#its also easier than combing through an entire book

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

another pinterest thing im so sorry (2021)

“energy takers: me >:)”

again no hate to the person who made this

#pinterest #IM SORRY #i love the pinterest things #their format is nice for poetry lmao #its also easier than combing through an entire book #anyway #blackout poetry #blackout poem #author #book #poetry

[danidrabbles]

Ruined

Summary: When you see Javi receive all kinds of attention after hosting an event, you're overcome with the urge to remind him who he belongs to.

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: jealousy/possessiveness, (unprotected) p in v sex, hair pulling, dirty talk, slight dom/sub vibes, Daddy kink (only two counts ok), feelings? If I forgot anything, let me know!

Notes: I borrowed @javier-pena’s man (with permission) to bring you this one shot. Astrid, thank you for letting me imagine away in this little world you created! And for letting me write this! And for proof reading this... I hope you like the one word title I picked. (Also, it just dawned on me... is this technically... fanfiction of fanfiction?). Please read Care, Reverberate, Take, and this ask, to read more about this man and/or if you want read some spectacular writing — Astrid is so criminally good at writing him and I can only hope to reach her levels. Enjoy!

--

You want him ruined.

That’s all you could think about earlier, during the charity event - his charity event.

Not at the beginning of the evening, though.

He delivered the welcome speech, enthusing curious patrons to flip open their cheque books and donate a generous amount. He looked gorgeous in his fitted grey suit with a bow tie to match and a white dress shirt, and with his soft curls gelled back and combed into a side part. The sudden, unannounced rush of pride that flooded your body made your lips stretch into a warm, wide smile as you watched him in his element. Javi was charming, passionate, funny, gesticulating wildly as his glimmering eyes looked around the room, and there was no doubt about it that his positive, genuine attitude was the reason the event had been a smash hit.

Later, after he got off the stage, you watched him from your table, happy to let him be the social butterfly as he made small talk with some of the patrons while you sipped on your champagne. Once every few minutes, Javi’s eyes found yours, like he couldn’t help himself, and it made the pride from earlier sit low in your stomach, made it turn liquid between your legs.

It morphed into something else entirely as the event neared its end. When you watched a woman walk over. She was gorgeous, tall, and the tops of her tits bounced from the bodice of her strapless dress with each step she took. She went straight for Javi, of course, offering her hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek, touching his arm when he said something that made her laugh.

That’s when the thought came.

You weren’t jealous. That’s what you told yourself as the feeling in your gut twisted into something akin to possessive. You knew better than to be jealous - you knew Javi better than to be jealous. He was with you, only with you, as devoted to you as you were to him, and you knew that. He knew that.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t want to remind him of that every once in a while.

You just wanted to show him who he belonged to, wanted to twist your fingers into his coiffed locks, run your fingers through them until they came undone, until he looked dishevelled. You wanted his eyes on you, unable to look away, the familiar deep brown glazed over with pleasure as you—

“Ready to get out of here, baby?” Javi asked, breaking you out of your daydream to find him with his hand extended towards you and a soft expression in his face.

--

You want him ruined.

It’s still all you can think about, now, at home.

You’re getting there, though.

You watch him remove his jacket, his waistcoat, the bowtie, then steer him to the couch and unceremoniously drop yourself in his lap.

He looks so beautiful and surprised under you, and you can’t help but lean in to kiss him. Your hands, finally, find his hair, gripping where the slippery strands allow it, pulling at it with a moan. His mouth opens under yours at the gesture, and you press closer to him to deepen the kiss.

It’s not often that you charge at him like this. Usually there’s more of a mutual push and pull between the two of you, and usually it’s Javi who gives in, but it’s not always out of impatience. It’s in his nature to please, to give you everything you desire in every way imaginable. And sometimes it makes you greedy, greedy to take everything he’s offering on with both hands. But tonight it makes you want to give all of that to him. It makes you want to pour every ounce of pride, every bit of love, every drip of desire into your kiss. It makes you greedy to give.

“I’ve been dying to have you to myself all night,” you admit between the press of your lips and the nips of your teeth.

“I could tell,” Javi replies. “You looked pouty before we left, baby. You always pull that face when you want to get fucked, I recognized it from across the room.” His voice is low as his hands slide over your thighs, toying with the lacy fabric at the tops of your stockings.

You almost go slack against him at the soft touch, but letting him take control isn’t your plan for tonight, so instead, you pull away from him. Lightning quick, your hands find his to lace your fingers together, to press them into the back of the couch.

Javi cocks an eyebrow, curious eyes settled on your own as he slumps back against the cushions. It’s a rush, the clear sign of resignation, that he’ll let you lead. It makes your hips roll against his, where you feel the swell of his arousal under you, and you bite your lip to hide a smile when his mouth drops open around a groan.

“You’re going to keep your hands right. here,” you say as you guide your joined hands to your waist before untangling them and pushing his hands down, gently taking his rights to touch you anywhere but right there, “and let me do the rest, aren’t you, Javi?”

All he does is nod in response.

“Say it, baby,” you urge as you brush a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead.

“I’m going to keep my hands right here,” he says, “and let you do whatever you want.”

Another rush of endorphins hums pleasantly through your veins at his words, and you drop a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips, murmuring a Good, before getting to work on his trousers. It’s a practiced move, the pull at the leather, the slide through the buckle, the button, the zipper… and before you know it you can reach inside, wrap your hand around where he’s hard, velvet smooth. His fingers dig into you as a rough sound bubbles up from his throat at the touch when you stroke him once, twice, three times.

“You’re so hard,” you observe, feeling him throb in your palm at the words. Your head tips up to look at him, “All for me, right?”

“It is— Fuck, of course it is.” He grunts when your grip at the base of him tightens, when you hold him still so you can lean down to let a string of saliva fall onto the swollen head of his cock to ease the glide of your hand. “Always for you, only for you.”

With a satisfied sound, you release him from your grip, and the sight of his cock curved back against the fabric of his dress shirt, the tip resting just below one of the glimmering white buttons is oddly enticing. Acutely aware of your own arousal, you pull at the bunched up fabric of your dress, hoist it up to your middle until Javi’s fingers fix the fabric in place. Hooking your panties to the side, another practiced move, you shuffle closer to him, taking his cock in your free hand and rubbing the head against your clit with a joint moan from the both of you.

For a moment, you watch as you move him against you, cupping your hand around his length and rubbing yourself against him, the precome that’s oozing from him making the slide that much easier, that much better.

“Please, sweetheart, fuck me,” Javi says, the blunt ridges of his fingernails pressing tighter into your skin where he holds you as he tries to coax you into giving him more. “Need to be inside you.”

“Maybe,” you sigh. “I think you’d slide right in; can you feel how wet I am?”

Suddenly, Javi’s fingers flex against you, and then he lets go of you. His face is unreadable, the furrow of his brow not matching the look in his eyes. Your body goes rigid in anticipation, cunt fluttering against where you’re pressed up against him, because for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, that he’s gonna pull you up and slide home.

But he doesn’t.

With a shuddering sigh, he gathers up the fabric of your dress that has fallen back down, and slides it up your body until he’s once more holding you where you told him to. He gives the slightest of nods, the softest of “Sorry”s as he regains his composure.

You’re almost there, you realize, the heat of relief and arousal burning through you as you watch him settle. And just like that you decide you won’t give him any reprieve.

"Tell me,” you say, “who does this pussy belong to?" Your voice is sticky sweet despite the filthy words of the question.

“Me,” he growls immediately.

“Who?” you ask innocently, cocking your head as you begin to move yourself against him once more.

His head falls back against the couch. "Jesus Christ, baby…,” he sighs, and you can tell he knows what you want from him.

“Tell me, Javi,” you say sharply. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“To Daddy,” he relents, and your heart swells at the way he refers to himself, at the sound of his voice; the way it sounds broken, fucked out, wrecked.

"Hmm-hmm, that's right,” you nod, holding his gaze as you sit up on your knees and position him at your entrance, “all yours, Daddy." You sink down on him slowly, eyes fluttering closed as you feel every delicious inch of him, as he takes his place inside of you, until you’re really settled in his lap.

When your eyes open again, you’re finally treated to the vision from your fantasy: Javi’s eyes are at half-mast, glazed over in pleasure, his pupils blown wide with lust, and a rush of slick coats him where he’s buried deep when you realize you’ve fucked him dumb for once.

You ride him slowly, building the both of you up to something spectacular as you find his hair again, tugging sharply to keep his lidded eyes on yours through the ebb and flow of your body on top of his. The very tip of him nudges against that soft spot deep inside of you, and you circle your hips until you find it with every roll of your hips.

“You’re being so good for me, Javi” you say, and you feel him grow harder inside of you at the praise, feel him swelling with his impending release. “Such a good man, always giving me everything and now letting me give this to you.”

A strangled noise tears from Javi’s throat when you find your clit, circling the stiff bundle of nerves and clenching up around him in the process. You fall quicker than you anticipated, cling to him, fingers digging into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” you warn him, red hot desire licking its way up your spine, “I need you to come with me, okay? Need you to come inside, fill me—”

“Yes,” he rasps, hands anchored at your waist in a way that’s almost painful. You excuse the interruption as you watch him struggle to keep his eyes open, as he barely works out a, “You’re gonna make me come,” before you feel him pulse inside of you.

It’s that feeling, the feeling of him coating you in himself, marking you as his, your brain steadily provides, that pushes you over the edge. Your thighs tremble around his as you pant his name, as you contract around him while you helplessly rub your clit.

You’ve probably stained his suit beyond recovery, you think and you look down to confirm, watch him leak from you until it pools at the base of his cock. With a sigh, you slump forward, forehead knocking against Javi’s shoulder.

“Permission...,” he begins, pausing to draw another breath, “to touch you?”

When you nod against him, his hands unhook themselves from your waist to cup your jaw, pull you up until he can fit his lips to yours with a satisfied sound. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, and you mumble more praise from him, tell him how good it was, how much you love him, how you can’t wait to get the both of you cleaned up and get to bed, so you can hold him close.

You get there eventually, the sticky logistics of your trip to the bathroom, the quick shower, they’re all a forgotten haze when you find yourself curled up around his body instead of the other way around. You press yourself against his back, your cheek against his warm skin, your nose fitting between his shoulder blades while his hands rest over yours in your embrace.

You support each other, ruin each other, put each other back together again, and it’s everything you could ever want.

It’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.

--

Look at me being a “professional” writing blog; I made a form where you can sign up for my taglist! You can find it here! Thanks for reading!

#the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi gutierrez x reader #javi guttierez x you #javi gutierrez #tuwomt #pedrostories #pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dani writing

[plush-rabbit]

Repressed Leon Headcanons

A/N: I love repressed f/o so much,, AH

Most people would think that Leon has had his fair shares of flings and hookups. He’s handsome, chamring, and he holds status. It’s easy for most people to assume that he knows what to do in bed and has dirty talking down to a point where he can make you wet with just a few words and a slight brush of his lips on  your neck.

However, he was also a champion at such a young age. He was surrounded by adults, had sponsorships that he had to represent, a status to uphold. So he didn’t get enough time to explore and act as a teenager.

As a result, he’s rather timid as a partner. Most things are his firsts. He’s had his fair share of kisses- enough to count on one hand- has brushed his hand against a chest and bum, frantically pulling his hand away and clutching it with the other while he apologies extensively.

And then you come along. You’re everything to him. He falls in love fast and wants to experience things with you. But he’s also embarrassed. He assumes you know what to do, you’ve made enough suggestive advances for him to guess that you do. You’ve let your lips linger against his neck, let your hand cup the swell of his breast and brush your nails down to his hardening nipples that he almost stained himself from just that alone.

And that’s the issue. He feels insecure. You can give him a look and kiss him and he can cream himself in just a few seconds and he wants to have so much more with you.

But jerking off doesn’t work. He feels ashamed. Dirty. He trembles as his hand wraps around his cock, as he pumps himself and lets his mind wander off to you because booking at porn is just too much. It’s too much to listen to women and men moan, white, thick discharge to spill. It’s too intimate even if it isn’t.

But thinking of you isn’t any better. He feels awful when he imagines you. How you would moan, how you’d feel wrapped around his cock. He’s heard you say his name countless times but the thought of hearing his name in such a breathy tone, sultry and whimpering with a flushed face is enough to make him spill.

He always buys you something when he masturbates to the thought of you. It’s almost like he’s repenting for the filthy act that he just did the night before. He gets you whatever you want for the entire day and will happily place things in the cart if you even expressed the slightest interest in them.

The day things grow heated between the two of you is the day he’s shaking like a leaf, sputtering out words and nearly crying himself. He doesn’t hate it. He wants it, he swears. He’s just so nervous that you won’t like how he looks without clothing or even his shaft.

It’s too much and he’s grateful that you understand but he’s still so hard and touching himself in front of you is too humiliating right now. So when you offer the next best thing, to let you touch his cock and pressed your clothed cunny onto his bugle and move on him, he’s agreeing immediately and he’s a moaning mess under you while tears spill from his eyes and his nose crinkles.

He whines and ruts his hips against yours, his bare cock against the soft cotton of your panties, pre-cum oozing out and staining you, a flushed face that feels too warm as he chokes out your name and spills, making a mess on you and your new covers.

He’s large in your hand, and you give him melodic strokes, fingers soft and tight around him with your thumb circling at his slit. He gasps for breath, forehead on your shoulder and sweat beading down the side of his face. He swallows tightly and wants to mumble something sweet to you, wants to slip his hands under your skirt and circle and rub at your cunt that calls out to him. But he can’t bring himself to, too focused on the pleasure that you’re giving him and how you coo sweet words into his ear. Your voice is light and teasing, and he can feel a slight hump of you on him.

“Oh Leon,” you say softly, “you look so cute.” You tighten your hold on him and he whines, his hands curling, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter that he bought you a month ago. “Have you touched yourself before, dear? Wrapped a nice fist around your cock and tugged on it?” He bits his bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut and nods tightly. “What a good boy-” he lets out an embarrassing moan at the praise- “Did you think about me? Or did you watch something to help get you off?” He shakes his head and you tut against him, your hand slowing its movement and coming to a still, his high still so near and now coming to an abrupt stop. He whimpers and bucks his hips into your hand only to apologize with broken breaths when you remove your hand. “Come on sweetheart,” you whisper, breath hot against him, “you have to talk to me.”

He struggles to find words. All of the words that he wants to say build up and stop in his throat, choking him and denying him the sweet oxygen as he gasps and trips over, sputtering and his cock twitches and leaks when your nail runs over a sensitive vein. “Yes,” he chokes out. “To- To you,” he claries, sucking in a deep breath and letting his hands cup the underside of your breasts, feeling them swell with every breath that you take. “I-” there’s a tight coil in his stomach and he wants nothing more than to hump against you, to mewl and beg as he aligns his cock against your clothed slit and feel the sweet friction that your cotton gives to him- “I think about how good it would feel with your hands on me and- oh fuck,” he curses, pulling away from you and covering his hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed tight.

The pressure had begun to build, making him all too sensitive, crying and aching for release but the touch is too much. It leaves him trembling, too close for comfort, too far for comfort. His cock is hard, bobbing and a flushed color on it as it oozes a thick trail of translucent pre-ejaculate.

“And what Leon?” You coo, coming above him, your cotton teasing where his cock twitches and jerks into attention. “Do you wanna feel how soft I am? How I’m leaking just by touching you? Here you are with all the pleasure and I’m here in my soaked panties, a throbbing cunt all ready for you.” He burns hot and he can feel your legs pinch together. “Do you want to feel me?” You ask gently, brushing your nose under his jawline and pecking lightly under his chin. “Do you want to put your fat cock inside of me?”

He wants more than anything to feel you. To let his hands roam your body and make love to you but when you guide your hands upwards to the curve of your breast, bra pulled down to expose yourself, he jumps when his palm makes contact with your pebbled nipples. He shakes his head, a soft whimper sounding in the room. “Not yet,” he mutters and you pull away, eyes wide and sliding away from him.

“You okay?” You ask, brushing away strands of hair that coat his face.

He nods. “Not ready yet,” he whispers. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He fists his own cock when you kiss him and wash away his worries. “Can- Can I do something else?” You nod and cup his face in your hand, pressing a quick kiss to his nose. “I-” it’s getting easier to voice his wants but even the thought of asking makes him remember just how inexperienced he is- “want to dry hump you.” He waits for your answer, shrinking in on himself and when you give him a wide grin, quickly agreeing, he turns you on your back and hooks your legs around his torso.

He hides in the curve of your neck, breath ragged and moistening your skin as his hips buck and slide over, your soft cotton panties, sweet and providing enough friction to make him start losing control. His cock is raw, pulled tight and hard. He whines your name, coming out in broken syllables, choked and hoarse and he humps against you, leaking and weak, his lips pressing quick kisses and swiping them away with his tongue. You moan under him, hand raised to pinch at a pert nipple while the other slips between the bodies and he can feel the way your rub at your hidden bud, panting under him, brows furrowed and eyes shut tight, breathing out his name in soft gasps, bucking your hips to meet his. His name sounds so sweet on his tongue, light and fruity, whimpered and arching your back, moaning his name out and he spills. He cries, hot tears sliding down and staining both of your skins, whimpering and face burning with fire while he shakes and breathes out ragged, deep breaths. Thick, white creamy discharge stains you on the outside and he sighs, letting his body collapse on yours for a quick second until he rolls over and hides his face under his hands.

