entirely necessary

So I just had a major fight with my mom and stephdad who claim “queerbaiting is not a thing” and that by complaining about the lack of queer representation in the HP books I am “forcing JK Rowling to write things that don’t exist in her fantasy world”. Like that isn’t hurtful to queer people, that they don’t exist in her fantasy world (which isn’t even true, they do exist they’re just never mentioned exept for Dumbledore and that wasn’t even in the books). 

They claimed that if I want representation I should go to queer bookstores, which doesn’t help because the point was that straight people should be normalized to the idea of gay people existing so that being gay doesn’t make you a special snowflake, it just makes you a person like everyone else who happens to be gay (or anything else that isn’t straight).

Is this just me thinking this way or am I “pushing writers to write something that doesn’t exists in their creative world”?

This, is one of the highest notes (that I know can be fingered at least) on the Clarinet.

This, is one of the highest notes (again, that I know can be fingered due to limited knowledge with the flute) on a Flute.


Both signal death, listen at your own risk.

Originally posted by lifetimetv

Seriously though, both of these notes were created by the Devil, I’m certain of it.

I curse any composer that makes A) A Clarinetist/Flutist (SP?) play these notes, B) forces the Band to LISTEN to these notes, and C) puts the note into a fucking eighth note run that a BD has to make the sections play through note by note so they spend way more time than needed on one of these. (Which I have had to deal with. Not fun in the slightest.)

~Jester

mossypawprints  asked:

Hey, just dropping by to say that your art is out of this world! <3 I can't stop looking at that beautiful coloured piece where you drew them as fuhrer and first lady. Thank you for creating such perfect Royai content and please keep being awesome! :)

No, thank you for being so nice! I just can’t with these messages! They just make me so happy. 

In fact, for being so nice, I’ll reward you with the doodles I did after I drew that piece you mentioned :D

Now aren’t you glad our first lady’s around to make these VERY important decisions? 

suspension of disbelief

@khorazir prompted: The boys watch some episodes of The X-Files together.


 Sherlock looked up from the microscope, blinked. John looked back at him, his face expectant.

 Clearly, he’d been speaking. Clearly, a response of some kind was required.

 "Of course,“ he tried.

 John raised his brows, looked both pleased and surprised. This—this did not bode well. Perhaps he should have asked John to repeat himself, but he did so loathe repetition.

 "Go on, then,” John said. He stepped over towards the fridge, perused the menus with a little frown of concentration.

 Sherlock hesitated. Go on?

 Judging by John’s preoccupation with the menus, he thought perhaps he may have agreed to dinner plans. Except, if that was all, then what was he meant to go on with?

 He stood up from the table, took a cautious step towards the sitting room. John had left the telly on. It was cycling through a DVD menu of some kind, eerie whistling music backed by piano. He frowned, looked back.

 John glanced up from the menus, made a shooing motion with his hand. Ah. It appeared that he’d committed to watching a film or—he paused, looked at the screen—a television series.

 He sighed, aimed a longing glance in the direction of his abandoned microscope, and settled himself on the sofa. He took up a bit more space than entirely necessary.

 The menu looped, started again. Piano. Whistling.

 John paced around the kitchen, phone to his ear, ordering the takeaway. Sherlock glanced at the menus, now rearranged on the front of the fridge. Chinese.

 He looked back at the television. Opened his mouth to speak.

 "I’m betting you missed this entirely, yeah?“ John said, sitting down on the sofa next to him. The cushions dipped, and Sherlock found himself wanting to lean closer, to blame the motion on his shifted balance—but no, best not.

 "Missed–?”

 "The X-Files.“ John said with a nod at the screen. "FBI agents, government conspiracies, aliens…? Kind of a big deal in the 90s. Ringing any bells at all?”

 Sherlock scoffed, looked away. “I had other things on my mind in the 90s.”

 John cleared his throat, looked down.

 The menu continued to loop.

 "Right,“ John said, after a long moment. He reached for the remote. "Food will be here in about twenty minutes.”

 He pressed play.

 *

 "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?“ asked the man on the screen. He was being altogether too dramatic about the whole thing, in Sherlock’s opinion.

 "Logically, I would have to say no,” his recently-assigned partner countered.

 "Actually—" Sherlock said.

 John picked up the remote, pressed pause. Stared at him.

