the sun has closed the winter day

Midnight Confessions (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: The reader is Wanda’s big sister, she has the power of teleportation. She is also a part of the Avengers. She has met Bucky before when he shot her in the stomach. She nearly died, but he did it as the Winter Soldier so she doesn’t hold it against him, but he feels so sorry. They become close and both develop feelings but do nothing about it. Until one day - you decide how :-D

Note to anon: this has by far been one of the most fun things I’ve ever written, so thanks for bringing that opportunity! It’s incredibly long, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!!

Thanks to my friend @lady-of-the-sun who made me laugh all the way through writing this too.

Warnings: Swearing

Midnight Confessions, Bucky x Reader

First off, you were afraid. But soon after, you were angry. Then, once you had some context of the situation, you were wary. Finally, after a few days, you became more rational and less cautious.

It took Barnes a couple of days to work up the courage to talk to you. You weren’t particularly keen to converse with the man that once shot a hole through your stomach, but you were at least willing to listen to what he wanted to say.

He finds you around eleven pm sitting in the common room. He sits next to you, but not too close. He heaves a few heavy breaths before saying, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

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Oh my dear crimson-winter & elessar-undomiel; I can do much worse. Victorian!Johnlock coming right up:

  • They walk arm in arm whenever they can because it is the only touch that is allowed in the light of day. John always angles his hand in such a way that the outside world can’t see how he is gripping and stroking Sherlock’s arm with his thumb though.
  • When they’re in the safety of the flat, the sun has set and Mrs Hudson has retired for the night, John closes their door and they settle on the sofa together, breathing each other in, clinging to each other. 
  • They fall into bed together but they know that John must leave for his own room before the sun comes up and Sherlock hates it, he hates that he cannot love the man like he wants to. 
  • They have to hide their moans and kisses and touches. They have to hide the love in their voices when they call out to each other. 
  • And John hates it. He hates how Sherlock calls him ‘Watson’ because he misses the way Sherlock’s says his christian name when they’re alone and hidden. 
  • One night is gets too much. Oscar Wilde is on trial and even though Sherlock will never say it, John can see that he is terrified. He is scared to death that they will be caught. That someone will see. So they flee the city they both love so much and they cling to each other, whispering ‘I love you’ over and over again. 
  • And with on a trembling exhale, Sherlock breaths out the words against John’s neck; ‘if only we had lived in another time, my dear John… I could have loved you like you deserve.’

Ritual for Yule.

Starting at sundown on the 21st, I keep a candle lit on my altar. I consecrate the candle with Saint John’s Wort oil and homemade incense. Before it burns down completely, I light a new candle from the wick of the old one and switch them out, keeping the fire alive throughout the longest night and into the day of the solstice.

The next day, just before sundown on the 22nd, having kept the flame lit for almost 24 hours, I take my candle and my supplies out to the forest.

I find my ritual space, pouring out some holy water on the ground and lighting incense for the local forest spirits. 

My ritual for the darkest day and the end of the year is one of healing, growth, and recovery. This year has been a good one for me, overall, a year of accomplishments and new journeys. But no year is without hardships or failures, and now at the end of the year, I am burying my struggles and pain and greeting the new year without them.

I take the heart of an animal, previously cleansed and consecrated for this ritual (it is paramount, when using remains of the dead, to ask permission and give offerings to it’s previous owner) and after my invocation, I cut it in half. I rub the inner chambers with salt, purifying the any wounds. Then I stuff the heart with bittersweet berries, rosemary, thyme, bleeding heart flowers, and dried peony petals. I speak my incantation, pouring all my intent into the work. I ask the spirits and the land for closure, for healing, to help leave my struggles behind me, and to join me in the new year. I thank them for their guidance and protection this year.

I sew the heart back up with kitchen twine place my wreath of holly around it. The wreath was made on the day of the autumnal equinox, the start of the dark half of the year, and I have kept it on my altar all fall. Holly, being an evergreen hedge plant that lives throughout the winter, has been my protection and warding plant of choice. Now, at the solstice, the days will start to grow longer, the sun will get higher, and I’m returning my wreath to the land.

