and i have rooftop on repeat

like what do you want to bet that at least once when Jason was Robin, he made Bruce laugh in front of the Justice League by standing behind Hal and mimicking everything he did while pouting stoically. 

meanwhile Hal feared for his mortal soul because Batman was looking right at him and laughing. 

and what do you want to bet that he’s even WORSE about it whenever they run into Hal now? 

Jason prancing around on a rooftop behind him providing running commentary through the comm

“In brightest day, in blackest night, something something i hate yellow GREEN LANTERN!” 

The only thing scarier than having the Bat laugh at you is having him and a gaggle of Batlings quietly start laughing one by one and then composing themselves, only to repeat the cycle

anonymous asked:

Could you explain why shipping Nico with girls is homophobic? I'm not actually a part of the LGBT community, but I would genuinely, sincerely like to hear from a queer person's experience/perspective as to why it is considered offensive. I realise the LGBT community barely gets any representation- is this the reason why? I know you probably already got a lot of messages regarding this, so I totally understand if you choose to ignore it, but an explanation would be really helpful :3

When it comes to minority representation there are certain boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. You don’t draw a black character as white, you don’t write a character that has a physical disability as able-bodied (if any of this language is ableist please let me know), and you don’t hc a canon gay character as bi or straight.

One thing straight people seem to have a hard time understanding is that it’s so drastically different to hc a straight character as not-straight than to hc a gay character as being attracted to the opposite/different sex. Being gay (or bi) is a part of us intrinsically. It literally shapes who we are as people, how we perceive the world around us and how we interact with it. It molds our experience in a way a straight cis person could never understand. You simply can’t extract the gay from a character and have them be the same, especially with Nico bc his sexuality was explicitly shown to be a pivotal part of his character arc and a great source of distress for him. Taking that away leaves you with a hollow shell of what his character should be.

“Well then what if he’s bi” people shout “we don’t know he doesn’t like girls”

It’s so very common to hear this, honestly. People demand so much more proof to believe a character is gay. It’s not good enough that a character only shows interest in the same sex, uses language that implies they don’t have any interest in the opposite sex, and have a story arc that revolves around accepting themselves and dealing with internalized homophobia. Gay characters can’t just be gay. No, they have to scream it from rooftops and repeat it until their throat is soar and their mouth dry.

I’m getting off topic.

“If straight characters can be put in gay ships then why can’t gay characters be put in straight ships”

I once saw an analogy that went vaguely like this:

Imagine you have a pantry full of candy. In fact, it’s practically bursting at the seams, candy is pushing at the door trying to make room for more. And I have a bowl. One bowl of candy. And while your pantry of candy overflows, I pick up a few pieces from the floor and put them in my bowl. You still have a pantry, and I still only have a bowl. But then you take a handful out of my bowl and say it’s only fair, you took some of mine, after all. You don’t notice the candy I took from your pantry because it’s innumerable. But I’m forced to notice the candy you took from my bowl because it was so small to begin with.

It really isn’t a perfect analogy by any means, but maybe it’ll grant some perspective on the fact that straight people are swimming in an ocean of representation but I dip one toe into it and now they demand to swim in my pond.

I’m actually too tired to continue. I’ve been typing this out for awhile, just trying to think of how to explain myself and now it’s 1am and I’m afraid I’m fried but this has been sitting in my inbox for a bit and I want to get it answered. If anyone in the lgbt community would like to elaborate further, please do.

EXTROVERTED AUTISM THINGS:

Talking really fast + not even realizing it

needing to constantly talk, like talking is the best stim

rambling for hours about one very specific thing, yet still repeating yourself 20 times

that feel when you realize you have no idea what you’ve been saying for the past 10 minutes

will LITERALLY scream from the rooftops about autism awareness and stim positivity

stuttering a lot because your brain can’t decide which tangent it wants to go on

social interaction being one of your biggest stims, and the frustration when it’s also the hardest one to fulfill (I personally do some mental RP when I’m alone such as in bed or waiting for something)

“I said I’m social, I didn’t say I was good at it”

Having no filter but with added bonus of having no shame

not realizing you are screaming/flailing in public and things get awkward when u gotta explain what a stim is

being the “disruptive” kid in class

skipping, dancing, or running around like a Disney princess 24/7

that feel when u can pass off your stimming as being a really bad dancer

MariChat May Day5: Captain’s Log (The Baton)

Okay, so I haven’t written fanfiction in a while. A LONG WHILE. And I’ve been sucked into reading Miraculous Fanfic since January, which means I’ve been holding out. So bear with me okay? For @baneismydragon  ‘s MariChat May Collab

________________

Marinette steeples her fingers as she leans across her desk, keeping her gaze stolidly forward as to not stare at the object just inches from her elbows. Her fingers rest at eye height causing her to focus on how light plays on her fingers, the translucency of skin and how she can probably play around dyeing fabric to simulate the watercolor-esque beauty of light and life. Alya would look perfect in the dress, Marinette adds, anything to keep her gaze from slipping. Anything to keep her mind from drifting to…

Chat.

Ugh. It’s too late now; Marinette should just embrace it like Tikki said. She feels Tikki’s worried buzz a foot or so away, taking slow, quiet bites from her plate of cookies to give her some peace.  It’s not working.

She leans forward, cupping her face in her hands and lets out a muffled groan.

“Can my yo-yo do this?” She breathes, jerking back as she grabs hold of Chat’s baton. In. Out. In. Out. She has to remind herself to keep breathing; otherwise, she’ll panic, then things will spiral out of control and turn into a mess.

“Of course!” Tikki chirps. “But it’s not like you need it. You already keep a diary with a lock of your own creation! You don’t need magic to keep your secrets safe.” She beams proudly at Marinette, and her charge tries to get a sense of relief.

“But why does Chat have one?” The question is damning for Marinette. When she hears the words escape her voice, she feels the sob clawing at her throat, she hates the threat and demand that tightens her vocal chords. The sound of it scares her, so she tries to play it off with a laugh. “I mean, what dumb boy keeps a diary?”

“Not all Chat Noir’s keep a diary, Marinette, but it’s asked that they do.” Tikki sets aside her cookie and floats to Marinette’s side. She sits just on top of the computer, forcing the young hero to lift her gaze.

“Why?” Marinette asks again, gripping the metal too tight, her gaze once again fixed on the glowing paw.

“Because he’s Chat Noir,” Tikki says as if that should explain it all.

“And they only do as they’re told?” Marinette is on her feet, kicking back her chair and glaring at Tikki. “Or because he’s bad luck and – and – and all he can do is ju-just wait for something bad to happen to him?”

Tikki cocks her head to the side, staring at Marinette with a vague curiosity. The hero knows this look; it’s the look Tikki gives when she’s about to throw out some ancient god history-information-whatever that Marinette should have known the moment she put on the earrings.

“Where do you think your luck comes from?” Tikki asks, folding her arms across her lap. It’s a calm question, one that lines itself with a quiet threat as if to say, ‘do not blame this on me.’

“You give it.” Marinette waves one hand. “I have it.” She waves the other. “I don’t know!”