 "Never mind,“ Sherlock said.

 *

 "Time can’t just disappear,” said the woman on the screen. “It’s a universal invariant.”

 "No it isn’t,“ Sherlock said.

 "Shush,” John said.

 "But she read physics at university, she would know that—"

 "Sherlock,“ John said.

 *

 For some reason, the woman had decided to bathe by candlelight. She had only just begun to disrobe when something frightened her and sent her rushing through the rain into the arms of her male coworker.

 Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes. Looked back towards the kitchen, where his microscope beckoned.

 "Just watch,” John said, through a mouthful of lo mein.

 The scene did not play out the way he’d expected.

 *

 "Another,“ he said when it was over.

 "What, really?” John’s voice was incredulous.

 He wrestled the remote out of John’s hand.

 *

 "It’s really not that easy to break into a secret government base.“

 "Er,” John said. “Yes, actually, it is. We’ve done it.”

 "We had the proper credentials.“

 "Faked credentials.”

 "Still. It wasn’t as simple as ducking under a chain link fence for God’s sake.“

 John chuckled, leaned back against the sofa cushions. At some point he had migrated closer, his arm warm where it brushed against Sherlock’s.

 "Now he’s gone and gotten himself drugged,” Sherlock protested, looking away. “That didn’t happen to me.”

 "No, it happened to me,“ John said, and swatted at him. "Arsehole.”

 "Another,“ he said, when it was over.

 *

 "I’m expected to believe that this man sleeps in a nest of newspapers and bile and emerges precisely every thirty years to consume five human livers?”

 "It’s not really so much believing as it is suspension of disbelief, yeah?“

 "No,” Sherlock said. “The dichotomy between the two main characters—”

 "Wasn’t talking about them,“ John said. His voice had grown sleepy. "Was talking about us.”

 "What, precisely, are we meant to be suspending disbelief over?“

 "The livers,” John said, gesturing vaguely towards the screen. “The bile.”

 "The lack of a romantic entanglement in spite of the clear attraction and the fact that both main characters clearly have no one else in their lives of similar importance?“

 "That too,” John said. A faint smile flickered on his face.

 *

 "Another.“

 "Sherlock, I need to go to sleep.”

 "Mm,“ Sherlock said, distracted. He slid over on the couch to give John more room. The loss of John’s warm comfortable weight against his side was jarring.

 He reached over, snatched up the throw pillow from the coffee table. Held it up for a moment, weighing his options. He thought about the warmth of John’s arm, pressed against his own, the way his chest rose and fell with each measured breath.

 He set the pillow in his lap. Waited.

 John hesitated for a long moment, studying him, his face difficult to read in the blueish light from the television screen. Then he carefully, slowly arranged himself so that his head was on the pillow, resting on Sherlock’s lap. He held himself quite stiffly, his shoulders tense, his movements unsure.

 "Suspension of disbelief,” Sherlock said. He spoke in a low, quiet voice, dipping his head down. John’s face was very close, in the dark.

 "What, exactly, are you trying to say?“ John asked. His voice was little more than a whisper. He shifted, the leather squeaking under his frame.

 "Lack of romantic entanglement in spite of clear attraction. And—” he stopped, swallowed. Could no longer bear to look at John’s profile in the dark. Turned his head towards the window. “No one else in my life of similar importance.”

 "Clear attraction?“ John asked, his voice sleepy, fond.

 "Well,” Sherlock said, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes?”

 John chuckled, shifted again, rolling over onto his side. He reached up a hand, cupped Sherlock’s cheek.

 He could not say with any certainty who moved in first. But his lips were pressed against John’s, warm and soft and utterly thrilling, sending electric shocks of sensation down his spine. His eyes slipped shut and he sighed, breath puffing against John’s face.

 "All right?“ John asked, quiet, pulling back. He no longer looked drowsy.

 Sherlock stared at him, at his eyes, gleaming bright in the television glow. At his face, expressive and endearing and so very dear to him. How? he wondered, and not for the first time. How had this happened?

 "Sherlock?” John asked again, his voice low, careful. He left his hand cradled against Sherlock’s face.

 Sherlock smiled. “Another,” he said, and leaned in.