I pray over my offering in the dark woods. When I’m ready to close my ritual, I pour Saint John’s Wort tincture, Saint John’s Wort oil, and dried Saint John’s Wort flowers over the wreath and heart. Saint John’s Wort, one of my oldest plant allies, is the most holy herb of the sun. It is phenomenal for protection and exorcism and I use it in three forms to honour the return of the sun. When I have finished my prayers, I take the candle from my altar and light the wreath.

I keep vigil over the fire as it quickly circles the heart. The dried holly burns quickly and the wet meat of the heart is relatively untouched by the fire. After the wreath is ash, I dig a pit in the earth and I place the stuffed heart and ashes of the wreath inside it. I leave a final offering of holy water before burying them.

Now my ritual is done. Afterwards, I thank the forest and land spirits, I release my circle, and at last, I blow out the candle flame that I have kept lit for an entire day now. The longest night is over and my vigil is complete. 

anonymous asked:

can you pleaseeee write a fic where something happens to Killian and he realizes how many people actually care about him???

Since you asked so nicely ;) This is definitely a flangsty fic (fluff+angst is like my jam, that’s why this is so long probably) 

Never Before

~6900 words

ff.net

The sun has found its way out of the winter shelter, the rays of light warm on Killian’s body. It’s far more pleasant to stroll around in the warmth than it is in the cold with only his leather jacket as protection.

Killian’s steps are hastily taken and his pace is fast. The sense of punctuality the navy taught him remaining ingrained into his being, he is always on time but now it is going to be a close one. He completely lost track of time while working on the Jolly Roger and is making Emma wait on him at Granny’s.

One day, it must be months ago now, Emma suggested a lunch date and he agreed, never being able to say no to more time with her. Without planning another one, the next day they found themselves coincidentally taking their midday breaks at the same cozy Granny’s booth.

It’s the same every noon. He shows up and she’s waiting on him. Perpetual it may be, but it’s a routine Killian never tires of.

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@hmptandrew // 16 April 1923 : The Day Before the Dig

Robert sat outside the hotel lobby, reading the the London Times, he picked up from the front desk. He sipped on his red tea under the shade from the umbrella from the Cairo morning sun. He shifted his eyes from the printed words to the crowd passing by. He loved spring in Egypt. Always warm and bright, but never humid. The rain from winter has passed and the Nile was full and full of life.

Robert smiled from behind his paper. He was able to pick up snippets of the surroundings conversations with his limited knowledge in Arabic. The streets were full of street venders trying to sell anything from fresh fruits and fast meals, to kitchy relics to tourists. He lowered the paper in his grasp to take another sip from his tea before it grew cold.

Rob’s eyes flickered to a familiar face as he brought his cup to his face. “Ah, Mr. Berkshire. And here I thought this was a professional excavation.” He joked after he gulped his tea. He folded the newspaper over his lap after he put his tea back on the weather iron table. He motioned to only the open seat across from him.

anonymous asked:

Hi there, I'm so sorry to bother you, guys. First at all, what you do here is wonderful. THANK U, so so so much. This maybe sounds weird? But can you recommend any fic that has Steve and Bucky be codependent couple, yep 👀.

okay so here are a few in my opinion that work? this is purely from my understanding of codependency so hopefully they’re okay!

Close to the Sun by thebrotherswinchester

Steve’s known Bucky his whole life.

Out of the Dead Land by emilyenrose

Someone is building machines that look and act like people.

Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier tries to be Bucky Barnes.

The Thirteen Letters by dropdeaddream, WhatAreFears    

Womb to tomb, sweetheart.

Thirty-Eight Days and Counting by thecommodore_squid

It didn’t escape him that Steve shared his assumed last name. “Are you gonna be my cousin?” Bucky asked dully.

Steve frowned. “Husband, actually,” he said easily, holding up his left hand to show a typical golden band.

Bucky scowled and closed the door.

AKA
An AU in which Bucky is put in the witness protection program and Steve is the agent hired to protect him/pretend to be his husband.

Gimme Shelter by spoffyumi

Bucky loves his job at the animal shelter, but he’s not so good with people. His boss Nick wants him fired, he’s barely scraping by on his salary, and don’t even ask about his family. Steve wants to adopt a dog for company. Will either of them find what they’re looking for?

Stucky, angst and puppies.

Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts by Kellyscams

When the House of Barnes is left in massive debt after the death of George Barnes, their oldest son and heir, Bucky, is forced to sacrifice his own hopes and dreams by entering an arranged married to Steve Rogers. Steve seems kind enough, has a prominent job in the government, and was even voted Society’s Best Catch. But the House Rogers is significantly higher in status than Bucky’s family, which means Bucky is marrying up in Society, and marrying up doesn’t only come with rewards, it also comes with certain…expectations and losses–some of which Bucky might be willing to do anything to avoid. And those opportunities might come his way.

Unless, of course, he actually starts falling in love with his new husband…

Stay (Home) : A Vampire Marco Commission in Two Acts

Fall is a pretty good time for vampires.

The Pacific Northwest isn’t huge on heat to start with, but once August rolled into September the summer sun burned off for good, sinking into weeks on end of cool gray rain, with long winter nights closing in on either end of cloudy days, and Marco started to come outside during daylight occasionally, the clouds and endless rain keeping down the heat his weird metabolism couldn’t handle.  The rain turned the deep earth of his garden into clinging black mud that stuck to his fingers and streaked across his skin, obscuring freckles and highlighting hollows under his sharp cheekbones, and his garden bloomed and bloomed like it hadn’t noticed summer was over.

“Long-term investment,” he said when I mentioned it, with a satisfied smile, dragging the back of his faded, flowery gardening gloves across his sweaty forehead, rearranging some of the dirt on his skin.  “Benefit of living in the thame house for thirty years, I guess.  You can really build up the fertilizer.”

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27. Accidentally Sleeping In

Their forefathers witnessed nuclear winter from above, taking meticulous notes as to cloud formations and timelines in relation to bomb sites and irradiated zones. Living through nuclear winter is something else entirely – it snows two to four inches every day, and six months after the last of the North American reactors was contained, the sun has been hidden behind thick clouds of smoke and radiation clouds for days. 

The days are measured in snow on the ground, and Geiger counter readings. It’s safe for them, bodies used to decades of living too close to astral bodies and too far from the ground. It’s too soon to tell for most of the Grounders, but if Azgeda was habitable during the first nuclear winter, Abby thinks they’ll starve or freeze before dying of cancer – which brings them to their first successful Grounder summit since the fall of the coalition. 

They survived a hundred years in space. 

They know how to make enough food to survive without having a ground to plant in or a sun to shine down on their crops. 

They have carved out their own place in the Grounder hierarchy, returned to Arkadia before the next projected blizzard, and staggered into bed in the small hours of the morning. When their alarm clock goes off before their first meeting at eight o’clock, it’s pitch black outside. His hand reaches out and slaps the alarm off, before he or she is truly out of the reaches of sleep. For a moment, he opens his eyes. Then, sore from travelling and exhausted from negotiations and politicking, he falls right back asleep. 

No one comes to get them. Possibly because the only people brave enough to do so are also asleep, and weren’t dumb enough to schedule anything for themselves the day after the summit. 

A clap of thunder rouses them sometime around eleven in the morning. The storm outside is fierce, but the Ark keeps them safe and warm. Abby opens her eyes first, by habit checking the time to calculate exactly how long she can put off getting out from under the covers. At first her gaze skims the little red numbers, and then–

“Shit.”

Marcus startles from his sleepy haze. 

“What happen–oh.” Sitting up, he runs a hand through his wild hair. “Shit.” 

“You know, considering we woke to absolute darkness for forty-something years…” Groaning, she pulls the blankets up over her face in a valiant effort to deny reality. Usually, she aims for the alarm to go off at least an hour before she has to be anywhere so that she can properly hide out in bed and mentally prepare herself for having to leave it. 

“I guess you can get used to anything,” he mumbles, looking down at her. 

“I hope no one needed us,” she sighs, lowering the blankets again to peer up at him. “They would have gotten us, right? Or sent someone to get us? The Guard has the key to our quarters, someone would have–” 

“I mean, do they really need us there to tell them how to grow the algae that they made for ninety-seven years or how to make a conserve electricity because we’re further away from the sun?” he reasons, slowly sinking back down next to her. They slept through every single one of their meetings. He has never in his life done that. 

“Business as usual,” she agrees, furrowing her brows. 

“No patrols. No one going outside. Just all of us, back in the Ark.” 

“Like good old times.” 

“If you wanna call them that, sure.” He snorts, then rolls onto his side to attach himself to her. “Do you think they’ll miss us if we just don’t get up today?” 