“There’s a reason Chat Noir and Ladybug fight side by side together. They are a balance of creation and destruction, good luck and bad, give and take. You are equals in that sense. You both take what is given. Chat Noir’s gladly give their luck to those who need it more. They willingly take the bad because they believe in their hearts their purpose is to weather the pain. Ladybugs take luck in whatever form it comes in and throw away the bad because they know their luck will help others. Ladybugs are all about helping others.” Tikki soothes as if knowing this is supposed to be a comfort.

“How do I stop it?” Marinette asks. “I don’t want him taking it from me. We’re a team; we have an equal luck of each kind.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Marinette.”

“Then how does it work?” She snaps, throwing her arms out wildly. The baton slips from her hand and clatters to the ground. It pops open, showing a green screen with a list of numbers and time stamps.

“Whoah! What’s this?” Marinette freezes, hearing Chat Noir’s voice comes from the baton now rolling under her chaise. “Star Date–no–Captain’s Log…”

She dives for it, skidding on her rug. She hears his recorded laugh and finds the wind knocked out of her. She no longer has the strength to move.

“Okay, okay,” He chuckles some minutes later, causing her breath to hitch. “Log three. And I want to say this super important thing before I forget: My Lady made a pun. Not just any pun. She managed three puns in a single sentence! That’s practically im-paw-sible!” He laughs. “I think she’s warming up to this cat. I can see it meow, Chat Noir and Ladybug getting married under the Eiffel Tower!”

“Sap.” Marinette glares at the floor, curling into herself. She knows, in the beginning, the logs are short. They’re mere seconds and glimpses of moments long forgotten. She knows there are hundreds of entries in his baton and most of them are locked. She suspects those recordings have mentions of his civilian life. She wants to know more about him, but there’s a reason Chat Noir’s locked the file. There’s a reason why her diary is sealed in its box right now.

“Dear Diary,” Chat Noir says with a lovesick sigh. Marinette’s lip twitches into a scowl. She’s listened to this recording half a dozen times. “I’ve teamed up with Marinette again today and let’s just say; she’s a very bad actress. Or good, depending on how you see it.” He laughs. “So get this, she’s been acting. ACTING like she thinks I’m this super grand hero–which by the way, I am, no need to tell you that–and it’s kind of a bummer, really. Sure, I have fans, but the first few times I partnered with Marinette, she seemed to be my fan. Not ‘oh I love Ladybug and Chat Noir but mostly Ladybug!’ It was about me.”

He sighs before forcing out a laugh. “And yeah I know, it sounds narcissistic that I was excited over a fan that liked me more than Ladybug but you have to understand: Marinette doesn’t really talk to me. Not in civilian form. I’m worried she might hate me. In my normal life, she gives away her time and attention like it doesn’t cost her anything like she has all of it and then some to spare. And-“ He laughs again. “I know she doesn’t. She’s always running late for things or caught up in an Akuma attack or doing this or that. But when she’s with someone she’s there, nothing can make her move. And sure she talks about Ladybug but only when her friend Alya forces the issue. She’ll talk about me in a heartbeat.

“So I was glad, thinking she was mine. My-my fan, I mean. It turns out; she’s an Adrien fan. A BIG Adrien fan. I saw the hearts doodled on the posters.” Marinette can imagine his Cheshire grin and wants to smack it off his face. “She has no room for a poor stray like me.” He swoons. “Anyway, she dropped the act the moment I commented on her doodles. Who knew Marinette could be so sassy?” He laughs. “She reminds me a bit of My Lady with that attitude. I kind of like honest Marinette but I might ask her to pretend to be my fan, her swooning needs a bit of work.” He cackles before the recording abruptly moves to the next file.

Heavy breathing. Marinette grips the short fibers of her rug as tight as possible between his fingers. Chat curses from somewhere beneath her chaise. “Ah-“ He hisses. “Crap. No, wait, I shouldn’t curse but damn this stings.” He heaves a heavy breath. “I thought the magic prevents us from getting hurt. I thought this suit was practically bomb proof.” He hisses. Marinette can hear the sound of his baton sticking to rooftops and extending. He curses again. “Dad’s going to kill me. My Lady’s going to kill me. I shouldn’t have tried to do this on my own.” He whimpers.

The baton hits something metal; then there’s a grunt and crash, the tinkling of pottery breaking as Chat groans and hisses. “Ow.” He repeats over and over.

“Who’s there?” Marinette squeezes her eyes tight as she hears herself on the recording. “Chat?” She hesitates. “Chat!” Marinette can remember that night. Chat had been clutching his side “Oh my god, you’re bleeding. I thought the magic–”

“So did I.” Chat wheezed. Marinette remembers that day so many months ago. She pulled him through the trapdoor and resting him on her bed that he got blood all over her sheets, which she later explained as a ‘time of the month’ mishap to her maman. She bandaged him, brought him food and water and let him rest in her bed. She sat at the foot of it for the longest time, just watching over his pained sleeping form.

The following recordings are a series of highs and lows. There are moments he’s never been happier to be Chat Noir and moments he’s injured in some shape or form, crawling to her house.

“I’m not a real doctor you know.” She hears herself grumble in one of the recordings. It’s her only real complaint when he comes needing a field dressing; she can’t give him the proper care he needs.

“You’re purrfect, Princess. I’ll be the Cat’s Meow come morning; I just need a little glue holding me together until then.” Chat hums.

The next recording starts out quiet. Marinette knows it’s been months since his first injury and this one. If she strains her ears, she can hear the chatter of the streets and honking of cars below. She thinks she can hear Chat breathe. “Okay,” He says in a breath followed by the awkward scrambling sound of his baton being moved. There’s an ache in his voice, something painful that draws out the words slowly. “Tonight’s been,” He hesitates, “full of discoveries. I just found out some news from Plagg and something else.

“I guess I’ll start with the easiest bit: I like Marinette.” Marinette’s breath hitches in her throat again; she’s replayed this part too many times to count. “And I still love Ladybug. That’s complicated,” He scoffs, “all of this is complicated. She’s pretty, beautiful even, did I ever tell you that? And it’s not just physical, though that doesn’t hurt, she has a beautiful personality? Soul? She’s just all around beautiful. I’ve been visiting her for a while now: before patrol, after patrol, after attacks, even if I’m not injured. She’s always there, and we can talk about anything, which is a change from both my lives.” He sighs a little dreamily. “You should see her when we talk, her eyes lock onto me, and they don’t look away, and then I can’t look away. Her eyes have, like, a million shades of blue. How’s that possible?” He’s silent for a three count before he whispers, “I don’t know what to do.

“And then there’s what Plagg told me.” Chat groans, his voice slightly muffled, no doubt dragging a hand across his face in a moment Marinette is forced to imagine. “There’s a reason I’ve been getting hurt in the suit. It’s partially Hawkmoth’s fault, part Kwamii ‘nature of the beast,’ part my own stubbornness.

“I take bad luck. I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is. That’s okay; My Lady needs all the luck in the world to save Paris. I’m already pretty lucky outside the suit, a little extra bad luck won’t kill me,” He exhales sharply as a worried tone creeps in,“will it?” Another pause and he seems almost back to normal.

