finally. “You always want to go for the biggest player, Jason. It’s one of your biggest weaknesses.”

“You can’t talk your way out of this, Annabeth.” His body moves, and she can almost trace the lines in the air, the familiar forms he’s about to slide into. “You’re coming back to Camp wth me.”

He lifts his blade, wreathed in lightning. She smells ozone on the air, the threat of violence wafting in behind it. She clasps her hands behind her back, and lays down her hand.

“Where’s Piper, Jason?”

Everything stops. Nature itself holds its breath as those too-blue eyes widen in sheer panic, before narrowing at her.

“Piper’s your friend. You wouldn’t hurt her.”

Annabeth waits. She doesn’t need to say anything. The silence between them does it for her. The even sound of her breathing. The shroud of absolute confidence holding her shoulders straight.

You are not going to take me, her body says, like it’s all a foregone conclusion.

“She can handle herself,” he tries again, and there’s the edge of desperation that she’s been waiting for. Enough to cloud his thinking. He might not think she’s a murderer, but there are other atrocities. Things she hasn’t held back from in the opening numbers of this new war.

“Against Percy?”

That’s a risk. Because they both know that Percy isn’t steady, isn’t stable, that his relationship with Piper had been tenuous at best and that without Annabeth there, his temper might just get away with him. Piper has her Charmspeak, but there are ways around everything if you have enough power.

It’s a risk, because Jason’s anger could always outweigh his fear. He could always take it out on her rather than fly off for Piper. Annabeth is confident in her ability to take him with a sword, but Jason comes with all those bonus add-ons that children of Athena just aren’t privy to.

So she gives him one last push. Just to make sure.

“Tartarus has so many doors,” she says softly. That same quiet concern from before, turned deadly now. “You know we found all of them, right Jason?”

He spits a curse, something in Latin about the gods and what he hopes they’ll do to her. She watches him leap into the sky, shading her eyes against the rising sun until he’s no more than a dot in the distance.

“You say that like they haven’t already done their worst,” she murmurs, before turning back to the ruins.

There’s work to be done.

RIZ AHMED CREATED BACKSTORY FOR BODHI I AM CRYING

Ahmed also revealed some pieces of Bodhi Rook’s history that never made it onscreen. “Bodhi grew up on Jedha. It’s been a troubled planet for a long time. It’s occupied by Imperial forces, and I was thinking, ‘What makes you want to be a cargo pilot and just fly long distances for the Empire?’ I always imagined he was supporting maybe a single mother.”

In his mind, Bodhi was the only child from a poor family who agreed to work with the Empire because his mother was sick and had no one else to support her. “He’s taking a job, which a lot of people wouldn’t take. They’d think he was a collaborator with the evil forces,” Ahmed says. “He’s in a position of necessity rather than privilege, and I also think the desire to kind of fly and escape is a strong one. He’s someone who’s always kind of dreamed of escaping and leaving his home world behind, which also speaks to his ability to turn away from the political reality of Jedha.”

Then something happens that changes his mind and makes him turn against the Empire and try to help the Rebellion.

“In my mind, I think he would have lost his mother not too long ago, before we meet him, and that, in a weird way, makes him reassess,” Ahmed says. “It liberates him more. What he’s doing with his life, given that we’re only here for a short period of time?”

With his mother gone, there would be no one left in his life for the Empire to punish for his resistance.

Source

they call her maid maleen

for the first few trembling years of her life, she is a princess. she is the daughter to the king, born of his beloved wife and of her visage. her dark eyes have the appearance of a smoky quarts and her mother carefully twists her mass of black hair into a hundred small braids down her back. she is a beautiful, quiet child, and for a while all is well. they call her princess maleen.

then her mother dies. it seems as if the king is determined to bury his love for his daughter along with his queen. he moves her to a different wing of the castle, and refuses to see her. her tutors are let go, and the nobles’ children are no longer allowed to play with her. only the maids look after her now.

the king remarries. the new queen gives birth to a son, and maleen is forgotten completely, banished from a home she still resides in and a life she can now only watch unfold.

the maids take care of her, braid her hair and kiss the blisters on her fingers, teach her to scrub at porcelain and polish silver, to clean a fireplace and mop polished marble floors.

they call her maid maleen.

