#but like. i check the bins Every Day. i do not need it spelled out to me that ppl have been in the kitchen

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box— Trevor Zegras (Part Twenty-Six)

SERIES MASTERLIST

previous: twenty-five

welcome to the final game day post of the season! thank you all for loving this series so much that it has developed into what it is now! i’ve got many surprises in store for the summer, and i can’t wait to share them! first surprise coming soon ;)

THURSDAY, APRIL 13TH

yourusername

liked by trevorzegras, jamie.drysdale, and 11,194 others

yourusername welcome to my final 2022-23 season penalty box update show (cue the sad awes)! buckle up and hold onto your butts and iced coffees buttercups because you are in for a WILD ride!

let’s start off with the highlights before i get into my boyfriend’s extra curricular activities for those who missed this beautiful monstrosity of a game! to start off this freeway faceoff rivalry, dad scored the opening goal goal 2:44 minutes in! so my dad of him! but alas, before the period ended a k*ng scored. there were three penalties this period: jonesy for cross checking, a k*ng for interfering with lundy, and a delay of game bench minor served by stromer. it was a very nice attempt to clear the goal, but alas, stromer was sent to pay for dallas’s crime.

second period was fairly mild, but almost halfway through, z-baby got his first penalty of the night (yes, you read that correctly) for hi-sticking! the spelling of this penalty cracks me up because it’s like “hi!! here’s my stick!! in your face!! as a gift!!” then mr. drew helleson got his first nhl penalty for hooking! congratulations! and lastly, a k*ng was sent to jail for attempted murder against dad. good riddance! love you, dad!

special note, here is what the commentators said sbout z’s first penalty: “i know trevor zegras is real good friends with jack hughes but he needs to take a page out of that book” (this is in reference to jack only have six minutes this season, and trevor after this penalty had 77. it has since increased.)

third period is when this gets wild, laid-eez! we started off strong with stromer getting a tripping penalty 4:40 in. THEN, z-baby was sent to the bin with seven seconds left in stromer’s penalty to serve the too many men bench minor, which was hilarious imo. as soon as stromer’s penalty ended, he hit the puck over the glass, and had to turn his ass around right back into the box for a delay of game penalty and this was the funniest thing i’ve ever witnessed. at 15:25, the chaos ensued. trevor was wrongly abused and he retaliated, causing a big ol scrum in front of the bench. the k*ng that committed the hate crime got a double minor for roughing against z, and grant got a roughing minor for roughing against said k*ng, as well as my cute lil psycho boyfriend. my said boyfriend ran his mouth a lil too much and received a misconduct that got him ejected from the game. NOT EVEN A MINUTE LATER, multiple fights broke out at once where “everybody chose a dance partner” (thank you commentators for that lovely quotes) which got jonesy and carrick both ejected with misconducts, and nesty had to serve carrick’s boarding penalty that started it all. i was THRILLED and having the time of my life to say the least!

to end, i would like to address that z and i have a long talk in the locker room, and i have received explicit permission from all guilty parties to post this. i also want to say how proud i am of this team for pushing through, and i’m sorry that you didn’t get the end you all wanted. i love each and every one of you!

and to my lovely z, congratulations on your 23rd goal tonight. congratulations on all other accomplishments this season and beating your previous career highs! i’ve seen you do some beautiful, mind blowing, magical things this season, and i know you’re only going to get better from here. i can’t wait to spend the summer with you🧡 i love you, always, trevor <3

tagged trevorzegras

view all 146 comments

trevorzegras thank you for everything you did for me tonight, my sweet girl🧡 i love you, forever!

jamie.drysdale was she nice first or angry first?

trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale luke doesn’t call her scary sissy behind her back for nothing

yourusername i’m not gonna argue with that

trevorzegras @/yourusername i called luke out and you’re going to say nothing?

yourusername @/trevorzegras he scored his first goal tonight!

trevorzegras @/yourusername I SCORED A GOAL TONIGHT

yourusername @/trevorzegras AND THEN YOU SCORED A MISCONDUCT

jamie.drysdale i feel so safe in my home

user38 y/n is right, this game was a beautiful monstrosity

tterry19 love you, too! thanks for sticking by us!

yourusername i always will <3

user6 look at trevor holding his coffee i love that little shit lmao

jamie.drysdale (beware i’m about to be sappy) i just want to say thank you for staying with me during my injury and supporting not only z, but me, too, in the few games i played. we’ve gotten so much closer this year and i’m really glad we did, wifey! can’t wait for you to switch between mine and z’s jerseys at games next season! i love you! (p.s. thanks for letting my play guitar in the house!)

yourusername jamie drysdale i will come into your room and sob into your chest the second we get home istg

jackhughes @/yourusername are you not with him right now?

yourusername @/jackhughes i’m in the bathroom

trevorzegras @/yourusername get off your phone i want to go home

jamie.drysdale @/trevorzegras why? just why? she’ll never leave the bathroom now

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes

_quinnhughes @/yourusername sissy, i’ll throw away your blanket you have here if you don’t leave because if i get one more text from trevor i’ll fly down there and smother him myself

yourusername F I N E

user16 z and stormer in the box together post stromer going back in is so funny

frank_vatrano you’ve been great to have around as a cheerleader this season! love you lots, y/n/n!

yourusername awww tank! i love you tooooo

anaheimducks we love our wags!

yourusername and we love you!

user49 derek grant is my hero because he got a roughing penalty and sat back and relaxed 😂

yourusername just a king doing king shit (he semi tried to comfort my boyfriend)

_quinnhughes sissy, be honest, how many individual feelings are you feeling right now?

trevorzegras y/n is unavailable right now. she’s under my shirt.

jamie.drysdale we saw her laugh, cry, and thank the hockey gods in a span of two minutes before she got under it but we’ll tell her you asked

yourusername at least twelve emotions and four of them are partly your fault, quintin. thank you, i’m obsessed with you, and i love you <3

_quinnhughes @/yourusername i love you, too! now go to bed <3

colecaufield i cannot share my thoughts at the risk of breaking z’s heart and trust

trevorzegras you’re so good to me

yourusername text me your thoughts

colecaufield kk

trevorzegras update: cole is not that good to me

user77 if this game didn’t perfectly sum up this season idk what would

shattdeuces i love you, daughter! you’ve been a delight to have around these last couple of years! can’t wait to see what chaos you create next season!

yourusername oohhhhh i got big prank ideas, mom! and i love you, too!

user22 can’t wait for the hot z edits

masonmctavish23 thanks for making my rookie year special! you’re one of the most welcoming people i’ve ever met!

yourusername everyone is a sap in my comments tonight aw! i love you mac-t!

masonmctavish23 i love you, too

jackhughes you’re telling me you threatened no one to comment nice things? people just are?

yourusername this team worships me idk what to tell you

trevorzegras she is a fan favorite

jackhughes i am absolutely perplexed

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes stop using big boy words its scary

yourusername @_quinnhughes it’s***

lhughes_06 college dropout alert

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 says the one who dropped out a week ago

trevorzegras since there’s been so much love in the comments tonight, i just want to publicly announce that i have the best and most supportive girlfriend in the world who went out of her way to ensure she supported all of her friends in family in their big moments, and their worst. everyone deserves a y/n, but i, along with the few lucky others, get the best one🧡

jamie.drysdale psa: y/n cannot respond as she’s under my shirt now

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes come quick

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras booking a flight

#penalty box series #trevor zegras #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras insta edit #trevor zegras x hughes reader #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras au #trevor zegras imagine #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale imagine #luke hughes #cole caufield #anaheim ducks #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Revenge

Yennefer loves Geralt and Jaskier, but they can, and do get on her nerves. They can be just downright f***ing annoying! It isn't always on purpose, though. It's little things they do, their little habits and mannerisms that drive her crazy.

It's how Jaskier will make a sandwich and walk away, leaving the counter looking like a five year old tried to make lunch.

It's Geralt leaving his pile of monster gut splattered clothes on the bathroom floor like he doesn't know where the s*dding clothes hamper is. And then Yennefer finds the one shirt he left in a corner somewhere that now smells like a d*mn dead animal.

It's Jaskier and Geralt playing Garbage/Trash Jenga to avoid having to be the one that has to empty the rubbish bins. It was truly impressive how high the garbage could be piled. Yennefer sometimes measured the towers in secret, out of idle curiosity.

Yennefer finds the sound of Geralt chewing annoying. He sounds like f***ing horse grazing. Some days she wonders if she will be the fist woman in history to murder her husband over how loudly he chews.

She can't stand the way Jaskier refuses to put the cup down or just refill it when he's obviously drained it. He just keeps sucking on the straw and moving it around the bottom of the cup like there might be some of whatever he's drinking hiding behind an ice cube.

Geralt keeps leaving his hair in the shower drain. Every day, there is a massive clump of hair, just squatting there. The man sheds like a d*mn wolf in summer. He's got so much f***ing hair, and it grows so fast! And he can wash it with a cheap bar of soap and it will always look amazing. It's not fair!

Jaskier keeps using her skincare products, and her bodywash. Yennefer doesn't really mind that he uses them, what p*sses her off is that he always waits until the containers are completely empty before buying more. And the containers are always empty when Yennefer goes to use them!

And that's something else that annoys her. Geralt and Jaskier will put empty food containers back in the fridge instead of just throwing them out, or putting them in the dishwasher, that neither of them seems to have figured out how to load, start, and empty.

One would think that both men were f***ing illiterate and incompetent because neither one of them seemed to be able to read the To Do list on the fridge or complete one of the tasks.

And yet "Your mom" always ended up on the list and got checked off. Sometimes twice.

Yennefer can be mopping the kitchen floor, and one of them will accidentally spill something, then just f***ing walk away!

Jaskier will giggle at words like "bumhole" , and "weiner", yet claim to be a mature adult.

Jaskier: "I am too a mature adult, Yennefer!

Yennefer: "Boobies."

Jaskier: *cackling, giggling, wheezing*

Geralt will routinely take his phone into the bathroom with him and spend 45 minutes taking a sh*t. Yennefer doesn't know if it actually takes him that long to pinch a loaf, or if he squirts it out in the first two minutes, then spends the rest of the time playing on his phone. Whichever it is, he always seems to do it when Yennefer needs to get in there.

And then he doesn't even have the courtesy to spray some air freshener when he is done! He just leaves it smelling like the inside of the devil's colon!

And that's another thing! The smells! Between their funky sweat and their rancid farts, Yennefer wonders if her olfactory receptors are going last much longer.

Then there is how, when asked what they would like for dinner, they both respond unhelpfully with 'Whatever'.

There's many other little things that get on her nerves, and when her last, frayed nerve snaps, Yennefer has her ways of getting revenge.

If one of them annoys her too much while they are eating, she sends them to the Dipsh*t Table.

After Geralt got so angry with Jaskier that he left him at the mall, Yennefer cast a spell on him that made him literally sh*t golden bricks for the rest of the day anytime he got angry. Jaskier spent that day p*ssing him off on purpose, and they ended up with a small fortune. It had been the best spell Yennefer had ever cast. Geralt's a**hole had vehemently disagreed.

Jaskier ended up with a silencing spell on him after he wouldn't shut up. Yennefer and Geralt had finally gotten a few hours of blessed silence, and a little amusement. They sat watching Jaskier gesticulate and flap about, raging mutely and making obscene gestures, and made a game of guessing what the gestures meant.

Geralt made the mistake of telling Yennefer that she needed to 'lighten up'. Cue Yennefer casting a spell so her and Jaskier's shoes made the Tennis shoe/Sneaker Squeak sound whenever they took a step.

Geralt ended up as a small, angry pomeranian after he woke up in a bad mood and wouldn't stop b*tching about everything. That had only made things worse. He'd barked and yapped, p*ssed AND sh*t on the floor, then chased Jaskier through the house before cornering him in the laundry room and savaging his foot.

Jaskier spent a few minutes as a donkey because "If you are going to act like an a**..." Yennefer had quickly turned him back after he followed her around incessantly braying, and then farted on her.

She turned Geralt into a potoo because, well, he already looked like one anyway. He hadn't done anything particularly annoying that day, she'd just thought it would be funny.

She turned Jaskier into a baby after he kept whining about everything, and she instantly regretted it because oh, no, he's f***ing cute!

Yennefer cast a spell on Geralt that made him cough up a mouthful tiny d*cks every time he 'Hmm'ed instead of used words.

She gave Geralt a little girl's voice after he made fun of the way she had screamed when a cockroach flew at her. Jaskier had teased him relentlessly, only laughing harder the more Geralt demanded (in his little girl voice) that he shut up.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher modern au #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #geraskifer #geraskefer #yenskier #yennskier #yennaskier #yenneskier #revenge headcanon

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #6:

Neil Young and Promise of the Real's The Monsanto Years

Somehow this album is cursed in my biography. Every time I try to listen to it something goes deeply wrong. And it's no wonder: in the silly recording session photo above it looks like Neil is casting an evil spell on all of us. Monsanticus!

When the record came out in in the summer of 2015 I was suspicious; Neil had just released Storytone, and it sounded like he'd focused on painting the record's cover and washing his hogs rather than writing good songs. Plus I'd never even heard of his new backing band with their too terrible to be ironic name. Crazy Horse was alive and well; what was Young up to now?

But 20 years previously I'd been equally suspicious when Young got spooked by the Horse and buddied up with a different group of young hipsters to make Mirror Ball, and that record turned out to be awesome. And so I knew The Montsanto Years deserved my open-mindedness in spite of its clunky title and fairly gross cover art.

So I turned it up loud for the first time with my buddy Matt. It was a beautiful day and we had an open road with two hours of drive time ahead of us. Maybe we'd listen to it twice!

But halfway through the album's third song, People Want to Hear About Love, with its inspired-by-Stephen-Still's-very-own-Joe-Lala bongos, and its gather about me young squires chanting, not to mention Young's crankiest grandpa vocal stylings to date, Matt and I simultaneously announced that the song sucked. We put on Zuma instead.

Even so, People Want To Hear About Love, stayed annoyingly in my head all day, and that day was dedicated to attending our friend's younger sister's funeral. I couldn't shake crusty grandpa Neil off at the graveside as my friend's 20-something little sister was lowered into the earth, her life cut short by cancer that came with touches of abhorrent irony: she'd been a nurse; her dad was a cancer doctor. You're wrong Neil, I angrily thought, no one wants to hear about love. Nor do they ever want to hear your song again.

I've given the record sporadic second chances since then. And every time I get to the fourth track, Big Box, I perk up. After all, it opens with Neil alone, playing a demonstrative and churning, here's how it works kids, follow my lead, riff that sounds like it's lifted straight from Mirror Ball.

But before you know it Neil croons "Too Big To Fail" in overdubbed fashion and rhymes "excited" with "Citizens United" (you know, the Supreme Court case that gave corporations the power to essentially buy our elections) and, despite some pretty exciting guitar interplay whenever Young shuts his trap, rather than echoing Mirror Ball the whole thing sounds like Young is hanging out with Kai Ryssdal or David Brancaccio on Marketplace. Come on Neil, that's my least favorite show on NPR.

Yesterday I gave the record yet another try: but again, no dice; my 15 year old ipod (no, I don't own The Monsanto Years on vinyl; I got it in true Dollar Bin fashion by checking it out at the library) played me the first two songs, the lyrically regrettable opening track, which isn't amazing but does not suck, and the pretty lovely, quavering Wolf Moon, before the device (it's the kind with a dial on the lower half; there are 22 thousand songs on the thing, and around 1600 of them are Young's), perhaps disgusted by my choice for this week's Shakey Sunday, cried uncle and died in what appeared to be the very real Steve Jobs kinda fashion.

I was able to resuscitate it eventually but I'm unsure whether or not to risk resumption of the album. After all, it's cursed! And when the terrible day comes, and my ipod refuses to wake back up no matter how many times I pressed down all the buttons at once while cursing, will I need to find another way, either through a very nonDollar Bin purchase of the vinyl or through Neil's old timey, betamax website, to listen to The Monsanto Years ever again? Or can I just stick with Zuma?

