draw them quite a while but just have a chance to color them

Some of you might have noticed something kind of funny about people.

Almost none of them like Treasure Planet.

And, considering I joined this fandom well over three years ago by now, this comes as absolutely no surprise to me – and chances are, if you’ve known about this film for longer than, say, a day, it fails to surprise you, too. I mean, we’ve all heard the reasons, haven’t we – valid though they are, it’s depressing to hear them, the millions upon millions upon millions of them. 

  • “Sorry, the sci-fi just wasn’t my thing.”
  •  “I liked it okay, but I can’t see myself ever watching it again.”
  •  “The animation was good, but I didn’t really like the rest of it.”
  •  “It was…sort of weird to me.”
  •  “It doesn’t measure up to Treasure Island.”
  •  “It just wasn’t my cup of tea.”

Or - and here’s the one that gets to me: 

  • “I just really didn’t like the main kid.” 

The words come across as pretty innocent - it’s just a matter of preference, it’s just their opinion, live and let live, nothing wrong with disagreeing…and there’s not. There’s really, really not. You can hate Jim Hawkins as much as you want. But you can look me in the eye and can you tell me why you hate him? Can you tell me why, exactly, that’s the argument I’ve heard the most out of any of them? Can you tell me why, in my 3+ years in this wonderful fandom, in the thousands of days I’ve now spent promoting the shit out of this film every chance I get, can you tell me why that argument is the one I find myself dealing with the most? Can you look at me and can you tell me why you hate Jim Hawkins? Can you do that? 

Because here’s the thing - I can tell you why I love him. And I got shit to back up me up. 

Let’s get down to business. Let me tell you why I love Jim Hawkins - every habit, every quirk, every mannerism, every virtue, and every flaw. Let’s plunge right in.

  • He’s kind.

Sure, you can roll your eyes if you want to, but honestly? Being really, truly, simply, genuinely nice is such a rare quality in the world, and Jim has - and displays - this quality in abundance. I mean, for one thing, bringing Billy Bones to the Benbow when he seems ninety percent sure the guy’s just crazy? Yet he takes a chance anyway, because the sailor’s sick, the sailor’s injured, it’s raining really hard, he shouldn’t be out in this in his state, here, give me your arm, let me help you, you can come in out of the rain and stay in my house for a bit.

And what about the time he met that half-mad robot on Treasure Planet and, despite the fact that BEN blatantly oversteps his boundaries a good ten times (”Will you let go of me?/Stop touching me!”/Will you quit hugging me?”) or so within the first five minutes of their introduction, despite the fact that he is very obviously unhinged from all that time alone, despite the fact that BEN is loud and attention-drawing and the word stealthy isn’t in his vocabulary, despite the fact that he’s putting the captain and the doctor and himself in peril by doing so, Jim allows BEN to come with him - all he needs is to hear about the robot’s century of solitude, his loneliness, his desolation, and he just drops everything and says, “If you’re gonna come along…”  

And don’t even get me started on the deleted scenes - such as the one where he offers to fix this child’s scooter, even though he and this kid have never met before, never even spoken to one another, and yet he offers to fix this scooter because aww the kid’s sad let me fix it for you.

 Because, beneath that black jacket and that dark scowl of his, Jim has a huge, huge heart and it’s there and it’s evident for anyone willing to look. Because Jim just legitimately cares about other people, and there’s no ulterior motive, he doesn’t ask for compensation, he doesn’t expect anything in return, he just genuinely likes helping others. 

(And as I don’t happen to have an image on hand for the child’s scooter bit mentioned above, have a few bonus pictures of times when Jim was nice) 

Comforting a frightened Morph despite the fact that his life is in the most immediate and intense danger

And how about the time he lets a pirate - the leader of a mutiny in which he was supposed to be killed - walk the fuck away from him because he believes there’s good in Silver

Don’t get me started on this kid and his kindness. Don’t. Get me started.

  • And he’s smart.

I don’t mean passing-his-finals-with-flying-colors oh-haha-that-was-a-total-seat-of-my-pants-test can’t-believe-I-pulled-through-with-a-B I-was-pulling-answers-out-of-my-ass kind of smart.

I mean completely, incredibly, off-the-charts, blow-your-mind brilliant. He might be failing his high school classes, but it’s certainly not due to the challenge; he doesn’t put any effort into his work because he just doesn’t care. I mean, we even hear Sarah state that he built his first solar surfer when he was eight. So let’s let that sink in for a second.

This kid 

was no older than that when he built one of these

Just let that sit a minute. He built one of those gizmos 

when he was eight fucking years old. Hell, I’m not one hundred percent sure I understand them now, and he was eight and he understood them so well he could make them. (Sure, he ultimately uses it to cause trouble and ride straight into restricted areas, but it still makes him pretty brainy.) 

And not to mention, when Silver tries to teach him how to steer a skiff, he doesn’t even let the guy finish his sentence before he starts powering it up. Despite the other’s best attempts to stop him, Jim ignites the engine and sends them whirling straight into a comet. He fucking steers a boat - with limited knowledge, considering Silver didn’t get a chance to teach him everything - he steers a boat into a comet, and rides that comet to its end and does it without ever missing a beat, without ever throwing himself or his companion out of the boat, without ever messing up or getting hurt or hurting Silver or anything, just gets the hang of it right off the bat.

And at the end of it, all Silver says is, “If I could maneuver a skiff like that when I was your age, they’d be bowing in the streets when I walked by today!” 

Oh, and did I mention he powers up a century-old crashed boat in sixty seconds? No? Well, he did that, too.

Oh, and he also made another solar surfer, this time at fifteen, out of the useless parts of their failing ship while the planet explodes around them.

And, when said surfer begins failing, threatening to send him plummeting to his death in a raging river of lava bubbling and frothing beneath him, he keeps it going - literally rams it into the wall, striking it against the metal surface until enough friction occurs to power the thrusters again, and he does this all in the space of thirty seconds.

Oh, and he figured out where Flint’s trove was hidden before anyone else, just based on the fragmented bits and pieces he’d picked up from other people

And did I mention yet that he was the only one who could open the map leading to the planet? 

There were people thirty and forty years his senior trying to figure it out

and he figures it out in seconds

  • And he’s brave

Remember when he casually faced down a whole crew of pirates three and four times over, all in the space of twenty-four hours? 

And how about the fact that he refuses, at great risk to himself, to open the map for the pirates - until Silver threatens the captain and the doctor? 

Or when he’s fixing that hundred-year-old boat we discussed earlier, and tells BEN to leave without him if he can’t get away in the next five minutes? 

Oh, and when the star Pellucid goes supernova on their voyage and the hands are sent to secure the solar sails, not only does Jim immediately ascend, no hesitation

he also spots Silver, who followed him there, fall from his perch, and literally fucking throws himself down onto the wood and hauls the cook - who, to be honest, has a good hundred pounds on Jim and probably almost took the kid down with him, and definitely dragged the kid closer to the edge than would be advised - back up to safety. 

And later in the film, he receives an order from the captain to scout ahead and find them a better place to hide - and even though the pirates were spotted seconds earlier, circling the skies in a longboat, Jim expresses no hesitation, simply obeys.

And, oh, uh, you remember that solar surfer we talked about earlier, the one he constructed as the planet bursts into flames and burns down around him? 

Yeah, here he is riding it through the fires and eruptions and random debris, here he is casually risking his life to save everyone else, most of them being pirates who would have loved to see him dead.

Yep, don’t mind him, he’s just saving everyone else. He might die doing it, but damn, he’s doing it anyway.

But wait. I did promise to discuss his flaws as well, and, so far, I haven’t been making good on that promise, have I? 

Fear not, for Jim Hawkins is far from perfect and it’s time for us to explore the reasons why.

  • He’s impulsive

While most readily refer to this as a “Mary Sue trait” and “not really a flaw” , I can’t help but disagree; if we consider it an undesirable trait in a real person, why on earth would we think it little more than a cute quirk in a fictional character? Believe me when I say, Jim’s consistent failure to think before he acts is not a charming little thing - it’s a flaw, plain and simple. 

For all Jim’s kindness, for all his bravery and unfailing ability to think fast on his feet, he is impulsive as all hell.

Like when he, in his first meeting with Silver, throws out several thinly-veiled accusations - showing his cards, playing his whole hand right off the bat on the off chance that his opponent might show his, too. 

Unsurprisingly, of course, Silver does not rise to the bait - meaning Jim revealed everything to the man who will later become his enemy, in a sense losing the only advantage he really held, whereas Silver lost nothing and now has additional information to help him on his way. And all this could have been avoided had Jim just kept his mouth shut. 

And that time when he attempted to eavesdrop on a couple of the other hands cause he thought they were acting suspicious 

But it’s not long before they notice him and immediately shut up - meaning Jim has now given his suspicions away to four different people, four people whom he suspects. (Five, if you count Oxy and Moron as two.)

Or how about when they find that map we talked about earlier, and when he opens it up and realizes it leads to Treasure Planet, his first thought is to follow it? Like, this could be anything. A trap, a red herring, a fool’s errand, and Jim just throws himself headlong into it because look there’s a slim chance it could be treasure let’s go right now! 

I mean, there’s just no room for doubt: Jim is super impulsive, and that’s not a good quality to have. Sure, it gets shit done, but cautious people get shit done too, and they probably get it done better because they’re not making snap decisions every 2.5 seconds.

  • And Jim is selfish

Sure, we all love him. Well, some of you hate him, and some of you love to hate him, but the sentiment stands; we all love Jim, but you can’t love somebody for too long without noticing his flaws. And Jim has his flaws. 

And it’s especially obvious in scenes like this 

where we see that Jim was just out on a joyride while his mother visibly struggles to run the inn by herself. 

It’s obvious he uses that solar surfing hobby to escape, to distract him from his problems after a tough day, but this, in turn, suggests that he feels his problems at the moment are more important than Sarah’s, and so puts himself before his mother.

And he makes things harder on her than probably anyone else in her life, going out and getting in trouble all the time and bringing the police to her door 

Not only is this probably really bad for business, it’s also likely embarrassing and obviously upsetting for poor Sarah - yet Jim offers no apology, offers almost nothing beyond the words, “Mom, it’s no big deal!”  

And when they open the map and realize where it leads, Jim jumps on the chance to leave Sarah

Not just their lonely little planet, but Sarah, he wants to leave her. And though his intentions here are honorable (”We could rebuild the Benbow a hundred times over!” / “I’ll make you proud!”) it still fails to completely sugarcoat the fact that he left her there, lured away by the promise of adventure. 

Because Jim is selfish. 

  • He’s touchy, and defiant as all hell.

Sure, this is a flaw. Sure, it’s not a great quality to have. Sure, it holds him back more than anything, and it probably gets him in more trouble than it’s worth - but I still tip my hat to Disney for introducing this flaw at all. It has been proven in the past that children with absentee parents - particularly boys with neglectful fathers -  tend to become obstinate teens with no regard for authority, and I’m just so proud of them for doing their research on that one. 

Admittedly, however, this quality does cause him more trouble than it’s worth. I mean, he makes himself an enemy out of the scariest alien aboard in the first five minutes, all because he has to have the last word.

As a matter of fact, when I think about it, Jim has single-handedly gotten on the bad side of every one of these pirates on board this ship, with the obvious exception of Silver, and he does it all because he is just that feisty.

On the other hand, however, his pluck is the first thing Silver notices - and likes - about him. It’s obvious that while the pirate captain plans to work the spunk out of him, he can’t help but respect it, too.

Like, for instance, on Treasure Planet, when Jim refuses to allow Silver to leave without him 

there’s an instant where Silver looks like he’s about to argue 

and he could, he could just hold the captain, the doctor, or even BEN at gunpoint, and chances are, Jim would likely obey just to spare those he cares for. Despite the fact that Silver is clearly the one in power here, he gives into Jim’s demands - because, even if he doesn’t like it, Jim’s defiance is something he can respect. They may be enemies now, but Silver recognizes and respects that Jim makes a worthy enemy.

  • And let’s not forget that he’s stubborn.

Seriously, once he’s found something to fight for, he’ll fight for that, and he’ll get it, no matter what it takes, and there’s nobody in the world that can change his mind. If he gets it in his head that he wants to do something, if he gets it in his head that he should do something, he’ll do it, no matter what. 

And in some cases, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It means he has a strong sense of right and wrong and knows the difference between the two, and will do what he believes to be right, regardless of what other people say. He has a moral code, and a strong one, at that, and he rarely deviates from it. And this is actually a good thing when, say, there’s a treasure-hunting pirate captain attempting to bribe him into betraying the captain and the doctor and handing over the map. 

And, when this fails and Silver resorts to trying to frighten him into submission, the kid doesn’t even blink. He can’t be bought, and he sure as hell can’t be intimidated. 

Of course, this isn’t always a good quality to have; while it does make him more resistant to tactics such as temptation, it also makes him inflexible and, in some cases, extremely resistant to change, even when that change would be for the better. 

But that iron will has another advantage. 

  • It makes him hardworking.