~

the king has a son by his new wife, and then a daughter. they are pale and fair-haired like their mother, with only their dark eyes to show they are the king’s children. but they inherit none of their parents’ beauty, have faces that don’t look quite right and bodies that get stuck between gangly and chubby and never settle into one or the other. princess gisella and prince jan are privately regarded as unfortunate products of a lovely union.

maid maleen spends long hours working, and has neither the time nor funds for creams to soften her skin or oils to care for her hair, has never used face powder or lip color.

maid maleen is twenty three years old, and the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.

her braids are wrapped carefully atop her head, but when she lets them loose they hang past her hips. her dark skin is made even darker thanks to long hours working in the palace garden, and her eyes have never lost that same curious light. she walks straight and strong, years of hard labor giving her muscles and definition to her body that she never would have had as a princess. boys and girls give her long, considering looks and flirtatious smiles, and nobles have to double-take when she passes them by.

no one speaks of it anymore. but maid maleen looks ever more like her beautiful late mother, has the same eyes as her father, and dressing in ill-fitting cast offs and running her ragged can’t hide the truth.

maid maleen is the king’s daughter.

she has accepted her life as a maid in the palace she was one day set to inherit, and tries to see it as a gift. she sleeps with who she likes, may marry whichever of the charming boys from the city who’s smile she likes best. in the maids who raised her she has more mothers than she has fingers, and perhaps she longs for the days when she was a small princess, when she was the apple of her parents’ eye, when the whole of their nation was to be hers to inherit.

but then the blacksmith’s daughter lets her hands linger a little too long on her wrists, and maleen knows that she won’t be sleeping alone tonight. there are some things that worth more to her than a throne she was born to. she doesn’t miss the little girl she used to be.

until.

tensions have always run high between their kingdom and the neighboring one – too many squabbles over borders, over trade agreements, over patrols, over anything and everything the kings can find a reason to be upset about, it seems like. so when prince wolfgang is sent over, the whole palace is abuzz. the prince seems determined to inherit a peaceful land, and is coming over to talk with the king to do it.

maleen does not care for princes. nor for nobles of any rank, in fact. she remembers how they turned on her, she sees the small acts of pettiness and cruelty they thoughtlessly inflict on their servants, and she wants nothing to do with it. commoners may not be as educated as nobles, may not have as many objects to call their own, but maleen finds she prefers their company to that of lords. she’s uninterested in this prince, which is perhaps why she’s the one that gets sent to his rooms. her moms can trust that she at least won’t fawn over him.

“sir wolfgang,” she murmurs, pushing open his door and giving a low curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his mud covered boots. “is there anything you require?”

silence. she can only stay bent in a curtsey so long before she loses patience. she’s almost given up on him, is about to cut her losses and call it a night when he says, hesitant, “queen sabine?”

her mother’s name is punch to her gut, and her head snaps up at the sound of it, the rolling fire of her temper bubbling just below her skin. “i am maid maleen,” she snaps, then tacks on “your highness,” after a moment’s consideration.

his cloak is half unbuttoned as he stares at her with a slack mouth. she supposes he would not look unhandsome if he were not currently doing his best to imitate a frog. he appears to be only a handful of years older than she is, and if she were not furious she would be impressed that he remembers her mother well enough to see sabine in her.

“maleen,” he repeats, and for a moment she wonders if he will recognize her as well, but he only says, “my apologies. if you would help me with my cloak, i would be much obliged.”

she’s instantly suspicious. she’s met nice nobles before, ones that were considerate and remembered her name and thanked her when she brought them wine. but she’s never met a nice prince before – they’re always of the worst sort. “yes, your highness,” she says, and the cloak is soaked through and clinging, it’s no wonder he’s struggling with it. once she’s gotten it off she hangs it to dry, then goes back to him. she slaps away his numb, struggling fingers and undoes the rest of the buckles and loops of his overly complicated clothing. she’s gotten down him down to an undershirt and pants when his hands grab hers. she blinks and looks up. he has freckles dusting across his nose.

“this is inappropriate,” he says, but honestly she’s stripped a lot of nobles, it wasn’t weird until he took her hands and looked at her like no one’s ever looked at her before.