Well, let's find out the answer. It's a Shakey Sunday and I'm about to roll my ipod's dice, press play, and go song by song through the rest of Neil's far too long screed against agrobusiness.

The fifth song, A Rock Star Bucks a Coffee Shop, is a big No vote for the record. Yikes. I'd rather drink a big cuppa GMO than hear Young rhyme GMO with Mont-san-to ever again. Whoever is responsible for the whistling in this song needs to never purse their lips in my presence again.

I suspect POTR (I refuse to ever type the band's terrible name out again; I wish they'd named themselves Promise of the Real Sausages instead) are big fans of Young's live bender record Time Fades Away. Working Man's got that vibe but it's slick instead of shakey. Yuck.

In Rules of Change Neil gives us yet another version of the story he's been telling over and over again for the whole record: the farmers have woes; climate change is real; we're doomed unless we get on Uncle Neil's groovy train of love. Look: I'm an environmentalist already. I do what I can to eat sustainably; I ride my bike to work alongside my sweet daughter as much as possible; and I've got a bootleg gray water system already running out the back of my house as we speak, watering my trees with our laundry water. The simple truth is that I never needed this concept album, or any of Young's too numerous to count environmental anthems. I already know this stuff. I'm already angry and I already vote and if Trump gets elected next fall I'll lose my mind a second time. Frankly, Neil, I'd much rather imagine sleeping with Pocahontas.

But it's when we get to the album's title track that I start to wish my ipod was indeed broken.

The song is a terrifying double to Danger Bird: it's slow and brooding with caveman vocals. But the guitar is mostly sickening instead of life changing and everyone's chanting "Safeway" instead of telling me about Carrie Snodgrass sleeping around with some still unknown famous enemy of Young's and ruining his life in 75. I guess Neil's right, people do want to hear about love. And Marlon Brando. And the Astrodome. And me.

I haven't got much to say about the final track, If I Don't Know. It occurs, and it sucks less than most of what we just sat through. What I fear is that Young is letting some young hipster solo at the end of the song while he stands by, contemplating corporate sin. Jimi Hendrix is dead, Ira Kaplan is busy, Richard Thompson isn't interested and Stephen Stills sucks; no other man on earth should be allowed to solo on a guitar while on stage with Neil.

(But I'd be more than happy to have any number of women do so, however, from Leslie Feist to Myriam Gendron to the recently resurgent Joni Mitchell herself.)

Okay folks we did it. We made it through The Monsanto Years. You have my permission to never listen to it again.

Me? As of this moment, while I hit post, I'm already half way through the record for the second time today, and I'm kinda digging my time at the Big Box store. Looks like I like the record anyway.

Neil Young: even his garbage swings.

#Youtube #neil young #the promise of the real #stephen stills sucks #shakey sundays #feist #myriam gendron

[thebooktopus]

May Flowers! Today's theme is Flowershop AU.

Check out last week's post, Language of Flowers, here. Today's post includes a guest rec from @mystickitten42, identified by this 🏵 flower! Thanks Tara!!! Have a rec you think belongs in this series? Send me a DM! Drarry unless otherwise noted.

🌹 Inked by @arrowofcarnations // M // 44K // Wolfstar // this was such a darling fic - I absolutely flew through it and fell in love with these two. Sirius as the mysterious new next door neighbor with his tattoo shop (and tattoos 👀), Remus with his quiet, unassuming flower shop. too good!!! A+ banter, slow burn, RHPS references ✅✅✅

“Sure.” Remus grinned wryly. “You can discuss the badassery of various plantlife with all the little old church ladies.”

🌹 Six Bloody Months by @jet-playin-around // E // 14K // you'll be cheering by the time these two move from idiots to lovers. A+++++++++

He swept into the flower shop at least once a week, bringing coffee and those “sand biscuit”… things, and browsing the display bins and shelves. Sometimes, he’d leave with a bouquet or a potted plant; sometimes, he'd spend the time chattering away about whatever came to mind, seemingly forgetting all about flowers.

🌹 Pansies on My Skin by @melanoradrood // E // 12K // Paneville // I recommended this back in January but you better believe I'm back again to tell you how much I love this fic. sweet, awkward Neville flips a switch and takes bad bitch, inked pansy down for the count. 🔥🔥🔥 this art from @artofcrumbs? ALSO 🔥🔥🔥

“Neville,” she said, staring at the plant. “Did you... did you bring me a potted pansy?”

More recs, including art and podfics, under the cut!!

🌹 There’s a Thunder Inside My Heart (It’s a Wonderful Pleasure) by @serenecalamity // E // 9K // ok this is maybe only 5% flowershop AU and 95% Harry having a daddy kink and I am HERE FOR IT. 🙌

Just because Draco lived in the Muggle world now, didn't mean that he had cut off ties with the Wizarding World completely—he didn't think he would be able to do that if he tried, given it was all he had known growing up—so maybe there were a few spells that he used to help him around the shop that gave him an edge compared to other flower and plant boutiques, and he and Neville Longbottom actually talked at length and shared a lot of tips when it came to Herbology.

🌹 A Garland of Pansies by @agentmoppet // E // 8K // Pansmione // the PINING. the FLIRTING. the BOUQUETS. all SO good, 11/10 would recommend.

Snarling, she pushed herself away from the wall and descended the stairs. Halfway down, the rich, calming scent of flowers hit her, and at least thirty percent of her hangover vanished as a smile appeared on her face. She always loved that the florist shop’s aroma didn’t quite reach her flat above it. It kept the olfactory association limited to her work, rather than blurring the lines between the two and making her sick of the overpowering florals. And that meant that every time she entered the shop, it was like the first time all over again.

🌹 Camellias: Red for Desire by @maraudermandy // E // 6K // Charlie/Angelina // this was the first fic I've ever come across for this pairing! super hot and fun, both pretending to be muggles until George throws a wrench into things.

Charlie opened the door and Angelina’s hand squeezed his as a gasp left her lips. She stood in the entryway as her eyes roamed over the displays of florals and colors. She had never seen so many florals in such a small space. There were intricately made bouquets displayed as well as buckets of individual flowers sorted by type and color. She wasn’t familiar with too many muggle flowers, though he didn’t need to know that, and Herbology was never her best subject, but she couldn’t help but be in awe at the beauty surrounding every corner of the shop. He turned and looked at her, blushing at the bright smile on her face.

🌹 A Tree Starts with a Seed by @aokinashi // G // 5K // accidental bonding, precious bean Scorpius, seven days without touching that these two keep accidentally resetting? SO good. plus, the artwork is absolutely gorgeous!!

“Welcome back.” He said instead, because he was a reasonable, functional adult in his late twenties, with duties and responsibilities, and absolutely no time to cultivate a crush on Draco Malfoy, of all people.

🏵 Pensées d'Attirance by @orpheus87 // G // 2K // "A gorgeous, fluffy, feel-good fic filled with all the best things: mutual pining, mysterious colour-changing flowers, brilliant yet insecure Draco, oblivious Harry (who blushes adorably), and a wonderfully supportive (and meddling) Narcissa." @mystickitten42

It became a daily routine. Around nine-thirty am the bell above the door would chime and Harry would walk into the shop. Draco couldn’t help but notice that his mother never seemed to be around to help serve, so he found himself dealing with Harry’s increasingly strange requests for flowers and plants.

🌹 Flowers for Walburga by @chlobliviate // M // 1922 // Wolfstar // had a genuinely good chuckle over this one. love meddling Lily, Remus in a flower shop, Sirius wanting to fuck with his mum, both of them getting a date out of the situation!!

“No, no. I was wondering if you could help me. We have a mutual friend and she told me that you know the meanings behind different flowers and I,” He paused, “This is going to sound horrible probably, but… I would like a bunch of flowers that says ‘fuck you' in the most passive-aggressive way you can manage.”

Art & Podfics!

🌹 A Tattoo to Match by @pinkelephant42 // T // art // Draco/Neville

🌹 Consider the Daffodil by @janieohio, podfic by @anaxandria-writes & @evaeleanor // T // podfic, 11 minutes

"Well, you look good," Harry said, then felt his face heat when he replayed what had come out of his mouth. "I mean the shop. It looks like you're doing well."

🌹 Where Flowers Bloom by @smolbus // G // art // Scorbus

#booktopus fic recs #may flowers #flower shop au #flower shop #drarry #drarry fic #fic rec #hp fanfic #hp rare pair #paneville #pansmione #Charlie x Angelina #wolfstar #Draco x Neville #Scorbus

[chiss-ticism]

A Night in the Unlife: The Embrace...

"On the night of my Embrace, I clocked out of my shift just like every other night. It was routine. Make sure that the dishes were done, the trash was taken out, and that the tables had been wiped down with the 'proper' amounts of water and dishsoap." She says, counting off each complaint on a separate finger. "We wouldn't want our corporate overlords to have to add another 23 cents their overhead costs, now would we?"

The narrator, previously ensconced in darkness the darkness enhanced by the towering slabs of concrete and stained-red glass on either side of you, takes a drag of her cigarette; briefly lighting up her face for just long enough for you to see the black lipstick marks dotted along its length.

"Anyway, I'd done about exactly half of that shit before I had decided to hit the bricks. The manager, this real gaudy piece of shit - Todd I think his name was- had already been up my ass about the smallest of things for the last week and I wasn't just going to sit there, take it, and bend to his every whim while he just sat on his ass all day. Complaining." [She gives a look of mild annoyance, old feelings that should be long-dead dredged up in a miasma of memory]

"Anyway, like I said, It was routine. I was getting ready to head back out to my car, when it suddenly dawned on me that I had left my coat in the breakroom. The front door was locked, it was well past closing, but we normally left the backdoor unlocked until around 11 or so, in the event that we 'lowly peons' responsible for taking out the trash didn't get locked out with no way of getting back inside."

"As I was heading around back, I could feel a low dread begin to sink in- a familiar one to anyone prone to overthinking - the hairs on the back of my neck raising as if I were being watched. Of course, I know for a fact that I was now but at the time I mustered my best attempt at a confident tone and called out, warning any Ne'er-do-well-ers that I was armed - complete bullshit, by the way. I checked around and under the trash bins, even flashed the clip-on flashlight my old man had given me a while back in the general direction of the treeline behind the chain-link fence. No dice. Not the glossy glint of reflection in someone's eyes or even the subtle squeak of a mouse…

[she takes another drag of her cigarette]

"So I say "fuck it" and continue on my merry way. Had I known then what I know now, of course, I would've doubled back and just left it in there for me to grab on next shift. At least the bastard had the decency to let me actually what I went in for before he killed me. [She grimaces a bit]

The rest? Well, the rest is a foregone conclusion. I'm sure you don't need me to spell it out for you… I got a little hungry and found a… passerby… who was able to help out a little bit. Thankfully my-soon-to-be-travelling compadres stopped me before I drank too deeply. Wouldn't want to be inhospitable to someone so kind as to feed a stranger, now would we?" [She smiles, though it doesn't quite fully reach her eyes.]

#Pauline Tag #Blood And Silicon #My OCs #An aside: While it wasn't intentional at first #I'm just not good with conclusions lmao #the fact that the section on feeding/being Embraced is #comparatively #much shorter and much more sparse in detail could be her purposefully lying through omission. I shan't decide one way or another #though. She can have keep that secret in particular from me (lest it somehow become relevant later)

[ravagedarkness]

Spider-Man: Home Rebuilt, Chapter 1: Another Go

(Peter thought he made the right decision in not fully reconnecting with MJ and Ned. But after a talk with his GED teacher and a chance run-in, he decides to give things another go.)

People always think that being a hero is the greatest thing ever. And, honestly, I couldn’t really blame them for thinking that. From their perspective, what’s so bad about it? You have cool powers, abilities, and gadgets. You got the fame. You got the cool costume. And you honestly have some of the most interesting people on Earth… and galaxy… and the universe as friends, allies, and acquaintances. It looks awesome and it sounds awesome.

Nobody really talks about how you have to tangle with villains that are as powerful as you, if not more. Nobody really talks about how those same villains often don’t care who they kill or what they destroy while taking you on. Nobody really talks about how the court of public opinion can turn on you.

…And nobody talks about the hard decisions you had to make.

Every day, I wake up and think to myself I made the right decision – not the part where I urged Dr. Strange to cast that spell that made people forget that I was Spider-Man, but the part where I didn’t tell MJ and Ned after the fact. Too many people were hurt or worse because I let them in… because I let them be a part of the life of Spider-Man. As much as it hurt me that the people I befriended and loved no longer knew who Spider-Man is under the mask, I knew it was best for everyone.

And yet, every day, I walk into the Peter Pan Donut and Pastry Shop, I order a cup of coffee, along with a donut or pastry or something sweet. And while I enjoyed consuming them, that’s not the reason I go there. I go there because Michelle… MJ… worked there and Ned hung out there. Even though I was 100 percent sure that they’re better off without me being a significant part of their lives, I wanted and needed to know that they’re okay. And every time I leave, I keep asking myself if I did the right thing. And that uncertainty only increases when I go home and see the cup of the first coffee I bought from Peter Pan and the Lego Palpatine figure.

Why was I so unsure?

“You’re here early, Peter.”

I looked up from the floor I was seated on to see a tall black man with short, tapered hair and a pair of red lensed glasses I never seen him take off. As usual, he had on a dress shirt and pants underneath an open trench coat. I gave him slight smile and nodded.

“I needed a quiet place to think for a bit,” I replied. “And since this school is empty around this time…”

The man nodded. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, personally, but I suppose there are worse places to brainstorm.” He brought his head upward and walked up to the door of the classroom. After fetching his keys and using one to unlock the door, he looked back at me. “You can come in if you want.”

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded as I grabbed my backpack and stood up. He held the door open for me and I walked right in. I took my seat at the usual desk – middle column, third from the back. I pulled out my textbook and notebook from my backpack, along with a pencil, and lay them on the desk. After that, I checked my watch.

I still had 50 minutes until class started.

I sighed quietly and looked over at the teacher, who was busy cleaning off the dry erase board with an alcohol-soaked paper towel. I kept watching him, wondering about him. He didn’t look old – I figured he was about 27 or something. But the way he moved… it seemed like every movement of his had a purpose, even if the purpose seemed only known to him. Something about him gave me feeling that he was more than just a GED teacher, and that he’s had quite the life.

Or maybe I’m just overthinking things. MJ and Ned would often say I do that a lot.

“You know, if you had heat vision, you’d burn a hole through me,” my teacher quipped. He turned around and tossed the now dirty paper towel into a nearby trash bin before he looked at me. “And that wouldn’t be a boon for my teaching prowess.” He smirked slightly – something he rarely did. “Still thinking about whatever you were thinking about in the hall?”

“…A bit.” I furrowed up my eyebrows and drew my lips into my mouth as I looked off to the side. “…I’ll try not to think about it during class.”

“I hope not. You’re doing extremely well, Mr. Parker.” He took his seat behind his desk. “Is it anything I can help with?”

I doubt it, I thought to myself. I wanted to tell him what was going on. But that would mean explaining so much, including the part where I’m Spider-Man. And I didn’t want to put his life in danger in any way. So, I wanted to just say no. But I felt like I needed someone to talk with about what I was going through.

I sighed as I looked my teacher. “May I ask you a question, Mr. Summers?”

“Scott,” he replied.

I tilted my head. “I beg your pardon.”

“Scott. See, while class is in session or we’re talking about stuff related to the lesson after class, I expect and implore you to call me ‘Mr. Summers’. Outside of that, you may call me Scott, if you want. And to answer your question…” He trailed off and beckoned to the seat closest to him as he stood up, walked around his desk, and sat on top of it.

I took in a breath. I stood up and walked up to the seat he beckoned to. I sat down.

“Have you ever made a decision that you sure was the right decision, but still have doubts about it?”

“Yes, I have,” Scott replied. “I’ve done so plenty of times. A lot of people have. That’s normal. Why you ask?”

