but apparently he was more okay with it than i suspected

anonymous asked:

pls expand on your ridiculous experiences during one semester at a fake college

okay I got a few asks about this so let me see what I can remember right now. These might not all be in chronological order

- At orientation, they were talking about the reservation near campus and all these pretty sites and this kid in the back of the auditorium goes “So uhh…heard this place might be built over a Native American burial ground?”

- The speaker: “…Let’s not think about that, okay?”

- The freshman were on campus alone for like a week and a half (other than the RA’s) before the other students and I just. The parties. Were out of control. An ambulance was called basically every night.

- I walked into the bathroom the first night there to find a girl literally dying because someone slipped something in her drink and she was having a Very Bad Reaction

- Sting- you know, the singer- ‘s son lived in my residence hall. This boy almost accidentally killed me on three separate occasions (while I was just trying to do my laundry)

- I told my family about this at Thanksgiving. Everyone in the room advised me to seduce him

- I ate breakfast in the dining hall exactly once. I got scrambled eggs. I noticed no one had brought out ketchup with the condiments and politely asked about it. I received glares from at least ten different people. Apparently people there don’t believe in ketchup on eggs.

- There were these two boys in my English class known as “The Lumbard Guys”. They didn’t live in my residence hall, but they would come over almost every night, start a party, and destroy part of the basement.

- At orientation this one kid got mad and set his shoe on fire to prove a point

- Also at orientation like??? My roommate disappeared???? And I never saw her again???

- Listen like…this campus just looked like the perfect setting for a horror film, but none of the people from the area got that. They all thought I was crazy until some comic from Comedy Central did a stand up act and said “Why the hell is this campus so creepy? I feel like I’m gonna leave here with someone else wearing my face!”. I felt way too validated.

- ALL OF MY CLASSES WERE SO FAKE

- My “math” class was actually a disguised home ec. course???? All we had were word problems that were incredibly detailed recipes or instructions on how to fix things. The teacher, who I swear to GOD was actually my Mr-Rogers-Wannabe guidance counselor from high school in disguise, spent more time trying to come up with names and backstories for the models in the text book than actually trying to teach

- I had to take a class called “first year seminar” because neither of my parents went to college. It was supposed to be teaching you about how the school works and stuff but SUPRISE BITCH WE’RE JUST GONNA YELL ABOUT RACISM AND PRIVELGE FOR AN HOUR.

- Literally that’s all we did. Just the whole class bonding over all these struggles we had gone through and getting fired up. Like, it was great, but I also ended up knowing very little about campus and school stuff bc that was the class that was supposed to be teaching me lmao

- My Psych teacher was fucking hysterical for the first few classes but then he just. Vanished. I had to drop the class

- My Fine Arts teacher just. Couldn’t stick to a teaching plan. Her entire wardrobe was scarves. She was very passionate about African masks. She had a flapper haircut. She spoke quietly, but with a marvelously forced tone of voice that I’m certain was her trying to sound impressive and hide a Boston accent. She didn’t seem to understand the year was 2014. She took us into the city to go to the Art Museum and we lost her in there, never to be seen again

- I’m not even kidding

- My “writing” teacher was my absolute fav omfg. She was this long grey haired hippie lady who worked as a nurse for the Grateful Dead and was still stuck there. She may or may not have hooked up with my uncle. I was her favorite student because one day I came in wearing a “HAIR” shirt. She wanted to take the class to England for the sole purpose of going on a Beatles tour

- But like…she did not teach a writing class omfg. She taught a social justice class. All we did was have informed debates about The Issues and listen to music and occasionally watch the Breakfast Club. Every time there was a big paper due on the syllabus, she’d just sit on her desk and go “I mean, I don’t have to cover anything, right? You guys know how to write!” Like I genuinely don’t think she knew what class she was teaching

- There was a boy who sat next to me in that class. He was deaf in one ear and used that as an excuse when he got caught blatantly not paying attention. It worked every time. But I was right next to him. I saw him playing Yu-Gi-Oh on some website on his phone under the table. One time we started talking about model cars and he pre-cummed.

- There was a boy who roamed the campus in a long black trench coat and a weird hat. I never saw his body and started to suspect he might not have one, just the theory of one. He took interest in me because I was the only person in class who ever got his Doctor Who jokes. He’d come up to me at dinner and blast quiz me on various nerd culture before running off and disappearing into the shadows. Just as I was starting to grudgingly accept I was probably going to have to eventually hook up with him for the greater good, I apparently offended him by saying I like Picard more than Kirk. He didn’t stick around to listen to my reasoning. Whenever I saw him after that he would loudly start talking about how great his girlfriend was. Everyone knew he was lying. I wonder if Kirk ever sucked his theoretical dick as well as I would have.

- I gave a football player a shout out on Yik Yak. He really appreciated it, and gave me some fries laced with weed as a thanks. That was such A Night ™ , I watched the Lorax and left the dimension.

- Every time we had dances, this creepy guy named Horace would find me and use my obvious discomfort to make me dance with him. He’d hold my wrists and shove his crotch on mine while vaguely swaying to the beat. I had to escape to the bathroom every few minutes. Finally the security just banned him from the events altogether. I can still see his face clearly in my mind.

- One night, I walked into the bathroom to find a perfect, untouched pizza laying on the floor…but not in a box. Someone literally just took it out of the box and laid it down. I’m still fuming.

- One time I was in the mostly empty library when I smelled something. I walked down the rows of shelves before rounding the corner, and found the President of the college hidden there, sitting on the floor, smoking, a bottle of vodka in his hands. We held eye contact for a solid minute. He slowly shook his head at me. I said “Sir, your house is like…literally across the street.” He shook his head more vigorously. I left the library.

- One night, I heard screaming. I looked out the window to find a girl in a giraffe costume scaling my building. People were throwing water bottles at her. I was concerned. I didn’t know who to talk to for answers.

- I was in line trying to pay for dinner. One of the lunch ladies climbed on top of the ice cream machine and refused to come down. Her friend came over and they started recreating the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. Very few people acknowledged it.

- Someone jacked up the soda dispenser so it was only dispensing beer. None of the staff cared enough to fix it.

- I caught my RA in the middle of a drug deal so she gave me a coupon for free ice cream

- Also side note: The soft served ice cream machine on campus was actually a frozen yogurt machine. I had no problem with that, but like, advertise correctly, you know? Nobody else seemed to understand my confusion. Nobody else seemed to understand that froyo and ice cream are two different things. What the hell.

- There were just…so many moths all over the campus. A terrifying amount. When it started getting colder I was like, finally, I won’t be attacked by moths anymore! Only for even more moths to appear. I asked a local about it. “Oh, those are the winter moths!” What the fuck are winter moths? What the fuck, Massachusetts? My friend back home grew convinced that Mothman was in the area. I was inclined to believe her. Sometimes I close my eyes and all I can see are moths everywhere, waiting for the moment to strike.

-  I’ve encountered deer many times in my life. I know how they act around people. But the deer on this campus were just weird. They’d run out at people all the time. One almost shoved me into traffic.

- My roommate gave my phone number out to literally anyone she found who mentioned they liked to read or liked Doctor Who. She was concerned I had no friends. No one ever called.

- I met a small Greek girl in my Fine Arts class. Our first day of talking, she made me climb a mountain with her so she could get to tutoring, even though I had no reason to be in that building. Her roommates kept mysteriously disappearing. She was late to everything. She’d call me randomly to get food at 1 in the morning. She kept somehow breaking phones and tvs and other electronics. When I asked her how they kept breaking, she waved it off with “Oh, I have OCD. You wouldn’t understand”. I have OCD, and I still don’t understand. One time she invited me out with her friends from high school. I waited outside her building for two hours, while the other friends waited in the parking lot for two hours, because we didn’t know how to find each other. She eventually came outside at 10:30 pm. We went to Friendly’s. She made us stop at her house so she could grab something. We pulled up a long, winding driveway and stopped in a parking lot. At the end of the parking lot were stone stairs that lead up to a mansion on a hill. She ran inside and the rest of us stayed in the car, listening to High School Musical and talking about Supernatural. When she came out 40 minutes later we decided to try and prank her. It went wrong. We almost ran over her friend’s sister with the car. They invited me to a pumpkin patch. When I started complaining about my roommate, she asked me to move in with her. I thought about the other three girls who had seemingly gone missing. I politely declined. Six months after I left the school, I received a text from her asking for notes for an exam, and radio silence after that. I can’t find her on facebook. I fear she might have gone missing too.

- One night, as I was standing outside huddled in the cold, a boy came up and offered me a cigarette to help me stay warm. I turned it down, but he stood around talking to me for a few minutes afterwards. I felt absolutely no awkwardness at all. He was a musician from Colorado. He sang a bit of one of his songs. He was dropping out of school to go to California the next week. He told me I had beautiful eyes, but his were the most alive eyes I’ve ever seen so I couldn’t believe the compliment. We talked for about ten minutes and I fell a little bit in love. He had to rush off to a club meeting, but he told me he’d rather keep talking. He gave me the sweetest smile before he left. I didn’t get his last name or number and I never saw him again.

- There was a dance on Halloween. I couldn’t think of a sufficiently slutty yet classy costume, so I just went as Osgood from Doctor Who. When I got there there was a huge crowd, but people quickly grew bored and started leaving. There ended up being six people left (myself included). We stayed because we could see the upset faces of everyone who had planned the event, but actually had one of the most fun nights of my life. We- myself, the girl from across the hall, Trench Coat Boy, his tiny friend who never spoke, and a boy and girl I didn’t know who seemed to be professional dancers- danced nonstop for almost three hours. The strobe lights and poppy music solidified an unspoken bond. I had never and to this day haven’t felt as free as I did that night. The tiny quiet boy’s smile could have lit up a city. It’s etched into my mind. We all left the dance talking about the surreal feeling in the air, as if something had shifted. None of us ever mentioned the dance again. It’s still one of my fondest memories.

- For a solid month, there was someone in a gorilla costume running around campus.

