what even is this pairing called

It’s a breezy summer day and the rustling from the leaves outside sound like whispers from my small apartment. I’m sitting in front of my laptop, silently studying the 1.6 billion faces speaking simultaneously in front of me. It’s Monday, the day of the weekly conference call between all Muslims. We have been required to attend this Skype meeting from the the tender age of fetus, but I had never spoken in one of them before. 

That changes today. 

“Hey guys, what if…” I start to say. 

Nobody hears me, but I refuse to be silent. How could I show my face again on Tumblr if I couldn’t even save my mayonnaise friends from death? How could I expect to earn their respect? Anon was right; why hadn’t I done this before? Thousands of lives had paid the price for my ignorance, but not anymore.

“What if you guys….. stopped killing people.“ 

Suddenly, silence. 

1,643,398,023 pairs of eyes are on me. My heart is in my throat as the ISIS leader gives me a blank expression. 

A single tear rolls down my cheek. "Please.” I say with a broken voice. 

He is moved. 


being a femslash shipper: 

  • canon???? what is canon??????
  • making edits with a slightly out of focus or non-face showing girls kissing because your ship will never be canon 
  • blonde and brunette pairing could be from 7 different fandoms
  • knowing full well that if one or both of the girls were a man that your ship would be a hell of a lot more popular
  • people reblogging clearly romantic posts and adding how they’re not romantic
  • #friendship goals
  • being called “delusional”
  • even though it’s femslash there are still a lot of White Feminist™ shippers who ruin fandom and give your ship a bad reputation 
  • bury your gays trope
  • lesbians are bullet magnets
  • having ships that literally consist of two women that just happened to be in the same room as each other because you’re that desperate for content 
  • having to make your own content because there’s none
  • just gals being pals
I think I love you - Jughead Jones

Pairing : Jughead Jones x Reader

Word count : 1,484

Warnings : none

Requests are closed!

Originally posted by juptern

Your phone rang in the pocket of your jacket making you jump by surprise. You answered the call before showing your index to your friend Archie, meaning that it would only take a minute.

“Hi, this is (y/n) speaking.”

“Hey (y/n), how are you?” You instantly recognised the groggy voice behind the line.

“Jughead! I’m good! What about you?” From the corner of your eye, you would’ve swore you saw Archie rolling his eyes.

“Marvellous. So, what are you up to this evening? I thought we maybe could’ve hung out tonight. You know, me, you, at Pop’s?” You chuckled lightly.

“Sorry Juggie, I was planning on spending the night with Archie… You can tag along if you want? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” A small sigh made its way into your ear. You had to admit that you spent a lot of your recent time with your new red-haired friend. Jughead still occupied the position of best friend. He didn’t have to worry about it.

“I promise we’ll do something together tomorrow, alright?” It was silence for a while before you heard back,

“Yeah sure.” You pursed your lips, mentally cursing yourself. It wasn’t the first time that you had turned down your best of friend for Archie. Lately it had been happening more than before. It made you feel like the worst pal.

“See you.” With that, Jughead hung up. You understood how he felt. It wasn’t right that you weren’t spending as much time with him.

“Jughead, wasn’t it?” You looked up and saw Archie sprawled across the black beanbag in your bedroom. His hands were attached on the new acoustic guitar his dad had got him for his birthday. You nodded and played with the sleeves of you sweater. Your friend continued strumming the strings of his instrument.

“Hey- I wrote this song last week, and I wanted to know what you thought about it. I’ve been trying to talk to Josie about her playing some of my compositions, but she’s not that into it. You’re her friend, right? Maybe you could listen to it and try to talk to her?” He asked questioningly.

“Of course, go ahead.” His fingers moved to the tuners and accorded them as his other hand rested on the waist of the guitar. A few seconds later, a pleasant melody filled the room. Archie then started singing the lyrics he had written. The song wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was quite catchy. The redhead friend of yours had talent. Before Archie could go on, you blurted out something you soon would regret.