He feels peppered kisses on his hands and soft fabric cleaning at his messy, wet skin. He whines when you touch his still too sensitive prick, bucks his hips when you roll his testicles in your hand, drying them off, practically cries when he feels a kiss against his slit. He feels his hands against your chest, hears your soft lullaby sung to him while you comb through his hair with your hands he promises himself that he’ll get you something sweet tomorrow as he lets his eyes rest.

#leon x reader #leon headcanons #champion leon x reader #champion leon hc #champion leon swsh #champion leon headcanons #swsh leon x reader #pokemon leon x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon leon imagines #i love repression and guilty thoughts #ahh #defs gonna do something with mammon and shigs and tamaki #ahhh #this was a good requests

[omoi-no-hoka]

Omoinohokaさん, in your latest post, you mentioned using etymology sites. I was wondering if you would have the time to share them, or maybe your favorite one? In any case, thank you for always creating such interesting posts!! I hope you're having a nice, peaceful evening. Take good care of yourself! :)

namidagawaさん、thanks for your lovely ask! 💗

I use a ton of different resources to make the Word of the Day posts. Here’s the ones that I use the most.

First, I go to good old Google and type in the word and 語源 gogen (etymology). I also do the same thing with the word and 由来 yurai (source). Then I comb through all the different results and find the most credible ones.

1. 語源由来辞典 gogen-allguide.com

This site doesn’t have all words, but it is my first go-to. Here’s where I learned about 村八分 murahachibu (ostracism). It gives you the definition and then the etymology and is very highly reputed.

2. 漢字・漢和・語源辞典 okjiten.jp

This site explains how each kanji means, how it came to be, and the etymology behind its very first iteration. Here’s what it had to say about 蔓, one of the recent words of the day.

3. Yahoo Questions

I know that the English Yahoo Questions are kinda famous for being meme and joke fodder, but the Japanese take Yahoo Questions very seriously. While I don’t like relying on it for answers, sometimes I find that Japanese people have asked the same questions about words I’m looking up. If the best answer includes sources, I will use it as an explanation.

4.  成り立ちで知る漢字のおもしろ世界: 人体編 The World Becomes More Interesting by Knowing Kanji Etymology: Human Radical Collection

This is a book I found very recently online. It has a lot of explanations about kanji and their etymology. This is where I found 脆い’s etymology the other day.

5. Wikipedia

It’s not very common for there to be an entire page about a word, but sometimes there are! When I was looking up the etymology of 嘆く nageku (to wail, lament) I read up about 旱魃 Kanbatsu (drought or the God of Drought) on Wiki.

6. 苗字由来net https://myoji-yurai.net/

Sometimes I do collections of unusual Japanese surnames, and this is where I get all of that information from. It’s a super cool site! I use this to look up people’s names when I can’t read them or I want to know more about them as well.

It gives you their name, how common it is in Japan, about how many people have it, how it’s read, and, sometimes, the etymology of the surname.

7. jisho.org

Where would any learner of Japanese be without jisho? God praise the people that made that site. This is where I get each word and kanji’s on-yomi, kun-yomi, and meaning in English. I also use their example sentences if they have them.

8. 用例.jp http://yourei.jp/ and ふりがな文庫 https://furigana.info/

Sometimes the words I have are so low-frequency that jisho doesn’t have an example sentence, so I turn to other examples on Japanese sites like yourei.jp or furiganabunko, which both have examples of words pulled from various published works like books and newspapers. Some of the examples they use are very old, like from before WWII, and are hard to understand, so I have to hunt for ones that I think will be easier to understand for everyone.

And that’s about it!

Other than that, sometimes I happen to come across entire articles about “Did you know the true meaning of x kanji?!” that are super helpful haha. 

Now you guys know all of my secrets and can look up the etymologies all on your own! XD

#asks are open #japanese resources #japanese study resources #japanese linguistics #study japanese #learn japanese #kanji #study kanji #learn kanji #namidagawa

[moonlogw]

Silver Soul pt 2

pairings: regulus x oc 

warnings: BRIEF mention of injury; in no way am I bashing the Marauders in this, I love them to pieces but I wanted to also show their immaturity over the course of the last few years as well. 

word count: 2330

summary: Celeste can’t get away from Regulus. Everywhere she turns he’s there. Eventually the burning desire to know why he won’t leave her thoughts comes to a head and she confronts him. Maybe it will work in both of their favors

pt 2 

Over the next few weeks, Celeste saw the youngest Black everywhere. It was like that now that she knew him she was aware of him. Without even thinking, she would search for him in the Great Hall or catch his eye in passing in the corridor. Not only was it frustrating but it was exhilarating because he would be looking back.

Never in her life had Celeste been actively seeking for anyone. Since she was young, Celeste had always been trying to keep the onslaught of other people’s emotions from taking over her life. But now that she knew Regulus, she wanted to continue to know him. If she tried hard enough, she could even seek out his emotions. It was thrilling to know she could control that. 

The first Hogsmeade trip had finally arrived and Pandora had made it a point to drag Celeste along with her. What Pandora had failed to mention was her new boyfriend Xenophilius Lovegood was tagging along as well. 

“Dora,” Celeste hissed when the boy had waved at them from the entrance of Three Broomsticks. “I thought you said it would be just you and me?”

“I never said that,” Pandora laughed airily and tugged Celeste along without worry. The irritated scowl she wore slipped off when they joined the taller boy and entered the pub together. 

Xenophilius was a nice guy. He was tall and pretty, with high cheekbones and long blonde hair. He was a year older than them and a Ravenclaw prefect. His blue eyes were always bright with mirth and his joy laid thick around him like a cloud. It was easy to see why Pandora fancied him. 

The pub was bustling with energy. Excitement, mischief, and glee bounced off the wet walls. Everyone was ecstatic for the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. Xenophilius lead them over to a quiet table in the back and then bounced off to get their drinks.

“Isn’t he lovely” Pandora gushed as she leaned over to clutch Celeste’s hand. 

Celeste plastered on a smile, suddenly overwhelmed with a rush of adoration. She blinked a few times to clear her mind as she nodded. “Just the best. Is he going to be with us the entire time?” She asked, trying to broach the subject and not offend her only friend.

“We planned on just touring Hogsmeade together. If you don’t want to third wheel then I completely understand.” Pandora said sincerely. It wasn’t meant to be brash, but it seemed like Pandora was brushing her off. 

Celeste just shrugged and sat back in her seat. She stared at the knots in the table with a furrowed brow. Why would Pandora invite her to Hogsmeade when she was just going to ditch her for Xenophilius? It would’ve been much more productive for her to spend the weekend with Madam Pomfrey trying to work on her control of her empathy. 

Xenophilius joined them shortly later with three Butterbeers. Celeste would’ve left but she didn't want to be rude, so she stayed and sipped at her drink at the other two fawned over each other. It wasn't Pandora’s fault. The girl was just trying to be nice. Celeste should’ve known. 

Stifled giggles erupted from the table behind them and Celeste subtly turned to see what they were all about. 

“shut it, Wormtail, or he’ll hear,” Sirius Black hissed at his friend across from him. Sirius was just an older version of his younger brother. Same gray eyes, high cheekbones, and long silky black hair. The only difference was the easy smirk that never left his face.

Celeste knew them well. A little group of four in the year above her that liked to call themselves the Marauders. Their leader, James Potter, was tall and dark with messy black hair and dangerously placed glasses. His laugh was loud and always forthcoming. Beside him at all times was Sirius Black himself. The pair were always followed by Peter Pettigrew. He was a quieter blond with giant eager blue eyes. He trailed after them like a lost puppy, always soaking up whatever shenanigan Black and Potter got into. The last, Remus Lupin, was the only one that Celeste knew personally. They both spent a lot of time in the infirmary. 

Being around Lupin was physically exhausting. The pain that one boy could hold in his body always threatened to knock her over. She could feel exactly what he felt and it was torture. She didn't know how he endured it. In her first year, after a really bad episode in her potions class, she was dropped in the infirmary in a bed next to Remus. Madam Pomfrey had no clue why Celeste wasn't resting and had no idea why she was feeling as she did. 

“I don’t understand, Minerva,” Pomfrey said, worried to the Professor. Her cold hand brushed against Celeste’s burning hot forehead. “There’s nothing wrong with her.”

Celeste clutched at her side, skin itching and raw. Her head swam with pain she didn't even know she could ever have. After slipping sleeping draught into her tea, Celeste drifted off into a fitful sleep and woke a few hours later alone and in a haze. She glanced over at the bed next to her and saw a boy sitting up, a book resting in his hands. He sucked in a deep breath, wincing in pain at the movement. Celeste winced in time with him. 

Rising from the bed, she slid back the thin curtain separating them and wavered on her feet. The boy stared at her with wide eyes, “Hello?”

“You’re hurting,” she said bluntly and pointed at him. “I feel it.”

“What?”

Celeste studied his pinched brow and the one hand pressed to his ribs. White bandages covered a large gash across his neck and two little ones were pressed to a cut on his cheek. “Your pain hurts.”

The boy blinked at her in confusion, “Yeah, I know. Its painful.”

Celeste rolled her eyes and took a step closer. “No, I feel your pain in here,” she said and pointed to both her heart and her head. “You’re also scared and angry.”

He stared at her again, at a loss for words. How did she know these things about him? It wasn't like he wore a button that said everything he was feeling.

“How do you know?”

She sighed, “I just told you, I can feel it.”

“How?” 

Celeste shrugged. “I don't know. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that you aren't alone. I'm Celeste Gallant.” She smiled weakly and extended a hand. 

The boy stared at it for a moment. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. “Remus Lupin.”

Celeste beamed and slid into the bed beside him. “Well, Remus, looks like you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together.”

And they did. Celeste usually ended up in the infirmary at least twice a week. She was usually only there to escape the sea of emotions that paraded around the school, but she always made sure she was in there during the day after the full moon. It was easier for him to have someone there who understand his pain.

Now sitting across the room from her, Remus flashed her a tiny smile and Celeste returned it. She shifted her gaze to his friends. The other three were bent over, whispering loudly and occasionally interrupted by giggles as they glanced over to a another table. Celeste followed their gaze until her eyes locked with a familiar pair.

Regulus was already watching her. It was something she had become accustomed to since the episode in charms. A question was always on his face, but he kept his distance, too afraid to ask. Celeste cocked a brow and glanced between his table and his brothers’. Regulus was joined by boys he called his friends, other Slytherins who kept their distance from Celeste and Pandora for the most part, but had no qualms about hexing the table of giggling boys.

Severus Snape was on his left as Barry Crouch Jr sat to his right. Avery, Mulciber, and Evan Rosier completed the circle. They were all caught up in their own conversations, oblivious to the plotting of the Marauders. Celeste wasn’t sure she wanted to be there when the plan erupted, and she was sure it would erupt.

Downing the rest of her Butterbeer, she took one last look at the scheming boys and cocked a brow to Regulus. He was already watching her and copied her movements, turning to whisper something to his friends.

“Hey, Dora,” Celeste whispered, tapping her cousins arm. Pandora turned to her with a smile. “I just remembered I have to go get new quills, meet you back at the dorm later?”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Xenophilius asked, already reaching to gather his things.

Celeste gave them a grin and shook her head. “No need, but thank you. You too have fun.”

Pandora stared at her for a moment, blue eyes studying her face, but she must have found what she was looking for because she gave her a gentle smile. “Oh course. Be safe.”

Celeste followed her gaze to both the table of Slytherins and the Marauders. Tensions between the two groups have always been high, increasingly so as rumors of war continue to blossom. With one last smile, Celeste rose from her chair and zigzagged her way through the mobs of students bubbling about their summers. Bursting out into the early October air, Celeste pushed past newcomers and ducked into the little alcove of the shop next door. She crossed her arms over her chest as she waited. Moments later, the door of the pub bursted back open and the shrill laughs and conversation from inside spilled out onto the street.

Stepping out of the alcove, Celeste met the eye of the boy she couldn’t stop thinking about. He was dressed in dark green robes, hair combed neatly to the side. It was very different from Celeste’s loose blue jeans and tucked in button up. She was starting to understand the vast differences of his Pure-blood raising. Pushing that aside, Celeste cocked her head.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” She asked, not even giving a hello to buffer her assault.

Regulus blinked at her, surprised by the bluntness. He tucked one hand into the pocket of his robe and glanced around. Hogsmeade was bustling with people. Witches and Wizards were going about their daily business as school kids giggles and talked all throughout the street. No one even passed a glance to the pair.

“You are the most unique person I’ve ever met,” Regulus answered, gray eyes unrelenting to give up anything else. Celeste remained silent, needing a little bit more than that. “I have never met anyone like you. Ever.”

“So you’ve said.”

Regulus pursed his lips and took a step forward. “Do you understand how rare you are? The Ministry classifies Empath’s as extraordinary individuals, high up there along with seers.” His gaze shifted around them again before he leaned in. “They require registration for it.”

Celeste furrowed her brow. If this was the case, then why hadn’t Dumbledore or Pomfrey told her any of this. They were the most intellectual Wizards she knew, yet they had failed to mention this extremely crucial part. It was almost as important as the werewolf registry. Another way to control her when she didn’t have control herself.

“How much do you know about this?” Celeste asked, gulping down the lump of panic in her throat. “How much do you know about me?”

“My parents have all these books at home about literally everything,” Regulus explained. “After my brother-“ he trailed off, hands tightening in his robes before shaking his head. “I had a lot of free time and spent my holidays reading. In class the other day when you snapped on me,” he chuckled lightly and gave her a tiny smile. “It struck. If you want I can show you them. I’m sure the library has all kind of literature on it.”

Celeste was stunned. No one had ever been this concerned about her before. Not even her parents. They were all along the edges of Pandora. It was a gift, don’t question it. But how could Celeste not question it when it consumed her day.

Clenching her jaw, Celeste stared at him. She could feel the excitement brimming underneath his worry. Worry that she wouldn’t expect. But there was something else.

“In turn, what do you desire?” She asked, knowing that no one ever offered their help freely.

Regulus gave her a shy smile. “Um, I just want to know if my brother hates me.”

“What?”

That was not what she had expected him to say. More along the lines of blackmail, use this to hurt somebody or something. But he just wanted something as simple as that? Regulus ducked his head, toeing the cobblestones beneath them. Shame coursed through him, but why. What was he ashamed of? Caring for his brother? But just underneath it was overwhelming loneliness. Celeste frowned.

“You miss him.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. Not that he could lie to her anyway. He kept his eyes on the ground as he nodded. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you why,” he started softly and lifted his head. “But I just need to know if he hates me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t-“

“I need to know, Celeste. For sure.” The burning intensity of his gaze had her agreeing before she could even think.

“Okay, I’ll help you.” Celeste said.

If not to be kind then at least to understand what she was dealing with. For once in her lifetime, someone else was extending the branch out to her. Regulus was giving the the opportunity to have her own freedom. To have control over this power she had.

Who was she to deny that?

#regulus x celeste #regulus x oc #regulus black #regulus x original character #remus lupin #sirius black #pandora lovegood #xenophilius lovegood #james potter #peter pettigrew #the maruaders #marauders era #harrypotter #harry potter marauders #Celeste #celestegallant

[wormstacheangel]

Since your last post implied it I would love to know about your AU recommendations ❤ I am obsessed too!! Thanks in advance 🙏🏻

hello! I hope you don’t mind if I just make a basic list of some of the AU stories I have read or want to read. Not in any order I just went through my bookmarks on AO3 :) Also I need to read more...Under the cut because it got too long! 

Angel's Wild (not gonna lie this is my favorite fic. I have read this almost a dozen times now)

Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. 

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? 

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Checked Out

Summary:  Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

A Ghost Story

Summary:  Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

Patient Love

Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. How do you deal with losing half of yourself when your whole life always revolved around the two of you, like yin and yang and black and white? How do you deal with a broken soul and old demons looming over you with no one to hold you back anymore?

After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator and more than a dozen deployments in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. When he learns about his friend Jimmy’s death, Dean makes his way back to Kansas with his heart in his throat and broken pieces at his feet.

Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?

The Unbroken

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

While You Were Sleeping

Summary:  A Destiel version of While You Were Sleeping! Castiel is alone and floundering. He has a crush on one of the passengers who passes through his subway station every morning. When the man gets pushed onto the tracks, Cas saves him. But when they get to the hospital there's a mix up and Cas finds himself engaged to a complete stranger. Enter, the rest of the family, including big brother Dean. How will Cas navigate the relationship with his supposed future in-laws? What will he do when Sam finally wakes up? And why can't he stop thinking about Dean?

Purgatory, director's cut

Summary: this doesn’t have a summary but it is dean and cas in purgatory and it’s soooo cool! I promise it’s amazing and worth the read!

Basic Lessons in First Aid, Magical or Otherwise

Summary: Most people probably wouldn’t take the naked, heavily wounded man they found in an alley home with them. Most people probably wouldn’t also offer that man a place to stay and become his best friend after realizing he’s suffering from an intense case of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia. Most people probably wouldn’t then risk almost everything they know to save said man, and maybe save the world in the process.

But then again, Dean Winchester, RN (with a specialty in supernatural care), has never been like most people. He may not have a magical bone in his body, unlike his brother Sam, but he’ll do whatever it takes to help. Even if Castiel has questionable opinions about Star Trek.

What Greater Gift

Summary: Story idea: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

From a prompt found on Tumblr. Saw this and I couldn't resist a Destiel AU, and I've been wanting to write Witch!Cas for ages.

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Summary: Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

They end up going through a lot more than a case, unfolding feelings left untold for so long, discovering parts of each other they never intended to uncover.

But will the feelings raging inside them be enough to bring their walls down?

A Fish Out of Water

Summary: To tie up the loose ends of a hunt, Dean is forced to go undercover and visit Brock Pleasure Ranch, a horrifying establishment that markets its inhabitants to people with ‘monstrous’ tastes.

