I’d go on instagram hours at a time. What was helpful was to delete all of my social media apps and any apps in general that would distract me. So if I wanted to go on instagram or snapchat, I’d have to load the website and sign in or download the app again, which I’m too lazy and impatient to do.
2. Delete your bookmarks
I’m always using my laptop to study, to review quizzes, watch crashcourse and look up notes/ facts. To stop myself from going onto twitter or facebook, I log off and remove them from my bookmark list. This is essentially the same as my first point. Going onto social media has become so automatic that sometimes I just unconsciously click on them. After making it harder for me to access them, I don’t go onto them as often.
3. Caffeine: green tea
I fall asleep easily when I’m studying, so I drink green tea. I used to drink coffee but I’d crash really hard. Lattes makes me feel heavy from all the milk and espresso shots are too “short”? When I’m drinking green tea I’d just be sipping on it constantly over a few hours. You don’t really feel the caffeine as much and I’ve never had a problem staying awake.
4. Count down the days/ hours
You know how sometimes you don’t feel the stress, even when you know your exam is just around the corner. So I’d open up my calendar and count the number of days or hours I have left. I’d look at the numbers and start to realize I’m fcked, then I panic and start studying :)
I tried and therefore no one should criticize me; had another go at photoshop painting with a bunch of new brushes while I was out, this is a bit rough but…
one Mr. In-Rescue-Mode, Slightly Worn Down, Thunderbird-Five-I-swear-the-explosions-weren’t-my-fault Scott Tracy?
Fun fact: when I have writer’s block I write random shit for the ships I adore. If you would like to see more, I have a masterlist you can look at, wither way I hope you enjoy this!
Dorian trudged up the steep hill, the mud so
deep and thick that it fell into his calf high boots and drowned his feet. He
may as well abandon his shoes at this point, they were certainly doing him no
good. He wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, his whole body
overwhelmingly hot despite the cold winds, and pushed his legs harder. His
strength was wavering, but he had to make it back to her.
He let the stars guide and distract him,
pinpointing specific constellations that reminded him so much of home that he
forgot where he really was. He saw Mala’s Trail and thought of when as boys, he
and Chaol would hide from their tutors in tall trees and throw acorns at nobles
as passed under. He gazed at Annieth’s Sword and Belt and remembered the night
he had kissed Celaena – no, Aelin – under the cover of darkness. He peered at the
Circle of Seven, and thought of Sorscha and how she would gently rap his wounds
with her delicate fingers. He looked for the Crown, but stopped. He wasn’t
ready to think about the fate of his mother Georgina or his brother Hollin.
Lastly, as he came to bridge of the hill, he saw the twinkling stars that made
up the Wings of the Wyvern. As a young boy, his father had let him sit in his
lap and would tell him many a story about the creature on their crest.
But his father was dead now, and seeing the
lights that outlined the shape of monstrous wings in the sky made him think of
something else entirely.
“Can you hurry up?” Asterin snorted as she came
to meet him at the top of the hill. She was in just as filthy a state as he
was, and he was glad he wasn’t the only one covered in dirt and Gods know what
else. Asterin, however, had not been given the task to collect foods and test
out magic while she did so, so she was still far livelier than he was.
“I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
Asterin rolled her eyes and held out her hands
to one of the menschen sacks he was holding. “It would be best for you to put
your charm to use, she’s awfully testy at the moment. The scratch on Abraxos’
hide has yet to heal.”
Dorian furrowed his eyebrows in concern, not
for Abraxos who he knew would be perfectly fine, but for the Queen who would
run herself into the ground without a second thought if it meant protecting the
ones she loves.
Dorian didn’t reply, just continued his hike to
the Thirteen’s camp.
All the women were there, snuggled in close to
their Wyverns to keep warm. They had risked a small fire, the stormy grey
clouds and searing winds covering any hint of smoke, but it was still freezing.
Dorian’s bones were aching from every effort to move, even if the full force of
the storm upon them hadn’t hit him yet. He wished he knew how to control his
magic so he might warm them all up, but he wasn’t Aelin or her fae prince.