“I’ll probably spend the day with him tomorrow.” The small tune that Archie had started suddenly came to an end. Archie hadn’t spoken to Jughead since this summer. The tree of you and Betty we’re supposed to go on a road trip the fourth of July but Archie left you hanging at the last minute. Since then, the boys stopped talking completely. When you mentioned one of  them to the other, you saw the irritation and annoyance in their expression.

“I thought you were coming to my game tomorrow. I’m playing in the varsity football team this year, remember?” You bet your lip and fiddled your hair with your fingers.

“I’m sorry Arch. I haven’t seen Jughead in a while now and I don’t want him to feel like I stopped being his friend. I’m making a vow that I’ll show up to your next game, how about that?”

“Why does it always have to be about him? Everything constantly has to be about Jughead.” Your were caught off guard by the sudden raise in his voice.

“That’s not it… I’m just trying to do what’s best here.”

“By ditching me at the last minute, that’s how your making things better? I didn’t think of you as an inconsiderate and selfish person.” He replied bitterly. In all the time of you guy’s friendship, you had never seen this side of Archie. Usually, he would be sweet and just shrug off any problem that faced his way. But the words he had just told you, they hurt your heart. Your eyes were starting to fill up with tears and your bottom lip started quivering.

“I’ve spent all my time with you for the last month. You. Not Jughead. Why are you treating me like this?”

“You know what? I don’t want to spend any more of my time with you right now.” With that, Archie got up and left you alone in your room. Without even noticing, a trail of tears had made its way down your cheeks. A sob escaped your mouth and your hands covered your face as you poured your heart out. You laid in your bed and continued crying.

It was all your fault. Archie now hated you and would probably never talk to you again. Why did you had to be so stupid? If only you had kept your mouth shut. Maybe he still would have been on that beanbag, singing.

Maybe half an hour later, you heard the wooden creek of your door meaning that someone was coming in. You didn’t even move, your pillow pressed against your face. The mattress shifted to the side from the sudden weight that it now had on it. You felt a piece of your hair being put behind your ear. You smiled at the sweet gesture and assumed it was your mother. You slowly got up and saw Jughead sitting beside you. Automatically, you vaulted in his arms tearing up once again.

“Sssh. It’s going to be okay.” He rubbed your back comfortingly. Your forehead was against his chest, his two upper limbs protectively holding you. Your eyes were probably red from all the crying but you couldn’t care less. You continued sobbing in his chest until you eventually felt calmer.

“Why- Why are you here?” You asked with a small voice. Jughead gently whipped your cheek with his thumb.

“Your mom saw Archie leave in a rush and realized that you two probably had a fight. She heard you crying and thought that you would be more willing to speak about it with me than her.” You grinned at the boy.

“I ruined your shirt.” You noticed, and felt guilty.

“Nothing to worry about (y/n/n). I never liked that jersey anyway.” You giggle with your best friend. You sniffed and observed Jughead who his face was only about a foot away from you. You had to admit that he was good looking. His prefect blue eyes were mesmerising and his pink lips appeared so kissable. Forever you considered the boy as nothing more than a platonic relationship to you. Never had you ever felt anything for him. But in that moment, something clicked. Jughead wasn’t only a friend to you, not even a best friend.  A stronger feeling overwhelmed your body. You felt love. You loved Jughead Jones. 

He was the one who your mother called when you were sad. He was the one who came rushing to your house as soon as your mother hung up. He was the one who was holding you and comforting you, whispering sweet nothing to you as you were crying. He was the one who was there for you.

“Jughead.” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“(y/n)?” You asked yourself in your mind if it was the right time to confess your feelings towards him. Your breathing started quickening as the anxiety rose in your core.

“I think I-” He watched you with intending eyes, indicating to continue your phrase.

“I think I love you.” Jughead eyeballed you, astonished at your revelation. He quietly answered, almost inaudible for you to hear.