- There was a rash of sexual assaults on campus. A gang of boys kept jumping girls in the woods. The only thing the school board did was give out free rape whistles at lunch one day. I missed that day, making me one of the only students on campus without a whistle. Later that night when I ordered pizza, the delivery guy tried to start up a conversation with me about all the assaults. He blamed the girls. I took back my tip.

- Sometimes the showers just…filled up with black sludge. No one knew why.

- The girls in the room next to me were very bizarre. They always shot me odd looks and whispered to each other constantly. I couldn’t figure out if they were sleeping together or not. They never washed their hands when we were in the bathroom.

- The doors to each dorm were thick and heavy and required effort to push them open. My roommate and I made sure to lock ours every night, and would triple check it. It swung open by itself almost every night. The channels on the tv would change with the remote equidistance away from us. Sometimes I heard humming in the showers when I was the only one in there.

- My roommate…deserves a whole separate post dedicated to her, honestly.

- She would call her mother and have her do her homework for her. She blasted music constantly, and it was either country or hard rap, nothing in between. She sexiled me constantly. I once walked in on anal. She’d meet guys on Tinder, fall in love with them after a couple of days, and then bring them into the school and into our room like it was no big deal. One of them made it clear he was a budding serial killer. She was in a new drama every week. One time someone called her a dilf on Yik Yak. She was firmly convinced her cousin was blonde because her aunt dyed her hair when she was pregnant. She tried her hardest to get me laid by a football player. She was the loudest drunk I’ve ever encountered. Honestly there’s just too much about her for this omfg

- John Zaffis, the famous paranormal researcher, came to the school on my birthday. I went because I’m a loser who’s been watching shows with him since I was a kid, and I was having a bad day so I decided it could be a treat. I sat in the front row. He held an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with me the entire presentation. He was impressed with my questions. He lamented about the fact he’s always cut out of movies or replaced by priests that look like him. He apparently came to the school every year around Halloween to do a ghost tour around the campus for the students. A girl allegedly killed herself in my floor’s bathroom. He apparently always got a lot of activity around the campus. Everyone in the freshman class started wondering if the rumors about the Native American burial ground were true.

- One time in “writing” class the teacher gave us a number and then whatever song came up as that when we put our music on shuffle we had to play for the class. I ended up with “Touch Me” from Spring Awakening. Midway through the song, the teacher from another class came to complain that they could hear everything. My teacher tried to defend that all music has an important message. “Molly, dear, tell her the message in this song!” I looked around the room and at the other teacher. “It’s about sex,” I said quietly. She stormed out of the room while the class started laughing.

- There was this girl that just had the natural ability to make anything boring. I feel bad saying that, because she’s such a sweet girl, and she’s smart, and she’s gorgeous, and she’s talented, but just…every time she says anything, it’s boring. I’m still friends with her on facebook, the talent transcends to writing as well. You could be having a fun, lively conversation and she could say something completely relevant to the point and yet it would still just be boring. It’s a baffling talent, I still don’t understand how she does it.

- There was a boy who’d come into my room. He lusted over my s’mores poptarts. He kept trying to hit the high notes in Broadway songs. He didn’t understand my sense of humor at all, so we both were constantly worried we were offending each other. He cried about Selena Gomez a lot.

- The dining hall only offered horrendous food. I had pasta almost every night because it was the only thing remotely edible. If you wanted good food, you had to go to Late Night, which was between like 10:30 and 1 I think??? They set it up specifically for stoners and people leaving parties. I was frequently the only sober person there. Except for the moths.

- The chief at the pasta place found out I like theater and got like…weirdly passionate about it. He kept telling me about different theater groups in the area and wanted to know if I was in the school musical. He asked me every time I went up for food.

- There was a disproportionate amount of large black birds to trees. It wasn’t hard to figure out why we so rarely saw smaller animals

- When I told my advisor I was thinking about leaving (mostly for financial reasons but also the fake classes were preventing me from getting an education I wanted, you know?), this little old man looked around his office as if checking for people listening in, then put his hand on top of mine, leaned in close, and whispered “Oh, you sweet little girl. Run as fast as you can.”

There’s definitely more but listen. This school was weird and fake and vaguely surreal and off-kilter. I am fully afraid that one day, years from now, I’m going to be driving through the back roads and pass the place where the campus should be, only I won’t find anything there at all, and won’t be able to find any trace of it ever existing. I won’t be able to find any record of it. I won’t be able to find a record of any of the people. Every time I think about this place I just get a weird feeling, like I somehow managed to escape the Twilight Zone but left a part of me behind in the process. Be careful when applying to college, kids.

How to Snag Potter

By Draco Malfoy


1. Midnight Rendezvous: Invite him to a duel and then bond over shared rule-breaking. Didn’t work because Weasley insisted on coming along. Reported them to Filch instead. 

2. Midnight Rendezvous, second attempt: Inspire gratitude by helping him deal with illegal dragon. Possible small talk about my name? Caught by McGonagall

3. Show off amazing Quidditch skills and really cool new broom. Nope. Granger said I bought my way onto the team (NOT TRUE) and I’m pretty sure Potter believed it. 

4. Send carefully composed and endearing Valentine (the only good thing Lockhart has ever done). I don’t think he liked it very much, despite the brilliant lyrics I composed. Ended up shifting blame onto the Girl Weasel. Fairly certain he doesn’t suspect.

5. Become gravely injured in order to appeal to his Savior Complex and inspire feelings of protectiveness. DO NOT ATTEMPT AGAIN. Was nearly murdered when I insulted that giant filthy chicken, and yet Potter decided that IT was the victim?! Unacceptable. I will not rest until that beast is put down.

6. A fun prank! He seems to enjoy stuff like this when the Weasley Twins do it, so I’m sure he will laugh. Learn to sew. It turns out that Potter has no sense of humor as well as very poor vision, because he nearly killed me with that damn Patronus Charm. Although I must admit, it is kind of hot that he can already do a Patronus.

7. Support him with Triwizard Tournament badges! Okay, this one was probably my fault. Pansy saw me experimenting with them and I changed the messages at the last minute. Why can’t he just realize that I don’t mean it?

8. Report Potter’s tragic story to the Prophet to increase sympathy and support. Exaggerate if it will get him more attention. I realize now that Potter does not like attention. Also Skeeter made out like Potter is in some sort of love triangle involving Granger, which is not even remotely acceptable. This was a mistake.

9. Show respect for his friends by composing an encouraging song in Weasley’s honor. Apparently making the title sound complimentary isn’t enough to negate other more insulting lyrics. Honestly this was doomed from the start because there is literally nothing good about the Weasel except his best friend.

10. Impress him with your status and power by leading the Inquisitorial Squad. Umbridge is an absolute menace and I am an idiot.

11. Make him jealous: Flirt excessively with Pansy. I don’t think he even noticed.

12. Show him your sensitive side by crying in the girls’ loo. Fuck.

Sorry I haven’t written in a while. 

13. Realize you’ve been a complete arse for your entire life. Regret everything. Do your best to become someone who does the right thing. Don’t identify Potter when asked. Stop cronies from killing him. Apologize sincerely after he gets you off at your trial. Invite him for dinner. 

14. Invite him for drinks. 

15. Buy him a birthday present. 

16. Kiss him. 

17. Go back to his flat. 

18. Refuse to leave his bed. This only works for so long.

19. Attempt to make him breakfast.

20. Come out to the Prophet together.

21. Date for three years.

22. Say “yes.”

There are roses on Derek’s doorstep.

No note. No scent trail. After determining that there is nothing inherently magical or deadly about them, he spends the entire rest of the day researching symbolism and archaic demon customs, trying to figure out what kind of death threat he’s just been handed.

It doesn’t occur to him until nightfall, when the neighbors start discussing their romantic dinner plans at a decibel he has trouble tuning out, that he realizes the flowers might not have been delivered with malicious intent.

Because, apparently, today is Valentine’s Day. And apparently someone decided that Derek should receive flowers to celebrate the occasion.

Derek Hale has a secret admirer.

He honestly would have preferred the death threat.

Keep reading

A cage of golden glass

Synopsis: There was you. An ordinary human girl, wrong place, wrong time. Then there was Loki. God of Mischief, war criminal. When Thor brings you to Asgard to ensure your safety, there is nobody else you come to hate more passionately than his evil foster brother. Then Odin finally decides on a new and much more effective kind of punishment for Loki, causing your whole world to fall apart. He would simply marry him off to a mortal, someone who is, by all means, “beneath” him. You.

Pairing: Loki x Reader
Rating: M
Chapter: 1/1 (Oneshot)
Words: 7217
Warnings: smut, forced marriage

Read it on AO3!

Keep reading

Alright, so, I’ll start this off by saying I am honestly not an expert on Kakyoin, contrary to popular belief (I’d actually consider myself more of an expert on Jotaro’s character, if anything), but I’m going to do my best to give my views on Kakyoin’s character, as well as some canon evidence to support it, and hopefully it will help a bit.

If you want a great reference of how to write Kakyoin in fic, go read Sand, sand and more sand on AO3, because it’s honestly one of the best depictions of Kak I’ve ever read, and he’s quite close to canon.

*ahem*

Kakyoin is pretty snarky. He’s subtle about it, but he’s also kind of a shithead. He’s polite most of the time, but it seems to be more of a setting he defaults to when he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable around the people he’s with. We have quite a few quips from him as examples of this, such as him laughing at andd mocking Anne during the dark blue moon arc, and saying she couldn’t possibly be the stand user on board, and in the Geb and N'Doul fight where he orders Polnareff to attack the canteen because he “doesn’t want to”. He also at one point responds to Polnareff saying “this looks bad!” with, “well it most certainly isn’t good.”

He’s blunt, but this also means that he’s honest. He dislikes liars, and prefers that everything is set out before him clearly and plainly as opposed to someone that is clearly dancing around the subject.

He also seems like quite the know-it-all, and likes being right; and he’s probably the type to argue with someone even if he knows he’s wrong. He seems to genuinely enjoy teaching the crusaders about the culture of all the places they visit on their journey, and he has the ability to retain all of that information to recant to them, as well. It seems to be somewhat of an interest of his.

