well now i know what to do with my free time

Tom Holland | Marry Me?

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Request: hi love! could you possibly do an imagine about tom proposing to you, but like can you try and make it different from the usual proposal? thank you! (send in requests)

Summary: Tom struggles to find the perfect moment to pop the question. 

Warnings: Deadass the most fluff I’ve ever written in my life

Word Count: 1.4K


Tom had been planning out your proposal for much longer than he’d care to admit to anyone, except maybe his mum; in fact, she was the first person to know about his future plans. It was right after the two of you had visited his parents home and Tom saw how well you had managed to fit into his family.  

He watched you laughing heartily with his brothers and talking avidly with his mother and he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face as he leant against the kitchen doorway. Only one thought was running through his mind as he stared at you; I am a goner and when you glanced at him, a smile completely lighting up your face, he couldn’t help but fall in love with you all over again.

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About Damn Time

Originally posted by canonspngifs

Anon request: could you please write a dean x reader fic where they end up locked in a confined space together that starts as annoyance but leads to more? and they’ve been hunting together a while but always had an antagonistic/teasing relationship to cover up that they have feelings for each other

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings: SMUT (that’s right, I wrote some smut. Can’t say it’s good, but it’s there) language, mention of death, minor angst, lots of sass

A/N: This is also for @wayward-marvel-sommer1196​‘s sarcastic writing challenge! Sorry I’m a little late - honestly I’m shocked and thrilled it didn’t take longer to finish this. Thanks for the fun challenge, and have a great semester, hun! (my prompt was "Oh, I offended you with my opinion? You should hear the ones I keep to myself…" and is in bold)

A/N/N: Look guys, a thing that isn’t firefighter Dean! It’s a miracle!

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His || Jungkook || 0.21

pairing: jungkook x reader

type: angst, fluff, smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6 | 0.7 | 0.8 | 0.9 | 0.10 | 0.11 | 0.12 | 0.13 | 0.14 | 0.15 | 0.16 | 0.17 | 0.18 | 0.19 | 0.20 | 0.21 |

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Not Strangers Anymore

A/N: Froy Guttierez literally invented being cute!! I am still working on my Dylan NYSM AU and thought I would try a new person as an apology for the chapter taking so long.

Warning: fingering, making out (Is that even a warning?)

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THE GUARDIAN: St. Vincent: ‘I’m in deep nun mode’

For years, the Grammy winner was best known for her experimental music. Then dating Cara Delevingne put her in the spotlight. What’s next, asks Tom Lamont?

Saturday 19 August 2017 06.00 EDT

The musician St Vincent, a 34-year-old Texan whose real name is Annie Clark, is talking about body piercings. Though her outfit today includes such exotic items as a leopardskin onesie and a pink blazer made of some sort of wetsuit fabric, Clark doesn’t have any outlandish piercings herself; she just has droll and strong opinions about them, as she has droll and strong opinions about a lot of things.

“Didn’t it always make you laugh,” Clark says, already laughing, softly, in the museum in London where we meet one summer afternoon, “how people in the 90s who had, like, tongue rings? How they’d always make some sort of comment, intimating that it made them, like, better at oral sex? That was the whole wink-wink thing, right? That a tongue ring meant they were kinda kinky? But then, I guess the challenge – because they were constantly fidgeting with this gross thing in their mouth! I guess the challenge became: no one wanted to get head from them.” She hoots with amusement, just loud enough to turn heads in the hushed museum.

Conversation with Clark is like this: a bit unexpected, a bit arch, a bit sexy. She sometimes speaks so slowly and carefully it’s as if she’s reviewing individual words before committing to them. But, as with the lyrics of the songs she writes as St Vincent – always inventive, always making disarming leaps between ideas – you can never predict where her thinking will travel next. Quickly the chat about oral sex gives way to the matter of her own death, and her expectations of a brisk cremation. Before I know quite how, she’s got me talking about an irrational fear of being buried alive. “Get cremated!” she urges.

I ask Clark – who will soon release her fifth solo album, a follow-up to 2014’s self-titled St Vincent – why she suggested we meet in London’s Wellcome Collection, to combine our interview with a tour around the museum’s collection of antique medical equipment. Clark peers with interest at a display of old enema syringes and explains that in every unfamiliar city, “you should try to see something real and strange”. It was something the Talking Heads frontman David Byrne once advised her about touring the world, and she’s stuck to it ever since.

So far I’ve enjoyed the kind of success where I might get a free appetiser sent to my table. But it’s never a main That phrase – “real and strange” – describes Clark’s appeal as a musician. She is a generational talent on guitar, one of those poised, unperspiring types who can do the manually ludicrous while hardly appearing to try. Seen live, Clark’s fingers flit over the strings of her instrument with utmost precision – that’s the real in her. The strange comes via the writing and the composition, which on her four St Vincent albums since 2007 have tended towards the experimental and jagged-edged. Lyrically, she might choose a thing (prostitution, CCTV surveillance, prescription drugs) and then chew it over in repetitive, often anguished ways, before elevating the mood with a sudden joke. “Oh, what an ordinary day!” she sang on a track from her last album. “Take out the garbage… Masturbate.”

Genre labels won’t stick to her. Song to song, Clark might channel Björk then Iron Maiden, then belt out a disco number before pretending to be a fey, shoe-gazing whisper-singer. In the manner of FKA twigs or Héloïse “Christine and the Queens” Letissier, she is a performance artist as much as she is a performer; last year Clark played a gig dressed as a toilet, complete with cistern, protruding bowl and flush. And like twigs, who for many years has been in a relationship with the Twilight actor Robert Pattinson, Clark has managed to cultivate a shadowy, unknowable persona while at the same time dating a wildly high-profile superstar. For 18 months or so, until a break-up made public last summer, Clark was going out with Cara Delevingne, arguably the best-known model in the world.

St Vincent and Glass Animals play in London, February 2014. Photograph: London News Pictures/Rex

In the museum, while leaning over a glass display of clay death masks and shrunken human heads, we discuss Clark’s scaling achievements as St Vincent. From album to album, over a decade, her sales as well as her reviews have improved in happy tandem. The most recent album, 2014’s St Vincent, was her best to date, a wild, raucous thing, written in part during Ambien-soaked nights on tour, that eventually won her a Grammy. “It sounds like a very Pollyanna-ish thing to say,” Clark says, “but my ethos has always been to just make the music that I hear in my head. And I’ve been incredibly lucky, so far, that that’s seemed to correspond to external progress.”

Where does she place herself right now in the music industry? “So far I’ve enjoyed the kind of success where I might get, like, a free appetiser sent to my table,” Clark says. “And that’s awesome, I’m thrilled by that.” She fixes a level gaze before adding: “But it’s never a main.”

A word about her hair. Three years ago, while touring and promoting that self-titled record, Clark had a fantastic and unforgettable do – a triangular mountain of silver-bleached curls that made her look, in her own words, “like a scary cult leader”. I half-expected her to show up that way today, under the same teetering pile of silver, but Clark says the bleach killed off that haircut years back. She had to shear off her frazzled curls, “and then my look was less cult leader, more ‘Why do you have a rodent on your head?’”

She has a flair for naming her own haircuts, having cycled through such past constructions as “the Audrey Hepburn with anger issues” and “the Nick Cave minus the receding hairline”, and when I ask about the straightened black parting she has today, Clark decides: “I want to call this one… the Lara-Flynn-Boyle-in-the-90s.”

She isn’t quite such a speedy creator of names for her albums. The new LP still doesn’t have a title. I’ve heard about two-thirds of it and it’s superb – the same appealing, enigmatic, genre-spliced collision of ideas and influences that St Vincent fans cherish, only this time with a sleeker, more accessible through-line that ought to further expand her listenership. Some of the tracks, such as the scratchy, stirring Hang On Me, would work as well over the titles of a grand HBO drama as played through fizzing speakers in a dive bar. There are moments of peculiar, wonderful poetry. “Sometimes I feel like an inland ocean,” Clark sings, on a track called Smoking Section. “Too big to be a lake, too small to be an attraction.”

A number of the songs certainly sound as though they pick over the end of a serious relationship, in particular an astonishing meta-epic she has written called LA, which seems to be about a break-up (“How can anybody have you and lose you and not lose their mind, too?”), while at the same time being about a fiercely avant garde musician’s reluctance to do anything as obvious as write about a break-up. “I guess that’s just me, honey, I guess that’s how I’m built,” Clark sings, “I try to write you a love song but it comes out in a melt.”

Delevingne would be the most likely identity of “honey” here. But Clark is far too cool in person – and too determinedly non-specific as a lyricist – to admit to anything like that. “I don’t love it when musicians speak about their records being ‘diaries’ or ‘therapy’,” she says. “It removes that level of deep instinct and imagination that is necessary in order to make something that transcends.” She adds that such ways of talking too often become “erroneously gendered, in the sense that the assumption from the culture at large is that women only know how to write things autobiographically, or diaristically, which is a sexist way of implying that they lack imagination.”

This being said, Clark concedes, “my whole life is in this record. And this is one of the first interviews I’ve done about it. And I guess I haven’t 100% figured out how to talk about it. I mean…” She laughs suddenly, a brilliant, solemnity-shattering hoot. Clark is aware there will be an assumption that a lot of her new songs are about her ex. “I’ve really got to figure this out, right? If I’m going to ever be able to talk about the record?”