“I think I love you too.” He leaned towards you and slowly pressed his lips to yours. Fireworks were going off in your stomach. The heaviness on your shoulders disappeared. In this moment, nothing else mattered in the world. Both of your lips moved in sync as you played with his raven locks. His arms pulled you closer to him, leaving no space between you two. Jughead backed away and kissed every each of your face, including your cheeks, temple and chin.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He whispered in your ear. You gave him a last long peck on the lips before saying,

“Do you want to lay down and cuddle with me?” He moved his head up and down calmly and took a blanket that was already on the bed to cover you. Cuddling was not something new for the both of you. You had always cuddled together, and whenever. His hand ran through your hair bringing a comforting and fuzzy feeling. His body pressed behind your back and his hot breath was tingling your neck. Before you even knew it, you and Jughead had fallen in a deep slumber, both dreaming about each other.

*gif is not mine!!











(we’re watching cowboy bebop next oh god)

The Counselors Are In

In which Steve and Tony from Avengers Assemble open a counseling service for all the Steves and Tonys across the multiverse. God knows they need it.
To celebrate #10yearsofstevetony ♥

“But Tony, doesn’t it seem like meddling?” Steve chewed at the corner of his lip. “Maybe the other versions of us won’t want to listen to what we have to say.”

“We are pretty stubborn, I’m sure that’s true in every universe,” Tony said with a grin. “But I’ve seen some of the places they come from. Things are not good there. They need our help, Steve.”

Steve heart swelled at the care Tony had for everyone, even if they were from a different universe. “You’re right, honey. Come on then. Let’s do this.”

“Okay,” Tony called out, taking his hand, matching wedding bands sat atop each other. “Send the first pair in.”

MCU (Earth-199999)

“Have you two ever spent any time together outside of a mission?” Tony asked, eyeing them strangely.

“Uhh. There was that one time we got shawarma,” Grumpy Steve said.

“That was right after a mission and you were half asleep. That doesn’t count,” Grumpy Tony said snappishly.

“So you’ve never actually… hung out? As friends? Like, at all?” Tony asked, seeming genuinely perplexed.

“Well. When you put it like that, not really, no,” Grumpy Steve admitted.

“I think we may have discovered the root of your issues,” Steve said with a sigh. “Why not try talking to each other, for god’s sake?”

“Because he hates me,” both Grumpy Steve and Grumpy Tony wailed in unison.

“He really doesn’t,” Steve and Tony both said firmly.

Keep reading

Flowing Tensions *Joker*

Prompt: Well, I have a Joker smut request. So the reader and joker have sexual tension that has never been acted upon until one day when the joker can’t handle it anymore and ties up the reader and blindfolds her and fuck her being extremely rough.

Pairing: Joker x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warning: None

Keep reading

When they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it?

They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.

Was it worth it?

There’s never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.  

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.

The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to go out at all.  

The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn’t enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.

In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this.  

Oh baby, who says it’s over?

It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they’d experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of  stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.

If you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d die for. The boss they will die for.

They don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It’s all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they’ve got left to do is die.

Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?

The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.

There’s paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.

The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.

If the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.

Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.


Underrated moment - Rick crying as he holds Eugene’s terrified gaze (while equally being terrified himself) as Eugene is dragged away.

Hot and Bothered (Young!Sirius Black x Reader drabble)

Imagine/Request: Imagine Sirius getting all hot and bothered by you putting your hair up

Fandom: Harry potter (Marauders Era)

Pairing: Young!Sirius black x Reader

Warning: Smutty? I don’t even know I’m sorry if anyone gets offended 

A/N: just a wee drabble for my wee darlings, it’s my first sexually forward? drabble I dunno what to call it… meh I’m so awkward kill me

This was inspired by ‘Muggle games’ by @neville-longbutton-and-imagines

(which i loved )

and a story my best friend was telling me a while ago about her boyfriend getting turned on everything she puts her hair up… if you get my drift… I should probably stop worrying about offending people cause in RL I don’t give a fuck 

Do you guys wanna see more smut let me know by dropping me an ask :)

I hope you guys enjoy! ~Rae :)



You didn’t think of yourself as a competitive person, you were never bothered when you lost a game. Who knew it would be a simple muggle game to bring it out of you  

But you wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid smug smile off of Sirius Blacks face. Tonight the was the weekly night that the pair of yous got together with James and Lily a sort of 'double date night’.  