Whether it’s as trivial as swabbing the deck, or as enormous as seeking out a legendary treasure trove, if Jim sees the point in a task - if he sees, for himself, why it’s worthy of his time - he will put his all into it, no questions asked. So though most would call him a delinquent, and while the robo-cops on Montressor outright tell him that he is a loser

Jim is actually extremely industrious and capable - he just doesn’t always show it. But it’s there, if you know how to look.

Like when Silver leaves him with this huge pile of dishes in the galley

and he just picks up his brush and keeps right on going 

and in fact, is so determined to finish up that damn stack that he ends up falling asleep in the galley, head resting on the pot in his hand

but the dishes around him are gleaming.

Or how about when he was failing at school at the beginning of the film, and by the end, he has graduated from the prestigious Interstellar Academy? 

Can you imagine how much work it must have taken to get himself into that Academy? I mean, how long did it take for him to pull those grades up, to convince others he was really serious about this, and can you imagine how much work it took to get through the Academy once he got there? But Jim got there anyway, and he did graduate, and he did do all that amazing stuff, and he did it because he works hard. 

Oh and remember

  • He was lost

Though by the end of the film Jim is high-spirited and confident, we know from the beginning that it wasn’t always so. His father’s absence left a hole in him, a hole he felt it was too big to fill - a hole that left him feeling worthless and rejected, it left him feeling angry and defeated, and it left him thinking he wasn’t good enough. It left him with a strong, deep-seated fear of abandonment, and more than that, it left him searching - searching and searching and never quite finding the missing piece he so desperately needed. 

Jim felt he had no future; Jim felt he wasn’t worth a future; Jim didn’t really know where he was going, and that’s the kind of relatability I’ve come to expect from Dreamworks. I don’t go into a Disney film expecting to find real characters, so this came as a pleasant surprise.

And something else I’ll probably never get over

  • Jim is sensitive 

So, this one actually sounds funny. I mean, I just said earlier how selfish Jim is, right? How he’s always putting himself before Sarah? Yeah. That whole argument still stands. It’s just that Jim isn’t all selfish, all the time. Can he be selfish? Yes. Extremely. Is he selfish? Sometimes. But he’s also, as mentioned before, a genuinely nice person. A person with honest empathy. His instances of self-absorption don’t cancel that out.

Now, while most define a sensitive person as “one who understands and feels for others” - and while Jim certainly does that, too - we’ve already tackled that. We’ve talked about Jim as a compassionate and thoughtful individual, and I’m not here to talk about it again, though I could.

No, there are drawbacks to feeling for others, and I’m here to talk about them.

I mean, Jim cares about other people - Jim feels deeply for people, deeply enough to welcome complete strangers into his house and offer lonely individuals a place at his side, Jim just feels for people even if he’s never experienced their hardships for himself. And if he can feel so strongly for strangers, if he can look upon a person he hardly knows and want to help ease their pain, if his heart squeezes upon seeing others’ suffering, how much do you think it hurts when he experiences his own? 

His father, for example. An indifferent, neglectful parent, the heartache they cause, it would sting even the most impervious - but for somebody as thin-skinned and tender-hearted as Jim, it absolutely devastates him. And when the man finally gives up on his family, leaving behind his wife and their eight-year-old, it just tears the kid apart.

As a matter of fact, it hurts Jim so deeply that it takes him seven years just to realize that it wasn’t his fault, or anyone’s; his father’s rejection caused him so much pain that he is well into his adolescence before he can even begin to accept that he’s gone.

But this isn’t just one instance; it’s not merely a festering childhood wound, no. Jim takes the slightest slip-up straight to heart - and upon believing he caused Mr. Arrow’s death, he spends what appears to be hours beating himself up for this perceived failure. 

And ultimately, he might have continued indefinitely had Silver not intervened and comforted him.

And of course, less than twenty-four hours later, Silver tells his bloodthirsty crew - and, unwittingly, an eavesdropping Jim - that his attentions were all for show, that he had to be nice to the kid to keep him from suspecting the crew of anything shady, he had to win the lad’s trust or risk his suspicion…and Jim really believes it, and, in fact, is so hurt, that he appears to take a moment to swallow back tears. 

Jim is just so easy to hurt. 

And to be honest, it’s great; it makes his empathy for others more believable - after all, if his own wounds have left such obvious marks, who’s to say another’s tribulations won’t win over his sensitive heart? 

And, hey, hey, don’t forget

  • He’s just a kid

I mean, he’s doing all this awesome shit, he’s building solar surfers

 and saving lives

and working his ass off and being super kind and impulsive and defiant and selfish and everything, he’s doing all this, and he’s only fifteen years old. Like. He’s fifteen. He’s not even an adult yet. He’s not even of legal age. He’s just casually amazing at fifteen, but what do you think he’ll be like in five years, ten years, twenty?

As Silver says, he really is going to rattle the stars.

Now let’s review before we go: 

  • Jim is kind.
  • Jim is smart.
  • Jim is brave.
  • Jim is impulsive
  • Jim is selfish
  • Jim is touchy and defiant as all hell.
  • Jim is stubborn
  • Jim is hardworking.
  • Jim was lost.
  • Jim is sensitive
  • Jim is just a kid

Just please, for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t ever forget Jim Hawkins.

Steam, part 1

A/N:  Thanks as always to my brilliant betas:  @little-black-dress-24, @emulateharry and @niallandharrymakemestrong!  Couldn’t do this without their ongoing support and encouragement.  

“Excuse me,” you mutter, as you push aside the young men and women to get to the gym entrance.   Shouldering the next person gently aside as you approach the gym door, you hear an “Oi!” in return as he moves his gym bag, but you don’t stop to acknowledge the voice.  He notices you, the way you move, and the way you casually ignore the situation.  “Excuse me,” you respond wearily.  

Harry pauses in signing autographs to check you out.  Today, you saw a string of patients, and your shoulders are weighed down by their troubled souls.  Your grey pencil skirt, black knit shirt, and high heeled black ankle boots mask the heaviness of your spirit as you stride with purpose.  He can’t help but observe the sway of your ass in that skirt as your heels make it wiggle from side to side, although it’s mostly your exhaustion and the fact that your feet hurt that moves your hips rather than any desire to be seductive.  His mouth and throat dry as he watches you reach for the gym door handle, shifting your bag higher on your left shoulder, pulling open the door with your right hand.  Inside his jeans, he feels his cock twitch; the woman standing in front of him prods him with a salty “Sign it to Char, please,” as she flashes him a look at her cleavage in the push-up bra and low-cut shirt, drawing his attention back to the crowd around him.  Why he bothered to start signing shit tonight escapes him at the moment.  Now he’ll never get his full workout in.  Taking a deep breath, he tells the group, “I’ll sign five more, and that’s it.”  Over the years he’s learned to set boundaries.

Keep reading

In the Rough

(based on this) part 1 (you are here), part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

There’s a lot about Mari that Yuuri loves. In fact, he’d go so far as to say that he loves his sister more than almost anyone else, except maybe his parents. Despite their six year age difference, neither of them have ever had any other kids to really interact with. As such, each of them were the other’s best and only friend. But the fact has always remained that Mari is older than Yuuri. One day, he’s always known, she will be the queen of Yutopia. What he didn’t expect was for that day to come so quickly, or have such a profound effect on their relationship.

It was gradual at first: Mari turning him away from her door when he asks her to help him with his studies, Mari spending more and more time in the library with her own when she was never the best of students before, Mari lashing out at him when he actually gets the courage to press for her attention occasionally. Time and again, Mother assures him that it’s just the responsibility of being the crown princess that’s weighing on her. Still, Yuuri can’t help if he’s lonely.

That’s what led to this.

“Not now, Yuuri.” Mari is sounding increasingly irritated with him, but he can’t really seem to stop himself. It’s been months since they’ve had a proper conversation.

“It will only take a minute, I promise!”

“I don’t have a minute!” she finally snaps, rounding on him. “I don’t have a minute to myself because the coronation is so soon. What on earth makes you think that I have time to spare for you? Don’t be such a clingy child!”

Yuuri silently curses the way his eyes well up with tears. “I… Excuse me.”

“Yuuri, wait. I didn’t mean–” He can hear her calling out to his back, but the words don’t really register.

Being too overbearing has always been Yuuri’s biggest fear; he’s emotional and soft in a way that no self-respecting royal should ever be. Mari knows this, and used it against him. He really must be too much if she of all people is telling him so. He can just leave her alone until after the coronation. Maybe longer, if it looks like she’s feeling too overwhelmed by his presence. He has an outfit that he uses sometimes when palace life is too much for him and he sneaks out to go to town. He can use that to sneak out. He can take a horse, a sword, and some money, and hide out somewhere until everything blows over in a couple of months.

It doesn’t take Yuuri long to slip past the guards and get off the castle grounds. He’s done it countless times before, once even smuggling Prince Phichit out with him. He slips out the back way, through the forest. Everyone in town knows his face, and most of his subjects do too; it will be best to avoid people for a while.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s brave enough to stray from the path. The woods between this and the next kingdom are deep, and more than one traveller has gotten lost within them, or attacked by robbers. If his maps are right, he’ll be able to get to the next kingdom within a fortnight.

Sleeping on the forest floor is irritating, but hardly anything new; this isn’t the first time that Yuuri has disappeared for a few days, even if it’s the first time that he’s planning on leaving the kingdom without permission. By the eighth day, Yuuri’s rations are beginning to get a bit low. He’s grimy, there are leaves and twigs in his hair, and his ratty cloak is rattier than ever. Still, he doesn’t turn back. At this point, going home would create more distress than it would relieve. If need be, he can just… kill a rabbit or something. There’s a stream less than ten minutes from the path, and making a fire is no problem. He can make it to the next kingdom.

The sound of a carriage jolts him out of his thoughts. He darts back into the trees, hiding in a bush. He still hasn’t crossed the Yutopia border, so it’s possible– probable, even –that the driver of that carriage knows who Yuuri is. As the carriage draws closer, Yuuri can make out little details that start to change his mind. Its blue, for one thing, and only a single carriage; most trader caravans are made up of several plain wagons with faded paint.

Yuuri hears rustling behind him. In less than a second, the quiet rustling becomes shouting. Bandits. Seven men attack the carriage from all sides, one even jumping from a tree to land on top of the carriage. Yuuri doesn’t even realize that he’s drawing his sword until it’s already out.

The door to the carriage flies open and two men– one man and one boy, really, no more than thirteen –jump out, weapons drawn and ready. The boy shouts something that sounds like “Stay the fuck there or I’m telling Dad,” but Yuuri can’t focus too much on him. He’s taken down one of the robbers, but there’s another one coming at him.

It takes the three of them nearly twenty minutes to knock out all of the robbers, and when they do, they’re panting.

“Thank you for the help.” The dark-haired man from the carriage holds out his hand for Yuuri to shake. “We might not have made it without you.”

“It–It was nothing, really.” Yuuri holds up his hands, as if that will deflect the praise. “I was just trying to help. Anyone would have done the same.”

“Tch.” The boy sheaths his sword. Now that Yuuri has a chance to look at him, he’s amazed. The boy is beautiful, almost fairy-like, but he fights like a demon. He’s also dressed like a royal. “At least you didn’t get in the way.”

Yuuri doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, but as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. There’s a laugh from inside the carriage and someone else exits. This man is definitely a royal, and it’s possible that he’s even more beautiful than the boy. They must be related, with their strangely colored hair and eyes.

“That’s high praise coming from you, Yuratchka.” The man looks Yuuri up and down, and Yuuri has to force himself not to blush. “I’ve decided. He’ll be my new bodyguard. I’ve been needing a new one, and I can’t bear to see my beloved younger brother fight on my behalf anymore.”

The man swoons dramatically, but it looks like he’s actually about to fall. Neither of his companions make a move to catch him, and neither does the driver, a woman with bright, fiery red hair. Yuuri is there before he knows it, catching the man before he can actually fall to the ground.

He finds himself looking into the most piercing pair of eyes that he’s ever seen. His eyes inexplicably heat up and Yuuri can tell that if he looks for too long, he’ll be overwhelmed; those eyes can see straight into his soul.

“Be careful,” Yuuri manages.

The man flicks a piece of silver hair out of his eyes and smiles, standing up straight. “Yes, he’ll do nicely. I’m keeping him.”

He ends up on the floor a second later anyway, courtesy of the flying kick that the boy– his younger brother, Yuuri reasons –aims at his back. “Don’t just assume that some random man in the forest is trustworthy enough to be your bodyguard! Think this through, old man!”

“I’m only twenty two,” the man pouts from the ground. “You’re so mean, Yuratchka. Besides, he saved my life, and he doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Dad will allow it.”

Yuratchka rolls his eyes and walks over to the carriage. “Whatever. You might want to ask him what his name is before you ask him to risk his life for you though.”

The door slams and Yuuri is still a little confused. The man is still on the ground, the dark haired man from earlier is sheathing his sword without a care in the world, apparently used to this sort of behavior.

“He has a point!” Silver-Haired Man bounces up and picks the twigs out of his hair. “If you’re my new bodyguard, I must know your name.”

“Yuuri,” he says without thinking. Then he realizes that giving his true last name could be a very bad idea. “Yuuri… Nishigori.”

