maggie greene had to watch her father get beheaded, her sister’s dead body carried out when she was expecting a reunion, get on her knees while having pregnancy problems as her husband’s head was being bashed with a bat till he died, and the first thing she says after she gets up is to fight back
if that doesn’t give you motivation to work harder well sHIT i don’t know what will
Synopsis: There was you. An ordinary human girl, wrong place, wrong time. Then there was Loki. God of Mischief, war criminal. When Thor brings you to Asgard to ensure your safety, there is nobody else you come to hate more passionately than his evil foster brother. Then Odin finally decides on a new and much more effective kind of punishment for Loki, causing your whole world to fall apart. He would simply marry him off to a mortal, someone who is, by all means, “beneath” him. You.
Pairing: Loki x Reader Rating: M Chapter: 1/1 (Oneshot) Words: 7217 Warnings: smut, forced marriage
David Tennant’s Contributions to Doctor Who Episodes Evolution of the Daleks “Walking on Theatre Chairs” Edition
Excerpts from Doctor Who Magazine issue #383: James Strong’s “Director’s Diary” for Daleks in Manhattan/Evolution of the Daleks
The Doctor faces the remaining Daleks and the imprisoned Sec in the theatre. We have to use the whole space, so I decide to put the Doctor and the company in the stalls. However, that puts them miles away from - and at least six feet lower than - the Daleks on stage. I ask David how he feels about crawling to the front and leaping on stage, but he suggests standing on the seats instead. Genius! David is now eye to eyestalk with his nemesis.
Poster’s note: This post is part of a series on some of the contributions that David made to episodes of Doctor Who, because he sometimes gets questions about ad-libs or input he may have had to episodes, but he tends to not take credit for his various additions/suggestions - so I figured I’d list some for him. I think this one is notable because it is a cool moment made even cooler by the fact that he walks across those chairs without breaking eye-contact with the Daleks (and manages to do so without falling and breaking his neck)
Anonymous said: hii, could you possibly do a imagine where the reader is like really freaking shy, especially when jeff gives her hickies 😂 but then he like comfort her about it say that the reader doesn’t have to be shy? basically just a really sweet and loving jeff. thank you! 💓
your p.o.v ━
you were currently walking down the hall with one of your close friends, hannah baker. you were both quietly chatting about the long school day you had, both thanking god that it was friday.
as the both of you neared your locker, you saw your tall boyfriend jeff, leaning against it with a tired expression on his face.
“hi love,” he said, approaching you with open arms and a tired smile. you walked right into his strong arms, instantly wrapping your arms around the middle of his torso.
you were too short to reach his neck, even on your tiptoes. once you felt his arms wrap around you, he pulled you as close as possible against him mumbling a tired, “i love you.”
you grinned, pulling back a bit and tilting your head to gaze up at him. “i love you,” you whispered, biting your lower lip as both of your eyes stayed locked on each other.
“um, i should probably get going,” hannah laughed, making your eyes snap towards the brown haired girl, but you stayed in your position with jeff nonetheless.
“we still gonna go eat lunch tomorrow?” you asked, a small smile spreading across your plump lips. she nodded, “for sure, just text me when you wanna go.”
your eyes lit up, “absolutely,” you said, feeling jeff’s hands slowly make their way up and down the small of your back, rubbing you softly. you leaned your head down against his chest, still staring at hannah as she turned to leave.
“have fun you two!” she yelled, making her way out of the school. it was truly a blessing that there wasn’t a lot of kids left in the halls, most of them leaving as soon as the bell rung.
“you need anything in your locker?” you heard jeff mumble, then you felt him lightly kiss the top of your head.
you nodded, “yeah, come on,” you said, feeling your chest tighten as you pulled out of his strong embrace. he grabbed your small hand in his rather large one, walking towards your locker with you right on his heel.
“you still have practice?” you questioned, knowing you would have to walk home alone.
jeff sighed, “yeah, we didn’t have practice on wednesday so coach is making us practice today.”
you pouted, “that sucks, i wanted you to come over,” you said, stopping right in front of your locker, then quickly focusing on opening it. you sucked at opening your locker, usually jeff or hannah doing it for you since you always messed up the combination.
you felt jeff’s eyes on you, watching you struggle, but you were determined to open it this time on your own.
it took you a good three tries, before finally hearing the lock click as you swung your locker door open. “finally!” you huffed, rolling your eyes. you heard jeff’s deep chuckle, making your eyes snap up towards the jock. “what?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing in question.
he shook his head, “nothing, nothing. you’re just so adorable,” he said softly, giving you a toothy smile. you blushed, turning your head back towards your locker and getting the book you would need to do your homework over the weekend.
“you’re handsome,” you spoke softly, almost mumbling. you were always shy around jeff, but he didn’t mind. in fact, that was one of his favorite things about you, besides your laugh. your little laugh drove him insane, always making him laugh with you even if nothing was funny.
you tensed up slightly, feeling your boyfriend move behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. jeff leaned down, placing a small, but gentle kiss against your sweet spot. you ran your tongue over your lips, tilting your head to the side, your eyes fluttering close.
“i’m going to be so late to practice,” he breathed against your neck, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he started harshly sucking on your sweet spot.
your eyes snapped open, before you relaxed your entire body, causing your full body weight to lean against jeff.
a soft, little moan escaped your wet lips, jeff’s arms traveling to your stomach, lifting up your shirt and gently letting his fingers stroke over your stomach.
this instantly caused you to release a small giggle, your body squirming against him. he laughed too, giving your neck a final kiss before pulling away, as if nothing ever happened.
you looked around nervously, not seeing anyone besides you and jeff, which you were thankful for.
you turned to look back at your boyfriend, noticing his eyes already on you with a small, cheeky smirk on his lips.
you avoided eye contact with him, feeling your face heat up. “you shouldn’t have done that,” you huffed, trying your hardest to look annoyed.
jeff laughed loudly, his laugh echoing throughout the hallway. “you’re so stubborn love,” jeff teased, while looking down at you with twinkling blue eyes.
you glared at him, “how am i stubborn?”
“well,” he started, “the fact that you’re so stubborn about me giving you a hickey because of your supposed ‘shyness’ for people seeing it makes you stubborn,” he stated, his tone sounding smart.
you felt yourself tense, a small frown appearing on your face. you couldn’t hold it in, you started rambling uncontrollably. “look, jeff, it’s not that i don’t want you to give me hickeys, it’s just that i don’t want people seeing it and then later on thinking all we do is-”
jeff suddenly cut you off, his lips pressed roughly against yours. you kissed him back, putting as much passion into the kiss. you felt jeff’s tongue swipe across your bottom lip, almost begging to invade your sweet, little mouth.
you opened your mouth slightly, both of your tongues swirling around one another’s, searching each other’s mouths. you moaned, letting the thick textbook that you had in your hand drop to the floor, making a loud sound as the book hit the floor.
you jumped, gasping as jeff pulled away, his eyes swimming with lust and most importantly, love.
“you don’t have to worry about anyone else’s opinions,” he whispered, his lips wet with your saliva. “it’s just you and me baby,” he continued, staring you dead in the eyes.
your heart melted, a small smile spreading across your lips. “i love you,” you whispered, your hands making their way up his chest, then moving towards his shoulders, gripping them tightly.
jeff smiled, “i love you most.”
♡ ♡ ♡
this is my first imagine for this blog, and there will be plenty more to come! also, please be patient, i have over 25 requests that i need to do, and all will be up asap! thank you!
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.
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
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
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
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 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
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.”