it looked cooler in my head but this is what i ended up with

procraesthetics  asked:

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

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Lockers - Peter Parker

request -  hey, welcome to tumblr ! great username XD i was wondering if you could do a scenario where the reader was in the elevator then as spiderman pulls her up, she recognizes his voice then the next day, she confronts peter in at school, in an empty classroom and says she knows who he is and then hugs him out of nowhere and so much fluff ugh. thank you and i wish you the best with the blog !

a/n - i went through many different plots/settings with this fic so it took a while but, writing this was really fun. it sort of become rly super duper long so i apologize for that LOL and hopefully the fluff isn’t a flop like me but don’t forget to request a peter parker/spider-man fic if you’d like and follow!

The elevator began to shake even more, dropping one more time before I felt as if our fate was waiting for us down at the bottom floor. The broken glass made it hard to stand up, but what was even worse was that I was the only one left in the doomed elevator.

“Grab onto my hand!” The officer shouted at me, extending his arm to be the best way he could. I tried to desperately to reach it, but I couldn’t. The mix of adrenaline and fear had struck my body to the max.

“Sir, I-I can’t.” I cried, my heart breaking even more. Just then, the elevator went down another foot, and I felt my back press up against the tarnished wall. All I could hear was the harsh beat of my heart and the yells for help from the people up top.

“(Y/N) please! Try again!” I heard Liz yell from above. The situation had become to surreal to me that I almost became numb to it, with what could happen in a matter of seconds not scaring me as much as it should be.

Before I could register anything else, the sound of glass breaking snapped me back into reality. But surprisingly, it wasn’t from the elevator.

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Underrated 4E-Original D&D Monsters!

While Dungeons and Dragons 4th Edition had many flaws when it came to integrating narrative and gameplay; on some pretty fundamental levels; one advantage of the system was that the simplified monster-creation allowed for a dickton of really interesting brand-new monsters to appear in a small space.

Sadly, due to both a lack of art for many of them and a fundamentally fluff-lite narrative approach for most of its run, almost nobody remembers them.

And that’s what we’re here to talk about today, with the name, a brief description, and the book they come from! So, in no particular order:

Banderhobbs- A horrible vore-frog that lives in the plane of Shadows. They take people away to work in their horrible shadow-mines until they turn into more Banderhobbs! [Monster Manual 3, tho they did come back in 5e’s Volo’s Guide]

Dreambreath Dracoliches- Dragon liches who root their immortality in the plane of Dreams and generally look like something that should be painted on the side of a van [Draconomicon: Chromatics]

Star Spawn- Horrible eldritch monster-avatars of the Stars, summoned by a giant planet that got fucked up by spending too long in the Cthulhu-dimension passing in front of them. They have stats so you can fight the giant planet. [Monster Manuals 2 & 3]

Filth Hags- A type of hag who always comes accompanied by a son she made out of poop. Yes I know they just give it as nonspecific “filth,” but we all know it’s poop [The Book of Vile Darkness. Yes there was a 4e version.]

Accipitridae- A centipede-thing made of grave-dirt and bone, part of a series of undead monsters created from grave-detritus known as Dethritus. There is also the Offalian who is a snake-thing made out of guts. [Open Grave]

Voracia- A giant starfish that eats fairies. Made as one of the edition’s Abominations; giant living weapons designed to fight in the war between the Gods and the jotun-like elemental Primordials. [The Plane Above]

Astral Renders- Another abomination, this giant silver/gold blob monster that doesn’t just eat flesh, but also the barriers between dimensions. To teleport.  [The Plane Above]

Bonewretch Skeletons- Literal dead-baby skeletons [Open Grave]

Orium Dragons- Metallic dragons obsessed with ancient civilizations, their history and lore, and with an obsession with bringing said ancient civilizations back. They breathe acid which turns into snake-vapor monsters. Which then stay around to keep attacking you. [Draconomicon: Metallic Dragons]

Apocalypse Spells- The remnants of apocalyptically deadly/powerful spells that have gained sentience, like shards of the chains of a trapped god or colorless fire from a massive war-ending spell [Monster Manual 3]

Larval Snipers/Larval Assassins/Larval Warmasters- Variants on the basic worm-that-walks monster including snipers made of wasps, assassins made of centipedes, and warlords made of beetles [Open Grave]

Chillfire Destroyers- 4e had this thing where they condensed the Elemental Planes into one big Elemental Chaos, and one of the byproducts of that was that all the elementals (at least at first) were combinations of elements. The Chillfire Destroyer; which is literally an elemental made of ice with fire inside; was one of the cooler; more iconic (In my eyes at least) manifestations of the idea. [Monster Manual 2]

Dragonscale Sloughs- Piles of dead skin and shed scales from dragons that’ve come to undead life. The dragon doesn’t even have to be dead for it to happen, as it mentions they tend to form naturally in the lairs of elder dragons [Open Grave]

Consumptive Swarm- A “demon” that’s actually a swarm of Slaad/chaos-frog larvae mutated into demons by the energy from shard of evil that formed The Abyss (Basically Chaotic Evil Hell). There’s also versions for Efreet and Djinn and a weird thing called a Writhing Crag supposedly made from Ropers and Xorn with a great design and the ability to embed you in stone. [The Plane Below]

Unrisen- People who came back very, very wrong after a Raise Dead spell. You know Pet Sematery? It’s basically Pet Sematery. [Open Grave]