Silver-Haired Man introduces himself as Victor Nikiforov, the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom. The fairy-like boy with the foul mouth is indeed his brother, Prince Yuri. The other man is Georgi Popovich, Yuri’s personal bodyguard, and their driver is called Mila. The four of them have apparently been travelling together nearly all of Yuri’s life.

The reality of what he’s just inadvertently agreed to doesn’t hit until he’s sitting in the carriage with them later: he’s agreed to become the personal bodyguard to the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom, who would no doubt know his name but not his face. Yuuri can’t help but wonder how he’s going to get himself out of this one without causing himself and everyone around him massive embarrassment.

Luckily, he has several months to come up with a solution.

actually-nerdderek  asked:

nerdy!jock!stiles trying to woo nerd!derek for valentines day (as a valentine's day prompt, obviously :p)

Alrightly, here it is @demisexualhale! I really hope you like it! (also on ao3!)

Stiles had never really been sure if he could be considered a jock or not.

Because, yeah sure, he was on the lacrosse team and played baseball in his spare time but he was no star athlete. Hell, he spent most of his time during lacrosse games warming the bench and fetching Coach refills of Gatorade.

He had always been into sports, for as long as he could actually remember, really. He had been a devout Mets fan since long before he could even walk, his mom and his dad joking that he had inherited his preference from both of them. He could still remember his dad teasing his mom about it, claiming she had watched too much baseball while pregnant, Stiles born only a few months before the World Series.

Older now, he never missed a game. Not once. Whenever the Mets played, he would dress in his finest blue and orange gear, baseball cap and all, just to firmly plant his butt on the living room couch with a giant bowl of low-fat popcorn in his lap and a bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups in the freezer for later.

Back in elementary school, he and Scott had played Little League together, baseball both a good hobby and a wonderful way to keep them from getting into too much trouble. Stiles took to it like a pig to mud, one of the best pitchers their local division had ever seen, finding his element out on the mound.

Both of his parents would come to every game, his mom taking a break from her work at home and his dad somehow weaseling his way out of doing paperwork just to catch the opening pitch. Without fail, his dad cheered louder than anyone else in the crowd, jumping to his feet and waving his arms around as he proudly proclaimed, “That’s my son!”

When Scott had eventually grown tired of playing in Little League, in part due to his asthma which was being somewhat exacerbated by all of the physical activity and in part because of the fact that baseball was no longer considered cool, Stiles had decided to quit with him. He just hadn’t seen the point of continuing to play if his best friend wasn’t there with him. And besides, it just wasn’t the same without his mom there.

In high school, he still gravitated towards baseball but he had soon developed an affinity for lacrosse after Scott started showing interest in trying out for the team. He had spent hours researching all aspects of the sport, wanting to know exactly what to expect at tryouts.

With his asthma clearing up a bit and all the confidence of no longer being a virgin thanks to Allison, Scott had managed to snag a highly coveted position on the first line. Meanwhile, Stiles only barely made the team, beating out two other guys who had tried out, owing his victory to pure dumb luck though he barely ever made it onto the field.

It wasn’t that he was bad at lacrosse per se, he was actually pretty good. His leanly muscled body was built for speed and agility, making him a wonderful prospect. He just had a tendency to trip over his own feet. And other people’s feet. And grass and rocks and, at times, even thin air.

So, while he could run suicides and drills with the very best of them, giving the team captain, Jackson, a run for his money, he was usually stuck on the bench during games, just watching his teammates play. His dad still came to all of his games, though he didn’t understand why.

But while there was some question about whether or not he was a jock, there was no dispute whatsoever over the fact that he fell victim to some of the most stereotypical jock tropes. Namely, falling for a nerd.

But not just any nerd. No, that would be too easy. He had fallen for the king of nerds. Derek freaking Hale. The epitome of a high school nerd.

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What I Like

Originally posted by sugutie

Excited chatter fills the room as students trickle in for the first day of class. Spirits are high, outfits are cute, hair is neat and makeup is perfect; you give it a few weeks until everyone is miserable and dressing in sweatpants with messy hair and no makeup. But until then you’re stuck at the front of the room, quietly waiting for the professor to enter and bring some semblance of order to the chaos.

You have no interest in public speaking and you don’t plan on going into the business field but you have a social science slot to fill and you heard from your business major friend that this class is an easy A. However, she failed to mention exactly what was required of the class and the moment the professor passes around the stack of syllabi, you’re only a few seconds away from getting up and leaving.

“I’m sure that many of you have heard that this course is an easy A,” the professor laughs as he takes his place at the front of the room, “and I’ll concede that this is true. If you are capable of working with another person.” There’s a mix of groans, cheers, and noncommittal hums before the professor motions for silence. “I know,” he laughs, “some of you are incredibly excited while others are incredibly annoyed. Either way, if you stay in this class then you have to work together. The last day to drop is next Friday. If you’re going to drop, I ask that you do it sooner rather than later. I’m going to announce your pairs today and if your partner happens to drop, we’ll figure something out. And you did hear me correctly. I will assign the partners, I want you to get to know a stranger. If you’ve met your partner before, that’s fine. If you’re best friends and have known each other for years, let me know and changes will be made. I’ll call roll and then we’ll get started.”

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Attuning Yourself to the Dead: The First Step in Becoming a Necromancer.

This is it! This is the one! This is the post where I inevitably piss somebody off. There are a lot of “Purists” out there who believe that their way is the only way to perform Necromancy. I for one don’t believe in traditional thinking when it comes to magic of any kind as I believe that it is only through creative thought that the medium upon which we perform our arts can grow and evolve. So let me go ahead and state right now that a lot of what I have to say is going to go against what some of my more traditionalist brothers and sisters of the art believe. Nevertheless I stand by what I say, and I know it has worked for me. And I believe it can work for you as well if Necromancy is truly something you wish to explore. So having said that, let’s begin.

The Art of Necromancy: Where to begin?

So you want to be a Necromancer? I don’t blame you. I mean just look at all the perks! Who doesn’t want to have their own undead entourage? And you never have to worry about figuring out your wardrobe anymore because you can just replace all your clothes with black pants and shirts! Just kidding….sort of. 

In all seriousness though Necromancy is a worthy pursuit for any Witch, Pagan, or Spiritualist who wishes to work with the dead. Just about anyone who posses sufficient willpower can do it. However getting into the practice is not as easy as drawing a summoning circle and chanting in tongues. There’s something very important that must be done first before you can even begin to think about summoning any spirits. Namely attuning your soul to the dead.

How to check if your Soul is Attuned to the Dead

While it’s true that anyone who posses the willpower to cast spells and perform magic is capable of practicing Necromancy, there are some who are better suited for the craft than others. Some people are born with a natural sensitivity to the dead, or develop it at an early age. This can happen for a multitude of reasons which are too numerous to fully discuss in this post. People who posses this natural gift will find it easier to begin practicing the craft. But how does one determine whether or not they possess this natural sensitivity? Well their are several ways to determine whether you may or may not possess the gift.

  1. When’s the last time you got sick?- Necromancers do not get sick as often as some other people do. They aren’t necessarily healthier by nature, they just show less symptoms or signs of physical illness. Ask yourself, when’s the last time I was sick? And I don’t mean the last time you had a cold or ran a small fever. I mean when’s the last time you’ve been truly sick? So sick that you missed work/school for several days and were in bed for most of them. If the answer is “I don’t remember” that’s a good sign.
  2. Do you wear a lot of black clothing without thinking about it?- Quick, what’s the color of your favorite shirt? How about that pair of jeans you always seem to wear? What’s your wardrobe look like? How many of your outfits involve at least one article of black clothing? Necromancers thrive on energy that is drawn to black clothing and thus tend to favor that color more. But they do this subconsciously, without really thinking about it. If you’re a Hot Topic addict that’s not the same thing. It’s only if you’ve been doing it without really knowing it that it counts. So think about the kinds of clothes you wear, and if you’re surprised by how much black is involved that’s another good sign.
  3. Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?- Do you ever feel like someone or something is watching you? Even if you’re completely alone at the time? Does it ever feel like their’s a presence in your home you can’t explain? This is another big sign that you might be naturally attuned to the dead.
  4. Have you ever had a recurring dream involving letters or a ghost?- This one’s a biggie. Ghosts often communicate with us through our dreams. They will attempt to play games with us, usually involving letters or small puzzles. They will often appear as non-threatening entities with a calm and friendly aura about them. If you’ve had a recurring dream involving any of these elements then their is a very good chance you are not only attuned to the dead, but the dead are trying to communicate with you.
  5. How do strangers act around you?- What’s the first thing people do when they meet you for the first time? Are they friendly? Do they smile around you? Or do they seem apprehensive? Like their’s something off-putting about you? Necromancers are surrounded by not only the Dead but also Death Energy. This energy, while unnoticeable to the Necromancer, is uncomfortable to others who are exposed to it. People who are more attuned to life than to death will feel uncomfortable, anxious, and even afraid around Necromancers. Keep in mind this does not apply to friends and family.
  6. And finally…Are you afraid of death?- This one is fairly straightforward. Does the fact that our bodies will inevitably rot away into nothing frighten you? Necromancers have little to no fear of death, and those who are attuned to death share this same lack of fear. I should point out that this is not the same thing as being suicidal. Necromancers do not wish for death, they merely accept that it is an inevitable and natural process. If the answer to this question is ‘I don’t rightly know” that’s perfectly okay. There’s a very easy way to test if you are or not. Grab a notebook and a pen and start listing all the different ways you can die, starting from the way you’re the most comfortable with and getting progressively worst from there. As you do this, imagine yourself experiencing that death, and monitor how it makes you feel. As soon as you begin to feel even the slightest bit anxious, it’s time to quit. See how many you can get through. If you make it through at least 20, you’re probably okay.

If at least four of these six things applies to you then congratulations! You are most likely already attuned to death, you can begin practicing Necromancy whenever you wish. For everyone else please do not despair. The path of the dead is not locked away from you, it just means that you have an extra step you have to follow.

Attuning Yourself to the Dead

This the part where the “Purists” will tell you that in order to attune yourself to the dead properly you have to sleep among them at a graveyard or mausoleum. While I won’t argue against that as being an effective strategy I will say that it is a highly impractical one. If you live in the United States for instance, you probably know that most cemeteries and graveyards are considered state property and are typically closed at night to pedestrians. It would be very difficult to get away with sleeping next to a gravestone without getting caught. And if you do, you’re looking at a hefty fine as well as potentially spending the rest of your night in jail. Mausoleum’s are also risky. Most are considered private property, and the one’s that aren’t are usually locked up at night. But legal issues aside their is one major problem with sleeping next to a casket. Disease. Let’s not forget that dead flesh tends to harbor a lot of potentially dangerous microorganisms. Sleeping next to a dead body, even if it’s in a casket, is a sure fire way of getting a staph infection.

Instead of trying to go full Igor I recommend a much saner approach. By hallowing your own bedroom with the soil of a graveyard you can bring the dead to you, and sleep among them in the comfort of your own bed. To do this you must first gain their trust and respect. Go to your local cemetery and walk around. Look for flower pots and statues that have been knocked over and right them back up again. Clean the grime and dirt off of headstones and say a small prayer for the deceased. When you begin to feel a sense of approval wash over you you will know it’s working. Do this for about a week and then take some dirt from the grounds. Take it back home with you and then add just a few drops of your own blood to it. Then spread it among the four corners of the walls of your bedroom. Your room should now be considered hallowed ground where the dead may freely walk. Once you’ve done this just sleep in your bed as you normally would, after awhile you should begin to experience odd dreams. These dreams are different for everyone but you will know when you have them. Once you do you then you will know you have successfully attuned your soul to the Dead. You may now cleanse your room in whatever way you see fit be it with incense or holy water. You won’t anger the dead, they will understand that it is time for them to leave.

Whether you’re naturally attuned, or you attune yourself the end result will be the same. You will be a Necromancer. Not in practice, but in spirit. All that’s left is to begin your craft.

damianwayynes  asked:

*whispers* shallura and klance because they own my sorry life

ask and you shall receive!