  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: it's been almost 2 years and i still think about how much better the doctor who 50th would have been with paul mcgann in the role of the war doctor. i just don't understand why a new incarnation played by an entirely random actor was necessary. especially when paul mcgann was so willing to return to the role of 8th doctor. are you really telling me he was only willing to do the 7 minute prequel? i don't believe it. he would have totally done the 90 minute episode. he's been playing the role for years off screen, longer than any other actor to boot, he would have totally taken up the offer to return to the screen. it would have been such a great book end to his movie as well; 7's regeneration into 8 and his regeneration into 9 both on screen. amazing. and do you know how much cooler it would have been to see the 8th doctor? To see him betray the name of the doctor, to see him become so desperate to stop the madness he throws himself into the war he tried so hard to avoid? do you know how much more heart wrenching that would have been since he's a character we actually know? why did they force a random regeneration on him when they could have actually used HIM for the episode? i just don't get it. it would have made so much more sense too. especially since in a way the 8th doctor really is the bridge between classic and new who and isn't that what the 50th was all about? celebrating the two and bridging them together? he was the first doctor to try to bring doctor who back - the bridge already existed. how does it honestly make sense to throw a man who never had anything to do with doctor who in as the bridge? that's just silly, isn't it? john hurt is a great actor and all but he's not the doctor, you feel? like we all assumed 8 was the one who fought in the war anyway, why change that? and wouldn't it just have been amazing to see paul, david and matt on screen together? like c'mon, they would have been fantastic. why didn't this happen? WHY DIDN'T WE GET PAUL MCGANN??? I DON'T UNDERSTAND.
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*You do not need to have any basic understanding of Korean, nor a leveled up account on the fancafe. Experience with running a blog with multiple admins isn’t entirely necessary either. We are willing to show new people how to do this as long as you sound comitted and willing. Please do not be scared!

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Artisan Good: Jelly

Description: Gooey.
Game ingredients: Any fruit (1)
Difficulty: Medium, 1 day. Makes about 7 jars of jelly (250mL each)

This recipe is specifically for apple or crabapple jelly. If you want to use a different fruit, just about every box of pectin has an instruction sheet inside that will provide the accurate amount of sugar needed. The overall premise is basically the same with any fruit, though.

-16 medium apples or 56 crabapples
-½ teaspoon butter or margarine
-7 cups of sugar
-1 package of pectin

You will need a jellybag/cheesecloth and jars with rings and lids. Although, my grandmother sends us home with blackberry jelly in washed out salsa jars, so it’s not entirely necessary to have canning jars if you know what you’re doing.

I used crabapples for this recipe. I doubled it and worked with half at a time (don’t try to do it all at once if you’re doubling up; it’s kind of an exact science). Start off by cutting the apples into quarters. You can skip this step with crabapples. Throw the fruit into a large pot and fill it with water til it’s about half-way up the apples. Boil over high heat, and then bring down to a simmer. Put the lid on and let it sit for about half an hour, or til the fruit is soft. 

Mash the fruit down with a potato masher. Don’t worry about missing large chunks, just try to mash down as much as possible. Let it simmer another 5 minutes or so. 

Place the jellybag/cheesecloth in a large bowl. Carefully scoop the mashed fruit into the bag, but try not to get any in the bowl; that’ll be collecting the jelly juice. Once the bag is full, tie it tightly to a broomhandle and suspend it over the bowl. Let it sit overnight. 

With a measuring cup, spoon the juice from the bowl into a large pot, counting the number of cups of juice going in. You should have roughly 5 cups (1250mL).

Before proceeding, wash your jars, rings, and lids. Place the jars and rings in the sink and fill with very hot water, enough to fully cover the jars. Take the lids and place them in a saucepan with plenty of water on the stove. Alternate the lids between face-up and face-down, this will make them much easier to grab. Heat the water over medium heat, but don’t let it boil. 

Add the butter and pectin to the jelly juice, and heat over high heat. Stir constantly. Once the juice reaches a hard boil that can’t be stirred back down, add the sugar all at once. It’s a good idea to measure it out in a bowl beforehand. 

Stir the sugar until it dissolves, and let it come back up to a hard boil. Stir constantly while it boils for 1 full minute. Once done, turn off the stove and let it sit for about a minute while the foam rises to the surface. Skim off the foam with a knife or spoon to remove it. 

