My perfect day.


Things that inspire us: 

Fadeout-Chair by nendo / Oki Sato

The fadeout chair’s legs seem to gently disappear, as though the chair stands in a pool of mist or fog. The chair’s back and seat are wooden, and the clear acrylic legs are specially painted by craftsmen so that the wood grain appears to gradually fade away. Usually, our perception of furniture is strongly affected by the space around it. The fade-out chair turns this relationship on its head: we can change the look and feel of a space simply by placing the chair in it. This was our attempt to design space itself through furniture.

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singelisilverslippers replied to your post “prompt me?”

unbeknownst to the rest of the avengers, darcy lewis befriends bucky barnes post ca:tws

“Marcy? Venti vanilla soy macchiato for Marcy?”

Darcy swoops in and grabs her drink, which has a sharpie scribble on the side that bears little to no resemblance to her actual name. She’s used to this–even Pride and Prejudice can’t keep overworked baristas from mangling Darcy beyond recognition–and she will answer to Marcy, Marcia, Darla, Daria, Danny, or Mandy if it gets her the drink she shelled out four bucks for. Once she fought off a guy named Darren who tried to swipe her americano using only a drink stirrer and an increasingly shrill voice.

She turns around and scowls–waiting for her order didn’t clear out the seating area any, and all six tables are currently occupied. There’s a single chair open, between Knitting Hipster and Some Tourist Recharging Her iPhone, but she doesn’t want to have to balance her MacBook and her drink while kicking away errant balls of wool-blend. She guesses she could head back to the Tower, but that kind of defeats the whole purpose of packing up her bag to head out for her lunch hour.

Just then, Middle-Aged Guy Working His Way Through a Tenth Grade Lit Syllabus drains the last of his iced chai, closes The Catcher in the Rye, and stands. Darcy practically leaps for his table, yanking her laptop and charging cord out and cementing her claim. Right by the window, nice. This is usually where Long-Sleeve Jesus sits, but he’s nowhere to be seen, which means she feels zero guilt about snagging the spot.

From this table, she’s got a clear line of sight down the block to the main entrance to the Tower. There’s the usual gaggle of people on the sidewalk outside, snapping selfies and lingering a few moments in the vague hope of maybe spotting an Avenger. Yeah right. Darcy lives in that building and she once saw Tony Stark and a guy Jane swore was Bruce Banner from waaay across a glass-walled lab complex, and that's it. Well, she’s chilled with Thor a couple of times, whenever he’s hanging around Midgard with the little people, but that's it. She might’ve once shared an elevator with Hawkeye–it was a guy with a bitchy resting face hidden behind reflective shades and a tube strapped to his back that might’ve been the right size to hold a bow, but he said nothing and she said nothing and the elevators are really really fast, so the ride was over pretty quickly. Anyway. Avengers are rare.

Honestly, the only reason she’s here in Manhattan, living in Tony Stark’s building, is because SHIELD turned out to be full of Nazis or something and literally crashed and burned all over the Potomac. After that, Stark got really hinky about keeping everybody close by, so Captain America and Black Widow got relocated from D.C., Thor formally invited to stop taking over Jane’s mom’s guest room in London, and Hawkeye dragged in from fuck knows where–she’s heard Europe, she’s heard Brooklyn–to become Stark’s new penthouse buddies. She’s not sure how often any of them are really home, though. She herself got moved into a shockingly-okay little cube of an apartment on the thirty-first floor, as part of the “friends and family” benefits package. It's technically Jane’s cube of an apartment, and Darcy is technically only supposed to be her roommate because Jane pitched a fit about losing her “intern,” but Jane actually lives in Thor’s suite, leaving Darcy with her very own rent-free Midtown address. At this point, she’s just going with the flow of her life and not stressing about it, because at nineteen, when she first dropped her summer internship application off in the box affixed to the door of “Dr. J Foster” in the physics building, she never would’ve figured herself for superhero-adjacent.

Someone stops in front of her table and she glances briefly up, then her eyes go wide. Shit, it’s Long-Sleeve Jesus, and he’s obviously trying to figure out where he’s gonna sit, since she’s at his table. She glances over her shoulder, and Tourist is gone, but Adorable Lesbians have taken over both of the chairs. Darcy grimaces, then kicks the other chair out away from the table.

“I’m not using it,” she says, then hunkers behind her laptop screen as Long-Sleeve Jesus hesitates, then places his drink down on the table and sits.

“…thanks,” he says at last, and his voice is suprisingly soft for the whole ponytail-and-beard thing he’s got going on. She peeks up at him and he’s already doing his usual thing, looking out the window down the street, the bill of his beat-up ballcap making the circles under his eyes look darker and deeper than they might otherwise. He’s a weirdo–it’s like eighty degrees today, nobody wears long sleeves and gloves in this kind of weather unless they’re in uniform or a weirdo–but he seems like a pretty harmless weirdo.

The rest of her lunch hour goes pretty quickly, and she packs up and leaves him still sitting there, looking out the window.