♡ send me a ship and i’ll tell you


  • Who accidentally pushes a door instead of pulling/vice versa: 
    • Allura would. No one told her Earth doors would be so complicated.
  • Who doodles little hearts all over the desk with their initials inside them: 
    • I wanna say both, but my heart is telling me Shiro pines like a schoolgirl when he’s legitimately in love, so he would. In his notebooks, on his desk, in the dirt, everywhere. Especially after actually getting together with her - he’d do this to show his love for her every chance he gets.
  • Who starts the tickle fights: 
    • ALLURA. Sometimes when Shiro is really in the dumps or just tired tickle fights are sometimes the only thing to put a smile on his face. Shiro actually loves the feeling of getting tickled so he loves it. He also loves engaging first and tickling Allura.
  • Who starts the pillow fights: 
    • Absolutely Allura. Lance introduced her to some Earth customs and she fell in love with pillow fights. She loves to start them with everyone, not just Shiro, but especially enjoys sneaking up on Shiro when he doesn’t expect it. It gives them a chance to let out their inner child and just act like there’s nothing wrong in the world, like they’re not fighting a war. It’s small moments like these they really cherish.
  • Who falls asleep last, watching the other with a small affectionate smile:
    • Shiro. 100% Shiro. Allura is quick to go to sleep and every time Shiro sees her sleeping face he falls in love all over again. He finds her presence next to him very comforting so when she’s finally asleep he feels safe and content enough to fall asleep himself, all while wrapping his arms around her and whispering “I love you” as a “goodnight.”
  • Who mistakes salt for sugar:
    • ALLURA. “Who let these two completely different seasonings look exactly the same?”
  • Who lets the microwave play the loud beeping sound at 1am in the morning:
    • I’d feel like neither would lmao? Maybe Shiro?
  • Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines:
    • OK SO Allura comes up with the cheesy, almost terrible pick up lines that borderline puns while Shiro comes up with those sappy, cliche pickup lines that actually sweep Allura off her feet and she’s a bit miffed that her pickup lines can’t work that way on him. “Better luck next time, Princess.”
  • Who rearranges the bookshelf in alphabetical order:
    • Allura. She’d be the person to rearrange books every few weeks depending if she wants them organized alphabetically, by color, by size, by series, by author, etc.
  • Who licks the spoon when they’re baking brownies:
    • Shiro is 100% guilty of this. Allura never finds out.
  • Who buys candles for dinners even though there’s no special occasion:
    • SHIRO he loves doing this because every time with her should be something to remember.
  • Who draws little tattoos on the other with a pen:
    • ALLURA she’s not an artist, but Shiro sports his girlfriend’s doodles with pride.
  • Who comes home with a new souvenir magnet every time they go on vacation:
    • I feel like Allura would! She was a diplomat, so she travels a lot, and would most definitely bring back things not just for Shiro, but for the other Paladins and Coran as well!
  • Who convinces the other to fill out those couple surveys in the back of magazines:
    • Allura is quite fascinated with Earth customs and would actually find those surveys really fun to do.


  • Who accidentally pushes a door instead of pulling/vice versa:
    • Honestly? Both. Both of them are victims of this. Neither of them are without blame.
  • Who doodles little hearts all over the desk with their initials inside them:
    • KEITH KEITH KEITH we already established that Keith Kogane invented pining, of course he’d be the one to do this.
  • Who starts the tickle fights:
    • Lance oh god Keith actually hates being sneaked up on and he’s extremely ticklish so Lance loves to exploit this.
  • Who starts the pillow fights:
    • STILL LANCE he’s absolutely savage and even against his boyfriend he shows no mercy. He will start the fight and dammit he will win.
  • Who falls asleep last, watching the other with a small affectionate smile:
    • Keith would! He, like his big bro Shiro, happens to have a hard time sleeping at night, but seeing Lance’s peaceful sleeping face makes him that much more relaxed. He likes to trace his hands down Lance’s shoulder and sides too.
  • Who mistakes salt for sugar:
    • Keith but honestly only because Lance is the one to switch out the ingredients. 
  • Who lets the microwave play the loud beeping sound at 1am in the morning:
    • Lance. No question about it, it’s Lance. He’d heat anything up from popcorn to leftovers to hot pockets when he’s hungry he’s hungry and everyone being asleep isn’t going to stop him.
  • Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines:
    • KEITH. He’s never been that good with pick up lines or flirting so he probably got advice from Allura and started saying dumb shit like “hey you know what kind of alien i am for you? a gaylra” and Lance honestly can’t even find it endearing it’s too funny but he loves and appreciates Keith and his attempts anyway. But, please, “leave the flirting to me.”
  • Who rearranges the bookshelf in alphabetical order:
    • I don’t think either would really care.
  • Who licks the spoon when they’re baking brownies:
    • LANCE. Keith gets annoyed because “Dammit stop eating all the batter, Lance!”
  • Who buys candles for dinners even though there’s no special occasion:
    • Lance! He likes to have some on hand anyway just in case he wants to make things extra important and romantic.
  • Who draws little tattoos on the other with a pen:
    • I think both would! But Lance would be a bit sneakier about it, doodling sappier things than Keith. Keith would go for rather generic things and Lance may enjoy going a bit more into detail, or writing funny things on Keith and saying that he wrote something else until Pidge or Hunk see the back of his neck and tell him Lance wrote “I may have the dumbest mullet but I’ve got the best boyfriend.”
  • Who comes home with a new souvenir magnet every time they go on vacation:
    • Lance! We’ve already established that Lance has homesickness, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t genuinely enjoy traveling the universe and seeing new things. I like to think he’s kind of like Wally in YJ, where he takes a little souvenir for each planet they’ve been on, each mission they’ve completed, etc. in hopes that someday he can show it to his family on Earth.
  • Who convinces the other to fill out those couple surveys in the back of magazines:
    • Keith, actually! Lance finds them entertaining, but rather pointless. Keith did at first too, but actually found them to be kind of fun, even if they both know they’re really dumb. They do it to make fun of the magazine.
All (We) Want

So, in the Writers’ Hub we have quite the selection of opinions on when, where and if Captain Swan have ever done the deed. I took it upon myself to um… bring some of those scenarios to life.

4.4k of pure smutiness in various forms. Rated M. On ao3 HERE

Credit to @winterbythesea @ofshipsandswans @hencethebravery @dassala and @businesscasualprincess for the situations and @captainwiley and @irishswanff for the sprinting help. Did I say credit? I meant blame.

Also @killiancygnus. Because ily.

1. Neverland

He can feel the weight of her stare on the back of his neck as he turns from the helm, her regard following him as his invisible companion as he moves to go below.

She’s been sitting at the bow since sunset, the sky spreading before her like a sea of stars, but her face has never turned towards them, nor has she looked down at the glittering carpet of the ocean below. Her attention has been fixed, wholly and completely, on him.

It makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries - her silent perusal combined with the thrill of his newly discovered feelings leaving him quite lightheaded.

He wants her to watch him, but more than that he wants her to want.

He slips a hand into his jacket pocket in search of his flask - anything to soothe his frayed nerves - but he comes up empty.

“Lost something?” she calls, holding his flask between finger and thumb, her lip curled sardonically. “You’re not the only pirate around here.”

“You need only have asked, Swan,” he says, shuffling over with hand outstretched. To his surprise she pulls the flask back, holding it close to her chest and watching him with hooded eyes.

“Is that true?” she asks, her voice low.

“Is what true, love?” he asks, snatching for the flask and scowling slightly as she refuses to hand it over.

“That I only have to ask.”

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Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3,726

Summary: You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

Originally posted by intokai

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Flashy Clubber

Request: “smut where you and jooheon go to a party together and get hella drunk and go home together and you both can’t keep your hands off each other ;) - thaaank yoou .!”

Genre: fluff / smut

Originally posted by jooheonbebe

“That night started with a bottle’s finish against my lips and ended with his alcohol-drenched lips.”

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nattersfluff  asked:

How about 36; "did I say that out loud?" For kachako of course :) pls pls

This is such an ambigue prompt, I was left thinking for a while about what to do with this one. It’s such an easy prompt but OF COURSE I had to make it too complicated… well, bitch shall I be ♥ Please enjoy, and I hope this wasn’t too long or… well, you’ll see below. And thanks for the request! 

He wouldn’t look at her.

This was the fact that kept Uraraka awake all night, all day– and while it had its plenty advantages during literature class, the rattling memory of what had happened a night prior to this day tormenting her. Every time she blinked, his blank stare and the sense of dread drenching every fiber of her being would come back in tenfold, make her dizzy and just feel all color draining her cheeks.

“I could kiss you right now…”


That had been the first and last time she would curse so hard in her mind, the word vibrating staright to her soul and shattering all intentions to focus on whatever matter she had at hand– there, there she was again with the blushing, the fidgeting, the everything that came with thinking about him, him, and ten times him.

How had she said that outloud? They had been sparring, kicking each other’s butts to the ground until they couldn’t breathe. Bakugou had been doing a good damn job at making her feel weak and stupid with those smart-ass moves he had with him. Punches and quirk based dodging were his basics, but she couldn’t really prevent them in time.

So he was royally messing with her. It was evident he enjoyed fighting with her, and the fact overjoyed her. Bakugou blasted her with one of his hands as she while she was picking herself from the ground. “You are still standing?”

She looked at him, who had halted his steps and stood a bit too near to her. If he decided to blast her, she would be long dead before the embers cleared. He didn’t seem to be planning on attacking her soon, as his hands were slightly trembling. “I told you I wouldn’t give up so easily this time, Bakugou.”

He smirked and cleaned some sweat off his eyebrow, eyes closed in concentration as he laughed. “I would have never thought I’d have this damn fun with you, of all bunch of nerds in this school.” she didn’t know if he was aiming for a mean undertone, but he only came across as a little kind. She silently rose. “C’mon, Urara– OOF!”

Uraraka straight tackled him while he did his bragging business, because he sure had gained trust from seeing her lying before him but hadn’t considered how much will she had in her. His back his the ground with a loud thud, a groan escaping his lips as she straddled him.

His hands flew to her legs, trying to pry her off him, but the moment her hand landed on his chest, he knew it was game over and his hands fell limp on his side. “Goddammit.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter, but her feet still remained digging in the ground as she loomed over him, her chest heaving inches away from his to relish the moment of his defeat– then, it dawned on her that she was a bit too close to him, and that his hands had found way to the fabric of her shorts again.

Her gaze shifter from a stone to his eyes, vibrant eyes– they shone with passionate colors, like coals thriving in a fire, or the color of sunset when sun hid down the horizon, and they were staring right into hers, breath labored and hands drawing circles underneath the clothing now, as if waiting for her to do something so he would stop wanting her to be even closer.

Uraraka wanted him closer as well, and voiced her thoughts accordingly, without thinking about their repercussion.

Breathy, she spoke in a whisper. “I could kiss you right now…”

She slammed her head against the lift doors again. Everytime she remembered how tense he had gone underneath her, or how a mad blush had splashed into life on his cheeks– she would always feel the same blush be reflected on her, and her heart would hammer like crazy against her ribcage.

Yet, he wouldn’t look at her. Everytime they crossed paths at the hallways, he would mutter some curses and turn heel towards another direction which, mind you, was always the wrong one. One particular time, they almost crashed heads after turning a corner and Bakugou had scrambled away so fast that he left her there in a gloomy state, regretting having said such things so bluntly.

This very same void carried out a devastating process of self-doubt and horrorizing realization that not only had he scared him shitless, but she had also whatever chance for a healthy relationship that existed. With a single sentence she crushed those chances to pieces and left them both confused, with her thinking that he of course would never return such silly desires.

Bakugou was cool, chill, explosive and a lone wolf. Of course he would never want to be with her and of course kissing him was never an option. She was a little peasant compared to his royal aura. But someday– someday, she would make it to his level.

The lift doors opened before her and Uraraka skipped in quickly, punching the button to her floor weakly to just make it out of that lazy, dreary day of humiliation and shame that had washed over her so radically that it left her with no energies left to deal with everything.

Uraraka heard the doors close, only to open wide again and reveal the hunched over figure of a blonde guy she knew too well. Her first instinct was to blush and jump a little, grasping the hem of her skirt thinking that by pulling away she would let him breathe. But, was the air as thick as it was for her? Because hell, she couldn’t find air to hang on to.

Bakugou punched his floor button, and he did it with much more force than necessary. Uraraka feared that he could have broken the panel. “G–Good evening, Bak–kugou.”

He just glared at her, his irises still as incandescent as she remembered them, burning and crushing her all the same. His hands were deep in his pockets, grimace menacing and teeth showing. He looked everywhere to avoid her fluttering lashes, so hypnotizing that he was forgetting what he was doing all of a sudden. “Whatever.”

Uraraka sighed. Sure, she had ruined their little friendship for a lousy matter as lust. Worst of it all, was that the thought still writhed between her, not less intense or faltering, and he seemed more attractive than ever under the lift lights. Such a shame his eyes were so fixated on the floor counter, because she was dying to look deep into his eyes.

Uraraka limped on the wall bar, hands gripping the metal and wishing for this tension to fade, for the silence to break and for the lift doors to fly open so she could flee. Suddenly, it occurred to her that he was in the wrong–

There was a loud crash and the cabin shook, making her knees wobble and her grip on the bar tighten, lights flickering above them. Bakugou’s form came to stand right in front of her, his frown deep and sincere, hands grasping the bar behind her. He towered over her and had her cornered against the wall, his hand itching to grasp hers.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Uraraka.” snarled he, teeth strongly gritted. There was a weighty agitation in his voice as he spat at her, his emotions flinging between frustration, anger, and something she couldn’t quite name, but it sparked excitement in her when she glanced into his eyes.


A hand of his slammed on the wall beside her head, startling her. “What the fuck is your problem, saying stuff like that to my face and then expecting me to be totally cool with it?”

Uraraka gulped, intoxicated with a proximity that felt more intimate than when she had him pinned against the ground, his hands roaming around her thighs. The feeling of his fingertips hunting her skin came assaulting her as his pierce eyes stared down at her, and a tight knot started bubbling inside of her.