“We should show our faces sometime,” she says, tossing and turning until she’s half on top of him, her chin resting on his chest. A small slow smile creeps onto her face. 

What hardships the ground has wrought, but such luxuries. 

The harsh timetables on the Ark punished minor infractions, even as small as showing up for shift ten minutes late. 

“At dinner.”

He returns her smile, carding his fingers through her hair, slowing brushing it out over her back. 

“Right.” Humming, Abby presses a kiss to his chest, looking up at him with sleep-filled eyes brimming with an affection he’s come to accept as another part of their new normal. “We never would have gotten away with this on the Ark. Damn Thelonious would have been dragging one of us out to make us look at a monitor somewhere.” 

He lets out a laugh. 

“Thank god so many of them broke on impact.” 

Phoenix

Pairing: Alexander x Reader

Prompt: Hi oh my god can you make a part two to Pen Names? It was soooo good!

TW: Death, mourning, mentions of injuries, mentions of illness

Word Count: 1928

~~~~

Ever since the ball, the two of you had exchanged countless letters. Every day, you would write to him, and every day, he would do the same for you. You held your letters dear to you, treasuring each of them as though it might be the last one you ever get. And, truly, that wasn’t too far from the realm of possibility. He was away, fighting for independence.

Any day could be his last, and, since…you were technically courting him, you would get no other notice, besides an impersonal letter from his commander, explaining that he was buried near the campsite, until you could send for his remains. You didn’t want to think about that. Not now, and not ever.

But unfortunately, those thoughts came sooner than you planned, as you received a letter from Washington, in place of your Alexander. You’d been getting antsy. He’d not written in a few days, but you tried to comfort yourself in the idea that he was merely busy. The war took time after all…personal letters often were swept to the wayside.

But it became far too real when you read the letter.

“(Y/N),

I must apologize for the nature of this letter, and pray that you will warrant myself worthy of forgiveness, for allowing this to be the first correspondence between us in months. I regret to inform you that on November sixteenth, while the convoy was being mobilized out of Schuylkill, Hamilton, alongside General Lee, and a few choice others remained behind. The last of the British forces in the area recognized both Lee, and Hamilton, as members of the Revolutionary army, closely in league with myself. They attacked. A retreat ensued. Hamilton was trapped, and unable to escape.

Lee reported that he fell into the river, and did not emerge, even as minutes passed. The convoy, after watching the redcoats disperse, had no other choice but to continue back to camp. Hamilton’s body was not recovered.

As these are special circumstances, your family being closely related to the revolution, and Hamilton being my confidant and right hand, I ask that you pay a visit to the campsite in two days time after receiving this letter, so that you may gather the last of Hamilton’s belongings. His companions, including myself, will be awaiting your arrival.

General George Washington”

You crumpled to the ground, staring at the material of the carpet beneath your knees. Your hands shakily covered your mouth. He…was gone? No, no that couldn’t be…he…he’d told you how he had so many plans for this nation, he couldn’t be…dead…

The rug beneath you was a dull red color, worn and dirty from being in your office for years. It…for whatever reason, it reminded you of your pen name. Phoenix….you’d chosen it for a reason. A phoenix raises itself from the ashes of it’s former body, erupting in flames and chaos before being reborn. You’d thought that fitting of your young nation. Through fire, it would be born, ready to rise above the rest.

But the time was upon you, where you were in need of a phoenix, a miracle, but it wasn’t coming. There was no such thing as a phoenix. Only the fire it was born in. And that fire claimed your Alex.

~~~~

The next two days were spent in a mournful blur. You held the letters he’d written to you. Hundreds of them, spanning the course of the months you’d met, to when you’d started courting…to the letter he announced he was being sent to Schuylkill alongside his comrades.

You cried until your head hurt, and your cheeks felt tacky and rough with the salt of your tears, and even then, you continued to cry. By the time you stepped into the carriage, dressed in the black of your mourning clothes, you had no tears left. Your heart ached, but you had no ability to show that loss any longer.

The two hour ride to the camp seemed to pass so quickly, as you stared out the window, and let the rocking of the carriage lull you into a dazed state.