About a week later, she can’t find a spot to sit because she accidentally timed it so she coincided her break with the coffee-stop for about thirty Korean teenage tourists. She grabs Darry’s macchiato–is that even a fucking name?–and is prepared to walk her sorry ass back to the Tower when Long-Sleeve Jesus makes eye contact with her and tilts his head a little. She slides in across from him gratefully and pulls out her laptop.

So a nice weirdo, then.

After that, she and Jesus have an unspoken arrangement where, if there’s nothing else available, they’ll share the window table. They basically never talk, except maybe when Darcy accidentally kicks his leg under the table every now and again, so it works out okay. About a month into this, though, Darcy’s in the middle of sending her mom an email when she finally just plants her elbows on the table, folds her laptop screen down a little, and goes, “Dude, what the hell is your name?”

Long-Sleeve Jesus reluctantly tears his eyes from the window and blinks owlishly at her. “What?”

Darcy raises her eyebrows. “Your name?”

His lips part, just a little, and he looks down and away, like he’s thinking. Well that’s reassuring. After a moment, he wrinkles his brow and says, very quietly, “James.” He looks up at her from under the brim of his cap, like he’s trying to gauge if that was the right answer.

She squints at him, trying to decide if that’s actually his name or not. Eh, fuck it. He shaved over the weekend, so he’s stubbly but no longer beardy, and the term “Jesus” doesn’t really fit anymore, so she’ll accept it.

“Hi, James. I’m–,” she holds up her cup, with its illegible scrawl, “–Darleen.”

His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “Hey,” he replies.

“Cool,” she says, opening her laptop fully back up. “Next month, be prepared to tell me where you’re from.”

It finally starts getting a little cooler, so Long-Sleeve James doesn’t look like so much of a weirdo. Darcy’s just glad that she gets to go back to wearing all of her favorite sweaters.

She’s watching Netflix with her headphones in one Thursday, sitting across from James, who’s still looking out the window, his usual tall cup of black coffee between glove-covered hands. Suddenly she gets the creeping sensation that someone’s staring at her, and she glances up and out the window behind James to see a red-haired woman in a gorgeous trenchcoat looking straight at them, cellphone pressed to her ear. Darcy blinks, then her mouth drops open. That is Black Widow.

James catches her expression, then looks over his shoulder. She’s getting ready to whisper to him about who it is when he basically explodes into motion. He nearly upends their table leaping to his feet, and Darcy shrieks as the remains of his coffee and her latte go flying, lids popping off and liquid getting all over her and her very not-cheap MacBook.

What the hell–” she starts, but he’s taken off at a dead run, past her, past Knitting Hipster and Service Dog Guy, out the other entrance. There’s a blur of red outside the window, and apparently Black Widow is in pursuit. Darcy is left just standing there with her coffee-stained sweater and dripping laptop, wondering what the fuck just happened.

She has her very first run-in with Captain America four days later, and it’s not across a lobby or in an elevator. No, Captain America knocks on her flippin’ door at ten-thirty on a Monday night. Darcy makes a very undignified squeaking noise when she looks through the peephole, but manages to get it together in time to open the door.

“Darcy Lewis?” he asks. Holy shit, he knows her name. He’s standing there in sweatpants and the tightest tee known to man and for the first time it really dawns on her that she lives in the same place the Avengers live.

“Hi,” she replies. Ah damn, she only sorta got the squeaking under control.

“Here,” he says, handing over a big, heavy bag. He looks a little tired, a little rough, but he manages a smile. “Buck says sorry.”

She gives him a weirded-out look, then glances down into the bag. There’s a brand-spanking-new MacBook in there, still in its box. A yellow post-it has been stuck to the top, and Darleen has been gracelessly scrawled across it.

“Oh my god,” she manages, then leans out into the hallway. Down near the elevator bank, Long-Sleeve James is fidgeting, except he’s not wearing long sleeves for once, and one of his arms is made of fucking metal. “Oh my god!” she shouts accusingly down at him. “I thought you were some sort of international terrorist I was inadvertantly aiding and abetting!”

He just slams his non-metal palm into the elevator button bank and scoots back into the first one that opens, out of sight. What a fucking weirdo.

Captain America is still standing there, looking a little brittle but like he’s trying to be friendly. “That okay?” he asks, nodding toward the bag.

Darcy scowls down the hallway for another second, then clutches the bag tighter. “Oh man. Uh. Yes, thank you. This is way nicer than my current one? You didn’t have to–”

“It’s okay,” he cuts her off. “It’s okay, really, I wanted to. Dr. Foster said yours was acting up, something about your keys not working? And uh. Thanks for keeping him company, I guess.”

“That’s Bucky Barnes,” she says, just to confirm.

Captain America folds his arms across his massive chest and does this little wincing shrug thing. “He’s. He needs some time. I gotta go, I gotta check on him, the elevators won’t move without me with him, Tony’s orders, but I gotta–”

“Got it, cool. Thanks for the computer, Cap,” Darcy says, tossing off a little salute which she instantly regrets. He smiles tightly, turns, and heads for the elevators. She can’t help watching him for just a moment longer, then she heads back into her apartment.