“I didn’t mean any of it, Bakugou!”

She didn’t really know how denying the the truth would make things better, but it somehow came to her and honestly, his face was dumstruck with something similar to grief, anger, and she wanted to die. The hand that still lay beside hers gripped her wrist, and he inched a bit closer.

“Take that back.”

Her eyes widened as saucers as his forehead hovered above hers in a silent threat, frown deeper in concentration as if he was reading through her, and all tension suddenly shattered when his arm flexed and that same hand let her go, sneaking through the fabric of her shirt. A moan tried to sneak out of her petite mouth, but it came out as a shiver he sure noticed.

He held her stronger against the wall, fingertips somewhat hot against her chilly skin. “Fucking take that back, Uraraka.”

The hand beside her head seized her face to divert her gaze to his angry, trembling glare. He wasn’t looking at her before, but he sure needed her attention now. Uraraka squirmed under his burning touch. “If saying that means destroying whatever we had, then I–”

His mouth crashed hers, head banging against the wall of the lift, and he only gripped her tighter when a high-pitched noise escaped her lips in the middle of his lock. Her lips parted slightly and, far from deepening the death grip, he only pulled away and squinted at her red cheeks.

“I’m not gonna say it again.” growled he, building up tension in her lungs with such agitated, thick voice. His grip was vicious, like a snake luring it pray– and boy, didn’t she feel little underneath him. “Take it back.”

“I am not going to owe up to it if it means drifting apart from you, Bakugou.”

There was a moment of silence, their mingling breaths the only thing able to be heard around them. His eyes narrowed pointedly at her, watching how his touch was affecting her sole existence and how his heart was dying to eat her alive if it meant having her closer. Something deep, scorching like hellfire was rounding his fragile, fierce heart, and suddenly, none of his grudged mattered.

“I don’t know why the fuck I would pull away from this, Uraraka.”

He didn’t even let her think an intelligent response to his rude remark, but sealed the deal with a searing liplock that made her shake beneath him, struggling to hind somewhere to hold on to while his hands travelled all the way to her waist, neck, and caressed all weak areas that he would expect her to have. Some of his caresses were blunt, some were fierce, and some were made with endearing intimacy and care that rose her above the heavens.

Bakugou broke away for a second for a sharp intake of air only to take Uraraka in again, crashing her head against the surface so she wouldn’t fucking escape, because she was moving so much that he feared she would fly away any second now, so he held her as close as possible. And she felt this, of course she did– the urgency in the kiss, how his lips were abrassing hers in a conquer war, or how his teeth grazed the sensitive roses.

When his hands travelled all the way to her thighs, her mind was completely lost, and while breaking away, a gasp allowed his tongue to swiftly pop in, hand seizing her jaw to explore all she had to give to him and all she wouldn’t be willing to. He hoisted Uraraka up on the metallic bar, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he obligued obidiently to her command, a beast tamed under her fierce attacks to his velvet cavern.

He was gonna lose it to that girl and he had no regrets on that department. His other hand busied itself burying his fingers under her clothing, fingertips reaching her spine and making her arch against his chest. Breathings fanned against each others’ faces heatedly, only making him groan for more of her skin to burn, and trying to make her let out those beautiful noises trapped within her throat.

“Fuck,” grunted he in between sucks, bites, and caresses. “you’re driving me” she shut him up urgently again, tongues clashing again. “so fucking crazy, woman.”

Uraraka pulled away for a moment, only to have him seeking for her again, and her voice was lost between gasps. “Don’t.”

His teeth bit her lower lip, making her sigh in pleasure, her hands stroking his blonde mane and eliciting a growl from him. “I love you so fucking much,” grunted he without thinking, hands starting to mindlessly roam around her back. “you damn witch.”

“I love you–” his tongue gave her lips a soft caress while going to her jaw, planting chaste kisses wherever he deemed pleasurable. “I love you so much right now…”

Two exact seconds later, his assault on her neck halted and all his roaming snap stopped, making Uraraka deflate a little and go back in time to where they were heatedly making out and–

A deep scarlet blush marred her cheeks as he pulled away a bit to look at her, mouth agape and slowly blinking with wide eyes, dread drenching them both to the bone once more. They had done it again.

“Did I…” murmured Bakugou, his hands slowly pulling away from her pearly skin and inmediately missing her afterwards. His muscles were tense in horror and utter embarrassment. “did I– did you– did I say that out loud?”

Uraraka’s shoulders tensed up because not only had he confessed in the middle of the worst time possible, but she had even returned it gladly, again, in the worst time possible.

“I– I didn’t–”

“Don’t come at me with regretful shit.” growled he under his breath, slamming his hand against the stop button to have the lift working again. Soon enough, she felt them being high in the air again. “It’s a bit too fucking late to say that now.”

He didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem remorseful– like hell he would be regretting what they just did. He just seemed… a bit off. Uraraka knew what was crossing his head, and this wasn’t the way she had planned to confess either. 

When she looked at him, his eyes helf her glance before sighing and muttering a curt apology, frowning as the lift doors closed behind her when they reached the floor and he stayed inside to catch his lift again at the first floor. All she heard afterwards was a huge crash and a livid scream.


anonymous asked:

Can i get a scenario where the PT's (boys only) s.o is secretly a fan of their metaverse self and accidently they find their s.o drawing of them and fanfiction ? Lol thank you admin, your writing is quite good ! You deserve a cookie and hug

sdjfkhh Thank you!! You deserve a cookie and a hug for being so kind!! Thanks for the cute request! Enjoy!


Akira and S/O were on a study date in Leblanc. Sojiro had already turned in for the evening, so they had the place to themselves. Well, with the exception of Morgana, who was now peeking at S/O’s notes while they were preoccupied in the restroom.

“Akira, you have to see this.” Curiosity tugged Akira over to the booth that Morgana was perched on top of. He read the notes that the cat’s paw was placed on and his onyx eyes widened.

It was a story about him… well, to be more precise, it was a story about Joker. The story’s content included Joker being portrayed as a dashing and bold hero of justice, and the plot was centered around him stealing hearts, as well as breaking them, with a sexy smile and skillful hands.

“Uh, I’m gonna leave this up to you. I’ll come back later,” and with that, Morgana hurriedly departed.

The second he heard S/O open the door was the second their fate was sealed as his eternal target for teasing. Akira grinned deviously and faced them.

“I bet Joker is honored to have such a devoted fan.”

S/O froze mid-step, blushed, and turned on their heel to retreat to the bathroom, but Akira caught them in a hug and kissed the top of their head. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed; it makes me happy to know that you think so highly of Joker.”

S/O turned to face him. “I-it isn’t just Joker. You’re brave and you always stay true to yourself, despite everything life throws at you. You’re my hero too, Akira.” They kissed him, and now Akira was the one with pink dusted on his cheeks. Truthfully, he looked up to his Metaverse persona as well; he never considered ‘just Akira’ to be a hero, but he was elated that S/O thought he was.

Akira embraced S/O more tightly. “Thank you.” He paused and smugly added, “But make sure you don’t leave out my overwhelming charisma next time.”


Ryuji didn’t intend to read the comic; the paper just happened to fall out of S/O’s backpack when they were taking a walk in Inokashira Park. 

“Hang on a sec, babe.” He ran to fetch it before it blew away, and when he retrieved it, he was surprised by the content. It was a three panel manga about a thief code-named “Skull” stealing the hearts of corrupt adults and triumphantly putting them behind bars with a dazzling smile that made teenagers swoon. 

Ryuji felt himself flush, but he was not about to let this chance go by because of his embarrassment. “Hey, uh, ya dropped something.”

A questioning expression appeared on S/O’s face due to the smugness in his voice, and when their gaze fell upon the paper the heat welling up in their face was enough to combat the beating sun. “I-I can explain,” they squeaked as they snatched the paper out of his hand.

“Nah, it’s cool. I think the, uh, comic did a pretty good job at explainin’ everything,” he teased.

S/O puffed their cheeks and marched over to Ryuji. “H-hey, what’re you gonna-”

He was cut off by their lips, and his ears were scarlet as S/O said, “Don’t get cocky, brat.” He didn’t say anything after that, but his heightened ego must have spoken volumes because S/O couldn’t look him in the eye for the rest of their walk.


Yusuke and S/O were drawing together at Mementos; they came to a consensus that the vibrant colors and eerie environment would conjure a fresh perspective. 

Normally, they would exchange sketches and critique them; they would praise what worked well or what could have been improved, and that method proved to be quite enlightening and efficient.

However, S/O was unusually reluctant to hand over their drawing. “S/O, is something the matter?”

S/O avoided Yusuke’s concerned gaze and hugged their drawing closely. “I-it’s nothing, I’m just not done yet.”

Yusuke tried to mask his doubt as he nodded. Suddenly, a shadow manifested and the couple dropped their things to duel it. Once it was defeated, Yusuke glanced around to make sure S/O was safe, but his sight fastened on their drawing instead.

It contained multiple portraits of Fox valiantly posing or striking down villainous adults. One of them actually portrayed Fox holding S/O in his arms with a confident smirk on his face.

S/O followed his line of sight and froze as if they were a statue. The damage was done, and it was too late.

Yusuke chuckled. “Well, the line work and artistic quality is splendid, indeed.” His lips formed a smirk that mimicked the drawing. “However, I believe the content is what stands out the most in this piece. Would you care to… elaborate?”

S/O wished for nothing more than a train to run them over. “D-do I have to? You’re just… really cool and inspiring.”

“…I see.” Yusuke equipped the drawing and inspected it more closely. Then he handed it to S/O and unexpectedly picked them up. “Hm, this is… not as easy as you portrayed it to be,” he grunted. “Perhaps we should work on improving your realism next.”

Didn't Even Notice

Based on the gifs in this post.

A/N: This just hit me. I hope you like it. It is not Roommates.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Words: 1,347

Gifs give so much inspiration. Thank you, @aworldmadeforme for looking over it before I published it for me. I was so apprehensive. Thank you for putting my mind at ease.


You didn’t even notice at first. Who knew how long it had been going on? Lydia. Lydia knew. Lydia always knew everything.

“He does not,” you said with a swat of your hand as if to shoo away her words.

Keep reading

His cooking

Hello I am back with another drabble.. I saw several prompts about cooking and decided to try my hand at it with Nesta and Cassian. As always I’m easing into writing and have loads of room to improve. However, without further ado enjoy this little thing :) 

The characters and story do not belong to me.

Short summary: If Nesta didn’t know any better she would say her nose was betraying her.

Usually when Nesta curls up with a good book to read, time flies. A pair of plush velvet pillows comfortably tucked behind her, lit candles spreading their lavender aroma, and a bulky soft blanket wrapped around her became the perfect recipe for the hours to meld into one. But no matter how hard she concentrated on the plot of the story Nesta couldn’t help but read the same sentence over and over. At this point she hasn’t had a clue of what happened on the god damn page.

With a huff she placed her bookmark in the crook of the novel eyeing the little amount of pages she read. Nesta swore she could hear the faint sound of teasing from the book at her utter lack of success. Nesta at least wanted to get through a quarter of the book but found herself unable to do so. With an abrupt shut she sat still watching the dust scatter about the room.

“Damn it,” she whispered while crossing her arms. The silence rippled throughout the room and allowed her mind to wonder. A couple seconds in she simply came to a conclusion as to why she couldn’t focus.

That conclusion being the smell and the betrayal of her nose.

For the past fifteen minutes lavender wasn’t the only scent invading her senses. Her newly enhanced nose picked up a combination of spices and meat. This instantly reminding her of her first experience when she tasted Illyrian cooking. At the time she was too stubborn to admit how the flavor and culture was both charming and alluring. The flavor of the food in Velaris was something she certainly learned to appreciate. When compared to food in the mortal lands Illyrian cuisine was rich and overall better. Not bland or boring in the slightest.

The spices and meat Nesta was picking up now made her stomach growl.

“Damn him,” She muttered.

To no surprise Cassian was the brood behind this. That overgrown bat always had an evil method to lure her out of her room. Tonight most of all was a challenge between the two. For earlier that day Nesta declared she was off to her own space to read. While doing so she made it evident for no one to interrupt her. Especially Cassian.

Now he’s doing the one thing that will surely draw Nesta out. He knows extremely well, more than anyone else in fact how the scent of spices and honey tempt her.

Well played Cassian. Very well played.

Nesta shifted out from under the covers then started making her way towards the door. The brass knob was cool under her fingers as she twisted it and slipped out into the hallway. Nesta tried her best to remain quiet by gradually walking around the ancient floorboards. Every time the weight of her foot pressed into the floor it would give a low cry. She winced every time the sound echoed throughout the corridor, pleading for them to remain quiet.

Along the way several doors lined each side. A handful belonged to the Inner Circle whilst others were for storage. The fresh wallpaper installed not too long ago gave some color and made the place much more vibrant than before. Like everyone else the House of Wind needed some change to mark the new age. It gave the chance for everyone to start over.

By the time Nesta reached the end of the hallway she entered the kitchen. This was where the source of that heavenly scent she’s been following resided from. Hurriedly her eyes followed down past the abundant counter space and soon stalled her gaze onto Cassian. He seemed firmly planted in front of a skillet sizzling with vegetables. His hand swiftly stirred everything inside as if he’s done this thousands of times before.