You only snapped yourself from the haze when the door was opened for you, and you helped from it, feet stepping from tempered metal and wood to untilled soil of the New York countryside Normally, you might find this cathartic, an inspiration for your writing, seeing the small cities that sprang from the ground overnight, making homes for the soldiers.

You marched yourself through the rows of white sheet tents, hearing conversations hush as they saw you, and feeling them watching you with sympathetic eyes long after you passed them by. You hesitated at the entrance to Washington’s tent only a moment. You took a deep, shaking breath, composing yourself, before you pushed the flap aside, and allowed yourself in. You didn’t trust your voice not to waver in order to introduce yourself.

You saw the General behind his desk, standing just a bit taller as he laid eyes on you. In front of him, he had gathered Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Aaron Burr, the men your courter fraternized with most often. John’s eyes were red, just as yours had been. And Lafayette and Hercules seemed on the verge of breaking. Aaron, while yes, saddened by the loss of such a bright mind and friend, showed no signs of tears.

“Ah…welcome, (Y/N)” Washington acknowledged you, nodding his head sadly to you. He emerged from the other side of the cherrywood desk, taking a folded coat from the table top. “These items were gathered from the few bags that made it back…being his courter…and that he had no surviving relatives, it’s only right they be given to you.”

Your shaking hands curled around the soft fabric of his coat, your thumb weakly rubbing over material of the clothing. “Thank you, sir.”

“I…(Y/N), I blame myself…I should never have allowed him to accompany the convoy to Schuylkill. He was still suffering from the pneumonia he caught in January-”

“Pneumonia?” you cut him off, gaping incredulously at the thought that you could.have lost him a month ago, to something as simple as a cold gotten out of hand. He’d mentioned nothing of pneumonia to you… “I…I’m sorry, sir…no, sir, don’t blame yourself…had you said no to his accompaniment, I am more than willing to bet he would have found a way to tag along anyhow.” You gave a weak chuckle, looking fondly at the coat you held.

“I’m glad you knew him for what he was, (Y/N), stubborn as a mule, with the kick of one too.” John added, the little, mourning group sharing a soft laugh over the memory of their friend.

The winter days were still short…the snow had melted, but still there was a bite to the air, and already, the sun hung low in the sky. It would be long past dark by the time you made it home, now…

“General Washington?” You stopped him as he was about to take his seat again. “Would you…mind too terribly if I stayed in his tent? Just for the night? It’s getting dark, you see, and I-” he held up a hand.

“Go ahead. I…more than understand the need to feel close to someone who has passed on.” the words were vague…but they promised that he understood. Perhaps, better than anyone else.

“Thank you, sir.” Hercules placed one of his large, warm, work-worn hands on your shoulder, giving a last note of thanks to the General, before he, and the rest of Hamilton’s small crew, led you to his tent.

You lit the candle with a small smile, looking at his desk that was cluttered with papers, organized in a way only he seemed to understand. You touched nothing. He always grew upset when you meddled in his papers. And…even with him gone…you felt no need or will to invoke that wrath from the other side.

His friends left you in the solace you so seeked, sitting down upon his cot and unfolding his coat so carefully, it might as well have been a baby blanket, rather than a military coat. From it, fell a few things, and you panicked a moment, worried you had broken something. A quill hit the ground, followed by a letter.

You slid the jacket around your shoulders, before picking up the quill. It was one you had gifted him…he had been complaining about the lack of good quills he had. That same day, you’d gotten this, white with black accents at the apex of the feather, and saved it with bated breath for his birthday the following month. You placed it, very delicately, in the inkpot on his desk, as though he would lift it again at a moment’s notice, weaving words of freedom, and hope…perhaps love, should he be writing to you.

You then turned your attention to his letter. It was half finished. A first draft, if the scratch marks were to be believed. He wrote to you… He wrote of missing you…of the war crushing so much of the hope he held, and you reigniting it with but a single thought. If you had any tears left, they’d be rolling down your cheeks, staining the last letter he’d written you, half finished or no.

You heard the scream all the way across camp, followed by. Exclamations, some of fear, others of disbelief, and, still others, of joy. Curious, you ventured from the warmth of the tent, into the chilled night air. And you, too, let out a shriek. The people parted like the red sea,

For Alexander.

You nearly fainted.

He was roughed to hell. His eye was black, arm in a sling made from the ripped sleeve from his undershirt. He looked exhausted, and like he was running on sheer force of will. You didn’t doubt it at this point. You stared in wide-eyed shock until he collapsed in the dirt at your feet, making you leap back in shock.