It should have been a simple thing, to persuade a mer to give him a few scales for a spell. All part of the usual Winchester byline: saving people, hunting things.

But Castiel is far less of a ‘thing’ than Dean expected. He might not be human, but he’s definitely a person. And that means he needs saving, too.

The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through Chlamydia

Summary: Dean doesn't expect to see his one night stand again, but then again he also doesn't expect to find out he has an STD. Sometimes life is hilarious like that.

Just as lost as I

Summary: Dean's been in love with Castiel for centuries. He keeps it buried, never letting himself get too close, but when Castiel goes missing he doesn't hesitate. He's going to find him if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Love Bites

Summary: Cas Novak graduated with a 4.0 in Mathematics, but not even Naomi Novak’s money could help him at job interviews. Anxious and dissatisfied with life, at nearly thirty he’s still washing dishes in the back of his best friend Hannah’s café.Until one night when his cat drags an injured bat into his apartment.

Dean may be a vampire, but he’s not an asshole (well, not much.) He feels like he owes the awkward guy for rescuing him from the cat’s clutches, so he sets about changing Cas's life.

A silly story about families who aren’t quite what they seem, fake boyfriends, and falling in love with someone who’s never, technically, met you.

The Bad Cop, Worse Cop Adventures of Freckles and Feathers

Summary: Miami. A place with beaches, babes, palm trees, and a growing drug-fueled crime organization. To help combat the drugs littering the streets, Captain Singer puts together a Tactical Narcotics Team composed of Miami's two finest and fearless officers. Charming casanova Dean Winchester has fought tooth and nail, rising through the ranks for this position. Trench coat toting Castiel Novak knows more hand-to-hand combative techniques than he does people skills. Between Dean's big mouth and Castiel's take-no-shit attitude, their introductory meeting ends on a less than stellar note and a couple of hard to shake nicknames.

After six months of partnership, the nicknames have stuck and so has the sexual tension. When a murder in the middle of the night launches their biggest lead on a cleverly evasive drug lord, Dean is shocked to find Sam at the center of it. Sam comes clean with his involvement and Charlie, their witness, seeks revenge against the man responsible for killing her friend. As the stakes rise higher so do Dean’s feelings putting everything in jeopardy. Is a cop with everything to prove, a cop with everything to lose, one computer hacker witness, and a damn good ADA enough to save the day?

The Care and Feeding of Castiel

Summary: Dean’s quiet time in the bunker is interrupted by some stranger-than-usual behavior from his angel. Oh, and feathers...there are a lot of those, too.

First Gentleman Wanted

Summary:  President of the United States Castiel Novak is popular, charismatic, and knee-deep in campaigning for a second term. He’d be the ideal candidate if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t dated once while in political office. With his opponent’s relentless PR team calling him incapable of emotional commitment, Castiel’s staff decides to remedy the situation by finding their boss a fake, picture-perfect boyfriend. And when Dean Winchester enters the scene, he and Cas become America’s new favorite couple, except they’ve got a whole lot of history between them and complicated feelings to resolve.

The Graveyard Shift

Summary: Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

The Path of Fireflies

Summary: After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Summary: Heaven is white.Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.-Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

Doing this made me realize I need to read more longer fics. I usually just read the short ficlets on tumblr but I need to broaden my horizon and read more. But yes! These are the AU’s currently in my bookmarks. Hope you find one to enjoy :)

#fic rec #answering the q's #lalisfandoms

[sd1970x]

Marinette, work in progress - Chapter 1

Read also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203645/chapters/63770623

----

“One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” Simone de Beauvoir

There is almost nothing about Marin Dupain-cheng's life, an aspiring clothes designer, that makes them happy. Certainly not the bullying they keep getting at school.

Marin doesn't even know her true gender identity yet.

Both of these are about to change. But would that be enough for her to fight the demons within? ----

CW - Homophobia

Pronouns note: in the beginning of the fic, as Marin(ette) is very much closeted, I am purposefully using he/him pronouns as these capture the correct perspective feel. Pronouns will change as soon as she realizes who/what she really is.

---

So, this is my first work after almost two years of not producing any new ones. I am planning to explore mental challenges involving the crossing of the gender barrier, the very same ones I am now fighting after discovering my own gender identity, as I was writing it in a Miraculous Ladybug fic.

This work is planned to be about a dozen chapters and around 30-40k words when complete.

Thanks go to: V- for inspiring this fic and for being the amazing and caring person they are. Wonderful beta feedback and copyediting: Skye, MyKeyboardDidIt

(further thanks will be updated as goes! if you helped with beta/ideas just hit me up and i'll add you!)

------------

"Dear, your alarm’s been going off for fifteen minutes! You’re going to be late for your first day of school!”

You say that as if it’s a bad thing. As if I don’t want to be several hours late. Or days.

“Yeah Mom, I’m coming.”

Marin dragged himself out of bed, his form hunched as he made his way to his closet, regarding his clothes with indifference.

I Don’t even like any of them. And I doubt they would solve the real problem here. That I do not like what I see in the mirror.

Myself.

His hand drifted to a random shirt of no particular interest and he casually tossed it over his head. He shuffled over to the bathroom, glancing at himself in the mirror.

Ho-hum. Same old me, isn’t it?

His hair was in its usual mess on top of his head. Foregoing using a brush, he ended up lightly combing through his hair with his fingers until it looked somewhat acceptable.

I guess that’s okay, he thought while shrugging.

As he was brushing his teeth, his eyes strayed to his face. Studying it. Scrutinizing it.

I ought to shave better than this, He thought. His hand reached for the razor, but he stopped short of picking it up.

What even is the point. Either way, trying won’t make any difference.

The image in the mirror appeared to give him a judgemental look, his own blue eyes prying into the inner parts of his soul.

Well, at least these eyes aren’t half as bad. Perhaps they would have been of some use if they had been matched with another person altogether.

He sighed and turned his head away, as if that would be enough to make the thought disappear.

It wasn’t.

The stairway creaked just a bit as he went downstairs to the kitchen where his parents were already toiling about.

“Your need to patch up your shave, my boy,” Tom said. “You want to look good for the ladies, don’t you?”

I’m not into girls, Dad.

Maybe one day I’ll gather the courage to tell you that.

“Well… not really…”

After all, what difference does it make?

“Come now, where’s the spirit? Every girl is different, they can’t all be like Chloe,” Sabine interjected, attempting to be helpful but having just the opposite effect.

“Ugh, Mom, why’d you have to mention her at all?”

Marin frowned as he sat down for breakfast, unable to drive Chloe’s image away from his mind. He took a bite off of his omelette and was struck by the apparent blandness. He set the fork down, sighing quietly to himself.

And there goes my appetite. It’s not the omelette that’s the issue though....

A sip of fresh juice did the trick, the taste too strong to be overridden.

“Cheer up, buddy!” Tom came over. “Take these macarons to school, maybe a tasty start would help lighten up your day!”

“Thanks, Dad, these are awesome.” He said as he picked them up, giving him a half-hearted smile in return.

I appreciate the gesture..., but it feels more like bribing my classmates with these. Guess anything is worth a try at this point.

---

Marin walked into school where everyone was bustling about and chatting with old friends.

Bright banners greeted the students and everything still felt pristine and clean. The corridors even had flower bouquets placed as decorations. Marin took a breath of air, relishing in the floral scent, and proceeded to enter class.

The classroom was freshly painted and even the furniture had been patched with an attention to detail. Marin barely allowed himself a moment of excitement, before despair and weariness took hold again.

It may look different, but looks won’t change anything for people like me. It’ll still be an endless test of mettle against bullying and harassment.

He cautiously went for his seat and observed his classmates.

So there’s Nino, he’s kinda-sorta okay with me. Something I could never say about Kim. Max hasn’t been mean either, but he’s with Kim, so... At least I don’t see her , maybe we’re not in the same—

“What do you think you’re doing?” a loud cry halted his thoughts and confirmed his fears.

Chloe. The nastiest of them all. Here’s to an old-new welcome, a start-over that amounts to absolutely nothing.

“Ugh. Here we go again,” he muttered quietly, hoping Chloe wouldn’t pick it up.

She came over, an accusing look plastered on her face.

“That's my seat.”

“But Chloe, this has always…” he attempted to retort, then quickly backtracked.

“Fine, just… take it. I don’t care.”

“Take it? It’s always been ours.” Sabrina added, bearing the same mocking countenance.

Sabrina helped herself to one of Marin’s macarons uninvited, then made a puking motion.

“Ugh, they are so gross!” she said, even though she was quick to pocket one for her friend as well.

Chloe paid no heed to the macarons as she was already busy teaching Marin the new rules.

“Listen. Adrien's arriving today and the last thing he needs is someone who needs straightening like you giving this class a bad name. Stay away from him, get it?”

Marin tried his best to ignore the obvious insult and focus on the more pressing question.

“Who’s Adrien?”

Both Chloe and Sabrina chuckled, making Marin regret asking.

“Adrien is a famous model. Pretty, rich, glamorous, someone to look up to. Like me. And just like me, he’s everything you’ll never be and everything you’ll never have.” Chloe fawned over her imaginary description as Sabrina took up the task of reprimanding Marin for the question.

“A loser that doesn’t even know who Adrien is, needs to sit as far away from him as possible. You’re enough of an embarrassment to our class as is.”

Marin opened his mouth as if to deny every word, but opted against it.

You’re wrong. One day, I’ll be a famous and successful designer and every single one of you will be sorry for how you treated me. I just have to persist through this. I won’t bite it this time.

He picked up his bag wordlessly and slowly went towards his designated seat.

At least that’s what he planned to do, but the new girl pre-empted him as she grabbed him by the hand and helped him to the seat next to her. Apparently she had overheard the conversation and didn’t plan on letting it slide, at least as far as her expression read as she looked towards one Chloe Bourgeois.

“Hey! Who elected you queen of seats?” She cried out.

“I did. Good luck dethroning me with your pariah friend.” Chloe laughed at her.

It was then that Miss Bustier entered the class, finally putting a timely end to the whole ordeal.

“Has everyone found a seat?” she called.

“Hey. Don’t let her get to you.” The new girl turned towards Marin again.

He nodded.

“If only I could… She makes my life miserable. My only comfort is the thought that I’ll be free once I graduate.”

“I’m Alya, what’s your name?”

“I’m Marin” He replied. “Pleased to meet you.”

“For those of you who don't yet know me,” Miss Bustier called yet again, “I'm Miss Bustier and I'll be your teacher this year.”

At least with the lesson going on, I should be safe from unnecessary trouble.

Marin pulled out his history book, the same one from last year, bearing yet another reminder. "Marin the Gay-boy" scrawled over the cover, courtesy of Kim.

Safe, huh.

“Everything you’ll never be, Everything you’ll never have.”

Like a clean history book.

It was then when the memories came back to life, a flashback from last year.

---

“Who did this?”

Marin looked about, trying to discern any dead giveaways by his classmates. Too many of them seemed to be smiling too mysteriously to be able to get anything out of them.

You need to stand up for yourself! Show them weakness and they’ll hunt you down like prey!

… easier said than done.

He took another good look at his history book. A small red scrawl was now adorning it, not unlike a barb stuck in flesh and equally painful.

“ Marin the Gay-Boy ”.

“Please… tell me who did this.”

Weariness engulfed his voice as it went weak.

I’ll find out who did this! I’ll…

Drip.

Drop.

The book’s hardcover had just won yet another adornment, as Marin’s teardrops started collecting over it.

Marin picked up the book, tucked it by his side and blasted away from class, his legs carrying him as far as he could, a bout of laughter coming from his classmates in his wake.

By the time Nino found him, his tears had mostly dried out.

“I saw it, dude. It was Kim.”

Marin sighed.

“Thanks, Nino. I… there’s nothing I can do about it, now can I?”

Nino nodded.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

---

I may have missed first period and the picking of seats, but I haven’t missed out the first day entirely. I guess luck is somewhat on my side, today.

“Hey there, Adrikins. Here’s your seat, I saved it for you. Right in front of me!”

So, I have that going for me as well!

“Thanks, Chloe, that’s really nice of you!”

As Chloe and her friend Sabrina went to do something else, Adrien found it to be an opportunity to introduce himself to other students around. What caught his attention the most about the nearby student were his orange headphones, seemingly a fixture of his appearance.

“Hey, I’m Adrien, pleased to meet you!” he offered his hand and got answered with a sturdy shake.

“Yo, I’m Nino. So, you’re that guy Chloe mentioned earlier?”

It was at that moment that he caught something happening out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s that all about?” he called towards Chloe and Sabrina, as both were putting gum on one of the seats.

“The brat that sits here needs a reminder of his place in the hierarchy. I'm just commanding a bit of respect, that's all.”

“You think that's really necessary?”

“Ah, you've got a lot to learn about school culture, Adrikins. Watch the master.”

Hardly convinced, Adrien went about trying to remove the gum from that seat, as he heard another male voice.

“Oh. So that’s your method of choice. How original.”

The voice sighed as Chloe and Sabrina laughed.

“Uhhh… I…” Adrien tried to protest, as he turned towards who he presumed was the seat’s owner.

The first thing that struck him about this boy is that he had a good amount of untapped potential. Smooth black hair, bright blue eyes… given proper care, he could look so much nicer, but he was relatively unkempt and his clothes were poorly matched too.

“And to think I imagined this year would be any different. Stupid, stupid, stupid. ” The boy lamented.

“No, no, I was just trying to take this off!” Adrien tried to salvage the situation, but to no avail.

All the while, Chloe and Sabrina continued to laugh.

“I see you’re in cahoots with Chloe. You don’t need to play pretend with me.”

“See?” Chloe said, “Gay-boy here knows his place. As he should.”

Marin just covered the gum with spare tissue paper and sat by Alya.

“There you go. Adrien Agreste, daddy's boy, teen supermodel and Chloe's buddy.” Alya quipped.

“I bet he’s used to not seeing or caring how people beneath his status feel,” Marin muttered.

---

Alya had little interest in the class, but much more interest in her table partner. She quickly learned that Marin wanted to be a famous designer after he graduated. While she wasn’t a professional, the sketches Marin gave her seemed really good. But there was something else to watch for, too. How his face had lit up when he handed her his sketches. For a moment there, he seemed to be another person altogether. His face brightened up as he took at least a hint of pride in his handiwork.

And you should. Not to mention that a smile looks so much better on you than that sad face you had on earlier.

They had a free hour just after class, so Alya was only mildly surprised when Marin caught her hand and pulled her towards somewhere as he ran forward.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked.

“The best place this school has to offer.” he grinned and continued to dash forward.

“I present you… the art club room!” he exclaimed.

It’s as if he’s another person entirely.

Marin waded in, showing Alya all the different areas the art room had to offer.

A wall for street art, mostly cleaned from past works but still bearing color marks of older works. Desks used for writing, pen scratch marks still visible even after having been cleaned for the new year. Drawing stands, also marked by some uncleanable paint blots. Then there was...

“... Here it is. A state of the art sewing machine, My best and only friend in this entire school.” he laughed, but in a moment the smile dropped from his face.

“That… I…”

He sat by, not nearly as happy as before, and pulled a derby hat from the nearby drawer.

“I worked on this last year and haven’t managed to finish it yet.”

Alya picked up the hat and casually caressed the fabric. It felt somewhat sturdy yet comfy.

Marin flicked the machine on and seemed to be mulling his next move. Eventually, he just turned it back off without doing anything.

“We technically shouldn’t be here without a teacher, so let’s go.” His passionless voice took over again.

Alya could see this was nothing but an excuse, but she declined to call it out. Her instincts told her there was no chance on earth Marin wasn’t keen on violating this rule more than once.

“It really is a lovely place.” She tried to brighten up the atmosphere, with mild success.

“And I loved the hat.” She said as she handed it back for Marin to place in the drawer again.

That seemed to work a bit better.

“Wait ‘till it’s complete, then. I’m sure it will suit you well.” Half a smile crept to Marin’s face.

---

Marin bid Alya farewell as he left the classroom and slouched towards the school’s main doors.

He cautiously opened it, only to find rain pouring outside and the sky filled with grey clouds.

A fresh start, huh? The morning’s nice weather is already gone. At least the bleakness isn’t hiding anymore.

He stood by, still sheltered, when he found out another person was standing next to him.

That Adrien guy. And he just noticed me. That’s the last thing I need right now.

“Hey!” Adrien called.

He slowly sidestepped to maintain a safe distance between them and turned his head away, muttering a slight ‘hmph’.

“Hey, listen buddy… I really was trying to remove that gum from your seat.”

Marin turned his head around and looked at Adrien, wide-eyed.

I… I must be dreaming. Did he really just say that?

“S-so… you weren’t…” he tried to piece together his words and found himself unable to do so.

“Of course not. I came here to study, to make friends… I’m not here to harass or insult people, where’s the sense in that?”

He is sincere about it. Somebody that doesn’t see me as the “gay punching bag” everyone else does.

“I didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s… It’s Marin.”

Marin’s heart nearly skipped a beat, one that he was sure Adrien managed to hear even with the rain’s sound muffling it.

And then, there was an inaudible sound he missed.

A cracking sound, as the nearly-impenetrable shell, one that was built layer over layer of self-defence from bullying and mistreatment, sealing off his emotions, gave just a little bit of way.

Adrien let his hand out of the shelter, feeling the raindrops accumulating.

“So, Marin, It’s raining and I’ve got a ride, need an umbrella?”

He nodded ever so slightly and Adrien pulled out a black umbrella. A click and a whoosh and it was now open, handed for him to take.