Cassian’s stomach rumbled impatiently as well. After a long day of training plus endless meetings his abdomen ached. The smell wasn’t helping relieve it either, in fact it only made him hungrier. But his patience held out before he could start devouring everything in sight.

As a reward Cassian was preparing himself this savory dish but it wasn’t only for himself. It was also for Nesta whom he was determined to draw out. In the past couple of months Cassian happened to notice Nesta’s favorite meal. Some days when she wonders around the streets of Velaris she would visit the same café and order her usual. Other days she would secretly ask a servant if they could kindly prepare that same dish for her.

With some investigating Cassian happened to figure out what exactly Nesta loved to eat above anything else. The one thing she couldn’t say no to. The strategic thing to do is hold onto that bit of information just in case there ever came a day where he could use it to his advantage. Today was one of those days.

The sound of crackling meat was bliss to his ears and snapped him from his thoughts. He continued to stir everything with ease knowing precisely how long  the vegetables had left. 

Cooking was something that came naturally to him. When he finally broke free from the Illyrian camps Cassian picked up many tips. Mor as well was gracious enough to teach him a thing or two until he was able to experiment and do things on his own. Cassian has had loads of practice over the centuries and became quite confident with the meals he has put out. Confident enough to lure out even the great Nesta Archeon.

A smile tugged onto his lips as he saw Nesta come into view. She propped herself up against the wall a foot away from him and gave him a snicker.

“Couldn’t resist?” His voice questioned evenly while his thick eyebrow raised itself.

Nesta let out a low laugh in response to his cockiness. “The food or you?”

His signature grin grew as he turned to face her, “I like to imagine both.”

Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “The food yes. You? No.”

Cassian made a motion as if a dagger stabbed his heart and pretended to keep twisting the imaginary blade deeper. His face played along with the notion. “That stings Nesta, truly.”

Nesta crossed her arms and allowed her fingers to tap against her skin as she watched him transfer the vegetables onto two plates. Cassian then attended to the chunk of meat. He dusted the piece with several seasonings and laid it on a grill.

Watching the entire process of him cook affected her more than she would have liked to admit. Just to know that Cassian could not only cook but prepare the most incredible dishes gave her an unexpected reaction. She couldn’t quite explain it but maybe it was along the lines of pride? However, that’s something she would certainly keep to herself. Nesta would never give Cassian the satisfaction no matter how much she wanted to sometimes.

Acting on that feeling Nesta wondered on over to Cassian and wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek into his muscular back careful to avoid his wings knowing full well how sensitive they are. He in response fanned them out to give her room to press herself into him fully. He loved moments like this, when she wasn’t afraid to show at least an ounce of affection and bold enough to initiate it.

“Teach me how to cook,” she mumbled into his shirt loving the feeling of the cloth against her skin.

She felt Cassian shift to steal a quick glance of her, “That sounded more like a demand then a request.”

Her eyes met his as she replied, “That was exactly that. And as I recall you love it.”

“That sweetheart is true.” Cassian paused and Nesta heard him flip the chunk of meat over, the smell was completely intoxicating. “I also love it when you’re commanding in the bedroom.”

Nesta immediately punched him while he snickered. She slowly shook her head fighting the small grin that threatened to spread itself along her features. She could get used to this. The idea of cooking together for many years to come. Learning how to prepare something different everyday together and just teasing each other in the process.

“I could get used to this.”

“Me too.”


i got a lovely ask from @ggoatboy​ regarding my note-taking tips, and while i rarely took classes where i had to take notes from text, i took a LOT of notes from lectures, so here are some tips re: those!! my great note-taking is what got me through school with a perfect GPA and minimal actual studying, so i’m big on notes

i’ll start off with saying that my lecture notes were messy af, but i had to consciously decide to not worry about it during class. your only concern during class is to listen and get down as much info as you can!

before i walk you through all this stuff, i’ll give you the quick and dirty:

  1. don’t worry about how ur in class notes look like, just focus on listening & paying attention and getting down as much info as you can.
  2. when you recopy, read through your notes carefully and figure out the best way to reorganize them; this also helps you retain the info better.
  3. pick a color scheme if you’d like, and don’t shy away from pretty headers and little post-its and anecdotes; color-coding can also be a big help. recopying notes is a great way to figure out your learning style – it took me a good while to figure out the best method for me.

okay, now, read on for the deets! 

Keep reading

People saying that Rian’s quote doesn’t mean Kylo is a protagonist are also saying it means Rey is not a protagonist – leaving Finn and/or LUKE to be the protagonist of TLJ….

And, despite the consistent history of SW main saga movies sticking to a “three protagonist” format, and considering perhaps they are continuing that format, antis are desperately clinging to ANYTHING that will prevent them from having to acknowledge we have a Byronic hero on our hands. To the extent that they are TOTALLY FINE with erasing the MAIN HEROINE – the FIRST EVER Force-sensitive heroine in the main saga – and pushing Luke (a character who Mark, Rian, and JJ have all said has already had “his time” and his story told – they’ve all said the new saga is about the NEW generation, and that the old are in supporting roles!) is such fucking fandom misogyny.

The fact is, Kylo and Rey both being protagonists doesn’t take away from Finn’s ability to be a protagonist, especially considering SW’s tendency to focus on three main character arcs in which the Force and Political plots are split between them in some way.

But antis are SO HARDCORE ANTI KYLO (you know, the NEW GENERATION SKYWALKER) that they will twist up Rian’s words and go so far as to erase a heroine in the name of shitting all over Kylo as a character. They will go wild and bring back dead horse theories like Rey Solo and pretend like Luke will realistically be our new protagonist.

I just… are they listening to themselves? Are these really the conclusions you’re drawing? I cannot reconcile the amount of delusion this takes, and I can only believe that you are not genuinely invested in these ideas.

Also, when people make badly assessed comparisons between Anakin/Vader and Ben/Kylo it makes me want to scream. If Kylo/Ben repeats his grandfather and ends in tragedy what is the point of re-telling his story? Yes, Vader got a “redemption” of sorts, but it was still tragic and – by making this new trilogy – it is apparent that the actual SKYWALKER NAME has yet to be redeemed. The family is still steeped in the blood spilled and the fallout of Anakin’s actions. Kylo is the direct result of that tragic curse that haunts them. Someone has to redeem that name, and it has to be someone who DEEPLY understands how terrible that tragedy was; Luke couldn’t do it because he was too good to see the reality – thus convincing himself of a “rose-colored glasses” view of what Anakin/Vader was. Leia couldn’t do it because she refused to accept that truth and hid in shame and fear. Han simply couldn’t understand any of it and didn’t want to. All of those approaches to that legacy are what created Kylo. And the only one who can redeem that is Ben Solo… come on guys, what’s the alternative? He dies… and then what? What happens to the Skywalkers? They go away in shame and despair? (I’m telling you now Rey ain’t a Skywalker, and Rian literally answered, “Who are Rey’s parents?” with “Who cares?” – like in what world would that imply to you that she is somehow a Skywalker????)

Not only that, but if you’re paying attention to more of Rian’s words, he said that Kylo is a representation of part of adolescence. This means he represents the kids out there who are lost and afraid and broken – the ones whose parents and teachers give up on. The lost kids who have given up on themselves, even….

You are SERIOUSLY going to tell me that a character representing the above child is going to DIE IN DESPAIR AND SHAME??? You’re going to tell me THOSE kids don’t get to see themselves redeemed and in reach of a future full of hope and promise??? You’re going to tell me that the message to ALL the lost kids out there is, “sorry, kid, but you made mistakes and you get no more chances.” Of course, we have to face the consequences of our mistakes, and the weight of those mistakes may always follow us but…. that does not mean hope is lost and that we are forever alone and deserving of no love or future or change….

Just… for one second can y’all PLEASE remember what franchise this is and who it is aimed at? And what the REAL messages beneath the surface are? It’s not the OBVIOUS, IN YOUR FACE kind of story. And antis proclaiming, “KID STORIES ARE ALWAYS OBVIOUS,” like seriously fuck you because the best kid stories are those that carry deep themes beneath the surface. Kids are WAY FUCKING SMARTER than you are giving them credit, and if you wanna disagree, go watch The Dark Crystal, Studio Ghibli films (Spirited Away, Howl’s Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke), Beauty and the Beast, Lion King, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Labyrinth, Neverending Story, and a great Anime series called Fullmetal Alchemist…. These are just a few examples of kid stories with moral ambiguity and dark themes.

Kids are a lot more perceptive than we think, and they are fully capable of understanding a character like Kylo and his complexity, without thinking it’s fucking OK to KILL YOUR FATHER. They get that is bad, ok? But they can simultaneously understand how he represents the way they may feel – especially the kids who feel lost and who feel they are beyond hope, or those who don’t feel they can relate with their parents/family.

TLDR: y’all are so fucking convinced Kylo has zero redeeming qualities as a character within this story and so fucking convinced that he can’t/SHOULDN’T be related to that you will gladly sacrifice other characters in the name of holding onto this shipping war and anti bull shit.

EDIT: it was brought to my attention that of course LEIA is a Force sensitive female protagonist. HOWEVER, what I mean to say is that Rey is central to the Force plot side of things, while Leia really never has been. Leia’s Force sensitivity is not emphasized or marketed in the main saga at all really (not to the level of others at least – imo), and she is certainly not and never will be a Jedi. I’m not trying to take this aspect away from Leia, but her role in the Force is clearly not the same as Rey’s and I think what Rey represents is really monumental in SW. I hope people get what I’m saying and don’t take it as me trying to erase that part of Leia. But Leia herself doesn’t connect to the Force in the same way or quite as intimately as the other main saga men are shown to – and I think it’s important to show a WARRIOR in the Force like Rey is. Leia’s role – while important – shows a more passive relationship with the Force while Rey’s is more active.

artdigy  asked:

God, when you want to make a character, YOU DO IT. Can you talk a little about your process? Where you got the idea for Mother of Pearl, your jasper ame fusion, etc? Whenever you make them, you go by theme and intense detail. Ily and your art so much

thank you so much!! im gonna describe my design/headcanon process under cut because its kinda a wall of text with some pics of older versions of maxima as an example. hope this inspires and helps you!

Keep reading

Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Baz is overwhelmed with feelings for Simon at yet another school ball, and when a chance to be with his Prince Charming comes up, he seizes the opportunity. 

I wonder if Snow notices me watching him as he dances about with his precious Agatha. There’d been rumors about the pair of them breaking up. It was, much to my dismay, enough to get my hopes up. Perhaps I could finally have a chance with the bloke I’ve been swooning over since first year. I allowed myself to become overwhelmed with a sense of positivity. I would find a way to comfort Simon later in the private walls of our room, until finally he would lean in to kiss me with those soft lips of his.

As always, the scene was too good to be true. They were back to snogging after Political Science.

He’s wearing a cliché black tux tonight—which, mind you, I will not complain about. I like the way it clings to his body, it gives me a rare form of pleasure. I don’t quite know where he got the thing, because I sure as hell have never seen him in an anything other than school uniform. My money’s on Wellbelove.

I, personally, have gone with a black dress shirt and crimson vest. My hair is slicked back, as always. I don’t bother to socialize; this event isn’t for people like me. It shouldn’t be for people like Snow, either. I’m surprised he bothered to attend, it’s not like that sidekick of his is here. Bunce is probably off studying in some forbidden library. The pair of them think I don’t know about her sneaking into Mummers house, but I damn well do and damn well have since the very beginning.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at Agatha that doesn’t quite seem so natural. Even from where I’m standing, on the other side of the room, I can tell that he’s holding back. His eyes—blue and ever so mesmerizing—carry an uncertain gleam. And his hands, they hover before her hip. It’s as if he doesn’t want to touch her, to dance with her in this place, this setting. This lifetime.

I smirk. Simon Snow, the most powerful mage ever to exist, the very bloke who’s wish is our command, doesn’t want to dance with his girlfriend. I suppose I could use this against him in one way or another, what, by luring Agatha into flirting with me in front of The Chosen One himself.

That’s what he’d expect me to do, at least. He has it in that head of his that I’m constantly plotting. Which, I suppose, wouldn’t be wrong. The difference is that he perceives me to be plotting against him, whilst the reality is that I’m plotting towards him. The only plans I’m setting are the ones leading me to him.

On the dance floor, a group of fifth years have taken to trading partners, and grabbing the hands of those looming on the outskirts. I sneer at the few who dare glance my way, but no matter, a young girl—she seems a little tipsy, if you ask me—snatches my wrist and drags me forward.

This, this catches Snow’s attention. His head whips wildly to the left, and his eyes narrow at me. You, I imagine him snarling, you’re plotting again, aren’t you?

And I would say something snarky back in return. I could come up with a clever response in my head, too, but I’m too distracted by the fact that he was so clearly watching me from way beyond yonder. I smirk at the thought.

I allow myself to be passed from person to person, offering up a waltz to each girl whom lands in my arms. A few of them return my gesture by biting their lips, trying for their most flirtatious gazes. I amuse them, if only for their sake.