“yes, your highness,” she agrees, and takes a step back. she places his clothes in front of a fire, curtsies, and leaves. she can feel the weight of his gaze on her all the way back to her room.

wolfgang continues his diplomatic agenda, having long meetings with the royal family. after, maleen goes and tends to him, setting out his food and taking care of his clothes, straightening up any mess that he’s made. at first he’s quiet, and he just watches her, but he quickly discovers that maleen has opinions and thoughts and isn’t afraid to share them. soon they’re debating the finer points of trade routes and arguing the effectiveness of a sliding tax scale, and maleen comes to cherish the evenings she spends with the prince, likes the way he speaks to her and looks at her, likes the shape of his smile.

weeks in she enters his room, dinner steaming in her hands and eager to continue their conversation about state funded orphanages versus a state funded foster system. he’s pacing and tense, shoulder stiff. “wolfgang,” she sets down the food and wipes her hands on her apron, “is something wrong?”

“is it true?” he asks, and he’s not looking at her. he’s always looked at her before.

“is what true?” she flinches away from his coldness, is already preparing to retreat and hide and beg someone else to watch over him.

he turns to her, and she’s baffled by the mixture of hope and anger on his face. “are you the king’s daughter? are you princess maleen?”

she takes a step back, “i am maid maleen.”

“please,” he follows her as she steps away from him, and her back hits the wall. he stops when he’s almost close enough to touch. “my father sent me here with the goal to seal our new treaty with a marriage. he expects me to marry princess gisella. but if you are the daughter of the king – then he will allow me to marry you instead!”

“who says i want to marry you?” she retorts, but he gets on bended knee and she freezes.

he holds a hand for her own, and against every bit of logic, she gives it to him. “maleen, i’ve never felt this way about anyone. i was willing enough to enter a loveless marriage before i knew what true love is, but now i do, and i can’t go back. marry me.”

she wants to. she thinks she loves him. she hadn’t been planning to fall in love with anyone. “i am the king’s daughter,” she tells him, “but i am no princess. i haven’t been a princess in a long time.”

he brings her hand to his mouth so he can kiss each one of her knuckles, “then we’ll have to change that.”

~

wolfgang goes to the king to make his case, to return maleen to her birthright and allow her to marry him.

it goes even worse than maleen had feared.

her father is furious. he’s so angry at the audacity of this request that prince wolfgang is thrown from the kingdom. so incensed is he, that guards drag maleen from her bed in the middle of the night and throw her into a tower. the door closes shut behind them, and she bangs on it and screams but no one comes for her.

there are no windows, and only one door with a sliding metal grate in the bottom. she’s high in the tower, she thinks, from the number of steps she’d been forced to climb, but she stands on a dirt floor. the room contains only the bare minimum needed for survival, and nothing more.

once a week food is slid through the slot in the door. she has to be careful, because if she eats it too fast they will not provide more, she will just starve. days turn to weeks turn to months, and she despairs of ever being let out of this tower. months turn to years, and she gives up hope entirely of leaving this tower. she considers refusing to eat, killing herself slowly through starvation, because death is preferable to life locked in this tower.

one night there’s a scuffle, and shouting, and for the first time since she was shoved inside the door opens. there’s a guard standing there, and princess gisella tentatively steps inside. “maid ma – i mean, maleen?”

maleen stares. this is the first time she’s seen another person in years, and suddenly for all the screaming she’d done she can’t find her voice. gisella takes another cautious step forward, “maleen, please – we don’t have much time.” she holds out her hand, “come with me.”

gisella is sixteen now. although she’ll never be a great beauty, she’s grown into many of the features that she was once mocked for. “where?” she asks, but takes gisella’s hand and lets her lead them down the twisting staircase. anyplace is better than the tower.

“i’m to be married in a week’s time to prince wolfgang.” maleen feels a sharp pain go through her chest. had wolfgang forgotten her? their farce of a romance was such a quick, shallow thing. she was a fool to fall for it in the first place. “i’m not going to show up. you are.”

she stares, “what?”

“wolfgang started a war over father locking you in the tower,” she explains, “but eventually it got to a point where neither could justify it, so our father and wolfgang’s decided our union would mean peace between our countries, as intended. but i don’t want to marry prince wolfgang, and he does not want to marry me.”

“i don’t understand,” she hadn’t paid much attention to the girl when they were in the palace together, and she’s regretting that now.

they finally reach the end of the tower. it’s the first time she’s breathed fresh air in years. she tries not to get distracted by it, and instead focuses on the carriage to her left, and the pure black mare laden like a pack mule on her right. “i’m leaving,” gisella says, “i don’t want to be wolfgang’s bride because i want to be klaus’s,” the guard smiles, and he must be klaus, the princess is rejecting a prince to run away with a commoner. “there’s a map and everything you need in the saddlebags. the wedding dress is waiting for you at the castle. no one will know you’re not me until wolfgang unveils you, and by then it will be too late. he will marry you, and i will be gone.”