As is her custom whenever she’s finalising an album, Clark has currently placed herself in what she calls “deep nun mode”. Single. Work-focused. “Completely monastic. Sober, celibate – full nun.” I’m pretty sure she’s joking when she adds, in her slow, funny, unpredictable way, “I mean there are always sex plans. But none for, like, a month.”

Photograph: Arcin Sagdic for the Guardian

Clark was born in 1982, briefly an Oklahoman before her parents separated and Clark relocated with her mother and two older sisters to a suburb of Dallas, Texas. “My mom was a social worker. She dedicated her life to doing very admirable things. One of my sisters more or less followed on that path, making the world a better place. But I did not.” Though Clark would see her father during school holidays, she describes her teenage years as “matri-focal”. She was surrounded mostly by women. “And Mom’s mantra was: ‘We girls can do anything.’ She didn’t explicitly call it feminism, but it was baked into our DNA.” Her mother had a quirky, creative streak.

Once, after she’d accidentally crashed the family car, she was so intrigued by the aesthetics of the wreck, she climbed out to take photographs of it. “There was probably a picture taken of me and my sisters every day of our childhood. Have I seen any of those pictures? No. Has she gotten them developed? Mostly not. It was just her way of feeling safe, I guess, as if things would last for ever because she had documentation of it.”

Is Clark the same in her songwriting? Documenting and so holding on to vanishing events and feelings? “I’m trying to get rid of things,” Clark laughs. “I’m trying to expel them.”

We walk to Regent’s Park, where the warm weather and an outdoor art show have drawn a milling crowd. A sculpture installed by the park entrance resembles a tall pile of replica footballs. Fitting, as Clark was quite a player when she was young, soccer one of an eclectic assembly of high-school interests. “I was probably insufferable. I was the president of the theatre club, the kid who put Bertrand Russell quotes on their wall.” When I ask who her friends were at the time, she does not hesitate: “Oh, the sluts and the weirdos.”

Clothes from a selection, garethpughstudio.com. Styling: Priscilla Kwateng. Stylist’s assistant: Stanislava Sihelska. Hair: Stephen Beaver at Artists & Company. Makeup: Dele Olo. Photograph: Arcin Sagdic for the Guardian

Music was her main obsession. “I was a 10-year-old fan of Pearl Jam and Nirvana, and I would’ve got into a fistfight defending them. Art mattered.” Her maternal uncle, Tuck Andress, was a touring musician, half of a jazz duo called Tuck & Patti, and during the summer Clark graduated from high school he gave her a job assisting his band on tour. Clark enrolled at a music college in Boston after that and lasted a couple of years before dropping out and heading back out on the road, this time as a musician in her own right. She toured successfully as part of the expansive, experimental band the Polyphonic Spree and later as a guitarist for Sufjan Stevens.

She’s always been a political liberal – these days, one in mourning over last November’s election (“I feel like we watched America vote on their daddy issues”) as well as the reign of President Trump, a man she refers to as “a cartoon yeast infection”. As early as her teenage years, Clark had to get accustomed to the fact that a great many political and social norms, predominant in the suburbs where she grew up, were not her norms.

She believes in the essential fluidity of sexuality and of gender. (“Boys!” she sings on a new track called Sugarboy, “I am a lot like you. Girls! I am a lot like you.”) “The mutability of gender and sexuality, as you can probably imagine – that was not a prevalent subject in the suburbs of Dallas when I was growing up. Not even a little bit! And no shade on it now. I love Texas, I’m there all the time seeing family. But I was always gonna get out of there. It felt imperative that I get out of there.”

I can only write about my life, and dating Cara was a big part of my life In her 20s she moved to New York, borrowing the name St Vincent from one of the city’s hospitals, by way of its mention in a Nick Cave song. (St Vincent’s hospital was where “Dylan Thomas died drunk”, as Cave sang in There She Goes, My Beautiful World.) She released a debut record called Marry Me in 2007 and toured it through Europe to dispiritingly inattentive audiences, carrying away from London a special memory of “playing in a pub where you definitely couldn’t hear me over the crowd”. Between her next couple of records, Actor (2009) and Strange Mercy (2011), her career really started to take off. She performed on US chatshows; wrote and wrote; founded an influential creative relationship with Byrne, after he approached her at one of her gigs. “I was kind of stunned,” Byrne later said, of seeing Clark play guitar for the first time. The pair would collaborate on a celebrated 2012 album, Love This Giant.

By the time her 2014 album won the Grammy for best alternative album, Clark was entitled to ask, as she did ask: “Alternative to what?” Prince came to one of her shows, and she was invited to guest-guitar for the surviving members of Nirvana, later for Taylor Swift. As an award nominee at the Brits in spring 2015, Clark came and went on the arm of Delevingne – and pretty much overnight her public persona became a curious, split thing. As St Vincent, she was a fiercely respected musician, patiently fattening a fanbase in the most honourable way, by writing and recording and touring hard. As the “secret girlfriend” (Metro) who was “secretly dating” (Mirror) Delevingne, she was tabloid feed. Clark saw first-hand what it was like for somebody she cared about to be “hounded, hassled, hacked – all of that stuff”.

‘Certain levels of fame are unenviable’: with Talking Heads’ David Byrne

“Having seen certain levels of fame,” Clark tells me, “having been, y’know, fame adjacent… That in and of itself seems very hectic to me. If it’s a natural byproduct of doing what it is you love? Then great. But there are certain levels of fame that I’ve seen, just by proxy, that are unenviable.”

If the upward trend of her music continues, she might find herself in a similar place, whether willed or not. Clark shrugs. “I can’t control any of that stuff. So what am I gonna do? I’m just gonna keep making music. I know this is another Pollyanna answer, but it’s about the music. Did I write better songs than on the last album? Did I sing them better? Did I play better guitar? Did I connect?”

Maybe it was that I heard a low-quality version of the track, but on a new-album song called Pills there was a minor failure to connect. I misheard the song as having a lyric about somebody being “defamed by fame”, something I took to refer to Clark’s 18-month stretch in a celebrity relationship and all the demeaning wrangling with paparazzi and gossip bloggers that must have entailed. Clark looks panicked and says, no, the lyric was about someone being “de-fanged by fame… What I was referring to was that people’s art sometimes suffers when they get into that too-big-to-fail mindset. How things get really boring when people get too risk-averse, or too comfortable, or when they have overheads that are too high.” She can’t seem to get my mishearing of the lyric out of her head, though. “Oh!” she says eventually. “Maybe ‘defamed by fame’ is better?”

For a moment she seems to be wondering how quickly she can sprint to Heathrow from here, and fly back to America to rerecord it. In the end she decides she’ll let listeners hear what they want to hear. “There is no way to control how people perceive a song. And if you try to, my God, are you in for a sisyphean task.”

In the park we walk up a promenade between neatly manicured flowerbeds. When we settle on a bench, Clark seems overawed. “This is so beautiful,” she says. “I love this. Do you know how hard we’d have to work, in the States, to keep something this beautiful this beautiful?”

With former partner Cara Delevingne in September 2015. Photograph: Dave Benett/Getty Images for Burberry

She’s now ready to address the Delevingne quandary. When the new record is out, reference to her ex will be exhaustively scoured for – it’s already started to happen, as when Clark released a single called New York in June, and Vice responded with a think-piece: “Is St Vincent’s new track a love song for Cara Delevingne?” Nobody trawled through her past writing about CCTV surveillance, or masturbation, in quite that way. “Nuh uh,” Clark says.

She takes a breath. “Right! Um. I’ve always kept my writing close to the vest. And by that I mean I’m always gonna write about my life. Sometimes, in the past, I did that way more obliquely than now. But it’s almost like an involuntary reflex. I can’t help but be living and also taking notes on what’s going on, always trying to figure out how to put that into a song. And that does not mean there’s literal truth in every lyric on the way. Of course not. But I can only write about my life, and that – dating Cara – was a big part of my life. I wouldn’t take it off-limits, just because my songs might get extra scrutiny. People would read into them what they would, and you know what? Whatever they thought they found there would be absolutely right. And at the same time it would be absolutely wrong.”

Clark looks out across the park. “A song that means something very specific to me, a song in which I might be obliquely or otherwise exploring some really dark things, is a song that another person might hear and go: ‘Wow, this one really puts a smile on my face.’ I’m thrilled by that. I’m thrilled that people might take my songs into their life and make whatever suits them out of it.”

Clark nods: done. She lets her gaze travel over the park, over the sculptures in the distance, a couple of which look like giant ice-cream cones.

Earlier, she said that she’d got to a point in her career where strangers would send over free starters. If this new album does as well it should, I start to say… “I know, right?” Clark interrupts. “If I play my cards right? With this album? I might – get dessert.” She hoots.

• St Vincent’s new single, New York, is out now through Loma Vista/Caroline International.

• Opening photograph by Arcin Sagdic for The Guardian

[ Source ]
“I love this part.”

For @tomshollandss who suggested this prompt!

Summary: When you and Tom first meet on an airplane.


“Have a great flight,” the flight attendants greeted you in unison. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. Shuffling down the aisle, you looked at the rows, and found your seat: aisle seat of a trio. It didn’t look too cramped, but a little too close for comfort. You hoped this flight went well, especially because it was insanely long, LAX to London Heathrow. You and flights didn’t always get along. Usually, you wound up sitting next to a screaming child, spilling your drinks, or being stuck next to the bathroom. Except this time, you were prepared. You had ingested probably one too many sleeping pills in hopes of sleeping this flight away.