“Anyway, what with Hawkmoth akumatizing people like crazy lately- five in one day, who does that- My Lady’s been needing some extra luck to finish those battles, which means extra bad luck comes my way, which weakens the suit. Plagg said it doesn’t always happen; some Chat Noir’s never have to go through this, it just depends on how much we have to fight.” He sighs, and Marinette can imagine him running a clawed hand through his hair. She curls around herself even tighter because if he were beside her, she’d be hugging him and making stupid promises of never letting go.

“We have to find Hawkmoth,” Chat says, suddenly determined. “If I do that then the bad luck won’t affect as much. I can still be Chat Noir, Ladybug won’t be worried about me, and I can still be around Marinette. Sound like a plan? Great.”

The following logs are more professional, dates, times, and coordinates of places he checked for Hawkmoth’s lair. He mentions briefly if he’s been injured or if he’s visited Marinette.

“I think I know what home feels like.” Chat tells the recorder. He grunts occasionally, and Marinette knows he’s jumping across rooftops. The background noise is minimal, something she’s timed perfectly to the early morning. “I guess I’ve forgotten since my Mom disappeared. Damn, this is a beautiful morning, should I go back and wake her? I really want Marinette to see this.

“It’s, ah, December third, six thirty in the morning and the sunrise is amazing. I’ve, um, just left Marinette’s place,” He laughs awkwardly, and Marinette can just see him reaching to rub the back of his neck out of nervousness. “Last night I got injured more than usual.” His voice is a steadier, which tells her he’s stopped leaping around. “It was awful,” He admits, “And Marinette patched me up, but I wasn’t in any condition to leave so she let me sleep in her bed, like always. This time was different than always. There was the usual stuff; I kept the suit on because Plagg speeds up the healing, I slept on the right side of the bed, against the wall. I wasn’t sleeping, not really. I was in too much pain for that. So Marinette decides to crawl under the covers with me. She tells me stories of her time with Alya or helping her parents in the bakery, petting my head and holding my hand. She reminds me of my mom when I was sick. Mom used to lay in bed with me even though I was coughing up a storm. She was just there for me, like Marinette, and I realize,” He lets out a wistful sigh, “I haven’t felt this good in really long time.”

Another pause before he rushes out, “Also I purred sometime in the middle of that, so that’s…new. I guess it’s going to be a thing now…”

“Oh Kitten,” Marinette manages a smile, lifting her gaze high enough to see the glowing green baton beneath the chaise. She’ll have to move to get it, but she still can’t find the strength.

“December twenty-first,” Chat huffs. “I’ve been at this for hours, and there hasn’t been a single sighting of Ladybug. I’m tailing Juanita Million to see where she goes next, but there’s no point in attacking if Ladybug isn’t here to help fix everything. Hawkmoth needs to work on his puns: Juanita Million-One in a Million, how can he come up with something so terrible? And princess calls my puns bad.” He makes a couple of quiet jumps before continuing.

“Juanita Million is sort of like Reflecta. She’s changing everyone to look like crystal versions of herself. It’s kind of creepy, really. When she first started attacking she went on a super long villain monolog about how the boy she liked thought she was one of the guys? Or he couldn’t really see her? Or that she was really plain? I don’t know; if I’m honest, I was too busy avoiding her rays to pay attention. No way am I getting stuck in heels again.”

Marinette can’t help but giggle at that.

“Long evil rant short, she’s turning people into crystal reflections of her so she can she can shine bright like a diamond? Or that she’ll be the one to stand out? Again, my attention span was not there.”

“Chat!” Marinette hears her voice faintly over the recording. “Chat Noir! Over here!” She remembers waving at Chat from street level as he bounded from rooftop to rooftop. He was confused at first, seeing an akumatized victim, features faceted in crystal actively searching him out rather than hiding.

“Princess!” Chat yelps. “Princess, did you get caught?”

“What kind of dumb question is that, Chat?” Past Marinette grumbles. “I got transformed into glass, and now I’m constantly being blinded by light being reflected off of me.”

“Well, you sure do light up my life.”

“Chaaatt,” She groans. “I can’t decide if that pun is still better than Juanita Million.”

Chat scoffs. “It’s at least a few Kilowatts better.”

“Chat!”

“Yes, Princess?” He asks sweetly, Marinette hears her past self sigh.

“I don’t think Ladybug’s coming anytime soon; I’m worried she got hit in her civilian form-”

“Like you?”

“Like me.” Past Marinette confirms. “I did overhear Juanita saying only true love’s kiss can break the spell. It was something along the lines of, true love will recognize you in whatever form you’re in.”

“Hey, I’m de-lighted to say I recognized you immediately! That watt to count for something!”

“I’m going to be stuck in this form forever!” Past Marinette continues as if she never heard him. “I mean, what if Adrien doesn’t recognize me? And what? I’ll have to ask him? Without stuttering and flailing and going ‘uh-buh-good-Adrien-noon-after!’ It would be a miracle if I could even manage a ‘Kiss me, if you want to live!’ but that sounds way too Terminator and–”

“Can I act as his stand-in?” Chat asks. “I-I mean it’s worth a shot. I recognized you out of all the other victims, that’s worth something, right?”

“I–” She hesitates. “I don’t know. I guess? Just one little kiss?” 

“Princess,” Chat laughs, “I’m not some frog claiming to be a prince. I’ll have you know I am a cat of the highest pedigree!”

“You still seem like an alleycat to me.” She huffs.

“Meow-ch, Princess! That hurts! It’s just one kiss. If nothing happens then, no harm done, but when you do change back, the only thing you’ll be blinded by is my stunning beauty.”

“Kitty, don’t get full of yourself. It’s just a kiss. Let’s just get it over with, okay?”

There’s silence for what seems like a lifetime to Marinette. She remembers what happened. Kissing him while he wasn’t under Dark Cupids control was different. He was hesitant and unsure, unable to decide if he wanted a quick kiss as promised or something more. But there was electricity, Marinette felt it too, tingling down to her toes. She expected the world to shift beneath her, she tried to blame it on turning back but her eyes were closed, and she had no way of knowing if that was true. He seemed to be searching for something in her, and she had found herself searching too, holding him tight in an attempt to stay upright as his arms pulled her closer and closer.

“Oh,” Past Marinette is the first to break the kiss and the silence that follows. She is breathless and panting.

“Oh.” Chat Noir agrees. “Hey,” His voice cracks a little. “You’re back to your beautiful old self.” A pause Marinette remembers was filled with well-meaning gazes. “You should-uh-hide. Don’t want you turning back again. Who knows if-um- t-true love’s kiss works-uh- a second time.”

“R-right! I’ll, um, just go hide, then.” Pounding footsteps drifts away from the recorder.

“Crap!” Chat Noir hisses. “It’s still recording! Well, uh, I guess cat’s out of the bag. I kissed Marinette.” A pause, “Now how am I gonna explain that to Ladybug?”

Two entries pass, more of the same boring professionalism of previous entries, though there’s a clear lack of mention of whether or not he visited Marinette’s. She knows he didn’t. She waited up every night waiting for him to knock on her trapdoor.