Anyone could spot Manon. Her white hair was loose
and she was pacing back and forth furiously. She was muttering to Abraxos as his
eyes lazily followed her every step, occasionally huffing or whining. It was
rather comical to watch, but from the sneer on her face Dorian predicted that if
he pointed it out he might lose his eyes.
“Witchling,” he called gently instead.
“Where have you been?” She snapped. The tone
she used cut through any warmth his body had mustered from his walk, slicing
him open and letting the bitter cold have its way with him.
“I was looking for food and practising my
magic, just as you suggested.” His voice was placating, like he was talking to
a wild hound. He even spread his hands out in a gesture of peace.
“That was eighthours ago.”
“Why does it matter, Witchling?”
“Because how are we supposed to kill an ageless
king and his evil spawn if you can’t stay put for a day, Princeling?” She
battered her eyelashes at him but her smile was nothing short of savage. If
Dorian didn’t know better, he’d say Manon had been worried about him.
They hadn’t had sex since that night on the
boat, and excluding a few grazing touches and distracting flirtation, no
situation had come even remotely close. It might have, if they hadn’t been surrounded
by witches and wyverns. Dorian could not deny his body’s reaction at the
thought of her scarred skin under his hands and tongue, but for the first time
in his life, a woman could not seem to be less interested in him.
He looked away and didn’t say anything, instead
dumping his findings for the day near the flickering fire. He sat down took off
his shoes and socks, wiggling his toes over the flames to dry the mud and warm
his feet. The Thirteen, who had been curiously watching his interactions with
Manon, went back to doing their own thing: talking, reading, planning, scheming.
He let his mind wander back to the
constellations, and before long a body gracefully sat next to his. He didn’t
turn to look. The witches around him started wondering to their bedrolls, all
tucked under the mighty wings of their wyverns, and quickly feel asleep. Not knowing
know the next moment you’ll get rest makes it easy to fall on command.
“I was worried when you didn’t come back.”
“Because you’re mortal and fragile.”
Dorian snorted and turned further away from
her. “Good to hear.”
Dorian decided to lay down then and there. He
was exhausted from the day’s events, and to keep warm he couldn’t stray from
the fire. He had settled in a semi-comfortable position, ready for the day to
be officially over. Tomorrow was the day they flew to Crochan land, a last
resort to find allies. And when he said they, he wasn’t including himself. He
had done as much as he could and now it was time to reunite with this brother
Chaol, down safe in the south.
He needed his best friend more than ever right
now. Dorian had never felt so conflicted in his life. He knew he should not
feel for Manon the way he should, it had always been about a release for them,
but he couldn’t help the way his breath hitched when her eyes glittered as the
sun rose, or the goose-bumps that lined his flesh whenever he heard her raspy
voice. More than anything, his chest ached with guilt. When he looked at Manon,
he forgot about everything else: Adarlan, the war, Sorscha…
How could Dorian fall so quickly in love,
Dorian knew Manon was still next to him, could
hear her breathing, could sense her intoxicating body. When she laid a hand on
his arm, a zip of energy raced to his heart and spread to the rest of his body,
making him shudder. This had happened before. What hadn’t happened was her
standing up and stepping over his body, just so she could curl in front of him.
She put one hand on his face, and closed her eyes.
“You aren’t fragile.” She said through gritted
teeth. “You are brave, and strong, and the king this cursed continent needs. I
just can’t bear the thought of you being anywhere but by my side.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before we all
decided it would be best I leave?” He risked a hand to her waist, and at his
touch she moved closer to him so their bodies were pressed together.
“Because you are kind, and I detest the thought
that my brutality will mar that. I am not ashamed of who I am, but it scares me
that one day you could be.” It was the most candid and sincere she had ever
been, and it made his eyes sting.
“That will never happen, but either way I have
to leave tomorrow.” He told her. It was the truth, his time with this coven was
“Even if I asked you to stay?” She tangled her
legs with his.
“We’ll reunite again, someday.” Dorian knew not
when that would be, whether in this life or another, but the queen in front of
him would not easily escape his grasp.