“…A while ago… I… cut myself off from everyone I hold dear, and did so in a way where they can’t find me.” Scott’s eyebrows rose up from behind his glasses, but he didn’t say anything. “I… because of things I did, I got them hurt. Even though they tried to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t bear the thought of them getting hurt. So I… removed myself from their lives. I keep thinking it’s for the best, and I wake up 100 percent sure about that, but then I go to certain places and… I end up missing them a lot.”

“I see.”

“What do you think?”

“…Well, I don’t know how good of an answer I can give you.” Scott stood up from the top of his desk. “There are a lot of details that you’re not telling me, I’m sure – though don’t expect me to press you on that. However, I’ll do my best. There’s an old saying you’ve probably heard. ‘Hindsight is 20/20’. And that’s certainly true – but one can only do so much with 20/20 vision. With some decisions, you can tell easily if they were good or bad, right or wrong, best or worst, and so on. However, there are decisions that you won’t be sure about for a long while, if at all.”

“Well what do I do if that happens?”

“Well, that leads to another decision you’ll have to make. Are you willing to live with that decision? And if you can’t, can you do something about it?”

I sighed. Somehow, this whole talk felt both helpful and unhelpful. I frowned. I had one more question. “Have you ever tried to cut yourself off from someone for their own good?”

Scott paused again. Even though I couldn’t see his eyes behind those red lenses (and, come to think of it, I never saw his eyes before), I could just tell he was staring straight into my eyes. “Yes. I have – once. And I almost got myself killed because of it.” Now it was my eyebrows rising up. “Pete… do you mind if I call you Pete?”

“I’ve been called worse,” I replied with a shrug.

“Well, Pete… I was doing a lot of sacrificing and putting others before myself. And, that’s not a bad thing in and of itself. But, doing so without looking out for yourself can be rather detrimental. People admire those who’d dive on top of a bomb to protect others… but the one who cuts the wire? They’re going to be alive and well to help those in need again. Anyway, when I cut myself off from the people I held dear… I realized I was hurting myself as much as I was hurting them. And I didn’t realize it until it was too late. I don’t know if your current situation was similar to that situation but… food for thought.”

He wasn’t kidding.

After class, I walked home. I had my hands in the pocket of hoodie. As I walked, I thought about what Mr. Summers said. I wanted to dismiss it. There was no way I was hurting MJ and Ned, was I? They were happy without me. Every time I saw them, they look well adjusted. Well, granted, MJ’s boss tends to be quite the jerk, but that’s how some bosses are, right? And I was okay with them being okay without me… I thought. But every time I saw them, memories just kept coming back of the times we had together. And I’m just tempted to grab the both of them, take them to a discreet location and explain to them everything that happened…

…like I promised I would.

“Why am I like this?”

“We’ve been asking ourselves the same thing, dork,” a voice replied – a voice that caused a flutter in my chest whenever I heard it.

I stopped in my tracks. I saw MJ, dressed in all black – jeans, shirt, and jacket, and Chuck Taylors. I knew that outfit well – it was one of my favorite outfits of hers. Next to her was Ned, who had on blue jeans, a black Darth Vader shirt, and his Midtown letterman jacket.

There they were, a few feet in front of me.

“…Hi,” I greeted. I swallowed. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Well… we’ve been waiting you for a while,” Ned stated.

I tilted my head. “Here?”

“…You’re rather oblivious of your surroundings at times, aren’t you?” MJ commented before she pointed up to the sign of the building I was next to. I looked at it.

Peter Pan Donut & Pastry Shop.

“…Oh.” I blinked a few times before I looked at them. “How long were you guys waiting? And why were you guys waiting on me?” My eyes went a bit wide. “I didn’t stiff you on the price of the coffee, did I?”

“What?” MJ eyebrows furrowed. She then shook her head. “No. It’s just, at school, a friend of ours – Betty – gave us tickets to go see a musical. Musicals aren’t really my thing, but I’m trying to be better at this ‘hanging out with friends’ thing. Thing is, it’s four tickets in total, and, between Betty, Ned, and I, there’s an extra ticket. She asked us if we knew another person who’d like to come. I said yes… if only because Flash wanted to come.”

“Flash is… a bit of a pill,” Ned added.

MJ looked at Ned with a scowl. “Flash is an asshole.”

Ned looked back at MJ. “That too.” Ned looked at me. “The point is, we promised we’d have someone, and I said ‘Hey, why not that weird guy that stops for coffee every day?’ …No offense.”

“I’ve been called worse,” I said.

“So, we waited… but you didn’t come during your normal time. But here you are so…”

“I’m…” I trailed off. I sighed. “I’m flattered that you guys thought of me, and I’m sure it’ll be a great show tonight but… I can’t. I have to study tonight.”

“For the GED?” MJ deadpanned. “I highly doubt it.”

I scoffed. “What do you mean? I’m not a Midtown student like you guys. For me, GED classes take effort.”

I really wished I didn’t ask that. I knew what was going to happen next. And it happened like clockwork.

First, MJ brought up a very good point.

“Peter, a couple of weeks ago, you used a penny, a gum wrapper, and one of my coworkers’ roach clip to fix the TV here,” MJ pointed out. “And then, a week after that, I saw you breeze through a Sudoku book like an elementary school crossword.”

Second, I froze up before I became a stuttering mess. Funny thing about me is that I’m a very good liar until someone brings up a point I can’t really argue against.

“…I… uh… I mean, I-I’m sure there a lot of p-people who could do w-what I did.” I smiled sheepishly. “I-It was m-more luck than a-anything a-and – ”

Next, was the part where Ned backed MJ up.

“There are people who take science and math classes with us that wouldn’t have been able to do that,” Ned added. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not in Midtown with us.”

“Please come with us,” MJ said. She walked up to me. As soon as she was close enough, she placed her right hand on my shoulder. It was a simple touch for her. But for me, it brought back a lot of memories – memories she no longer had. So, it took all of my willpower not to turn and run. “For me.” She looked me straight into my eyes. She then cleared her throat as she turned her face away. “And Ned.”

At that point, there was no excuse I could come up with. I still loved them. I always will. And while that love fueled my desire to stay away from them for their own safety, that same love for them is also the reason there’s little I wouldn’t do for them if they asked.

I sighed. I then nodded. “What show are we seeing?”

“American Idiot,” MJ said with a smile. As Ned pumped in his fist, she playfully punched me in the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

MJ turned and walked. And I walked with her. And soon after that, it was MJ, Ned, and I walking through the streets of New York. I still wanted to run away. I knew I could at any moment. But after that conversation with Mr. Summers, I needed to know if me staying away from them is the right decision.

…And honestly? I missed MJ and Ned too much.

(So yeah, I'm going to be reposting this story here. You want to read the whole story in its entirety, feel free to read them on AO3 or Fanfiction dot Net. However way you read it, I hope you enjoy the story.)

#fanfic #spideychelle #spider-man #mcu #peter parker #michelle mj jones #ned leeds #betty brant #scott summers #kitty pryde #carmilla black #original character #jade cargill #petermj #mj peter #michelle jones #mj x peter #Mj

[unhumanrights]

"How To Open a Magic Shop," by UnhumanRights

[The following is written on a piece of paper that used to be a fully animated origami raven, scrawled in a hasty hand]

Good morning, V! Sorry I'm not there to greet you. Guess what? I finally convinced the boss lady to take a day off. I know, the Frozen Hell has warmed over, right? I told her I'd open up shop today. Problem is, I'm running late. I'm going to be there in a bit, promise. That means you have to open up the place. Don't worry, it's easy. Everything you need to know, I wrote down on this paper. Did you like the origami raven I folded it into? Little animation spell I've been working on. Anyway, keep reading. You got this.

1. Unlock the door. Origami raven should have been carrying the key. I hope. It's a new spell, not sure how good its grip is. There's a backup key just in case, though. Touch the third stone to the right of the keystone above the door and imagine yourself eating a purple apple in a snowstorm, then hum the chorus of "The Count's Forsaken Dinner Party." Lock it behind you so you can open up shop without customers walking in.

2. Okay, the thing to remember is that the labyrinth is in your mind, so you're gonna be okay. Find the minotaur at the center. He will challenge you, but insist upon using his kitchen first. In the fridge, you will find the fixings for a BLT. Make two BLTs, but hold the B. Offer one to the minotaur, and he will lead you out of the labyrinth. He'll also give you a key to a secret access tunnel so you don't have to find him and make him an LT every time you open shop, but you should every once in awhile. He's a cool dude. Now that you're in the shop, turn off the security system on the pad by the door. The rune code is fnirf pnemit wix quivy.

3. Turn on all the lights, but not the ones in the shadowy corner by the black door. The whispers behind it are usually louder and more insistent at this time of day before the sun fully rises, but just tune them out. Wind up a perpetual music box or something.

4. Count the money in the register. Should be 500 gilt in there. Also, it's probably about time to mix up some more counterfeit detection potion.

5. Check Yelena's desk for any notes she may have written us for today. There's usually about a tome's worth. Eh, you know Yelena. It's always something. You might need to slow time to get to to anything that can't wait until after the shop opens. Just grab a few grains of chronosand from the bin.

6. Go through the books and reshelve any that have moved in the night. Usually, the older books are most likely to do this. They may struggle and throw some minor spells at you, but once you get them in the right place, they'll stop.

7. Set up the autocauldrons to start producing some potions. Ingredients go in the basin on the left. Make sure there are enough bottles/jars in the racks. Yelena wanted to run a promo on sun salve for the upcoming festival, so make extra.

8. Activate the glamour on the sign out front, and open the doors. Let's sell some magic!

Okay, I should be there soon. See you.

C

#fiction #writing #how to #original fiction #unhumanrights #i made this #instructions #story #short story #fantasy #magic shop #spec fic #speculative fiction #fantasy fiction #fantasy story #fantasy short story #original story #original short story

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

  The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

  “Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

[essaysbyciara]

It’s Been A Long Time | Nebraska Williams x Black!PlusSize Reader [Part 1/?]

Warnings: language, smut thoughts (my ministry!)

So this has been in my drafts for a *HOT MINUTE* but that photo of Trevante in high school triggered a release. If people dig where it could be going, I will add it to my list of stuff to finish and open up a taglist. I’ll try my best to do so, I promise! lol

“God, I played this album out…” Lil’ Wayne’s seminal album, The Carter, didn’t age at all. Back in 2004, Wayne was a secret about to bubble over to superstardom, just years shy of lollipops and Static Major (rest in peace). Wayne represented the teenage angst of your time, even though you toiled in the suburbs while he wrestled with the streets. But as “On My Own” damn near explodes your factory speakers, a high pitch ping from your phone pauses your trip down memory lane. 

Message from Sheena: Let’s catch up before the babies wake up. 

You hit the call button on your dash once you stop at a red light. 

“Girl, hey. You on your way to work?”

“Ain’t I always, Shi Shi? Damn near almost overslept. Thought I missed my flight.” 

Sheena, or Shi Shi, is the epitome of a best-friend-forever. You two met in Ms. Grayson’s civics class, 11th grade. On the first day of school, you rolled into third period wearing a Scream Tour II t-shirt and if you were to describe Sheena in that moment, jealous wasn’t even the word.  She stanned hard for Lil’ Bow Wow but her mom wouldn’t let her go to the concert because she got caught with a boy in her room. That boy is now the husband half-way responsible for the twin girls she’s hoping will give her some grace by sleeping a little bit longer. 

“Damn. You wanna gift some of that sleep to these twins, God mommy?”

“Only if you gift me some of those post-pregnancy boobs, Mommy Dearest,”

“Can’t do that. Jarell been having too much fun with those!” 

“Girl, eww. I don’t need to know all that.”

You kinda did. Sheena’s stories were always live, wild and uncut. And the only fireworks you’ve been adjacent to in months since you broke up with that lame stockbroker, Keith. You curve around the airport parking lot as Sheena starts digging deep into her latest soft-core episode with her husband since the six weeks ain’t up yet. In between interjections of how nasty Jarrell could be and watching planes taxi in the distance, you cruise through Instagram to take inventory of what your day might be like. 

Managing social media for the biggest sports publication in the country was not the fulfillment of a dream after high school because, shit,  social media didn’t exist when you were in high school. But it’s what has you just hours away from a flight to the NFL Combine in Indianapolis, sitting in a parking lot, listening to your BFF’s slow burn sexcapades. You break up the audio immersion experience once your timeline displays something else to ruminate over.

“Sheena! Shi -- shut up! I can’t believe - you remember Lisa from high school? She got married ...and it ain’t to Brasco.” 

“Whaaaa… you can finally stop making u-turns in the hallway and snag your man!”

You didn’t appreciate the lowly dig from your friend about Nebraska “Brasco” Williams, star running back, track champion and boy so fine he made both Omarion and J-Boog look like ogres. Your high school crush had you shook to your pubescent core; pretty teeth, deep skin tone and two tattoos before the age of eighteen. You’d see him in the student parking lot with the rest of the football team and you’d rush to your car as if it would go home without you. He was too hot to handle. You were beyond envious that Lisa could. 

“Lisa ain’t do too bad. Her man is crazy fine. I mean, not Brasco fine but still…” 

“Man,  he had high school going crazy. I wonder what happened to him after that fight? I should stalk him on Facebook while I pump.” You laugh so hard, the couple walking past your car stops their argument to stare at you. 

Your laughs break once you realize you might actually miss that flight. You relegate Shi Shi to kiss the twins for you and to send his Facebook profile if she can actually find it. You tried years ago and failed. 

“Aight, fave. I will.  Love you. Text me when you touch down in Indy.” 

As you weave through the terminal, your mind thinks back to the days at New Birth High School. While it brought you joy in a forever friend and the launching point for your forever career in sports journalism, it did bring you one of the most hurtful days of your life that took years to shake. 

It was the summer going into your senior year. Lisa’s sweet sixteen pool party. No way in Hell you thought you’d be there but your Mom and Lisa’s stepmom sat on the same deacon board at church and somehow thought you two were friends; Lisa paid you dust in those hallways. You fretted over every part of your outfit, especially the swim shoes you didn’t want but your Dad picked up at Sports Authority. But you were fretting the most over your swimsuit, a red one-piece with a deep open back. It was sexy for a 16-year-old, to be honest, but you secretly tried it on at the mall and fell in love with it -- especially how it made you feel. 

You fell in deep love with your body that day. The way the swimsuit clenched your waist, giving your almost-pear shape some definition you’d never seen before. Your hips sat wide, your breast placed taunt, just peeking through the sides, showing off a crescent shaped birthmark right below your collarbone. It was Jet Beauty of the Week-esque and it made you feel on top of the world. Something that society kept telling you a plus-size teenage girl was not to feel. You used the last of your paper route money to buy it and hid your secret weapon in the back of your closet until the day arrived. You were hoping to get some boy’s attention -- especially Brasco. But you’d take anybody’s glare if you could get it. 

You were in the clear once your Mom dropped you and Sheena both off at Lisa’s back gate. As you walked into the party, the sounds of the local hip-hop and R&B radio station blasted throughout her huge backyard. So much fun was had -- so much splash and dash -- that the faint sounds of “Knuck If You Buck” failed to erupt a party full of teenagers it was made for. The pool seemed tempting in 90-plus heat but most of the temptation came from the jacuzzi next to it. There inside sat Brasco, his lanky on-field wide receiver sidekick Kenny and Jarell, Sheena’s partner-in-bedroom-bust crime looking delicious in their highlighter-color swim trunks. You were still figuring out your body and the reactions conjured up from the sight of water droplets chasing down their backs confused you even more. But the heat of the sun -- and the heat from your body -- got too much to bear. That pool called your name. 

You stripped off your t-shirt and denim shorts, leaving your swim shoes back by the picnic table. They clashed. Your nerves splashed together like the water you couldn’t wait to feel, battering against your heart. Were you ready for all this attention? Amongst the rest of the classmates, you disappeared. You weren’t popular. People knew of you but didn’t know you, only associating you with Sheena by proxy of Jarell. “My Goodies” came on the radio, providing you a soundtrack and a sign from God. Before you could answer the call, Sheena jumped into the pool. You tossed your glasses on top of your clothes and did the same. 