Take a jar from the sink and shake off the excess water. Place a funnel in the jar and scoop the jelly in. Do not fill the jar completely full, always leave a bit of room at the top (I usually fill to the middle thread). Wipe down the rim of the jar with a clean, damp cloth to remove any jelly. Take a lid from the saucepan (you can use a butter knife to help grab them if the water is too hot to touch) and place it on the jar. Take a ring from the sink and tightly secure it into place.

It’s important for everything to be quite hot while putting the jelly into the jars. As the jelly cools, it will create a vacuum and suck down the lid, which seals it. The lid will make a pop! sound as it does so. 

Serve on toast, pancakes, waffles, or use in baking as you please. 

-SVR

Ok but why didn’t they just retool Sarah Jacobs as a newsie as well? Like if they wanted the female character (because apparently we’re only allowed one) to have a bigger and more important role then they should of had her out there selling with her brothers. Maybe a little bit of a struggle against her parents because she wants to help but they won’t let her (because it’s not “proper” and would be even more embarrassing for their family maybe?) and so she sneaks out to help her brothers make more money. Maybe have her upset that they’ll let her little brother work but they won’t let her?

| Of Lemongrass & French Vanilla | Chen X Reader AU | Part 2 |

Wolf!AU - PART ONE

Kim Jongdae X Reader

Genre: Fluff, Action, Thriller, Angst

Warnings: Violence, Language, Attempted Murder, Attempted sexual assault

Word Count: 8,121

Synopsis: “His brothers had told him that finding your mate was like finding a scent that sends you into a state of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Personally, he had hoped that for him, that scent was of lemongrass and french vanilla.

For @exosmutxoxo

Originally posted by fearless-man



Your heart thudded inside of your chest as Jongdae pulled away. Too stunned to move, let alone respond, you felt a chill course through the nerves along your spine. His eyes remained in direct contact with your own, tenderness evident in his gaze.


“J-…J-” You stuttered, “What… What-”


You flinched as the front door flew open. Jongdae spun around, shielding you behind his back protectively. Both of your gazes met with Luhan’s wide eyes. He was panting, knees trembling as the indicator of an intense run.


“We have a problem-” Luhan swallowed, pausing for breath. “It’s Yoori.”


Jongdae was on his feet in an instant, bristling at attention. Luhan peered behind him, leaning to the side to get a glimpse of you. Jongdae extended his arm to cover you apprehensively.


“Junmyeon wants her there…” Luhan’s eyes hardened just slightly. “She needs to see this.”


Keeping the one arm outstretched, Jongdae used his other to reach behind himself, his hand finding your own and latching onto it.


“Alright, then.” Jongdae straightened himself. “But she’s not leaving my sight. I don’t trust anything that witch is up to.”


Luhan seemed hesitant for several moments. Eventually, he nodded and turned to walk back out the door, expecting the two of you to follow. The sound of cicada swarms hit your ears the minute you walked outside, dusk keeping the temperature cool. The three of you walked across the grassy field for what seemed like an eternity. The spiky green texture of the grass being the only source of concentration you had as you trailed behind Jongdae. After a few more minutes, you looked up to see the treeline approaching. Several bodies stood huddled in a circle, surrounding something you couldn’t see. As you got closer, however, the smell of blood and death intensified, feeling like acid within your nose. You brought up the wrist that Jongdae was not holding to block the brunt of the putrid smell, but it did little to help.


As the three of you finally joined the circle, you stepped on your toes to peer over Jongdae’s shoulder. What you saw almost caused you to stumble backwards.


It was the carcass of a deer.


You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent a gag reflex as you examined it.


The deer’s eyes were gray and glazed over, flies accumulating in small swarms in various places. Most strikingly, however, was the solitary black arrow that protruded from the deer’s rib cage; its cause of death. As your eyes fell upon the arrow, another detail quickly caused you to shudder.


Attached to the arrow was a scarf. Your scarf. The one that had gotten soaked, along with the rest of your clothes, and left back at the apartment.


Someone had been there.


She had been there.


“I trust everyone here now realizes that this is (y/n).” Junmyeon’s voice ripped your focus from the dead animal. His arm was extended in your direction, gesturing to announce your presence.


You looked around at the group of men that encircled the carcass. Including Jongdae, there were eleven present.