She pulls the box from the bag and presses her cheek to the cool cardboard. Nothing like that new electronic feel.

“Oh my god,” she says to nobody in particular, then she gets started booting up her brand new guilt-computer.


That moment you realize that while he was talking about taking Bella to Italy, Jack was sitting in the very chair Bella would be in when she tried to end her life. 

Green Isn’t Always a Good Color

Saw this post on my dash and the bunnies attacked. Fluff-ish? Future fic, established Olicity.

Felicity’s dress Front | Back

Felicity tried very hard not to sigh in frustration at Oliver’s grumpy attitude, and so far, she’d succeeded. Just barely. She tried to block out the periodic throat clearing coming from the seat beside her, along with the incessant fidgeting of cufflinks as they made their way to the Ritz-Carlton. Taking deep, steady breaths seemed to help her composure, but if she had to hear one more aggravated sigh, someone was going to be on the receiving end of her loud voice.

The party they’d been invited to was one Felicity had been looking forward to for months. Not only because she enjoyed the host’s company, but also because she liked the host’s Company with a capital C. After two years of back and forth talks, Wayne Enterprises and Queen Inc. were finally getting married. Well, a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises, anyway.

Oliver’s grumpiness came from the fact that Bruce and Felicity got along far too well for Oliver’s taste. And who could blame them? They both had a love for tech and could talk for hours about their latest gadgets. It also didn’t hurt (or help) that Bruce was a vigilante in his own neck of the woods, so it was more common ground that they bonded over.

Oliver had warned her years ago that he and Bruce had a long history frought with bitter competition. Over grades, over achievements, and even over women. Oliver’s worry in introducing her to Bruce was that somehow, she would fall under Bruce’s spell and run away with him. Felicity had laughed, asking Oliver if he knew how silly he sounded, and then promptly reassured him with a kiss.

“You’re the only man that I love,” she had said.

Over the years, Oliver’s insecurity around Bruce had popped up here and there, and it had become one of those things in their marriage that they kept an eye on without beating it to death. Felicity promised not to poke at the sore spots as long as Oliver worked on dispelling his insecurity. One of many compromises in their relationship, and it worked out just fine. Mostly.

Tonight, the green eyed monster made a reappearance when she stepped out of the hotel bathroom wearing a black A-line dress with asymmetrical cutouts on the front, a triangular cutout on the back, and a slit that went all the way up to her mid-thigh. Felicity thought it was a classy enough dress for the occasion while still appealing to her sense of style, but Oliver almost had a conniption.

“You’re not wearing that,” he had grunted in his Arrow voice.

One pointed look from Felicity had him changing his tune.

“I’d rather you wore something—“

“What, Oliver? Would you rather I wore a nun’s habit?”

He hadn’t said anything after that.

Granted, snark was probably the wrong response, but that bossy “Do as I say” tone always brought out her rebellious side.

Now they were riding in the town car, an uncharacteristically large space separating them, in silence thick enough to suffocate. Someone had to break first, and one look at Oliver’s dejected frown and furrowed brow told her it had to be Felicity.

She took a deep, silent breath, and extended her hand toward Oliver, brushing his elbow. He didn’t look at her, but his body straightened just the tiniest bit at the contact. His bottom lip trembled slightly before he tucked it between his teeth, and his frown deepened with sorrow.

“You know I love you, right?”

He closed his eyes as a breath left him in a gust.

“You’re the only one I love,” she repeated, “and you have nothing to worry about.”

Oliver drew in a shaky breath, and then his whole body sagged in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly.

Felicity shifted closer to his body and tucked her arm behind his back. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her close as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You just forgot,” she said, rubbing her hand on his chest as a gesture of her forgiveness. “I’m gonna keep reminding you all night.”

Oliver finally turned his head to meet her gaze, and she noticed his eyes had taken on a slight sheen. “Thank you,” he murmured before sweeping in for a kiss.

The car pulled up to the entrance of the hotel, and Felicity noticed a small gathering of paparazzi outside. After years of living the public life as a Queen, she had gotten used to this kind of entrance, unfortunately.

She looked at her husband. “You ready?”

He swiped a hand across his eyes and looked back at her with a small smile. “Ready.”

Felicity gave him one more kiss before placing her hand in his. “Let’s do this.”

The door opened, and Oliver and Felicity Queen were greeted with pops and flashes of light.

Vogue 1968
Seated on clear plastic chairs atop Switzerland’s glacier de la Rosablanche; one model wearing Ernst Engel ski suit with an Adolfo fur hat; the second model wearing Rudi Gernreich for Harmon Knitwear ski pants and matching ribbed top. Photo by Arnaud de Rosnay

"An organization run by an ESTP, ENTJ, ENFP, INTJ, and INFJ?"

Open Scene: INTJ, ENTJ, ENFP, ESTP, INFJ all sitting around a table in a conference room

ENTJ: Everyone! Quiet! The meeting is about to begin!

ENFP: Fun! What are we talking about today, Boss?

INFJ: *whispers to ENFP* ENFP, he isn’t the boss, we are all equals.