And then there’s this, of course…

The cherry thing is something that kind of bothers me in fandom and fic. Yes; Kakyoin says that cherries are his favourite fruit. Child Kakyoin has cherries on his shirt (keep in mind that the scene with child kakyoin is added in my DavidPro and is not technically canon). BUT, it doesn’t mean that he has to have everything cherry-related. It’s a seriously overused trait in fandom to the point that it just becomes annoying. Kak can have a coffee without it having to be cherry flavoured. Just remember that he canonically enjoys lots of different foods, and that he doesn’t need to exclusively eat cherries and cherry flavoured things. He probably likes to eat foods from all different cultures.

Video games: There is evidence to suggest that Kakyoin spends a LOT of time playing F-Mega, however, this doesn’t mean that his extreme knowledge of the tracks and mechanics applies to every video game in existence. He’s a teenager, with no friends in the 80’s, of course he’s going to spend time playing video games. But back in the 80s, people often only had one or two games, so it’s likely that he has simply replayed F-Mega a LOT, to the point of knowing it by heart. I know the levels of Mario 3 extremely well, simply because I played them over and over again as a kid. If you are fixated on a single game for extended periods of time (especially if it’s the only game you own), you are of course going to know the game well. Knowing a lot about a single game does not mean that he’s obsessed with video games, and does not necessarily mean that he’s a shut-in, and never goes outside.

Also keep in mind that he says that he’s “pretty good at video games”. He doesn’t claim to be great at them, and since we’ve already established that Kakyoin is quite blunt, it would be out of character to assume that he’s being humble here. He literally means that he’s just “pretty good” at them. No more, no less.

His real-world experience is vast, and it’s also mentioned that his parents take him many places on vacation. He’s been to a lot of places, and retains cultural knowledge. It’s not as if he’s read it in books: he’s actually been to these places before, and he mentions it frequently. This suggests that he gets out quite a bit, and also kind of suggests that maybe he isn’t quite the model student type in school.

Kakyoin doesn’t appear to be the honours student & straight A’s type. He doesn’t think twice about skipping out on his new school to travel to Egypt, and as I said before, his knowledge appears to come more from first-hand experience rather than school studies (and I bet he missed more than a few of his classes due to the trips that he and his parents took). He’s a know-it-all, but it doesn’t mean that he does well in school.

On the other hand, Jotaro IS a model student, despite his delinquent status. It’s more likely that Jotaro would be the one helping Kakyoin with his homework.
(He might disrespect his teachers, but he still gets good grades, and let’s not forget that he becomes a marine biologist later in life.)

Kakyoin’s profile also mentions that he “appears very effeminite”. This is another thing that is often misinterpreted. His appearence may be somewhat feminine, and he takes pride in how he looks, but his personality and mannerisms are not inherently feminine.

He hates being forced into submission, and this is the reason why he despises Dio so much. Dio took advantage of his vulnerability and the fact that Kak didn’t have any friends to use him as his pawn. He drew Kak in, made him feel wanted, needed, and then took control of his mind and body.

“He appears to be very effeminate. In reality, he despises submitting to people or sucking up to them.” - Taken directly from his canon personality description.

Another thing that people seem to miss is the fact that he’s extremely sadistic. He says himself that Heirophant “loves nothing more than to rip things to shreds” and that it might “drive him mad with joy”. He likes being in control of the situation, remember. He probably hates losing fights, as well (especially since he could be considered a weakling for losing).

Kakyoin also seems to like Baseball, judging by his profile naming a favourite team, and sumo, as we all know from his exchange with Jotaro.

One of the things that fandom does definitely get right, is Kakyoin being the mother hen of the group. He’s taken on the role of the responsible one, because Joseph is… far from being an adult. He’s strategic and thinks everything out logically, and so is the mature one of the group, especially after Avdol’s “death”. He appears to be content to follow Joseph, but when it’s needed, he steps up and becomes the leader in his place. This is seen when Jotaro, Joseph and Polnareff start physically fighting random men that they suspect are the one in the Wheel of Fortune car, to which he says that, “this is not a good idea,” and that it’s, “getting out of hand”. It’s also seen in the tower of grey fight where he mentions that it’s better that he fights on the plane, because he’s the least destructive of the bunch (even though he’s capable of blasting holes into clock towers, apparently his emerald splash isn’t destructive; okay Kak…).

He’s also fiercely protective of his friends, and extremely loyal as well. Kakyoin isn’t the type to abandon his friends in any circumstance.

He’s a CASANOVA. While Jotaro draws more unwanted attention from girls due to his bad boy façade, Kakyoin is slick and smooth with them, so much so that they notice him more over Jotaro. He’s quick to diffuse the situation when Jotaro pushes the girls aside (again, in the tower of grey arc), and it’s just… yes.

Just look at this. You can bet your ass he’s not the type to blush and stutter as he’s confessing. Straight up grabbing the girl and apologizing for Jotaro. Smooth as butter.


Here are some other scenes that might be able to explain his character a bit better as well:

Mouthing off to Joseph- Jotaro approves.

This line is wonderful. (Again, to Joseph? It’s almost like they have this kind of rivalry going on, haha)

Some really good insight to his character and motivations (And one of my favourite Jotakak moments).

The anime kind of makes this out to be a sort of “Kakyoin mocking Polnareff” scene, but in the manga he seems like he’s just stating what he heard. Pretty matter-of-fact about the whole situation.

Unimpressed.

I believe that this is the first moment that Kakyoin really realizes that he and any of his companions can die at any moment. Avdol has been shot, and he’s in complete shock. This is a normal teenager that’s now painfully aware of the danger he’s putting himself in to help out Jotaro and Joseph. Sure, he realized that he would be involved in fights, and a little blood would be shed for the greater good, but I don’t think he had realized up to this point that he might actually die.

And here’s Kakyoin’s character bio.

It’s also notable that he didn’t tell his parents where he was going prior to leaving. This doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s in bad standing with his parents (especially since his dying thoughts were of them), and could possibly be because he didn’t want to worry them, or something of the sort, but the fact remains that he didn’t tell them beforehand. Take from this what you will.

So yeah, this is what I get from Kakyoin. He’s kind, loyal to a fault, and deeply in love with Jotaro– and he’s a pretty complex character to write. Don’t feel like you need to take all of this into account, because it’s hard to keep his entire character intact with fanfiction. A lot of his personality comes across in facial expressions, so it’s sometimes difficult to translate that into non-visual media. Just refer back to canon if you aren’t sure of something, and you should be fine. Good luck!

Long Angsty Sterek Fics

All at least 20k words long (by request)

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn’t expect and aren’t sure they approve of….

By Any Other Name by entanglednow

He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he’s on the run with. But he’s pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Permanent Fixture by linksofmemories

Derek is Scott’s older brother. Stiles is Scott’s best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

Don’t Speak by fatale

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something’s wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can’t understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it’s gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he’s lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Enemy Lines by qhuinn (tekla)

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

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Commission for @inarelashionshipwithmyself


Lance had been cranky the last few weeks. On it’s own that wasn’t too unusual, Lance got cranky about the weirdest things.
About running out of the good face masks and having to use different ones that Allura gave him. About the mice not being in the mood to play with him when he wanted. About getting too little sleep. About getting too much sleep. About an alien he’d never seen before and never would again rejecting his embarrassing advances.
But usually his mood brightened again as quickly as it had soured and this lasting slump was starting to worry them.

Keith wasn’t the first who’d noticed it, he hardly ever was when it came to these things. But after Hunk had addressed Lance’s recent attitude and he’d started to pay attention, the signs couldn’t be ignored anymore.
Usually Lance chattered endlessly during their meals and meetings, now he hardly ever said a word, leaving the group as soon as he could where he’d despised being alone for long periods before.
He seemed tense during training sessions, focused but way too stubborn to really make anything out of it, the slightest mistake throwing him off for the whole day. Keith had caught him more than once on the training deck, using it late into the night, expression hardened and determined.

Whenever Hunk or Shiro or, lately, even Allura tried to talk to him he’d put on a cheery mask and pretend everything was fine before retreating to the shooting range to utterly destroy every target the ship gave him.
Keith didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to reach Lance if not even their most empathetic team members could. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he heard the reports about the Kerberos mission failing.
Until the afternoon he was paired up with Lance for hand to hand combat training.

“That’s – okay, that’s enough”, Lance spat, squirming helplessly where Keith had him pinned, one hand tapping a fluttery rhythm against the floor. “I yield! Fuck, I yield!”
Keith furrowed his brows, not used to the other boy giving in this easily, but he still stepped back, offering Lance a hand to help him get up.
Lance scoffed and slapped the hand away, pushing himself upright. Frown deepening Keith watched him.

“You okay?”, he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. They’d been sparring for a while already. Where Lance had been almost tenacious in the beginning the fire in his eyes had subsided with every failed try to overpower Keith, every time it was him tapping the mat instead.
Now he leveled Keith with an icy glare but instead of getting back into stance he turned away.
“Leave me alone”, he mumbled before he left the training deck.

Shiro perked up from where he was pinning Hunk against the floor, the yellow paladin about to twist free from the hold and counter it when he also noticed Lance’s retreat.
Allura stepped forward, hands on her hips as she called after him: “Lance! Lance, we’re not done, where do you think you’re…”
“It’s okay!”, Hunk called, having used the distraction to free himself and scramble to his feet. “It’s okay, I’ll go get him!”

“No”, Keith said, body moving before he could even think about it. “I’ll go, I’ll talk to him…” He could feel their eyes on him, skeptical and unsure. Could hear the breath Hunk took, the careful “Um, Keith buddy…”
But he just shook his head, going for the doors.
“I got this.”

As expected he found Lance in his room, already changed halfway out of his armor, the leg pieces still clinging to his body.
“I told you to leave me alone”, Lance mumbled, no emotion to be heard in his voice, but Keith still stepped further into the room, arms crossed and face determined.
“Yeah”, he answered, taking a look at the helmet and armor pieces Lance had put on the table for now. “But I wanna know what your deal is. You’ve been … weird.”
Lance huffed a dry laugh and shook his head.
“I’ve been…? No. Nothing. No deal, everything’s just … peachy.”