The water felt golden. Sheena smacked your face with sheets of chlorinated goodness. Too much fun was had by all, even Lisa joined in the fun. Suddenly the entire football team did too except Brasco and Jarell, languishing on the edge of the jacuzzi because like most boys from their side of town, they didn’t know how to swim. Lisa saw her boo in isolation and tapped Sheena on the shoulder. 

“Hey, Shi Shi. Let’s get in the jacuzzi.” Sheena grabbed your hand to guide you out of the pool. You weren’t expecting to see your Mom at the other end. Sheena didn’t grab you to join her in the warm bubbles, she got you out at the angry-faced-behest of your mother. You both were going home. The party silenced and stares followed as everyone watched your walk-of-shame to grab your clothes. You got what you wanted in the worst way possible. 

Your unholy exodus commenced when Lisa’s mom called yours to report what she saw: this red bathing suit too revealing for a little girl to wear. It wasn’t the green ruffled mess-of-a-bathing-suit from last year. She claimed to witness stares and whispers and “boobs hanging out, butt all out.” Your mom got over there quicker than a church shout. She waited to scold you after she dropped off Sheena. 

It was a Sunday School scolding like no other. Tears pooled deep like the one you were just having fun in. You tossed the bathing suit into the trash bin. You were never going to see it again. 

The announcement of your flight breaks you out of your day nightmare. Grabbing the handle on your suitcase, you see a text with an attachment from Sheena. 

Girllllllllllll. I found Brasco and babyyyyyyyyyyy… 

You gasp. Time did a wonder on him in all the right ways. He packed on even more muscle, chiseling out the navy thermal dressing his upper body. Teeth still bright, Moonlight-bright. His Omarion-Pandemonium-era braids were gone, now donning a clean fade with perfect waves. His stance meant business, a lot of it risky. You bite your lower lip to mask the “damn!” urging a release from you, staring at his picture so intensely that you damn near walk into the stewardess checking your boarding pass. 

You couldn’t wait to get to your first-class seat. You needed a safe space to drown in your own splash waterfalls. You beg Sheena to send you his profile, looking to make some more of that mess and she obliges. Scrolling through his Facebook, you see nothing. You needed him to match your uncleanliness. Another text from Sheena breaks you out of your spell. 

Ain’t shit on here though. I can’t find an Instagram or anything. That’s where the dirt is at lol 

You put your social media skills to work. Ain’t an Instagram profile that you can’t find. Nebraska Williams brings up nothing. Such a unique name and nothing to show for it. 

Maybe Jarell can follow him, Shi. 

Jarell ain’t on this thing. He hates all this stuff. You want me to follow him? 

Girl, yes! I need more pictures! I’m trying to find his ‘gram and no diceeeeeee. Ughhhh. 

Damn the “no cell phone until after lift off” announcement. You then try “Brasco”, too many names -- rappers, really--  and a dog company to boot. “Brasco Williams” yields no results. You couldn’t wait what could be hours, days,  weeks, maybe never, for a response from Brasco to Sheena’s friend request. 

You pull up Google as a last ditch effort. The results bring up what only seems to be archives from your now-defunct city newspaper covering one of Nebraska’s record-setting games from 2005. You know to quit while you’re ahead until you see a Youtube video: “Nebraska Williams (RB) New Birth High School (MD). uploaded by Donyell Williams. You remember Donyell as this boy who played too damn much in Geometry class but right now, he’s Brasco’s cousin who's Instagram profile came up on the first search. Thank God his profile wasn’t private. You scroll back far enough to hit the jackpot. 

I found it! @donniebrascowill is his Instagram. 

Sheena was right about the dirt. His posts were bare but his stories carried enough. Enough shirtless, weightlifting, fresh-out-the-barbershop-got-to-show-you-the-fade dirt. You hit the follow button before the stewardess asked for your drink selection. 

End of Part I

#trevante rhodes x reader #trevante rhodes x fanfiction #nebraska williams

[chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay]

// Day 6 //

// Fame //

Tikki was pissed. Her holder had been bullied mercilessly by Lila and due to the spell cast, her Ladybug's friends can't see it.

If only she could cause the lies to backfire.

Of course!

…..

Lila giggled as the swarm of admirers asked her for another story.

"Oh. I have this story about this family from Gotham. You probably haven't heard of them, but they're a big deal over there. The Waynes. I even dated one of them. Tom."

Marinette rolled her eyes. Of course she'd go for Gotham socialites, just before the class heads to America.

"Oh it's such a shame that you can't see them on the trip."

Their class had been planning this trip for months. They raised enough money to spend a few days in a city and two or three towns. One of the cities that were excluded due to budget was Gotham. But this was so very convenient to Lila.

"Actually," a mischievous voice piped up, "Daddy graciously agreed to match the money we raised and double it. Just so we won't miss out on anything America has to offer. So we will be able to go to Gotham."

A few of the girls in the class smiled.

"That's so kind of you and your dad, Chloé," Lila said, "But we wouldn't want to be abusing your friendship."

Marinette laughed slightly as Chloé's shark grin widened, "Oh it's no problem. I've changed for the better now! And what's a better way to prove it than providing for our class. I mean Marinette does so much for this class, what's a little money?"

…..

As it turns out, the 'little money' was not little. At all.

Chloé's dad didn't just match and double the money raised. Adrien's dad added to the pile, too! Although probably not out of devotion to his son, more like devotion to not being shown up by André Bourgeois of all people. The class itself raised over a thousand more than they needed to, anyway.

Now the class budget for visiting America was worth over 10 times as much and both Bourgeois and Agreste had to be asked to stop giving money, because Marinette couldn't think of any other activities or places for the class and they couldn't reasonably spend that much.

…..

The day after summer break started, the class arrived at the airport, ready to get their trip started.

The only problem was that Marinette's ticket was missing. The whole class looked for it everywhere. Only for Rose to find it ripped up in the bin.

"Oh dear, Marinette," Lila said, feigning innocence, "It looks like you can't come!"

Alya rubbed her friends back in comfort, "Don't worry, girl. We'll figure something out!"

…..

In fact, they did figure something out. Mlle. Mendeleiev explained the situation to the front desk.

"I'm sorry ma'am, unfortunately we can't reissue you the ticket for the same seat. But there is a seat in first class free. We can upgrade Mlle. Dupain-Cheng."

Marinette scratched her neck, "I don't know. That sounds expensive."

Adrien and Chloé met each others eyes, a silent agreement was made between the two ever since Lila's spell broke. To help Marinette whenever they can.

He walked forward, "Don't worry. I'll pay."

Marinette scrunched her eyebrows, "Adrien, no! That's too much"

The lady at the front desk grinned, "No need to worry, sir. The airline will provide the seat free of charge. Have a good day!"

…..

As the class boarded the plane, Lila feigned ear pain.

"Mlle. Mendeleiev! I'm having a tremendous earache! Maybe sitting in first class will help? They have hot towels."

The teacher looked alarmed, "Lila if you have an ear infection, it can be dangerous to fly. You could burst an eardrum! Maybe you should stay here and fly out when you're better."

Lila's eyes widened, "Oh, never mind! My mind must be playing tricks!"

…..

The class landed in LA and collected their bags from the carousel. Except Marinette.

Lila, once again, faked concern, "Oh Marinette! All your clothes are gone!"

Chloé grinned, "No worries, Marinette can borrow some of mine until she figures something else out."

Alya nodded, "Mine too!"

There was a chorus of agreement from the girls (and from Kim who wasn't listening but still agreed when he realised what was happening).

Marinette smiled kindly, "It's fine guys! I appreciate the offers but that was just my night bag! I sent my bags ahead just in case something like this happened. There were only old pyjamas and a few toiletries in there."

Lila let out a low growl that nobody noticed. Except for a little red bug rat who's mischievous grin spread wide.

…..

When they reached the hotel, the class looked around in awe of the fanciness.

Marinette collected the room keys and assigned rooms to everyone, making sure to hand the Los Angeles itineraries out as well.

"Feel free to get something to eat before going to bed and meet here at 8am.

…..

Marinette woke up feeling refreshed, she checked her phone and found it was only 6am local time.

"Hmm, I'm never up this early. Must be luck!"

She opened her door to see if anyone else was awake, but on the floor outside were her suitcases.

"Oh, how fortunate! The hotel must have sent them up a few hours early."

…..

Lila looked all over the lobby, feigning concern, "Oh, it looks like Marinette isn't here. Maybe we should go ahead without her. She's probably sleeping in. You know our Marinette."

Suddenly, the automatic doors of the lobby opened to reveal Marinette carrying a coffee and wearing some of the most stylish clothes Lila had ever seen.

Her eye twitched.

…..

The class was about to climb off the bus before Marinette stopped them with an announcement.

"Okay, everyone. I need you all to listen because this is very, very important. Today we'll be visiting many attractions, including a tour of some of the studios. I tried to get tours of places that will interest at least one person. Please remember that these are places of business even if it doesn't seem like it with all the costumes and acting."

…..

Lila couldn't believe her misfortune. None of her attempts to hurt Dupain-Cheng have worked and some have even backfired right back on her.

She tried to push Marinette onto the set of a show filming live. But she just tripped herself and had to face the humility she tried to subject Marinette to.

She couldn't even pin the blame on Marinette because there were cameras pointed at the audience and if they checked they would see her failed attempt.

Lila couldn't have that.

…..

A few days later, the class packed up and headed to Anaheim, so they could spend a few days in Disneyland before heading to the next state.

The result was not great for Lila.

…..

"Oh thank you, Marinette, for saving my space, you can go now."

Marinette's face scrunched up and Adrien and Chloé were about to pounce.

But someone else bet them to the punch.

"Um… Excuse me, miss."

Lila turned around only to be met with a hair bob.

"There aren't any cuts allowed."

Lila smiled beautifully at the woman, "Oh my friend was saving this space for me."

The woman didn't look impressed, "No, cuts. Do I need to get an employee over here? I've been waiting in this line for three fricken hours, because my kid didn't wanna go on the Teacups, if I have to wait three hours to get on the Tower of Terror. So do you."

Lila was pushed out of the line by the Karen.

…..

While on the bus to Arizona, Lila got herself thinking.

'Why are my attempts of ruining Marinette, not working? Am I losing my touch?'

…..

For the next few weeks, the class had the trip of a lifetime. They visited many attractions, including the Grand Canyon, the Kennedy Space Centre and they saw alligators in Louisiana.

The class were delighted to learn that even though the road trip portion of their trip was over they still had a lot left.

They flew up to Massachusetts and spent a few days visiting tourist sites in Boston, whilst others took college tours.

Everyone was excited to visit their colleges of choice and luckily Marinette was able to arrange for train and bus tickets for day trips for anyone who wanted to visit any colleges in the second part of the trip.

Lila made it her mission to take up Marinette's offer whenever possible, just to slightly inconvenience her, but no matter what Marinette seemed happy to help. It infuriated Lila.

Every time she'd get off a bus or train, Lila would walk around the town, shopping, instead of going to colleges.

…..

Soon, the class arrived in Gotham, Lila was worried.

For some reason, people would pass by Marinette and ask for selfies, which greatly confused the class before Max found out that MDC was very famous and popular in Gotham. Apparently, the Wayne's were big fans of MDC's work and they owned several originals. Unfortunately, for Lila they were also the family she lied about and they had a connection to Marinette, her one rival.

"Oh Marinette, isn't that swell! I did mention you in passing to Tom, but he must have looked you up and liked your work!"

She knew that the likelihood of running into a Wayne was low, so she had no problem lying. But, on the day Marinette announced to the class that she and the entire class was invited to the Wayne Gala, Lila felt a pit in her stomach.

…..

Luckily for Marinette, her fame in the city got her some discounts in fabric and supply stores, so she was very easily able to get what she needed for her friends outfits.

The class was supposed to be in Gotham for a month in order to attend some summer classes in Gotham University, so Marinette (who only signed up for 3 classes) was able to get a lot done.

In fact, by the time the Gala came around she had all the outfits ready.

She made everyone an outfit.

A bouncy pink dress for Rose and an elegant but dark coloured dress for Juleka. For Alix, she made a suit that would match her favourite sneakers.

Alya had a high-necked burnt orange dress that went to her knees, whilst Chloé's high-low amber dress brought out her eyes.

Sabrina had a purple two-piece and Myléne had a green floor-length dress.

For the boys she made suits with their own flare, to avoid a uniform look.

She even made Lila a dress, but the girl refused to wear it in favour of a dress she bought during one of her 'college tours'.

…..

"My father will be furious when he learns that I went to a Wayne party in clothes that he didn't make," Adrien joked with Marinette and Chloé.

Lila let a shark grin take over, "Oh, Adrien, you shouldn't let Marinette get you in trouble. They're only clothes. Maybe you should change. Maybe we should all change, just in case."

Adrien shook his head whilst waving Chloé off, "No, Lila. I was only joking."

(For once, Lila was right. Gabriel was furious that his clothes didn't get into a Wayne party but a teenage girl's did. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it, while they were in America)

…..

When the class exited their stretch limo. The paparazzi outside the Manor ooh'd at their clothes. Lila decided to go last just so her outfit can have the most climactic admiration.

When Marinette stepped out, wearing a navy halter high-low with sparkly stones sewn in a way that emulated the night sky, the crowd shushed.

Marinette was about to hide her face in embarrassment, 'They don't like my dress.'

Suddenly, the crowd broke into whispers of curiosity and admiration.

"Look at her dress. It's gorgeous."

"Is that an MDC original?"

"Is that MDC herself?"

Lila smiled, 'If these guys think her dress is nice. Wait till they see mine.'

She stepped out and, well, it was anticlimactic.

The praise slowed and turned into more of a polite murmur.

"Oh her dress is… nice."

Her dress was a grey spaghetti strap that went to her knees. It was actually a nice dress but it was not formal at all and made Lila stick out like a sore thumb.

'I should have just taken Dupain-Cheng' s stupid dress.'

…..

As the class entered the Manor, they were greeted by a young man, who Marinette and Chloé both recognised from their Business class in Gotham U.

"Tim? I didn't know you'd be here?"

Tim laughed gently, "Well, it's kind of my family's party so I have to be here. Trust me I'd rather be anywhere else."

Chloé smirked, "Oh, you're a Wayne? Lila here, used to date one of you. Tom was it, Lila?"

Lila shrunk back, "Oh no! You must have misheard me. I never said I dated a Wayne."

"Yes, you did."

Everyone turned to look at Max, "I have an eidetic memory and you definitely said, and I quote, 'I have this story about this family from Gotham. You probably haven't heard of them, but they're a big deal over there. The Waynes. I even dated one of them. Tom'."

Tim scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion, "Well actually that's a coincidence, I also have an eidetic memory and we don't have a Tom. We have a Tim, and that's me. And I've never dated a Lila."

The class had varying facial expressions, but all of them had one emotion in common. Hurt.

Rose gently pushed out, "Were you… Lying to us, Lila?"

"No, I-I wasn't, I just-"

Alya almost cried, "I almost cost my whole journalistic career for you! Marinette stopped me from posting about you onto the Ladyblog. If she wasn't there, I would be ruined!"

The class all came to their own realisations.

"If Marinette didn't send off my application, instead of letting me rely on you--"

"If she didn't push us to continue--"

"Marinette knew and we didn't believe her," Nino said, "I'm very sorry, Marinette."

"Me too!"

"Same."

"Yeah."

She smiled at them graciously, "It's alright, guys! You learnt in the end and you didn't know any better."

Lila looked around frantically, "Why isn't the spell working? It should be working!"

"Spell?"

Alya walked forward, "Lila, what spell?"

Chloé spoke up, "She was given the power to make anyone believe her lies, unless they have been given undeniable proof."

The class looked at her in confusion.

"Hey, I actually knew Ladybug, remember! Unlike her."

…..

Tim sat beside Marinette, "So…"

"My classmate has been lying about famous people including your family for years?"

"And…"

"She keeps her victims under a spell, so they can't learn the truth."