It was a simple muggle game that you were all playing, twister lily said it was called and it was boys vs girls. You had begun to play half-heartedly but the more times Sirius and James won the more it began to piss you off  

“enough!” You shouted as they won yet another round you looked at Lily and held out your hand for the hair bobble on her wrist. Your eyes narrowed and locked with Sirius’s. His shit eating grin still plastered across his face, you furrowed your eyebrows and flung your hair up in the best messy half bun half ponytail you would manage  

“ooh she means business, Pads" James mocked nudging Sirius in the ribs with his shoulder "my ten galleons back, they actually win for once"  

"another round Black?” You tease arching your eyebrow 

Sirius had suddenly gotten very quiet, the famous smirk on his melting away. His brows were now furrowed and his cheeks a slight tinge of pink. Was Sirius Black Blushing?! 

“I..I. Um.. I’m gonna pass” he said his attempt to act cool failing dreadfully  

“oh come on now pads, you can’t chicken out not” lily laughed  

Your eyes followed the full length of your boyfriend until they landed on your boyfriend’s trousers. His bulge had gotten considerably larger and his trousers were slightly beginning to tent. When you realised why you also turned slightly pink  

“Nah, actually I think I’m done with this game now,” I said trying to cover for him feeling slightly guilty  

“what! Oh, come one it’s just starting to get interesting….” James started before trailing off also realizing about Sirius predicament  

“oh” Both Lily and James said in unison  

“she only does that when …..” Sirius said through gritted teeth, gesturing slightly. 

You all sat down and began to try and move on from the situation 

“Sorry, pads” you whispered over to him" I’ll make up to you" winking at him as he blushed a little again, making Sirius blush was now your new favourite thing

The Beauty Of A Scientist

[Summary]: Being Bruce’s lab partner, you’ve gotten to know the Avengers pretty well. But there’s a certain Super Soldier you’ve been eyeing. Does he have the same feeling for you as well?

[Pairing]: Bucky x reader

Requested by: @my-unique-mind

Tagging: @bovaria @marvel-ash @just-call-me-mrs-captain @dividedwecantfall @buckysmetallicstump @mellifluous-melodramas @avengerofyourheart @metalarmproblems @marvelingatthewonder @beccaanne814-blog @mcuimxgine @capsbuchanan @imagine-assembling-the-avengers @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @the-real-tony-stank @violentlyfarts @hymnofthevalkyries @after-avenging-hours @buckys-shield @buckysberrie @callamint @redgillan @whotheeffisbucky @candyrogers @blueeyedbucky @tragicalchemist @marvelous-fvcks @professionally-crazed @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel

A/N: This request has been sitting in my ask box what seems like forever (even though it’s only been 2 ½ months!) and I’m finally getting around to doing it. Sorry this took so long, hun! I really hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback is appreciated.

Originally posted by leafierleaf

You don’t know how it happened. It just… did. Being a well known scientist in biochemistry had you on SHIELD’s radar for some time. It just took till after the Ultron catastrophe to finally have them call you and you graciously accepted their offer.

Working with your number one role model, Bruce Banner, was the most amazing thing that happened to you. The first few days you worked with him, you had to try and control the fangirling side of you that wanted to bust out so bad. Several months had passed and that feeling still quietly resided in you. And you still couldn’t get over the fact that you were amongst the Avengers! It was just too much to process.

There was one Avenger that you started having your eyes on about six months after you got the job. But every time you thought of him and you as couple, you laughed it off. ‘He would never have those feelings towards me. He probably doesn’t even know I’m there’ you’d try to tell yourself.