“Bullshit.” Keith shook his head. “You can tell Hunk and Shiro that. Because they want to … respect your privacy or whatever. But something’s wrong. I wanna know what.”
Lance groaned, throwing another armor piece onto the table.
“What, so you can feel even better about yourself? Just go away!”
Keith huffed and leaned a hip against the desk, trying to catch Lance’s gaze but the blue paladin already turned away from him again.

“Listen”, he began, not quite sure where this would lead but just going with it for now. “Just because you can’t beat me at hand to hand doesn’t mean…”
“Hand to hand? What can I beat you at then?”, Lance spat, whirling around to finally meet Keith’s gaze and there it was again, that fire he’d seen at the beginning of the training session. “You’re the amazing pilot, the martial arts expert, the brave one everybody loves and wants to be like! What else is there, what else … what else can I contribute?”
Keith frowned.

“You … you want to be like me?”
“Oh piss off!”, Lance cursed, turning away again with an exasperated huff. Slowly but surely Keith began to suspect he really wasn’t the right one for this job, that he was only making worse. Maybe he should retreat and send one of the others instead, to settle what he’d done wrong.
“I’m … I’m not good at this”, he began, already setting up to excuse himself when he had an idea. “At uh … talking to people. When they’re upset.”
“Oh really…” Lance’s voice was dripping with sarcasm but Keith pressed on.

“Or just in general. I just can’t seem to … connect with others. I’m not good at that. You are.”
Even though Lance’s back was turned to him Keith could see how he froze, head tilted a little. Listening. He took his chance and went on.
“Remember when we were on that desert planet and neither Pidge nor me could convince the aliens to let us evacuate them? But then you came in and only needed two minutes with their leader to make them trust us?”

Lance shook his head.
“You were still wearing your helmets, that was rude to them.”
“Yeah but we didn’t know! We never would have figured that out if you hadn’t!” Keith took a careful step forward, around Lance, to look at him again. Some of the tension had seeped out of the other boy’s shoulders and his expression wasn’t quite as hardened as before.
“Yeah”, Lance mumbled. “You guys would’ve been lost without me.”
“We would have been!”, Keith insisted, still not sure what he was doing, only that it seemed to work at least a little.

“And … and that’s not the only thing! You’re … you’re a great shot. An incredible shot! There’s a reason your bayard is a rifle and mine is for close combat. You’re our long range guy, yeah? You don’t have to beat me at hand to hand when you can beat me in a shooting competition any day. And your bond with your lion…”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Lance rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Yours is better. The things Red does for you, it’s crazy…”

“Oh god!”, Keith groaned, throwing his arms out. “Stop comparing yourself to me! You’re your own person! And you bring your own skills to the team! We all need you and if you can’t see how much Blue adores you, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought!”
There was a pause, Lance squinting at him as if deciding to trust him or not. Keith stubbornly held the gaze.

“You mean that, don’t you?”, Lance asked after a while, expression shifting from suspicious to thoughtful. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it.
“In case you haven’t noticed”, Keith said, posture relaxing again. “I’m also a really bad liar.”
Lance huffed another dry laugh at that but the creases around his eyes vanished as he relaxed.
“You really are”, he smiled tentatively and Keith couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at him. Not when he just coaxed a smile out of Lance. The first one in weeks.

Then Lance reached out to take his hand, squeezing it tightly, and Keith was way too surprised to react. The grip around his fingers was strong and warm, oddly pleasant.
“Come with me”, Lance said, tugging him towards the door without a care in the world for his half dismantled armor.
“What … where…”
“Shooting range”, Lance answered, completely nonchalant with a little shrug. “Wanna beat your ass at something right now.”
Keith snorted but let himself be dragged away. If that’s all it took to make Lance smile again he’d lose a hundred shooting competitions against him.


[This fanfic was a commission! Check out how to commission me or consider buying me a Coffee if you liked this story!]

Confession

Originally posted by riverrdxle

A/N: I strayed away from the request a bit just to follow a story line that I didn’t really plan, tbh (it just happened, I’m srry). I also switched up my style majorly for this just as an exercise, it’s in 3rd person and all but lemme know what you think and whether this is better, worse, or somewhere in between.

Request:  could you write about Jughead getting a call that the reader just got shitfaced at a party so he has to come get her and take care of her 

Word Count: 3,790 (whoops)

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing (lyk twice)

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The Only Exception (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3,442

Warnings: language, fluff, wishful thinking, hot firemen, sarcasm, cynicism, bad jokes

A/N: Okay, so I saw a movie a long long time ago that was terrible, but it inspired the ‘bad’’ love advice and the firemen. I’ve been dying to have fireman!Bucky in one of my AUs.

And yes, the title comes from the Paramore song. I felt like it’s how reader feels throughout. Hope you guys like it. I had some writer’s block, and some house guests, so this is a little late being posted.

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Originally posted by 8bit-arc-reactor

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Rejuvenation Period (Or What Keith Calls Cuddling)

klance fanfic [keith and lance from voltron]

Summary: Lance and Keith are dating secretly, and after a hard day of training, Keith works up the courage to enter Lance’s bedroom. [wink wonk] 

Genre: smut [but jillian, that title sounds so fluffy, are you sure - ?] [yes. yes i’m sure.]

TW: internalized homophobia a wee bit

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The Arrangement (Epilogue 2)

Originally posted by o-ta-ria

Summary: Not telling, don’t wanna spoil anything, just keep reeeaading

Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,600

Warnings: teeth-rotting fluff, implied smut

A/N: Here we are, kiddos. Ask and you shall receive… the demand was so high and I love this series so much that I just can’t let it go. Not that I think any of you will be upset by this news… ENJOY

Find the rest of the series HERE and my mobile masterlist HERE

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Fair Play

This one took me forever to finish! Hope you guys enjoy it <3 Thanks @pennigg101297 for the beta!

Something ecstatic, for sure. Harry stared at the red cup in his hand… was it really his hand? It seemed completely detached from his body. The boy looked up. Yep, definitely something

The whole room was a recreation of those psychedelic movies. Purple, blue, green, red, the colorful lights blurring everything and everyone else. There were people on the ground, laughing at absolutely nothing, boys with girls and boys with boys and girls with girls and even trios, Merlin’s tits, the whole room exhaled teenage hormones. Someone, Harry suspected it was Dean because he was almost sure that was muggle music, made sure to choose agitated songs, those that practically force you to tap your foot to the beat even when you don’t feel like dancing at all.

Harry dropped his head, eyeing his seemingly detached foot, tapping to the beat. Where the hell were Ron and Hermione?

A very clear memory of his two best friends half naked snogging each other assaulted his mind before he could examine the room.

‘Bloody hell’ he rubbed his eyes like that would be able to erase the awful experience. Okay, he better not search for them this time. Though Hermione wouldn’t go doing… things with Ron if she knew people were pouring drugs into each other’s drinks, right? This was a common room, for God’s sake. An eighth year common room full of grown up students, but still, drugs!

'Haaaaarryyyyy!’ Luna’s round blue eyes stared at him through an unknown fog. She smiled widely, blinking once, twice… and bursting out laughing, most probably at Harry’s confused expression. 'Why aren’t we dancing?' 

'Dancing…' 

Luna giggled again, letting her arms move lazily, tangling in her long purple skirt. 

He could bet the fabric was enchanted, twirling so beautifully in the air like that. Harry stared for longer than he’d planned to, realizing much too late that Luna had already stopped and was eyeing him, her bright eyes fixed on Harry’s feet.  

'Well, you’re already dancing’ she tugged at his sleeve, pulling him with her towards the center of the room. It wasn’t his fault that his feet wouldn’t obey his brain, choosing instead to follow the beat, - louder as Harry approached the crowd - tapping frantically to it. the absence of Ron and Hermione brought a weird feeling to his stomach. He downed the rest of his drink quickly, butterflies replacing the sensation immediately. If they could enjoy the night, so could him, he thought to himself, relaxing his shoulders as best as he could. 

Harry opened his eyes without noticing he’d closed them, his whole body electrified with the feeling of being carried away by the music. Luna was dancing with Ginny now, her girlfriend, Harry had to remind himself, smiling a bit. If anyone else were to end up with Ginny, Harry would probably be a bit worried - after all he cared about her - but Luna was Luna, someone who treated Ginny like a flower, giving her the space she needed to grow. 

The music changed again, a faster song now was drumming through the soles of his feet. Harry turned around, letting himself once again be sweapt away. He could blame in on the alcohol later. 

***

And the drugs someone had put in his drink. Not just anyone, apparently, since Pansy kept giving him and Blaise that awful smile that could be easily translated as 'I’m being a Slytherin right now’. He looked at his feet for the tenth time in less than five minutes, the bloody thing tapping to that nauseating beat. Draco growled, marching towards the poorly improvised dance floor where his friend kept rubbing herselft all over Theo Nott. 

'What did you put in it?’ Draco inquired, lifting his chin as high as he could to emphasize his height. Pansy rolled her eyes, her arms still hooked around Theo’s neck. 

'Where?’ she turned around slightly to face Draco.

'My drink’ he forced the words to come out, all his strengh focused on keeping his feet still.

Pansy cackled, exchanging a knowing look with the other boy before returning her eyes to Draco. He was still frowning at her, distracted enough that he didn’t have time to fight back Theo’s tight grip on his waist.

Before he knew what was happening, Draco was dancing, squeezed between Pansy on his front and Nott on his back. 

'Just relax, Draco’ she whispered in his ear, thankfully backing away a bit.

'You know you want this’ Theo whispered too, making the hair on his nape stand almost immediately. The boy took a step back, leaving enough space for Draco to run. Not that he would, he most certainly couldn’t.