“why are you doing this?” she asks.

gisella shrugs, “you’re my sister, and father is an idiot. i want you to be happy, and i want wolfgang to be happy, and i want to be happy too. this way we all get what we want. our brother will be waiting for you in wolfgang’s castle. he’ll help you.”

maleen is speechless. gisella grabs her in a quick hug – the only one they’ve ever shared – and then goes to the carriage with klaus trailing behind her. “i’ll see you again, princess maleen!”

she doesn’t have time for tears. she gets on the mare, and rides for the palace of the neighboring land.

~

she makes it just in time. she sneaks into the castle the night before the wedding, ducking around servants until she find her way to jan’s door. she knocks, tentative, wondering if this was a mistake and all one elaborate trap. but the door opens and his face slackens in relief, “finally!” he pulls her inside, and sits her down. there’s lukewarm water waiting for her so she can clean herself, and jan stands with his back to her the whole time, outlining the wedding and how it will go so she knows what to expect the next day. “father isn’t here,” he assures her, “he didn’t want to leave the kingdom, so i’m here in his stead.”

“won’t you miss your sister?” maleen finishes washing and wraps herself in a soft blanket.

“when i am king, gisella will return,” he says confidently, “she will come home and bring klaus, and you will rule here with wolfgang, and all will be well. our countries shall be great allies when it is me and wolfgang on the throne.”

he’s only a year older than gisella, just seventeen, and maleen feels oddly old next to them, feels old next to these children who know what they want and take it and don’t let anything stand in their way.

“we need to get your hair rebraided,” he says, “you should look perfect tomorrow. it’s your wedding day.”

she stares, aghast. “that will take all night!”

“i’ve brought help,” he says, and sends a servant down the hall. the servant returns with a half dozen of the maids who raised her, and who crowd forward and hug her and kiss her cheeks and say how much they’ve missed her. princess or not, bride or not, to them she will always be their little maid maleen.

~

it’s clear gisella picked her wedding dress with maleen in mind. it fits her for one thing, and is clinging and heavy, and it must have looked awful on gisella, but on her it’s perfect. her dress is accompanied by white silk gloves and a thick veil so that no one can see her, so that no one will know she’s not the daughter of the king they’re expecting to be there.

wolfgang is at the end of the aisle, looking like he’s going to an execution, and it takes more self control than maleen was anticipating not to go running to him. she turns to him, and he lifts her veil. he sees her and freezes, mouth sliding open. she winks at him, because they just need to keep it together until they’re married, he just has to keep his cool for a few minutes and they’ll have won it all. wolfgang closes his mouth and says nothing about how this is clearly not the bride he was supposed to marry. they turn so none of the guests can see them, and the priest gives maleen a confused look, but with a glare from wolfgang he continues on with the ceremony as if nothing is out of place.

“you may now kiss the bride,” the priest says, after what seems like an eternity.

wolfgang grabs her about the waist, dips her, and kisses her soundly on the mouth. her veil falls off and she can hear the horrified and shocked gasps of the guests, and under that jan’s laughter. when they break apart, foreheads still pressed together, she whispers, “hello, prince wolfgang.”

he kisses her again, quick and sweet, and does nothing at all to disguise the joy in his face. “hello, princess maleen.”

and they all lived happily ever after.


read more retold fairytales here

“Chris Pine was a rare and special casting. We wanted a man who was the true parallel to Diana. A giant spirit who is the kind of man one aspires to be, but isn’t afraid to be complex and leave room for and even compliment another. He is the kind of man women want to believe is out there. He’s also one of the best actors I’ve ever worked with.”


“He is so skilled, wonderful and funny. He’s such a talented guy. He came alive in this environment where he genuinely experienced the dynamic. He actually brought a performance that is so stunning to this film because he did something so tricky where he brought all the comic relief. Chris has those skills to call upon him when we needed it. We were able to go somewhere pretty incredible with him.”


“I cannot believe how perfect Chris was, from the moment we thought of him to the moment he played every second in this movie. Chris is one of the most talented actors I’ve ever worked with in my life. But also, he’s a real man, very comfortable with his masculinity, so much so that he’s not sexiest at all. He completely takes other people on their own face value and is willing to leave space for them, and as a result he’s the perfect boyfriend for Wonder Woman because it’s someone who could actually look at her and admire her and appreciate her and it didn’t take anything away from him. And then he just made us all laugh all the time.”