“It’s um, it’s-it’s,” Chat sounds choked up. “It’s December twenty-fourth. It’s the day my Mom went missing. I don’t really remember how it happened and it really hasn’t been that long. She was just gone Christmas day. They assume she went missing the night before. My father’s already moping in front of her portrait. He’ll be there for hours. He’ll remember me some time after lunch tomorrow. That’s… okay, I think? People all have their own way of coping, and that’s my father’s. I just wish we could; I don’t know, cope together. Instead of losing one parent I feel like I’ve lost both and I know that’s not okay.” He sniffles and then heaves a heavy breath. “I’m, I’m going to go patrol. Hawkmoth attacked with four Akuma’s yesterday, and I didn’t have time to visit Marinette. Um, well, who knows what he’s planning. He might akumatize someone again over Christmas, and no one should have a miserable holiday.” He sighs and then mutters, “Even me.”

“Okay,” Chat lets out a hurried whisper as the next recording begins. “Okay, okay, okay. It’s um, damn, what is it again? Oh! It’s Christmas day!” He cheers. “And, I might be skinned alive by my father any minute, and that’s fine. One of my nine lives can handle it.” He laughs. “Still terrified though, that’s why I’m running back now. It’s – ah – early afternoon. I spent the night at Marinette’s place, again. Didn’t mean to, she was on her balcony last night, and she looked so cute, and I wanted to hash out what happened with Juanita Million, and then we talked and talked and oh! She gave me a Christmas present! It’s a green scarf, and it’s so soft and warm. And of course, I forgot to get her a Christmas gift, so I panicked and kissed her. That went on for a while…” He breathes. “We stayed up playing board games after that, let me just say: Princess is a sore loser. Meow-ch. Needless to say, this valiant knight calmed her down with a series of kisses. It was downright heroic of me to do so. Anyway, Mr. Dupain finds us in the morning, both of us having fallen asleep in the middle of a card game and invited me for breakfast. It was paw-some. It was like being part of a family. Mrs. Dupain-Cheng kept feeding me, Marinette goaded her Dad into a round of Ultimate Mecha Strike III. It was great. I lost track of time, and well, here I am, trying to make it back to my room before Father realizes I’m gone. Maybe I can sneak back to Marinette’s later…”

Marinette’s trapdoor creaks open, causing her gaze to drift from the glowing paw to the pale hand flipping the door to the floor. A blonde mop of messy hair slowly comes into view followed by the biggest, dorkiest, and darkest sunglasses she’s ever seen. Maman must have bought those for a costume contest because they’re unmistakably feminine and does not belong to its current wearer.

Chat Noir takes slow steps up the stairs to her room, dressed in Tom’s oversized sweater and pants, he looks like a kitten bundled in blankets. Marinette can see the bruises on his cheeks, the cut on his forehead and the bandages peeking out of his collar. A small little black cat sits on his shoulder, nuzzling into the dark blue sweater.

“January eleventh,” Past Chat’s voice echoes through the room, causing current Chat to stiffen on his way up. “Marinette and I are dating now. I think. I did ask her, but she didn’t really give me a response. All she said is that it’d be hard with me in costume all the time. But then we made out for an hour, so I think we’re okay.” Marinette stares at present Chat, feeling her cheeks warm. “And I think it has to be this way for a while. I don’t think Ladybug will appreciate me revealing my identity to a civilian when we don’t even know each other. Marinette probably would have said yes to my alter ego, but I can’t justify it when she has all those Adrien posters on her wall. She has a crush on a celebrity, a mask of some kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m the one who’s honest with her, and I’m glad she likes me, the real me.”

Present Chat crawls on his knees, closing the trap door before joining her on the rug, lying far enough away that only their fingers touch.

“And yeah,” He huffs. “The irony is not lost on me. I wear a mask too. When the time comes to know who I am, Marinette will already know. No matter the name behind it, I’m still her kitten.” Past Chat Noir giggles as current Chat beams fondly. “She calls me kitten,” They say together. “Isn’t that cute?”

Marinette stares at Chat, feeling his gaze but unable to see his radiant green eyes behind those bug-eyed sunglasses. They skew to the side as he rests his head on the floor, his messy hair falling in waves with gravity.

“Shit,” Chat’s recorded curse causes Marinette’s eyes to widen. “Four Akumas in one day again. It’s, ah, n-nearly two in the morning. And it’s, it’s pretty bad. Before Hawkmoth was sending quantity over quality but it looks like he’s managed to get both this time around. I-crap-I was hit clear across the city from the last attack.” His teeth chatter between heavy breaths. “Crashed through two bridges before hitting a boat and falling into the Seine. The Seine, in the middle of winter, how cruel could this Akuma get? Anyway, the Ladybug cure came by maybe ten minutes ago? I don’t know, it’s fuzzy. Everything fuzzy. I remember they repaired the bridge and the boat but just skipped right over me. And that’s, I don’t know, whatever? You’d think a Ladybug would help a stray cat.” He coughs and breathes a wet rattling breath. “Oh man that hurts. I don’t know if I can even see straight. I hope Plagg’s driving this suit, I hope he goes to Marinette. I can’t,” He chokes on a breath, Marinette can hear the blatant pain. “I can’t just disappear on her. I can’t.” He whimpers.

Marinette scrambles for the baton and shuts it tight before past Chat can say another word. She knows there are a few more recordings after that, but she can’t bring herself to listen to them just yet. They’re too close to the present, too close to how Chat looks right now. She knows the most recent one is what she stopped yesterday when he collapsed on her rooftop on the verge of death.

Yesterday was awful. She can still remember the blood staining the terrace, much more than she thought a person could hold. Marinette remembers being frantic, that she clumsily dressed most of his wounds. When Chat passed out, Marinette transformed into Ladybug hoping to give him a miracle; and it worked, somehow, though she’s still not sure how. He was still in bad shape, but his wounds were closed enough that she could call for help from her Papa and Maman to bring Chat inside and treat him properly.

She had to explain why Chat was on her rooftop. Why he kept visiting, why he was getting hurt, and why he came to her of all people. Some questions she answered truthfully; the others she left unanswered, her distress the only thing they need to know.

“You’re out of your suit.” Marinette whispers, clutching the baton tightly to her chest. How can the baton still be here when his suit isn’t? Will it disappear the moment he touches it? She doesn’t want it to disappear; she needs to know what happens next, even though she’s afraid to find out.

“Your parents needed me out of the suit to patch up everything. I’ll change back soon,” Chat promises. “I’m just giving Plagg a little breather. He’s been trying to heal me all day.”

“And now I’m tired and starving.” The little black kwamii flops in Chat’s hair, raising a paw to his forehead. “Woe is me; I’ll never fix Ad-Chat Noir like this. There’s no Camembert in the entire building. I’m too weak to move!”

“Plagg!” Chat warns. “The Dupain-Chengs are nice enough to let us stay in their home. You could be more grateful.”

“I’d be more grateful if I had some cheese.” Plagg grumbles.

“You had some Brie. Besides, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng already said she’d get you some Camembert. It takes a bit to get to the store, so stop complaining.”

Marinette can’t help but giggle. Plagg abruptly lifts himself from Chat’s hair and narrows his eyes at her. “Something funny, Pinky?”