The sensation was exhilarating. Dancing, he remembered himself, though what he knew about dancing had nothing to do with that. Wizards - well named wizards - took part at ballroom dancing, with proper pairs, slowly, not to the beat of muggle music in crowded spaces. What he was doing seemed so… dirty. He looked around, noticing how no one appeared to care about traditional morals at all. Most surprisingly, no one seemed to care that Draco didn’t care, because at that very moment, as the music resonated through him, he didn’t. He closed his eyes again, letting his head roll around his neck, the tension easily slipping away. So Draco danced, he danced like he expected his father to burst throught the portrait at any second to ruin everything. And when Pansy pushed another one of those - horrenduous - red cups in his hand, he downed it all in one go.

'Come’ Pansy guided him towards one corner of the room that seemed to be even more crowded than the dancefloor. A long wooden table, much like those found in the Great Hall, but a lot smaller, was circulated by students, whistling and shouting at-

'What the fuck’ Draco was sure he was gaping. 

One of the Patil girls and Lavender Brown were dancing on top of it, their skirts so short Draco could bet those closer to the table could see everything underneath it. That was when he spotted a familiar face.

Blaise was on the front row, winking and smirking at Brown, who pretended not to notice him. Draco eyed Pansy, her anger tangible. 

'Can’t let that bitch steal my boys, can I?’

Shit, Draco knew that look.

'Pansy-’ the girl ignored him, pulling at his sleeve and forcing her way through the mass until they reached the table. 

'Just look at them, Draco, poor things’ It was obvious she wasn’t talking to him, her eyes fixed on Patil and Brown. From where they stood the girls could hear them perfectly, as it was proven when they both turned their attentions to Pansy, fumming.

'Fuck off, Parkinson’ Brown seemed wild, like she could jump Pansy at any moment. It was almost funny that they didn’t stop dancing despite the tension in the air. 

'Are you afraid of a little competition, dear?’ Pansy’s smile was wicked and Draco couldn’t help the little smirk forming on his lips. Competition wasn’t exactly the right word for that, because Pansy wasn’t one to play fair. 

Patil turned around to get out of the table, worried eyes darting from Pansy to her friend. Brown, however, didn’t seem like backing away, her hips continuously swaying as she blowed a kiss in Blaise’s direction. Blaise whistled, his dazzling smile encouraging Brown to come closer and she did, ignoring the Slytherin girl completely.

The sound of fabric being ripped in half was followed by something flying straight to Blaise’s face. Draco couldn’t see what it was at first, everyone around him trying to take a look as well while Pansy laughed so loud some of the students at the dancefloor were sending her curious looks. 

Brown got out of the table immediately, her face livid with absolute rage, completely red from embarassment. Draco thought for a second she was going to hex them, but she turned around and ran upstairs to the girls room, followed by Patil who seemed horrified. 

That was when Draco saw Blaise struggling to remove the pink knickers glued to his face. 

'You wicked bitch’ Draco snorted, half amused and half disgusted. Pansy grinned at him, used to Draco’s sweet words after years of friendship.

A new song had started to play, the beat not as fast as the last one, but definitely sexier. Pansy took off her heels, throwing them carelessly to the side.

'You’re coming up with me' 

She got up on the table, taking the Gryffindor’s place. Pansy danced like a Slytherin, which meant all eyes were glued on her the second she swayed her hips. Draco rolled his eyes, still too drunk to make rational decisions apparently, and followed her. It was… intimidating, if not terrifying, to have so many people staring at him from below. Empowering too, now that he could think about it. He started to move, smirking as a few of Pansy’s admirers turned their eyes to him instead, some completely shocked to see Draco Malfoy dancing on top of a table. Whatever, he didn’t have the energy to worry about it that night. 

'Someone bring Harry!' 

The words resonated inside his head and Draco felt all color leave his face. He searched the faces below him, desperately trying to identify who had said that. 

Pansy kept dancing unfazed by his side. Maybe, if he was lucky, she wouldn’t notice if he disappeared in the middle of the crowd. He could try to run upstairs and spend the rest of-

The crowd opened in front of him so Finnigan could push Potter to the front row. 

Green eyes locked with grey as the beat changed again.  

No, Draco felt his face hot, his whole body fervent. That was the first time he’d seen Potter since the trial, in which he was condemned to house arrest until the begginig of his eighth year. Draco had had time to think, plenty of time and silence to think about what he’d done. What Potter had done. Gratitute wasn’t something Draco was ready to feel, but it’d assaulted him nonetheless. The thing was, allowing himself to feel thankful for what he’d done altered the whole way he saw Potter now.

No, he thought again, as Potter took a step forward.

***

He should run away, turn around and leave. Malfoy was right there in front of him, and he wasn’t ready. Those eyes were the only ones capable of seeing through him, making Harry feel small. He didn’t know why, after all it wasn’t like Malfoy felt any more confident them himself. He looked as desperate as Harry to leave, hide.

He took another step forward, the beat vibrating under his skin. 

'Let’s see who does it better!’ Parkinson suddenly said, followed by a round of whistles and applauses. The girl jumped off the table after winking at Malfoy who seemed about to faint.  'You look scared, Potter. Think you can handle a dancing competition?’ Harry stared at her, gaping because even though Parkinson had already apologized to him, more than once after trying to hand him over to Voldemort the previous year, he was almost sure that didn’t classify them as friends now. She winked again, at him this time, gesturing towards the table.

Malfoy was still staring at him, his feet tapping to the beat contrasting with the rest of his tense body. The drugs, Harry thought to himself while Seamus practically threw him on top of the table. Malfoy had taken them too, apparently. That’s why he’s not running away either… he can’t

Harry got up, the height enough to make him self aware of the huge amount of people staring expectantly at them. Fuck, why did that beat seem so different than the rest? He turned his head to the side, meeting Malfoy’s eyes again. 

'It’s just dancing’ Harry found himself whispering, loud enough for Malfoy to hear, but not the front row of people. They were still staring at each other, making it seem like Harry’s words were meant to be some sort of confort to Malfoy when, in fact, Harry spoke them more to himself. Surprisingly, Malfoy’s shoulders relaxed a bit at that, his shocked expression distracting him enough that his body started moving again. Harry let it wash over him, the music replacing the anxiety bublling in his stomach. It was just dancing, and competing with Malfoy wouldn’t hurt, not this time. 

'Is this the best you can do, Potter?’ the words sent electric waves to his body, firing him up like only Malfoy could. It didn’t matter that there were people staring at him, watching his every move. Malfoy had just challenged Harry, like old times and, fuck, he’d missed this. 

His whole body turned towards the blond, instinctively, Harry’s hands flying to the hem of his hoody and yanking it from the top of his head. People cheered around him and Harry let a smirk form in his lips.

'You wish, Malfoy’

He knew the black shirt he had underneath was a bit too tight - who knew he’d be forced to take the bloody hoddie off - but the way Malfoy’s eyes roamed over his torso had Harry gulping with a dry throat.

'Like what you see?’ Fuck, what was wrong with him? The alcohol, Harry reminded himself resentfully. 

Malfoy, however, took that as a challenge, not an offense as Harry had expected.

He swayed his hips, a wicked smile on his face, and took a step forward.
'Do you?’ his eyes were fixed on Harry’s again.

The thing was, there wasn’t that much space between them in the first place. Now, there was no space at all. 

Malfoy swayed his hips again, brushing their thighs. People went wild with that, encouraging him when he opened the two last buttons of his shirt, exposing a tiny bit of his belly. 

This can’t be Malfoy

Harry’s brain was short circuiting. Malfoy had that look on his face, wicked, completely in control, and this time Harry had to admit he was. Because the moment Malfoy stood with his back to everyone else and forced another button to pop open, offering a complete vision of his navel only for Harry to see, Harry’s body bucked forward without his consent, the heat of Malfoy’s skin radiating through the black fabric of Harry’s shirt where they touched.  

With that, Harry wasn’t dancing against Malfoy anymore, he was dancing with him. 

Malfoy’s arms came to rest on Harry’s shoulders, bringing them even closer. Harry could hear a few gasps, but they were muffled by the whistles and cheers.

It didn’t matter. He felt dizzy and couldn’t blame it on the drugs anymore. He couldn’t stop, they couldn’t stop, the beat so brilliant Harry could bet his heartbeat was in sync with it.  And Malfoy… Malfoy was pressed against him, his hair tickling Harry’s cheek and his hot breath making Harry’s lips tingle.

Harry glanced around, realizing most people who had been watching them seemed to be as lost in the music as they were. 

He wouldn’t waste a second this time.

***

Draco lost his balance when Potter suddenly backed away. He tried to even his breath, his mind a complete mess, trying to predict if Potter was going to hex him, or worse, mock him, when a firm grip on his wrist brough his attention back. Potter was pulling him with him, quietly signaling to one end of the table that seemed to be the only way out. Draco followed, much to his own surprise because who knew if Potter wasn’t going to hex him where no one could see?

Back to firm ground again, Draco was immediately pinned against the closest wall, the darkest corner of the room.

Potter kept moving, dancing against him.

'Malfoy… Can I-’

He bucked his hips again, the apparent bulge in his pants pressing against Draco’s in the best way possible. Draco gasped, his eyes never leaving Potter’s. It was dark, but not enough that he couldn’t see the way his pupils dilated when his hand pressed against Draco’s hard crotch through his pants.

His moan was muffled my Potter’s lips devouring his mouth, biting and licking like a hungry beast. 

Their kiss was filled with all the tension both boys carried on their shoulders. It wasn’t soft, it was bruising, both of them relishing every trace of animosity and regret. Draco could feel himself burning and melting in it, at the way Harry’s hand dig his nails in his thigh, bringing it up around his hip; at the way  Harry pressed against him, pinning Draco completely to the wall.

Potter backed away slightly, enough for them to breath before kissing him again, slower this time. Draco threaded his fingers in the black locks, bringing Harry as close as he could while his other thigh was lifted to wrap around Harry’s waist. Harry’s hand supported him there, firmly pressed against the wall and- Fuck, Draco felt the whole lengh of it, rubbing up and down, up and down against his- 

'OKAY EVERYONE!! PARTY’S OVER!’