Starting to zone out, you got yourself situated: placing your luggage in the proper compartment, clicking your seat belt, resting your head in your big, comfy neck pillow. You noticed people passing by, the pills starting to overtake your consciousness. 

“Hello,” you heard someone say to your left. Groggily, you turned your head, yawned aggressively, and offered a sheepish “Hi, sorry. I’m really tired.” Making it barely through the safety video, you were completely asleep by the time the plane reached the air. 


Waking up several hours later, you were mildly disoriented. Looking around, the lights were still on and many passengers were awake, watching movies or talking to the people around them. In your fit of intense drowsiness, you realized you left your phone in the luggage in the storage bin above. Instead of putting in the effort to get up, you looked to your left to see the man next to you reading a huge manuscript of sorts. 

“Hi,” you gently tapped him on the arm. “Sorry to bother you. But, what time is it?”

“It’s almost noon,” he said, his English accent prominent. “I think they’re going to serve lunch soon.” 

Your stomach growled in response: “Whoa, I was asleep for way too long. I’m sorry if I snored too loudly.”

He laughed, you cocked your head slightly. He looked oddly familiar, but you weren’t too sure if your sleepiness was playing with you.


Deciding watching a movie and enjoying your food was the best option of killing the last couple hours of the flight, you scrolled through the options. You landed on Captain America: Civil War, one of your favorites. Clicking the movie, you could have sworn you saw the guy next to you nod in approval. 

About an hour into the film, “Left Hand Free” flooded your earbuds, QUEENS, sprawled against the New York skyline. Peter Parker came onto your screen, in his high school, awkward glory. You really loved this movie, how it perfectly integrates the characters that will eventually come–

“I love this part,” the man said, interrupting your thoughts. Taking out one earbud and facing him, you said: “I know, me too. I love this mov–” you stopped.

Tom Holland was smiling at you with a stupid grin across his face.

“Oh, wow,” you laughed, realizing who had been sitting next to you this entire time. “No wonder you love this part. Wow, hi, I’m Y/N. I’m embarrassed now… Seriously, I’m truly sorry if I snored.”

Tom laughed, “No, no. Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’m Tom, and this is Harrison,” he pointed at his best friend in the seat to his left. Harrison was dead asleep, mouth wide open. “He’s the one that should apologize to me about snoring.”

You paused the movie, now totally awake and intrigued by Tom. Truthfully, you were upset that you spent so many hours sleeping. You two started talking about random topics; he was incredibly easy to talk to, charming to say the least. You barely noticed that the last couple hours of the flight flew by.

When it was announced that the flight would be landing soon, you put on your seat belt and said, “Thank you so much for talking to me. Flights are not usually my friend, and it was nice to not have someone extremely irritating next to me,” you smiled gratefully. 

“I wasn’t annoying? Thank god,” he laughed. “I was trying my best… So, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing in London?” Tom asked.

“Oh, I’m taking some classes here for school. I go to college in the States, where I’m from, which you can probably guess that from my accent. But, I’ve always found London so inviting and I’ve always wanted to go… So here I am!” 

“You’ve never been to London?”

“No, I haven’t. But, I’m very excited.”

“Well, I could show you around. I’ve lived here all my life, and I know where everything is. How about I give you my number?” he suggested.

“Um, okay. Sure, that sounds great,” you smiled, as Tom reached for his phone.

Once landed and off the plane, you walked with Harrison and Tom to luggage claim. When you all found your bags, Tom tapped you on the shoulder: “Hey, we have to go now, it was great talking to you!”

“Okay,” you said, a little upset your time with Tom was over. “Hopefully, I’ll see you again?”

Tom smiled and started to walk away with Harrison: “Yes! I’ll message you.”


5:30 p.m., the clock read. You just arrived back home from your first day of classes. It was a tad overwhelming, but the courses were going to be exciting. Buzz, buzz, your phone vibrated. Pulling it from your pocket, it was a new message from an unknown number.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Tom. Hope you had a good first full day in London! I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me tonight?“

“I would love to,” you replied, smiling. You had a good feeling about this. 

Hate

Pairing: Peter X Reader
Warnings: Language
A/N: I’m getting close to getting caught up with all the stories on my wattpad, sadly I’m not putting out too much new material because school is coming and I’m hella busy, but hopefully I can write more soon! So in the meantime, feel free to send me some requests so I have something to write when I get the time! :D

-

“I don’t get it, he’s so frustrating!” You complained to your friend, throwing your hands up in annoyance as you walked out of your fifth period. She rolled her eyes, used to your rants by now.

“Y/N, he just answered the question.”

“Yeah, but he was like, ‘well, what Y/N here failed to point out is that-’ before he gave his opinion, that was so unnecessary!”

It wasn’t news that you hated Peter Parker, and it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t like you much either. It had been going on since freshman year when the rivalry began. It started with a simple science fair win on him, then the decathlon being won by your final answer, and both of you suddenly tried to out-do each other in every possible way.

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Tickles?

Requests: anon asked ‘Hi! I know you’re busy, but what do you think about writing a little Destiel when you have some spare time and all previous requests done? Cas don’t know what ticles are and when Dean finds out he tries to make him a giggling mess, just to discover that Cas is not, in fact, ticklish and is very confused about what on earth Dean tried to do with his fingers on his tummy.’

Warnings: Fluff 

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 950ish words

A/N: Thanks for the request anon! Sorry that it took quite a while. I hope you like the fic and that I didn’t disappoint ❤️


“Aren’t you tired, Dean?”

Dean was splayed across the couch and his head rested on Cas’ lap. This gave Cas complete access to play with the strands of Dean’s hair.

“Not at all buddy,” Dean said, getting more comfortable in Cas’ lap. “I’m not ditching you on movie night.”

Dean had chosen an old romantic comedy for the night. Dean and Cas had this thing that they do - every Thursday night Dean would introduce his boyfriend to one of his favourite movies. Whenever he wasn’t too sleepy or tired, Sam would join them.

“Alright Dean,” Cas sighed. He knew that nothing would make Dean change his mind.

Cas continued to run his hand through Dean’s hair. Dean let out a small smile and, without taking his eyes from the screen, looped an arm across Cas’ waist.

Dean never let anyone, other than Cas, touch his hair. There was something about Cas’ touch that was both comforting and intimate at the same time.

Cas turned his attention back to the movie and soon got lost into the story. On the screen, the main character was being tickled by her girlfriend.

“Dean?”

“Yeah Cas?” Dean’s eyes which had been on the screen now focused at Cas.

Cas had to restrain from taking a sharp breath when Dean’s olive eyes met his own eyes. Cas loved the freckles sprayed across Dean’s nose and whenever the two were in close proximity, he couldn’t help but count them. But he never got to finish counting them as he was always interrupted.

“Cas?” Dean called again, but a faint blush tinted the hunter’s cheeks when he realised that Cas was trying to count his freckles again. 

“Dean why is Amy laughing when her girlfriend’s hurting her?” He asked, referring to the main character.

A brief look of confusion took over Dean’s face as he turned his face to the screen.

“Oh no Cas, Amy’s not being hurt,” Dean said with a small smile. “Karen is just tickling her to get her to laugh.”

“Tickling?” Cas asked with a frown and a small tilt of his head.

Dean got up from Cas’ lap and sat on the couch next to him so that he could easily face him.

“Cas… are you telling me that you haven’t heard of tickles?”

The angel just looked more confused. “I… um… no Dean. I haven’t.”

Dean’s face stretched into a huge grin with an evil glint in his eyes. Cas knew this look all too well.

“Dean what is-“

Cas never got to finish his sentence as Dean’s fingers attacked Cas’ sides. Dean had a smirk plastered on his face as his hands expertly moved across Cas’ waist and his stomach but the smile slowly faded when he realised that Cas was not affected by Dean’s attempts to tickle him. 

“What are you doing Dean?”

“I- I was trying to tickle you Cas,” Dean muttered sheepishly.

Cas could not help but smile at Dean’s flustered expression.

“Dean?”

“Yeah buddy?”

“Are you ticklish?”

Dean’s eyes widened in horror and he tried to move away from Cas. But the angel was too quick for the hunter and soon Dean found himself in Cas’ arms.

“Cas wait-“

But before Dean could finish, Cas’ hands found Dean’s waist and his fingers quickly copied what Dean’s had done. It didn’t take long for Dean to burst out laughing uncontrollably. Cas smirked as he realised how sensitive Dean was and continued to tickle him as Dean squirmed in Cas’ hold.  Dean was laughing so hard that tears had started to form in his eyes.

Cas paused. “Dean, am I hurting you?”

Dean wiped away the tears. “No Cas you’re not. But you can’t keep tickling me!” Dean’s voice was defiant.

“But I love watching you laugh, Dean.” Cas said with a small smile as he looked at Dean.

“You don’t need to tickle me to make me laugh Cas,” Dean pecked Cas’ nose. “Just be yourself.”

“You two are such saps.”

Both Cas and Dean turned around to see Sam looking down at them with amusement in his eyes. 


“Sammy! How long where you standing there?” Dean asked his younger brother as Cas blushed profusely.

Sam raised his hands in a mock surrender and grinned. “I just came down here to see what the God-awful wailing was. it sounded like someone was being murdered.”

“Oh that was Dean laughing,” Cas replied without missing a beat.

