This isn't really Director Sanvers related, but... Danvers sisters bodyswapping fic. Just think of the hilarity!
I agree ;)
She still got giddy sometimes. Waking up to Maggie, sometimes clothed, most times not, was often the highlight of her day. Her mind slowly rising from the fog of sleep, with the warmth of her favorite detective koala wrapped around her, sharing a pillow that smelled of citrus and cherry shampoos, that was the best way to begin her day. Alex paused to remember the delicious feeling of being awoken yesterday by Maggie’s lips and conceded that koala!Maggie was, maybe, the second best way to wake up.
It was like a dream, the happiness she felt knowing that there was someone out there for her, that she wasn’t broken, that she was just looking in all the wrong places and all the wrong faces (literally). Alex pulled herself closer, burying her face into hair that smelled of…
That was weird.
Alex opened one eye to find her face buried in hair that held none of the caramel streaks she was accustomed to, with an entirely different scent. She pulled back a bit, squinting in the dim light of early morning.
Going to bed with Maggie and waking up with her? That was a dream.
Going to bed with Maggie and waking up with Lena Luthor? That was a nightmare.
Alex screamed and threw herself backwards off the bed, dragging the sheets with her. She was nothing more than a tangled mess on the floor when Luthor leaned over the bed, brushing the sleep from her decidedly not Maggie-brown eyes. She looked around in confusion, not seeing anything wrong.
“Kara, darling? Did you have another nightmare?”
What the hell?
“What the hell?” Alex repeated out loud.
Alex scrambled to her feet, shucking free of the sheets and almost falling over again. “How the hell did I get here?”
Luthor frowned. “Through the balcony, darling. Did you hit your head during the fight last night? You came in so late you didn’t even change… can you hit your head and hurt it?”
Alex looked down. The crest of the House of El adorned her chest. The only things missing from the suit were the cape and the boots. “What the hell?”
Lena shifts to sit up, brow still furrowed. She studied Alex, eyes dragging along each limb, cataloging each frantic movement as Alex tried to figure out what the hell was going on. She sprang for the bedside table, and before Alex stopped her internal freakout, Lena had a gun in her hands and shot off.
Thankfully, it bounced off.
“Who are you and how did you get in my girlfriend’s body?”
“What did you do to Kara?”
“You sleep with a gun and my sister?”
“You try getting almost assassinated every– wait, did you say sister?”
Alex turned to look in the mirror. Just what I was afraid of. Blond hair, blue eyes, and all of Alex’s worst nightmares staring back at her. “How the fuck did we switch consciousness while asleep?”
“A… Agent Danvers?”
Alex turned to face the other woman, feeling an unfamiliar heat behind her eyes–her sister’s eyes.
Wait, fuck, can’t fry Kara’s girlfriend just because Kara never told me they were dating.
“How long have you and Kara been-” Alex waved her hand between them, “-a thing?”
“It’s recent. She was trying to figure out a way to tell you.”
“That she’s a lesbian?”
“Bi, I think, is what she’s settled on, yes. But also that she’s exploring that… with me.”
Alex frowned. “Which part did she think I’d be upset about?”
Lena fiddled with the gun in her hands, still wrapped in the one sheet Alex didn’t run off with. Thankfully, she had put the safety back on. “Both, I think.”
Alex tilted her, Kara’s, head back and laughed. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed so hard she basically collapsed in a heap on the floor. Lena looked rather concerned by the time Alex could talk again. “Okay, but, the first one I thought she knew, what with how she went on and on about Lucy when they met–”
“Who’s Lucy?” Lena growled.
“–the second, yeah, that’s a concern, but she talks about you even more than she ever did Lucy, and I’m a little mad that she didn’t tell me, she always tells me–”
“Who. Is. Lucy.”
“–but mostly I think I’m okay with it, because I just remembered Maggie and I weren’t wearing clothes last night and now Kara gets to stumble through apologizing that she’s seen my girlfriend naked.”
A shower orange is a glorious experience that you should perform at least once in your life.
Step 1: Get an orange. Room temperature is fine, but refrigerated makes the contrast even better.
Step 2: Put on a hot shower.
Step 3: Take the whole orange into the shower - yes, while naked. Treat it like an otherwise normal shower.
Step 4: Use your teeth and fingernails to rip open the orange and take huge messy bites out of it. Drop the peels by the drain, and your shower will be full of citrus oil smells. You can pick them out later. Devour the orange. Revel in it.