"... Ladybug?"

Marinette grinned, "One of our superheroes. Chloé used to be one and revealed her identity. She isn't anymore."

His face was scrunched in confusion, "You know, Gotham is really fucking weird but I've never heard anything like that."

"Eidetic memory?"

Tim sighed, "I am technically, kind of, very much knowledgeable on… Things."

She smirked, " 'Things'. Timothy you are so very specific," She teased, "I don't even need you to clarify."

He knocked her shoulder against hers, "I've been meaning to ask…"

"Oh more than usual?"

"Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Marinette. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance."

He held out his hand.

Gently she took it, "I'd love to!"

Tim looked down at Marinette's dress, "Is that an MDC original? I love her work! Where did you get it?"

Marinette deadpanned, "What are my initials Tim."

"... OH!"

"Do you not have Twitter? People have been tagging me all month."

Tim smiled sheepishly, "Okay to be fair, I'm a dumbass and my pregame to any events like this is to drink a shit ton of coffee every day for a month."

A man who very obviously knew Tim walked by and looked at him incredulously, "Tim, that's your pregame to waking up every morning!"

Tim glared at him, "Fuck off, Jason!"

@timari-month-event

Buy me a coffee?

#i spent so long on this #*throws this into crowd* APPRECIATE ME! #timari #Timari January #Timari Month #Day 6 Fame #buy me a coffee #Pls #i'm poor #Commission me if you like this lmao

[enigma-im]

Sixth day of Christmas...

Trope: Sex Pollen (NSFW) Relationship: Alien x Human Word Count: 4,639

Living in a science station on a barely explored planet may sound like the start of a horror story. For me, it's a dream come true. To study life on a dwarf planet with a single colleague is the total isolation I crave. It's a real perk that my coworker is such a sweetheart. I've spent countless trips trying to keep my cool around cocky narcissistic scientists whose only goal is to make some profound breakthrough. My coworker this time isn't even remotely like that.

Aziraphale is a Silphurs, a cold-blooded species that has nearly a reptilian look to them. With their horn-like spikes that protrude from the back of their head and long smooth tails, most people quickly label them as lizards. Though they lack scales, to my surprise. When Aziraphel first began working beside me I was fascinated by his smooth dark leathery skin. I promptly weirded him out the first week as I appraised him like a prized pig. It was a habit I slowly grew out of.

Together we work in isolation upon dwarf planet Xena, studying the flora and fauna of this little island in space.

Today we are looking at a new flower that's been popping up around the lakes. It's a small pink crocus looking flower, fit with a thick stem. The wildlife has been swarming these little buds and it's stirred up quite the mystery for Aziraphel and I. with the coming of 'spring' the flowers have sprouted very quickly.

"So you say the mammals have been eating them," I ask, looking at the potted plant.

"Birds too. Though the insects have kept their distance," Aziraphel explains.

I hum in thought," the first plant we found that insects aren't fond of."

Aziraphale plucks a petal off the flower, taking it over to his station. I continue to exam the bud, looking at the roots through the container. All week we have been watching this plant in the wild, utterly fascinated by its attractive properties.

"Could it be the nectar? It may be a tasty treat for the animals," Aziraphel asks offhandedly. I shrug, stepping over the bin holding the plant. Leaning over I give the flower a sniff, admiring its sweet scent.

"Smells like the honey candies my mother use to give me," I say.

"really? I thought it smelled rather musky," he says over his shoulder," I can smell it from here."

I take another whiff, doubling down on my honey candy choice.

"Olfactory senses are a bit different between you and me, it seems," I joke," yours being about a hundred times better than mine."

He scoffs, picking off pieces of the petal," it's a miracle your people survived this long with clearly insufficient senses."

I snort, walking over towards him," bold coming from someone who can't hear when the microwave goes off." he throws a glare my way, his smile ruining its seriousness. I snicker, walking around to begin looking at the cells of this attractive plant.

Staring down in the microscope I take not of the plant cell, watching the cell wall break from the solution I added. The proteins break apart, spilling out the cytoplasm. The organelles follow, breaking at they come in contact with the solution. As I watch, a bead of sweat rolls into my eyes. I wipe my forehead with the sleeve of my coat, groaning at the heat.

"Hey, I know you're cold-blooded and all but I'm dying over here," I call out. I hear him swivel out of his chair and walk over to the thermostat.

"it's only 70 in here, I thought you agreed that was the optimal temperature," he passes me a teasing smile. I swipe at my head again, reaching back and pulling my hair up. Fanning myself with my hand I look to him.

"Well, I'm sweating up a storm over here," I answer.

"don't think you're getting sick, do you?" he walks over. He presses his palm to my head, I relish in the cold. "You're burning up," he reaches down to my cheeks," you're all red." I can't help but turn in his palm, stealing his cold for my own. He doesn't let go, pressing his palms flush to my skin.

"Only this one time will I admit that being cold-blooded has benefits," I press his hand against my forehead.

"fine by me, I get to steal your warmth," he smiles," but I can't stand here all day, I'll get you a cold rag."

I watch him walk away, uncomfortably warm immediately. He grabs and wets a rag, looking strangely appealing as he does. His clothes hug is slim frame well, his pants framing his legs nicely. As he catches me staring I turn away embarrassed. He walks over and places the cold rag on my head. The instant relief nearly makes me groan.

"thank you," I hold the rag for him.

"No problem. Do you want to go back to you're room," he asks, pressing his palm to my cheek again.

"no, no," I shake my head," I'm just a little warm, I think I'll make it." he hums, not really agreeing.

"if you say so, but if you feel worse I'm forcing you to go to your room," he scolds. I roll my eyes, swatting his hand away.

"Ok, mom," I joke," I promise I'll stop working if I get worse."

We get back to work, standing on different ends of the room. I put up my hair and keep the rag on the back of my neck. Sweat soaks through my shirt after a bit, dampening my hair. It's hard to focus on work, losing my breath once in a while. My heart feels like it's racing and I'm prone to dizzy spells when I walk too far. I try to power through.

I sit at my desk, dropping my head to the back of my chair. I try to use the rag to cool my face but it has begun to warm up. Frustrated I toss the useless towel to the table. My heart bangs against my chest and I can't seem to catch my breath. I feel wrong, dizzy, and incomplete. A dull ache begins in my lower stomach, migrating further south till I feel like I'm throbbing. I don't understand this new need, an empty feeling that's starting to make me panic.

Aziraphale walks over to check on me, already concerned as he spots me.

"Are you alright, you do- whooaa," he recoils from my desk, covering his nose. I watch him fidget by the door, looking lost between running and staying put. It's kind of cute.

"What's wrong," I lull my head to the side. He startles, snapping his eyes to me.

"Uh, it just smells rather musky in here," he answers, selecting his words carefully," I think you're sick."

I try to sit up, groaning as I do," yea, I don't feel too well. I should probably go lay down."

"g-great idea," he fidgets," do you, uh, need some help?" I try to wave him off, leaning forward out of the chair. As I stand I sway. I catch myself on the desk the same time Aziraphel grabs at my hips. His cold hands burn through my clothes like a block of ice. It's sharp and intoxicating. I groan, dropping forward against his chest. His body is freezing against my scorching skin, I can't help but run my hands over his neck, cuddling my cheek against him. I feel him gulp.

"Terri," he squeaks," w-what are you doing?" I can't pay attention, too focused on touching every visible bit of him. He is all I can think about, all I need. A small part of me is dying of embarrassment but the comfort is all I can think about.

"Cold," I purr under his jaw. My hands reach up under his shirt, touching his flat stomach. My insides throb as I feel him up, wanting more from him than just his cold skin.

"Terri," he yelps," t-this is- I can't-" he whimpers at the end. His hands grab at my shoulders, not really pushing or pulling. I continue, lifting his shirt to his chest. Pressing my forehead to his sternum I begin pressing soft kisses to his pecs. His leathery skin is so divine, soothing me like nothing else. I crave more, demand more.

Aziraphale is flustered at all the attention, bumbling like a fool as he tries to figure out what to do. He finally tugs me away, taking a step back with a deep breath.

"Terri, what is going on with you," he pants," this isn't like you."

I actively try to fight back the urge to jump him, focusing on staying put. Looking at him becomes too hard that I have to turn away.

"I-I don't know," I say between breaths," I'm so hot and bothered that I can't think straight."

"are you, uh," he hesitates," aroused?"

I snap to attention," excuse me?"

"Sorry," he jumps," it's just you smell…so good." his voice drops at the end, a rumbling purr. The sound shocks straight to my clit, nearly bringing me to my knees. I whimper, fisting the fabric of my pants.

"D-don't do that," I whine," you'll kill me if you do that."

"Sorry," he rubs at his face," let's just get you to your room and you can take a cold bath."

I weakly nod.

He helps me to my room, keeping a distance until I sway. Every time his hands touch me I'm nearly undone, falling into his arms and fighting back the urge to kiss him. It's a long walk to my room.

We make it to my room where we stand around awkwardly. He stays by the door but he doesn't look like he wants to leave. His fingers fidget with his shirt, picking at the ends. I'm hyper-focused on every move he makes, my muscles thrumming with energy.

"Well, I'll leave you to it and try to find out what's wrong," he shifts back and forth on each leg," yes, g-goodbye"

Seeing his back sends a wave of panic over me, forcing me into action. I jump for him, snatching him by the shirt and tugging him towards me. In a haze, I grab his face and force his mouth against mine. It's forceful and harsh, his teeth nick at my bottom lip. At this moment…it's intoxicating.

I pull back, looking at his wide-eyed face. He looks at me, scared and excited. I huff.

"Don't go," I beg. He nods," will you help me?" he nods again.

I tug him into the room, him closing the door behind himself. We stare at one another, the calm before the storm. Quickly I jump on him, wrapping my arms and legs around his body. I pull him into another kiss, grabbing at the spikes on the back of his head. His hands hold the back of my thighs, eagerly trying to kiss me back. It's clear he has no experience with this, just following my lead the best he can. Either way, it's making my lower stomach ache.

He fumbles his way to the bedroom, bumping into the bed with a grunt. I'm dropped onto my back, him crawling on over me. I tear at his clothes, petting at every newly revealed inch. He tries to get my shirt off but he's just getting in the way. Frustrated, I push him off and onto his back. I straddle his hips, throwing his shirt off in a rushed frenzy. He sits back and lets me work.

I crave to lick every bit of his chest, nibbling and sucking the cold leathery skin. My hips grind against him, feeling a hard protrusion poking at me. There's so much I want, I need, to do to him. I kiss up his body before slanting my lips against his. My tongue peaks between his lips, startling him. He timidly presses his against mine, groaning as I twirl mine with his.

I don't notice one of his hands sneaking between us. Only when he slides his fingers into my pants do I whimper in his mouth. He palms at my crotch, getting his bearings before he slides between my lips. The curious prod to my engorged clit makes my back arch. His gentle poke is nearly enough to break me apart. He slides the pad of his finger over me, I tear myself off his lips and bury my head against his neck.

"P-please," I huff and puff. He pets me, paying attention to my little nub with laser focus. I writhe and wiggle, whimpering and whining near his ear. My body feels on fire, ready to burst with minimal attention. A few more swipes and I'm crying out his name. I'm grinding hard into his hand, forcing his touch till I get my fill.

As my bucking slows Aziraphel tries to take his hand back. I flatten my body against him, trapping him with a growl.

"Do you feel better," he whispers, his trapped hand petting at my stomach.

" a-a little," I trace my nose under his jaw," it's still too hot." he hums in thought.

Before I know it I'm twisted on my back, Aziraphel between my legs. His eyes are focused, calculating, as he reaches for my pants and tugs them down my legs. Tossing the clothing aside he lays on his stomach between my legs, staring at my soaked cunt. I flush at his attention, aroused and nervous at the same time.

"What a-are you doing," my stomach twitches as the urge to buck towards him is strong. He grabs my hips, holding me still as he studies me.

"I have an idea," he mumbles. I whimper as I take in the whole sight, Aziraphel laying between my legs without his shirt. He tears his eyes from my pussy to me, softening slightly at my debauched face. His thumb pets at my hips as he gives me a sweet smile. I whine again.

Aziraphale looks back to my cunt, lowering his head and taking a tentative lick up my seam. My back arches as a moan tears up my throat. He takes another more confident lick, touching at my entrance and clit. I feel dizzy. More certain he presses his lips to mine and laps at my cunt. I wriggle and buck in his hold, clenching my eyes shut against the pleasure. It's hot and lava-like. His tongue is warmer than his body but cold to me. It's erotic and holy to my needy cunt.

I peek down at him, watching him eat me out. His thumb still pets at my hips, adding a small bit of appeal alongside his mouth. His eyes are closed, pleased hum vibrating into his tongue. He seems to enjoy this as much as me, his tail lazily swinging back and forth down the bed. Watching him is enough to push me over the edge, reaching down and grinding his head against my crotch. He groans with me, nearly purring as I shout out my pleasure.

He stops as I fall back into the bed, releasing his head in favor of fisting my hair. I take a moment to catch my breath, watching the lovely sight of him crawling back over me. He pets at my thigh, rubbing soothing circles against my skin.

"You feeling better," he asks. I shrug, getting distracted by the throbbing tent in his pants. The thing moves with every breath, begging me to grab him with a single-minded focus. I reach for his belt, trying to tug him forward. He swipes my hand away.

"No, we aren't doing that," he scolds," I got to let myself have some morals here. I'm already taking advantage of you." I pout, ready to try to persuade him. He distracts me with a finger between my legs, prodding at my entrance before sinking in. I grunt, damn near purring as he adds another.

The day is spent in utter bliss. He takes good care of me, not leaving me wanting for too long. He keeps his pace till I'm passed out in the sheets, feeling cooler than I did earlier. It seems all it took was some beautiful orgasms to soothe this beast.

I wake up the next morning alone, feeling sore but sated. I don't know if the fact that I'm alone should be good or bad. Heading off to the bathroom I try to convince myself that's it's for the best. I don't even know how I'll face him today, remembering how I jumped him like some uncontrollable whore.

The morning in the lab is…tense. He tiptoes around me and I can't help but do the same. The conversation is kept so single sentence answers. We both try to stay out of the other's way, even making up excuses to be on the opposite side of the room.

I sit in my little cubicle with my desk, trying hard not to look out to the lab and watch Aziraphel. It's a losing battle. I watch him walk by the crocus flower, pausing for a moment. He leans over the bin and takes a tentative sniff. He chuffs, scratching at his nose.

"Terri," he calls out," I think I figured something out."

A bit too eager I hop out of my chair and head over to him. My body thrums slightly the closer I get. Before I can stop next to him he grabs me by the shoulders and guides me away from the bin. I allow him, confused all the while.

"We should put the flower in a contained area," he suggests, meeting my eyes for the first time today. My thoughts come back to now, caught off guard by his suggestion. d "What," I ask. He flusters a bit, looking over to the flower then back at me.

"Well, you see," he stumbles, petting at the back of his neck," I think.. Perhaps the…" his shoulders sag. "The flower kind of smells like how you did yesterday and I'm almost convinced it's what made you sick," he finally spits out. I gawk at him, thinking back on yesterday's events. That morning I took a whiff of the flower, not thinking much of it, and shortly after started getting symptoms. It's a fair guess, perhaps even the correct answer.

"I think you might be right," I huff in amusement," it explains why the animals have been eating it. Spring is mating season."

"I feel rather silly now having to lock away a plant," he laughs," a rather potent aphrodisiac to mammals and birds. Makes sense why it didn't work for me." I chuckle along with him, it dying off back into an uncomfortable silence. It's clear he's uncomfortable with what happened yesterday. Hell, I am too. But there is no reason we can't be adults about this.

As we awkwardly shuffle in place, I speak up," hey, about last night. I'm sorry I came onto you like that, I put you in an uncomfortable position."

"No, no," he waves his hands," don't need to apologize, you couldn't help it. I know that wasn't really you and I won't hold that against you."