“Nothing,” She tries to suppress a giggle. “You’re, um, just like siblings. I, I don’t have any of my own but Alya and the twins, they’re like that all the time. You guys really like each other, huh?”

“This lovesick kitten?” Plagg makes a gagging noise. “It’s a miracle I even let him put on the ring.”

“Hey!” Chat protests.

“You gonna talk about the audio journal or what?” Plagg ignores Chat’s protest and floats away, no doubt to where Tikki’s hiding. He says this on purpose, Marinette thinks, to steal away time with the other Kwami and layer the young heroes in thick tension.

She stares at the obnoxious sunglasses, feeling his firm gaze. She doesn’t know where to start. She wants to tell him her identity, wants to promise she’ll stop turning into Ladybug so he can keep his luck. But that’s a stupid argument waiting to happen, she doesn’t want to give up being Ladybug, and he definitely won’t let her.

Marinette wants to lecture him about being reckless when he knows he’ll get hurt. Then again, Ladybug has forced those moments more than a few times.

She wants to hold him, but he’s hurt.

She wants to kiss him, but his lips are split in a few places.

Marinette wants to tell him she loves him but he might not believe her. Not with the adrenaline high of him almost dying and the Adrien pictures she still hasn’t taken down. Not with Tikki hiding somewhere nearby.

“I’m scared,” Those two words slip past as tears break free. “Chat,” Marinette whispers. “Chat,” She sobs. “How can – and you – please don’t – I mean, just be – ”

Marinette doesn’t know what to say.

“Hey,” He whispers, calm and soothing as ever. “I’m here, see?” He reaches out, his fingers brushing her cheek. Oh. She’s never touched his bare hand before. She expects claws and cool material, not manicured nails and feverish skin. “We’re okay.”

“No, you’re not.” She chokes out thickly, rubbing furiously at her tears.

“I’m a superhero,” He says it like that’s supposed to assure her. “We all come with tragic backstories, it’s a membership fee.” Marinette scoffs. 

“I agreed to this life, Princess.” He tells her. “I want to do this.”

“I want you to stay with me.” She sobs.

“I am with you.” Chat promises. “There’s nothing scary in that baton, Marinette. Everything that’s on there is gone. It’s over. I’m here right now.” He shifts, hissing as it aggravates something as he pulls Marinette into his arms. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s plenty to worry about, Chat! Do you even hear yourself?”

“No, I don’t.” He admits quietly. “I make those entries, and that’s that.”

“Chat,” Marinette starts and stops as Chat holds her tight, burying his nose into her neck and purring, his last ditch effort to soothe away any pain they both feel.

“Play it, Princess.” He whispers into her back between purrs. “We’ll get through this together.”

A Blind Path Home, part 3

Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: I obviously took some liberties with the storyline, but I tried keeping it as true as possible to the canon history. No beta used this time around, so excuse my mistakes.

Summary: It started with a blind date. A date you had skipped out on, but fate had led you right to the man you stood up. Steve Rogers, a man small in stature but big in heart. A chance meeting set everything in motion, but decades later when he is unfrozen, he has been told you have died. But when a mission to retrieve Hydra plans turned up some interesting information, Steve’s left to wonder whether you are still alive. Or is this all just false hope?

Masterlist

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coulsonlives6272  asked:

... twinsuns blanket cuddle? Please?

“I am here for you.” Ben stared at his brother, sulfuric yellow glaring at him, the younglings hiding behind the councilors chairs as Ben raised his hands. “Anakin please, I’ve always been here for you. Don’t do this…” He didn’t reach for his own saber. “Don’t let him win Anakin.” He pleaded, voice quiet.

“Anakin does not exist. Only Vader does.” The thing wearing his brothers face sneered, eyes flashing before the red blade buried itself between Ben’s ribs.

In the world of the waking Ben sat up in bed, sharp breaths drawn in to fill his lungs with air as he stared into the darkness of the tent.

“Ben?” A sleepy voice mumbled before the light turned on, Anakin moving out of his bunk and to his brother’s bedside as he took in the clammy skin and shaky breaths. “Ben what happened?”

“…I was dreaming.” The other whispered, shivering faintly before grasping his brothers cheeks and looking at him, green eyes looking at blue for what felt like hours. “…But it was just a dream.” He swallowed and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the others shoulder. “Just a dream…” He repeated.

“Must have been one hell of a dream if it scared you like this.” Anakin wrapped his arms around his twin, rubbing the others back slowly.

“…It was.”

“You’re not going to tell me are you.” Anakin offered in a resigned tone.

“No.” Ben tucked his face into the others neck.

“Hmm, figured as much.” Anakin sighed then shifted, wrapping his arms under his brother and picking him up.

“Ack! Anakin?!”

“I saw an outcropping while we were making camp, reminded me of the rooftops back on Tatooine. If we bring the blanket…” He let the words trail and smiled when Ben wrapped his blanket around himself.

Carefully shifting the other to make sure he had a good grip, Anakin lifted his brother from the bunk and headed out, giving the troopers on guard a nod before moving towards the outcropping.

Quietly settling down together, Ben wrapped the blanket around the two of them, twins leaning against each other with the light of the camp in their back and the moons overhead as they stared up into the sky.

“…Stars kind of reminds me of Tatooine here.” Ben whispered, slowly curling his flesh fingers with Anakin’s.

Humming in agreement, Anakin stared at the twinkling lights overhead. “Think mom’s alright?”

“Yah.”

The two fell quiet for a bit, Anakin letting his head drop against the others copper hair. “Qui-Gon says you should be completing your last trial. You’ll be a knight soon too.” He whispered.

“…That’s a scary thought.” Ben curled a bit closer to the others warmth.

“It is. I don’t like the idea of you being alone.” The blond whispered again.

“That’s not what scares me. And I’m never alone Anakin, I have you.” Ben laughed quietly.

“Then what scares you?” Anakin blinked.

“…Being closer to the futures that turns red. That’s what scares me.”

Anakin hitched the blanket more up Ben’s shoulders at that, feeling the tremble go through his brother that he didn’t think had anything to do with coldness. “I hate it when you talk in riddles.”

“That’s why I do it brother dear.”

“Bah.” Anakin was grinning though, giving the others delicate hand a little squeeze.

“So…Cody?”

“He’s nice.”

“Nice or like I find Padme nice?” The other teased faintly.

“Like you find Padme nice.” Ben willingly confessed much to Anakin’s shock when he squeezed down on the hand in his grasp a bit tighter then intended before quickly easing his grip at Ben’s pained little hiss.

“You’re the one who told me not to see her.”

“I told you not to marry her. I never told you not to find comfort.” The younger murmured, shifting enough to look at Anakin.

“…You are all kinds of confusing Ben.” Anakin snorted.

“We all need comfort now Anakin. Where we find them…that’s up to us. But you need to remember that…that you have to be able to let go of her, and so do I have to remember that I have to be able to let him go. Death is a natural circle of life.” Ben curled against his brother. “None of us will live forever, nor should we. That’s what makes all so…special.”

“…You’re pretty special, yes.”

“I don’t think you mean that in a nice way.”

“I don’t you loon.”

“Oi. I can shove you off this outcropping.”