Marin cautiously reached out for the umbrella Adrien handed him, his hand shaking and trembling.

That’s… so nice… so… so unlike…

No sooner than he had picked it up though, his hand slipped and triggered the activation switch, the umbrella closing shut over him.

Adrien laughed for a brief moment and gave Marin a slight friendly shoulder bump.

“You keep safe, alright buddy?”

“A… al… alr-...”

Marin barely even noticed his bag dropping, hitting the ground with a ‘thud’ and his personal effects rolling about on the wet pavement. His eyes were transfixed as Adrien waved goodbye and proceeded towards his pick up car.

He’s not going to insult me or beat me or humiliate me.

Someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on.

I feel… safe next to him.

.

.

Oh, Adrien!

Maybe things were going to be different after all.

---

Unnoticed by them both, there was another figure watching the exchange, clad in a hawaiian t-shirt and accompanied by a green looking creature.

“Are you sure of your choice, master?”

“Yes. He will make a fine Chat Noir…

… and she will make for an unforgettable Ladybug.”

next

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #trans marinette #trans-AU #fanfic #ladybug #umbrella scene

[imagine-nation20]

Mutants, and Magic, and Stones, Oh My

Summary: After the fighting stops, and everyone returns to the mansion to get back to their semi-normal lives, they meet an unexpected guest.

Requested: No? But also yes, by an anon

Request:Wild card! write whatever you hell you want to read! (or don't, if you don't feel like it)

Pairing: Sean Cassidy X Reader (Sort of. Its hinted at)

A/N: I’ve had this idea in my head for a very long time, but I haven’t seen to First Class movie since… like it came out? So excuse my weird lack of information. This was just a fun idea that I felt like writing, and thank you to the anon for giving me the means to do so! Also, reader is hinted more towards being female, so sorry.

~~~

Stephen Strange stared at you from across his desk. “I’m not angry,” He started.

You groaned in response, “Please don’t do that, ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’ speech, okay? I get it, I screwed up-”

“By almost destroying the New York Sanctum,” He grumbled back.

“But I didn’t,” You insisted, crossing your arms in a huff.

“(Y/N),” He tilted his head, hands clasping in front of him on the desk. “You’re a smart kid, but I took you on as my personal apprentice under the assumption that you would set an example.”

You threw your hands up, “I have, Doctor Strange,” you insisted, “I’m the best in the entire sanctum, maybe even every sanctum! I never lose a sparring match, I practise every spell given to me until I’ve perfected it, and yet, I make one little mistake, and suddenly I’m a disappointment?”

“I never said-”

“What do I have to do to prove to you I’m taking this seriously?” You asked, eyes wide in an earnest plea.

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, and you could have sworn you saw three new grey hairs sprout from his head. He was silent, staring down at his hands, which were now rested flat on his desk. His eyes trailed to you. 

He had taken you in as his apprentice on a whim. A car crash, which should have been fatal, instead left you paralyzed from the waist down. He had come to you in the hospital, clad in strange robes and a bright red cape, talking of magic and giving you back you ability to walk. You had thought he was crazy, if not for the demonstration he gave in the middle of your scramble to call a nurse or doctor.

You had accepted without any further fight. If you could get your freedom back, you would take it. So, you studied. Harder than any other apprentice. You weren’t going to take this miracle opportunity for granted. If Stephen told you to jump from a cliff, you would, with the faith that he knew what he was doing, and it would better your training.

So when he pulled the Eye of Agamotto from his neck, you tried not to let your jaw drop to the floor.

“There are disturbances, I can feel it through the eye,” He mumbled. “Something, or someone, is messing with the timeline.”

“And?”

He took a deep breath, sliding the eye across the desk to you, “And I want you to go back and fix it.”

“You-” You stuttered. “You want me to use the eye to go back and stop someone from messing up the past?”

“Yes,” He shrugged. “I would do it, but I have to look after the Sanctum, make sure we can recover from this recent setback,’ He leveled you with a look.

“Are you sure you want me to do it?” You asked, reaching out hesitantly.

“Weren’t you the one just grovelling for forgiveness?” He quirked a brow.

With that, you snatched up the eye, pulling it over your head and letting hang from your neck. The old, brassy metal and glowing green of the amulet contrasted with the white and grey of your robes.

“Take the staff with you,” Was his last fleeting comment, waving you from the room. “When you are ready, come find me in the training arena.”

You walked away, moving to prepare. Your robes, you switched out for more moveable, mission-like clothes. Black pants, tucked tight into brown, wrapped boot. Next came the long sleeved, brown undershirt, which had arm guards wrapped over top, then a darker, short sleeve top. A cloth, which looked like a long strip of bright red material with a hole dead center for her head. You slipped it over, each part hanging down past your knees. A thick, black belt held it all together, with a paler, brown cloth wrapped over top to hide a dagger sheath.

It was a lot of layers, and took you awhile to get on. The final touches consisted of the eye, which was tucked under the red cloth, and the brown straps to hold your staff. At your waist hung a small spellbook.

Stephen was meditating when you showed up.

“Good, you grabbed the book,” He never opened his eyes. “You will need it, seeing as you wont have access to the Sanctums where you are going.”

“Which was going to be my first question,” You said. “Where am I going?”

“1962, New York,” He said. “What do you know about mutants?”

~~~

“Come on, Alex,” Sean smirked.

The blonde shook his head, “I am not helping you push Hank off the roof as payback,” Alex pushed the redhead away.

“But he deserves a taste of his own medicine,” Sean was adamant that this was fair play, despite the slight flaw to his plan.

“Hank doesn’t have the ability to fly, Cassidy,” Alex stood from his spot on the couch, moving towards the exit to the sitting room.

“So? I couldn’t fly when he pushed me,” Sean snarked.

They walked through the almost empty halls of the mansion. Despite Charles’ claims that they would soon have students wandering the halls, it was still quiet even weeks after the incident on the beach. Charles hadn’t quite recovered yet, and those who still remained in the mansion were hesitant in thinking he ever really would.

From down the hallway, Hank turned the corner, Charles beside him in his wheelchair. Sean was about to open his mouth to snark at the tall brunette in a lab coat, when a commotion outside hit his ears. A glance out the window from the four pairs of eyes left them all speechless.

In the gravel of the driveway, to the right of the fountain, was carved out by a large crater. It looked like a meteor had hit, despite no previous signs, and no fire. From within the crater, a green glow spread out.

The four glanced at each other.

“Uh, Professor…” Alex whispered.

“I don’t know,” Was Charles' answer to the unasked question. “Let us find out, shall we?”

Outside, there was no scent of smoke or fire. Instead, a metallic tang on electricity hung in the air, the tingle setting everyone’s arm hairs on end. The light from within the crater faded.

A hand appeared, grasped onto the ledge of the crater. Their palms were caked in dirt, but the back of their hand was surprisingly clean.

From within the crater, you grunted, cursing out Stephen in whatever language came to mind--even the more ancient ones. With great effort, and the use of already sore muscles, you pulled yourself from the hole your impact into the year made.

Upon rising from with depths, you locked eyes witha group of very shocked men. You must’ve looked crazy, with your old-looking robes and metal-tippedstaff. The glowing green necklace probably didn’t help.

“Hi,” You said awkwardly, “One of you wouldn’t happen to be Charles Xavier, would you?”

One of the older members of the group, who was in a metallic wheelchair, raised a hesitant hand. You smiled, sighing.

“Great, that makes my job way easier,” You joked. “I’ll be quick, but I’m from the future, someone from my time is trying to change this past, and I’m here to stop it.”

The redhead, standing stock still in the front, choked out an odd noise. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, as he collapsed.

“...oops,” You shrugged.

When Sean Cassidy came too, he could’ve sworn he had died and gone to heaven. You hovered over him, a pale yellow light emitting from the sigils you created over him. You smiled, hesitant and almost guilty.

“Sorry about all that,” You said. “Didn’t realize how shocking it would be if I just unloaded all of that.”

You were in one of the many sitting rooms, Sean sprawled out on the ugly, floral print couch. His head hurt, but the pain was quickly subsiding with every pulse of light from the sigils.

“What…” He trailed off.

You followed his eyes, seeing the confusion, “Oh, I guess I explain to the others, but not to you. I’m a… magician, of sorts. These are healing spells, I hoped they would help.”

“Magic,” Sean whispered, eyes wide.

You nodded.

“Are you a mutant?” He asked.

With a laugh, you shook your head, “No, I was human, up until about a year ago,” You explained.

The symbols disappeared, a smile stretching onto your face, you mumbled an ‘all better’, before helping him sit up.

“I feel bad that I made you pass out though,” You said.

“It’s fine,” Sean smiled. “At least I have a good nurse.”

Alex came strolling in at that moment, the calm mood rupturing with his loud steps. His blonde hair, which had previously been combed and well kept, was now sticking up in odd places.

“Professor wants to speak with you,” Alex said to you.

You nodded, shooting one last smile to Sean, before getting up to leave. As you rounded the corner out of the room, Sean spoke up.

“Am I hallucinating?” He asked his friend.

Alex chuckled, patting him on the back harshly, “No,” He sent him a sly look. “You really did pass out in front of the pretty girl from the future.”

“God dammit.”

#xmen first class #xmen imagine #xmen oneshot #sean cassidy #sean cassidy x reader #sean cassidy imagine #sean cassidy oneshot

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Dark Paradise (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: AU! With their ‘arrangement’ in place, reader and Keanu go apartment hunting. Part of the Always the quiet ones universe. Part 1 - Always the quiet ones | Part 2 - The Proposal | Part 4 - Without You

Author’s notes: I don’t know about you people, but I’m slightly addicted to this series. It’s so fun to write! As usual, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Wordcount: 4247

Warnings: Age gap; smut (dirty talk; d/s undertones; exhibitionism)

It was strange to be in the presidential suite without Keanu, but definitely something you could get used to. You took your time in a long bath, using the deliciously scented bath products from the hotel that you were very familiar with, despite never using them yourself.

You stepped out once the water turned tepid, your skin feeling silky soft and smelling amazing as you wrapped your body on one of the fluffy white robes, a towel holding your hair on top of your head. You scanned the menu for room service, your stomach rumbling. It was late and your last meal had been lunch.

Picking up the phone, you paused in hesitation. Everyone in the reception desk knew you. They would recognize your voice at the same second. How were you gonna explain this? You set the phone down again, choosing instead to order your favorite burger and milkshake from the diner a couple of streets over. They frequently delivered to the hotel guests and employees so no one would bat an eye to see them there.

You grabbed your laptop and books, bringing it to the bed with you because you had an essay for your abnormal psychology class to deliver next week and you hadn’t had time to start. Between work and all the other courses, you had been feeling overwhelmed and stressed and every time you tried to sit down to write, it was like your brain would just shut down and refuse to form any coherent thought.

Tonight, it was the first time in a while you felt completely relaxed and as you pulled out your reference notes, the text flowed easily, the essay practically writing itself as you swayed to The Weeknd playing on your earbuds.

You finished the first draft in record time, saving it on your college folder with a smile. So, this was how studying felt like when you had plenty of time and no distractions? It was amazing and the idea of not only having an apartment of your own but not to worry about long work hours and crushing debt was starting to sound even more appealing.

Pulling up a few real-estate websites, you started to browse apartments you liked which were around St. Joseph’s College, but after another moment’s consideration, decided to look for places closer to Columbia University, where you were planning to attend for Law School.

At first, you searched for an apartment with two beds two baths just like you first envisioned, but the prices terrified you. Why was everything in New York so fucking expensive? You could never ask Keanu to spend so much on you, a woman he barely knew. Then again, what would be the right price under those circumstances?

With a sigh, you got up, putting your clothes back on and moving to the balcony to watch the Manhattan lights. What were you thinking by getting in such a weird, messed up situation? You could already foresee that every single step of this would be riddled with uncertainty and self-doubt and you already hated.

You were usually so sure about your own choices. You had been sure that you needed to move away for college and even though you hated leaving your mom and brother behind, you knew it would be the only way to ease the weight of responsibility on your mother. If you stayed, she would insist you dedicated exclusively to school and she would kill herself working two, three jobs to keep your family finances afloat.

From a distance, with only phone calls twice a week, it was easier to pretend you weren’t struggling. It was easier to pretend that you were having the life she always dreamt of for you. The life Keanu was offering you right now.

And when you accepted his proposal, you had been sure too. Thinking about your future and the fact that even though you barely knew him, Keanu made you feel like no other man or boy ever managed.

It wasn’t a coincidence that, even though you knew next to nothing about him, he had been your first. You knew he was the kind of man you wanted, and you didn’t regret your decision. You were just doubting if this was the right way to go about things.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you start and giggle, especially when he pressed his cold nose against your neck.

“I could hear you overthinking things as soon as I stepped inside the suite,” Keanu commented, tugging you closer to his body, surrounding you with his heat and you rested against his chest, relaxing in an instant. How was this possible? “If you changed your mind…”

“No,” you sighed, turning in his embrace, your arms coming around his neck, fingers combing through the soft hairs in his nape. “I just…”

“Unsure if it’s the right thing for you?” he asked, and you chuckled because you hated and loved how he could just read your mind.

“Maybe,” you replied as Keanu rested his forehead against yours, letting out his own sigh. “I mostly wondering why you’re doing this.” He pulled back long enough to give you a look, his eyebrow arched in question and you felt heat rising to your cheeks. “I mean, you’re a handsome guy. Smart, educated, very good at…”

“Sex?” he offered with a smirk and you chuckled.

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t really what I was gonna say.” Even if you were thinking it. “My point is, you literally could just ask me or any other woman out and they most likely say yes.”

“Truth is, I’m selfish,” Keanu said with a shrug, his hands trailing softly down your back, rough fingers under your shirt, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “I have very little free time and when I do and I want to spend it with someone, I want their undivided attention. Bills and unfulfilling jobs tend to take their focus away.”

“So, you’ve done this before?” you asked carefully because you’ve been dying to know.

“Does it matter?” he asked, pulling away from you and there was a tension in his shoulders that you hadn’t seen before.

“Yes,” you replied a little more firmly because you needed to know. You needed to know what kind of future could be waiting for you.

“Twice,” Keanu finally replied, stepping closer to the railing and lighting up a cigarette. “First time, she ended it. It wasn’t what she wanted in the long run. She’s married now. With a kid.”

“And the second time?” you prodded, trying to be gentle.

“She wanted more than I could give so I had to end things. For her own good and mine.”

You could tell there was more to it but decided to leave it alone, your curiosity sated for now. Instead, you fitted yourself between his body and the railing, making Keanu smile as he looked at you. His gaze held you with its intensity and you wanted to hide, but also to expose your entire self to him because it made you feel like the only person on Earth and it was such a strange but thrilling feeling.

“It never felt like this, though,” he whispered, leaning closer, filling your nose with the smell of smoke and expensive cologne. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone the way I want you.”

“I want you too,” you assured, arms returning to his neck.

Your mouth found his and for a moment you got lost in the taste of him. Just the touch of his lips upon yours was enough to make your knees feel weak and arousal pool between your legs.

“You should eat first,” Keanu said with a soft smile. “Your burger is getting cold and your milkshake is melting.” You followed him back to the bedroom, surprised to see the takeout bag on top of a bedside table. “The delivery guy was at the reception desk when I got in, so I just brought it with me.”

“Thanks.” You grinned, your belly growling at the smell of the greasy food.

“Where are you going?” Keanu asked when you took a step to the sitting room.

“I’m not gonna eat in bed,” you replied with a snort. You knew how much of a pain in the ass it was to clean up those sheets from grease stains.

Instead, you brought everything to the small dining table in the sitting room, mouth watering as you unpacked your food. You were halfway into your burger when Keanu came in, your laptop in hands.

“Looking for apartments?” he asked, sitting next to you. “Let me see?”

“Sure. Third tab is my favorite so far,” you said licking the excess of ketchup from your fingers before you popped a fry in your mouth and tilted your head to see the screen too.

“It’s a shoebox,” Keanu complained with a displeased noise, moving to the next tab and then the following one and the one after that. “They’re all shoeboxes.”

“I don’t need much,” you shrugged and watched as he altered the search parameters, his brown eyes scanning the options, his forehead slightly creased in concentration. “Fry?”

“I already had dinner,” he said, clicking in one of the adds.

“Ok, but this is French fries,” you pointed out, waving it in front of his gaze. “The best in town.” He chuckled, before snatching it from your fingers with his lips.

“I like this,” he said and the first thing you noticed was the price that nearly made you choke on the mouthful of milkshake. “Don’t worry about prices,” Keanu assured with a smile. “Just tell me if you liked it.”

“Well, obviously,” you sighed, glancing back at the pictures and the wide window panels. “But seriously, Keanu, I’d good with a studio or…” You trailed off when you saw him pull out the real-estate agent information, take out his phone. “It’s almost eleven p.m. Keanu, you can’t just…”

He shushed you, a smirk on his face as he pressed the phone to his ear with one hand, the other traveling up your thigh, making you shiver.

“This is Keanu Reeves.”

His hand moving higher as he spoke to the woman on the other side. You tried to still his wandering fingers when they reached between your legs, but Keanu just gave you a wicked smile, his voice not wavering even the slightly as he started teasing you. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your noises as you rocked against his fingers.

You got lost in the sensations, in his teasing and you didn’t even realize he ended his call. Not until Keanu pulled your hand away from your mouth, meeting your lips for a sweet kiss.

“We have an appointment tomorrow at noon. Can you make it?”  

“Yeah,” you assured, moving to his lap. “Now, are you gonna fuck me again, sir?”