“Shut up Cas.” Dean’s ears burned red.

“Wait… Dean gets tickled?” Sam stared at Cas as though the angel just handed him a way to read the Angel Tablet without a prophet.

“Yes Sam, he does.” Castiel smiled.

Sam’s smile widened and Dean looked at his younger brother with horror. “Oh no Sam you don’t.”

“We’ll see about that.”

With that, Sam turned on his heel and made his way back to his room - but not before shooting a smirk in Dean’s direction.

“Great. I’m not going to hear the end of this, am I?” Dean sighed. 

“We’re probably going to start tickling you whenever we need you to do something Dean,” Cas said with a shrug.

“Oh great,” Dean muttered. “My brother and my boyfriend teaming up on me. That’s exactly what I need right now.”

“Are you being sarcastic Dean?”

“Yes buddy, I am. I’m going to go to bed now Cas. I’ll see ya in the morning.” Dean stretched and let out a loud yawn.

“Dean wait.”

Cas suddenly pulled Dean by his shirt and planted a short but firm kiss on the hunter’s lips. As Cas moved away, Dean grabbed him by the front of his coat and connected their lips together once more. It took a while for the two boys to pull away and they were both out of breath. Cas cheeks were flushed red and Dean had an adorable grin plastered on his face. The latter winked at Cas which made the angel turn flush harder.

“For the record Cas, I’m definitely going to find your tickle spot.”

((Tags below the cut! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future fics by sending me an ask or you can DM me at @carefreegirlat221b ))

Forever tags: @whovian1077 @a-very-british-me @alittlebitofanna @tillielynn16

@sup3r-pott3r-lock3d

Advocates for Chaos (pt. 8)

Previous

Peevils gasps as she feels herself suddenly jolt back into reality. Her body becomes hole again, and her eyes fill up with tears of relief. Natemare is still kneeling beside her with his arms covering his head against the explosion. Bim isn’t far away, hands held out from where he used his abilities in tandem with her own.

As Mare uncovers his head, his vapor clears from the room. Mad’s body lies a few feet away, and Mare chokes as the contents of his stomach start to rise up in his throat. Peevils reaches out and grabs his hand in her own, squeezing it gently until he’s able to breathe normally again, looking away from his fallen friend.

Anti writhes in pain on the floor, and Bim rushes over to him, his hands glowing a faint blue as he tries to calm the glitch and repair his wounds as best as the young reality bender can. Bim at least manages to stop the bleeding, and Anti lies still, his breathing becoming very shallow but steady. Bim sighs in relief and runs a hand through his now sweaty hair.

Wilford Warfstache stands with his gun poised right where it was before the explosion, and the Host, eyes still gushing blood, is adjacent to him. A moment of silence passes before Bim notices the growing spot of red on the Host’s chest just as the blinded figment drops to his knees. “Good to see at least one version of you isn’t a coward,” the Host wheezes before he slumps over into a growing pool of blood.

Wilford spins his gun around his finger and tucks it away into the impossible place where he keeps it hidden and turns to where MadPat lies prone on the ground. “He’s gone,” the reporter says simply and brushes his hand over Mad’s eyes to close them. “I’m sorry, Mare.”

The vaporous figment shakes his head, refusing to look up. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t even say a word. He just sits there, staring at the floor with big, vacant eyes. Wilford’s gaze flicks to Peevils. “Are you alright?”

She nods simply. “I’m fine.”

Wilford takes a deep breath and nods to himself. “Good.” He turns partially towards Bim. “Can you take Anti to the Doc?”

Bim gathers the smaller man in his arms, trying his best not to reopen the wound. “I’ve got it, boss.”

Wilford shakes his head. “Don’t call me that.” Bim opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but decides against it and disappears in a camera flash along with Anti. Once they’re gone, Wilford is forced to deal with the bodies.

Two dead, all because of him. Not his most impressive body count, he thinks bitterly. “Can’t let the others see him,” he says, looking down at the Host. “Any preferences for your friend?”

Mare smirks a bit, like the corner of his mouth is caught on a hook and is being pulled up harshly. “He always said he wanted to go out with a bang, that way there’d be nothing left to worry about burying.” Tears start to pool in the corners of his eyes as he takes a shaky breath. “Guess he didn’t exactly get what he wanted, huh?”

Wilford closes his eyes. “You should go, rest up.”

Mare nods once as if the hook jerked his whole head up in one swift motion. “Guess so.”

Peevils pulls her hand away from his and gets up, brushing off her dress with a sigh. “I suppose you don’t need me anymore either. But feel free to phone if you ever want to get into any trouble again.” She gives a sly smirk, but they can all tell she’s faking it. “Until next time, boys.”

She’s just about out the door when Mare stops biting his lip long enough to say, “You could come with me. Mad and I had a little place, nothing special. But you wouldn’t be alone.”

Peevils stops and curls her hair behind her ear. “I do better on my own. Easier not to get hurt that way.” With that, she disappears down the hall.

“She’s a tricky one,” Wilford says after a moment.

Mare laughs dryly. “No kidding.” They stand there a little longer before Mare finally gathers up enough of his wits to realize that Wilford is still waiting for him to leave. “Well, I can’t say that this was much fun, but if you ever need anything…”

“I’ll know where to find you.” Wilford glances over at him. “And you know where to find me.”

Mare nods. “Just follow the trail of chaos and dead bodies.” With that, he disappears in a whirl of purple vapor, and Wilford is left alone.

After a moment, Wilford digs his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. “Yeah, Yan? Wanna help me hide some bodies?”

The End

HELLO! I’m back and I have some news, but first I want to say thank you to everyone that has sent me such amazing and positive messages in my absence. I know that I haven’t responded to most of them but your kindness didn’t go unnoticed! I really appreciate all the nice thing all of you have done for me. ♥ Now with that being said, time for the update…

I am no longer living in the hospital! I’ve actually been out for a few weeks now, getting to enjoy my friends and and families company outside of hospital walls. But… just because that I’m free doesn’t mean I’m cured… In my last updates I said I’ve been in the hospital for something way beyond my control. And this is still the case. I’ve also said I don’t want to share my diagnosis, but now I believe it’s time to share whats been going on with me. I don’t want to keep anyone you in the dark anymore, considering so many of you have expressed how much you care about me, it’s unfair to all of you and I’m sorry for waiting to tell my story.

I have been diagnosis with Leukemia. More specifically, Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia. If anyone is unaware of what Leukemia is, it is blood Cancer! Now I know that Cancer is a pretty scary word, it’s one that I thought I’d never use outside of joking around with my friend, but it is a word to describe my situation nevertheless! Although Leukemia is a pretty serious diagnosis, the kind that I have (APL) Is curable! I’ve become an outpatient and have been receiving Chemotherapy for about a Month now and will be starting the second half of my treatment this Monday. But ever since I’ve been diagnosed and been out of the hospital, my life haven’t really changed at all. I still go to school, I still work and be around people, the only significant change that effects my daily life now is that I get extremely sick and tired easily and having to take a few hours out of my day to receive Chemo. It’s a path i’d never thought I’d be on, but it’s the path to saving my life.

 Now I know with all this said, people are still going to worry about me. But in all honestly I am doing extremely well! I am, for the most part, healthy and I’m surrounded by friend who love and support me and family who stand by me and my recovery. I’m finally getting back to making comics! Just because of my condition I’m not going to stop doing what I love. A new page will be coming out soon ♥ Thank you all for staying with me and being so patient. There’s no need to worry about me~ I’m going to kick Cancers ass!  

- p.s I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up with Asks. I’ll try to start responding to some of them again and if you have asked me something before a long time ago and I still haven’t gotten to it, feel free to ask me again. Also if you are sending me a personal story/question that you don’t feel comfortable with me responding to publicly don’t be afraid to send me a message c: Thank you ♥

dwarf-scum  asked:

Hey sorry to be that guy but like I really want to understand this because I don't think I have a good enough frame of reference. It seems to me like he's said that he didn't intend to write Reyna as anything but straight, but if you're a lesbian and you identify with her you're free to imagine her as a lesbian, but that he wouldn't write her falling in love with a woman because to him it would feel like her sexuality was a consolation prize. Could you help me understand what's wrong with that?

he’s ignoring lesbians and bi girls who are actually telling him that this is wrong. when challenged on it, he then went on to condescendingly say that he has talked with lesbians and bi women about this. i’m mad for a number of reasons, but the most hurtful one is how he acts like he has authority to speak on the issue when he so obviously doesn’t know what he is talking about.

lesbians do fail at heterosexual relationships, all the time. it is why we’re lesbians! we can’t do hetero, it never works out. the trope that we really need to be wary of isn’t that lesbians are lesbians because they fail at heterosexual relationships (which is literally true like you literally cannot be a lesbian if you do not fail at heterosexual relationships), it’s that “lesbians don’t need to have their sexuality respected bc they’re really just straight girls who’ve been hurt by guys, and if you hit on them in the right way they’ll eventually change their mind and have sex with you.”

like, this is what was, at first, frustrating to me—that he would try and attempt to invoke something that is much larger and more complicated than he understands, obviously, while literally speaking to someone who was almost certainly a lesbian or a bi girl. what makes it worse is that when called in this behavior, instead of just saying “whoops sorry i’ll do better” he said “sorry you got your feelings hurt, but i wrote emmie and jo based on personal experience and reyna is supposed to be straight.” which is just…cheap as fuck. it’s irrelevant. what does emmie and jo have to do with reyna being straight?