Step 5: Finish your shower and clean up the leftover bits of peel and seeds. If you thought ahead, you could also have a trash can set up outside the shower for the peel and such, but I dont think it’s necessary.
night court: constellations, dark chocolate, glowing moonstone, snowcapped mountains, hands reaching to the stars, soft velvet, the sound of distant laughter, dark corners, dreams and nightmares, dancing all night long, elegant gowns, fingers entwined with a lover, the smell of citrus, trailing shadows, tattoos inked into skin, glittering eyes that shine like starlight
dawn court: swans hatching, playing hide-and-seek, the smell of a new perfume, poetry, feathers grazing skin, waking up to a lover’s kiss, glorious sunrises, strumming a harp, sheer fabric, having long conversation with friends, cuddling, a palace in the clouds, morning glories, spinning in ballrooms, open windows, lace garments, pale eye shadow, speaking softly and laughing loudly
day court: basking in warm sunlight, empty inkwells, gold jewelry, knowing glances, the smell of parchment, cloudless skies, fingers running down book spines, witty comments, licking ambrosia from lips, napping on a chaise lounge, inquisitive head tilts, massaging hands after writing all day, shuffling papers, brewing coffee, hushed whispers between bookshelves, bright warm smiles
I made this blend without checking correspondences first. I just threw together all my citrus oils because I love the smell of citrus. Later I checked the correspondences and went “Huh, those work decently together in a magical sense.” Play with the proportions as needed, this isn’t an exact science. Just add oils until you like how it smells. Maybe you like sweet orange more than lemon. idk. You do you, boo.
3 drops lemon essential oil
2 drops grapefruit esssential oil
1 drop sweet orange essential oil
Sunflower oil base
-Lemon is associated with washing away any negative gunk in both a mundane and a spiritual sense - Grapefruit is also used for cleansing and purification - Sweet orange brings love, luck, money, and blessings to the business or home. - Sunflower oil is associated with the sun, solar energy, happiness, and positivity (also has very little scent of its own, for maximum citrusness)
It’s mostly an oil I use for cleaning/cleansing, with just a smidge of extra niceness added to it. And sometimes I just put some in an oil warmer for no other reason than citrus scents make me happy.
Here’s some feysand smut featuring Rhys’s cute dog!💜 I didn’t go back and edit yet so I apologize for any mistakes!!
Feyre slammed her car door and looked up at the massive house in front of her. Balconies were attached to the top floor, and there was a beautiful set of stairs leading up to the front door. A fountain was placed in the middle of the long driveway which she now stood in, and there was a four car garage attached to the side of the house.
She was well aware that Rhys’s family was quite wealthy, especially since his parents owned their own business. She knew it bothered Rhys at times, knew he didn’t want to be known as the “rich kid” in school, because that wasn’t him. Rhys was the guy who got As on every test, who studied and did well on projects and homework, who walked around not caring about anyone’s opinion.
That’s why she fell in love with him nearly 4 months ago. They had known each other for far longer than that, and they had even admitted that they felt the same long before.
a/n: In which Nursey is a sap. Basically I’m giving Nurseydex their Zimbits moment. Pie is involved.
“…You don’t know how to peel an apple, do you?”
Nursey whipped his head up to see Dex staring at him, an
eyebrow raised. They were in the kitchen trying to make a pie for Ransom and
Lardo’s birthdays, and it was going pretty okay—but definitely not thanks to
Nursey. He’d been trying to peel the same apple for the last five minutes.
“Um,” Nursey said. “Well, I’ve never had to, you know, peel stuff before—”
“It’s literally not hard,” Dex said. “I’d chirp you about
how helpless you are, but I really just want to get this done. Let me show
He stood at Nursey’s side, took the apple and the peeler,
and started to demonstrate. “See?” he said, gripping the peeler tight in this
long fingers. He shucked three long strips of apple peel into the sink and then
handed the tool and the apple back to Nursey. “It’s not hard—you’re just
“Well thanks, that’s a relief,” Nursey said. Dex hip-checked
him, and he hip-checked back.
“Since when are you so good at baking, then, huh Dex?”
Nursey asked quietly after a moment or two of silence. “I remember you dissing
baking back when we were frogs—”
“We’re still the frogs, Nursey.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. I just… Now it seems like more often than not you’re the one helping Bitty
bake,” Nursey said. “What changed?”
S.Coups: Bright red. Worn in baseball caps, over-sized jerseys, hot dogs and empty stadiums. The smell of fresh strawberries; Getting into your house after a day out in the winter; The feel of a new basketball. Warm summer nights. The sound of kids in the hallways on the last day of school after the bell rings; Screaming when you finally beat a hard level in a game; Teasing eyes; Mangoes.