“Yes,” Keanu replied, smirking. This time when he stood up with you in his arms, you barely made a sound. “Until you can’t sit straight without feeling and remembering me.”

----

You tried your best to focus on what the professor was droning on about, but it was hard when every time you shifted in your chair, you could feel the throb in your center, not exactly painful, but definitely making sure you didn’t forget the pounding you got last night and you had to hide your satisfied grin behind a sip of your water so not to drag attention to yourself.

You never thought sex could be quite like that. Sure, Keanu was your first real experience, everything else just awkward fumbling, but even in your inexperience, you could tell that wasn’t just good. It was unbelievably amazing.

Feeling your phone vibrating in your pocket, you reached for it and the sight of Keanu’s name on the screen made your heart speed up. It was just a text message; sending you the address for the apartment complex you’d be visiting and asking if you wanted him to send a car for you. You had no idea why you were acting like this.

With a quick reply, you assured you’d be there and that you could take the subway before you tried to get your attention back to the lecture. This was one of the toughest classes in your course, you knew only 5 percent of the class would get grades higher than B and you planned to be in that percentage.

Once the class was finally over, you put your things away and checked the time to make sure you could pop in your dorm to drop your stuff and change before you met Keanu. You wanted to look nice and maybe a little more… mature? Maybe it was silly of you, but you wanted to make sure to cause a good impression and jeans and a ratty tee wasn’t the ideal way.

So, you exchanged them for one of your favorite sweater dresses, cream-colored and tied around your waist with a ribbon. You always felt the shape complimented your curves, as well as the tone, made the earthy hue of your skin pop up.

           “You look hot,” your roommate commented, making you grin. She was hardly your favorite person sometimes, but she did have an amazing taste. “Meeting the boyfriend?”

“Never said I had a boyfriend,” you pointed out as you put on your boots.

“The hickeys told the tale,” she smirked, nodding that the bruise peeking from under the hem of your dress and you blushed, tugging it down. “No shame. Maybe he can get that stick from up your ass.” She called out from over her shoulder as she moved away, taking your charger without asking once again.

“Soon,” you whispered to your mirror self, before picking up your bag and heading out, fidgeting the entire way to Morningside Heights, the neighborhood a distant cry from your own and you felt slightly out of place as you approached the elegant building.

Keanu was waiting for you at the foyer, once again in a suit, this time all black, his hair neatly combed and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, especially with the way he smiled when he spotted you, his gaze traveling appreciatively down your body before he met your eyes again.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, letting Keanu pull you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“You’re just in time, sweetheart,” he replied, his eyes never leaving you. “We’re ready, Gwen.”

For the first time, you noticed the woman in a crisp pantsuit, her hair pinned back in a neat bun, a fake smile plastered in her face as she looked at you and at the way Keanu was holding you close, his large hand pressed against your hip, warm and possessive.

You matched her smile, daring her to say a word, knowing that she wouldn’t, not in front of Keanu anyway.

This was something you would have to get used to it. The judgmental looks whenever you were anywhere near Keanu. He seemed oblivious to it, but you could just feel eyes following the pair of you as Gwen led the way to the wall of elevators.

The first apartment she showed was one of the studios you had seen originally. Yes, it was small, but the wide windows let plenty of sunshine in; the modern concept kitchen was gorgeous, and the bathroom had plenty of space. You loved it.

“Shoebox,” Keanu whispered in your ear as Gwen droned on and on about the qualities of the place, making you giggle. “Can you show us the other one we talked about?”

“Absolutely,” the woman said, leading the way out, the elevator taking you three to a higher floor in the building.

This one was also amazing and considerably bigger. Two bedrooms, two baths, an open kitchen, the master bathroom was huge, with a tub that looked very inviting and a closet bigger than you knew what to do with.

“What you think?” Keanu asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you ran your fingers over the stone countertops.

“It’s amazing,” you told him with a grin, which he returned. “What do you think?”

You followed him as Keanu walked the apartment, analyzing every inch before, turning to look at Gwen.

“You have a penthouse?” The woman stilled for a second, stunned before she checked something on her phone and then looked back at Keanu.

“We do, but it’s already reserved,” she said, her tone apologetic.

“Show us anyway.” And who could resist when Keanu was flashing that charming smile, looking so suave and unflappable?

You watched as flustered Gwen raised a finger asking for a minute and scurried off, phone to her ear, probably talking to her superiors.

“What’s the point of checking an apartment someone else already getting ready to buy?” you asked, coming to stand next to him. The idea of it being the penthouse scared you a little and something told you Keanu knew.

“Just to sate my curiosity,” he said, fingers toying with the edge of your dress. “I like this look on you,” Keanu said, pulling you closer, his hands coming to your ass. “Easy access.”

You giggled and pushed his hands away moments before Gwen returned, her smile wide and you could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she led the way to the top floor, the elevator opening to a small hall that had only one door. She unlocked it and let you and Keanu step in first.

Your breath caught in your throat once again. This time due to the ceiling to floor window panels that showed the most gorgeous view of New York. There was a huge terrace and your heart leaped when you noticed you could see Columbia University from up there, closer than you could have hoped for. St. John’s cathedral too.

This apartment wasn’t much bigger than the other one you just visited and had all the same winning features. The biggest difference was the terrace and it was definitely something. You could see yourself having breakfast out there with Keanu when the weather was nice or cuddling at the lounge seat overlooking Manhattan and the Hudson River.

“You loved it, don’t you?” Keanu asked in a throaty chuckle, his arm surrounding you, his lips grazing your cheek, his beard tickling your skin.

“Ok, yes,” you admitted, turning your head to look at him. “But it’s too…” He silenced your words pressing a finger to your lips, his brown eyes shining bright as he looked at you.

“It’s just right. For both of us.” With a final kiss to your cheek, Keanu moved away, meeting Gwen in the living room.

You could protest of course. Insist on the smaller one but Keanu was right. This was perfect, the kind of place you had only dared to think about in dreams. The master bedroom was large enough that you could have a small home office in it and leave the second bedroom exclusively as a guest room. Your mom would die for that kitchen. It was everything you wanted, and Keanu was more than willing to buy it for you.

With much struggle, you turned your back to the view so you could watch Keanu and Gwen talking. There it was again, the flustered look confronted with his smooth ways and you almost felt bad for her. You had no idea what he was saying, but it was enough for the real estate agent to lift her finger once again and scurry off.

“Even if we love it,” you said returning to the living room, but pausing to admire the high windows. “Someone else is already about to buy it.”

“You’d be surprised what the right offer can do,” Keanu replied with a smirk. He shrugged off his blazer and set on the kitchen counter before he moved towards you, his gaze dark with desire.

“Keanu, we can’t…” you warned just as he crowded you against the window, his lips hot against your neck, his hands on your thighs, sneaking under the hem of your dress.

“Why not?”

“This isn’t our place.” Your voice turned a bit high-pitched as he nipped at your skin. “And she can come back at any moment.”

“She’s talking to her boss, who’s gonna talk to their bosses so they can find a compatible, but more affordable place to offer to the other interested part. That will take a while, so we have time.”

His hands moved to the front of your thighs, dipping in between before nudging them apart and you let him. Any resistance you had reduced to shambles when Keanu pressed a wet, sucking kiss to that sensitive point just bellow your ear that always made you soaked in seconds.

You rested your hands on the sun-warmed glass of the window, bending your body just enough so your ass was pressed against his growing erection, making Keanu smirk against your neck as he tugged your dress up, your panties down and dipped two of his fingers inside you and making you moan.

“Today you have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he said, and you could hear the noise of his buttons and belt being undone. “And I don’t have time to prep you like I usually do.”

“I can take it, sir,” you replied, voice shaking as he continued to move his fingers in and out at a fast pace, making pleasure shoot through you like lightning bolts, the surge of arousal and lust igniting your nerves.

“I know,” Keanu whispered against your cheek. “You’re already drenching my hand, your cunt desperate for my cock.”

You didn’t have time to reply nor to feel embarrassed, because he was replacing his fingers with his cock, burying into you till the hilt and muffling your cries by pushing two fingers into your mouth, his other hand positioning your hips so Keanu could better thrust into you.

His pace was punishing and soon you were pressed against the window, his hand coming up to play with your breasts as he fucked you, his grunts and curses tickling your ear, his smell surrounding you as he took you.

If there was any cognitive function left in you, you would be worried about getting caught; about someone from the nearby buildings seeing the two of you, but all you knew was the shattering pleasure spreading from your center to the rest of your body, coiling deep inside you and building like wildfire. You just knew your orgasm would be the kind that left you completely shattered and weak.

“Are you close, sweetheart?” Keanu asked, tone breathless as he ground into you, his thrusts short and angled just right. “I wanna feel you squeezing me tight when I cum inside you.”

You only nodded, bringing his hand from your breasts to your clit and Keanu started rubbing circles, his soft touch a contrast to the way he was taking you, but it worked, because in moments you were whimpering and shaking as the tension coil snapped and you came, gushing and throbbing around him.

“Fuck! I love how tight your cunt gets when you come,” he grunted, his thrusts gaining speed and losing coordination as he fucked with abandon, muffling his own groan with a bite to your shoulder.

His weight pressed you against the window, the glass smudged by your sweat as the two of you caught your breath and, in your case, also recovered the control for your lower limbs.

You were barely aware of Keanu fumbling behind you, slowly pulling his fingers from inside your mouth, wiping the spit the escaped from the corner of your lips and drying them on his pants before, pulling out his softening cock as the same time he brought a handkerchief between your legs, gathering most of the mess the two of you made.

At the sound of steps on the foyer, you hurried to fix your dress, hoping your hair wasn’t too much of a mess as the Gwen returned to the room, taking one look at the two of you and blushing bright red.

She knew. Of course, she knew. It was written on your faces. She could probably smell it in the air.

“The apartment is yours, Mr. Reeves.”

“Perfect,” he said, smiling wide, both hands inside his pockets. “I’ll have my people send all the required documents to your office.”

“Alright,” she nodded, a timid smile in her face. “Would you like some more time to… uh, look?”

You could feel your cheeks flaming as her gaze moved your direction. You quickly looked out the window, avoiding her eyes.

“Please,” Keanu replied with a smirk, and you felt his hand back on your hip. “I’d like the inspect the master bedroom a little more closely.”

“Just drop the keys at the lobby once you’re done,” she said, her eyes knowingly as she walked out of the loft.

Once the door closed, Keanu tugged you into his arms, his mouth seeking yours for a searing kiss.

“I hope you cleared your schedule because I’m planning on fucking you in each and every one of these rooms,” he said against your lips.

“I’m all yours,” you replied with a matching smirk, sucking on his bottom lip just to hear him grunt, his hands tightening over your hips.

“Don’t you forget it.”

xxx

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[personnages]

FIVE AESTHETICS TAG

EMOTIONS  /  FEELINGS

joy.  --  it is the small things that make your heart sing. snowfall in winter on your fingertips, the stars glittering above, the first green buds of spring. the sound of a kanklės and the laughter of those you love. no matter where you go, you try to breathe these things in.

loneliness.  --  an only child, then a girl with no mother, then a princess without a father. you must stand apart from all the courtiers, so you have always had few friends. it may ease into solitude over time, but it never really goes away.

faith.  --  the goddesses have chosen you, and you must play your part without flinching. din, nayru, farore, hylia: they are more than what your mortal brain can comprehend, and that surrender is comforting. nothing is dark to them. this story has been told before. that is also a comfort.

courage.  --  to give into despair is always useless. hope lets you go on; courage lets you fight against the darkness. you will learn to stare into the fear and let it stare back.

guilt.  --  what you do is never enough. every victory is missing something. you will atone for your decisions for a lifetime. it still will not be enough. 

COLORS

mauve.  --  softer than regal purple, but evocative of the same thing. what your mother often wore.

cream.  --  easier to bear than pure white. the courtiers still see hylia’s blood running through you, but for you, it is a choice you have made for yourself.

green.  --  your favorite color. the signs of spring, the life in summer. 

gold.  --  circlet, pauldrons, gorget: the symbols of your station. it is woven into your ceremonial apron, the wings of hylia rising, the triforce shining.

grey.  --  a serene winter morning, peaceful and quiet, your favorite season. the color of your eyes.

SCENTS

lavender.  --  you have always scented your rooms with sprigs of lavender. it is pressed between your clothes in your wardrobe and chests, it is in the water when you bathe. it’s something that’s yours.

frost.  --  hyrule castle is cold, as all castles are. though the rooms are warmly lit, it clings to your hair and form in the corridors, that sharpness of cool air.

tea.  --  your tea of choice comes from near kakariko. it is warming and smokey, layered through with bergamot. you have a cup in the morning, a pot over the course of the afternoon, and another pot if you anticipate a busy evening. (the kitchens have grown used to sending up the second pot regularly.)

vanilla.  --  your mother used to wear this scent in her hair. the loss has faded into memory, but you wear it in yours now to honor her.

greenery.  --  when you have the time, you like to walk in the castle gardens. (if those times are fewer than you like... that is another part of your duty.)

CLOTHING

hair jewelry.  --  long brown hair, pulled partially back with a comb and a circlet set into it. two long sections are wrapped and taped with ribbon in front, while in the back it is let to hang until it is gathered at the bottom with a thick braid and a metal hair ornament, tied off with more ribbon. 

long skirts.  --  stopping at just above your toes.

white boots for formal occasions; brown boots or leather slippers for every day. 

white gloves.  --  stopping just above your elbow. the embroidery is fine and is almost entirely your handiwork; you learned how to embroider at age seven. two of the pairs are your mother’s. one was your grandmother’s. the oldest pair, which you rarely wear due to its age, was your great-grandmother’s.

earrings.  --  you have a piercing in each earlobe and another piercing in each ear, right below the tips of your ears. 

OBJECTS

harp.  --  your kanklės has a sweet tone and its soundboard is beautifully carved. you play it in private, sometimes when you can’t sleep, sometimes simply when you want to take a break and lose yourself in music. sometimes you play it when you are frustrated and let your worries melt away, for a moment.

books.  --  you know the castle library very, very, very well. 

sword.  --  the sword of state you carry on formal occasions is beautiful, but it is also functional. you’ve been training with rapiers like it since you were a little girl.

paperwork.  --  there is always paperwork. every day, there are reports to be read, figures to look at, messages to receive. if your desk was ever clear, it would, frankly, be suspicious.

saddle.  --  on tarann, your horse, there is always the temptation to run free and wild, as far away as you can go, but you always resist. yours is a sidesaddle, but you can go as fast as your stallion’s hooves can take you on it. it is embossed with designs of flowers and birds.

VICES  /  BAD HABITS

stubbornness.  --  when you have truly decided on something, it is near impossible to change your mind or sway you from your course.

reticence.  --  you have developed a habit of keeping to yourself, but it keeps you aloof, which can be useful when people are constantly trying to curry your favor. even in the face of sincere offers of friendship, however, it takes time and patience for you to let your walls down. and even then, there is still a deep, hidden part of yourself that you keep locked shut.

self-sacrificing.  --  there are several roles that you must play, wrapped up in a sense of duty that blots out all else. whatever hyrule demands, you give. whatever the goddesses decided to take, you would hand it to them without a second thought. you as a person are second to your duty as ruler and as the goddesses’ chosen; if the price is your life, you will give it. (and you did.)

workaholic.  --  “a king’s job is never done,” your father said once, and you took it to heart. it is your duty to hyrule, to serve them as best you can, and there are always demands. you regularly work late nights, and most of your socializing is left for formal court events. your work is your life: there is little else.

compartmentalization.  --  if you let yourself feel your stresses, your personal anxieties, your grief, your loneliness, you would implode. so each feeling must be packed away, to be dealt with in later and in private, if at all, so that you can continue to serve hyrule as it needs you to. it can make you seem emotionless, but it is better than the alternative.

BODY LANGUAGE

a hand held up to your mouth to cover your wide smiles or, in extreme cases, your laughter. you are well practiced at hiding these feelings, but sometimes they inch through despite yourself.

straight posture, no matter whether you are sitting or standing. “princesses do not slouch,” your mother used to say, before smiling and bending over to kiss the air above your head, her kiss meeting your hair when you’d sit up straight. 

an analytical gaze, your grey eyes studying those speaking to you. (your expression is naturally somewhat severe, but you have worked hard to soften it to neutral, vague pleasantness when working.) it is a habit picked up from your father, of doing a study and then monitoring further reactions. it reminds the speakers that you are paying close attention, as well, and that they should think before they speak. 

a set jaw and slightly dropped chin when you are particularly angry. your eyes blaze, even if you say nothing. there is steel in you, and sometimes the veil lifts to reveal it. older courtiers can remember that same look on king uralph’s face, when hyrule was threatened.

deep breaths, taken in and out through the nose when you feel the need to calm yourself. it gives you a space to best form what you want to say, and grounds you for a moment.

AESTHETICS

guards standing at attention, their gazes purposefully aimed at the middle distance so they do not stare at you.

donning a heavy cloak, pulling the hood low against the screeching in the tower hallway and the sticky cold rising through the air in dark patches. you sleep uneasily that night.

coolness lapping against feet when you step into the spring. the light is blinding but when you blink, it has softened into its own plane of existence, and you are not alone. the light shimmers through your veins with a tickle.

long brown hair, falling free in a river down your back, past your hips, before it is gathered up again.

the cold traces your face as you step out onto the castle ramparts, blanketed as they are with snow. the winter clouds do not hide the stars completely, and you look up even as the flakes fall onto your cheeks and eyelashes, melting as you blink.

tagged by: @pcachlovc (thank you!! <3)

tagging: @glimpseofwonder (Eiluned), @spiritmaiden / @loruleheiress (either one! or both!), @walkingshcdow (Finnegan), @heartlosttravelers​ (Sharon), @fitzhrbrt, @somnium-led, @sunlilted (Zamir), @kcmorebi​, and whoever else that would like to~ This is very long, though, so no pressure or obligation if you don’t want to do it!!