ENFP: *talks loudly* Are you sure? I thought we elected him.

INFJ: *facepalm* 

ESTP: Hey! I’m the leader here!

INTJ: Shut up, ESTP

ENTJ: Everyone shut up! The meeting is officially starting. *clears throat and takes seat at the head of the table* First matter of business, “World Domination”


INFJ: Don’t be silly, ESTP, we don’t need an army to take over the world, all people want is peace and they will follow the one who gives it too them- just look at Ghandi, right INTJ?

INTJ: Wrong. People want to be controlled, peace is an illusion.

ENFP: *face falls* Wh-what?

INFJ: INTJ is kidding ENFP.

INTJ: No I’m not

ENFP: *Burst into tears*

ENTJ: Here we go again.

INTJ: Can we just ignore it this time?

*Group suddenly interrupted by the sound of Call of Duty being played*

ESTP: *plays enthusiastically, shouting loudly*

ENTJ: ESTP! What on earth are you doing! We are trying to have a discussion!

ESTP: I know, I’m talking, don’t worry. But I need to practice.

INFJ: There will be no army!

INTJ: Lies.

ENFP: INFJ! You’re a liar?!

ENTJ: *Shakes head at the unfortunate situation* I need new people. 

ISTJ secretary peeks head in on cue: What do you need sir?

ENTJ: New people, now. 

ISTJ: Yes sir

*ESTP, ENFP, INFJ, INTJ all fall through trap doors under their chairs, trap door flaps closed leaving open chairs which are immediately filled with four ESTJ’s*

ENTJ: *rubs hands together* Now that is more like it!

Beautiful Days SDR2: Super High School Level Friendship

Story: Onogami Meiya (小野上明夜)
Illustration: Fujiwara Ryou (冨士原良)

(I’m still on vacation and am already posting this way later than I finished it, so I’m not going to reread it for mistakes as thoroughly as I usually do. Please don’t hesitate to point out anything that seems weird! Otherwise, please enjoy the final story of Beautiful Days!)

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Misjudged (Head) Covers

So I just had a transfer on transit where I switched from the bus to the train. I was sitting on the bench waiting for the train to arrive, and an old white lady comes by who is also waiting for the train. I smile at her and pick up my bag, clearing the seat next to me so she can sit down. She stands there, looks at the seat, then looks at my turban, and kirpan, glares at me and walks over to the next bench to sit next to a (surprise surprise) white man.

This has happened before so I don’t think too much of it and continue doing my readings. A few minutes later I hear a voice shrieking, “GIVE ME BACK MY PURSE!!!” I looked over to see who it was.

It was the old white lady chasing after the guy she had just sat next to…

Harley sat in her car, the back seat was clear as she laid in it, tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her stomach churn again. Her work had sent her home because she couldn’t stop running to the bathroom. Which meant she lost out on money that day, leaving her emotional distraught in her car. Turning to face the back seat she closed her eyes. Taking a shaky breath. Shivering slightly as she wrapped her blanket around her. She was scared to go back to Parker’s after finding out, she barely even answered his texts. After it all happened she was certain he saw her differently no matter how much he reassured her. So she closed off like she did best. Finding escape in her little home.

Lecture (pt. 2)

part 1

part 3

You rushed through the building, already off to a bad start thanks to a faulty alarm clock and your own messed up sleep schedule. Granted, you were headed to your favorite class. You had always enjoyed the class, even before you started fucking the insanely handsome professor.

You opened the door, hoping to be as stealthy as possible since you hated being the center of attention.

“Alright, so I want everyone to try and read it at least twice so that…” He trailed off, his hazely green eyes following you as you took your seat. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “I just totally forgot what I was saying. Probably wasn’t important anyways. Uh.. work time for the rest of the period.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips as you organized your materials. It was still a shock that he was as into you as you were into him. You looked up from your notebook, only to meet his eyes. Only he could smirk like that and still seem somehow innocent, even when it was so clear exactly what he was thinking at the moment. You bit your lip without even thinking about it, growing heated under his scrutiny.

The rest of the class dragged as it always did. You could think of nothing but kissing those perfect plump lips of his. And yeah, that was a pretty normal thought for you. But now, you could actually do it. It still seemed so unreal, all of it. More like something that would happen in a cheesy romance novel.

It had become ritual for you to meet him in his office after all the students had left. He was waiting for you with open arms. Arms that were so delightfully muscular.

“Well hello, gorgeous.” He greeted you as you wrapped your arms around him. You snuggled into his familiar chest, making a quiet contented sound.

“You’re not even going to scold me for being late?” You teased, planting tiny kisses along his strong jawline. “People might think you’re playing favorites.”

“Mm. I am though.” He purred, a hand finding its’ way to your backside while he gave you a slow kiss. He tasted sweet, of coffee with far too much sugar in it. Or maybe it was just enough sugar, you decided.

You pulled back, beaming at him without realizing it. You gently pushed him back to his office swivel chair. “Sit.”

“Ooh. Babe you know I love it when you get all dominant like that.” He grinned his approval, taking your hand and kissing his way up your arm.