“No you can’t.”

“Can too.”

“Nope but I can tickle you.”

“You wouldn’t dare Anakiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin! AH! ANAKIN!”

From the camp Qui-Gon shook his head and smiled a bit while Cody and Rex traded surprised looks as the two Jedi wrestled each other near the outcropping, Ben’s laugh bouncing of the tents joined with Anakin’s. “Well at least they’re having fun.” Qui-Gon muttered.

Not Subtle

Also on AO3
This directly follows “Short Leash” and precedes “Staffing Issues


“I’m so sorry,” Marinette said, repeating herself for the eighth or ninth time as they descended her ladder.  He’d lost count.  "I really should have charged my camera over night.“

"It’s okay, really,” he insisted.  Today’s photo shoot, featuring the Date Suit for all genders, was a bust when her battery died a few photos in.  It was a sunny day, so they’d gone to a rooftop a few blocks away.  "These things happen.“  She didn’t know the half of it, and unfortunately, he couldn’t tell her.

She sighed, hanging her jacket back up.  "I just feel like I should be more respectful of your time, Chat.  You don’t get a lot of daylight free time for this, and we’ve seen what my camera does for night shoots.”

He chuckled.  Their first attempt at this process had yielded washed out Chat Noir with freaky glowing eyes and insufficient detail on the clothes.  "I have some ideas to deal with that.“  He shrugged.  "Honestly, it was nice to get away from my life for a while today.  And like I said earlier, I enjoy spending time with you.”

“Even when Maman is being nosy and embarrassing?’ she asked.

He grinned.  "Even then.  It’s nice she cares about you.”

Marinette fixed him with an intent stare and he wondered what he’d done wrong.  "Doesn’t your family care about you?“  She knew his father was overbearing, but that was it.

"My mom’s been gone for years, presumed dead,” he said quietly.  "My father is as cuddly as a velociraptor, and I’m pretty sure I’m just an asset to him.“

She looked furious.  "I want to punch your father.”

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Remember Everything

Based on this post

It’s a bit short, but I hope you guys like it.


Adrien yawned and stretched as he woke up from a cat nap before going out to patrol the city. Hey, how else was he supposed to be able to protect Paris and still get up for school the next day? Cat naps are a blessing. He decided to check over the Ladyblog one last time before heading out, seeing as how he lived near the Eiffel Tower anyway, he could afford to laze around a bit.

On the front page of the blog was a photo taken earlier that day, taken of Ladybug and Cat Noir. “This is thanks to our dedicated Ladyblog reader, LadyxCat! She was able to get a shot of a Ladynoir kiss from up close thanks to her amazing camera!” the caption read. Adrien chuckled at the photo, obviously it was photo shopped. If that really happened, he would have surely remembered it.

“Time to head out…” he said before transforming.


Ladybug sat beside the tower, looking at Cat, unamused, as he lowered himself from above to meet face to face with her. “What are you doing?” she asked “I saw something on the Ladyblog…why don’t we kiss for real?” Cat Noir said, leaning forward. Ladybug’s face turned bright pink “I-I thought you didn’t remember that!” she said “What?” he asked confused “the kiss! When I asked you about it afterwards you…you acted as if you didn’t know what I was talking about!” she said.

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anonymous asked:

It's funny how certain antis act like sakura is traumatized by that genjetsu sasuke put her in,but when she woke up she was mentally and emotionally fine.This girl is a NINJA,it's actually insulting that sakura "fans" think something like that would break her.She's stronger than that.She's not some civilian little,fragile,girl she's been through worse,give her some credit.(sasuke did not emotionally damage her okay)Plus they act like he did that to be cruel,it was so she wouldn't get hurt.

Well yeah Sakura certainly wasn’t traumatised by it, but I think the issue most people have with that scene was that they think it was another example if Sasuke’s “abuse”, when really, that term can’t be applied due to the context.

Sasuke’s actions were definitely extreme, but they were just an extreme method of ensuring that a repeat of what happened at the hospital rooftop wouldn’t occur, because Sasuke knew how stubborn Sakura is - he knew that she would definitely interfere in their battle again, but that wasn’t an option this time. Naruto and Sasuke had to settle the score once and for all.

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Ryan doesn't like to talk about his life before the crew and neither does Ray but pent up emotions hurt. Maybe it's time to talk... or scream.

Okay, I’m gonna be honest, this one has been on my mind since you sent it to me. Like I totally hardcore am in love with this one, so I thank you so much for sending it to me Anon:

Ryan’s the only one out at this time of night, shoulders hunched, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He’s not sure why he decided to go for a walk this late, but there’s only so many infomercials he can watch before he wants to rip his hair out. Walking seemed like the lesser of the two evils, even if Los Santos is eerily quiet that night.

Ryan’s life has never been quiet. He spent the first sixteen years of it in and out of foster homes, group homes, and juvenile detention centers. He’s used to loud and crazy, and he practically thrives on chaos. So, when he gets a moment of actual silence, he tries his hardest to preoccupy his mind before his past catches up to him, but sometimes he’s too late.

Tonight is one of those nights.

He doesn’t know why, but his parents have been on his mind all day. He hasn’t thought about them in years, and even then it had been a passing thought. It’s kind of hard to think about someone he doesn’t know; his mother leaving him at the hospital two weeks after giving birth to him and his father fucking off the moment he found out he was going to be a father.

When he’d been younger, no older than four or five, he used to dream about his mother showing up at his home of the week and taking him off to some random house in the country. In his dreams, they raised cattle (and possibly some chickens), and they were happy and together, but then he’d wake up and remember he was alone.

Other times, he’d dream about tracking his father down and making him pay for abandoning him, but unlike the dreams about his mother, these followed him into adulthood.

Ryan’s life has always been a bit of a cliche. Orphan boy gets abandoned by his parents, doesn’t get adopted, and decides to take up a life of crime. It’s a regular Lifetime movie. Granted, if his life ever became a Lifetime movie he’s going to have a serious talk with the writer of that script. Mainly a long drawn out interrogation in which he demands to know how exactly this person procured information about his life.

Before Geoff hired him, he’d done a lot of freelance work. Different crews, different people, different jobs; anything to distract him from long silences. It’s hard to get trapped in his own head when he’s going about 120 down the streets of Los Santos while cops try their hardest to blow out his tires. He’s been a wheel man, a hit man, a brawler, a body guard; he’s been accused of being a loose canon more often than is healthy. He’s killed, maimed, tortured. He’s been kidnapped, arrested, on death’s door more times than anyone has a right to be, but he’s still around.

He’s not invincible, no one is invincible, and once in a while he has that startling realization that he’s living on borrowed time, but they’re all living on borrowed time. Criminals come with an expiration date, every one of them, it’s just a matter of when exactly his would catch up to him.

Ryan stops walking, looking up at the building he had ended up at, snorting softly. He’s not surprised his feet brought him here, in fact he’d be more surprised if he had ended up somewhere completely different. It’s become a regular thing for him on nights like these, finding himself outside of Ray’s apartment.