#about:zelda #this is SO COOL and very hard?? #thank you ro lovely!! #these descriptions are a lil' artsy and a bit pretentious but i had fun writing them #and that's what matters #hc:zelda #sorta! #but look! an actual serious post #zelda: a bummer at parties probably

[hybristoo]

Vainglorious Vigilantes

Request: “ok ok… so I was sitting there hot sauce on my tiddies and I thought of a request. So I’ve never really seen this done before and hopefully I explain this in a way you can understand because I have dumb bitch syndrome. anyways, maybe the reader could mayhaps be batman and joker ( whichever of ur choosing ) could just subtly flirt with them. And reader is just done with his shit but also flirts back. This is a mess I’m sorry LMAO! ty tho!”

Synopsis: Reader is a vigilante, and tonight, they have to protect a criminal from the [Heath Ledger] Joker. 

Words: 1’849

Protecting-Gotham-and-its-people-it’s-STUPID WHORE

Such were the words plastered on the publicity poster. However, it being defaced, both your caricature (drawn brawnier and mightier than you actually were) and pseudonym (certainly not “Stupid Whore”) were scribbled over with red sharpie. Your eyes were crudely crossed out and there was a bullet wound etched on your forehead. The dysphemism for you was written in scraggly letters. 

Perhaps you would have found this vandalization disturbing if you’d had any hand in making this poster. However, as the logo in the bottom right suggested, it was commissioned and distributed by the RGC - the Royal Gotham Coalition, where Royal is written in obnoxious cursive. A group of rich Gothamites who liked to pat themselves on their back and would rather spend money on propaganda such as this than actual improvements. 

Disturbing or not, it did tell you something about the man you were begrudgingly protecting: he was not a big fan. 

“I see you’ve found my art. Do you like it? Should I start a gallery perhaps? I have one for all you types. I’ll call it The Vainglorious Vigilantes.” 

It must be common knowledge at this point that anybody working for the Boyles must be in some way vile. That they must have some deep-rooted moral sickness. However, to say that you didn’t have a particularly negative bias towards Elijah the Nose, consigliere of the Boyle family, would be a lie. Perhaps it was his high ranking position, his ability to escape justice, or that terribly grating voice of his. Regardless, it was an understatement to say it took every nerve in your body to resist punching him right then and there. 

You glared at him, lips pulling into a tight frown.“Have you no sense of self-preservation? Gratitude?” That you had decided to defend him was beyond your own comprehension; a disjoint decision made by the angel on your shoulder.

“I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need your help,” Elijah asserted, spitting on the ground and leaning further into the leather couch. It would have been convincing if not for his bouncing leg. 

“You did ask for trouble, though,” you walked over to him, hovering above him. “Crazy fucking clown? That’s really what you decided to call the Joker? For everyone to know?” You crossed your arms. Admittedly, hearing about it had been funny. But if the guy was going to die for insulting someone, make it creative. 

“You’d do the same in my position.” He furrowed his eyebrows, a flame igniting in his eyes. “He stole our fuckin’ plans. Executing them one night before us. He’s toyin’ with us. That money was ours.” 

“No, it was the property of Gotham Jewelers. You were going to steal it.” 

Elijah released a frustrated roar, pushing himself onto his feet. First, he paced towards you, making your hands twitch towards your weapon, then he paced to the other side of the room. He continuously peaked out of his curtains, biting his nails. It was plain to anyone watching he was more nervous than he would admit despite the dozens of soldati he had stationed below.

Considering the fact that he hadn’t even locked the windows when you snuck through them, you could understand why. Was he, in what could be his last moments, introspective enough to understand his own limited intelligence was not nearly enough to protect him? (You doubted it).

Not inclined to set him at ease, you plopped yourself into the couch, only subtly looking around. You’d already rigged the room and told Elijah to dismiss every soldati in the room. You knew Joker - or at least you liked to think you did. He wasn’t crazy, he was astute. To assume him a raving madman was a one-way ticket to a broken collarbone (you spoke from experience). Although you felt the room was quite Joker proof, relax was the last thing you’d do.

You wanted to catch him and lock him up for good. Gotham deserved that much. 

And maybe that was why you decided to protect Elijah. Not in a sudden action of complete martyrdom, but to use him as bait. Or maybe, somehow, you’d grown attached to him and his complete inability to commit crimes which made your self-imposed job easier. 

One thing that could be said about Elijah was that he liked to live lavishly. His bedroom, in which you now resided, was an eclectic mix of authentic victorian and contemporary styles. It was a constant reiteration of Is-That-A-Rembrandts and That’s-Worth-More-Than-Mes. It made you frown to think it was made off the backs of Gotham’s people. 

No, it definitely wasn’t attachment to Elijah which made you stick around.

You were staring at what had to be a recreation of Klimt’s The Kiss. You weren’t exactly an art appraiser but it struck you how authentic it looked, how authentic it smelled when you got too close. 

“Ohh, Klimt. Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.”

You whipped your head around, your weapon entering your grasp before you could truly process what was happening. It was disorienting, the way your courage dropped into your stomach when you saw Elijah in the Joker’s grasp. A stalemate was immediately introduced as a knife was pressed to Elijah’s jugular. He cried out, a serenade of hopelessness. 

You were less focused on Elijah’s safety and more focused on the Joker, however. But did the Joker know that? Or could you use that? Damn those indiscernible, dark eyes. 

“I didn’t know you were a man of the bible,” you hummed as you tried to glide closer, shuffling your feet. 

The Joker made a whistling sound. “I’m full of surprises, snookums.”

You resisted cringing, hiding it with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sure, snugglekins,” you breathed, your eyes flickering. Taking the chance, you kicked the coffee table separating the two of you into his shins. He was immediately thrown off balance, just enough for you to dive and grab Elijah, ragdolling him out of the Joker’s grasp. “But so am I.”

The Joker attempted to grab you, his hand leaping for your arm, but you narrowly took a step back last second, almost tripping on the couch. 

“Oh, honey-darling, you’re going to break my heart,” he cooed. 

You were both still for a moment, before he lunged at you, grabbing your shoulders and throwing you aside, attempting to break your balance. You knocked your head against his, hearing something crack - you weren’t sure if it was you or him. You were aptly disoriented when you slashed a dagger his way, only to realize he was out of reach. A punch found itself in your abdomen before you could register it was coming. 

You hunched over, gripping your stomach and letting out a hoarse cough. By the time you had oriented yourself onto your feet, the Joker had Elijah in his grasp again. 

“Is your ego so fragile you walk right into this set-up just to get this man?” You hissed. You slowly backed yourself towards the bookshelf parallel to the Joker, slipping your hand between the books. “You take me as a fool if you think I’m going to let you kill him and walk away.” You pressed the button, sending the entire house into a frenzy. The alarm set-up was hastily made, but it seemed it worked.

He made a whistling sound, his eyes glistening as he listened to the sounds of dozens of soldati moving around in the rooms surrounding them. You couldn’t hold back a smile, as if to say, your move.

“Who’s to say I’m here to kill him? Maybe I just wanted to see you,” he purred, the knife closing in on Elijah’s throat. You took a daring step forward, testing his limits. “A-ta-ta, one more step and the curtains won’t be the only red thing around here.” Did you even care? Maybe not, but if Elijah was alive what would stop him from attempting to leave? You needed to corner him and fast. 

“I, ah, yes, as I was saying,” he cleared his throat, using his free hand to comb his hair out of his face. “I wanted ta see you. Not that stupid mask of yours, hm? Let me see what’s behind all of,” he made a circular motion with his knife, pointing at your face, “that.”

“Oh yeah? Are you going to reveal what’s under all the paint, then?”

He chuckled “Unlikely.” 

You trudged towards him as he trudged backwards, despite his warnings. “Is that a no?” he hummed, watching you closely. You, on the other hand, were watching where he was going. You were hoping he was going to set off one of your traps. You didn’t say anything, trying to push him just a little further.

“That’s a shame.” You were pulled out of your focus as blood spurted onto the floor. Elijah’s blood. You were shocked - somehow you didn’t think he’d do it - not yet anyways, and there was esotericism to seeing Elijah’s limp body crumble onto the ground. He was dead. The Joker, on the other hand, was way less concerned with that. 

“Well, the party’s over,” he sighed, “You’re no fun at all, Kitten.” He continued backing away, now at a much quicker pace. He was heading for the windows. 

“You thought it would be that easy?”

“No.”

You growled, sprinting towards him. He tried to push the windows open, having opened the lock at the bottom. The brief look of confusion was too satisfying. You grabbed his collar and shoved him up against the wall. “Your reign over this city is over, Joker.” On cue, sirens appeared in the distance. “The soldati wasn’t the only thing alarmed.” 

The look on his face was indescribable. You were expecting disappointment, anger, fear even, but instead, he had this crazy look in his eyes and a grin only widened by his scars. A laugh bubbled from his throat.  “You ever played poker, Doll?” 

You furrowed your eyebrows. You had no idea how to answer. This was no doubt a part of his anticks but, you couldn’t help but listen.

“Well, in the business, we say: As long as you’ve got ‘a chip and a chair’, there’s still hope.” He let out another howling laugh. You shoved him onto the ground, moving to put him into binds when you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head. You toppled over, falling onto the ground with a thud. Your vision was a pool of colours and vague shapes. You felt how the Joker hovered over you, a blur of red, white and green filling your vision.

“You do well to remember that next time.” You tried to push yourself away, trying to orient yourself in the expanding room. The other person, Joker’s helper, who were they? Where were they? You looked around, the world remains a blur. 

The Joker grabbed your face, forcing you to turn his way, and as your vision sunk into darkness, you heard a collection of last words. “Let’s see who’s under the mask.” 

#there's a bunch of references in here skpskdps #find them all and win a prize! #anyways i hope this is good wdkpkwpd #i have NO CLUE what im doing but UwU #joker fanfiction #request #joker x reader #joker imagine #ledger!joker #im a talentless freak of nature

[charlies-crashcourses]

Charlie’s College Crash Course #1: How to write a 10-page paper in 1 day

Background info first: I’m in the last year of my English undergrad degree and I’ve had to write at least 3 dozen 10+ page papers in that time. That being said, I’ve never once started writing a paper more than a few days in advance, and 9 times out of 10 I go for one day only. Honestly, this should be considered my trademark at this point because after all my high school AP courses and my English degree, it’s been going on 7 years of 1 day papers.

and so, dear friends, I would like to pass on this skill to you all. I should mention, none of this will work if you’re not already pretty solid on paper writing, i.e. if you only ever get C’s on your papers now this isn’t magically going to get you up to an A with one day. This is just to streamline the process, allowing for more time for other things or, more commonly, allowing you to not freak the fuck out when you realize the deadline is tonight at midnight and you’ve procrastinated all month on the final paper for your class.

(I should also mention that I’m currently procrastinating a 2.5k word paper due tomorrow night that I’ve only read one of two books for, so. There’s that.)

Anyway, without further ado, here we fucking go:

Step 1: Prep for the Day

this is going to be a marathon, not a sprint, so make sure you prep the day accordingly. Ideally, you’d wake up before noon, make sure there’s nothing else planned for the day, and tell your roommates/parents to leave you alone until you officially reemerge at midnight (or, if you’re in college and have a 24 hr library, try going there. Mine has closed off study rooms that I can chill in, but if you’rs doesn’t just find a relatively comfy quiet spot). If you’re at home, pick one spot, clear it off super quick, grab some snacks and energy drinks, make sure you have everything charged and ready to go. I don’t recommend cafes or the like simply because there’s lots of distractions and also those places close before midnight, so you can’t stay there the entire time and therefor waste time moving halfway through.

Also, I would recommend taking a break between all the steps after this one. Don’t let the break take too long, but just long enough to walk the block, or grab another snack, or do some stretches, or watch a ten minute video, something like that. I personally never break at a natural stopping point, because then I’ll never get back to it, but how you break is up to you.

Step 2: Preliminary Research

now normally I do some preliminary research beforehand. Basically looking into the topic, figuring out generally what resources would be best, etc. That can usually be done in five to ten minute bursts throughout the week or so before the due date, whenever the topic comes to mind.

But then again, I’ve also procrastinated that until the very end as well, so. Usually all that takes if you go for the day of is some quick google scholar searches, or if you have access to the MLA database that works as well. Or, if you’re more like me, you could just deep dive on wikipedia and check out what relevant facts pertain to what numbers in the bibliography, then go ahead and cite those wherever possible.

Basically, get a good base knowledge of the big facts. This step should be quick and dirty. For instance, for my paper my sophomore year on Robespierre (14 pages written in a record 6 hours) I combed through his wiki, some websites on the French Revolution, and watched the Crash Course youtbue video on the subject. The rest of the research was done after I did my first outline. 

Step 3: Outline #1

This is just a basic “What the fuck am I talking about” outline. It can be bullet points, numbers, stream of consciousness, i don’t care as long as it works for you. 

For the Robespierre paper, my first outline was something to the effect of: -born poor -school -elected to govt -took over govt -killed people -got killed

and that was it. It’s like, before you build a house you have to clear off the right amount of land, make sure there’s nothing in your way, and give yourself a vague area in which to build. Super simple stuff.

I did get some advice, from somewhere I can’t remember, that a paragraph is basically equal to half a page, and so (excluding one page length for your intro + conclusion) you should have around two paragraphs or ideas per page. So my outline above would need some more points, there, to keep me on track for my page count. I eventually added a whole paragraph about how he was chosen to read for a visiting King Louis at his school and was then ignored which made him hate the monarchy, and another about what happened after he died what with the government in shambles, etc etc. So two bullet points per page should do it.

Step 4: More Research

This is where you get a little more in depth. Look at your bullet points and learn everything you need to about them. 

For my first bullet, I found stuff like: “Robespierre was born in France in 1758 as Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre (the third of this name), to a lawyer and the daughter of a brewer, he had two siblings, and he could read by age eight. he also loved pigeons and started a lifelong feud with his sister over one that he gave her that she let die."

and then I would move on to the next bullet point, and so on and so forth, filling in the gaps. Make sure to keep track of where your info comes from, as well. It doesn’t have to be a full citation, but just the hyperlink after the fact is going to save you so much time, i promise

Pro Tip: don’t throw out anything as irrelevant just yet. Just gather all the facts, no judging. Trust me on this.

Step 5: Better Outline

this is where you start to have fun with it. I would like to remind you that no one, unless you have some crazy micromanaging professor, sees your outlines. This is for you and you only, so write it in whatever way makes sense to you. It can be colorful and fun and whatever you need it to be.

 I actually took screenshots of my outline for that robespierre paper (hence why i chose that one as an example) so here’s a look at what I do:

so, really, honestly, as shitty as you need this to be, or as many jokes, or whatever works for you my dude. Explain it like you would if it were a story you were telling, not a biographical/argumentative paper. Get informal with it.

Step 6: Write the Damn Thing

Okay to now that you did the research and wrote your fun outlines and all that, all you have to do now is write it! I tend to do this in the same doc as I do my outline, but starting again from the top so I can see what I need to add next right under where I’m typing, then delete it once I’ve covered the material. 

If you did your outline well, this is really just cleaning that up so it’s “school appropriate” and “not an affront to people’s eyes and sensibilities” or whatever. At this point, it should go super quick, maybe 2 hours max to finish up writing what you need to write, here.

Pro Tip: do your citations as you go. Better yet, make your bibliography first so that A its already done and B you know what your in text cites will be from the start so that you don’t have to add them in later. If you kept your hyperlinks next to your research, just open up citationmachine and get those cites, then replace the links in your outline with the actual citations so it’s easier to line them up with in text cites while you go

Step 7: Fudging

oh, you thought we were done after writing the paper? nah fam. Chances are, you didn’t hit the page count you wanted to, you’re probably around 1 full page short, unless you love long sentences. This is where my pro tip from all the way back on step 4 comes in.

First, before you do anything drastic, make sure your formatting is correct. If your prof wants the big long “name, date, class, assignment, etc” in the top left then that adds a lot of length. Fonts will also change your page length, and so will footnotes and citations.

If you did it right and saved all the less relevant details, congratulations! Just sprinkle a few of those in there and you’re magically at your page count. This is the only reason I included the pigeon story in my paper (and this post), because I was about 3/4 of a page short of passably saying I got to 14.

If you didn’t save those inane details, don’t go looking for them now. Trust me, it’s much more pain than it’s worth. Your best bet, then, would be to either A. Add one more point if you can think one up, B. do some more research for relevant details to add in, or C. expand on the details you already have with more examples or effects or whatever applies.

do not, i repeat do NOT, just try and expand the words you use, like changing “to” into “in order to” or whatever those deflate your phrases charts tell you Not to do. They tell you not to for a reason. 1. it sounds stupid adding them in after the fact, and 2. your professor absolutely 100% will know and will mark you down if you do that in excess. Inflated phrase charts like that are well known by professors, and also adding them in after the fact won’t fit in at all with the voice that the rest of your paper was written in, so it’ll stand out like a sore thumb. just don’t do it unless it’s your last possible “i have ten minutes to turn this in” effort.

Step 8: Celebrate!!

And that’s it! If you did it right, this whole process should have taken you around the equivalent of 1 hour per page you had to write or so, so in a regular twelve hour day you’ve got time to take breaks and eat and all that shit. Go turn it in and celebrate your victory!