All with their eyes on you.


“It’s not just a sign,” Junmyeon knelt down by the carcass, tilting his head up to you after examining it. “It’s a declaration.”


You immediately felt Jongdae tense, his grip on your wrist tightening.


“A declaration saying what?” You spoke quietly.


“Exactly what it looks like.” Jongdae’s low voice was full of repressed anger. “‘You’re next.’”


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localneighborhoodhippy  asked:

For like fic prompts if it was like Derek was super like fluffy and sweet around stiles it's like he just turns into a little mush ball ? Or like I remember reading a prompt that never got a story to it that was about when like Derek was deaged but normal Derek was there and stiles and him where married and a deaged Derek was there too so there was two Derek's.

It only took me over a week to write it (college can suck it) BUT it’s here!!! I wrote you a fic and I hope you like it, my lovely :)


“Scott, no phone or I throw it in the woods,” Derek orders from where he’s already pinned Isaac to the ground. Erica and Allison are sparring to the side, Allison stopping them so she can better demonstrate a move in slow motion and Erica nodding along. Scott rolls his eyes but does as he’s told, knowing that Derek would happily chuck the smartphone onto the trees just to have Scott track it down.

Jackson gives him a significant look as he walks back over to the group waiting for a turn to spar. Scott nods minutely and groans when Isaac walks past and shoves him in the direction of Derek.

Recently, he seemed to be going especially hard on the betas, drilling more often and less time to take breaks, more force behind each of his hits. The pack could feel the tension emanating through the bonds that connected them to the Alpha and no one liked it and indulged him, hoping it would eventually pass.

Scott had been thrown onto his ass no less than six times in the ten minutes it took Stiles to drive to the clearing just beyond the Hale House. Scott slumped with relief upon spotting the familiar blue Jeep and felt Derek’s grip slacken when Stiles’ scent drifted over, the Alpha being unable to see his arrival with his back turned.

“Hey, Stiles!” Kira waves to him as he makes his way over, Lydia in tow. Derek stands and smiles gently in the human’s direction while he’s distracted by Kira telling him about a new kind of Japanese herbal remedy for headaches that her mother taught her.

“Derek, put the heart eyes away,” Cora scoffs from inside the house, out of human ear shot but causes her older brother to jump. He shakes his head and scowls in her direction before walking towards the group on the porch. Jackson pulls up next to Scott as he watches Derek loom over Stiles’ shoulder causing the boy to flail and smack him when he finally notices.

“You asked Stiles to come by didn’t you?” Scott watches Derek carefully for signs of eavesdropping before answering in a quiet voice.

“Yep, thought it would save us some bruises.” Jackson nods along, patting Scott’s shoulder before they walk towards where the entire pack had gathered.

“Hey, can we watch a movie? I just bought a bunch of those popcorn pan thingies!” Stiles perks up, facing Derek with wide, hopeful eyes. The pack continues on with their conversation completely “ignoring” Stiles and Derek, but not all of them can resist the urge to side eye the pair.

Derek had told them explicitly that training would be for at least four hours today and to not plan for anything else happening. As of right now, they were barely hitting the two hour mark. But Derek just heaves a sigh and shoos Stiles inside with a nod of his head. The human dashes away with a smile and the pack exchanges looks.

“You’re whipped, Der-Bear.” Cora sighs with a shake of her head but unable to reign in the smile as she walks past her brother. He growls but she and the rest of the pack ignore him as they all rush past and try to get first crack at one of the three showers inside.

***
The truth was, Derek was fully aware of just how whipped he was. This wasn’t the first time he had cut training short in the wake of one of Stiles’ plans for a pack night. It wasn’t the first (nor the last, he was sure) time he would undermine himself for the sake of that bright, sunshiney grin that would grace Stiles’ impish face when he got his way.

Of course the pack had caught onto it, had used it against him more often then he would care to admit. But he was never angry for very long, always too consumed with the way Stiles jumped about and ran circles around him. Like now, when Stiles had managed to make all nine of the popcorn pans and then realized there wasn’t any Sprite to go with it. It was almost if on instinct he turned to Derek with those wide eyes that got to him every goddamn time, asking if he could go to the store. Derek had put up a front, telling him first a very flat no before continuing with plunking himself in his armchair and proceeding to growl upon the boy’s approach.