The lights were suddenly  turned on, lighting up the common room completely. Several complaints arose from all sides, intensified when the music was gone.

It took Harry two seconds to realize that the force that was compelling him to dance was no longer there, and that it had nothing to do with his desire to press his body against Malfoy’s. What he did not know was if he should be relieved or scared when Malfoy did not seem to want to leave either, his hips rolling over Harry’s in the most delightful way possible, the friction sending small shocks of pleasure up his spine. 

Someone gasped beside him, the noise enough to bring them both back to their senses. Their mouths parted, breaking the kiss and leaving Malfoy’s red and swollen lips to show as proof of what they had been doing, of what Harry had done. 

He’d kissed Malfoy. Harry Potter had kissed Draco Malfoy willingly. There were no drugs, just the enchanted music, he realized, and it wasn’t enough to explain why he felt that pang in his chest when Malfoy turned around and ran, leaving Harry to face all his shocked classmates alone.

***

Next (and last) part coming up soon!

Offbeat - Auston Matthews

Annonymous said: maybe an auston matthews imagine where you somehow ended up being apart of ‘the guys’ with them showing up at your house randomly to pick you up to hangout and go to parties. and puckbunnies both are intimidated by you because youre always around and rude to you because you arent the typical super thin blonde, and get even more jealous of how close you are with auston in particular and then things happen and you n auston finally get together (surprise me with the how?) please and thank you :)

A/N: Hello everyone! Now I know everyone has been patiently waiting for Mason (Part 6), but I have other requests pending, and I find when I write other prompts or stories, it helps me write about other storylines I have going on as well. Creative juices, right? 

This was reqested a while ago and I appologize for the wait! I hope it’s similar to your request, and I do believe this will be another multi-part imagine. Let me know what you think!

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Auston Matthews (Feat. Connor Brown, Morgan Rielly, William Nylander, and Zach Hyman)

Words: 4,691

Warnings: Language and Alcohol Consumption

Originally posted by willynylanders

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into my arms

length: 1.2k

genre(s): fluff

warnings: none

simon gets his sandwiches and snowbaz goes stargazing

a/n: thank you to @bazwearsjeans for the beta!! and to @andonewillbringhisfall for organizing the leavers ball!! (sorry this is late lol) from now until july 31st i will be posting every wednesday so track the tag #egfics to see new fics ^__^



Simon

Baz finally got us some sandwiches. Well, he got me some sandwiches. He’d sat and talked with Cook Pritchard while I’d scarfed down about four. I suspect he didn’t want to eat in front of her; I understand all of that now. I understand Baz now. Well, as much as he’ll let me. Which is more than he used to, really. It helps that I pay attention; that I think about him. Not that I didn’t think about him before, I just think differently now. About him. About us.

Once Baz had decided I’d eaten enough, he’d bid Cook Pritchard good night and all but dragged me out the door and onto the Great Lawn. Which is where we are now. The Great Lawn. Stretched out under the stars, lying side by side. I can feel my wings digging into my back, but I barely notice as Baz takes my hand and rests it over his heart. I can feel it thumping steadily under my hand, a familiar feeling. Whenever we’ve shared a bed–which isn’t often–I like to sleep with my ear to his chest. He laughs at me for it, but it’s soothing. He’s soothing. It’s strange to think that.

My hand is rising and falling as with every breath Baz takes, and I feel it hitch when I start to move my hand. Just slowly–down and up–barely reaching his stomach. When my fingers finally brush across his ab muscles, they’re tense, like he’s preparing for an attack. “Someone could walk out,” he whispers, and I laugh.

“Haven’t I established that I don’t care?”

Baz just shakes his head and smiles indulgently. His smile grows wider when I roll over until I’ve nearly got him pinned underneath me. Baz’s hair is slicked back, but a piece has fallen out. It makes me want to free all the strands, so I do. He grunts in surprise as I slide my fingers through his silky hair, loving the way it feels in my hands. I tug gently, and Baz’s eyes widen. I do it, and grin when he groans.

Baz

“Snow,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “what are you doing?” Instead of answering, he ducks his head down and slams his mouth into mine. It’s just as much of an assault as before, but I’m used to it by now. I’m not used to this side of Snow, though. Tonight he’s clingy, all roving hands and cheeky smiles. I’m not sure what’s changed, but I’m bloody well not going to question it, now am I?

Snow lets go of my hair and brushes his fingers past my neck. They’re warm, as usual, and the difference in temperature makes me gasp. He takes advantage of my open mouth, shoving his tongue into my mouth and catching me by surprise. (Good surprise. Always a good surprise.) He tastes a bit like roast beef, and instead of being a turn off, it just makes my mouth water. I’m so hungry.

I put my hands on Snow’s chest and shove, hard. Instead of rolling off me, he just sits up on his knees, towering above me with a knee on either side of my thighs. I can barely see him in the moonlight, but his hair is tousled and his lips look kiss-swollen. He’s panting heavily and I want nothing more than to grab him by the collar and pull him back down to me, except I’m afraid.

“What the hell, Baz?” Simon asks, trying to catch his breath. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to admit I’m afraid of hurting him. I try to subtly run my tongue along my teeth, hoping Simon won’t notice. That would be even more of a buzzkill. I don’t feel my fangs, I don’t even feel them beginning to pop out, and now I feel a bit silly. How Simon notices my faint flush in the dark, I have no idea, but he reaches out and strokes my cheek softly.

“You aren’t going to hurt me.” He sounds so certain that I almost want to believe him. Maybe I do believe him.

“Snow…” I say. “Simon…” But I don’t get to finish, because his lips are on mine and somehow his hands have made it to the collar of my shirt. His fingers linger at the top button.

“Is this okay?” I nod. Normally I would chastise him for getting my suit dirty, but it’s like something strange has come over me. Simon revealing his insecurities broke open something inside of me, something soft and delicate that I don’t recognise. Something that apparently wants my boyfriend to undress me right here on the Great Lawn.

As if reading my mind, Simon snorts. “I don’t want to get you starkers. Just–” He unbuttons the top two buttons and drops his head, kissing, and sucking at my neck until it feels like I’m melting. One of his hands slips back into my hair, and the other one starts to sneak down my chest until his fingers begin to creep under the hem of my shirt.

Crowley, is this what dying feels like? Every nerve in my body is on fire; Snow is attacking from all sides and I’m completely helpless under him. I’m convinced this is all I can bear when he starts grinding against my thigh. My hips jolt, nearly throwing him off of me, and then everything stops. The hands. The kissing. The grinding.

I groan. “Why did you stop?”

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, sounding nervous.

“Merlin, yes,” I exhale. Simon still looks nervous, and his eyes keep darting in the direction of the ball. The one that’ll be ending soon. Oh. Oh. “We don’t have to keep going,” I say, trying to hide the regret in my words. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t be daft. Of course I want to keep going…just…shouldn’t we be getting back? Won’t people be wondering where we are?”

“No,” I say, thinking of my bed back in our old room; of all my old fantasies. Of pressing Simon into the mattress. “No, I have a better Idea.”

Simon

Baz’s voice promises something exciting, and the hand on my waist keeps dipping lower and lower. It brushes my arse, and I stiffen, but he’s only reaching for my tail. “So you don’t trip,” he murmurs, smooth as silk. Bullshit, I want to say back, but I’m too intrigued to argue. I let him guide me across the lawn, trying to hide how nervous I am. Where is he taking me? I must seem worried, because he stops walking.

Or maybe it’s because we’re here. In front of Mummer’s House. “Baz?” I ask, and he smirks at me. It starts to falter when I don’t answer back, and his hand drops from my back.

“We don’t have to,” he says apologetically, “I just thought…”

“I know,” I say, reaching for him, grabbing his upper arms and stroking them soothingly. “I know,” I repeat, “and it’s okay. I want to.”

He looks up at this, squints as he studies my face to gauge whether I’m serious. I am. I hadn’t thought I’d want to go back to our old room, but now that I’m here, it sounds perfect. I let my arms drop as I wait for his answer.

“Okay,” Baz says, sounding relieved. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go then.” He smiles as I take his outstretched hand, and we climb the stairs. Together, for the first time ever.

Side by side.

history-rover  asked:

You asked for it. When the Scot Ties The Knot AU. 😜

okay, bit of background. we were talkin in discord about scottish twitter, which then transmuted into a talk about scottish romance novels, and then i brought up the greatest romance novel premise i’ve ever heard of: when a scot ties the knot by tessa dare. i’ve never actually read this book besides the back cover and some choice passages from my friend @galpaladvns who got it for her birthday or smth (all i really remember from that night was @funnythingsandphysics hunting through the pages for the smut which apparently took ¾ths of the book to get to?) but basically….. what happens next is the rough premise of the book, but viktuuri. and (very heavily winged) historical, because @kazliin and i are in agreement that there should be more period drama viktuuri anyway 


When a Russian is Rushin’ to Marry: Or, the Unexpected Consequences of Inventing a Boyfriend

“I’m so jealous of you,” Phichit laments as he helps Yuuri get ready for the evening’s events. “I remember my first season like it was yesterday. Everything’s so exciting and bright your first time around; I wish I could experience it again!”

Yuuri says nothing, only turns slightly to watch the way the light catches on his blue brocade waistcoat in the mirror. “I don’t know,” he admits after a moment. “I’m probably going to be dreadfully old, especially in comparison to young Mr Plisetsky who’s also debuting this season.”

“Well, sometimes people like a late bloomer,” Phichit chides, patting his forearm. “Now turn, so I can help with your ascot.”

Yuuri lets him adjust the silken material with a weary sigh. He’d been putting off his entrance into society for as long as could be deemed socially acceptable, mostly for his nerves. But with each passing season, his parents would get more and more concerned that he wouldn’t marry and settle down, and eventually he’d caved. Tonight’s soiree would mark his debut, and it was about as quiet an affair as he could manage. Still, the thought of being approached tonight with potential suitors continues to threaten to overwhelm him at any given moment. 