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no offense but straight fans are the ones that always push pairings onto idols and harass them about ships and are generally intrusive but gay fans get labeled as predatory what kind of logic is that hmm. gay fans aren’t predatory for thinking that maybe their idol might be gay too. it’s the straight (usually girl) fans that take it to another level and get all up in the idols’ faces and i’m just so Tired of gay fans not being able to even express thoughts bc everybody assumes we’re just as bad as the straight fangirls who write fanfic about their favs and call it a sin. i am Tired of straight people commenting hanjoo on hansol’s pics for so long that he no longer feels safe around his friend on camera. i am so so so Tired of every straight fan who ships kaisoo or chanbaek or whatever the hell kind of ship but at the same time talks about lesbians being gross. i am Tired and i Hate this.


Warning: If Pro-Trump, then this isn’t for you.

Pairing: Daveed x reader [Haven’t seen anything from him since the election.]


The world seemed to be on mute as the weight of reality finally dawned.

How could they pick such an egotistical, racist remark making, misogynistic person become Electoral Elect?

You checked Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr and everyone that wasn’t for him fearing what the nation would become now.

Not even a day in and the racists have come out threatening people, children are crying scared, feeling hopeless and alone. Reaching out to your fans, you comforted them in this time of anguish.

You called family and friends, reposting suicide hotlines, just reaching out because you didn’t know what else to do.

You sat in the dark of your living room, chewing your nails. Everyone that you know have posted, tweeted, instagramed their feelings.

Except for Daveed.

You knew he must be devastated. He was for Hillary through and through. And now that was taken from him.

You opted to call him but figured he wouldn’t answer, needing the time to think. To heal.

Loud knocks on your door broke the silence. Carefully, you stood up and opened it. On the other side stood Daveed in sweatpants and tank top.


You were pulled to him, his arms squeezing you tight. Your arms did the same and the tears you refused to shed since came pouring like a waterfall.

You buried your face in his chest, him rubbing your back as he rocked you both side to side.
He pushed your door closed with his foot before gently prying you from him.

He pressed his hands against your cheek, tears forming in his own eyes. “This just means we got work to do.”

You nodded, using your sleeve to wipe away tears and mucus.

“It’s about to be a revolution.”

Daveed kissed your forehead, pulling you back into his body. This will not stop the progress that has been made, this is the beginning of a new nation.

Life in Color (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Modern AU. An artist in every sense of the word, Bucky sees color in everything, vibrant as they fill his world with magic. What happens when the colors fade?

Word Count: 1154

Originally posted by bovaria

Wanda had warned you that James probably wouldn’t be awake at a normal hour, but knowing Tony Stark, he’ll be calling to ask about the painting by noon. Not wanting to tell your boss that you hadn’t even tried yet when his inevitable phone call happens, you decide to take your chances showing up at 10:30. You pass an attractive man with blonde hair and blue eyes in the hall. He gives you a small smile and you can’t help but wish that you were here to see him - whoever he is - instead of James.

When you reach his apartment, you knock on the door only to be met with no response. You knock once more, harder this time, causing the door to fall open a little. It feels a little intrusive, but the door was unlocked and opened on its own. There’s nothing stopping you from pushing it open just enough to step inside, so you do. Besides, with the way his lifestyle is often reported, you wouldn’t be surprised if you discovered him overdosed in the bathroom or murdered by a vengeful lover in the bedroom. You’re doing a civil service by walking into the apartment.

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Originally posted by dailyfantasticbeastsgifs

in which there’s a flower shop, a lost creature and two shy nature geeks 

fem!reader x newt scamander 

Owning a flower shop was truly challenging. Owning a flower shop covered in witches live among us posters was even worse. But nevertheless Y/N kept her head up, scratching the advertisements glued to the windows became familiar to her everyday routine. Truth is, she did believe in witches. But was she one? Of course not, she didn’t even know what she did to deserve to be called out as one. She was flattered, really, in her mind magic was something extraordinary, and for her plain self to be paired with something as magnificent? That’s a compliment if she’s ever heard one.