"yea," I fiddle with my hands," we can just pretend it didn't happen, and go on like before." he nods, looking to the floor in thought. With the situation settled I'm left a bit lost for what to do.

"yea," he still nods," I don't think I can do that." I startle at his words, a cold feeling sinking into my gut.

"W-what," I stutter. He looks up from the floor, seeming rather serious.

"I want to pretend that what happened didn't happen, more for my sake than yours. I'd like to be able to look at you and not see your face twisted up in pleasure as you cum on my tongue. It would be easier if I didn't, but at the same time…I really want to see that face again, " he takes a step forward," Terri, I liked what happened yesterday. I liked doing that thing with our mouths, I liked touching you and holding you. I hated how it came to be and I hated how you didn't have a choice, but I loved doing those things to you. I would give anything to do it all again, with actual consent and want from you instead of that drugged up lust. I want you, Terri, I really want you."

His confession feels like being punched in the gut. It's not what I could ever expect from him. We've worked together for nearly a year now and not once did he hint at wanting to be more than friends. We have a good relationship working together and I'd dare say I enjoyed his company. Now…now everything is different. I can't look at him as a coworker or even a friend. Even now all I can see when I look at him is his face buried between my legs, eyes closed and humming in bliss.

"I don't know," he takes a step back," a lot happened yesterday and you may honestly want to pretend it didn't happen. I can respect that and go on if it bothers you. I didn't want to agree if there was a chance to…never mind, I'm sorry." I watch him turn around to retreat, fidgeting and scolding himself. The sight plucks at my heart.

Taking a few rushes stepped forward I grab him and tug him around. I cup his cold cheek and drag him into a sweeter kiss than our first. He's still untrained and uncertain but he gives it his all as he wraps his arms around me. His attempt is cute, pulling a smile up to my cheeks till I have to part.

I pet at his cheek," it's called a kiss and I would love to do more of those with you."

His sharp teeth peak through his lips," a kiss. I'm a fan."

He tugs my against him again, twisting us and lifting me onto the table. I'm didn't expect to consummate our choice now but I'm not going to argue. He smirks up at me, fitting himself between my legs. Before he can go in for another kiss he glances off to his left. I follow his gaze to the flower.

"Nope," he picks me up off the table, taking me to another end of the lab," I'm not doing that again." I bark out a laugh, teasing the edges of his spikes as he sets me down on another table. He quickly pulls me back into another kiss.

Our rush is exciting, though less frantic than yesterday. He discards my shirt, not paying any mind to my breast as he pets down my stomach and licks at my shoulder. His fingers pluck at my pants buttons, tearing them down to my ankles as I frustratedly tug at his shirt.

With him distracted with my cunt I finally get to grab at his crotch. He throbs in my hand, his cock mysteriously wiggling. Curious, I pull him out of his pants. I'm excited but confused with what I see.

His bright red cock is writhing in my palm, the tip twirling around my fingers. It looks like it came from a slit, emerging from his body eagerly. I squeeze him, fascinated by the pre leaking out his pores. He shutters, slapping his hands on either side of me.

"Please," he whimpers," I couldn't relieve myself last night and I may go mad if you try to tease me now."

I snicker at him, tugging him gently forward and nudging him against me. Letting him go and wrapping my arms around his shoulders I leave him to lead. He takes a breath, reaching down and grabbing himself. We both watch as his tip pokes and prods till it finds my entrance. His cock makes me shiver as it begins to wiggle frantically inside me. He pushes on, seething as he bottoms out. He shutters, letting out a shaky breath as our hips touch.

"what blessed torture is this," he pants, almost wheezing. I bite back a snicker, petting at his head in support. He shutters again.

His hips begin to buck, moving in short little bursts before growing in length. The feel of his cock is blessed, something I've craved since yesterday. He begins to plow into me, a wet slap sounding from where we meet. My thighs feel sticky, the thought of it not being only my slick passes by. An odd little tingle starts deep inside me, growing the more he slams into me. I gasp, tugging him close as a sudden burst of pleasure shocks up my spine.

Aziraphale licks up my neck, rumbling with a growl as he clenches my hips. He ups his tempo, shocking my body to attention. I cry out into the lab, nearing my end with the sudden fire growing because of him. My stomach clenches, sitting at the blissful peak for almost too long. It almost hurts when I cum, clenching around his still pumping cock.

"Shit," he digs his nails into my hips. He bucks into my fluttering heat, milking me for all I'm worth till he barks out a cry. His face buries against my neck as he cums, fluids puddling on the table. He pumps a few times before stilling inside me, his cock pulsing with his release. I pet at his back and kissing him on the cheek. He shutters more, taking a bite of my neck. His hips buck some more, surprising me with his movement. He continues to pulse, more fluids showering my insides.

"Are you still cumming," I ask in awe. He doesn't answer. His teeth dig into my skin along with his nails.

I sit back and let him take his fill, a little glad when he finishes. He releases my neck, giving it a lick before leaning back. Our eyes meet and I can see the content in his smile. He looks happy, sated, and cute. I pet at his cheek.

"You didn't warn me about the mess," I joke. He scoffs, pulling out and watching his cum leak out of me.

"It didn't occur to me," he answers. Reaching forward he thumbs at our mixed fluids, grabbing a bit and bringing it to his mouth. Licking the drop off he hums. "delicious," he smirks. I push at his shoulder, chuckling as I hop off the counter. He helps, keeping me steady.

I look back at the counter, wincing at the cum dripping off the edge. "Little glad it's just the two of us here," I half-joke.

"I might be glad too," he wraps his arms around my waist," could work with fewer clothes now."

I shake my head, amused with his suggestion. There's no way I'll be doing that but it's a little flattering that he would want to see me naked again. I grab his spikes and tug him down for a kiss. He growls, tugging me closer, and palming my rear. His tongue laps at my lips, delving into my mouth with the smallest bit of acceptance.

"You wanna go again," he mumbles against my lips. I hum, petting up his chest.

"I think we should move the flower before we try anything else," I answer. He pouts, looking behind himself to glare at the cursed plant.

"Yea, probably have to deal with that," he grumbles.

"yea, I'm not allowed near it," I shrug. He twists back around, grinning down at me.

"I prefer you not drugged, thank you very much," he kisses my forehead," this is way better than yesterday anyway."

I hum with a big goofy grin on my face.

Yea, I liked this way better.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #sixth day #Enigma-IM #exophilia #monster boyfriend #alien boyfriend #pollen

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: “your complexion is scaring me, please sit down.” 

♡ pairing: marcel barthel x fem! reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “cause i’m right here, darling i’m right here. close your pretty eyes, my butterfly, baby have no fear.” 

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / 

you felt yourself getting dizzy once again, not knowing where the feelings was coming from. this was going on for the third week of you just feeling completely sick to your stomach and frankly, you had no idea why it was happening or why it hadn’t gone away yet. 

you fell back onto the chair with a thud, not feeling in any mood to get up and workout. as you took a sip of water and tried to regain your breath, you saw Fabian walking past you. you waved at him as he stopped in his tracks and saw your state of being. 

“you okay?” he asked, seeing the sweat coming down from your forehead, “just tired,” you murmured, taking another gulp of water. Fabian grabbed a chair and sat next to you knowing that Marcel would thank him later, “where’s your boyfriend?” he asked. 

pulling up your phone and saw the last text he sent you, “he’s training with Alex,” you told him, “why?” you asked. Fabian stayed silent for a moment, not knowing whether or not to confess what he was thinking, “you’ve been feeling like this for a while now, haven’t you?” you nodded, “ever think Marcel knocked you up?”

“excuse me, what?” you choked on your water at the wild thought as Fabian hit your back, “i’m just putting a thought out there. you’ve been feeling like this for a while now and i mean, my sister felt the same way you did when she got pregnant with my nephew,” he explained. 

there was no way you could’ve been pregnant with his child. you were on the pill and Marcel made sure he wore protection when you asked him too. “come on, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you murmured to him, not so sure on what to think of what he said. 

“if you aren’t sure, i can accompany you on the trip to the store,” he offered, taking his hey out of his pocket. you nodded and the two of you walked towards the parking lot, “what if I am?” you asked him quietly, “i genuinely don’t know how Marcel would take to the news.” 

Fabian could see the panic expression on your face as he started the engine. there was a store not even a minute out of the performance center and although he didn’t respond, he rubbed your shoulder in comfort, “listen, i can’t answer that question because i really don’t know how he would react either but i don’t think he’d be mad or upset about it.” 

you gave Fabian one final look before hopping out of the car and running inside of the Wal-Greens. you grabbed a few things and pretending that the pregnancy test was for a friend in case the cashier knew who you were by random chance. after she scanned you out and gave you your things, the two of you booked it back to the performance center. 

“stay right there,” you told Fabian in a threatening tone, “if I have to find out the news, you’re finding out right with me,” you added on. 

Fabian nodded as you walked into the single bathroom and locked it. the hallway you dragged Fabian too was generally a lonesome hall. hardly anyone that wasn’t custodial came down here and you knew that Marcel or anyone else wouldn’t come down here. 

after you took the test and put it back inside of the box, you walked out and timed the rest of the four minutes, “okay, we need to wait another few minutes and then i’ll find out if i become a mom or not,” you murmured, your eyes widening at the statement you made. 

you looked at Fabian with nervousness as you felt your phone ringing, “fuck, it’s Marcel,” you screamed in panic. you tossed him the phone and telling him to pick it up, “why? he’s gonna wonder why i have your phone to begin with!” he yelled back. 

Fabian, despite not wanting to answer it, picked it up, “hey Marcel,” he said as smoothly as possible, “Fabian? why do you have her phone?” he asked curiously. you yelled at him to make up a lie, “uh, she’s in the bathroom and left her phone on the table so i figured i’d picked it up considering it was you,” he said in a panic. 

Marcel’s eyes scrunched in confusion, not fully believing what he was saying. your phone rang off again, indicating that the time was up and your test would be ready with the answer. you grabbed your phone and hung it up, not bothering with Marcel at the moment. 

“ready?” he asked as he watched you fumble with the box. you gulped not, tears threatening to spill even though you had no idea what the test read. you took it out of the box slowly and grasped onto the side where the result was, not ready to read it yet, “okay, on three,” you whispered. 

Fabian counted to three and you lifted your hand up. 

positive. 

you stared to Fabian, your heart racing a mile a minute and the urge to throw up crawling up your throat. you found the nearest trash bin and threw up for a solid minute before pulling back up and seeing Fabian’s surprised expression as he held the test. 

“does that mean I’ll be the godfather or something?” he asked, trying to make a light joke. you smacked him on the shoulder, “shut the fuck up! this is not the time to make a joke, you ass! i’m pregnant with your best friends child!” you screamed. 

Fabian wanted to laugh, he really did but a part of him knew that if he did laugh, you’d probably beat his ass for it. you looked down to the Clear Blue test and sighed, not knowing whether to celebrate the news or to throw up once again. 

“Marcel’s calling you again,” Fabian informed you, seeing your phone ping up for the second time. you grabbed your phone and answered it, “hey babe,” you whispered, your voice wavering, “hey, i called you twice and Fabian picked up your phone the first time. you okay?” he asked. 

you stayed silent for a second, not knowing whether to slowly break the news or just make up a complete lie. 

“i continued feeling sick and was inside the bathroom for a while. i had left my things with Fabian to make sure it didn’t get taken or anything,” you lied, Fabian’s eyes widening in surprise, “i’ll meet you in a few, okay?” Marcel hummed in response before clicking goodbye, slightly annoyed at yours and Marcel’s attitude. 

you stared at Fabian, your heart racing as you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. your eyes widened in panic as you tried to hide the test when it revealed that it was actually Walter who managed to find you and Fabian down here. 

“hey Walter,” you greeted in panic. he looked between you and Fabian, confused and slightly accusatory, “what are the two of you doing down here....alone?” he asked, seeing the way the two of you were acting. 

you looked up to him finally and sighed. Fabian could tell you were on the verge of bursting into tears as you fumbled to actually say something, “she’s pregnant with Marcel’s baby,” he screamed in a confession. Walter looked at you in surprise as you shakily handed him the test, “what the fuck,” he whispered to himself. 

“fuck, i don’t even know how i’m going to tell Marcel about this,” you exclaimed to his two friends, “we’ve never spoken about children and we are in no way even ready for it. he’s in the midst of his prime wrestling career and i’m chasing the fucking women’s title,” you continued, “but there’s a part of me that’s excited and wants to keep it.” 

Walter and Fabian stared at each other as they remained quiet. this was one of the times that Walter wished his wife would’ve accompanied him on his trip over here. you still hadn’t gotten off the floor as Walter read the positive test on the ground. 

“listen, you should get home and take a break from all this. you stressing out isn’t probably healthy for the baby,” Walter finally said. you nodded, figuring that he was right, “i’m going home, i guess. if Marcel asks for me, tell him i wasn’t feeling good at all and had a migraine or something,” you got up from the floor and looked up at the two boys before leaving. 

you had purposely took a way out of the performance arena that you knew wouldn’t cross over into Marcel’s view. you drove home, taking the back way there as you tried to clear up your thoughts. the tears that had stained your face remained as you got into the parking lot. 

as you walked inside of you shared apartment and sat down on the couch, you couldn’t help but relive the memories you had with Marcel in your head. the two of you were pretty free spirited. you enjoyed going out with Fabian every once in a while and traveled when you were able too. 

there were times where the two of you had a designated drinking nights and got plastered beyond belief to release some stress or tension that was going on. 

all of those things would have to come to a halt as your baby was on its way. a part of you knew that Marcel wasn’t the kind of guy to just drop you and the baby but you also had no idea how he would react. he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to settle down into a family but the thought of a baby Marcel running around warmed your heart. 

with all your thoughts running wild, you hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you heard the front door jingling. the thought of having to tell Marcel the news made you sick to your stomach out of nervousness as felt bile crawling up your throat again. 

you instantly ran to the bathroom and threw up whatever else was left in your stomach. at this rate, you were throwing up water as you hadn’t ate anything since the morning and you managed to throw that up when you read the test earlier in the day. 

you heard Marcel walk into the apartment as he set his things down on the floor and came to find you. you had thought that you locked the door when you ran inside but that didn’t seem to be true when Marcel walked in, a look of worry and panic instantly crossing his face as he saw how you looked. 

“hey, hey! what’s wrong?” he asked, holding your hair back. you shook your head as you tried to stand up and push him off of you, “nothing, i’m fine,” you managed to say as you went to the sink to brush your teeth and clean your mouth. 

Marcel stood against the doorway, seeing the color of your skin drained. he had never saw you this way in the years that you were together with him and as you finally looked back up again, he could see that you didn’t look healthy in the slightest. 

“your complexion is scaring, please sit down,” he stated, helping you to the couch to sit you down. you slumped into the couch, feeling a migraine coming on, “you need to go to the hospital. you’ve been sick for nearly a month and you haven’t been getting any better!” he exclaimed. 

you sighed knowing that if you even tried to hesitate, Marcel wouldn’t let it go and probably physically drag you there himself. you looked up to Marcel and asked him to grab your backpack from one of the kitchen chairs. he looked at you in confusion but nevertheless grabbed it for you. 

“what i’m about to tell you might be news you aren’t prepared for so you might want to sit down for this one,” you stated as you had trouble looking at him. he remained confused but didn’t listen to what you said and remained standing, “Marcel, please,” you repeated, “no, i’m fine standing.” 

you sighed as you took a deep breath in and rummaged through your bag until you felt the pregnancy test in your hand, “don’t freak out on me, i’m begging you. i’ve been through enough today and if you are planning to do anything irrational when you find out, just leave,” you said as you took the test out and handed it to him. 

Marcel’s eyes widened, reading the test before looking at you. he remained silent for what felt like an eternity. a million thoughts ran through his head until he finally realized that he hadn’t said anything at all. you remained looking at him, trying to read his expression. 

“you’re pregnant?” he asked. you nodded slowly as he stared at the test again, “you’re not kidding? when did you find out?” he asked again, “of course not but today. that’s what i was doing with Fabian. he found me puking my guts out earlier and offered to take me to the store to buy a test and i was too scared to take the test alone so i made him sit with me to find out the results. Walter knows too.” 