Someone yelled for a medic.

~~~~

You were sitting beside him a few hours later. It was the dead of night. Not a sound was made by the rest of the camp, and here you were, in the medical tent, clutching Alex’s good hand. He was resting, if his breathing was a little labored, but you couldn’t ask for more. He was alive, and that was enough.

You scooted to sit by the head of the bed, softly humming to him as you patted his hand gently, and watched him rest. You cringed as a wet, deep cough ripped from his throat, and tired, bloodshot eyes opened.

It took a second for them to focus, before languidly sliding to take in your form. A lazy, tired smile spread across your love’s lips.

“Good morning, love.” he whispered, voice too raw to do much more.

“Good morning.” You chuckled, kissing his temple gently.

“Darling, why are you dressed like that? All in black? …are you in mourning, dearest? What happened?” Even now, he was thinking for you. He had yet to learn self care, and, truly, you didn’t think he ever would.

“Don’t worry about it, Alex, my mourning is over now.”

You were right.

The fire had consumed your Alex.

But now, he rose from the ashes. Admittedly, yes, weakened. But ready to rise with your young nation.

Your Phoenix

~~~~~

Woooow, I think this is the longest thing I’ve written yet. And for it to a second part of all things!! I enjoyed it, at least. It was fun to write.

Love, Rosalie

MY SMOSH STORY

It’s kind of funny how I discovered Smosh, actually. It was the summer before my junior year of high school and I had just moved to Texas. I was previously living in Germany due to my father being in the military, so moving every 3-5 years was something I got used to.

I was 16 years old at the time, and I was texting one of my lifelong friends in my furniture-less room. He was complaining to me about how annoying his younger brother was being. This being a common occurrence, I responded “What did he do this time?”. He proceeded to tell me about how he was playing these videos on YouTube on repeat about a “stupid pair of idiots”. He asked me if I had ever heard of a channel by the name of ‘Smosh’, and I had not. So, being the curious little teenager I am, I looked them up. The first video I stumbled upon was their Legend of Zelda Rap, and I swear it was love at first sight, or, I guess, love at first listen. I remember being mesmerized by Ian’s gorgeous eyes and vocals throughout the entire video.

Proud of my new discovery, I ran to tell my younger brother, who was 11 at the time, about this amazing video I had just found. He then told me, “Oh yeah, that’s Smosh! I’ve been watching their videos for a couple of years.” I was taken back, wondering why a little kid was watching these videos that was meant for a slightly more mature audience, but I was more upset about him not showing me Smosh when HE had discovered them.

Smosh has done so much for me. I am now 18 years old and I have never been so close to my brother. We have a Jack and Jill bathroom (meaning we have our own separate bedrooms but we each have a door that leads to the same bathroom), and we would watch Smosh, Smosh 2nd Channel, and Smosh Games until the sun would rise the next day. We even had a divided household during the first annual Smosh Winter Games when I was rooting for Team Blue Balls and my brother was cheering for Team Snow Fleeks. However, having Smosh videos to look forward to every week has made my final years of high school fly by. I would like to personally thank every member of the Smosh family for the laughs and love that they have given me these past two years. Anthony’s laugh, Ian’s wit, Keith’s jokes, Noah’s adorkableness, Shayne’s attitude, Olivia’s beauty, and Courtney’s humor are all the things I look forward to every week, and Smosh has never failed me.

Thank you so much, @smosh, for all the wonderful things you do and for the fantastic people that you are.

There is such a deep, cold, numbness in my chest. Every night, when I lay my head down to rest, I feel the rush of sadness cover me as an all-too-familiar blanket.

Words cannot describe the feeling that rushes through my veins. Depression doesn’t even begin to touch this feeling. It’s so much more, it’s so close to hell. Everything is so numb and my skin barely feels like my skin.

I ache to feel again. My chest yearns for brighter, longer-lasting days. I know they’re out there. I’ve seen them, I’ve felt the warmth on my pale skin. This internal winter has frozen over everything I once felt. I need the sun.

—  4:59 AM (s.s)

While playing around with macro shooting recently, I’ve found beauty in the natural effects of the sun shining though the ice (that is to say there is no colour correction or exposure correction on this picture). This was taken a couple days after the ice storm that hit parts of Ontario, the ice has begun to melt, creating a surreal glow to the trees.