Woozi: An untouched field of bright crisp snow; the satisfaction you get when you ace a test you thought you’d do bad on. Thick Holiday sweaters; paper lanterns glowing in dark streets; serious conversations with your normally easy-going friend at 2 in the morning. The colors mint and peach. Smiling to yourself as someone unknowingly compliments you. Laughing to yourself, embarrassed, after you caught yourself daydreaming about someone. The feel of new notebooks.
Hoshi: The rush of joy you feel all at once as you’re trying your hardest doing something you love. Watermelon Popsicle sticks. Turquoise. Giggles breaking the silence. 2007- 2009 pop songs that you still break out screaming to if they come on the radio. Cherry lip balm. Daisies. Empty hockey rings. Cheesy Valentine’s Day teddy bears. Spending hours on a project you’re working on, not noticing you worked through the night. Plastic water bottles.
Wonwoo: Ocean blue. Secret smiles. The jokes written on cards you get at the Pharmacy. Midnight walks. Being in a warm jacket outside during the fall. Apples. The feel of a cold PlayStation controller. Fresh pumpkins. Inside jokes with your friends. Laughing really hard after not laughing for a long time. The smell of clean linen. The moon’s reflection on a car window. Hugging a friend you haven’t seen in a while. Worn in converse sneakers. The sound of a shower running. Soft cloth.
Mingyu: Warm cheesy pizza. Unexpectedly laughing loudly. Ultramarine blue. Fuzzy socks. Riding your bicycle really fast and feeling the wind hit you. Mozzarella sticks. Ice cold soda on a hot day. The way gloves feel when they just got out the dryer. Giggling to yourself as you enjoy doing something childish. Dancing to yourself in front of a mirror. The sound of the city on a busy day. Dipping new paint brushes into paint. Bright sunlight pouring in through a window.
Vernon: Staying up all night on the internet. Late night jokes with your friends. Burgers. Crinkled plaid shirts. Purple. The way your face scrunches up as you laugh really hard. 2 a.m. Ramen noodles. Feeling satisfied as you push yourself past your comfort zone and get good results. Jokes so bad they’re funny. Falling asleep to the sound of a tv show. Opening a new album package that you waited forever for. Plastic figurines. Feeling nervous on the first day of school. Rubber bracelets. Relaxing car drives.
Dino: Stretching in the morning. Lopsided beanies. Pumpkin seeds and tangerines. Long needed hugs. Making fake mohawks with shampoo/soap. Brand new comic books. The way your eyebrows furrow as you work hard doing something you love. The color green.
Randomly learning a weird fact. Rushing to open a package of takeout when you’re really hungry. Racing during gym. Ham and cheese sandwiches.
Seungkwan: The smell of warm, fresh out the oven, buns. Pastel yellow and baby blue. Soft pajamas. Purposefully singing badly to a song. Scrapbooks. The taste of vanilla. The feeling of satisfaction and pride you get after you tell a joke and everybody starts laughing. Those dollar store kids hand sanitizers. Preppy button up shirts. Warm honey brown eyes. The way a librarian smiles at you sweetly. Snow falling in your hair. Thick fluffy scarves. Really puffy winter jackets. Dandelions.
DK: Yellow and orange. Sunflowers. The way you squint your eyes when the sun is too bright. Fried chicken + french fries. Late night snacks. Sliding down wooden floors in socks. Terrible romantic movies. Imitating/mocking the GPS’ voice when you’re driving. Holding hands with your friends. The toy section at the dollar store. The smell of citrus. Bananas. Finger painting. Bouncing your leg as you type away. Laughing with someone, adoration shining through your eyes. Oversized shirts with jokes written on them.
The8: Rubber bouncy balls. Happy family reunions. Fuzzy slippers. Tinsel. The faint sound of music playing at a bbq. Baby golden retrievers. Surprising yourself with your own strength. Bonfires late at night on the beach. The sun shinning extremely bright after it rained. Long eyelashes. Roast sessions with your friends. Coconuts; the smell of purple grapes. Holiday music playing in stores. Fake mustaches and waffles. Two toned/swirled ice cream. The way the warm sidewalk pavement feels against your bare feet.
Jun: Retro red. The night sky when there are no stars out. Kitchen aprons and rose petals. Steele blue. Brand new pencils. Bright white teeth and secret winks. Jumping in (clean) puddles when it’s raining. Airplanes. Apricots and strawberry jam. Cheap perfume and small tourist knick knacks. Warm caramel, covered in chocolate. When your friend pulls through for you. 1 a.m. phone calls. Waking up before you’re supposed to and just laying there, thinking, until your alarm goes off. Fake-flirting with your friends. Plastic flower necklaces.