Today was no different, it was early morning, people of New York brushing past her as she ripped the stupid posters of the front door of her shop. Rarely did people set foot in there now, the no witchcraft in America scaring customers off easily besides a few loyal ones she had. So when a handsome stranger showed up by her desk she was truly amused. Even Eli, a German shepherd that already outlived Y/N by his long dog years, seemed excited to see a new face in the shop. She inspected him carefully, his - what she only caught glimpses of - beautiful, beautiful eyes, not daring to meet hers as he asked for a handful of tree seeds Y/N has only heard about from her mother. She dug around for a bit, the back of the shop being something she didn’t tidy often, it was more or less her mothers stuff and poor Y/N still hasn’t excepted that she was on her own on now.

She exchanged a few more words with the British man and that was it. The day went on as if any other; Y/N feeding Eli, Y/N watering the plants, Y/N feeding Eli even more because of his well mastered puppy dog eyes, Y/N moving plants to bigger bowls that outgrew their old ones, Y/N watching a tiny plant creature climb her desk — Wait, what?

She rubbed her eyes, nearly dropping the flower pot she was currently reseeding, her brows knitting together as her eyes narrowed to slits. She’s gone mad, hasn’t she? A small, green branch was standing upon the wooden desk, looking around in what seemed to be distress. Y/N placed the pot down carefully, tiptoeing over to her table, almost scared of what she was seeing. And as she inched closer the creature seemed to notice, Y/N preparing herself for the claws on it’s hands to extended, yet it only stumbled back, looking wide eyed at the woman in front of it. Or the dog actually.

Eli growled at it, standing in front of Y/N in his attempts at protection. But this cleared things up for Y/N, she’s not bonkers after all. If the hound sees it, it must be real. Or are the both of them just high on some toxic flower fumes?

So she ordered the dog to sit, tugging at him by his collar, stubborn that creature was, as she extended her hand for the beast, if you can even call it that considering it’s size. “I’m not going to hurt you, little fella.” She said, now even excited. Nature was everything to her, so seeing a new type of species really did excite her. “Eli won’t too, don’t worry, he’s just protective, and a little old too, so he’s sort of allowed to be grumpy.” She smiled, Eli letting out a grunt at her words, but the creature seemed to understand since he now stood braver, coming over to touch the woman’s hand. “See, there you go, how’d you even get there? There was no one here besides me, Eli and — oh. You couldn’t belong to the British man, could you?” She asked and the plant started nodding furiously, climbing completely into her palm as she raised her hand to look at it clearer. “How’d you two get separated? Some friend you have if he looses you that easily. Let’s just hope he notices that you’re gone, I’m sure he’ll come back. But you can stay as long as you’d like?” She finished more with a question than a sentence, she started of her day like any other, yet now she’s talking to a plant who has a face.

Hours passed and it was nearing closing time, anxiety was chewing her up from inside, she’d jump to the slightest of noise, hoping that it’s the door opening with the blue coated Brit. She had nested the creature inside the pocket of her apron, it was lukewarm around the place and her new leafy friend seemed to enjoy sharing body temperature. And as the sky colored in pinks and yellows, Y/N’s nails completely chewed off by the fact that she might never find the owner of the creature, the door did finally open, Eli crying out in a loud bark as he ran to greet the so waited man.

Y/N was fuming now, not enough to lash out on him, but enough to let him suffer for awhile since he did seem as much distressed as the creature currently fast asleep in her pocket.

“Sorry, sir, we’re closing.” She said, putting away pots and bowls on various shelves, the cute man — wait, since when did he become cute? Oh right, since the first time she saw him today. Damn.

“Um, could I just -um, ugh. Could I just look around for a bit more? Perhaps you have a wiggentree planted somewhere already?” He tilted his head upwards, finally meeting her eyes, Y/N’s stomach erupting into butterflies at being graced with the beauty of his irises. They were pleading though, looking completely lost and hopeless.