#study tips #adhd studying #paper writing #don't procrastinate kids #crash course #charlie's college crash course

[chipfics]

Rest Easy

crossposted from Ao3 Characters: Alyssa Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford About: Relationship fluff with some spicier implications/mentions. Set in a Trevelyan Siblings AU.

Summary: Alyssa has trouble sleeping- but she’s not the only one. 1700 words.

Sleep came scarcer and scarcer each night lately.

Alyssa's quarters in Skyhold were comfortable, spacious, well warmed by the fireplace. Much different from the drafty little cabin she had shared with her brother in Haven. Now he was in the quarters just below hers in the main tower, hopefully sleeping peacefully with no whispers from nightmares or worries of any kind. And hopefully no pains from the mark on his hand. She knew it still bothered him at times.

Alyssa herself had many little things to keep her mind in ill company now.

The Ostwick Circle had fallen suddenly, before the war between the mages and templars had fully begun. The rebellious there had staged a bloody uprising, and it had left Alyssa with little choice but to flee the place entirely or be singled out as one of the rebels by the templars who would not pause to ask any questions.

She had stayed with a Dalish clan after that, until word of the Conclave reached her and she chose to attend.

She had already developed sleep problems by the time she reunited with her brother there for the first time since leaving Ostwick. Most of the dreams that overtook her were full of the smell of the Circle burning, the noise of the fighting, the ache of her feet as she trekked further north to avoid getting her family caught up in the mess that was the spreading mage rebellion.

She still dreamed of that day even now. And now also of Haven burning, of Tristan facing Corypheus down alone and being lost in the blinding white of an avalanche, thought dead for days before a rear patrol found him exhausted and starved in the snow.

By some strange twist of luck she was now settled within the position of Inquisitor as well. So many people whose lives and faith depended on her. Every word she said could be twisted for good or ill now and the anxiety of the notion kept her awake as much as trying to avoid the nightmares.

And so tonight she found herself curled against the arm of a sofa in front of her fireplace, reading through a copy of Hard in Hightown and drinking tea that had long since cooled.

She knew the crime serial almost by heart now. It had been a favorite of hers for quite some time, and it was still an odd thought to realize she was now close friends with its author. Still, even as familiar as the words and imagery were they provided enough distraction to keep her calm. And failing that, she could always dress herself again and take a brisk walk. There were night patrols and it wouldn't be unsafe as long as she stayed within the fortress walls.

She was in fact beginning to consider doing just that when she heard the knock. A few quick, hard raps that didn't match the knock of the runner that usually interrupted her sleep with urgent business of some sort.

Alyssa paused, at first not sure she had really heard it. Several seconds passed, and she heard it again. Real, then. She marked her place and stood, smoothing out her shift and reaching for her nightrobe. She pulled it on and tied the belt then padded across the floor and to the door. She hesitated only a moment before opening it just a crack. Whoever it was, they needed her for something to be there at nearly two in the morning.

It wasn't a runner standing in the darkness of the hallway like she expected.

It was a man, tall and strong, wavy blonde hair mussed and hanging into his face. A five o' clock shadow was on his chin that she would know anywhere.

“Cullen?” She asked incredulously, and opened the door the rest of the way to get a better look.

His hair wasn't combed back the way she was accustomed to seeing, and it gave him a very different air. Disheveled, almost, but still very attractive.

“I'm sorry,” He said quietly by way of greeting, “I know it's late.”

“I wasn't asleep,” Alyssa informed him, “it's all right. Do you need something? Is anything wrong?”

She reached a hand out to grasp one of his. Bare, knuckles scarred and nails cut short. Now that she looked closer he was wearing his nightclothes without so much as a robe or jacket to keep warm on his walk from his own quarters. Alyssa frowned.

They were in a relationship- she had no qualms about him being here, even if it wasn't something he had ventured to do before. Cullen was shy in some ways, and very proper most of the time.

...Very improper other times, she recalled, but pushed the thought of his desk under her back from her mind. This wasn't the time.

“I,” Cullen hesitated, “It's not...I mean, there's no work you're needed for.”

He brushed his hair back out of his face. It fell back into place. Alyssa had a brief thought that she wanted to run her fingers through it.

“I couldn't sleep,” Cullen finally said, “And I...started walking, and somehow I ended up here.”

Alyssa pulled him forward. He offered no resistance and she tugged him through the doorway and into her quarters, into the warmer air. She closed the door behind them.

“It's frigid tonight,” She reprimanded softly, “You should have at least put on your boots.”

Cullen responded by drawing her into his arms and bending to bury his nose in her hair, made a brighter orange than normal from the light of the fire. There was the sound of him inhaling deeply and letting out a long sigh.

“You smell nice,” Cullen murmured. Alyssa pulled away and bounced onto her toes, kissing his chin.

“I took a bath after returning from the Graves this evening.” She said, “Come sit down, Cullen.”

She led him to the sofa, where they both sat down. Her book sat forgotten already on the coffee table and Cullen fiddled with his hands, stared absently at the fire.

“Bad dreams again?” asked the Inquisitor. Cullen nodded dumbly.

“I...” He looked up, “You said you weren't asleep? After riding all day yesterday?”

Concern shaded his features and Alyssa squeezed his hands with her own. The smile she gave him was weary.

“I have bad dreams of my own,” She said, “About Ostwick, about Haven...Sometimes it's easier to just do without sleep than...”

“I see,” Cullen said. He laced their fingers. “I am sorry.”

“It's all right,” Alyssa said, “I feel better with you here anyway. Seeing your face always heals me.”

The kiss he gave her in response was warm, tender. It fell more on the corner of her mouth the first time, so he leaned in again after. She smiled, pressed back, and once they had parted again she picked up her book.

“You can read with me, if you want,” She offered.

“A bedtime story?” Cullen's voice was tired but tinted with humor, “Aren't I a bit old for that?”

“I guess you don't want me to do the voices then, do you?” Alyssa quipped back easily. Cullen laughed.

“Lie back,” Alyssa said. Cullen listened, propped himself against the arm of the sofa with a throw pillow. Alyssa leaned back against him and opened the book.

“I'll start from the beginning,” She said.

The next half hour passed calmly. Alyssa read just loud enough for Cullen to hear and he let his hands wander a little, pressed kisses to the side of her neck every so often. His body was chilly to lie against at first, but he warmed up to the temperature of the room quickly enough and soon his hands ceased their aimless journey and settled around Alyssa's waist.

When his breathing started to slow, she closed the book. “Sleepy?” She asked.

“Hmm,” Cullen replied, “Your voice has a soothing effect.”

The book found a place on the coffee table again and Alyssa turned over onto her stomach. She left a trail of light pecks along Cullen's jawline and moved her hands to sift through his hair. It was as soft as it looked, she decided. And she was starting to feel the need to close her eyes as well.

“We can stay here,” She said quietly, “Or sleep in the bed.”

“You want me to spend the night?” Cullen asked groggily, “People will talk.”

“I mean, you're already here.” Alyssa replied, “People already talk. And I don't think you get to talk to me about what's scandalous after taking me against your desk.”

Cullen's eyes snapped open and his face flushed. “That was-” He sputtered, “Listen, you seemed to enjoy it quite well, so-”

Laughter bubbled out of her and Alyssa kissed him silent. “I was teasing you, love.”

Cullen sighed. “The bed,” He said after another moment, then added, “So I can get you out of those clothes later if I have a mind to.”

“Going to work on memorizing all my freckles, I suppose.” Alyssa kissed his nose and stood, happily considering the prospect of Cullen's hands all over her again. Rough, strong, warm hands.

For now though, it could wait. She shed her robe and nestled against Cullen snugly in her bed, hummed old lullabies as he curled his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Soft songs from her childhood, which had the commander snoring softly in only minutes. Alyssa was not far behind him.

The nightmares were not so bad that night. Fewer, less violent. She drifted in and out but after each waking she felt Cullen next to her, resituated closer to him if necessary, and found rest again in moments.

At one point just after dawn she awoke to find him half leaning over her, eyes boring into her face. The fire had died down and the light from the tall windows cast a pale gray about the room. It framed Cullen in a cool, wintry sort of glow. Alyssa smiled blearily at him.

“We'll have to get up soon,” She murmured sleepily.

“We can sleep in an hour,” Cullen replied just as soft. “But I haven't rested so well in years, I'll have you know.”

“Me either,” Alyssa said.

“Perhaps I should stay up here more often?” Cullen bent to kiss her. She lifted a hand to card through his hair, hummed.

“Just stay every night,” She murmured against his lips. He hummed wordlessly in response and kissed her neck.

The day would have to start eventually, but they had time to sleep or fool around a little as they pleased. And Alyssa felt rested in a way she hadn't felt for months now.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullen rutherford #trevelyan siblings AU

[protectteamfreewill]

Code Red

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: mention of periods.. if you’re grossed out by that you better not read this lol. Also fluff

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: just wanted to take a quick second to welcome all my new followers and thank you guys for all the love I got on my recent oneshot. It seriously means the world to me <3

Also it was that time of the month a couple days back (this took a little longer to write since somehow it’s harder for me to write fluff, apologies about that, but we’ll deal with it) and this came out of it. Hope you guys enjoy

*I do not own any Supernatural characters and/or gifs I may use*

As you sit down on the toilet first thing in the morning, before starting up your usual routine to get ready for work, suddenly your behaviour from the past few days makes sense to you. You’d been craving chocolate more than you normally were and you’d been a bit too emotional for your liking. Worrying about things that were long overdue, your anxiety heightened up to the point you almost had a panic attack, and those weren’t the only examples.

Now naturally you worried about things, you were one to stress about things and feel anxious a lot, but it was only once every month these feelings reached their peak. And unfortunately that peak had started today. Easier said; you got your period.

You sigh, annoyed that it had to be today of all days, although when was it ever convenient, before doing your thing and getting up, washing your hands afterwards.

Both the Winchesters are still sound asleep as you make your way to the kitchen to eat breakfast and pack your bag. The desire to go straight back to your room and crawl back into bed with Dean, have him unconsciously wrap his arm loosely around your waist and pull your body closer to his, almost too strong to fight.

But eventually you make it through your routine, having brushed your teeth, combed your hair, put on your clothes, et cetera, and you head over to the place you work at. Mentally preparing yourself for the workload you’re going to have to deal with and the cramps that are undoubtedly going to show up soon.

A couple of hours later and you decide that you actually made it through the day relatively well. I mean you bled through your pad twice, but aside from that.. relatively good. You’re still relieved when you glance at the digital clock and see your shift has ended, ready to go home and change.

As quick as you can, without making it look like you’re too desperate to go home, you grab your stuff and say goodbye to your colleagues, saying you’ll see them tomorrow, and then you’re on your way. As you sit in your car, making the 20 minute drive back to the Bunker, you already feel the muscles in your shoulders relax. You briefly examine your nails, two of them having been ruined due to the work you had to do today, and you roll your eyes while an annoyed sigh leaves your lips. Add that to the list of things that suck today.

At least you manage to park your car in the Bunker’s garage without any further complications. You hop out with even less grace than usual, your cramps for the first time today really bothering you, and close the car door behind you. When entering the Bunker, you’re met with a delicious smell that makes its way up your nostrils and you frown. It’s not like you don’t enjoy the smell, but today was supposed to be your day to cook. A while ago Sam had insisted on making up a weekly schedule, the three of you taking turns at cooking, simply because up ‘till then Dean had made dinner almost every day and there rarely was a day you didn’t have burgers. It’s not like you were complaining about that but Sam, being the health freak that he is, insisted on eating salad and other ‘healthy food’ as well. The only way he’d get that done, is to cook it himself. That’s why you took up Tuesdays and Thursdays to make dinner, while Dean took Mondays and Fridays with Sam taking the remaining days. The three of you decided on ordering take-out at least once a week just for the sake of all cooking the same amount of days, that being when you were actually staying at the Bunker. As soon as the three of you were out on a hunt you’d spent your evening and the majority of the night at the café, if you weren’t out ganking monsters.

That’s why it’s not supposed to smell like delicious, home-made food right now. It’s supposed to smell like gun powder and old books. It’s supposed to smell just as it always does. Suspiciously, wanting to investigate the situation further, you follow your nose and make your way to the kitchen were you find Dean, oven gloves on just as he pulls the hotplate out of the oven.

“Hey,” you say, announcing your presence, as you lean against the doorframe with your arms crossed in front of your chest. A fond smile on your lips as you see the man you love handling his way around the kitchen so effortlessly. “Watcha doin’?” you ask.

“Hi,” he affectionately replies after putting down the plate, revealing a perfectly shaped and baked home-made pizza with all your favourite toppings. “Just making us dinner,” he shrugs, taking off the gloves and making his way over to where you’re standing to press a soft kiss against your lips.

“But it’s my day to cook,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls away and you look up at him, once again unable to repress a smile from gracing your lips.

“I know,” Dean answers. “I just felt like making pizza, thought you deserved it after working all day. Speaking of, how was work?” he asks just like he does every day, never growing tired of hearing you talk about it. Whether it was just you complaining about whatever it was your boss made you do, telling him about the things that went well or the hardships you faced, or just sharing something that happened to or with colleagues. He knew you loved your work. And he loved hearing you talk about the things you loved. He loved the smile and the twinkle in your eyes that would always break through and light up your entire face.

“It was okay,” you assure. “Just fixing up some loose ends for the boss, you know how it goes over there, glad I’m home now though,” you state, not wanting to go into too much details about how your day was.

Dean smiles. “Sounds okay.. How ‘bout this,” he continues. “You get out of those work clothes and change into something more comfortable and I’ll grab us some drinks and call Sam so we can eat?”

You simply nod, pushing yourself up on your toes to press another quick kiss against his lips before letting go and walking towards your bedroom to change into your favourite pair of sweatpants and a hoodie you’d stolen from Dean ages ago. You don’t bother fixing your hair or taking off your make up, telling yourself you’ll do that later tonight. Though in all honesty, knowing yourself, you probably won’t.

When returning you find Sam and Dean already waiting for you, gathered around the table with a couple of slices of pizza and a drink, the same thing waiting for you in front of your chair.  You sit down, mumbling a ‘bon appetite’ before diving in, enjoying the perfect flavour of Dean’s cooking skills.

Later that night you’re snuggled up with Dean in your bed. He’s resting his head against the headboard while you have your head positioned against his chest. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, while yours is wrapped around his waist. Dean has his laptop resting on his legs, the device playing a movie you let him pick. You’re not entirely sure which movie it is you’re watching, aside from the fact that it’s no horror movie. Despite the fact that it’s Dean’s favourite genre of movies, and the fact that half of the time your life literally is a horror movie, you’re not that big of a fan. You’re pretty sure it’s A Few Good Man though, since you’ve seen Tom Cruise pop up on the screen a couple of times. The dude has been in probably a million of movies so that doesn’t say all too much but it does narrow the window down a little, so your pretty sure of yourself on this one.

As comfortable as you are just laying there, Dean’s fingertips rubbing soft circles on your arm while you listen to the sound of his heart rhythmically beating against his chest, you have to go to the bathroom and do your business. You gave up on following the movie anyways. That’s why you push yourself off of the bed, immediately missing the warmth Dean provided you with, as you mutter “I’ll be right back.”

A few moments later and you’ve made it to the bathroom without any incidents. As you shut the door behind your back you instantly notice the new box with pads you always use. That box hadn’t been there this morning. It was the reason you’d planned to go on a supply run tomorrow, after making sure you had enough to make it through today of course. But seeing that there was now a new box that wouldn’t be necessary anymore. Partially you were glad about that. At least you were good for the next couple of days and you wouldn’t have to go to the store in your work clothes. At the same time you are also a little disappointed. Having to buy pads had also given you an excuse to walk by the sweet shop section and buy yourself a bunch of your favourite chocolate and candy. Now you didn’t really have that excuse anymore.

But this meant Dean had to have bought it for you when he went out to buy everything he needed for his pizza today.

“Dean?” you ask after entering the bedroom again.

“Hmm?” he responds without tearing his gaze off of the screen, too invested in what’s going on on there. You can make out a lot of grunts and the sound of people getting either hit or shot so he’s probably in the middle of a fight scene.

“Did you buy pads for me today? Because I swear this morning I was running out so I made a mental note to go buy some tomorrow,” you ramble, Dean looking up, having paused the movie, at the mention of your period.

“I-uh, yeah,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck. You and Dean had been dating for a couple of months now, but your period hadn’t really come up until now. It’s not like it was really necessary or like you felt like giving him all the details. Partly because you weren’t sure where Dean stood on the subject. Guys could be horribly, and, mind you, unnecessarily, grossed out by the monthly occurrence and you didn’t want him to feel awkward. Of course as a loving boyfriend he’d warmed up your heating pad for you when your stomach or back was aching or got you some medicine a couple of times before, but that was really as far as it went. “I noticed we had a Code Red this morning and that you were running out so since I was going to the store anyways I figured I could just.. get you some. I made sure I bought the right ones, I even asked an employee,” he explains, only mildly nervous. “Hope that’s okay.”

You know you should be grateful and awestruck at the fact that your boyfriend noticed all this and went out of his way to get you what you needed, and even without you having to ask for it, but you can’t help but chuckle as his term for you period sinks in. Over the years you’d given it several names, you’d heard different women calling it different ways. But ‘Code Red’ definitely was a new one.