Well, no.

No, it’s for my sake. Because for every girl Simon sees me with, the closer he gets to being my dance partner. Not even figuratively. He, too, is alternating across the floor. We’re moving in, drawing each other like magnets. I can feel him and his raging magic calling me out to me. Baz…Baz…Baz…

One last person, and then he’s mine. This girl is a brunette. She wears heavy eye makeup and excessively tall heals. She could never be my type, even if I were straight.

Gazing over her shoulder, I meet Simon’s eyes. His stare is gentle, as if he’s taking me in, inhaling me like a whiff of his favorite cologne. It’s then that I come to terms with his beauty. It’s natural, you see. I could call him out of the ordinary, but it would be a lie. In all honesty, he is ordinary. Those blue eyes of his, they aren’t the color of the sky on a hot day, nor the ocean waves as they overlap each other. And while I suppose I haven’t been close enough to fully study them, I’m near positive that there aren’t specks of green or grey surrounding the pupils. They are average. A dull, unoriginal color.

 The boringness of his features doesn’t end there, either. His lips are small, his nose is big, his hair has managed to keep up with the trend—long on the top, short on the sides; though, the natural curls are a bit different than everyone else’s. The bronze color is fucking hot, as well. He’s far too thin, arms too long, legs too short.

Yet, I’m still astonished by him. Maybe it’s the freckles that pull me in. Ever since day one, I’ve wanted to take a fine tipped marker and connect the dots. I like to think they connect as easily as constellations.

It could be his voice, too. It’s chipper and sweet, while also low and seductive. He has some speech problem, acquired when he was young, after not being taught to speak correctly. He grew up in and out of children’s homes, leaving him little to no one-on-one time with speech therapists. And while I’m constantly giving him shit about it, the truth is that I love it. I love when he’s stuttering over his words, the look on his face as he glances down to his feet and bites his bottom lip. I’ve always wanted to wrap my arms around him and pull him close comfortingly. I would reassure him that everything will be okay. Calming breaths are key.

Instead, I rile him up.

Most of all, though, I suspect that it’s his movements, gestures, that get me going. When he wakes up every morning, he lays thoughtfully in bed before rising. His arms don’t raise over his head, stretching as he yawns. Rather, they slump in his lap. And at night, when he’s overwhelmed with drowsiness, his steps are heavy and slow. It’s in the moments before he falls asleep that he’s in his purest form. I wonder then, each and every night, if he would return my embrace, if I only took the chance to hold him.

Tonight, I’m going to do just that.

The girl passes me on to Simon, and his partner pushes Mr. Chosen One into my arms. Well, towards my arms. I’m not as welcoming had I intended to be, and I sure as hell don’t make a move to pull him in. I assume it’s the shock that’s making me like this. I never thought I’d see the day when Simon Oliver Snow was truly open to the thought of dancing with me.

He takes my dead, limp arms and guides them to his waist. “Don’t know how to dance, Pitch?”

I snarl at him. “Not with a bloke; and much less, an arse like you.”

Simon’s hands tangle around my neck, and I swear, if he tried hard enough, he could choke me to death right then and there. This should unsettle me, but oddly enough, I’m…comfortable.

“You don’t have to be so rude,” he says softly.

“I’m sorry, did my comeback offend you?” I return sarcastically. Snow rolls his eyes.

A new song queues up, and the room turns into a chaotic frenzy around us. While I should be passing Simon on to the next lucky girl, I don’t. I tug him a little closer without thinking twice; or at all, for that matter.

“What are you doing?” His whisper is barely audible against all else. And maybe it’s the shot I took beforehand fucking me up, but I’m damn positive he doesn’t mean it. The gleam in his eye gives it away. He wants me. And Crowley, do I want him right back.

“Part of dancing,” I start, overlooking Simon’s inquiry as if it were second nature, “Is moving along with the music. Now, do you know this song?”

It feels weird, standing still in a crowd full of movement. I wonder how many people are around us. I wonder how many of those people are staring, because damnit, The Mage’s Heir is holding a Pitch in his arms. It wouldn’t take much to turn my head and take a glance around. But I’ve never been this close to him, and quite frankly, I’m enjoying myself far too much to ruin the moment with something as silly as taking in the students nearby.

“Of course, who doesn’t know Beauty and the Beast? There are dozens of spells coming from this single song alone.” Simon is noticeably offended by my need to ask, but I pay it no mind. Not in the way I should, at least.

I betray my regrets by deepening the wound. “Look, just because you’re The Chosen One, doesn’t mean you should be.” Before he has the chance to make a snark reply, I push my chest against his and lean in towards his ear. “Simply follow the rhythm of the song. And if you can’t do that—because lord knows you have a terrible sense of direction—let me guide you.”

Simon, much to my own surprise, nods his head willingly.

I give myself an additional moment to grasp a hold on to the song, the tune, the movement. Along with, the feel of him. His hands are warm at the back of my neck, smooth and soft as they clutch onto me. And mine, they’re at his hips. Hesitantly, might I add. I’m afraid that if I rub off too eager he’ll be scared away. I can’t afford for that to happen, not after I made it this far.

“Tale as old time.” I take that as my queue, and guide Simon across the floor. We aren’t in the correct stance—we both knew that, clearly, as no one else in the room was tangled in the knot that we were, leading me to wonder if he really could return my feelings—but it takes us not a moment to rearrange ourselves. My arm his around his waist, my right hand interlocked with his. His extra palm rests on my shoulder.

He’s shorter now that I have him close to me, a surprising turn of events. I can just barely see past his head. I take advantage of the slight bit of view, soaking it in. It is an easy escape from the tension brewing between us. As much as I’d love to make eye contact with Snow, to look him the eye and smile during this raw, eccentric moment, the air is far too heavy, and I’m afraid of losing a hold of my breath. A dagger cuts cleanly through the crowd, giving me the perfect view of Wellbelove taking off down the grand hall.

“Your princess has left you,” I announce dully, just as the second line begins to ring out into the caverns of the ballroom.

“Hm?” There’s something about the way he says it that forces me to have to bite my lip to fight back a turned-on smirk. Perhaps it’s the obliviousness as he stares up at me, or more rightly so, my jaw line. I wonder what he thinks of me right now. It sure as hell looks as if he’s let his guard down.

I’m going to take advantage of his vulnerability.

“Wellbelove. Love of your life. Your soulmate. The Louis Lane to your Clark Kent. Who the hell else, Snow?”

Simon’s feet halt abruptly, catching me by surprise. He tears his hands away from me and folds his arms across his chest. I wonder what his bare chest looks like; I’ve only seen glimpses of his luscious body when he hasn’t closed the bathroom door all the way. I savor those rare moments.

“We aren’t together anymore, Agatha and I.” His blue eyes are narrowed at me, an unforgivable glare, just before they dart down to the floor.

“Barely even friends.”

I’ve never been good at reading people, if I’m being quite honest. I will tilt my head and allow Simon to notice my eyes drifting across his face as a cover up, but I will not take anything in. It’s like reading a book written in a foreign language. So, no, I could not tell you that his lips were tugged down in pure agony, as, for all I know, that’s his game face. It’s as I’m struggling to understand him that I cave in.

“Then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

I glance up at the stage, focus on the instruments that have been casted with dozens of spells to make them play themselves. The song is being played half a count slower than it is in the movie. I savor the melody for one last moment before turning back to him.

“I’ve never been in a relationship before,” I confess before I can change my mind.

Simon chuckles. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

I shrug. “Probably because everyone’s afraid of my, you know, fangs,” I tease, hinting at the rumors he’d spread about me. I regret it immediately, what, between the fearful look that sets in his eyes and the way this subject poke at me, drowning me.

It was never as easy as I made it out to be. I hated being called a vampire. Not because I was afraid of being exposed, but rather, because they were the very thing my mother hated. She died protecting Watford from vampires, and it is of the sickest irony that I became one.

Simon Snow, the almighty chosen one, he never quite understood that. It was so obviously a topic that he just couldn’t grasp. When it used to really get to me, I’d amuse myself and excuse his cruel behavior for his stupidity. He certainly was thick. When he first began to suspect my inhumanity, he would ask me questions about if I were immortal, or if I could see myself in the mirror. He’s always had the mind of a child.

But not the body of one.

He’s built like a prince. Not a god, not an emperor or lord. A prince. Simple but beautiful, young and innocent and pure. He’s thin, yet strong, and those eyes, god damnit those eyes, they will never not be beautiful to me.

I do not want a prince charming to see me as a deadly vampire.

I take my few, gentle steps forward, and stand silently next to him. We’re looking out at the great lawn through a wide set of windows.

“Just a little change.”

“Between you and me, I’m in love with someone. And no one else could ever be a suitable replacement.” With those words, a thousand weights get lifted off my shoulder.

He doesn’t bother to turn to me when he asks, “Who is it?”

My heartbeat quickens a thousand paces a second. I inhale a sharp breath and truly take in this reckless scene. The singer—some sixth year with a grand voice—carries out a new line with crisp words I will myself to devour. “Small to say the least.” Snow’s hand is a mere inch away from mine. His eyes are now wandering up and down my body. I think he’s noticed that I’m clenching and unclenching my fist in agitation. He doesn’t say anything, though. I would kill for him to murmur just a single syllable right now.

He’s just a boy, I think to myself. Don’t let him wreck you like this.

No. He is not just a boy. He is Simon Oliver Snow and I am hopelessly in love with him. He is the greatest Mage in the history of magicks, our very hope of defeating The Insidious Humdrum. He is the reason I wake up just in time to witness his heavenly form walk out of the bathroom each morning. He is the last thing my solemn eyes fall on before slumber. This boy is not just a boy. He is my everything, and I will not stand by whilst he is debunked of his true value.

I glance over my shoulder. No one is around to see, not truly. It’s the time of night when everyone is drunk off the secret booze they’ve snuck in, and their dancing is all hands no rhythm. No one will have to know; as long as he keeps his share of the secret.

With a mutter masked by my breath, I spell the red curtains behind us closed. We are alone, not in sound, not in presence, but in sight.

“Baz, what’re you—,” Simon’s words fade to silence when I pull him towards me, grabbing him roughly by the collar

“You, Snow,” I whisper in a hysterical tone. “It’s always been you.”

My fingers cup his face and I hold him there, an inch away from my face, for what seems like forever. I think I’m going to kiss him. He’s so close, and I can taste his breath on my lips. It’s cherry scones and milk and everything that’s sweet in the world.

“Don’t be cheesy, Basilton,” he mumbles through a grin.

And then he kisses me.

Story behind the Tattoo

Characters: Sam, Dean x Female Reader!Tattoo Artist,   

Warnings: tattoos, smut, slight abuse, rough sex, biting, semi-public sex, cursing, unprotected sex  

Word count: 3300   

Summary: Reader!Tattoo artist gives the Winchester brothers their anti-possession tattoos, and then bumps into Dean later that night, on her way to find some trouble.  

A/N: My first ever fanfic, so I had to ‘go big or go home!’ Please tell me what you think!

S/O to my Betas! I can’t tell you thank you enough for being so supportive!

@sis-tafics You are a superstar! When I shared the idea of writing my first fic “I’d read the shit out of that, please tag me

@sofreddie “The smut - Good Lord! - was certainly hot!”

@deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester “I loved it. Post it and add me to your forever tags”

@thinkwritexpress-official “This entire story is really hot but this part is just. Ahhh. Holy hell.”


“Hello, we’d like to both get tattoos please.” One male voice said.

“Please?” Another male voice let out a chuckle at the politeness of the first one to speak.

“Sorry we are booked a month out. You can leave a deposit and schedule a time to come back?” The front desk attendant asked.  

“If they’re smaller size then I’m available!” You shouted up towards the front. Tonight’s appointment had texted and cancelled only a few minutes prior and you hadn’t gotten a chance yet to tell the desk.  You walked out of your private cubicle and out into the hallway, where two tall, delicious-looking men stood.

One of them was a little taller than the other, and he had long brown hair that flopped down to frame his face. The other one, less tall, but just as handsome as the first, was eyeing you in confusion. “Where on your body and how big? Color or black?”

“Whoa, whoa, I don’t know if I trust a chick to permanently mark up my body.” The less tall, more blonde man said, raising a hand in your direction.  

Before you could utter a smart mouth comeback about him preferring some hulking male to manhandle him instead, the brown-haired guy made a jab at the other’s ribs and gave him a bitchface before turning back to you and making a circular shape with his hands, “About this size, black, and on our chests.”

Clearing his throat, the blonde one added “Nothing too fancy.” He was still eyeballing you, but you didn’t mind it much since he had the most amazing deep, sea green eyes, even under the terrible fluorescent lighting. With gorgeous lusty eyes like those, you’d let him get away with the earlier rude comment about trusting ‘a chick.’

“Sure. ‘Bout $50 for the each of you. Do you know what design you wanna get?“ 

The tall one pulled a journal from inside his jacket and flipped open to a page with a pentagram and some poorly drawn flames surrounding it. Normally, you were able to control your facial expressions and remain pretty stoic, but this was just too precious. You couldn’t help but crack a smile as a little laugh left your lips. You’d seen all sorts of crazies walk in asking for unexplainable tattoos, and in all sorts of embarrassing places, but this was just sweet.