Marcel looked at you, “why did you hide it from me? i feel like i should’ve been there,” he murmured. you sighed in slight annoyance, “i know but we’ve never talked about kids and i was scared. i’m pregnant. pregnant as fuck and i want to keep it,” you stated, emphasizing the ending. 

Marcel walked up to you and gave you a hug as you immediately cuddled up to him and let the tears go free, “i’m just surprised, baby. we weren’t planning on having one but i’m not mad or scared. that just means we’re going to be parents earlier than anticipated. nothing wrong with that,” he finally said. 

you smiled at him, happy that he was on the same boat with you, “so you’re happy?” you asked. Marcel laughed, “of course i am. you’re making me a dad! we’re going to be parents!” he exclaimed, “we just need to find a home and start building that nursery as soon as possible.” 

you brought him down for a kiss and remained that way for while before finally pulling away, “i’m sorry happy that you’re happy about this,” you confessed. Marcel brought you in for another hug as you put your head on his chest, “if we have a son, you wouldn’t mind naming him Axel, would you?” he asked with a serious tone. 

your heart fluttered as you realized he wanted to name your possible son after his father, “of course i wouldn’t mind. it’s a beautiful name,” you whispered back. he nodded in agreement as the two of you remained hugging in the middle of your living room. 

you knew you’d tell everything to Fabian and Walter later on but for the moment, you just wanted to remain in Marcel’s embrace. 

#wwe imagine #wwe x reader #WWE #marcel barthel #marcel barthel imagine #marcel barthel x reader #marcel barthel x you #Wrestling #wrestling imagine #imperium #fabian aichner #walter #Walter Hahn

[smilesthroughfandoms]

Every single episode of Ducktales (2017) Summarized in Roughly in One Sentence or Less!

Thank you Frank and team so much for introducing this family to a new generation of kids while remaining faithful to your source material. I hope you all enjoy my attempts at humor!

Woo-oo!: We don’t really know what’s going on yet but let’s do this!

Escape To/From Atlantis!: “Well I’m wearing a kilt McDuck! A kiiiilt!”

Daytrip of Doom!: They’re all siblings now and I love them all.

The Great Dime Chase!: “Shut up, everyone! I’ve done something brilliant!” (Also: Guess’s who my favorite character is?)

The Beagle Birthday Breakout!: Lena and Webby are best girls, fight me on this

Terror of the Terra-firmians!: This is the Spoopiest episode and also the most heartwarming.

The House of the Lucky Gander!: He’s an asshole but I love him.

The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks!: He’s an even bigger asshole but I love him.

The Living Mummies of Toth-Ra!: I too would do anything for a good burrito.

The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest!: “If I had a nickel for every person who cursed me with their dying breath, I’d be twice as rich as I already am.”

The Spear of Selene!: Of course Scrooge showed up freaking Zeus.

Beware the B.U.D.D.Y System!: The fusion of Iron Man and Sailor Moon I never knew I always wanted.

The Missing Links of Moorshire!: I always knew My Little Pony had a deadly fandom but this is ridiculous…

Mystery at McDuck Manor!: Took you long enough, Duckworth, welcome back.

Jaw$!: In this house, we love and respect Tiffany. (Also: Whoever came up with this episode title is the coolest person ever)

The Golden Lagoon of White Agony Plains!: Scrooge and Glomgold are in love with Allison Janney, and honestly, same.

Day of the Only Child!: Doofus is even creepier than Lil’ Gideon, and that is saying something.

From the Confidential Casefiles of Agent 22!: *hums James Bond theme intensely to myself*

Who is Gizmoduck?!: He’s not throwing away his shot! (I’m sorry, I had to)

The Other Bin of Scrooge McDuck!: I love Louie in this episode, he’s such a mood.

Sky Pirates… in the Sky!: The Pirates of the Caribbean meets High School Music crossover starring evil Panchito I never knew I needed.

The Secret(s) of Castle McDuck!: We’re all Webby in this episode.

The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!: *ugly sobbing*

The Shadow War, Part 1: Night of De Spell!: Donald finally gets the love he deserves.

The Shadow War Part 2: Day of the Ducks!: *spoiler warning* How is she still alive?!?!?!

The Most Dangerous Game… Night!: David screaming “GAME NIGHT!” is the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.

The Depths of Cousin Fethry!: I love Cousin Spongebob!

The Ballad of Duke Baloney!: Dammit, Frank.

The Town Where Everyone Was Nice!: They’re boyfriends mates, sorry I don’t make the rules.

Storkules in Duckburg!: Storkules is the ultimate Donald Duck fan, we cannot comepete.

Last Christmas!: Somehow the Ghost of Christmas McBrayer is the least surprising thing I’ve ever seen in this show.

Whatever Happened to Della Duck?!: Oh, so that’s how she survived.

Treasure of the Found Lamp!: Dijin is the best character.

The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck!: Yee–and I cannot stress this enough–haw.

The 87 Cent Solution!: *wheezing* Dammit, Frank…

The Golden Spear!: Oh my god, they were roommates!

Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!: Dammit, Frank!

Raiders of the Doomsday Vault!: “So stand out, above the crowd! Even if I gotta shout it out loud!”

Friendship Hates Magic!: Webby gets two friends for the price of one seance!

The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee!: BEAKS SMASH… THAT LIKE BUTTON! (I’m so sorry)

The Duck Knight Returns!: *spoilers* The single best superhero, origin story-based episode ever! 

Whatever Happened To Donald Duck?!: *sobbing* He’s a good dad!

Happy Birthday, Doofus Drake!: This entire episode is creepier than most indie horror games.

A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!: All the kids’ dreams are moods… except Huey’s, his dream can go jump off a microwave.

The Golden Army of Cornelius Coot!: Della is just pulling a Donald and adopting any and all kids within arms reach at this point.

Timephoon!: “I’m on it!” *gets struck by lightning* “I’ve immediately failed you!”

Glomtales!: I don’t know what’s more surprising, the fact that Louie won the bet or that they used Glomgold’s theme song takeover as the intro.

The Richest Duck in the World!: Drag them, Owlson. Drag them all…

Moonvasion! Part 1: *deep inhale* D A M M I T F R A N K!

Moonvasion! Part 2: Glomgold is my new favorite villain character.

Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!: Huey and Violet fight for the right to be crowned the squarest of squares.

Quack Pack!: Radical dude! *insert cheesy 90s riff here*

Double-O Duck in You Only Crash Twice!: We were all simping SO HARD this episode don’t think I forgot!!!

The Lost Harp of Mervana!: Scrooge fails a vibe check.

Louie’s Eleven!:  Is it really a heist movie if something doesn’t go completely wrong?

Astro B.O.Y.D.!: So much ANIME!!!!!!

The Rumble for Ragnarok!: Eh, the MCU did it better

The Phantom and the Sorceress!: Seeing Gladstone suffer brings me an odd amount of joy

They Put a Moonlander on Earth!: They’re lesbians, Harold!

The Trickening!: Did… did no one really tell Launchpad how Halloween works?

The Forbidden Fountain of the Foreverglades!: If I had a nickel for every time a cartoon version of Ponce de Leon died a gruesome death on screen, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

Let’s Get Dangerous!: *spoilers* THEY ARE A SUPERHERO FAMILY!!!!

Escape from the ImpossiBin!: Scrooge and Beakley are a little too excited to traumatize their family because of their trauma.

The Split Sword of Swanstantine!: Dewey and Webby literally walk in blind, Violet spices things up, and Huey unleashes the Rage™

New Gods on the Block!: The most accurate representation of Zeus ever.

The First Adventure!: Young Donald is one heck of a mood.

The Fight for Castle McDuck!: The sibling culture episode.

How Santa Stole Christmas!: Charles Dickens would approve, probably.

Beaks in the Shell!: Huey ships Fendra and Gyro needs to stop hiding in the closet.

The Lost Cargo of Kit Cloudkicker!: The Battle of Theatre Kids... in the Sky!

The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck!: All the emotional weight was nearly overshadowed by One (1) attractive goth twink.

The Last Adventure Part 1; A Tale of Three Webbys!: They’re so cute! I love them!

The Last Adventure Part 2; The Lost Library of Isabella Finch!: Letting the kids on the plane is the single smartest decision Scrooge has ever made in his life.

The Last Adventure Part 3; Tale’s End!: *ugly, happy, heartbreaking sobbing* Woo-oo!

#ducktales 2017 #ducktales season 1 #ducktales season 2 #ducktales season 3 #dt 17 #ducktales spoilers #dt 17 spoilers #frank angones #don't repost #smilesthroughfandoms

[tallbisexualwantstobeloved]

Daredevil, Crackfic challenge.

@call-me-sammy @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @whumpdoyoumean

Matthew Murdock was walking silently, focusing hard on his -available- senses to find what he was looking for.

Unfortunately, the solo vigilante couldn't seem to find it and, thus, turned to the next aisle.

As it turns out, enhanced hearing and physical abilities are not exactly suited for looking through an Aldi for clothes.

Matt passed quickly through the current aisle he was in -as all he could smell was soup- and turned to the next with the hope of finally finding the shirts he was looking for.

Why do they always change the layout of this place? He thought, annoyed.

At long last, Matt picked up the scent of new clothes, freshly out of whatever garage they were kept in before being put on the shelves.

Slowly and meticulously, he felt the cloths to check the material.

He would have to ask an employee about the colour of the shirts he was picking since he didn't want a repeat of that time; Foggy still cried with laughter when remembering that incident.

Matt held out his white cane in one hand and a shirt in the other and set to find any employee to help him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to look far as one rushed to him, immediately asking if he wanted help.

"Yes, could you tell me what colour these shirts are?" He asked, presenting the clothe to the worker.

"White." The employee said with a little too much excitement.

First day, Matt thought and asked for the size of it.

The shirt in his hand was in his size, luckily, and he went back with the same employee to get more of them.

Lord knows how easily they get dirty, so it made sense for the lawyer to buy them in bulk.

"Would that be all, sir?" The employee asked, basically balancing on the balls of their feet, in his hands were five shirts that they insisted on carrying.

Matt thought for only a second before he decided to ask about what kind of clothe detergent would be appropriate for hard stains.

The employee lead him through the building and into an aisle that had a suspicious lack of the usual scent of chemical cleaning products.

"These do wonders for all kind of stains and odors!" The worker said as Matt stood there, very much unable to see whatever 'these' were.

"Oh, shit!" Matt heard being whispered and next thing he knew there were small, odd textured balls in his fist and a slight scent of vinegar wafted in front of him.

"Throw these in with the clothes and they'll be just like new!" Matt could practically hear the worker's excited smile, just like a salesman he had seen on television one late night when his father hadn't yet returned from the ring.

Matt put on his best smile and thanked the employee before he was lead -more unwilling than not- to the checkout after saying that he didn't need anything else when he was asked.

It didn't take long for the cashier to scan his items and soon, the lawyer was on his way to his apartment to drop his things off before heading to work.

It was still early enough that he didn’t have to run but Matt didn't want to dawdle for long.

After all, he had customers waiting for him.

Unfortunately, it was while thinking of one customer that he missteped, tripping over the little crack on the pavement and falling onto the ground.

As both his hands were currently occupied, Matt didn't have a way to break his fall, unless he wasn't against using the perfectly placed trash bin beside him.

Well, he was, and thus opted to fall to the ground.

And, this being New York, the ground was the worst choice that won you four different kinds of tetanus and more importantly, dirt. So much dirt.

So, it wasn't surprising when Matt's perfectly clean-and-ready-for-lawyering shirt went from white to a nice brown-gray almost immediately.

Instantly, the people on the sidewalk on his side came to a stop, looking at the downed blind man for a moment and promptly walking away.

This is fine, Matt thought and picked himself -and his bags- up by seeing through his fire-filled world.

Once up, Matt decided to grab a fresh shirt while he left his bags at his apartment; walking a little faster since he didn't want to be late for work.

It wasn't long before he had the fresh, clean smelling, shirt on and running out of the door as quickly as a 'blind' man could without bumping into every corner.

A relatively short walk took Matt right outside the building's main door and through their office's one.

He greeted his coworkers, Foggy and Karen, as per usual and sat down on his own desk to get started on reading some new cases they debated taking.

It wasn't until an hour later that Matt got up to get [something]. The [whatever] was above his head and Matt reached his hand up to grab it, already hearing Karen getting up to help him if needed.

Foggy looked up from his own papers for a second, bit did a double take fast at the red colour on Matt's white shirt as his suit jacket lifted with the movement of his arm.

He got up and slowly walked over, Karen still looming behind the blind lawyer while said lawyer held [REDACTED] in his hand.

"Matty, can I speak to you for a second?"

Matt tilted his head slightly and nodded, allowing Foggy to lead him over to his office before closing the door.

Foggy let Matt's forearm go as soon as they were inside the small room and sighed;

"It's way too early for this, Matt."

Matt frowned in confusion at the, what felt like, scolding that was brewing inside Foggy's mind.

"It's 12 P.M., Fog, we both decided on the time to come into work." He said, genuinely confused.

"What? No, I don't mean that it's too early for work, I'm saying it's too early for all your-" Foggy waved his hand around like he was performing a spell, -Matt would have laughed, had he... you know-, "-vigilantism."

"I wasn't vigi- I wasn't fighting bad guys before work, Foggy!"

Foggy's silence said so much to Matt as he could feel the dubious side eye he was getting.

"I wasn't fighting bad guys before work today, Foggy."

He heard Foggy huff at that but he seemed to relent.

"Why are you bleeding, then?" Foggy whispered angrily.

"I'm not bleeding." Matt said, seriously confused now.

"Yes, you are." Foggy insisted.

"No." One word to kill a man.

"Matt! You have blood here!" He said and poked his finger right where the 'wound' was, absolutely taking into consideration that that could have hurt. Absolutely.

Matt felt the poke but it didn't hurt so he put his own hand above the spot Foggy had pointed at.

He felt an odd texture over the spot, unlike the texture of the rest of the shirt and realisation hit him.

"This... is an old shirt."  He said quietly, "Shit, I grabbed the wrong shirt."

"Let's just go to your apartment to grab another one." Foggy suggested, "Unless you can produce one from thin air." Matt couldn't.

Both man grabbed their suitcases before making a beeline for the exit when Karen stopped them.

"Where are you going, guys? The office is swarming with customers right now." She said as she pointed it to their very, very empty office space.

"We won't be long, Ms Paige!" Foggy announced, practically dragging Matt behind him.

-

The two avocados found themselves in Matt's apartment soon and instantly Foggy raided the closet for a clean shirt for his friend to wear while Matt took off the dirty one and threw it in the washing machine.

Foggy stopped looking through the clothes -or lack thereof- when he heard strange scrunching sounds.

The man really got a kick when he saw Matt trying to open a plastic bag with some kind of nuts in it.

"Matt..." He called out, "What have I told you about making sure you eat in the morning?"

"This isn't breakfast, Fog." Matt said while still struggling, "This is for the washing machine."

"Your washing machine is hungry?" Foggy whispered, perplexed.

"No." Double homicide.

Foggy walked closer to Matt and saw more clearly the little baggie.

"Oh, walnuts! I thought they were out of season." Foggy said in a moment of enlightenment.

"They are not walnuts, they're soapnuts!"

"They're what now?"

"Soapnuts. They're supposed to be great at cleaning even the hardest stain."

"Uh, even blood?" He sounded doubtful, as he should.

"Well, the worker at the store said they work wonders."

"Okay, but. Blood, Matt. That does not come off easily as you know."

"We'll just give it a try, Foggy." Matt said and threw some of the nuts in the washing machine before starting a half-hour cycle.

Foggy mumbled a variation of 'alright' and went back to the closet.

He grabbed a shirt that seemed new and threw it at Matt who was busy "staring" at the wall right next to the washing machine.

Matt caught the shirt moments before it fell to the floor after hitting his face and put it on with a 'thanks, Fog.