“You kidding? Those things are huge, where’d I plant one in here?” She said, pressing on the matter only to have the man’s eyes dart down again and she couldn’t help it anymore, he was just too damn cute and she could really see that he was stressing about his creature just as much as Y/N was. “I’m messing with you, your friend is here.” His eyes shot up again, now completely wide and reflecting shock as Y/N smiled sweetly at him, his cheeks filling with color as he shook his head in misunderstanding. So she hushed at the creature in her pocket, waking it up from its slumber as she pulled it out.

“Merlin’s beard, Finn! I’ve been worried sick!” The Brit immediately extended his hand, Finn Y/N assumed he was called, jumping right over Eli to reach the man’s hand, another creature just like Finn appearing from the Brit’s pocket to meet him. Y/N awed at the sight, it’s not everyday you see a cute man with a cute creatures that’s technically isn’t even supposed to exist. Again, has Y/N gone mental? “Sorry for earlier, I was sort of mad that you lost your, um, Finn, right?” She continued as the man nodded. “But you’re back so we’re all good, just make sure not to lose him again, they seem oddly fond of you.” She smiled at him and Newt nodded again, rather confused now. Because earlier today when he was here he was sure that the woman did not know of the wizarding world, but right now, even witches and wizards themselves, they’d rarely take a liking to a beast. Most would’ve squashed it by now, in Newt’s experience, so maybe she’s a squib —

“What are they, by the way?” His thoughts were cut off by her asking, clearing up his confusion. Muggle it is.

“They’re bowtruckles. A beast that is hard to spot because of his size and looks. They usually serve as guardians to the tree they habit. They love wiggentrees, that’s what I was getting the seeds for. May I ask how you even acquired them?”

“Oh, they were my mother’s. I’ve only seen one in my life, when I was little. She took me to this giant tree, told me that if I touch it it’ll protect me from all things dark. Obviously I thought it was nonsense, but seeing your friends over here, I guess not.” And Newt smiled then, because after all it’s squib, meaning that he won’t have to cast a spell on her so she’d forget.

And so daily visits from Newt became part of her everyday routine too. Even if he didn’t need anything he’d still come over, mumbling nervously as Y/N giggled at him, offering him tea or something so she could keep him with her just for a little longer. After a bit of bonding they’d finally go down into Newt’s case, Y/N’s eyes nearly popping out of her face as she looked around. And she was great help too, she knew a lot about how different plants and herbs reacted to different creatures, all of that that she’s learned during her time as a child with her mother, which then yet again seemed to be complete nonsense, yet now it was very much needed. She found herself waking up everyday cheerfully, dragging still half asleep Eli to the shop just so she could see Newt again. To feel his hand brush against hers as they exchanged something, both of the two looking down with tinted cheeks, or when she was just watching Newt interact with his creatures - fantastic beasts she learned to call them - so gentle and loving, she couldn’t help falling for the beautiful man stood in front of her.

But then of course his departing time came, Y/N stood at the pear looking at the ship Newt was about to leave her on, trying to avoid seeing him say goodbye to Tina. Eli nuzzled at her leg as she took a shaky sigh. Newt turned to her then, catching her off her guard for once, because she’d usually smile or look back at him, Newt way too shy to hold her gaze, but now he could look at her clearly, and he saw no smile, no matter how bright her eyes were.

“We’ll see each other again, I promise.” He said to her, hands coming to his chest and fingers crossing his heart as she smiled at him widely. “But just in case, I want to leave somebody to look out for you.” Y/N frowned, both Pickett and Finn peeking out from the collar of Newt’s coat, the woman immediately starting to shake her head because hell, he is not giving away one of his creatures. And when Y/N took no action to take his offering, Newt bent down to bet the shepherd, one of the bowtruckles climbing on top of Eli’s head as Finn looked up to Y/N in what seemed to be a smile.