Manon opened her mouth to say something else,
but was interrupted by an earth-shaking boom as Abraxos planted himself next to
them, the gust from the wyvern’s movement blowing out the fleeting fire. He
wrapped his wings around the king and queen, and wiggled until comfortable.
Dorian didn’t know from childhood stories that wyverns snored, but oh how Abraxos
“Good night, Witchling.”
Manon leaned forward and pressed a hesitant
kiss to his lips. “Good night, Princeling.”
“What does it mean, we could have been doing this all along?”
“Well, we’re in the Mindscape, so we can make things happen by just willing it. And going by boat is a lot faster.”
“And you only thought of it now?”
“Hey, at least I did think of it! And before Stanford did! So I was smarter this ti–”
“Stan, stop distracting him! He’s got to focus!” Stanford cut him off, still somewhat annoyed that he hadn’t been the one to think of it in the first place. As the Stan O’ War flew swiftly through the fog as though on water, he had to admit it had been a pretty good idea. “Billy, are we still going the right way?”
Billy didn’t answer at first, eye still fixed in the fog ahead of them. The murmuring voices were getting louder, the sudden flashes of color around them brighter and more defined; if he squinted, Stanford could make out the outlines of door appearing and disappearing, melting away and changing appearance. Even without mist, it seemed like the kind of place where getting lost would be incredibly easy and finding the way out nearly impossible.
summary: he catches her when she falls —allura-centric. shallura. also read on:ao3 notes: with apologies, i’ve been on writers block since the beginning of the year so this is merely a warm up.
part of “the princess and the paladin” series. link to master list here.
She’s strong — capable of making sense of the universe even
after being frozen for practically a millennia, capable of fighting off Galrans
with her own bare hands, capable of healing an entire planet with a simple
prayer, capable of keeping a clear mind to pilot a castle and guide its crew
despite grief’s distraction.
She’s strong enough to do almost anything she sets her heart to — except to hold herself up.
Friendly Competition-verse. Their first real date. Bonus points for "their first real date and how it goes horribly wrong"
Anonymous said: in the friendly competition verse: Regina and Robin’s first date in a public place, please.
Ok, I am the WORST. You guys sent this prompt in so long ago I am certain you will have completely forgotten you even sent it! I am so sorry. But, I am back from my travels now, and I’m celebrating by FINALLY posting this!! Hope you still enjoy, despite the passing of 350,000 years between then and now!
Thank you so very much to loveexpelrevolt, who has been completely awesome and a wise and wonderful betaing superhero, even though I have been such a terrible, slack-arse flake! I’m afraid you can expect much more of the puppy dog eyes from me in the future, my love!
“What would you say if I said I wanted to take you on a date?” he asks her casually one afternoon, before they’ve finished catching their breath.
She looks down between them pointedly, at their naked chests, at her skirt rucked up around her waist, her sweaty thighs nestled in beside his hips. They are in his car this time, in what she hopes is a deserted parking lot, and God, she doesn’t do this, she doesn’t end up half-clothed in some guy’s messy, beat-up old Ford Falcon, grinding down on him with her teeth dug into his shoulder to muffle her cries and hopefully avoid a public indecency charge.
She looks back at him.
“I’d say you’re several steps behind. A little slow on the uptake, are you?”
He narrows his eyes at her, leans forward and lightly bites her breast in retaliation for her cheek. Her head falls back, a hum of approval falling from her lips.
“I realise this is a less than conventional point in the proceedings to be asking, but, if it wouldn’t be entirely reprehensible to you, I’d like to get to know more than just your body.”
She huffs her scorn, shifting slightly, his eyes falling shut with a grimace as he slips from within her. She settles back down on his thighs, rocking slightly, experimenting to see how quickly she can have him riled up and ready again.
“A few quickies and you think you know my body?” she scoffs. “Please. You’re still so very much the amateur.”
His eyes spark and smoulder in that way that he does when she provokes him. He purses his lips, fixes her with a half-glare, half-smirk that she still, damn it all, finds so terribly attractive.