“Chris is such a gift to this movie because he gave integrity to Steve Trevor. Steve Trevor is intrinsic to her story line. So, we needed to find the perfect guy. Chris is so honorable, hilarious and charming.”

- Patty Jenkins. Director, Wonder Woman.

Only Way To Live - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 4818

Warnings: Kinky Filth, NSFW, 18+, Oral (Female Receiving)

Notes: Honestly, I’m kinda mixed about this entire thing? I don’t think it’s as good as some of the other stuff I’ve written. The idea was so good for this too! I got the idea from an episode of Attack of Titan while I was in my slump. So, please, any feedback ya’ll have would be appreciated.

Keep reading

Flirt (Intro)

intro one two
genre:
fuckboy!jungkook, college!au, smut?, angst?
words: 1.9k
member: jungkook (ft. taehyung)

despising jeon jungkook as he hooks up and steals your best friend away from you. 

(credits to gif owner for the gif that kills all)

Originally posted by bangtanofarmys

Jeon Jungkook.

The man who every girl on campus had an eye on, along with his crew of other fuckboys. He would show up on campus with different girls everytime, wrapping their arms around his frame, “claiming him”.

You despised him though, because his next target was your best friend.

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Eat that - Peter Parker x Reader

Prompt: Y/N meets the Spider-Man one night when he saves her life. Her friends don’t believe her story until certain spider comes to her rescue.

Featuring: Flash, Ned, Liz {kinda}.

Word count: 1250.


Y/N slapped herself mentally for allowing her mind to lose track of time and having to walk the dangerous streets of New York by herself late at night to get home. Walking as fast as she could, but not too fast to avoid looking suspicious, she turned into one street, finally three blocks away from her destiny. She felt relieved when she catched a glimpse of the tree from her house. She had made it safely, or so she thought.

“Night, kid.” A voice called seductively at her, sounding unknown and intimidating to her as a guy with a black hat on his head and a bandana tied over his nose, covering half down his face paced quickly to reach to her. Y/N’s eyes widened and she started running, but was soon caught by the man, who threatened her with a knife. “Just be quiet and you’ll make it out of this alive.” He promised, though it didn’t sound too real. Y/N fidgeted and squirmed, trying to free herself from his firm grasp, to take his hand away from her mouth and scream for help.

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We Are Young: Chapter 12

Throne of Glass High School AU

Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

——————–

Aelin didn’t really think twice when Rowan messaged her a few weeks later, one Sunday morning, telling her to dress comfortably for their date. She also didn’t put much thought into it when she asked him what, exactly, his definition of “comfortably” was, and he responded with leggings and a sweater. But she was slightly disappointed she didn’t have to dress up for the evening.

She did, however, raise an eyebrow later that day when Rowan messaged her again, just moments after she’d gotten dressed.

Be there in 5. And make sure you have your skates.

At first, she thought it was a joke. He couldn’t seriously be taking her skating on her day off. The only day off she’d have for a long time.

Practice had been … rough lately. With Nationals coming up in just over a month, and with Aelin still yet to land her triple-triple, she normally left practice in a sour mood. Uncle Weylan said she needed all the practice she could get. So over Christmas break, they were having practice for hours on end every day. If she didn’t land her triple-triple by New Years, they were taking it out of her program.

But sure enough, when Aelin messaged Rowan “seriously buzzard?” he came back with “seriously fireheart.

So despite the fact that Aelin really wasn’t in the mood for skating at the moment, she made sure to have her skates with her.

“The rink?” She questioned as she climbed out of Rowan’s car. “I figured you’d be taking me to the pond when you told me to bring my skates.”