"Something funny?” The sex god with green eyes asked you.  

“Just not what I was expecting from you two. Normally your types get… I don’t know, tribal designs or something.”     

“Our types? Wha-What does she me-” He looked back and forth between his tall friend and you, confused. He got to take a jab at you as 'some chick,’ so you jabbed back at him playfully, and when he saw your growing smile, he understood your sarcastic insinuation.  

“Okay listen,” the tall one said, drawing your attention back to him, “it doesn’t have to be this exact drawing, but overall like this. The most important thing is we need the pentagram to be like this, with the lines overlapping and underlapping in a certain way.” He explained while pointing at the different places in the drawing.  

“No really, it’s good.” You tried your best to sound convincing and took the page from the tall brown-haired sweetheart, “Just give me like 10 minutes to sharpen this up, make my transfers, and scrub up. You guys take a seat, I’ll call you back in a few.”  

After drafting a cleaner version of their drawing and sharpening up the flames surrounding the pentagram, you set up your area and called them both back, “Hey boys, come check this out.” Green eyes met yours before you’d even finished your sentence, he was already walking towards you, his cologne wafting towards you as he came into your cubicle.  

“I’m Dean, by the way.” A blush broke out over your neck and up your cheeks.  

“Y/N” You hadn’t meant for your voice to be a breathy whisper, but something about him made your skin hot.

“This is my brother, Sam.”

“Oooh, brothers. Got it.” You let the sarcasm creep back into your voice to continue the earlier implication that they were lovers.   

Dean shot you a glare and you swear it went straight to your core. How could a dude you just met a few minutes prior be tossing you glances that gave you butterflies and made your head cloudy? Changing the subject quickly, before you melted on the floor, you cleared your throat and asked Sam what he thought about your rendition of his drawing. Sam had moved to hover over the small table in the corner, looking at the transfers you’d made, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. He was minutely comparing your drawing to his original version in his journal.

“We’re sticklers for details.” Dean offered when he noticed you waiting for Sam’s approval. He nodded slightly at Dean, who nodded back at him in return, like some sort of unspoken language between the two of them. You take that as your cue to glove up and get ready.  

“Alright so, who wants to go first?” You asked as you snapped the glove at your wrist.  


After you’d finished the tattoos on the two 'Brother’s Grimm,’ you’d nicknamed them in your head, you were outside in the back alley catching a smoke break. You’d been trying to quit for a while now, so you were just holding a lit cigarette, twirling it in your fingers, not allowing yourself to take a drag. This was torture. You’d told yourself that this would be the best way for you to quit, but this was just plain sad. You watched as the ribbons of smoke burnt off the tip, losing yourself in thought. You flicked the cancer-stick away from you, not caring to smash out the cherry, when an idea dawned on you. You didn’t need to ween off the smokes, you just needed to find a new vice. Replace one bad habit with another.

Pushing off the wall you’d been leaning against, you started to walk towards the mouth of the alley, leaving the tattoo shop behind you. You had about 30 more minutes left before you had to head back, and the bar across the street was the perfect place to drown inside a bottle… or two.  

“Y/n. Fancy seeing you here.”  

Dean’s voice came from somewhere off to the side. Turning, you saw he’d parked on this side of the street, closing the door to a beautiful classic Chevy Impala, and was probably heading to the same bar.  

“Here? Oh, I’m a regular here.” You gestured to the alley behind you, sarcasm dripping from your words.  

“Is that so?” He took a few strides towards you and warmth pooled in your belly. Something about him was telling you 'danger’ but he was too fun to flirt with, and every time your eyes caught his eyes, a chill ran up your spine. The time you’d spent tattooing him earlier tonight, flirting to distract him from the buzz of the gun, watching his small muscle ticks when the needle broke skin, wiping away excess ink from his perfectly chiseled chest, those memories were still fresh in your mind.

You lifted your chin confidently and smiled at him crookedly. He took that as an invitation to continue walking towards where you stood on the curb. You knew your gut didn’t lie, he probably was dangerous, but it was just so thrilling to keep this going. This balancing act of flirting just enough, letting the sexual tension grow and grow. Before you could think further, his face was hovering just in front of yours. His lips a breath away from you, and suddenly you were so thankful that you didn’t take a drag from that cigarette.  

You crashed your lips to his roughly, calling his bluff and wrapping your small hands around his jaw. You felt him crane his neck down to you, and his hands run up your sides and around your back. One hand strayed up to the nape of your neck as he tried to deepen the kiss, his tongue pressing against your lips begging entrance to your mouth.  

You pulled back with a jerk and open palm slapped his face, taking him completely by surprise, the loud SMACK breaking apart your silent moment under the streetlights. He backed up a few paces towards his car with his hands up in mock surrender.  

“Whoa, hey- I didn’t- You kissed me fir-”  

Before he could utter any more words, a wicked smile spread across your lips and you stalked towards him, swaying your hips. He caught on quickly and lowered his hands, a slight smile playing at his expressions. Eyebrows raising, he whispered in awe, “You’re a wild one, aren’t you, y/n?”

You continued walking towards him, backing him up until he bumped backwards into the driver’s door of his Impala.    

“Well, not 'supernaturally’ wild.” You cracked a joke at his earlier tattoo chair confessions, “but I’ve been known to have a vice here or there,” You rested your hands on his shirt just over his stomach feeling his abs ripple as you ran your fingers over them, “and I was actually just about to go look for another…”

“Don’t objectify m-” Your mouth was on his before he could finish his smart-ass remark. You started the kiss roughly again, but he wrapped his long fingers around your skull, gripping a clump of your hair and you had to give in. You let your lips part with a moan and your tongues met at the same time, colliding and dancing against each other. You felt like he was taking whatever he needed from you, just as much as you were taking from him.  You’re playing a cat and mouse game, but who exactly was the cat and who was the mouse?  

You could feel his length bulging in his jeans against your lower stomach so you ground your hips against him, eliciting a deep growl as his chest expanded with a breath. Your hand reached behind his ass to grab the driver’s door handle and pull it open.  When Dean realized what you were doing, his hands left your body to help yank the door open. You broke away the kiss and smiled mischievously at him, wiggling a finger for him to follow you onto the bench seat.  

“Let’s break this baby in.” You giggled.

“Oh, Baby.” Something in the way he said it, you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or at the Impala, but you weren’t about to stop to ask. As you lay back on the front bench seat, he crawled in over you and ran his tongue over some exposed flesh on your stomach where your shirt had pulled up slightly. The sensation of his warm tongue and then cool breath had your panties soaked through already and sent a shiver down to your bones.

He unbuttoned your jeans and you helped him shimmy you out of them, along with your panties. You watched him through your eyelashes, waiting to see what this green-eyed sex god would do next. Without breaking eye contact, he wrapped his hands under each of your butt cheeks and used his weight to push your legs apart, settling in between. Achingly slowly, he dipped his head low and swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud. A breathy moan escaped your lips before he dove in, roughly kissing your pussy as his stubble rubbed against your thighs in an exquisite way.  

“D-Dean.” You let your eyes close and head roll back as you tried to run your fingers through his short hair. His long fingers started squeezing and digging into your ass cheeks as he groaned back a response. It was the perfect balance of pleasure and pain, just how you liked it. Your hands left his hair and traveled up over your own stomach, lifting your tank top and bra up to expose your breasts. Absently, you played with your hard nipples while he continued licking and sucking at the apex between your thighs.  

He pulled one hand away and before you knew it, he was sliding two fingers into you and dragging them over your g-spot in rhythm with his tongue strokes. You tried so hard to stay still and let him work you over, but soon your hips were moving on their own and bucking against his perfect face. “I- I’m gonna come”  

He growled against you again and pulled the hand that was still on your ass away, only to push down hard on the top of your mound, causing you to take his entire assault full on. He flattened his tongue against you and twisted his fingers. Not caring anymore to stay quiet, you moaned his name, loud enough for the patrons across the street to hear, as your orgasm ripped through your limbs and sent white and black splotches across your vision.   

Before you had a chance to come down and form coherent thoughts, he was lifting his shirt over his head, the plastic wrap still covering your fresh art on his chest. Unbuckling his pants, his cock sprang free, long and thick. You licked your lips at the sight of him and your pussy throbbed, wanting him inside you as soon as possible. He pumped himself a few times, while he lined up with your opening. His eyes met yours and some emotion flashed quickly in that sea of green. Concern?  


“I don’t want to hurt you.”  

You giggled, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll like it, I promise.” You let your hands lift up to run over his forearms and biceps as he dipped into you. You arched your back in response and tilted your hips to open to him easier. Without thinking of it, you lifted one leg up and over the steering wheel since the other leg was pinned against the bench seat. Dean slid into you slowly, filling you up fully and groaning out his satisfaction. Pausing for a second to let you adjust to his size, he ran a hand down your side to your thigh. Turning his head and realizing your foot was on the steering wheel, he slapped the bottom of your thigh, causing you to yelp and your foot to fall off.  

“Hey! Easy on Baby.” Dean said. You realized in that moment that he had been talking about the car earlier, referring to it as 'Baby.’ You couldn’t let him get away with that slap. You giggled seductively and pulled his head back down to yours, kissing him deeply and running your teeth across his bottom lip. You let your hands run up his smooth back and sides wrapping your hands around his firm shoulders. You let your thumb run down and over the plastic wrap on his fresh tattoo, the raw skin there causing him to pull away from your lips and hiss in a breath. You had barely touched him, but you knew it was enough to get his attention, like fingernails across a sunburn. You smiled wickedly and he returned it, a glimmer in his eye as he started pumping in and out of you forcefully.      

Every time he pulled out, he slowed down and almost stopped with just barely the head of his cock inside you, only to then slam back into you, crashing his hips against the inside of your open thighs. As his pace quickened, you let your head roll back and to the side, and he took the open spot at your neck as an invitation. He trailed open mouth kisses from your collarbone up to your earlobe, pulling it between his teeth and biting gently, all the while forcefully grinding against your cunt. The feeling of his teeth on your ear made you whimper, that was your weakness. How had he found it so fast?  

“You like that Y/n? You like when I bite you?”  

“Yes. Dean. Sh-shit.” Was all you could make out in between his pounding thrusts.

He ran his tongue down from your earlobe to your shoulder and bit down again, hard. You moaned out something sinful. Then he replaced his teeth with his lips and tongue, gently pulling and sucking. You knew he was probably going to leave a hickey there, but the idea of getting marked up by him only turned you on more.  

You lifted a hand and grabbed the back of his neck, dragging his attention back to your mouth, kissing him sloppily and deep, forcing your tongue into his mouth and him mirroring you. You could taste your earlier orgasm still on his lips and it only made you burn hotter. His fingers dug into your hip, pushing you down into the bench seat as your pussy started to tighten and flutter, his thrusts becoming erratic and deeper.  He broke the kiss and tucked his head against your neck again, nipping, biting, sucking, dragging his teeth over your skin. He got to your earlobe again and drew his tongue around the outer edge of it, causing you to squirm against him, but it was no use, he had you pinned down, his body weight a welcome force against you.  

Groaning out, he said, “I’m gonna come in you, alright?” You were too much of a mess of heavy breathing and focusing on your own orgasm to answer right away, which made him bite down hard near your collarbone.  

“Oh god, Dean. Fuck. Yes.” Your voice a whine as he drew you closer and closer to that precipice of climax.  

He pulled his face away, long enough for you to see his huge grin, before he snaked up a hand and wrapped a bunch of your hair in his fist and pulled. You cried out in pleasure as he resumed kissing your neck and ear, swirling his hips against you in a punishing rhythm. “Come on Y/n. Come for me.”  

In just a few more thrusts, he was growling against your neck, your skin between his teeth, finding his orgasm just as yours slammed down against you. Your pussy clenching around his thick shaft, filling you up so that you could feel every twitch and jump of his cock as he finished deep inside you.  

After a few minutes, when you felt like you’d returned back into your body, you pushed against him gently, careful not to graze the fresh tattoo again. He got the hint and slid out of you, the loss of him causing your stomach to roll back into place. He leaned over the back of the seat, grabbed a flannel shirt, and bringing it down, started to wipe you clean.  

“Look at that. Not even at the shop, and I still manage to find an apprentice to clean up my mess.” You giggled at your own joke.  

“Apprentice? Heck no, sweetheart. I’m a Master. I’ll best you, anytime, anywhere.” He winked at you as he pulled his pants back up and handed you yours.  

“Alright,” you said pulling down your bra and shirt back into place and slipping your pants up. “It’s still early for me, why don’t you take me over to that bar and show me? Ever heard of Billiard Blitz?”  

“What? What is that, like drunk pool?”  

“Oh, honey. Let me teach you the ways of this college town.” You smiled up at him as his green eyes warmed and he pushed open the car door, “There aren’t many rules, but it starts with one of us chugging until the other breaks…” You continued talking as you let him pull you from the car and led you off to the bar across the street, fading into the neon flash of the signs.