so instead it just comes across as “oh my god i already included a lesbian couple, what more do you want????” which…well, yeah, he can fuck right off with that attitude, mr stonewall award “i promise i won’t stop listening.”

sounds like he stopped listening! couldn’t even take like, twelve hours of criticism, instead he’s literally blocking people.

here, i can give what rick should have said, that would have still ultimately made me annoyed, but not nearly as absolutely livid and disgusted and…frankly, hurt, as i am right now: “i never planned on giving reyna a love interest, but as always, you guys are more than welcome to your interpretations and ships!”

he didn’t have to write a bunch of boiling hot nonsense about stereotypes (of which his writing is CHOCKED FULL off) and being your own better half and how reyna is supposed to be straight. he didn’t have to write a pathetic disclaimer about how he knew he was running the risk of having things “thrown” at him.

that’s why i’m really mad. he knew it would be controversial, and he didn’t care. he knew it hurt people, and he made no attempt to understand why we were hurt. he didn’t even consider that these “harmful lesbian stereotypes” literally are fabricated on the idea that bisexuality doesn’t even exist. i mean, really. i can debunk this oh so terrible stereotype in one sentence: “i didn’t turn lesbian, i’ve been bi the whole time!” -reyna. an alternative sentence: “i didn’t turn lesbian, i just never realized it before.” -reyna

see how easy?

calling a lesbian’s identity or life partner a consolation prize if they’ve been with men, before? yeah i know what people will say lmao “he didn’t say that he said he was trying to avoid that stereotype”….to which i say, right, how? how was he trying to avoid that stereotype? by not giving her a girlfriend. and so what, then, would be the logical conclusion? that this stereotype is true, and by giving a character a girlfriend, you’re invoking it. what does that mean for lesbians who have actually been with men? what does that mean for bi girls who have been with men? what kind of a fucking monstrosity of an answer is that?

more importantly: AS IF NONE OF THE LOVE INTERESTS IN HIS STORIES ARE ACTUAL CONSOLATION PRIZES? as if calypso wasn’t brought back for the sole purpose of giving leo a woman as a prize?

no, nope, the only way this awful stereotype could possibly show up is if you give a lesbian a girlfriend. but i show absolutely no self awareness of the awful tropes i’ve already enacted in my books.

and, as shell pointed out, and i echoed….the very fact that he knows giving reyna a girlfriend would invoke lesbian stereotypes is living proof of the fact that he knows reyna’s experiences and life story are consistent with that of many lesbians.

but he doesn’t care. because he’s lazy, and it takes too much effort, and at the end of the day he’s not listening to us at all, he’s just trying to make us shut up.

❝ Seven big and annoying brothers  ❞

Plot: You’re BTS’ manager daughter and they treat you like a little child sometimes, but they really care about you and love you a lot. 

Words count: 2k+

Pairing: BTS x Reader 

Genre: Fluff 

For anon, I hope you like it cutie! - M. 

Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! ♥

Waiting was something you hated with all your heart. The only thing that made it even slightly bearable was the fact that most of the time you waited was into your father’s office. Office located right next to BTS’ personal rehearsal room.  

The sound of music, although the rooms were soundproof, came to your ear at that moment and a little smile drew on your lips when you immediately recognized the song. They were practicing for the umpteenth time the choreography of “Not Today”, although there were no more smears in any of them.  

Your textbooks suddenly became boring and you knew your father would scold you later, but at that moment you just wanted to sneak into the rehearsal room and watch them.  

So you abandoned the books, your desire to study and with a stealthy step you opened the door; checking that there was no one in the hallway. You were 15 years old, but you were well aware of having to be quiet and silent when you were doing similar things.  

The idea of seeing them was pleasant, despite every time you were in their company each of them; From “good” big brothers, teased you or tried to get the worst side out of you. So much so that you sometimes wondered if you were really younger than them since you were very mature for your age.  

On your toes you reached the door of the rehearsal room, opening it slightly and feeling how the music increased exponentially of volume only thanks to that small opening. Smiling you opened, even more, the door and entered, in a complete silence, going to hide in a corner of the room. Exactly behind their duffel bags, completely crammed together.  

Trying not to giggle you looked in the mirrors their movements, as Hoseok drove the others and gave advice on advice when maybe someone stepped wrong; Or as Yoongi that at every pause he threw himself on the floor and bent on himself trying to catch his breath; Or how the Maknae line despite the exhausting hours of work continued to have the strength to annoy his Hyung.  

“I heard that Y/N is here.”  

Your name pronounced by Taehyung took your attention and you focused better on him, while they were finally taking a break and sitting in a circle not too far from the duffel bags.  

“What?? And she didn’t come to say “hi”? That little ungrateful kid. ” Seokjin snorted, gulping water on water in an attempt to calm his wheezing breath.  

“I think she’s studying, her father told me she’s the best of her course.”  

“Really?? Ah, that little girl, she gives her parents satisfaction. ” Namjoon commented with a smile, while a slight redness dispersed on your cheeks.  

And in the excitement of the moment, to feel praised in that way, you would lose the balance and fall disastrously to the side. Away from the protection of the duffel bags and under the shocked gaze of all seven.  

“YAH, Y/N!!! HOW LONG WERE YOU THERE????? ”  

“Oh, Yoongi Oppa! Don’t yell!! ” You murmured, stroking your left elbow, in the exact point where you hit the floor, while someone helped you get up and immediately felt Taehyung’s scent pinching your nostrils. You knew them since you were ten years old, you could recognize each one of them only by the scent.

“Hi, Taehyung oppa!” You murmured, hiding in the arms of the member who least teased you despite sometimes his childish but adorable behaviors.  

Immediately there were complaints that he had been the first to embrace you, so after Taehyung’s loud and funny whine because he did not want to let you go, you felt six pairs of arms squeezing around your body one at a time. They were your second family and each one of them, with his hug, could make you feel at home.  

“You know that eavesdropping isn’t a thing to do??”  

Keep reading

Something happened 63 years ago that’s haunted me my entire life. I’ve never told anyone about it—until now

Story by reddit user  Sergeant_Darwin

It’s official: I’m an old man.

For the last couple years, I’ve comforted myself by saying I’m in my “early 70s,” but math is simple and unforgiving. Today is my 75th birthday, and God, the years do fly.

I’m not here for your well wishes; this is hardly a milestone I’m excited about. I’m glad to still be here, of course, but I find I have less and less to live for with every passing year. My bones ache, my kids live far away, and the other side of my bed has been empty for just over eight months now. In fact, once I cast my vote against that goddamned Trump this November, I may have nothing to live for at all.

Keep reading

And now I’m gonna make you all feel bad for not trusting Shiro

And explain why new ugly hair Shiro is the Shiro we know and love.

First of all:

If this Shiro is a clone, operation “Kuron” would be fucking dumb.

Like real dumb.

And here’s why.

So like lets say they captured Shiro after the Zarkon fight and made a Shiro “clone” or whatever who’s goal is to infiltrate Voltron or something.

Atleast that’s what it seems like the goal is because this dude says 

when Shiro escapes and they shoot his ship. So like it seems like they let him escape on purpose.

Thing is…

Shiro nearly dies like 50 fucking times before he reaches Voltron (BY FUCKING MIRACLE)!!

I mean just think of ALL the coincidences that had to happen for Shiro to get to Voltron.

I dunno if he’s like the least lucky person in the universe or the most lucky, because of how he’s ALWAYS almost dying in some way and ALWAYS escapes death against all odds.

But that was one heck of an incredible journey there!

But seriously, if Keith wasn’t looking for Shiro non stop and Shiro didn’t connect to black in that very second, the Galra’s “clone” would have died. Their project “Kuron” would fucking FAIL. 

I think if that really was the Galra’s goal to make a clone that would reach Voltron they would have made it a tiiiiny bit easier for him to survive somehow.

Just a tiiny bit. 

They dun have to go THAT FAR to convince him he actually escaped and they didn’t just let him go. Just you kno, give him a bit of a push there when he’s starving in space or something (assuming they somehow keep track of him). 

They dun have to go that far also for the viewers to fool em that Shiro escaped so him being a Clone would be a surprise later. I mean they just changed his hair a bit and no one in the fandom trusts him anymore haha.

So unless that ice planet and the universe is like filled with dead Shiro clones bodies who were eaten by monsters or froze to death or died of hunger or whatever, because of all times the clones didn’t make it, and the Galra were just waiting for that one special one that finally would, then I’m guessing that maybe something else is going on.

Because there’s no way that they’d just let him go like that and trust what? FATE to bring him to Voltron unharmed SOMEHOW???

Like that’s a dumb fucking plan.

So I dunno, unless the Galra know that no matter what happens Shiro and Keith always find eachother again and again like a pair of destined lovers.

I’m gonna say…

Complete bullshit. I dun buy it.

OK, Now how long has it actually been? Like how much time passed from their battle with Zarkon till they meet with Lotor? How much time passes until Haggar even summons Lotor?

What if it’s actually been longer than you thought? 

What if it’s been like… I dunno, a year?

Thing is that when we go back to Team Voltron in season 3, they seems to think Shiro is gone, dead, like they act like they all moved on and Keith is the only one who’s still stuck there.

I doubt you get to that point after a day or two, or a week, or months even… (They love Shiro, I dun think they’d give up on looking for him after such a short time or get over his death this easily..)