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10

simon + needing space away from clary (aka clary approaching simon when he clearly doesn't want her to multiple times)

bonus:

thepersonalblogofsh  asked:

What do you think is the (symbolic) meaning behind having all the mains on the same place, trying to support sana (s4's main) in the clip today? :) x

you know what I didn’t even think about it until you mentioned it, so thank you so much for bringing this up!

wow, it’s kinda nostalgic isn’t it? 

like think about it, Eva, Noora and Isak have all been in the position Sana is in now. Alone, inside their own head afraid of what’s to come next (same tbh)

and now here they are sharing this moment with her. Could they be a reminder for us to show us how much they have grown and the ‘evolution’ of the mains?

or maybe….

okay so Sana has served as an important character in each of their seasons. she helped each main move along in their story in a different way. 

for example with Eva

Sana gave Eva the push she needed to finally confront Ingrid as well as all the feelings she has been repressing and torturing herself with from the beginning of this season. If it wasn’t for Sana we might not have gotten the most emotional heart to heart in this entire season. We wouldn’t have gotten Eva to finally let out all of her feelings as well as realising who she is and what means the most to her. She wouldn’t have gotten the push she needed to gain closure with Ingrid if it wasn’t for sana…and then of course she wouldn’t have caught Iben and learnt about Snakesak…so yeah Sana pushed Eva’s season along when she needed it. 

then Noora

Of course Sana and noora had that massive beautiful clip where she told Noora that it’s impossible to expect people to think like you do, but it is possible to try and understand them, and for them to understand you. This convo of course encouraged Noora to try to connect with William and talk to him…pushing her in the direction of Nico where the next part of her story began. Again you could say Sana pushed her story along…leading her to the next chapter of her journey and growth. 

Now angel Isak Mikki doesn’t have favourites I love my children equally

oh my gosh I loved this clip. I don’t know if Sana knew or not but she gave Isak exactly everything he needed to hear right in this moment of his story. She reassured him that he still means the same to her as he always has and that maybe his mum would feel the same way. she gave him the courage and the love he needed to tell his mum about Even. She made him feel less scared about how she would react and calm in knowing that she still sees him the same way herself. ahhh oh my god if it wasn’t for Sana I don’t know if Isak would have gotten the guts to tell his mother about his sexuality and that was one of the most important parts of his story. His mother accepting him and loving him when he needed it the most (hell he had been needing it since we met him) ahhh it was everything. and Sana helped him reach to that point where he could reach out to his mother. So again, she pushed and impacted his story…in the best way. 

So now why were all the mains here in this clip? 

Maybe they were here to remind us just how much Sana has been there for them. How much she has impacted their lives and had such a strong hand in moving their journeys of growth and development along. Because now Sana is the one withdrawing herself from everyone and believing that none of them see her as someone they can connect with because she is too different. She is beginning to take herself out of their world…to push them away. But they are here trying to remind us (and her but she can’t see it rn) that god dammit she is a part of their world. She’s not just a part of it but because of her their worlds have changed and grown. She has been there for all of them. They need her and they love her and they respect her. 

but Sana feels like no one does. 

someone needs to tell her just how important she is and why she is needed so much in their world…because their worlds are her world. <3 

They each had Sana to move their story along…but who does Sana have? maybe that’s what they are trying to show us by involving them all here. Who is her Sana? What happens when the friend who is always there for everyone, needs someone to be there for her and get her to talk and listen? 

lets find out ahhhh

anonymous asked:

Hello! I'd like to make a request, but I'm not sure how you'd write it. Could you do the RFA+ Saeran reacting to if they were getting hot and heavy with MC and another member walked in on them? Thank you so much!

i added V because why not and thank you for the request !1!1

mucho love ೃ༄*

sorry some are longer than others i suck

nsfw >.<

✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* ✧・゚: *✧・゚:*

Yoosung

♥ He begged you to go to a LOLOL convention for weeks and finally you gave in

♥ After hours of walking around you grew bored and horny

♥ Last night he left you on edge as you were about to climax when an important RFA conference call came up

♥ You’ve been edgy ever since

♥ “Please…“ you begged into his ear. For the past thirty minutes you wanted to run off somewhere

♥ Finally he listened

♥ “Couldn’t wait till we got home?”

♥ "No.“              

♥ He’d try so hard to take control of the kisses it’d turn you on more, but this poor baby couldn’t keep up

♥Messy neck kisses

♥His wandering hands finally get into your pants and past your panties

♥Trying to moan his name but can’t even speak making him almost self destruct

♥"I’m so close.”

♥ Just as you were tipping over the edge, the door swings open revealing a red head

♥"There you guys are- AAAH MY BEAUTIFUL EYES” Seven plays LOLOL too. Seven wanted to meet up with you guys when he found out you both were going.