The half-hour washing cycle turned out to take up three quarters of an hour, so that was a fucking lie, and Matt got the wet shirt out of it, holding it up;

"Perfect!" He exclaimed and heard Foggy shuffling next to him.

"Matthew?" His friend said slowly, carefully.

"Mhm?" Matt replied, eloquent as ever.

"The shirt is white, right?"

"Yes. Isn't it?"

"Uh... Pastel pink has some white in it, I guess."

"Well, yes. Pastel pink has to have whit- Wait a minute!" Matt stopped abruptly, "This shirt isn't white anymore, is it?"

"Nope!" Foggy popped the 'P' like he was a 14-year-old girl getting ready to be lawfully abducted by a boy band.

"Damn." Matt sighed.

"Careful with those damns, Matthew."

"Sorry, Father- FOGGY!" Matt shouted, scandalised.

Foggy snorted as he and Matt put the, now, pink shirt away and grabbed their things to head back to the office, wondering how Karen is doing.

-

Karen sat on her desk, typing away at her computer all the people she saw today with new cases.

It was a busy day with more customers that usual.

Two.

~end

#crackfic #mine #daredevil #thesoapnutmattcrackfic

[plutodexay]

Wasn’t planning on it 

Neville imagine Please this one was so much fun and I love the idea of Neville owning a greenhouse after Hogwarts (Or being a professor they’re both amazing)

(1233)

The flowers appear at my door nearly  every day, hours before the sun even comes up and shines through the clouds. They ranged colors and sizes, never had there been a repeat of what petals I would wake up to. Or leaves even for that matter, I still recall the one morning a fern was sitting outside my door in the most random spot. Honestly, it made it a lot easier to get up every morning.

My place was covered with an array of colors, all of them were spelled with an everlasting spell causing them to never wilt so I can never find a reason to throw them out. Everyone would comment on them as they passed through, none of us knowing where the beauties came from. 

I had a suspicion of course, everyone made the comment that only one person I knew of could have access to that many flowers. Not to mention they somehow miraculously matched with new shipments or experimental seeds Neville would get in his shop weeks before they arrived at my door. 

He always denied it, saying someone must have been buying them from him. Yet I don’t think he realized the blush that spread across his face every time the flowers were mentioned. At one point I even got the excuse of the possibility of whoever was leaving them for me picking them off the side of the road. 

It went on for months, every day a new one would appear, no note left or explanation given. A few times I would try and beat them, staying up all night to catch a slight movement outside my door only for nothing to happen all while a flower would still appear. I genuinely thought I was going crazy. 

Until one day I knew I wasn’t. It was just like every other day, I woke up, checked for flowers, walked back in, and tried to figure out which place to put it. Only it wasn’t a flower, but a paper folded into the shape of a flower. The moment I picked it up I knew exactly where it had come from. 

“I knew it was you!” I shouted as I pushed the doors of the greenhouse open, knowing full well he hides in here before his shop opens. 

A loud crash told me the direction he was in as I made my way through the maze of magical plants and muggle flowers. Muttered swears left him as he was finally in my sights, leaning down to pick up the thankfully empty watering can off the concrete ground. 

Looking up at me, the normal blush started spreading across his face. Taking a deep breath he placed the watering can onto a shelf next to him before walking towards me. Stopping in front of me, leaving barely any room between us, he let out a slight chuckle that seemed to be covering up the fear that showed in his eyes. 

“Did you enjoy them at least?” His voice was barely above a whisper, breath hitting me cheek with how close he was standing. His face was becoming even redder than normal, his lips curling into a nervous smile as he tried to ignore the obvious negative thoughts running through his mind. 

“You know I do,” I said as I looked at him with confusion, my head tilting to make eye contact with him. “I’m not mad, I just want to know why” I heard his breath catch sharply before turning and walking away from me without a word. 

It took a moment before I caught on to what he was doing. His hand reached down into a small bin, and came out with a simple red rose. Walking back to me, he closed his eyes before holding the flower towards me to grab. 

“I’m in love with you, have been for ages.” He was speaking so quietly but it sounded to me as if he were screaming, the words echoing in my mind as I tried to understand. Words I had been dying to hear, it was almost too good to be true. 

Deciding actions were better than words, placing the rose onto the shelf next to me, I moved my hands to hold Neville’s face, running my thumb over one of his cheekbones causing him to open his eyes. Staring into wide eyes for a second, I finally closed my own eyes. Taking a deep breath, I lean up slightly, gently pressing my lips against his as lightly as I could. 

Preparing to pull back, Neville stopped me. Quickly moving his hands to wrap around my waist, pulling me into him knocking my own breath out of me. His lips started moving against mine in a slow movement, allowing us to work together in a way we never have before. It was almost as if time froze and we were just stuck together in this moment. 

We were pulled out of our moment as a door opened across the way, the mumbling of Luna echoing through the silent room. Thankfully she was so caught up in her own thoughts she failed to see us in the position we were in.

Neville’s hands had yet to move from my waist, mine still held onto his face and I could feel the heat radiating off of his cheeks. With another loud noise coming from Luna, we finally pulled away from one another. 

“What does this mean?” Neville asked, his voice cracking as he attempted to speak at a normal volume rather than a whisper. I felt a small smile spread across my face, my cheeks practically burning at this point. 

“I feel the same” Neville reached towards me once again pulling me into a quick kiss before looking at the watch on his wrist.

“I have to head in” He whispered against my lips, pressing his against mine again in a quick secession. “The shop opens soon and I still have things I need to do” He leaned his forehead against mine, his words were laced with annoyance as if I were forcing him to stay here and he was not doing it on his own. 

With a slight laugh I moved back, allowing Neville to stand up straight yet he still was not heading towards the area he needed to be in. Grabbing the rose I sat down before, I nod to him attempting to pull him out of whatever trance he managed to get himself stuck in. Smiling at him I start walking out of the greenhouse before turning back at a shout. 

“How did you know it was me?” Neville shouted as I was almost out of the door. Pulling the paper flower from this morning out of my pocket, I held it up, waving it around so that he could see. 

“I taught you how to do this years ago” A loud sigh echoed through the room while Neville turned away, followed by my own laughter. Grabbing the door handle I push the glass doors open before yelling. “This doesn’t mean you have to stop doing this, I quite enjoy waking up to flowers” 

“Wasn’t planning on stopping, and maybe one morning you can wake up to me” Just as I felt my face flush red I heard a muffled yell before Neville shouted once again “No Luna I wasn’t talking to you sorry for the confusion!”

#Neville Longbottom #neville imagine #neville longbottom imagine #neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom fanfic #imagines #oneshots #fluff #Post Hogwarts #hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #writing #my writing #fanfiction #hp fanfic #fanfic #writers #gender neutral imagine #Harry Potter #Nevile Longbottom #writers on tumblr #fanfic writing #favorite #creative writing #harry potter #imagine #oneshot #drabble

[billiewena]

for the 100k fic celebration, here a portion of the “what if 10x05 had a sastiel agenda?” AKA lil shit sam/jealous dean destiel fic I first shared a while back! been having a lot of fun basically rewriting and expanding on the entire musical episode with new songs (and lots of cute kristen & siobhan moments because OF COURSE they’re still a couple.) it was really encouraging to see the positive response to it back then and it's been taking forever because of work/other writing but I’m so excited to have this one be the first full-length fics I ever post.

It starts with costumed teenagers locked in a tight embrace with absolutely no room for Jesus.

“What are they doing?”

Marie glances over her shoulder for only a brief second.

“Kids these days call it hugging,” she says slowly. Geez, it would’ve been less insulting for her to just outright say Wow, you’re old.

Except it’s not just any of the show’s stars hugging over there. One of them is the “Dean” who’d been mid-rehearsal when they arrived and looked more like Bieber than him with the blonde wig. And the other? Well, he would recognize that Columbo coat anywhere.

“Is that in the show?” he asks, pointing their way.

Marie quickly shakes her head at the accusation. “Oh, no. Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in a real life.”

He nods and lower his hand. Got it. That’s all it was. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about—

“No, my play explores the nature of Sastiel.”

“The — wait, what?” he says, confused at once.

“Sastiel?” Marie pauses, giving him a second to figure it out. He doesn’t. “You know, the relationship between Sam and Castiel?”

Dean blinks.

“Sam and…C-Cas?”

“I know, I know. Edlund’s series never finished. I’m lucky I got these drafts. Ugh, it’s Midnight Sun all over again. But the love story is all in the subtext,” she says with confidence. “Can you believe there are people who still think Destiel is endgame? After everything that happened after the angels fell? After Gadreel? Please.”

He silently sounds out the word. Des-tiel? Wait…

“Ever since Cas came back from the dead and took on Sam’s pain, I knew. I just knew. Every one of their arcs had been parallel to each other’s from their fall from grace to the trials. And now with Dean gone, all they have…is each other.”

Marie sighs. “Besides, you can’t spell subtext without S-E-X.”

He coughs and nearly chokes on an asteroid-sized lump in his throat.

“I…uh. Yeah, th-that’s not…you know, I think I’ve seen enough,” Dean says with a forced smile. “Thank you for your, ah, time. I’ll, uh, we’ll follow up if we have questions about the missing persons case. I—alright.”

And with that he purses his lips, turns on his heel and walks away — nearly tripping over one of the stage chords as he does. Why are there are so many of them anyways? This is just some all-girls school production, not the goddamn West End.

He finds Sam in his natural nerd habitat (the tech booth) sifting through all the bins of A/V supplies.

“Yeah, not to interrupt the blast from the past here but it’s time for us to go,” he says, patting the door.

His brother shoots him an annoyed look but packs up and follows him out all the same. Not that Dean bothers to wait for him; no, he makes a beeline for the car as soon as he leaves the booth.

“Hey, what’s with the rush?” Sam calls after him as he runs to catch up with him at the school entrance.

“No rush,” he says shortly. “Just wanted to see what you found out before you got too lost in the nerd sauce over there.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know he’s on the receiving end of a Classic Sam Bitchface right now and continues to stomp his way through the parking lot.

“Well, no EMF, no hex bags. None of their props are remotely hinky. Talked to Maeve and all those extras in the auditorium.” Sam finally catches up and walks side-by-side with him now. “You have any more luck?”

“Nah. Ms. Chandler's office is just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's probably just face down in a bar somewhere. Or a ditch. I did get to hear all about the director’s, ah, creative vision though,” Dean says, teeth gritted. “Apparently we go into space, I become a woman, and there’s even ninjas and robots!”

“Robots. Huh. Well, that’d definitely be a new one.”

“There’s no robots in Supernatural—”

“I-I know that,” Sam says in exasperation. “I just mean it’s, y’know, innovative. And Dean we’ve fought weirder. Remember the teddy bear? The fairies? The ballet shoes?”

“Well, you just wait until you hear about what she in store for you, Lover Boy,” he says.

And that makes Sam do an instant double-take.

“Uh, Lover Boy?”

“Yeah, your number one fan back there —” he says, gesturing back towards the school, “— was telling me all about the play’s, uh, love story between you and Cas. You got something you’ve been meaning to tell me or what?”

“The love story? Wait, what do you mean me and Cas?”

Dean scoffs, already in utter disbelief of the words he was about to say. “Like you and Cas, together. Together together? Romance of the ages the way she made it sound. Apparently it’s all in her play!”

To his surprise though, Sam just… laughs. “Well, I mean hey, that’s an improvement from the ones who wrote about me and you.”

“You got that right,” he agrees with a shudder. Meeting one Becky the Stalker was bad enough. Knowing she wasn’t alone and that she had an audience made it even worse. “She even had a portmanteau for you, dude. Like you’re some celebrities in a grocery store tabloid. Sass-tiel.”

“Sass-tiel?” He seems to seriously consider it but shrugs. “I don’t know. What about… Samstiel? CasSam? Cam? Mmm, maybe not that…”

Dean groans. “Really? That’s your issue with this?”

“Of course it’s not my issue,” Sam says. He stays pensive for a few more seconds until chuckling again to himself this time, as if he’s the only one in on a private joke. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Cas is great but…”

“Not your type?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. No, it’s definitely more than that and he’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amused expression.

Dean turns and stares him down. “What?”

“I dunno,” he says, his smirk fully visible now. “I just think it’s funny they’re pairing me up with Cas when the one with the ‘profound bond’ with him is right there.”

“Oh, haha. You’re hilarious,” Dean retorts at once.

“Hey man, I’m not the one who stayed in Purgatory for a year to find him.”

His glare takes on a murderous edge.

“Okay. You know what? You’re going to do that thing where you just shut the hell up! Forever!”

Sam holds up his hands in either what’s either a show of innocence or surrender.

“Alright, alright. Well, other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all I got nothing.”

“So…what?” Dean says. “This-this all... This whole musical thing, everything, it's... it's all a coincidence? There is no case?”

“Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There's no case here,” he says sincerely this time.

“Come on. This has classic Trickster vibes all over it.” He almost wants to turn around and start yelling, Come on out Gabriel you bastard!

“Trickster’s dead, man. And he wasn’t just a trickster, he was an archangel. And they’re all gone too.”

“Could be a lower-rank angel?” Dean tries. “I mean, Zachariah pulled off an entire apocalypse world. And that place where we were both corporate drones. Before you know it, this’ll get all Buffy and it’ll be me and you singin’ and dancin’—“

“Dean…I think it’s just fans. Look, as long as they’re not putting another love spell on one of us I couldn’t really care less what they’re doing,” Sam says with some bitterness, clearly not looking back at that particular memory with any fondness. “Just writing some songs? I mean, it’s innocent enough.”

“Oh yeah, so innocent,” he scoffs. “They’re singing about our dead parents, your demon blood bender, the apocalypse, all of it! This is just…it’s make-believe for them! But it’s our lives!”

Sam runs a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t get it either man. I wasn’t exactly thinking about the books’ entertainment value while Chuck was describing my sex life in vivid detail—“

“Don’t remind me,” he says, holding up a hand in disgust.  

“—but I dunno. There’s obviously something about it they connected to, right? Something they related to, something that moved them, inspired them? And I guess…I mean, what’s wrong with that?”

There is so, so much wrong with that.

“I don’t know what story they’re reading and what Sam and Dean they’re ‘connecting’ to here. But it sure as hell ain’t us. I mean…they even made me blonde, dude.”

“It’s a high school play, what can you expect?” Sam laughs. “It was probably the closest wig they could find at Party City.”

Dean ignores him, muttering aloud as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.

“The hair…the singing…the robots… the love story…”

“You really were bothered by that, weren’t you?” Sam gives his brother a curious look.

“SUPERNATURAL ISN’T A ROMANCE!” Dean snaps. “Look, these girls obviously don’t know what they’re talking about—“

“I dunno, Dean,” Sam said in a clearly taunting voice now. “Maybe you’re just jealous of what me and Cas have.”

He flushes. “W-what? I-I’m not—“

“We could give you two a name too, y’know? So you don’t feel left out? What about…Dee-stiel? CasDean?”

And he refuses to entertain this conversation any longer.

“Shut your face! Get in the car!”

Thankfully Sam notices the shift in tone and obliges at once.

Dean, meanwhile, takes a moment outside the car to glance around — almost as if checking to see if anyone overheard that comment. Not that it mattered. Who could overhear? No one even knew they were THE Sam and THE Dean. Who cared? He certainly didn’t care. He didn’t care at all...

(to be continued)

#if you were one of the people who offered to beta read back in march know I WILL be reaching out to because I need it lol #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #fanfic #spn 10x05 #also this is a given but if you did want to be tagged when this is posted hmu! #been having so much fun with this especially with writing the new songs #also tbh the musical itself is the closet I will get to writing a sam & cas fic so that's been fun too lol #ESPECIALLY because then I can immediately add dean's reaction to it which is typically 'time to walk straight off the stage' #it's also fun to write a s10 fic since I'm a 'dean's been in love since s8 at least' truther #anyways new to this and my untreated adhd means I make a gazillion typos/take forever to work on things/get distracted by new ideas but #literally every positive comment on that first post is the reason why I'm still workin' at it