“Newt, I can’t keep him, he’s yours, they’re yours, I’m not qualified to take care of him —”

“He wanted this himself, he knows that you’re a brilliant woman, and as I said, we’ll see each other again.” He explained, Y/N heart hammering against her chest as the wizard came closer to push a strand of loose hair behind her ear. She looked at him, Newt finally not darting his gaze away as he looked up, such beautiful eyes Y/N took in every inch of, never wanting to forget the moments she spent together with Newt —

“Can you two just kiss already?” Tina popped up suddenly, Y/N and Newt jumping back from each other, startled, as the witch sighed, mumbling an okay okay I’ll leave as she turned for the exist. Y/N started laughing then, Newt following along as they looked at each other again. Y/N leaned in first now, her lips brushing against the man’s cheek, tinting it the lightest shade of pink.

“Off you go, Mr. Scamander.” She hushed, fixing the hufflepuff scarf around his neck, turning him around and pushing him toward the ship entrance. Newt laughed again, waving to Finn who was comfily sitting on top of Eli’s head, as he turned to Y/N again.

“See you soon, Ms. Y/L/N.”

I don’t think that Connor overreacted when Oliver called him damaged. I think that a lot of people who experience trauma, anxiety, and abuse are afraid that they’re broken and can’t be put back together. I think that Connor really loves Oliver and every time Oliver invalidates that love and says that they’re dysfunctional, it makes him question his own sanity and maybe the progress that he’s made. 

I think that when you love and trust someone, it hurts even more when they call you damaged and invalidate what you’re feeling. When someone you love and trust calls you damaged, it makes you think that maybe that the thought you have of being too broken is right. It makes you go down a negative spiral. 

I’m mad that it means that my pairing is going to get put through the ringer again for dramatic effect, and there might be some truth to what Oliver says, but that doesn’t mean that Connor wasn’t hurt by it. To me, Connor’s anger and need to get even makes sense.

I Still...

[Summary]: At what point you thought that Tony didn’t deserve you, you couldn’t recall. You just somehow always felt that he deserved someone better. The only problem was, was that Tony still cared about you even after you left him.

[Pairing]: Tony x reader (mentions of others)

[Warning]: angst, drinking

Tagging: @bovaria @marvel-ash @just-call-me-mrs-captain @dividedwecantfall @buckysmetallicstump @mellifluous-melodramas @avengerofyourheart @buckyslion @metalarmproblems @marvelingatthewonder @beccaanne814-blog @mcuimxgine @capsbuchanan @imagine-assembling-the-avengers @that-sokovian-bastard @hellomissmabel @abovethesmokestacks @maybe-mikala @violentlyfarts @hymnofthevalkyries @after-avenging-hours @buckys-shield @callamint @redgillan @candyrogers @tragicalchemist @marvelous-fvcks @professionally-crazed @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel @iwillbeinmynest @theassetseyeliner @lilasiannerd @aubzylynn @ourpeachskies @tatortot2701 @raegan-darling @nostalgic-uncertainty @marvelatthepeople

A/N: BSB gif was made by yours truly! Yep, another fic using the Backstreet Boys as inspiration… [x] It has some flashbacks that will be italicized and indented. This hurt to write just because I hate mixing Tony with angst (he deserves to be happy!) but this song just seemed to scream his name. Sorry for all the Tony feels! I will understand if you need a hug after this… 

Originally posted by thepunisher

Tony poured another shot of vodka in his glass. It was yet another sleepless night. He glanced at his phone when it lit up, thinking it was a response from you but it wasn’t. Just another notification from his lab computer, updating him on his project progress. He noticed the time as the phone dimmed to black; 3:15 am. 

These last six months have thrown Tony into a mess of restlessness, nightmares and non-stop work. He still couldn’t believe that after five months of dating, you just… left. It wasn’t like you didn’t love Tony, you certainly did, but you felt as though you could never love him the way he loved you and he deserved someone better.

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