♥Seven runs away red as his hair leaving Yoosung more embarrassed than you

♥Still not satisfied till you get home where he makes up it up to you four times

Zen

♥ Zen wanted practice for his romantic lines and wanted it with you so he could make the story come to life, you of course agree

♥ “If you want me then why are you with him?” He says his line leaning closer and closer

♥ Kissing soon leads into make out session in his dressing room

♥ He sits back on the couch and pulls you on top him

♥ Feeling the beast underneath you makes you a mess

♥ Zen grips your waist and helps you grind down on him causing little moans to emanate from you

♥ “I can’t take this…” beast unleashed He groans before flipping you underneath him and grinds hard and fast, hard for you to keep up with

♥ “Ah Hyun~” fuck he gone

♥ This would’ve been a good time to remember Jaehee was stopping by for Zen to sign her new CD

♥ “Hello Zen?” Jaehee’s eyes widen in horror, “SORRY Y/N, Zen!” Before running away flustered

♥ Later, she’d scold you both for being reckless of his image.

Jaehee

♥Knowing Jaehee better than anyone, you know her schedule is so hectic because someone *cough* mista trustfundkid *cough*  who gives her useless projects all the time so you decided to bring her lunch knowing she’d forget to eat

♥ She’d be very surprised and happy and try to explain her current project leaving you confused as ever

♥ She’d try so hard to make you understand

♥  You’re leaning over the papers and get distracted on her lips rather than the cat project she was rattling off about

♥ Swoop, you kiss, taking Jaehee off guard

♥ Kisses so good she forgets where she is

♥ You unbutton her blouse and leave hickeys across her chest

♥ Small Jaehee moans

♥Fogged up glasses

♥ “Jaehee do you have those cat reports I was, Oh,” Jumin stops, “I’ll come back later…”

♥ Jaehee is s u p e r embarrassed

♥ “I’m so unprofessional.”

♥ You apologize with a bubble bath later

Jumin

♥ Jumin would randomly want to throw dinner parties for friends and colleagues

♥ Tonight was one of those nights

♥ You were trying on dresses for it when you put on a beautiful slim fitting, maroon dress that made you look hotter than hell.

♥ “No.” You hear Jumin and see him shaking his head is disapproval

♥ “What’s wrong?”

♥ “Only I’m allowed to see you in stuff like that.” He stated before walking away thinking that was the end of it

♥ It wasn’t

♥ Who was he to tell you what you could and couldn’t wear? After he had ignored you for the past week, being a little tease seemed fun

♥ When guests started arriving you stepped out of your room and began greeting people

♥ You could feel his glare from across the room

♥ “Y/N, you look stunning.” Zen complimented.

♥ “Thank–” Jumin comes out of nowhere bumping into you, spilling wine on you.

♥ “Whoops, silly me,” Jumin tightly smiled before whisking you away from confused Zen, “Let’s get you changed.”  

♥ When your alone Jumin attacks  daddy jumin mode

♥ “That.” Kiss “Dress.” Kiss “Was.” Kiss “Expensive.”

♥ “I’ll buy you thousands more.”

♥ Your wine-stained, dress was soon pooled around your waist

♥ Jumin threw your panties across the room

♥ No time for foreplay he is inside you

♥ He starts ruthlessly pounding away

♥ “Hey Y/N I want to ask- AHHH NEVERMIND!” Zen screams and slams the door in record time.

♥ “Jumin, are you smiling?”

Seven/Luciel/Saeyoung

♥ You knew Seven was busy on an important case and wanted to do something special

♥ Trying to think of food you could make was hard

♥ You can’t exactly cook well

♥Deciding on pancakes seemed easy enough

♥ They weren’t

♥ Seven stepped out of his office looking for some Dr.Pepper and saw the kitchen covered in Bisquick and broken eggs

♥ “What happened?“ He’d make fun of you, but he wasn’t that much better at cooking either

♥ "I wanted to make you food, you’re so busy.” You sigh and we’re genuinely disappointed

♥ Seeing this Agent 707 Defender of Justice immediately goes with plan cheer up your girlfriend

♥ "Y/N” He grabs your chin making you look up at him, “All I want eat is you.”

♥ Right before kissing you he’d throw flour in your face

♥ “Really Seven?”