It’s at a point where they all like “Ok Keith, that’s enough time to mourn, we all accepted it and you have to move on too”

I know they all look the same, and there’s not alot of indication of how much time exactly it’s been.

But it does seem like they’ve been doing what they were doing (freeing planets, Pidge looking for her brother) for AWHILE.

This would explain Shiro’s long hair. It simply been long enough for it to grow that long since he disappeared.

(btw there’s a genetic thing that makes your hair grow really fast that also makes a flock of your hair white in the front, Shiro could totally have that

Also the fact he can’t walk at first can be explained with him just not doing that for awhile.

Now when Shiro is finally free he SOMEHOW makes it to that Gas planet they were fighting Lotor at the first time.

Voltron is leaving the scene and Shiro appears and chases it here

I actually looked to see if we can see him but we don’t.

(I also didn’t realize it my first watch, and now every time I’ll see the 3rd episode I’ll be like “NoooOOOOOOOOOOOO you fools wait for hiiim!!!!”)

Shiro sees Voltron leaving him behind.

Besides the fact that he knows this is probably the end for him now, it also shows him two things:

They moved on.

And they are doing well without him.

Anyway, 7 days later, Shiro is dying, thinks of his Voltron days and connects to the Black lion in the last minute.

And Keith (who hasn’t stopped searching for him, now with black lion)

finally finds him.

Now besides the headache, I actually dun particularly see anything really strange about Shiro’s behavior when he goes back.

Watching it again I just got the feeling he just has a really hard time accepting what happened with Black.

I dun see a reason to not believe what Keith suggests there, that Zarkon teleported him to captivity using the Black lion.

Shiro seems upset about it because 

What does it tells Shiro? 

That his bond with black was still not strong enough.

Like, he had so much fighting spirit when he escaped before, and suddenly when he finally reaches Voltron he’s depressed in bed and seems like he doesn’t want to see anyone?

What happened???

Like yeah he wanted Keith to lead Voltron, but I think maybe then seeing the team actually function without him and forming Voltron and fighting the Galra, and considering how much Voltron means to him and his struggle with his PTSD and how Voltron literally been the only thing on his mind when he was dying. 

I think it’s a bit hard for him to accept what he sees when he comes back..

He sounds fake here

Because he’s not being honest. 

Deep inside it hurts him to see they did fine without him.

When Keith goes “They need you”, he lies.

He’s the only one that needs him. The team has moved on. Maybe he says it because he can’t say “I” or feels like he’s not enough, maybe he’s trying to encourage Shiro, because he understands how Shiro feels, without Shiro needing to say anything. He always did. From the very beginning.

So maybe it’s like “Hey Shiro, I know how much this means to you and you’re still a valuable part of this team

Shiro obviously doesn’t want to go back on his word and be all “Ok Keith, so give me back my lion now!”

But Keith does it for him, and I think you can see Shiro is very happy about it.

Only the lion won’t accept him anymore.

And before this you also have that scene with Lance doing math that I think connects the two

Shiro feels like Lance, he feels like he has no place on the team anymore.

But he doesn’t deal with it in the open, honest and good way Lance does. (which is the reason Black won’t accept him anymore, he’s not thinking of the team)

That’s why he butts heads with Keith over leadership in this episode, and we can see even in the season 4 trailer that it goes on.

I think his position as a paladin and leader of Voltron gave him control over his life back after what he’s been through. In a way that was how he coped with his captivity and his PTSD.

He’s obviously proud of Keith, but I think he’s also jealous and hurt. 

I dun think he’s ready to accept he’s no longer leader or a part of Voltron.

(Like he’s proud of Keith, but he still puts him down saying “You’ll get there someday”)

And I think Keith understand where it’s coming from and he doesn’t buy it.

He puts himself down and says he can’t do this because he wants Shiro to feel needed and important.

And Shiro is doing what ya’ll Shiro stans have been doing for months haha, crying about him not being the black paladin anymore and how all his work on his bond with black was meaningless now that Keith is in it.

Shiro’s bond with his lion meant the most, he was the one who had to put the most effort into it. And suddenly, it gives him up. I think Shiro feels betrayed even.

And he’s not ready to do what Lance did with his lion yet and give it up for the sake of the team (maybe some Lance and Shiro bonding in the future??)

That’s why it seems like they are heading for a leadership conflict there. That Shiro would try to make Keith feel like he’s not ready for this. Unintentionally. 

And Keith would continue to play along with it, (though being the more fitting person for the position of leader) because maybe that’s what he’s been doing all along from episode one. Trying to gently give Shiro the power and the control he lost when he was captured by the Galra, back. (Without directly confronting Shiro about his PTSD.) (would explain their odd dynamics)

Thing is Shiro is just not as good as Keith with leading Voltron. And I think he’s gonna mess up AGAIN.

It’s like we are back in square one, where Keith is the one that has the right idea in mind and no one listens and they all listen to Shiro who makes BAD decisions.

( Shiro WTF 1 Shiro WTF 2 Shiro WTF 3 Shiro WTF 4,)

This is leading to them finding their balance as leaders and co leaders.

Now Shiro’s leadership is centered around teamwork and protecting his team. 

Keith is the better decision maker (and I have a long rant about Keith coming, because I dun think people understand why Keith is the perfect person for black still.)

I’m just gonna say Keith is definitely the leader they need in they ever want to beat Lotor. 

This all seems like buildup to Shiro finally opening up about his PTSD, and him piloting blue (the team work lion) which I talked about before also. I’m guessing he and Allura will be sharing it, Because someone needs to pilot the castle once in awhile.

This is a very natural arc for Shiro, so I doubt they’ll let a clone go though it.

And back to the clone thing:

The flashbacks Shiro sees when he escapes, seem to me like his regular PTSD flashbacks. There’s something in his memories Shiro is terrified of.

Obviously the clone IS a thing, because we see two Shiro’s. And obviously the Galra has some sort of plan for it.

But the clone is the one we saw in the bed, this is Kuron:

The Shiro that they got back is the real Shiro, or atleast the same Shiro from season 1-2. (who is the Shiro that arrived on Earth, but maybe not the Shiro that went to Kerberos btw)

And the Galra didn’t let him go, they just assumed they shot him down and he died. So they could start doing whatever they had planned to do with his clone.

They just have no idea real Shiro survived and is gonna fuck up their plans.

I’m guessing the headaches are connected to that somehow.

And this part

I’m gonna have to say maybe this isn’t just connected to Keith actually physically saving Shiro all the time. 

But also to Shiro’s ongoing probably life long battle with his PTSD, Keith is always there to kinda always remind him like “Your’e still valuable, your life is valuable, don’t give up.”

Now go embrace your even uglier hair Shiro and tell him you’re sorry for not trusting him.

Boxing Lessons
Tom is giving you boxing lessons for the first time and ends up being more into your physique than your techniques.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Includes: Smut, DaddyKink!Tom, Rough!Tom


I stood behind Tom with my arms crossed over my chest as I watched him swiftly punch at the speed bag. Well, I had my eyes more on his bare back, watching his muscles tensing and relaxing over and over again, something to bite my lip over. He dropped his arms to his sides as he threw his head back, catching his breath.

He turned to me once he did. “Your turn.”

“You don’t expect me to be that fast the first time, now do you?” I asked with a single raised brow.

He chuckled, taking his water from my hands, “no, but I want you to try.” I fixed the wrap on my hands as I walked over to it. “Can you reach it, Y/N?” He teased.

I looked back, shooting him a nasty look as his eyes scanned up and down my body. “Yes.” I turned back and quickly began imitating his movement, just not punching it as fast.

“There you go. You’re doing great, darling!” He encouraged me as my arms quickly grew tired.

“Can I stop? My arms aren’t gonna hold up much longer.”

He laughed, stepping close behind me. “Keep going.” His hands hovered under my arms, making sure they wouldn’t fall.

“Please.”

“Thirty more seconds, I know you can.”

“Honestly, you suck. You really, really, really suck.”

“You wanted to learn how to box.” I rolled my eyes knowing he’s right and pushed myself to get through the last of it. “Alright, that’s it.” I dropped my arms by my sides and leaned into him. He draped his arm around my neck, “you’re great. A few more times on that and you’ll begin to get used to it.”

“What’s next?”

“The punching bag. I can show you some techniques.”

“Mmm… okay.” I nod my head as got off of him. We walked over to the punching bag he managed to install when he first moved in. I stood in front of it, “show me the technique.” I told him as he put water bottle down on to the nearby bench press.

He walked back to me, standing behind me with a hand on my waist. “So, you’re gonna want to put this foot forward.” He grabbed my bare thigh, pushing it outward, “and your legs gotta be spread apart a bit past shoulder width.” He muttered, pressing himself a bit into my backside.

I moved my leg out, “like this?”

“Good. Now, bring your hands up just above your shoulders.” I did as he told me. “Now, stand as straight as you can.” He pressed his hand against my stomach.

“I’m not standing straight already?”

“Almost.” I straightened out, ‘accidentally’ pressing myself into him. “Perfect,” he muttered to me before sighing. He cleared his throat, “this is a, uh… basic stance.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the best stance for punching. Give it a try.” I jabbed a few times at the punching bag. He grinned, “you’re a natural.”

“So, what’s next?”