“Deep breaths, Yuuri,” Phichit offers kindly as he pats at his now properly-tied ascot. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“You sound more confident about this than I feel,” Yuuri retorts. Phichit helps him into his tailcoat with a grin.

“You’re a divine dancer, Yuuri,” he points out. “Who could say no to you?”

Keep reading

Soft Serve (Jughead x Reader)

Imagine: In anticipation for the summer, Pop Tate equips his diner with a new soft serve machine. Your fondness for the cold treat proves to be… distracting.


It was summer in Riverdale, and it was hot.

Local news anchors declared it to be one of the hottest summers on record. The black-top steamed from the temperature, and the town’s citizens couldn’t bear to be out of the house for more than an hour. The children, usually bursting with excitement to play outside for the break, instead laid in their bedrooms covered in cold, wet towels, lazily clicking through the TV.

The one oasis in the desert that Riverdale had become was none other than Pop’s Chock’Lit Shoppe. It was even too hot for the thick, sweet milkshakes, and in a genius business move, Pop Tate had invested in a state of the art soft serve machine. When citizens could make it out of their air-conditioned homes, they often went straight to the man himself for a swirled cone in a cake cup.

As always, Jughead Jones was one to deviate from the status quo. Crammed in the attic with Archie Andrews did not do well for ventilation or temperature, and the heat was making his best friend friskier than Jughead would have liked. Jughead stayed as far away from their room as possible, knowing Archie was using it as a love nest for Betty, or Veronica, or even both of them.

The boy had decided to seek solace in the open windows and breeze of his usual booth at Pop’s. Always Jughead’s partner-in-crime (or partner-in-fighting-crime, as it was), it was natural you tag along.

The door jingled as the two of you entered the diner. Upon seeing the large chrome box that was the soft serve machine, your eyes lit up.

“Pop, you didn’t,” you gushed, leaning over the counter to get a better look at the cook, who was swirling ice cream cones with an expert hand.

“I sure did, miss,” Pop said with a genial smile.

You turned to Jughead. “I love ice cream,” you said with an enthusiastic smile. You’d only moved to Riverdale this past school year, and it had never been hot enough for your favorite craving to come about.

Jughead dug around in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out some crumpled bills. “An ice cream for the lady, Pop.” He counted out the correct amount.

“You don’t have to, Jug,” you said with a laugh. “I wasn’t trying to get you to buy me one.”

“I know,” Jughead said, grinning lopsidedly. “Consider it payment for spending this hot day with me.”

Upon choosing your flavor of choice, Pop Tate prepared for you an impeccably perfect vanilla ice cream cone. The swirl was perfectly symmetrical, its spire curling in on itself like the ones in the cartoons. He topped it off with colorful sprinkles. Your stared at it in awe.

You looked up at your friend. “You don’t want one?” You said incredulously.

“Ice cream isn’t really my thing,” he replied with a shrug.

You grinned, hugging his side. “Well thank you!”

He chuckled at your childlike bliss, walking with you to his usual booth. He took out his laptop, finishing up some of his writings from the school year.

Just has he began to write, he realized that your love for ice cream was nothing close to childlike.

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the-word-weaver-of-the-faeries  asked:

“let’s keep this between the two of us.” Azriel and Feyre?

“Let’s keep this between the two of us, okay?” Feyre mutters to Az as he slips, unobtrusively into her bedchamber and she jumps to her feet, hurrying to meet him. 

The shadowsinger just nods, ever dutiful to his High Lady’s every wish. 

“No-one saw you come up here, did they?” she can’t help herself asking anxiously, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting Rhys to burst through the door at any moment and catch them together. 

Azriel just gives her a flat look that implies he’s insulted she would even ask such a thing of him. Perks of being a super spy, she supposes. 

“Alright, I’m ready,” she says, holding out a hand in invitation. Azriel grips it tightly and they winnow into shadow and darkness. They emerge moments later onto the pleasantly warm Velaris streets, pleasantly bustling but not overly crowded, something neither of them would have appreciated. 

They set off together, Azriel quietly leading the way while Feyre follows, smiling and nodding at some of the people they pass who wave greetings to her. “Thanks so much for this, Az,” she puffs out, checking her bag to ensure she brought her purse with her. She doesn’t usually, typically relying on the convenient credit she has in most stores, but she doesn’t want Rhys to have any inclination of her purchase today. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

“It’s no trouble,” he says, leading them down into a quiet, shaded street and walking to the very end, a small store tucked into the corner. “I live to serve at the  High Lady’s pleasure.” She squints up at him, one eyebrow raised, and he smirks. “And entertaining as his last birthday was, I understand it’s not an experience you want to repeat.” 

“No,” Feyre groans, burying her face in a hand at the shame of it. She has many talents and she loves her mate dearly, as Azriel knows,  but gift buying has never been her strong-suit. And the bastard has a habit of finding exactly what she wants every single year without fail. Just once she wants to get him something absolutely perfect. Fortunately, she has a secret weapon in the form of Azriel. 

“Really though,” she grumbles, pushing into the shop after him, “Who’s allergic to strawberries?”  

“Rhys,” Azriel hums simply in that way that implies he knows everything in the world and that nothing could ever surprise him. 

Well, he had been surprised last year when Rhys had taken a large bite from one of the chocolates she had delightedly given him and then promptly started choking. The shadowsinger hadn’t been expecting that. Unfortunately neither had she. 

“And Keir,” he adds as an apparently innocent afterthought. 

Feyre blinks, startled, looking round at him. She supposes it’s not too odd, Keir and Rhys are related, even distantly. Still, “I suspect that comes from the list you have tucked away somewhere that details every known method of killing that bastard; not a concern for the steward’s meal choices?” She muses lightly. That tugs a small, dark smirk out of Az. 

Azriel leads her to the back of the shop then stops in front of one of the small, dusty glass-fronted cabinets to let her see what he’s picked out for her. She opens her mouth to point out that the display is stuffed full of items, she isn’t sure which one he means, but she stops when she sees it, her face lighting up in a smile. Hugging a rather startled Az she whispers, “It’s perfect.” And is relieved when he accepts the hug, smiling, patting her rather awkwardly on the shoulder to convey his acceptance of her gratitude. 

Once Feyre has made her purchase and had it carefully wrapped up by the owner, who seems friendly with Azriel, well, as friendly as anyone can be with him, the two wander back out onto the streets of Velaris. Feyre insists on dragging him into a nearby shop and pressing a large amount of fine differently coloured balls of wool into Az’s protesting hands and then further insists on taking him for a quiet cup of tea. 

She rarely spends time alone with the shadowsinger, he always seems to be out somewhere on some secret mission sometimes she doubts even Rhys knows about. That or closeted up in his room with Mor, enjoying the time he has with her. Usually she only has conversations with him like this when they all go to Rita’s and neither of them feel much like dancing for an hour or so. 

It’s nice, though. Azriel has a quiet, oddly calming presence, even with the shadows darting around him, whispering, always whispering. There’s a comfort to being around him, a sense of safety, and an odd feeling that she could tell him anything and he would simply nod and understand. As a result, Az is the one she’s gone to more times than she can count when she’s had a difficult decision about the court to make that she doesn’t want to put on her mate. He inevitably listens to all she has to say and offers a few quiet insights that help her make up her mind. She values his opinion, and his friendship, more highly than she thinks he’ll ever know. 

Not longer after they’ve sat down in a comfortable booth by the window, they’re both brought two teas and slices of cake that she hadn’t ordered, but that she suspects Azriel did, given that they’re both topped with liberal amounts of strawberries and that their arrival prompts a rare, mischievous smile to blossom across his lips. 

Feyre nibbles at her cake then decides now is as good a time as any to bring up what she wants to, as well as have her revenge for this little dig about the strawberries. Looking slyly at Az over the rim of her cup she says innocently, “I’m sorry to take you away from Mor, I know you just got back, you must have been wanting to spend some time with her.” 

Azriel just blinks at her, saying nothing, as he drops a lump of sugar into his tea. Then another. Then another. She’s discovered, from these little retreats they make to this place from time to time when they both need a little peace and quiet, that he takes an inordinate amount of sugar in his tea. He had confessed to her once, with a small smile, that it was his one and only weakness. 

Finally, carefully, too carefully, Azriel says, “I’ll have plenty of time to brief Mor, later.” Yes, brief her, amongst other things. 

“Mm,” Feyre muses, taking a small sip of tea, “Wouldn’t you rather have spent the morning with her than me?” 

Azriel blinks, apparently genuinely bemused by this comment, “You’re my friend, Feyre,” he says quietly, sincerely, “I like spending time with both of you.” Damn. She really should leave the subtlety and intrigue up to Az as well as the gift choosing. And he’s too earnest and good-natured, there’s no fun in teasing him at all. 

“Azriel,” she says quietly, a soft smile tugging at her lips, “I know.” He blinks owlishly up at her again, clearly implying you know what? And she just scowls at him because if she doesn’t get to tease him then she’s not playing games with him either. 

A deep flush of colour burns into Az’s cheeks as he stares at her, “How?” he rasps eventually and she smirks smugly at him. 

“You’re not the only one who can know other people’s secrets, Az,” she says with a grin, taking another pointed bite of the strawberry cake, which really isn’t half bad. She might have to bring Rhys here at some point, then she might have half a chance of finishing a dessert on her own without the High Lord’s spoon magically making its way over to her plate while he twitters about ‘mating bond equality’ and ‘what’s yours is mine, Feyre darling’. 

Azriel’s face darkens at that and a low, protective growl rumbles in his chest, “Who told you?” he demands, hands curling into fists. 

She starts in surprise at the sudden black venom in his voice and opens her mouth to say something when Azriel freezes, apparently realising how he’d reacted. The blush on his cheeks darkens and his wings twitch, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, and she has her suspicions that he and Mor haven’t been together for long confirmed, based on his response. 

“It’s alright, I understand,” she says quietly, and she does. That need to protect, to keep her safe must be heightened for the two of them after the amount of time they spent apart. She smiles, “And no-one told me, Az,” she huffs, a faint hint of playful scolding in her tone, “I can find some things out without the help of you and your spies, you know, I’m not blind.” 