♥ He quickly kiss you to prevent the inevitable war

♥ One swift motion, you were on the messy counter and Seven was in between your legs

♥ Feeling his hardness against you made you even more turned on

♥ “S-Saeyoung.” Hearing his real name come from you… he’d die

♥ Your pants disappeared and he began leaving kisses in between your thighs

♥ He kiss everywhere except where need him

♥ “Don’t tease me~~” You’d pout, making him give in

♥ “I got groceri- Oh dear lord in the kitchen!” Saeran screamed before abandoning the groceries still screaming “The kitchen!” over and over.

V

♥V had an opening for his first photo gallery and was nervous as to if it would succeed

♥You knew it would but it seemed like he needed a confidence boost

♥You knew just the way to do it

♥You took him to the private office in the gallery and got busy

♥He was reluctant at first

♥"Y/N Are you sure? Anyone could walk in…“

♥"I locked the door.” At least you thought you did.

♥Finally he pulled you onto the desk and boy he worked fast

♥Too many kisses to keep up

♥That led into a make up session that got heated very quickly

♥Where’d his pants go ? Where’d your bra go?

♥He was already rock hard and you slide in front him, wanting to please him

♥Right as he groaned when you put him in your mouth the door swings open

♥You hit your head on the desk

♥Girlish scream and retreating footsteps equal Yoosung

♥"My office doesn’t have lock.“ Sudden realization.

♥At least the gallery went well1!1!

Saeran

♥ After months of getting help and gaining trust of the RFA members Saeran was officially invited into the RFA

♥ He helped you so much and the day of the party was finally here

♥When you entered the banquet hall Saeran immediately latch himself on you

♥"Can we leave?“ Ten minutes in.

♥"Please? I’ll make you feel good when we get home.”

♥He was horny and anti social

♥After more of his complaints you strike a bargain

♥"How about we go upstairs for little then come back down.“

♥Didn’t need to tell him twice

♥Once you reach an empty room he is all over you

♥Aggressive kisses, not that you mind

♥He began kissing down your neck until he reached your sweet spot making you moan

♥”Be quiet, don’t want anyone to hear.” he said before picking you up and throwing you onto the bed.

♥Saeran pinned you under him and grinded down leaving you a mess

♥Both your clothes came off at one point

♥Mid make out the door swings open

♥ “Well, this is not the correct room.” Jumin swings right back around and leaves.

♥ “I thought you locked the door!”

♥ “I thought you did!”

♥ Saeran got up locked the door, and continued where you left off.

|| stall me ||

[request prompt: Can you do a Peter x Reader where he chooses Michelle over you and then the reader ends up dying/getting hurt and he feels terrible for it and regrets his decision (I love michelle I just need angst! lol)]

inspired by {{stall me}} by panic! at the disco ♡ ♡ ♡

tags [permanent + peter parker]: @ghostedwolf , @preciousnewt , @lovelybaka , @animexchocolate, @fandom-flash , @psychicwitchphilosopher , @pharaohkiller , @moonlight53 , @literatureandimmature, @daydr3ams-away, @wannabe-weasley , @mcusebstan , @tmrhollandkay , @pepcvina , @nekonerdxox , @lokigirl18 , @fangeekkk , @kylielo22 , @wavy-ley , @lghockey , @buckysendoftheline , @1022bridgetp , @potterjamesharry , @mcheung0314 , @samanthasmileys , @melconnor2007 , @wingsanddarkness , @tiny-friggin-human , @anastasiaannaa , @superheros-movies-and-books , @chuckennuggets1213 , @raindancer2004

warnings: minor spoilers for homecoming

**please don’t repost/plagiarize this story. Reblogs are fine**

——

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some gorillaz headcanons
  • 2d was a teenager during the 90s which means that he knows all the lyrics to all the quintessential 90s songs. when noodle was little they would blast backstreet boys and nsync throughout kong studios and dramatically sing along and jump on the couch pretending to put on concerts. it helped get noodle used to performing and also taught her how to pronounce words in english. even now as an adult noodle will start playing i want it that way on the home speaker system and 2d will show up in the doorway twenty seconds later dramatically screeching “TELL ME WHY AIN’T NOTHING BUT A HEAAAARTACHE.” they both go OFF and have accidentally broken multiple items because they were jamming out so hard.
  • murdoc is half mexican from his mom’s side. it’s part of the reason he went to mexico after phase 1 and why he can speak spanish. he learned rudimentary spanish from visiting his mom in the sanatorium as a little kid, but since he couldn’t visit her much and she died when he was about 11 or 12 he had to teach himself the rest of the language in his 20s.

more under the cut!

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