“Shh.” You laughed, silencing him with a peck as you carefully climbed atop his lap, straddling him. Just the way he looked at you sent shivers through your body. Everything with him was so intense, all or nothing. Your little trysts with him always left you wanting more, the man was downright addictive.

“You know, Y/N, I could get you in trouble for being insubordinate.” He quipped back, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“You won’t though.” You said confidently.

“And why not?”

“This.” You rolled your hips against him, eliciting a seriously pained groan from him. You could feel him hardening even more between your legs. “Let’s take care of this, hm?”

“Fuck yes.” He responded, his body already tense.

“Eager, are we?” You teased, freeing his erect member from his pants. You gave him a few tentative strokes, enjoying just how stiff he was.

“Always for you.”

And of course, just when things were about to get especially dirty, what sounded suspiciously like footsteps rang through the air. You both exchanged terrified looks as you scrambled off of him.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” He repeated, looking around desperately for some kind of out. “Quick, under the desk.”

You quickly maneuvered yourself to hide beneath the desk, equal parts horrified and still horny. He had managed to tuck himself back in just in time. The door to his office opened and light footsteps entered.

“Oh, it’s you.” He said, so unmoved you could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s great to see you too Dean.” Came a male voice.

You concluded this must be the brother he had. It seemed like hours had passed and they were just bickering about literally everything. Alright, so maybe only a few minutes had passed, but it was agonizing. Agonizing to be sitting here, thighs pressed together, Dean’s rigid cock still outlined by his pants. He just looked way too delicious right now.

And then an idea came to you. A completely terrible, wonderful idea.

He jumped slightly when you touched him, but other than that no reaction. You began to work at his pants, as silently as you could, once more his erection sprang free.

You ran your tongue along your lips in preparation, leaning forward to lick him from base to tip sensually and slowly.

“Come on Sam, it’s really not my fault that- Oh fuck!”

It took everything in you to not laugh, he was too cute. And this was really evil. But also really turning you on.

“Dean? You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I just.. um.. Stubbed my toe.. on my desk.. Yeah.” He stammered, spouting complete bullshit. Was that really the best he could think of?

“Okay… Well, it kind of is your fault, Dean. My laptop didn’t have all those viruses until after you used it.”

You took this small gap in conversation to lean in and lap at the precum gathered on his velvety, sensitive tip. He made a small strangled sound in response. You were loving this. You began gently kneading his balls, before taking one into your mouth experimentally and sucking.

God! Er.. God, Sam I’m really sorry.”

“You.. are?”

“Yeah! Of course. Very sorry.”

“Are you really alright Dean? You’re sweating..”

“I’m fine.” He insisted, although his voice was unusually high.

He kicked you lightly, eliciting a silent laugh from you, trying desperately not to alert his brother of your presence. What you would give to see his face right now.. It was now you took as much of him into your mouth as you could, bobbing your head at an excruciatingly slow pace. You squeezed his thighs as you did this, wanting him to be unable to ignore you even if he wanted to.

“Alright.. I’d appreciate it if you at least covered half the repair costs.”

You could feel him throbbing inside your mouth, and it wouldn’t be long now, you knew this for sure. You took this chance to try and deep throat him as much as you could, quickening your pace for him. He came explosively into your mouth, simultaneously slamming a fist down on his desk. You swallowed reflexively, although this was way more than you were used to. You could hear him breathing heavily.

“I’ll.. I’ll pay all of it.” Dean stammered, gripping the edge of his desk with otherwise shaky hands. You gently righted him, putting his softening cock away and fixing his pants to the best of your abilities.

“Now I know for sure something is definitely wrong.. Just call me later when you are feeling better.”

And at last, the sound of retreating footsteps. Dean pushed his chair back so that you could finally get up. You rose from the floor, sporting a devilishly proud smile.

“That was… Damn. You little minx.” He teased, scooping you into his arms to cuddle you close once more. “I wanna say never do that again.. But I kinda loved that.”

“I’m glad then.” You said with a relieved sigh, nuzzling his neck.

“You’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“I can’t today. My Psych class starts soon.”

“So? Skip it.” He said with a shrug, holding you so tight you probably wouldn’t have been able to leave even if you’d desired to.

“You’re a bad influence, Professor.” You responded, shaking your head. “But I can’t say no to you.”

“Great!” He exclaimed, “Let’s get you back to my place then, so we don’t have any more interruptions.”

The two of you scurried to his car, trying to avoid others as much as possible. As always, the sight of his car was amazing.

“God, I love this car.” You sighed dreamily, admiring the black Impala.

“You’d better. I’m not sure if I could be with you if you didn’t.” He said, and you were unable to tell if he were serious or not. Still, it got you thinking, what exactly was the nature of your relationship with him?

Once you were both inside, he started her up. Instantaneously, Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” came pouring through the speakers. He simply shot you his usual look, dripping with self confidence.

“Very funny.” You said with a wry smile.