“Says the woman who didn’t notice for nearly fifty years that her mate is allergic to strawberries,” Az mumbles into his tea, but she notes the playful spark in his eyes and resists the urge to kick him under the table with difficulty.

Instead she reaches over and takes his hand, “I’m happy for you, Azriel. For both of you. You deserve this,” she gives his hand a soft squeeze and finally manages to coax a faint smile from him.  “But why-” 

“Didn’t we tell anyone?” Azriel supplies for her. She supposes he has to find some way to claw back his composure, the best way he knows how, making sure he knows everything she does. Mostly. She nods. He shifts uncomfortably, wings rustling in agitation at his back as he shrugs. “We would have, when we were ready,” he says quietly. “We’re just…Not.” She’s never seen him so discomposed before, he’s usually the picture of articulate eloquence. But Mor…She does this to him. “Not yet, Feyre, please-” 

She gives his hand another quick squeeze, smiling, “I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone, Az, I promise.” He smiles, nodding his head, and thanks her. 

They finish their tea and cake and then Feyre winnows him to Mor’s townhouse before returning herself to the House of Wind to finish up her preparations for Rhys’ birthday. 

The next day, her mate is delighted by the delicate ornament of crystal Illyrian wings she gives him, after having spent all of the day before painting them, accenting the details until they’re a near perfect replica of her mate’s own. 

Feyre notes the way Azriel’s scarred, gentle hand slides around Mor’s waist, squeezing, drawing her in close, just for a moment while no-one else is watching….But misses the way Rhys raises his glass of wine in Azriel’s direction while she’s chatting to Mor, thanking his brother for picking out the gift. Az nods and smiles. The two of them are content to keep this particular secret between themselves for the rest of their long eternities. 

So ist es immer, touka/yomo fanfic (headcanon)

Summary: Yomo and Touka share a nice moment together the day after her wedding.

i wrote it this morning and i totally forgot to post it! i hope it’s not too ooc, touka apparently knows that yomo is her uncle (it was hinted before..) so i do mention that in here, i also want to believe that they share some corny family moments like this once in a while ♡ enjoy! /////


Preview:

“It’s… kind of a big deal, you know? Being married and all that,” he says, trying to gather some wisdom. “So much, uhh… stuff to do, you know, responsibilities, many adult decisions to make and… yeah.” He frowns, what the hell is he even saying?

Touka frowns too, blurting out a giggle.

“God. You’re terrible with words, did you know that?”

Yomo smiles, cheeks softly blushing.

“Y-Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m awful with words too. I guess small talks don’t run in the family.”

Yomo shakes his head, and he’s not smiling anymore. His face shifts to one side to look at her, and Touka finds nothing but truth within his eyes.

“No,” he admits, and he’s being serious right now. “You’ve always been great with words. Just like your mother.”

Keep reading

Reid’s Tirade

A/N: Anon request where the reader is working on a case which involves a really sexist cop, who happens to be working with the Bureau (not an unsub). He makes some very sexist comments toward the reader, and Reid steps in and stands up for her. @coveofmemories

Warnings: Sexist bullshit?

                                                              —–

Dammit, this case needed to be over already. You were going to have to take about a million showers to wash the metaphorical grime off your body. “I need out of here,” you said to JJ and Emily as Hotch and Morgan dealt with the lead officers. Apparently, you still worked in the dark ages when women were supposed to do nothing but walk around in big fluffy dresses, impossibly high heels and corsets that didn’t allow you to breathe, instead of modern-day America where women and men were suppose to work together equally. That would be the day. The officers couldn’t seem to control their mouths around yourself, Emily and JJ, so Hotch decided to run interference. 

“You too?” Emily said. “I feel like I need 18 showers.” She hugged her arms around her body and JJ wiped the grime off her shoulder.

“Do we still work in the 50s?” she asked. “And I feel like even 20 won’t wipe the grime off me.”

“Yea apparently,” you said. “I’m gonna go outside for a few minutes. I need some air. If you need me, send someone out to get me.”

As you walked outside, you felt like you could finally breathe. During the course of this case, the team had come across quite a few women that needed to be interviewed. Mothers and wives of victims. A couple of possible suspects. Some eyewitnesses. And these men had absolutely no finesse. They had no idea how to talk to or interrogate men, no less women, who more than likely wouldn’t respond the same way as men would. Plus, there were a few older ones that seemed to think that women didn’t belong in the work force - no less the police force. Ah, Middle America. Lovely. You couldn’t wait to get back home to DC. 

Taking a deep breath, you leaned your head back into the wall, grounding yourself and your roller-coaster of emotions. Blocking out the world tended to do that for you. Instead, you focused on your breathing, the up and down movements of your chest, the feel of the concrete at the back of your head, the sweet smell of fresh air…which was now contaminated by cigarette smoke. Goddammit. 

One of the officers, late-40s to mid-50s, had walked outside for a cigarette. The smoke wafted closer to you and you coughed, remembering your years as a child, when your grandparents would smoke pack after pack with you in the house. You’d praised the gods when they finally quit. “Sorry, little lady,” the officer said as he leaned against the wall next to you. Though he said sorry, his next puff of smoke was let out in your direction yet again. You were about to show him what a ‘little lady’ you were.

You figured being outside with one of them, or even a few of them, was better than being inside with all of them, so when another couple of officers came back from their lunch break early to smoke against the wall of the station, you stayed there, browsing your phone. But it was really hard to breathe with three cigarettes going simultaneously, so you moved a couple steps to the side the hopefully evade their next puffs. “Why don’t you go inside if the smoke is bothering you?” one of the younger ones said.

“Because we’ve been stuck inside all day and I needed some fresh air,” you replied not looking up from your phone and trying your best not to smack the arrogance out of them. It was truly difficult. Under your breath, you heard the younger one say to the older one that first came out, “This is why women don’t belong on the force, too delicate.”

Okay, now. What?

“Excuse me,” you asked disbelievingly. “What did you just say?”

He tried to backpedal, but you were so far beyond that. Four days of working with these motherfuckers and you were about to blow. “I meant nothing by it, sweetheart.” 

“First of all, I ain’t your sweetheart,” you said, realizing you were about to go off. You took note of their faces so when you went inside you could tell Hotch you wouldn’t be interacting with them anymore. “Second of all, I was out here first and if you can see that the smoke is bothering me, why the fuck do you keep blowing it in my direction? There’s a perfectly good direction, that way, that you could aim your smoke, but you continue doing it toward me.”

“Now I see why they hired you,” the third one chimed in with a laugh. This was going to be good. 

“Why is that?” I dare you. I dare you to speak. You were about to burst. You needed out of this hellhole.

“That face,” the older one said, apparently knowing what the third officer was thinking. “You’re very cute when you’re mad, still wouldn’t have made it here though, gotta have big tits to work for us, don’t you boys?”

It took you a minute to speak because you were so stunned, but by the time you were about to lose your mind, you heard someone speak from behind you. It sounded foreign to you. “Excuse me?” Spencer asked, having come outside to tell you they were about to go over the profile to hone it again. “What did you just say to her?”

“Nothing, man. Nothing,” the first officer said. “You don’t wanna get in our faces either? I really don’t understand what the Bureau is doing hiring women and boys with no muscle.” You were about to just grab Spencer’s arm, tell him to just go inside and forget about it, that they weren’t worth it, but he went off, and it was one of the most glorious things you’d ever seen. 

“Well, to start, Y/N here was hired because she as an IQ of 183, has two Ph.D.’s, one in microbiology and the other in criminology and psychology, and in addition, she’s also a double black belt in Aikido, Karate, Taekwondo, and Jujutsu. As for me, I’m also certifiably a genius with an IQ of 187, and eidetic memory and the ability to read 20,000 words a minute, while you, let’s start with you, I’ve been doing a little research, I hope you don’t mind. You,” Spencer said, pointing to the oldest one, and the one that had come out near you first, “You have two failed marriages under your belt and from what I’ve heard you had to bribe your chief to pass you for your last marksmanship test, because you failed miserably. Even I, the ‘boy with no muscle,’ passed my marksmanship test. And you,” he kept going, calling out the third one for his criminal background that was swept under the rug because the area was so desperate for officers. You were living for this. Sassy Spencer was everything. “And finally, you,” he said, landing on the middle one, the smile from tearing these men to the ground wider than the highways in DC, “you’re truly pathetic. The fact that you even made it onto the force is incredible. Failed marksmanship test, barely passed on the psychological, minor criminal background, but the one thing you did have? A father who was willing to donate to the precinct in order to get you a job. Couldn’t even make it in on your own merit. We had no issue with that,” he said, pointing between the two of you. When he caught your eye, you just smiled. “Now, we’re going to go inside because we have a profile to go over to give to the competent members of your precinct, but not before you apologize to Agent Y/N for what I just heard.” 

Spencer grabbed your hand and brought you up to him as the three officers muttered half-assed ‘sorry’ in your direction. “Good, you ready?” he asked, nodding his head at the officers.

You headed back inside, leaving the stunned officers behind. You could’ve taken care of that yourself, and he knew that, but the fact that he had been so offended on your behalf felt great. “Hey, Spence,” you said, standing up on your tiptoes and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Y/N,” he said enveloping you in a hug. “Plus, it was cathartic for me. It was like I was standing up to the bullies that used to torment me, so thank you for letting me go off.”

As you walked into the conference room that the lead officer had given the team for the case, Hotch, along with everyone else, noticed the smiles on your faces, and the lipstick you’d left on Spencer’s cheek. “Care to tell us what happened or…?” Morgan laughed.

“Nothing, you guys,” you said. “I was just the target of some sexist bullshit from a few of our reluctantly-cooperating officers. Spencer overheard them and told them off. The lipstick was from a kiss on the cheek as a thank you.”

“Who was talking what about you, babygirl?” Morgan asked, and as they walked back in, you pointed them out. “Don’t worry, they say anything else, I’ll rough them up a little bit for you.”

“No need,” you said, looking at Spencer. “I think Reid embarrassed them to death. It was awesome.”