He debates whether he should keep walking or go inside, the last thing he wants is to wake Ray up, but before he can continue on his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks at the screen, opening the new text message.

your stalking skills need work rye get up here before the neighbors call the cops

Ryan wants to send something snarky back, perhaps something about the lack of punctuation in Ray’s message, but he knows Ray will just send him back a bunch of random emojis so he refrains, putting his phone back in his pocket.

He crosses the street, heading up the steps, pulling the door open. He takes the elevator up to the fifth floor, picking at a hangnail. When the doors open, he steps off the elevator car and walks down the hall to Ray’s apartment.

The door is ajar and when Ryan pushes it open a Diet Coke is shoved in his face. He takes it, offering Ray a small smile, and says, “If you keep this up, I might have to marry you.”

“You couldn’t handle all this awesome,” Ray retorts gesturing to himself. He walks away from Ryan, heading towards his TV, turning off the game he had paused. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” Ryan confesses, putting the unopened Diet Coke on the counter. “What about you? You having trouble sleeping, too?”

“Something like that.” Ray’s always been hard to read. It used to bug Ryan endlessly, trying to see past his easy going attitude to gauge how he’s really feeling, but now it’s just another part of Ray that he finds a little endearing.

“You wanna talk about it?” Ray asks curiously, leaning against the back of his couch, crossing his arms.

“Not really. Do you?” Ryan’s not the most chatty person in Fake AH, something he and Ray have in common, but he’s willing to listen.

“Not really.”

Which is kind of hard when Ray’s not willing to talk, but what did Ryan expect? Neither one have been really open about their feelings, did he really think Ray would start spilling his darkest secrets just because Ryan asked? It’s not like he did when Ray asked. He has to face facts, he’s a heavily guarded person who is friends with an equally heavily guarded person. Talking about whatever it is is never going to be a big part of their relationship.

An idea suddenly creeps up on Ryan and he wonders why he never thought about doing it before. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he says and turns on his heel, heading out of Ray’s apartment.

“Where are we going?” Ray asks, hurrying to catch up, barely taking the time to shut his door.

Ryan doesn’t answer, too preoccupied with his plan. He finds what he’s looking for after a few minutes, yanking the door open, and turns to face Ray. He grabs his shoulders, giving him a quick smile, and asks, “Do you trust me?”

“If I say no are you gonna throw me off the roof?” Ray replies sarcastically but returns the smile. Ryan snorts, letting him go, and turns back towards the roof access door, heading up the stairs.

It’s breezy outside and cold, and Ryan immediately regrets this plan, but he’s committed. He walks towards the ledge, looking down at the street below, and he hears Ray say, “Uh, you’re not…” he trails off. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ryan responds turning to look at him. “I know we don’t talk about our pasts for a reason. We’re not like the others, and I doubt we’ll ever be, but maybe this will help.” He gestures to the city behind him, hoping Ray gets it, but knowing he’s not making enough sense for anyone to get it.

“The city?”

Ryan puts his back to Ray, takes a step back, and screams into the night air. “FUCK YOU!” His words echo back at him and he takes a deep breath and yells again, “FUCK YOU!”

He’s not sure who exactly he’s yelling at; maybe it’s his father, perhaps his mother, maybe it’s his five-year-old self deluding himself into thinking he could ever have a normal childhood, but it feels good. It feels great.

Ryan feels their shoulders brush as Ray moves to stand next to him, and suddenly they’re just two boys standing on a rooftop screaming at the top of their lungs. It’s not an ideal solution and their pasts will still be lingering in the back of their minds come morning, but for tonight, for right now, they’re just Ryan and Ray.

And that has to count for something.

Okay, I listened to this song on repeat while writing this. And thanks again for this prompt.

We can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.
But tonight let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows
lookin’ like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.
Let go.
Tonight, poets, turn your ridiculous wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in your pencil tips
can’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts
move forward
and repeat after me with your heart:
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.
Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow
I’m new to this,
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop
without jumping.
I have realized that the moon
did not have to be full for us to love it,
that we are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it,
that if my heart
really broke
every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.
But hearts don’t break, y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m havin’ a fantastic time.
—  We were emergencies by Buddy Wakefield

anonymous asked:

Hi! I was wondering if you have any advice about writing sex scenes? I'm currently writing a destiel superhero au. It's nothing special and it's very rough around the edges, but I'm having fun writing it. Thing is, i'm having a hard time with the sex scenes. So far in my drafts they're just implied, or the actual act is not detailed. I'm afraid that'll bore people or turn them off my story. I feel like ppl read fanfic to get things they're not getting in the show, and I can't give that.

So many people have sung this from the rooftops, but it always bears repeating: YOU DO NOT NEED TO WRITE SEX SCENES TO WRITE A FANTASTIC FIC!

If you don’t want to write sex scenes, or if they feel forced or awkward, you don’t need to write them.

I read a lot of T rated fic that is absolutely fantastic, with either extremely vaguely described or merely implied sex.

It’s also important to remember that like any scene in a story, if it’s not serving your story, it shouldn’t be there anyway. Is there a way to convey the same interpersonal and emotional reactions you were writing a sex scene to put the characters through, but without explicitly describing the sex?

If you’re not comfortable writing it, or if you’re only writing it because you feel it’s required, then don’t write it. 

If it’s important to your character development for them to have sex, there’s so many ways you can handle it in-story. There’s always the “fade to black” (but please if you write a fade to black do not tag it as “mature” or “explicit,” because that’s the whole point… the mature and explicit bits got cut), where you set the scene to the point we can all guess what they’re doing when the scene cuts.

There’s the sensually described (yet metaphorically described rather than technically described) scene, that focuses on what the characters are experiencing– tell us their feelings in an somewhat purple and vaguely described fashion that still conveys the emotional content of the scene without graphically describing what everyone’s bits and pieces are up to. (this is at the upper end of the T rated spectrum and veering into the M rated version)

There’s a sliding scale between the previous sensual scene, a few paragraphs of emotional content, escalating all the way up to explicitly detailed blow by blow (pffft) accounts of everything everyone’s doing and experiencing at all times and in graphic detail (the very hard E end of the spectrum).

You don’t have to write some specific formula of actions and events in order to keep readers entertained and interested. What might leave readers feeling disappointed is if you tag the story Explicit, but then do a fade to black or a vaguely described scene. Tag appropriately, and no one will feel cheated going in. :)

(Also I enjoy superhero AU’s, so let me know when you’re posting it, whether or not you decide to write in the sexytimes. :P)

anonymous asked:

Can we get a blurb where you are about to go public for the first time with Harry but is having anxiety about it?

*Thanks for the request, and a huge thank you, as always, to @little-black-dress-24, my writing partner, for her input and ideas.  My writing is always better when she’s involved.

Red Carpet 

You’ve been standing in front of the full-length mirror for at least ten minutes, turning this way and that, smoothing your hand over your stomach.  Three weeks ago, you had made the rounds of designers, trying to find the perfect dress for tonight’s red carpet event.  This dress stood out to you.  It was amazing and gorgeous.  

The dusty pink Christian Dior dress has a bodice of lace with lace sleeves, and the gown is a diaphanous fabric that trails over your legs to the floor.  You had practiced walking in the dress for hours over the last week while wearing heels. The last thing you wanted was to trip and embarrass Harry tonight.  