It was your turn to surprise him, you started singing along with the chorus, thankful you actually knew this one. Just the look on his face was amazing.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier.” He said, appraising you with his eyes once more. “I’m a lucky man to have you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Dean.” You blurted the words, regretting them as soon as you said them. Shit. You weren’t supposed to let him know just how much you had grown attached to him, especially since he seemed to fear emotional commitment.

“Y/N..” He said quietly, trailing his fingers down your arm before settling at your hand, taking it in his own and squeezing it. “Love you too.”

Ashton One Shot (smut) - Hey Lolita

request: yes

summary: After listening to Lana Del Rey songs with long time boyfriend Ashton, you realized she wasn’t the only one with the “daddy” kink. 

I lightly drummed my fingers on the dashboard along to the beat, humming along to the soft words being sung over the radio. “Light of his life, fire of his loins. Keep me forever, tell me you own me…” “What are you singing?” Ashton chuckled beside me, looking at me for a split second before turning his attention back on the road. 

“Lana Del Rey, you’ve never heard of her?” I asked, jokingly putting my hand to my chest when he shook his head. “She’s all about that lolita and "daddy” stuff.“ His eyebrows raised at my statement and I noticed him squirm in his seat. Clearing his throat he tried to speak, but it still came out cracked. "W- what kind of stuff?" 

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Such Great Heights

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1168

Characters: Reader, Castiel, Sam, Dean, Gabriel

Warnings: fluff

Theme Song: Such Great Heights by the Postal Service

Summary: Request from @x-compendiums-of-castiel-x : Can you write an imagine where Cas has fallen in love with reader and he talks to Sam and Dean but afterwards he still doesn’t really know what to do. Reader has been in love with him ever since she met him and so Gabriel gets involved to get the two together.  

There will be a Part 2.

Castiel stood in front of Sam and Dean blocking their view of the bunker television. Dean groaned in annoyance, but Sam smile kindly at the angel and asked him if anything was wrong. Cas sighed in self defeat, taking a seat on the coffee table, facing the brothers. Dean recognizes the pained expression on his angel friend, straighten up in his seat, clearing his throat, “Cas, what’s going on man?” The angel looks up from his lap, meeting the two pair of eyes staring back at him. “How do you tell someone you have fallen in love with them?” Dean laughs with his whole body, clutching his stomach. Sam nudges him hard in the ribs, although he too is slightly amused at the angel’s dilemma, he knew better then to laugh.  Dean’s laughter quickly subdues, but a smirk remains on his face. He ask Cas who he was in love with. Castiel nearly panics, quickly getting up and telling the Winchesters to forget it. But Sam jumps up from his seat on the couch and grabs a hold of the angel’s shoulders. He turns Castiel around, the angel is clearly uncomfortable. “Sorry Cas, Dean’s an idiot. It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Sam’s observation is completely on point, Castiel’s silence only answers the young Winchesters question. Castiel can’t contain the smile that wants to form when he hears your name slip from Sam’s lips. It was never the angel’s intention to fall in love, let alone with the women, the Winchesters had grown close to.

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Study Buddies || Klaroline

Desperate for access to a required textbook, Caroline proposes a crazy plan to share one with a classmate she just met. When too-suave art major Klaus gets offered an odd arrangement from an engaging blonde, how can he say no?

Doodling in his notebook, Klaus sighed in boredom. The professor was still setting up her presentation, and his classmates looked just as enthused as he was. The only excitement came when the lecture hall door banged open, a frazzled blonde making her way down the center aisle.

Struck by the long legs shaped nicely by her high heels, Klaus quickly cleared the seat next to him in hopes that the girl would take it. When she did, he was surprised that she was already talking.

“I swear, my advisor is trying to kill me,” she said, frantically pulling out an intimidating binder full of colored folders and calendars. “She emails me this morning, saying I needed to switch my major-relative elective, and that Greek Philosophy is the only applicable section left.

"It’s changed my entire schedule, let alone my study plans and work preferences, and she treats it like it’s a simple switch in professors,” the blonde rambled, rooting around her bag for something. “Like, no, there is a reason I met with her two months ago to meticulously plan out this semester. It was to meticulously plan out this semester!”

Looking over, she must have seen Klaus’s gaping mouth, unsure of what to say. “And I must sound like a lunatic,” she said, chagrined. “I’m a little out of sorts as a last minute addition to the class. I’m Caroline.”

“Klaus,” he answered, finally finding words. “You haven’t missed anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. We just covered the syllabus last week, and there wasn’t anything else but what you can read from the paper yourself.”

“Good,” Caroline sighed in relief. “I haven’t even picked up the textbook yet, which is so unlike me. I like to be prepared, and I am clearly not that.”

“I wouldn’t worry, love,” he said charmingly. “You can share mine if need be.” It wasn’t the smoothest flirt he had ever tried, but the pink blush overtaking Caroline’s cheeks told him it wasn’t the worst attempt either.

“Thanks,” she whispered back, the professor already trying to garner the class’s attention. Caroline had her full attention turned to the front of the class, pen poised and ready to learn.

Shaking his head at the sight, Klaus turned to face the front, too.