Kiron MACRO 105mm f/2.8

©Quinn Johnson Photography 2013

I’ve had a couple of requests for FEMALE LOKI RECS and this will be sort of a mix between genderfluid!Loki and always-a-woman!Loki and shapeshifting!Loki, since I love all the aspects that fandom plays with when it comes to Loki’s gender and sex. It’s not perfect in fandom, I definitely wish there were more exploration of these things, but I still can’t think of another fandom off the top of my head that does nearly as many different things with a character’s gender and sex!

And, yeah, it may have some roots in some pretty terrible things (I think most people agree that 616!Lady Loki in Sif’s body was super gross and we’re all here for Lady Loki as being her own body and not into violation of Sif) but fandom actually does do some fantastic things with the character! And also so much porn with female parts, like, you don’t know how much pussy worship fic I’ve read in this fandom that I NEVER GET in others! While fandom isn’t perfect on this aspect either it’s definitely done a lot to bolster even my affection for female parts and how great they are. In other words, LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE F!LOKI AND GENDERQUEER LOKI, OKAY.

THOR/LOKI - FEM!LOKI RECS:
False Love and Affection by gunboots, thor/loki, NSFW, fem!loki, arranged marriage, 4.8k

Loki’s no stranger to the tales of the many wenches and shield-maidens that have seen Thor’s chambers before her. She has vowed to herself already that she will not become some new dishrag for him to rut into before tossing away. Or alternatively, If Thor thinks that Loki will simply play the part of pretty, demure queen then he’s got another thing coming.

The King Maker by gothicdragon752, thor/loki + other asgardians, fem!loki, NSFW, mortal au, spy au, implied non-con, 42.8k

Thor Odinson is an agent for A5G - a privatised crime-busting organisation - who meets his match and more in the enigmatic criminal, Loki, when on the trail of Thanos.

Ásynja by bakurae, thor/loki + other asgardians, fem!loki, arranged marriage, 24.4k wip

Odin is not the Alföðr without due reason; he is indeed an entirely paternal figure. And so he rather wishes he could give the babe a life – how odd, that though his furs are matted stiff with Jötunn blood, that he should feel pity and long to raise one of their abandoned babes.

1,000 by Misaya, thor/loki + other asgardians, NSFW, jotunn!loki, intersex!loki, some fem!loki, crossdressing, 5.3k

For Loki and Thor’s millennial anniversary, the Jotunheimr royal court comes to visit. Laufey is unperturbed by Loki’s choice of gender, Odin is willing to give the frost giants the benefit of the doubt, and Loki wears a corset. Because Darcy said it would be good. And Darcy was right, as it turns out.

Customer Loyalty by asktheravens, thor/loki, fem!loki, human au, adorableness, 1.5k

Thor is the kind of guy who knows the entire Emergency Room staff by name, but Nurse Loki is his favorite.

Season of Scars by asktheravens, thor/loki + tony stark, fem!loki, human au, 5.7k

Tony came down to help his friend finish his Master’s, but it turns out Thor has a different sort of plan for his winter break. What he needs is a miracle, and Tony is fresh out.

Jewel of Jötunheim by asaloki, thor/loki, NSFW, jotunn!loki, fem!loki, 2k

Already, his mind is spinning with how to court her, this exotic Jötun woman, that he might make her his. As it happens, he needn’t have bothered to consider: as soon as the doors are closed behind them, Loki’s hands are on his chest, blue splayed like a splash of paint against his sun-bronzed skin.

15 Day OTP Challenge (chapter 4) by umakoo [ tumblr link ], thor/loki, NSFW, fem!loki, post-pregnancy lactation kink, ~1k

The early morning light bathed the room in warm gold as Loki sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his fur slippers, ready to join his sleeping brother under the covers.

Yggdrasil, In Spring by Cthonical, thor/loki, NSFW, some fem!loki, 2.2k

There’s more than one reason why Loki likes to make Thor jealous.

A Light in the Heart by AraSigyrn, thor/loki, fem!loki, genderswap/sexswap, 1.1k

“Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart” - Kahlil Gibran

And the strays are pining for their unrequited mothers by Sarek (Sarahzile), thor/loki, NSFW, fem!loki, fem!thor, 4.5k

Thor receives a visit from her wayward not-sister. Things seem to be going well for the future CEO of Asgard Industries, but it never quite goes that way, does it?