“If you put your hands up by your temples with enough room to see your opponent past your hands,” I followed along, moving in to the position he said, “this is a high stance, so that once you’ve closed the space between the two of you, you can use this to block their hits that’ll be coming towards your face. You want them to hit the lower parts of your arms. But you’ve gotta be careful now because all of this,” he ran his hand over my torso, “is exposed to be hit.”

I looked back at him, “so, what’s the stance called where you’re up against me and copping a feel?”

He laughed, “the you-look-great-in-this-sports-bra-and-shorts-and-I-can’t-help-myself stance.”

I turned around around to him leaving little space between us as I unraveled the wrap from my hand. “Maybe I could show you some of my techniques since you can’t help yourself so much.”

I let the wraps fall to the floor as he smirked at me. “Yeah, I wanna see what you’ve got, baby girl.”

I fold my arm around his neck, my hand snaking it’s way to the back of his hair. I pulled him down into a deep kiss. He held onto either of my hips, pulling me into his hardening member. My free hand untied the string on his gym short and looped my fingers into the band making his kisses a bit more aggressive. I took my hand from the band, slowly wandering over his lower stomach.

He bit down on my lip and tugged on it gently, turning me on. He brought his lips back to mine, bringing his hand over my ass to squeeze it. In one swift movement, his big hand smacked my ass causing me to moan against his lips. I could feel a slight smile on his as we kissed. His hand moved from my butt to between my legs, rubbing me over the thin cloth of my shorts.

I brought my lips to his neck, kissing his most sensitive spots and swiping my tongue over the skin, listening to the soft groans escape his lips as his fingers worked a little faster.

I kissed down his toned chest and torso, slowly bringing myself down to my knees. His hand moving up my body as I moved before resting on the side of my neck. I kissed his hip bones as I slipped off his shorts, agonizingly slow and let them fall to the floor. I dragged my hands against his hard length being held down by the band of his boxers. I plant gentle kisses to his cock over the cloth, keeping my eyes up on him.

Tom bit down on his bottom lip, watching me tease him. I hooked my hands in to the band on his boxers, allowing his long cock to spring free. I bit my lip, attempting to hold back the grin, but failing miserably.

“You like what you see, baby?” He questioned a bit of laughter in his voice.

“Absolutely, daddy.” He grinned, hearing that name.

I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock. I placed my tongue on the base, licking my way to the tip before slowly taking him in my mouth as much as I could and pumping the rest in my hand. He wrapped my ponytail around his hand, pushing farther down onto his cock. His control turning me on immensely.

“That’s it, baby.”

I placed my hands on his hips as he pushed down nearly his entire length. I moaned over him and brought one of my hand to his balls, cupping and gently squeezing them. He threw his head back, his breathing heavier as he still held me down on him, quickly thrusting into my mouth making my eyes water. I pushed myself off of him, catching my breath.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned, “you always do that so well, darling.” He pushed the free strands of hair off my face with his free hand and wiped away the tears down my cheeks.

I wrapped my hand around his length, pumping him up and down quickly. I slid my other hand down into my own pants, gently rubbing my clit. He watched me touch myself and him as he muttered, “fuck.”

I licked the precum from his tip and lips fell apart as he ran his fingers through his lose curls. I bit down on my bottom lips, innocently looking up at him. He cupped his hand beneath my chin and I stood. He pulled my hand from my shorts and yanked them down to my thighs, his fingers sliding over my slit before pushing past my lips and thrusting his middle finger into my core as his thumb rubbed over my clit. His lips kissed my neck as he pushed me back, stepping out the shorts pooled at his feet until my back hit the cold mirror wall.

Tom pushed the shorts all the way off my legs and kicked them aside. He slipped in a second finger, thrusting his fingers quicker.

“Like that, baby.” I moaned out, throwing my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

He smirked, pulling his fingers out from my core, bringing them to my lip, “taste yourself for me.” Without hesitating, I took his long fingers into my mouth and slowly gliding my tongue along them. “You are so sexy, Y/N.” He muttered, pulling out of my mouth and replacing it with his lips.

Tom grabbed at my thighs, lifting me off my feet and wrapping my legs around his waist. His grabbed his cock, placing self at the entrance of my core.

“How badly do you want me, darling?” He questioned against my lips.

“So bad.”

“Beg for it.”

“I want you to fuck me so badly, daddy, please…” I kissed him, “please.” With that, he thrust into me with all the force he could. I let out a loud moan.

“Like that?” He pressed his forehead to mine.

“Yes, daddy.”

He continued thrusting into me with all the power, his hand snaked to pussy and he began quickly rubbing my clit. I could tell he already wanted to cum the way he touched me, leaving me a moaning mess as he groaned.

“Tom, baby-”

He stopped thrusting and looked at me with raised brows. “Who?” He teased, pulling himself out of my pussy.

“Daddy, I’m sorry.” I moaned as he rubbed his cock between my lips and against my nub.

“That’s what I thought.” He muttered, taking my hand off the back of his head and holding it over my head.

He slipped inside of me with ease, thrusting a bit slower than before. His hand held my arm tightly above head as my walls clenched around him, he growled a deep, “fuck.”

I could feel the heat, building up inside of me as my breathing turned into panting as he brought me closer to the edge. He brought his thumb back to my clit, noticing how needy I had become. My free hand grabbed at his bicep, digging my nails into it and feeling it flex repeatedly as he rubbed my sensitive nub. I began bucking my hips into his and pulling him closer to me with my legs.

“Look at me when you cum, baby girl.” He whispered to me.

Those words did it for me. I looked up at him like he wanted as my nerves unraveled and slew of curse words slipped from my lips. My toes curled and my eyes fell shut from the immense pleasure. I let go of his waist, sliding down against the mirror to my knees. Tom let go of my wrist and I wrapped my hand around his cock as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the glass as his hand rest on my cheek, rubbing the bottom of my lip of my mouth that I left open for him.

I pumped his cock as his breathing became heavier and grunts and moans left his lips. His hand moved to the back of my ponytail, tightly gripping my hair before he came. His warm cum made it’s way into and around my mouth. He caught his breath, his chest heaving up and down as he watched me swallow his cum.

“Fuck,” he chuckled, “you’re such a good girl.” I stood up on my slightly trembling legs and leaned into him. He rest his forehead on mine instead of the mirror. “We’ll have to finish sessions like this from here on out.” He suggested as he grabbed my ass.

I laughed, “we didn’t even get to finish the lesson, Tom.”

“There’s always next time to pick up where we left off. Now, how about we head upstairs for a shower?” I smirked and nod my head, knowing he’d be up for a round two.

Everything Has Changed (Part Two)

Summary: In which everything changes when you discover Bucky’s true feelings for you in a very unconventional manner.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,800

Part One

Originally posted by there-and-always-back-again

The sound of something steadily beeping in your ear brings you back to the surface of consciousness. You wade through the murky waters of your mind, trying to keep your cool when the simple task of opening your eyes turns into a losing battle.

Why can’t you open your eyes? Why does your body feel so heavy?

You grow more frantic as your body fails to follow through on any of the commands you direct at it. It’s not until you realize that something is restraining your arms that an overwhelming tidal wave of memories wash over your body and send you back underwater.

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guide to the first week of college

hey guys! i’ll be starting my sophomore year of college in just over a week (!!), and while i’m not new to the whole college thing, i will be new to my school this year as a transfer student, so i wanted to share these tips for y’all !

  • figure out where all your classes are beforehand - there’s nothing worse than being late on the first day, especially if you have small classes. don’t start off on the wrong foot! hopefully you’ll have some sort of orientation/tour that shows you the basics, but if you’re living on campus, you’ll likely be at school before the first day of classes - use this extra time to get familiar with campus and find out where all your classrooms are (not just the buildings, find the actual class if possible - some buildings are ridiculously complicated as far as room numbers go, trust me!). if you’re commuting to school, try to come an hour or so early to do this as much as you can (and you can also use time between classes to figure out where you’re headed!)
  • become friendly with the people around you - whether this be your roommate, the people sitting next to you in class, or the other people on your floor, it’s always nice to be on good terms with as many people as possible. make friends early - even if they don’t stick (and a lot of early friendships don’t), it’s nice to know a lot of people! get to know people in your classes, even though it’s harder to do this than it might’ve been in high school since often you just have the one class together. you never know when you’ll have to miss a class, and having someone to get notes from is such a relief (also study buddies !! super important !!)
  • wait until you’ve gone to class to buy textbooks - a lot of teachers will tell you that you don’t really need it, or that an older edition works just fine. whatever the case, it usually doesn’t hurt to wait to buy textbooks until you’re at school (plus, if you’re like me you may end up dropping the class you already bought 7 books for)
  • try out different study spots - there are so many places on a college campus to study: your dorm room, dorm lounges, library, student union, coffee shops, random class buildings, the quad - try them out and see what works best for you! a change of scenery can go a long way toward helping your productivity!
  • call your fam - they probably already miss you and with so much new stuff going on you’re bound to have lots to say - don’t get too caught up in the hustle and bustle of a new year!
  • get comfy with your dorm room - this is your new home for the year, make it work for you! it should be your happy place. figure out good storage systems. & try to have a good relationship w ur roomie(s)! 
  • keep ahead on homework - it’s easy to put it off when it still feels like summer, but come next week you’ll likely be drowning in work and lack of free time - do as much as you can as soon as you can, future you will thank you!
  • look into a job on campus - see how your class schedule plays out, and see if working on campus is a good idea for you. there are so many options and there are usually still a lot of openings by the first week, so take advantage of it now before all the positions fill up for the semester! (also from personal experience working in a dining hall is decidedly Not Fun, would not recommend), however
  • be kind to the maintenance workers and kitchen staff - as well as other workers on campus. usually they go unnoticed, but they’re (from my experience) so so kind when you take the time to say hi and ask them how they are. the kitchen staff i worked with in the dhall were some of the sweetest people i met on campus last year
  • keep your door open and hang out in your floor lounge - (if you have one) first week is prime time to meet new people, since everyone goes into it brand new. keep your door open and have convos with people who walk by (maybe have some treats and invite them in to share - everyone loves free food !). so many of my friends were made by “studying” (i use the term loosely haha) in the lounge
  • go to events - they’re probably free and often give out free food/goodies/t-shirts, plus they’re a good way to meet people and see what sorts of things you can get involved with on campus! esp if you have an involvement fair with clubs presenting, go and try to go to the first meeting of any club that sounds interesting to u! there’s no commitment to keep coming back if it isn’t for you, and you never know what amazing groups of people you could meet! i’d recommend only going to two or three clubs regularly though, any more than that can be a bit much (and try to balance fun with academic! - my last school even had a stationery club)

if you have any questions about college/that first week, please feel free to ask me! (also tag me in ur dorm room pics bc i love that stuff!) good luck w uni, frends!