The dumbstruck expression that overtakes his face instantly makes you feel guilty about that though. “It’s okay. It’s more than okay,” you say as you sit down on the bed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “So.. you’re not grossed out by this or anything? I-I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things you don’t want to do,” you ask, making sure to monitor his face and his expressions just so you can make sure he isn’t lying. He was a damn good liar but over the past couple of months you’d picked up on a few little quirks, or rather ‘defects’ as he called them. It’s not like you didn’t trust him, sometimes he just tended to.. bend the truth a little bit, all on your behalf of course. And right now you just needed to know what he was really thinking.

“No,” he firmly says, his tone and expression deadly serious as he looks at you. “There’s nothing to be grossed out about. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s merely a monthly occurrence of the female body. Yeah you might get a little bit moody or emotional, your back might hurt or your stomach or your head. But that’s what I’m here for. I got you, and I got you every day of the month,” he states as he reaches for your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. You’d watched his face as he answered your question and you were sure he hadn’t lied for one second. Being completely genuine and meaning everything he had just told you. And as you make that realization your entire body goes warm inside, the love you feel for him right at that instant warming you up entirely. And you feel incredibly lucky to have him as your boyfriend.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug, and you can’t help yourself but having to blink away a few tears. Blame that on your period. “Thank you,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose against his neck before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I also got you this,” Dean says, pulling away from you carefully as he reaches for something besides the bed. You hear the rustling of the plastic bag he pulls up before he hands it to you. Inside you notice all your favourite kinds of chocolate and candy and a couple of cans of your favourite drink. “There’s also a tub of ice cream in the freezer,” he adds.

“Dean..” you say thickly, tears once again welling up in your eyes as you breathe out another thank you. “I love you,” you tell him, giving him another hug.

“’Course sweetheart,” he smiles. “No problem, I got you, remember? Is there anything else I can do? Do you have pain anywhere?” he asks, looking you over probably to check if you’re clutching your stomach or back, looking for any sign that you’re in pain. As he looks up again, not having found any, he sees you shaking your head and he relaxes glad that at least for now you’re feeling okay.

“Just wanna lay down with you,” you acknowledge, to which Dean immediately sits back against the headboard again and opens up his arms for you to crawl into. He wraps both his arms around you as you lean down against his chest, getting comfortable, and presses a soft kiss against your temple.

You sit just like that for a while, neither of you starting the movie again. Instead the two of you just enjoy the comfortable silence and the feeling of your bodies touching, fitting perfectly together.

“So Code Red, hm?” you speak up after a while, again unable to hold back a chuckle. “Is that what we’re calling it from now on?”

This time Dean can’t help himself but chuckle too. “’Got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Code Red it is then.”

~ ~ ~

Taglist: @leahslovelylibrary

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean one shot #dean winchester fluff #supernatural one shot #supernatural #fluff

[starshinewriter]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Donald Duck & Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck Characters: Donald Duck, Scrooge McDuck, Huey Duck, Dewey Duck, Louie Duck Additional Tags: Hatching, best title anyone could ever come up with i know, Parent Scrooge McDuck, Parent Donald Duck, theyre so excited to see the boys hatch, babie hdl are so pure, 1 curse word Series: Part 2 of A Bigger, Different Family Dynamic Summary:

Huey, Dewey and Louie hatch.

Chapter Title: April 23, 2007

Chapter Summary: Huey and Dewey hatch, and also have their names changed. But not necessarily in that order.  

Alternative to ao3: 

Jet and Turbo were set to hatch any day now, which was why Donald has been spending so much time at the mansion. As well as his own egg, that he absolutely refused to let out of his sight. It has been... something being back there so much but he knew it was good for him, even if it really really hurt at times. He couldn't avoid it forever, especially if his nephews were going to be raised there. And he didn't want to, it wasn't like him to avoid things- he preferred head-on confrontation. Especially when it came to his family.

And in this case it was good, it got him back in contact with his Uncle, and his cousins -who unfortunately couldn't be around for the hatchings-, it kept his family together. Even if one of them wasn't there anymore. They'd survived losses before and they'd survive them now, but damnit if it wouldn't be the hardest lost he'd ever have to face. But he couldn't think about that now, this was an exciting occasion. His nephews were about to hatch! His excitement would only ever be topped by one other event, which was set to happen any week now. This was a good point in his life. Even if it didn't always feel like it.

"Donald, ae've been thinkin'," Scrooge said, jostling him out of his thoughts. "What if we... renamed Jet and Turbo?" He hesitantly asked. Which Donald got, renaming them was like taking a part of Della away. But...

"So you've been thinking about it too." He sighed and his Uncle looked at him. "I've been debating it for a while, I'm just not sure if I can call them that, it would hurt too much."

"Exactly." The room fell silent.

"What would we name them then?" He asked after a few minutes. "Any ideas?"

Scrooge hummed, "What aboot somethin' Scottish?"

"Like what, Scrooge Jr. and Scrooge the 3rd?" He asked teasingly, his Uncle swat him playfully which made him laugh. This was nice. He wasn't sure they'd ever be able to get back to this point again. It seemed that reaching out so soon helped with that.

"No you, nonsensical numbskull! Something to honor our heritage."

"My heritage is only half Scottish, I'm also a Coot in case you forgot. How about this, we find a baby book and keep searching until we find names we like." Scrooge had to admit, that was a good idea. But where could they find one? The answer was the library apparently, he wasn't sure why he had one but he wasn't gonna complain now. The two of them sat down and got to work, making sure to keep an eye on the eggs as they did so. Donald's cautiousness was starting to rub off on him but now that the twins' eggs had been in his life for so long he could see the reasoning. It definitely wasn't easy to be a single parent, he'd give his nephew that.

Granted, he had practically raised him and his sister but he had gotten them when they were almost eight years old. Doing it from scratch was something else entirely, and he was just starting to figure that out. They could work on it together. That was something that really gave him hope.

They combed through the book, looking at each name carefully but not coming upon on that interested them- that is, until they hit the D's. "What aboot Dewford fer ane o' them?" Scrooge suggested and his nephew tested it out as he looked for its meaning and found none. But discovered something else, "We could shorten it ta Dewey, which is Welsh for beloved, sounds like a good fit ta me."

Donald smiled at him, "A great fit." They continued looking for a while until this time Donald found the name. "What if we named the other one Hubert? It's German for a bright heart."

"Hubert and Dewey, something doesn't fit there."

His nephew gave him a look, "Don't do it." He said warningly. "Don't be that guy, Uncle Scrooge."

Scrooge looked at him innocently, "What? I dinnae know what yer talkin' about. All that ae'm sayin' is the two names dinnae go together very well."

"Good." Donald said pointedly. "Della and I hated being a twin stereotype, don't make them another."

"Fine. Hubert and Dewey it is then."

_______________________________________________________________

It was a good thing they decided on those names that day cause not a few hours later the first egg began to crack. By that point their whole party had moved to the room they had previously set up as the nursery, which were good instincts on their part. Moving hatching eggs was never a good idea and the first place they see should really be where they're going to spend most of their time.

But back to the egg, as soon as the first crack sounded Scrooge and Donald's eyes were glued to it. It was cracking at a good pace, wiggling around a moderate amount, nothing to be anxious about. Yet they both were. Both were overwrought at the thought of something going wrong, of something being wrong. These eggs were all they had left of Della, they had to be fine. Luckily for them they had nothing to be worried about- for Hubert at least. He came out perfectly fine, if a bit curious as to what was going on.

Scrooge gently grabbed him from out of his egg and cleaned him off, wrapping a red blanket around him once he was done. "Hubert." He announced. But the two of them didn't have time to be excited about him hatching, his brother wasn't far behind.

Not five seconds after Hubert had finished Dewey had begun, and much faster. He busted out of his egg at a rapid speed and Donald had to quickly grab him before he could hurt himself. He wriggled around in Donald's hands, excited to experience everything around him and it made Donald smile as he wiped him clean. "Dewey." He said softly and he swore the duckling smiled at him. He felt like crying, and he knew by looking at his Uncle that he felt the same. They were here. They were finally here.

"Welcome ta the world, wee anes."

The two of them got close together and let the ducklings explore each other, which they eagerly did. Scrooge and Donald tiredly grinned at one another and Scrooge wrapped his free arm around his nephew. His youngest nephews were now cuddled up with each other making him awe internally and coo at them. They let out little noises and his grin grew wider. They had just been born and he already loved them like crazy. And that was the moment he swore he would never let anything happen to them, that he would protect them like he couldn't protect Della.

He then noticed his oldest nephew looking at him fondly and became confused, "What?"

He smiled, "You're a natural." Scrooge smiled back and they turned back to the twins. They were watching the two of them curiously and Scrooge waved his finger in front of their faces. Their eyes glued in on it as best as they could and Dewey tried to grab it, he let him and instantly felt something he couldn't name. These two ducklings were the most precious things in the entire world, no amount of money or treasure would ever mean as much to him. No adventure would ever be more important. From now one, his life completely revolved around them. That was what being a parent meant, and he was their parent now.

"Oh god." Donald suddenly realized. "I'm gonna have one of these."

Scrooge nodded, "In a few weeks, yes."

Donald turned to him frightened, "I'm not ready! I can't even take care of myself! Oh god, I'm gonna mess this up!" He moved away from his uncle and nephews and started pacing. Scrooge carefully placed the twins in their crib then went to tend to his other nephew.

He put a hand on his arm and guided him into a chair. "Uncle Scrooge, what am I gonna do? I can't be a Dad, I don't know how."

"Hah!" Scrooge barked out but then quickly lowered his voice. "Yew, Donald Duck, dinnae know how ta be a Dad? Lad, if ae know yew ae know yew looked up every possible book on parentin' the moment yew found oot. Ye picked oot all the stuff needed ta care fer the twins, ae would've been lost in that store withoot yew. Yew've probably even babyproofed the whole houseboat by now! Yer gonna be just fine, nephew, and so is Llewelyn. Have some faith in yerself." That was easier said than done. He was Donald Duck, he messed things up, and his kid deserved better than that. Deserved better than him. But he was Donald Duck, he was gonna do everything he could to give him the best life possible. He didn't have anyone better than Donald so Donald was gonna have to be the best. And there already wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his child.

Have faith in himself, he could do that.

One of the twins suddenly started crying and he was out of his seat and to the crib before his Uncle could even take a step. He delicately grabbed Dewey, and then Hubert before he could get too fussy and started rocking both of them. "And ye say ae'm a natural."

Donald shrugged, "Just instincts."

His Uncle gawked at him, "With instincts like that ye could be the best Dad in the world." He attempted to brush the praise off, before realizing that he probably deserved it. Even before she left Donald had been the more parental twin. She had been most excited to take the twins on adventures and give them things like the stars, he knew they needed more than that, needed a parent. Someone to change their diapers and teach them how to walk and talk, someone to kiss their boo-boos and help them with their homework, someone who knew what it meant to be a parent. And even if he couldn't be that for them, he trusted Scrooge could be and that he could be there to help in any way possible.

And those instincts were tenfold when it came to his own kid, he had a feeling the two of them were gonna be just fine after all.

#ducktales 2017 #a bigger different family dynamic

[sugar-petals]

Fic Research 101

A general guideline with various tips and tricks.

What for?

Even if you’re the type who can construct giant fantasy worlds out of thin literary air, research makes the difference and can bring you a lot of enjoyment once the story becomes its own universe. Expanding the horizon is 100% worth it. For beginners, advanced writers, and experts equally. Readers always notice and cherish that level of detail. Even Terry Pratchett preoccupied himself with geography, history, art, or science books. And anything else that would catch his eye, not worrying about whether it was considered cheesy, odd, or stale bread. It was simply for the sake of interest and passion. What I found noteworthy: He actually preferred it over reading stories of his genre (!) as not to reiterate things subconsciously, i.e., what other authors researched and repurposed. We saw the result: He built believable, unique worlds. It doesn’t mean that you have to eschew reading entirely or need to create a groundbreaking universe. It’s just important to be aware how habitual input shapes what knowledge we believe is possible to cover in our stories.

Where/How

Sometimes, it does depend on how you search, not where. The — often grammatical — quality of your search engine request determines the character of what you receive. My favorite trick is to look for “types of [research subject]”. That gives me a wide array of what exists, how it looks like, and also possible substitutions should something not work out. It’s also easy on non-native speakers because definitions will come your way like that. 

Mentality also matters. You can approach it like an academic looking for data or a creator of imaginary worlds curious about what people do. It will reflect in your story, big time. So it’s important to keep your style in mind even when you look up menial things, either can work.

When

It can be fun to figure out what kind of researcher you are. Either the one taking in all information first. As in, watching a documentary and then creating a spin-off in your AU. Or the one researching while writing. The advanced form for those with a lot of time on their hands is doing both. It will boil down to how good your long-term VS short-term memory is.

Alienating VS Involving The Audience

A tricky question remains what readers will understand and how they can ease into stories with extensive research. In my eyes, even if there is something they are unfamiliar with, the appeal of the story is times higher when the author goes some extra miles or has notable immersive details as the cherry on top. 

The real bad guy that you have to watch out for are complex highbrow words for embellishment that a) nobody has ever heard of b) can’t be logically understood by looking at the situation. 

"The family prepared the gallimaufry” will deter readers times more than “Catherine the Great died aged 67″. Because Catherine the Great is self-explanatory and well-known, but nobody has an idea that gallimaufry is a fancy old synonym for ‘stew’. So rather go for Catherine the Great even if the gallimaufry might be period-typical and sounds hilarious. The rule of thumb is: If you give enough context so the reader doesn’t have to research endlessly themselves, you can pull it off, particularly with readers who are native speakers. It’s more difficult with non-native speakers, but I would trust them to look something up if the vocabulary is entirely foreign to them. If you’re in doubt about that, simply provide more background information and describe things viscerally, maybe with a simile or metaphor. 

So, unless you put it in the title (that’s a different topic), peppering your story with super fancy words from 200 AD that only you know can make you come across as a show-off trying to be way above the audience, while appropriate research and context makes you look like an artist who loves making stories and gives their readers an experience. I know, long fancy words are tempting, but try to keep them at a minimum if possible. Particularly when your AU is not historical or doesn’t feature fantasy elements. If you do write fantasy and drop something like say Latin as in Harry Potter (the spells), it helps to have a character who inquires about the word from another person in the fic. You give the reader a self-insert for that situation to learn about it. The same goes for new terms you come up with.

About Learning

This one is a big deal. Definitely figure out what type of learner you are (visual, auditory, etc), and what types of intelligence you are good at (logical, musical, linguistic, etc). Once you know how you retain information best, the world is easier. Many authors see research as an unwanted chore just because they take in useful information the wrong way. We all are curious creatures, it just depends on how things are presented to us. Once we find our forte, research loses much of its exhaustion, fear, and pressure.

Beware of comparison with other writers here. E.g. spatial-logical talents will be good at worldbuilding, while kinesthetic-literary talents will write authentic eroticism and action. We all have our niche and modes of brain function, sometimes it’s good to stick to your gifts instead of competing out of envy — which brings us back to Terry Pratchett and reiteration. Mind you, do experiment, do consider various ways of learning, what I mean is that you can make a story work faster knowing your potential in several areas.

Research Topic Masterposts

Perhaps you’ve seen them, the ones helping you construct a realistic XYZ scene. I know the hype around them, the effort is impressive, definitely keep it on your radar. Still, a word of caution. It’s often something you reblog for reference because you see all the options in one place but never go back to it. It can derail your research process immensely, too. The reason: It appears randomly, not when you need it. Heading out to research via browser in the right moment often yields more fitting results and options. After all, the person making the masterpost linked you guides to topics of their preference, often their stories’ research process, which can be far away from yours. I’ve often run into linked articles that are either too advanced or straightforward, it’s a bit of a Russian roulette to find the right insight. Which the masterpost creator obviously can’t and doesn’t have to anticipate, by all means — the same principle applies to this post, you have to cherrypick what resonates. 

The problem is that you can’t know how useful to you personally the links are at first glance when you just reblog for later reference. Combing through the links and visiting a bunch to see if it is any good takes forever compared to a 10 sec google search. Ironically, you’d think someone else, maybe a more experienced author, doing the work for you spares you effort and it’s convenient, but the opposite can be the case. Sometimes, you have to research from scratch and rely on your own gut. Should you still find a solid masterpost giving you precisely what you’re looking for, and you remember to go back to it — installing XKit helps with that, it has an archive function: Check the timestamp (also via XKit). If the post has been around for longer, many links might be dead so keep an eye on this. 

Wikipedia

Staring at black font against white forever can be frustrating and repetitive. Hyperlinks can distract, it consumes time. In some cases, infographics give you a quicker, more colorful outline with equal amounts of sources. Important: Remember the mentality bit. For some, inspiration comes first. In that regard, infographics can help you out further by providing a visual idea in terms of worldbuilding. If you are the data type and do juggle references, it might be a better idea trying Google scholar to find journals. Tip: Read their abstracts (the summary at the start) to get a quick overview. And then you’re ready to go. 

Handy Shortcuts

Disclaimer: Those are for Mac. For Windows: Use Ctrl instead of Cmd.

Cmd + F (search) finds the needle in a stack of hay. This one is essential. 

Cmd + T (open new tab) saves time.

Cmd + Z (undo) — every writer’s lifesaver, oh my god.

Cmd + A (select all) helps for copy paste. Mind you, don’t plagiarize.

Cmd + N (open new web page) for a blank slate, all other tabs stay open.

Cmd + down arrow brings you to the bottom of the page.

1) Cmd + Shift + 3 gives you a fast screenshot of the whole screen. 2) Cmd + Shift + 4 lets you select a rectangular/square area to screenshot. 

the screenshots will be saved on your desktop.

Windows doesn’t have 2) but uses “Print Screen” for 1).

#writing corner #writing tips #writing advice #writing fics #fic writing #writing #research