Ritual by KillTheDirector, thor/loki, NSFW, fem!loki, 1.8k

Loki was banished to the outer reaches of Asgard, close enough to remain under Heimdall’s watch, but far enough to be unable to cause chaos.


THOR & LOKI - FEM!LOKI RECS:
A Bright and Bitter Flame by forthegreatergood, loki + avengers, fem!loki, amensia!loki, divergent timeline, aztec mythology, 216k

Post-Thor, canon-divergence. Loki doesn’t survive his fall from the Bifrost and winds up reincarnated on Midgard as a mortal magician named Lucy with no memory of her previous life. Her decision-making skills have not been much improved by the transformation.

full details + recs under the cut!

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I just want to keep talking about spirits and babies AU it’s so good??

Michael who looks like smoke when he’s not trying to be seen. A faint blur of gray among the bright colors of the rest of the forest. He’s like the glimmer of heat on a road that’s too hot, making the air look like it shinned. Being too close to Michael makes Gavin sweat, but in the way standing in the bright sun on cool day will.

Ray hides along the trees lines. In the shadows his skin perfectly blends into the tree park. Flowers bloom in his hair when he’s happy or excited, but will dry out and fall when he’s scared. In the spring and summer his hair is the color of the healthiest grass, but in the fall his hair has more shades of brown, red, and gold than the leaves, and in the winter it turns black like burnt firewood. He always smells like roses and lavender and sandalwood. 

Jeremy looks like he was made from stone. His eyes are rich gray, and his skin looks like marble. Gavin first thought he was a ghost, or a vampire. Jeremy wins him over by picking up some stones along the river side and turning them into dragons figurines in his hands. Being near Jeremy calms Gavin, like the feeling of cold creek water against his hands.

Ryan’s always in the distance, Gavin sees him even he tries to hide. He looks like a man, like Geoff and Jack, but gray, and like his edges are blurred. Like he’s always fading or being blown away, but he never goes anywhere. But his skin and clothes swirl and change, the clouds that make up his skin shifting as they pleased. When Ryan was mad, or one of the lads did something to scare him, lightning would flash across his body, and his voice would echo like thunder through Gavin’s chest. He usually goes home after Ryan goes off, but Ryan doesn’t really scare him anymore.

the-great-impasta  asked:

So i was thinking. Jay likes days when it's overcast, he especially likes days when it's raining (though maybe not when he has to go on patrol). He grew up in Gotham, he's used to a horizon so close you can touch it and a sky so filled with cloud and smog that you can always see the bat signal reflecting off the artificial ceiling. Open country makes him anxious, though not as anxious as a clear sky and a warm day. He tends to stay inside those days, doesn't like seeing them so he keeps (1/3)

the curtains closed (and maybe a blanket round his shoulders even if it is boiling hot because let’s be real, nothing means comfort like a blanket cape). In winter it’s not so bad because at least it’s cold right? And the light is weak and has that watery quality to it so he can deal. But in summer? With the sun beating down and baking everything around him? He can’t handle those days, can’t handle the way his breath catches in his lungs (it’s just the heat he tells himself), can’t handle (2/3)

the sting of something dripping in his eyes (it’s sweat, just sweat), can’t handle that days like that are so much like that day in Ethiopia and it’s all he can do to keep breathing against the (pain of broken ribs and a collapsed lung) panic constricting his chest. (3/3)

Planeptune Summer! [Closed RP]

22 June. The date Neptune marked a while ago. It’s a pretty cool, special day. Why? Blanc’s going to get to experience her first day in Planeptune’s summer! After all, Neptune had to deal with Lowee’s brutal winter. So it’s kind of a nice change of pace. She and Nepgear have filled and readied a pool on one of the decks at Planeptower.

Nothin’ but the sun and a great time at the pool! She’s also got some pool toys and such for a more fun time. Also, pool snorkeling has to happen. Same with a splash war. The water at the deep end of the pool pretty much consumes Neptune, so she’ll stay in the shallow end and hope Blanc does too.

……

Does Blanc even really know how to swim with all the water in Lowee being ice 70% of the year?