“Oh, is that so?” he asks, dipping his fingers between her legs where she’s still sensitive enough to jerk and gasp at his touch. It’s a full-blown smirk that greets her when she opens her eyes again. “So you’d say I have a lot to learn, then?”
The pad of his thumb is swirling in her wetness, gathering enough to slip and slide over her clit.
“Aahh! –yes!” she affirms. “You’re still – mmm – in the minor leagues.”
In one deliciously skilled finger goes, crooking at just the right angle, and oh, bless archery, she’ll never say another word against it.
He’s leaning into her neck now, sucking and biting at the join of her neck and shoulder as he alternates between fucking his fingers – two fingers, oh God – into her and sliding them out to circle her clit. Her body is still alive and thrumming from her first orgasm, this won’t take long.
“Well I’ve always been eager to improve myself,” he husks, smug, annoyingly smug, but clearly affected enough that she can overlook it. He’s stirring back to life between her thighs and she’s lunging back and forth with her hips, half involuntary, half to tease out his hard on and even the playing field.
“I don’t know what you – unh – hope to get out of it,” she says, refusing to be the first to lose track of their conversation.
The fingers thrust hard up into her then, and she can’t hold back her moan.
“What on earth do you mean?” he questions, seeming actually somewhat displeased by her statement.
“Well,” she pants, eyes closed, her head dropping onto his shoulder, “Why would you bother with the formalities when you’ve already got the privileges?”
His fingers withdraw, and she opens her eyes to scowl at him, but the expression on his face surprises her. It’s not glaring, it’s not smirking, and she doesn’t have the chance to define what it is before he’s kissing her. Deeply, thoroughly, but slower than she’s used to. Her brow is furrowed in question when he pulls back.
“Perhaps it’s possible that I consider dinner with you a privilege equally worth earning.”
Her eyes widen, but he seems to sense that she’s not especially comfortable with this line of conversation, in these close quarters, with his fingers and her thighs still wet from their passion. Without another word, he pushes his fingers back up inside her, reaches down with the other hand to attend to her clit, and within minutes she is writhing in his lap, the car filled with her groans and sighs of pleasure, rolling through her in waves until she crests with a long, blissful moan.
Her knees are cramping, but she feels softer, relaxed, a little more powerful, and a little more playful, so she folds herself sideways over his thighs, her back against the car door, taps his nose like he’s a naughty puppy.
“So, dinner, huh?”
“If that’s agreeable to you.”
“You actually want to do this?”
“You want to date me?”
“Why? I’m clearly not your type.”
He raises his eyebrows incredulously at that.
“You’re right,” he says sarcastically. “Usually I prefer to date women who are a little less devastatingly sexy. Better for the self-esteem.”
She rolls her eyes, reaches for his now-almost-fully-erect cock and flips it upwards with the pads of her fingers so it hits his belly. He oofs, and glares, grabbing her hands and trapping them with his own.
“You know what I mean. You’re all outdoorsy, one-with-nature, I-sleep-in-the-dirt-and-bathe-in-the-river wholesome man, while I’m – what was the word you used? Pretentious?”
He’s distracted, guiding her hand over his cock, curling his fingers around hers and encouraging a much kinder touch than the one she just administered.
“If you can agree to be seen in public with me, I think I can manage the same,” he says.
Safe for work, safe for feels (borderline), all is well. 1.734 words in this penultimate chapter - final chapter is up tomorrow. Previous chapters can be found here. Have an absolutely wonderful Halloween, pumpkin darlings.
She feels giddy, walking into the new house with Mamrie close behind. There’s an appreciative whistle and she turns around to face the redhead, who’s smirking at her.
“Liking the house then?”
“I was looking at you, actually, but sure,” Mamrie grins, “The house is fine too.”
She mumbles a shy shut up and walks through the empty little foyer, before getting onto the wooden boards of the living room. Mamrie follows suit, tapping her feet down loudly and immediately going over to one of the windows, trying to work out how they open.
“You have to pull the lever down, here.” Grace points out, walking over and pulling at the small lever next to the window, “And then you can, you know, open it.”