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anonymous asked:

hey, i'm a bee lover and biology student, i've been fascinated with bees since childhood and i always dreamed of being a beekeeper and it's still something i hope to achieve. I'm not interested in making money at all, i just want to study bees and take care of them, but i live in a city and i clearly can not keep hives in my apartment or park, but i'd still like to learn about beekeeping. Do you maybe have any advice on how can i get myself involved in beekeeping while living in a city?

If you are allowed a space on your building rooftop I would ask your property owner if you could put one or two small hives there. Just repeat the words small and maybe include “out of the way” and other convinience terms.
If you cannot have your own hives in any way, you might want to track down a local beekeepers association and see if you can help out with one of them. There are usually group all across every state, so it shouldnt bee too hard to find one. A quick online search is usually enough to locate a few.

I hope this helped! If you have any other questions just ask~ ^^

Listen up, guys. Everyone has to make sure to remain calm. I repeat, remain calm. I just found out there’s an outdoor rooftop movie theater. I don’t know if it’s common knowledge or not but they have cool movies they play. And apparently wireless headphones. It’s like a silent movie instead of a silent disco. Anyone wanna see Rogue One with me? Or Back To The Future?

2

Imagine your first encounter with Castiel. You’re Dean’s girlfriend, and you want answers.


Characters: Castiel, Reader, mention of Dean

Word Count: 740

A/N: SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge for the one the only @one-shots-supernatural & I’ll be getting back to Celebration Requests ONLY on Friday, hopefully! Please be patient with me, I’m a busy lady!

Prompt: “Please, point your gun at me if it helps you relax.”


You were standing outside the barn while Bobby and Dean summoned whatever burned out Pamela’s eyes at the seance a few evenings ago. Pamela had called the monster Castiel as she continued to demand that he show her his face. The imagine of her burned out eyes was still searing in your mind. 

You didn’t know how long Bobby and Dean’s ritual would take, so you sat and waited. Dean had insisted that you not be present for the ritual after what happened with Pamela. You argued, but you didn’t win. So there you were, sitting outside the barn, alone. The man you loved not allowing you be in harms way to stand by him. 

“Dean,” you heard a low, rough voice call out. Sharp and clear. You slowly turned the gun over in your hand as you gazed around looking for whoever had said Dean’s name. “Dean,” the voice said again, more insistent, louder this time. You slowly pulled back the hammer of your pistol, readying yourself for whatever was coming. 

“You can hear me.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact. Whoever was calling Dean’s name hadn’t expected you to hear them.

“Yeah, I can hear you, you son of a bitch, so come out!” you shouted to the man you couldn’t see.

Suddenly you felt a warm breath on the back of your neck that made your hair stand on end. You took a deep breath as you started to turn around. “Please, point your gun at me if it helps you relax,” the voice said. 

You spun around quickly, aiming your gun at the voice, ready to fire without hesitation. Then you saw the man the voice belonged to. He couldn’t have been much older than Dean. Three or four years older, maybe. He had black disheveled hair, his blue tie loosened hastily, a grim expression on his face. His eyes were narrowed at you in concentration. 

Your mouth hung open as you stared at the man. He was not what you expected to see. “That gun won’t do you any good against me, however. So you’re pointing it at me in vain.” You fired off three shots in rapid succession, all aimed at the man’s chest. It didn’t phase him. He didn’t bleed. 

“Castiel?” you breathed, getting the feeling that the demon blade tucked in the back of your jeans would be of no use to you either. “What are you?”

“Yes. I am the one who gripped Dean tight and raised him from Perdition. I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“Not possible,” you muttered. Just then a light flashed and Castiel appeared to have giant black wings behind him. Your hand flew to your mouth to cover the gasp that fell from your lips. You looked around and half expected Dean or Bobby to have come out of the barn by now, but they had not. 

“Pamela,” you whispered almost in a whisper.

“I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be,” he hesitated briefly before continuing, ”overwhelming for humans. So can my voice. I have tried to communicate with Dean. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought he would be one of them, I was wrong. It turns out the power was radiating from you.”

“But how?” you asked as you finally dropped the gun to your side in resignation.

“How?” Castiel repeated, looking at you with a furrowed brow, irritated.

“How did you get Dean out of hell? How the hell can I perceive your true visage, whatever the hell that means. Why me?” you fired. 

“I don’t have time for that now,” he replied gruffly. 

You huffed in frustration. 

“In fact, Dean’s ritual is pulling me to him. I must go. I need to explain this to him. I need him to understand,” he said turning to walk into the barn, the wind picking up and the tin panels on the rooftop flapping carelessly as if they would fly away at any moment.

“Wait!” you yelled over the wind. You needed more answers, you couldn’t just let him go. Suddenly, Castiel was right in front of you before you could blink. He placed two fingers on your forehead and everything went black as you fell into his arms, and he laid you gently on the ground where you would awake moments later, after he appeared to Dean. 

Forever Tags below 

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An analysis on Kanae/Karren’s gender

Ever since Chapter 52 I wanted to make a post about this subject, but I wanted to wait and see if any more info would come out and with the production of Chapter 57, I think we have about all we can get on the matter.
Please bear with me because this is going to be kind of a long post.

Also take everything in this post as you will, the opinions expressed here are simply a production of my own interpretations of Ishida’s writing and I am no way trying to force everyone to share my views. If you agree with me, that’s great. If not, that’s okay too. I can understand and respect everyone’s different points of view, but for now this is my own assessment.

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anonymous asked:

Jason trying to get through an alleyway that is occupied by a vicious dog and having a little luck until the dog decides not to trust him in his space. So then Jason gets stuck in the middle of the alley having a standoff with the dog. Damian in his robin costume spots this from a couple rooftops away and swings down to see what's going on, makes fun of Jason, then walks over and pets the dog who just melts under his fingertips, tongue hanging out of mouth and legs flailing!

ohmygod i love this


The sight was pathetic, really. Damian’s lips quirked, amusement visible in his expression as he raced forward, jumping across an alley and landing in a sprint. He repeated the action, gliding easily across another alley before perching himself on the edge of the roof, crouching down and tilting his head so he could get a better view of the pathetic scene beneath him.

“Come on, little guy. Just let me pass,” Jason - the goddamn Red Hood - pleaded, hands raised in surrender as he stood in the corner of the dead end alleyway. His posture was tense, like he was afraid the growling hound would attack. If he were smart, Damian thought to himself, Jason would have noticed the dog’s behavior was from the fear visible in the creature’s posture.

The dog growled again, hair bristling as his tail pressed between his legs. The hound’s ears went flat against his head as he shook gently. Damian sighed, and then gently scaled down the fire escape, careful not to spook the creature when he landed softly to the side. He ignored Jason’s gaze when it landed on him, brushing the questioning look as Robin crouched down and held a hand out to the dog.

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The Only Rose on Marigold Street – Jumin/MC Angst Fanfic (1/3)

Part 2

Here’s your special something to celebrate the 500+ followers. This fanfic follows Jumin’s route; I advise not to read it if you haven’t played it yet. I have used my character’s name (Sasha) for this. More below the cut. PG13.

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