None of that seemed to deter the human and Derek was once begrudgingly impressed by his ability to power through. That’s not to say Derek ever grew to be happily impressed with it, just more and more annoyed until he was numb to Stiles’ pestering ways.

That didn’t explain why Derek was currently in the self checkout line at the closest grocery store to the house though. No, that could be explained by the yipping idiot that Derek called his wolf, the bastard. Derek wasn’t sure which was worse, if Stiles did or didn’t know that this appeased his wolf’s need to provide. It was something about Derek being the first he turned to when he needed something, acknowledging Derek as the one to satisfy whatever he needed, his wolf preened at the attention. Derek the man? Yeah, he wasn’t so pleased.

Keep reading

like flying, like falling

I got the loveliest @edendaphne as a part of a little gift exchange! I wanted to do something for sidekick!Adrien au, especially based off a few of her wonderful drawings! Thank you @powerdragonmoon for your help, and thank you @baneismydragon for pulling this together! 

“It’s just like flying, I swear.”

Ladybug eyes the motorcycle purring quietly away beneath Chat’s hands with doubt.

“When you said I was going to be entertained, this isn’t what I imagined,” she says, hands on her hips. Her eyes follow the blades of silver light running along the polished, black metal of the motorcycle’s solid frame, up to the point where Chat’s leather-clad leg bisects the view as he braces his feet against the ground. Her gaze travels up, instead, to the sleek leather of his tight pants, to the tailored, fitted cut of his bulletproof jacket.

The thing about leather is that it leaves little to the imagination- little, but just enough…

“Want to ride me?” Chat offers.

Ladybug can see the way her jaw drops open at the suggestion, reflected in the mirror-clean visor of Chat’s helmet. The visor slides up with a sharp click in the next second, revealing his green eyes, acid-bright in the night and comically wide in panic.

“Ride with me, with me,” he squeaks, voice cracking in his haste to correct himself. He coughs, and hurriedly adds, “It’s super safe, I promise.”

Except that Chat’s definition of safe is often way off base from her own. Ladybug still vividly remembers the one time he leaped off a building and landed on his moving motorcycle with a wild, exhilarated whoop that did not match the rush of sheer terror that jammed her heart up her throat at the time. She’s pretty sure he knocked off at least five years off her lifespan in that single moment.

Still, when his hand unfolds out toward her, she takes it without a second thought.

“Like flying, you said?”

“Hey, you’ve got your magical supersuit,” he laughs. “These are my wings.”

Ladybug can feel the moment she gives in as his eyes sparkle at her. She swings a leg over the motorcycle and settles in snugly behind Chat, wriggling until her front is pressed to his back. Her hands take their time ghosting up his hips and around his lean waist; even through the leather, she can feel his pulse quicken, can see when his breath hitches in his throat even as he slides his visor back down.

“Alright handsome boy,” she purrs into his ear, underscoring the heavy beat of his thundering heart. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The motorcycle stirs beneath them before awakening with a roar. Chat kicks off, and then only the wind catches Ladybug’s delighted shrieks as they race down the empty city streets.  

Riding his motorcycle always fills Chat’s veins with adrenaline, but Ladybug’s exhilarated laughter and warm, possessive hold around him makes him feel positively electric. The city passes by them in flashes as they travel along the lightning of the moment.

“Enjoying yourself?” Chat yells back at her.

Her grip around him tightens, and the way her hands splay over his chest is not entirely necessary for her safety, but is utterly capable of producing a flush that shudders over his whole body.

“Definitely!” she yells against the wind, the teasing grin audible in her voice. “But if you wanted flying, then I can do one better.”

- - - 

“This is falling,” Adrien argues. His helmet and motorcycle rest in a tucked away alleyway, safe from any curious passerby and woefully far from the high rooftop he and Ladybug stand on.

“You coming, chaton?” Her yoyo swings in lazy circles as she beckons him over to her with her free hand. He comes, irresistibly drawn to her like a magnet.

“My turn to show you how it’s done,” Ladybug laughs. Her yoyo snaps back to her hip before she turns around and offers her back, gesturing clearly for him to hop on.

He slowly steps right up behind her, savouring the way her muscles tense at his proximity. His breath ghosts along her neck, raising goosebumps, before he murmurs, “Ready?”