“Alright, everyone,” the professor started. “I’m Dr. Sommers, and this is Greek Philosophy 3200. If you haven’t bought the textbook for this class yet, I am sorry to tell you that the bookstore is out of stock. As it is a reader of articles I compiled only available at the bookstore, I’m going to recommend those of you without make friends with those who were slightly more prepared than you.”

Eyes wide in horror, Caroline faced Klaus. “I don’t suppose that offer to share your book stands for the whole semester, does it?”

Grinning wide, dimples deceptively innocent, Klaus just said, “We can talk after class.” He ignored Caroline’s annoyed expression, despite the strange delight he felt at the sight, in favor of Dr. Sommers and her lecture.

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Request -- Hello, I really loved your one shot where Sam has asthma, so I was hoping that you would maybe write one where it's like present time and the reader is questioning suspects with Sam and he has an attack. She didn't know he had it because the boys thought he had grown out of it, and Dean has the inhaler. Thank you!

(Hope that you like it! xx)

An inaudible sigh escaped from between your lips as you looked down at your cold paper cup of coffee. Rolling your eyes as Sam continued to cordially question the suspect and deal with his antics, you shifted in your seat and cleared your throat before pretending to look completely interested. The supposedly “calming” café music was starting to get on your nerves, and the suspect’s voice even more so. You silently cursed Sam for insisting that the questioning to be in such a civil location, but masked your annoyance and listened as he tried his best to keep himself calm as the suspect interrupted him once more.

You were about to resort to repeatedly tapping your stirrer against the rim of your cup in irritation when you heard Sam start to cough loudly, stopping the interviewee’s sentence short. The sound was almost painful to hear, but he only shook his head and waved it off when you looked up at him in concern.

“Sorry,” he apologized, coughing again before clearing his throat. “Can you repeat that, please?”

“Really, man?” The glare that Sam gave the suspect was enough for him to backtrack and start again. “I never had anything to do with…”

As he began to tell his story again in another variation of words, you silently met Sam’s hazel gaze for just half of a second. It looked like that he was holding something back, and your thought was confirmed when you saw one of his hands clenching the edge of the table. His fingers were shaking because of how hard they were gripping the wood. He almost knocked over his own coffee as his other hand flew to the knot of his tie, and with fumbling movements, he loosened the knot. There was a strain in his face, and you could see and faintly hear him holding in other fits of coughs. Worry overcame you, and you gently touched his arm.


The moment that his name left your mouth, he abruptly stood up, the table screeching for a second against the floor and jostling all of your drinks. He started to cough violently again, and the heads of other people in the coffee shop started to turn towards him. Even the suspect’s expression that was just one of distress was now one of concern.

“I think–th-that we’re done–h-here,” Sam could barely talk in between coughs, and you could hear a slight whistle in his breaths. “Agent, you can–finish u-up.”

He rushed towards the exit after the words left his mouth, and you turned back to the person that you had been questioning frantically.

“Hey, is your partner alright?”

“I think that your incompetence might have given him a head cold,” you returned bitterly; dry humor was the best way for you to shield your panic. Ignoring his stricken look, you fished for a card out of your pocket and tossed it to him. “We don’t have anything else to ask you, but if you remember anything at all, please call this number.”

You gave him a smile that was surely more of a grimace before turning on your heel and running out the door. Outside, Sam was nowhere to be seen, but then you heard the sound of more coughing being carried by the slight wind. You sprinted in the direction from where it was coming from, and gasped when you found him before falling to your knees. He was sitting against the brick wall of a small alleyway, his tie crumpled up and forgotten next to his feet and the first few buttons of his white collared shirt undone. The whistle in his breathing had gotten much louder and prominent, and his coughing was racking his whole body.

“Oh, my God,” you murmured, brushing some hair from his sweaty forehead as you dialed Dean’s number into your cell phone before pressing ‘call’. Sam grabbed your hand just when you were about to put it in your lap. His grip was almost bone-crushing, but you ignored the pain when you saw the agony and panic written all over his face and flooding his eyes.

“Hey,” Dean’s carefree voice entered through the speaker, and you could hear the faint sound of rock music in the background behind him. “Don’t give me Hell about taking too long, alright? The people I was talking to–”

“Does Sam have asthma?” you asked rapidly, cutting him off.

“He did when he was a kid, but he grew out of it…” He trailed off, and you could hear the change in his tone as it skyrocketed into alarm. “Why? What the Hell is going on?!”

“He’s having an attack. It came on pretty suddenly,” You kept your head level as you rubbed circles into the back of Sam’s hand, knowing that you couldn’t panic right now. “Please tell me you have an inhaler.”

There was some rustling before Dean spoke into the phone again, and you could hear the Impala’s engine as he sped up.

“It’s right here,” His words were now tight and full of anxiety. “God damn it. Can I–can I talk to him, please?”

“Of course,” you replied, and put him on speaker. Sam was trying to give you a grateful smile, but the upturn of his lips was faltering.


“D-Dean,” Sam gasped out in response, closing his eyes tightly and bracing himself against the walk as another string of coughs escaped him.