Jeonghan: Neutral colors. Cactus’ and pastel flower pots. The silence before a storm. Sticking your tongue out playfully. Laughing so hard you accidentally hurt yourself by bumping into something. Messy toaster strudels. Accidentally succeeding at something/good luck. Nostalgia. When you’re tired but so excited you can’t sleep. Watching terrible comedy movies with your friends and laughing more with each other than at the movie. Cinnamon toothpaste. Saltine crackers; absentmindedly laying in a weird position when you’re invested in your hobby.
Joshua: Worn down wood. Maple syrup on warm fluffy pancakes. Procrastinating by watching strange useless videos on Youtube. Old headphones. When your desk is messy but you kinda just know where everything is. Coffee shops and doughnuts with sprinkles. The sound of traffic at night. Knowing every word to a child’s song you haven’t sang in years. Chipped nail polish. Jeans and messy hair. Seeing your own breath when it’s very cold out. Drawing small hearts on the car window. Secret Pinterest boards.
Citrusy Altean Blood, an idea made by my friend @dcdr34m3r !
She had this theory that Altean blood is the same colour as their markings. So that means Mitan has orange juice flowing through his veins and always smells like citrus and no one knew why until he got stabbed.
“Altea always smelled like a fruit salad.” - @dcdr34m3r
And just like that, your fate was sealed - because Min Yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. But hell, if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.
And sadly, at the time, you didn’t think that your thoughts would become so literal.
“and maybe sometimes we shout the things we never want to say, and whisper to ourselves all the things which our hearts want to hear.” - ma.c.a
pairing: min yoongi x reader warnings: mature, heavy angst genre: soulmate!au, slowburn words: 6,099 chapter index
absolutely okay.” You say out loud, hands coming together for a
short clap. “I am totally fine,” slips from your shaded lips as
you try and fail to reassure yourself.
Your hands curl
around the edge of the white sink you’re standing in front of. Your
eyes resting on your reflection after drenching your face with two
handfuls of water. You keep repeating supports to yourself to try to
keep your emotions under control, but the club-goer’s who keep giving
you odd looks as they witness you speaking to yourself, do little to
comfort the twist currently settling in your stomach.
Hobi forgetting you part 4 - WITH A SNEAK PREVIEW OF PT 5
also google said lemony or citrus smells were the most gender neutral so i went with that i hope thats alright for you all
the next part is the last ;w; - i’ve never really made a series of texts before so if you guys could let me know if you’ve liked it or if it’s as shit as my mind makes me think it is, either way would help me for the future :’)
I was just thinking about how entertaining a body swap between Jehan and Enjolras would be.
How wacky would that be though?
Enjolras blinks his way to consciousness, the light shining through the window left open, and he doesn’t remember leaving said window open. The apartment smells like citrus and lavender. Maybe Combeferre has made some tea…
But then he realises there are arms knotted around his waist, and the embrace is tightening and what the fuck? He managed to crane his neck enough to realise the person spooning him is Montparnasse and he lets out a strangled exclamation/scream because, again, WHAT.THE.FUCK? Enjolras shuffles out of Montparnasse’s grip and distances himself as much as possible, taking all the covers with him, while his bed “buddy” is left naked and confused on the mattress.
“What’s going on?” Montparnasse mumbles, his eyes struggling against the light.
“YOU is going on! What the fuck are you doing in my bed, you creep?!”
Montparnasse is even more confused because??? But also speechless.
“What are you waiting for? Leave!”
“I-Love, did I do someth-”
“Jesus are you high?”
“Jehan, what the fuck?”
Okay, Montparnasse is definitely high. Or that’s what Enjolras thinks until he catches a glance of himself in a mirror facing him, in a bedroom that is definitely not his own. And a body that is DEFINITELY not his own!
“Oh fuck… Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
A ringtone startles both Enjolras and Montparnasse. Hesitantly, Montparnasse reaches for the phone on the nightstand next to him, keeping his eyes on Jehan. Or rather, whom he thinks is Jehan.
He frowns. His jaw drops.
“Jehan?! Then who the fuck is THIS?”
Later that day, Enjolras gets to see his body hugging Montparnasse tightly and looking positively too mellow to his tastes. Combeferre is both freaked out and fascinated by the whole thing. He nudges Enjolras. Or rather Jehan. Enjolras in Jehan’s body. It’s confusing.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll need bleach to wipe out that mental image out of my brain.”
writing-prompt-s: An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.