Before she can answer, he jumps up and wraps himself around her back, hooking his legs over her hips and slinging his arms over her shoulders. He laughs, a shit-eating grin on his face, as Ladybug curses and stumbles at the sudden weight. She quickly finds her balance again and straightens up, turning her head to the side so he can see the unimpressed look on her face. Mischief glitters bright in her the sky of her eyes though, betraying her amusement.

“Dirty trick,” Ladybug comments.

“Nothing dirty about it,” Adrien assures her with a wink. He chuckles against her neck as she turns to face the front again with a huff, a blush rising from the high collar of her suit. His hold around her tightens as she braces a hand under one of his legs and unhooks her yoyo from her hip with the other.

“Don’t scream,” she reminds him.

“Not a problem.” Then, as her yoyo begins spinning before them, he asks, “Do I even weigh anything to you?”

“Nah, it’s like holding a couple of grapes,” Ladybug laughs. Despite the levity of her answer, heat pools at the bottom of Adrien’s stomach as he marvels at her strength, at the way she effortlessly, easily holds him up. Before he can worry about the unexpected turn of his thoughts, her yoyo whips out, hooks onto a nearby rooftop, and launches them into the air, saving him from himself.

He’s watched her fly over the cityscape dozens, hundreds of times, through camera feeds he’s hacked into from his computer, and through the dark visor of his helmet when he rides out into the streets to help her. Ladybug is nothing but purposeful and sure in her every move, her every step. He’s seen it, over, and over, and over again.

But feeling it is something else entirely. Even with his added weight, she lands and leaps with total control, with an ease and confidence to be envied. They soar up into the clear night air, high enough until they seem like the only two people in the world with all the city laid before them.

The wind flying by on the long drop down claims Adrien’s wild, ecstatic whoop. When his eyes begin to water from the speed, he buries his head into the crook of Ladybug’s neck, laughter still spilling over in his giddiness.

“I still don’t know if I’d call this flying,” he says, his lips tracing her skin. He can feel her swallow as his words press on her neck, can feel the way she falters ever so slightly as she swings them both down to land on the solid ground of a rooftop. Emboldened, he gives a little nip, smiling at her quiet gasp, before humming, “It’s falling.”

Ladybug stills, her muscles tense, her breaths coming in quick and hot. That can be blamed on adrenaline and exertion- but not entirely.

Adrien murmurs, “I’m still falling.”

His steel-toed boots hit the ground and Ladybug turns on him like fire unleashed, grabbing his collar and pulling him down into a deep kiss that has him not flying, not falling, but floating and seeing stars. He wastes no time in winding his hands around her slim waist, his fingers tracing the curved red pattern of her suit.

“That was so cheesy,” Ladybug groans breathlessly as they break apart.

“It worked,” he grins as she pulls the zipper of his jacket down.

“If you’re free enough to talk, you’re free enough to make good on your promise to me earlier,” she reminds him, her hands diving beneath his jacket to trace hard muscle beneath the thin black turtleneck. Her fingers rake over his stomach and she grins as she feels him gasp at her touch.

Instead of coming onto her strong like she expects, Adrien lifts her chin up with a hand and captures her lips in a soft, slow kiss. The unexpected tenderness completely wipes her mind blank as she sinks into him, heat simmering low in her belly. His hand tangles into her hair and just as she begins to relax, he gives a sharp, authoritative tug, pulling a moan from her throat as her head rears back.

Ladybug’s hands bunch the bottom of his turtleneck up in frustration, but she gives as good as she gets as she hooks her fingers into his belt loops and pulls his hips flush against hers, startling a groan from Adrien.

Undeterred, his head dips down, lavishing attention onto whatever bare skin he can reach. He leaves a necklace of kisses and hickeys around her throat for her to wear. His grip on her hair tightens when she tries to lean forwards to kiss him again, leaving him free to take his time planting kisses along her cheeks, her forehead, the corners of her mouth, everywhere but where she wants it most.

He gets closer and closer then always denies her, until a frustrated whine finally escapes her.

With Ladybug’s short hair and long ribbons hopelessly tousled from his hands, her cheeks flushed a bright red, and her eyes burning fever bright in excitement and want, Adrien grins as he leans forward to purr into her ear.

“How’s that for entertainment?”