“Listen, I’m on my way over there,” You were greeted with the sound of screeching tires as the older Winchester spoke. “Just hold on, little brother. Can you do that for me?”

In any other situation, Sam would have scoffed and rolled his eyes at those words; they usually made him feel like such a child. Now, though, he embraced them and nodded even though his brother couldn’t see him.

“Y-Yeah.” His wheezing was beginning to get out of control, and you winced at how he had to struggle in order to talk. “I–can.”

“That’d better be a promise, Sammy,” Dean replied anxiously, but you could tell that he was trying to keep his composure from falling apart. “Try to keep him under control, Y/N. As much as you possibly can.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” you answered, and then was met with the sound of Dean ending the short call.

Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you took hold of Sam’s other hand and once again paid no attention to how he held on to it like it was the only thing keeping his shallow breaths going. You remembered how in health class years ago that you blew through straws in order to imitate how asthmatics breathed, and thought about how complete and utter crap it was as you watched Sam’s ribcage expand with shudders that you wished you could make disappear. Sure, he got out of breath easier than you and Dean did, but you hadn’t thought even for a second that it had been something to do with asthma. Even though they hadn’t told you, you felt partly responsible for not asking about it. You shook that off, though, because now wasn’t the time to blame yourself for anything while Sam was fighting for breath.

“Sh-Should’ve told–you,” Sam mumbled with a forced chuckle, lips moving slowly. “Didn’t think that it–would happen a-again. ’S been so l-long.”

“That’s alright, Sam,” you reassured him, managing a sorrowful curve of the lips for him as you trembled at the sound of his coughs that would not cease. “But that’s not what matters right now. What matters is that Dean’s coming with your inhaler right now, and this will all be over.”

“But–thank God–” He let out a particularly agonizing fit of coughs that seemed likely to rip his chest apart before attempting to settle himself. Looking down at the circles you were tracing into his hand, he smiled a little before finishing his sentence. “–you’re here with–m-me.”

Serenity was now inside of Sam’s autumn-colored gaze, making neighbors with his agony, and it made you smile faintly, but genuinely. His own mouth was turned up as well, slightly discolored into a slight blue that made your heart drop once more. His nail beds were beginning to turn the same color, but you gulped and kept calm for him. He was succeeding in playing his condition off as better than it actually was, and you were glad that he was still staying strong as the seconds turned into minutes.

You were about to call Dean again in trepidation when a short amount of time passed, knowing that it was of the essence and that every second was worth something. Sam’s wheezing was growing worse with every moment, and you could’ve sworn that there was some invisible rope around his neck that needed to be taken off. The familiar rumble of the Impala finally greeted you, though, and it appeared right in front of the alleyway before coming to a shrieking stop. The older Winchester stumbled quickly out of the car before running over to you, and he quickly took your place in front of Sam, handing him the inhaler.

“You know what to do, Sammy,” he whispered calmly, knowing that Sam would protest if he tried to give him the medicine himself. “I’ll keep time.”

You watched as Sam inhaled the medicine, and something entered your mind that made you smile.

“Dean, if you thought he had grown out of his asthma, why did you keep the inhaler all this time?” you asked.

Dean shrugged at your question, gazing at his brother, who was holding his breath and keeping the medicine inside.

“Can never be too sure, y'know?” he responded as Sam took another puff, pressing his fingers down on the canister. “Kept changing the medicine after it expired, because I didn’t want to risk it. And I’m sure as Hell glad that I did that.”

The attack was finally beginning to cease, and Sam’s head fell to your shoulder as a few more coughs left his mouth. His breathing began to steady, the whistle behind it disappearing and leaving his inhales and exhales pure-sounding. You grinned at Dean’s words and the brotherly love and the fact that the threat was now over, and brushed Sam’s hair out of his face again.

“I’m glad, too,” you murmured, and laughed at how Sam scoffed weakly into your ear.

“I’m definitely more glad than the both of you combined,” he said, and Dean chuckled as well. “Thank God that I have such an overprotective brother, and the best hunting partner one could have.”

“I take offense to that,” Dean told him, green eyes teasing and clear of panic. He then turned to you, thankfulness flooding his face. “Thanks, Y/N. I was almost losing my mind back in the car, and if would’ve been damned if you weren’t here.”

“I would’ve been, too,” Sam joked, but then raised his head so he could connect his lips with your cheek. “But seriously, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I would do anything for you guys,” Dean raised his eyebrows suggestively, and you pushed him as he laughed. “But now, we need to keep that inhaler on hand, all the time.”

“Amen to that,” Sam returned with a grin, settling his head back into the curve of your neck as the three of you lapsed into an affectionate silence.

bvh2s4 day:14++ need a break...

this is not final build. so.. I just want to tell you about progress today. 8)

2 animation (convert from BVH motion capture) for Andrew’s poseplayer. I strongly recommend that don’t try this at main save games. I tested several times, but that isn’t the perfect guarantee. update: new version here ->

how to set sims to position: make them(sim) sit down on 2 seater something (loveseat etc). then, go build mode and clear the seat.

I’ll continue to do my beeest!