Dead Serious

Request: hey could you do one with peter, where the reader is studying and, he just wants to hangout with her so he gets whiny and so the reader says “let me finish and we can make out for much long as you like” and then they do. Lots of fluff please :)

A/N: I think I have a problem where because my favourite thing is friends who eventually get together, I never write an “hey we’re already dating" type fic, and this would totally be a prefect one of those but LOL IMA NOT DO THAT STILL. Yikes, sorry if this wasn’t what you were looking for. Lol I’m also gonna do a smutty Part 2.

Word Count: 1338

Masterlist

Part 2 // Part 3

T-48 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEMISTRY EXAM

“And students, please remember that your midterm will be in exactly two days starting precisely when the bell rings, so do not be late,” your teacher said.

Peter leaned over next to you, “Are we studying tonight?”

“I can’t, but how about tomorrow night?” You whispered, trying to make sure the teacher doesn’t hear you.

“What? Got a hot date tonight or something? Too good to see me?” Peter joked.

“If you count a hot date as studying for my French midterm tomorrow, then yes,”

“Y/L/N, Mr Parker, do you have something to share with the class?” Your teacher called back at you.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could go over the different types of reactions one more time, I was struggling with memorizing them and I was just asking Peter for help, but it would be great if you could go over them,” you lied.

Your teacher eyed the two of you before turning around to the chalk board and began writing out different reactions.

“Nice save,” Peter whispered.

“Well one of us had to say something, and since you can’t lie for your life, that duty falls on me,“

“I can so lie,”

“Sure Peter, and I have a pet unicorn,”

“Hey!”

“We go over this all the time, you can’t lie, and that’s exactly why you need me as a best friend,”

“What about Ned?” Peter asked.

“He needs me for the same reason too,”

T-40 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

Peter: Hey Y/N

Y/N: How may I be of service

Peter: Can you paint me like one of your French girls?

Y/N: Peter, why can’t you just let me study?

Peter: Because i’m bored

Y/N: Go bother Ned, i’m busy.

Peter: He has a midterm tomorrow too, he won’t answer my texts.

Y/N: Well how about this, you let me study now and I will entertain you tomorrow after we study ;)

Peter: ugh fine

Peter: But what’s with the winky face?

Y/N: Peter.

Peter: Sorry!

T-39 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

Peter: I’m still curious about the winky face

Y/N: How’s this Parker, you leave me alone tomorrow and I’ll go down on you when we finish studying

Peter didn’t respond for a while

Y/N: Peter did you die?

Peter: You aren’t serious

Y/N: Dead serious.

Y/N: I’ll see you tomorrow ;)

T-24 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

You were sitting in chemistry, barely listening to your teacher ramble on about the different formulas you will need to know for tomorrow when Peter elbowed you to get your attention.

“Are you ready for your French exam?” He whispered.

“No! I’m so nervous. I can read it really well and understand it when someone speaks to me, but I have to write the entire exam in French and I don’t know if i’ll actually do well,”

“Y/N, you doodle in French for gods sake, I think you’ll be fine,”

“I know, i’m just nervous,”

“Listen to me, you’re going to do extremely well, as always. You’ve been taking French for years, you’ve got this in the bag,”

“Mr Parker! Something you would like to share with the rest of us?” the teacher interrupted.

Peter froze, he began stammering out a few words in response to the teacher when you cut in, “Sorry Ms, I was quizzing Peter on elements and their correlating atomic number. We didn’t mean to speak that loud,”

“Studying is for your free time, M®(s) Y/L/N, not class time. Please pay attention and study some other time,”

“Of course Ms. Our apologizes,”

The teacher turned back to the board and continued talking about what she had previously written.

“You need to quit talking so loud. There are only so many lies I can tell,”

T-21 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

At lunch you ran into the car and joined Peter and Ned at your lunch table.

“So?” Peter said

“How did you do?” Peter added.

“Fabulously! I know I did well. I’m about 95% sure I got an A on the exam. I’m so proud of myself. I actually understood what I was reading and what I wrote. I’m feeling really confident about it,”

“That’s awesome Y/N! I told you you’d do great. I’m proud of you,” Peter said.

“Let’s just wait and see how well I do on the chemistry midterm, and then you can decide whether you’re proud of me or not,”

“We’re still on for our study date tonight, right?“ Peter asked.

Ned looked up from his notes where he was studying for his exam in the afternoon.

“Wait, you two are going on a date? Finally. Took you two long enough. You can cut the sexual tension In here with a knife,”

“What?” You choked out

“We-we’re not going on a date. We said study date, Ned,” Peter said.

“I’m going to Peter’s tonight so we can study for our chemistry exam tomorrow,”

“Ha, I get it, you guys are studying YOUR chemistry. Have fun kids, use a condom,” Ned said, standing up and beginning to collect his things, “Well i’m going to the library where there’s less tension floating through the air. Enjoy ‘studying’ tonight guys,”

You and Peter sat silently and waited Ned walk away.

Neither of you were really sure of what to say.

“So do you want to just walk to my place after school together then?” Peter said, eventually breaking the silence.

“Yep!” You agreed.

T-16 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM 

It was 4pm by the time you and Peter actually began studying, you were lying on his floor with your textbook and notes open around you while Peter was sitting at his desk.

You spent some time quizzing each other and going over notes before Peter began getting bored. This was once of his best subjects so he really didn’t need to study as hard as you did for this class.

T-13 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTEM CHEM EXAM

You had been studying for three hours and Peter had started whining approximately two hours previous.

You were still on Peter’s floor surrounded by your study notes. Peter had moved to his bed and was lying down.

“Y/N,“ He whined.

“Yes, dear,” you said, not taking your attention away from what you were reading.

“How much longer do we have to study? i’m booooorrreeeddd. We already know all of this,”

“You already know all of this,” you corrected him.

“But Y/N, you know it toooooo,”

“Peter, hon, if you don’t shut up, or just help me study I might lose my mind,”

“You’ll have to make me stop talking,”

“Okay Peter, how’s this? Let me study now, and later we can make out for as long as you’d like, and maybe I’ll even go down on you,”

Peter sat up, “Wh-what?”

“I feel like at this point, my lips on yours is one sure way that you won’t be talking,”

“I-i- are you serious?” He questioned.

“Dead serious Parker, give me half an hour to review the rest of my notes and you can have your tongue down my throat for as long as you’d like,”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he shut up. You didn’t hear a peep out of him for the next half hour.

T-12 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

When you were finally done reviewing your notes, you put them back into your folder and stood up.

Peter sat on his bed, watching you.

“Were you really serious before, or were you just trying to get me to shut up?” Peter asked.

“I told you, Parker. I’m dead serious,”

Movie Night || Tom Holland

Originally posted by tom-hollcnd

Relationship: Tom Holland x reader

Summary: A movie night leads to more than planned when you discover just what Tom gets ups to after you’ve left.

Warnings: S M U T (18+)

Word Count: 1755 words.

A/N: OW;EDFJKLBE;ROGISDFHN’AOREIDFJKX


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@gameofthronesimagine: Could you do something with Harry Hook and the reader is from Auradon and is lifelong friends with Ben and she’s Tinker Bell’s daughter??


Word Count: 5251

Also, warning. I started out thinking this would be cute and fluffy. It kind of turned a little angsty.


“…What? This is a joke, right?”

You stared at Ben, trying to mask your horror with denial.

Ben – for his part – looked sheepish. “We need to mend ties with the Isle, and compromise is the best way to do that.”

“So, if Uma asked you to release Chernabog from the Isle, you’d be totally for it?”

“No, of course not–”

You rolled your eyes. “No, of course. Just the guy that tried. To. Kill. You.”

“Things are different. Uma and Harry don’t have any power in Auradon, and it’s not like I’m totally defenceless,” Ben pointed out, nodding to his two huge bodyguards stationed at the door to his office.

You briefly glanced at them, before looking back at Ben. “Anyone else. You could have released anyone else. What about that Gil guy? He sounded harmless. Or some of her pirate groupies.”

“She wanted Harry,” Ben said simply, taking a sip of his tea. “She wouldn’t budge on that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Great compromising there.”

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