Swarmtongue Worms- While the old gold-coin-mimicking Hoard Scarab came back, they also added another parasite for draconic hordes, grotesque stomachlike wormy-tongued parasites the size of a dwarf. They come in multi-headed versions called Swarmtongue Hydras and are implied to be either relatives of Carrion Crawlers or the result of what happens when the parasites feeding on a dead dragon’s body get bathed in energy from the Cthulhu dimension [Draconomicon: Chromatic]

Dragonclaw Swarms- An “advanced” version of the Crawling Claw enemy that is literally hundreds of severed dragon feet coming to attack you. D&D is silly sometimes [Open Grave]

Quom- Bald-headed two-faced people who were pretty chill until their goddess got exploded by the God/Primordial war. Now they’re searching for all the shards of their Goddess, which is a problem given how many of those have wormed their way into magic weapons or sometimes even people. [The PlaneAbove]

Flesh Cults- One of the coolest new ideas that got only one entry, they’re basically a cult not dedicated to immortality like most undead cults but rather to ˆephemerality, being in the here and the now and that everything ends eventually, with their rituals giving themselves regeneration that makes too much flesh, with it being described as a “perpetual cascade of flesh and organs,” which they then use as weapons and reanimate as temporary quickly-decaying undead servants. Because waste not want not I suppose [Open Grave]

Oubliviae- A new demon lord who looks bland at first, basically a pretty lady with an HR Geiger-armor-body, but her backstory is fascinating. Basically she is the lord of the end of all civilizations; with her layer made from a platonic “perfect” city that she ruined to turn into a reflection of the ruins of every civilization there ever was or will be; and she’s implied to come directly from the Shard of Evil at the heart of the Abyss rather than just being mutated Primordials/other creatures like the rest of the Demon Lords [Demonomicon]

Solkara- One of the few Primordials statted up that isn’t an Elder Elemental Evil with a new coat of paint, she’s suitably honked-up looking; given she’s a humanoid eel-monster with amongst other things three arms attached to two torsos connected at the shoulder and hips, which have two necks that connect to a singular four-eyestalked head. She’s stuck in an iceberg and really, really wants out. [The Plane Below]

This probably isn’t near all of them, so if I missed some, please tell me!

Man I ‘d love to see @bogleech do an article on some of these…

Sometime in the future...

…when Dex realizes he’s not poor anymore.

“can we get a headboard, too?”

Dex hated that voice. It was a voice he hadn’t heard come out of his mouth in a long time, since before him and Nursey got married, before they graduated, before he started seeing a therapist. It was a voice that said, ’a no would break me’ underneath the real words of his question.

It was how he used to ask for hugs, and how he asked, three months into their fuck-buddy relationship, for Nusey to please stay the night, just once, nobody ever stays.

Nursey gave him a long, appraising look, but Dex knew he wouldn’t ask why, all of a sudden, Dex sounded so unsure of himself. Just like Dex knew, eventually, he’d tell Nursey why something so silly as a headboard was so important to him.

He gave a small smile instead, kissed Dex’s cheek, and said, “That’s chill.”

They got out of their truck, a purchase that Nursey made without Dex because he knew his husband could never justify the price to himself, even though they could afford it a hundred times over. Between Dex’s NHL salary and Nursey and Lardo’s line of children’s books, there wasn’t really anything they couldn’t afford.

Which is why Dex hated how small and broken his voice sounded when he asked if they could buy a headboard.

With the new contract Dex signed, finally featuring a no trade clause, they decided to buy a house. Nursey went all out; he spent weeks touring places, picking out furniture, and giving Dex the silent treatment (apparently ‘whatever you want’ isn’t the right answer). The only thing left was a new mattress.

They saved it specifically for a week when Dex didn’t have any scheduling conflicts. He tried to tell Nursey that it was fine, he could go ahead and buy one without Dex there, but he refused, insisting that a mattress was an individual experience, both of them had to agree.

They both knew that, in the end, Dex wouldn’t have an opinion. A bed was a bed to him, and any bed was better than no bed. It felt nice to have a full day with his husband, though.

They stood in front of a huge mattress store, and for some reason, Dex felt uncertain. There was something about this, buying a bed, that made everything real to him. He was an adult. He was well off financially. And he was about to walk into a store hand in hand with his husband. And he was happy.

He wasn’t the angry kid from Maine, anymore.

A saleswoman nearly a foot shorter than the couple (call me Cici!) dragged them all over the store, practically pushing them down on mattresses and asking about their firmness. She asked about hteir opinon on memory foam versus tempurpedic, about fabrics and springs and coils and all sorts of questions Nursey has answers for that Dex can’t make heads or tails of.

He zones out a bit, but jumps back into the conversation when the topic of temperature comes up (so, are you two warm blooded or do you use a lot of blankets at night?). He had no idea that they made some mattresses cooler than others, but yes they wanted to try those out, because his husband is a furnace and the three stupid cats Nursey snuck home were like little fuzzy ovens.

So, they go to the other side of the store and try out hybrids (of what, Dex really couldn’t say). Without even trying it out, Nursey pointed at one of the set-ups and declared, “it’s going to be this one.” Dex had to admit that it was pretty comfortable. He didn’t feel like he was sinking into the mattress, which was nice.

Nursey clamored on top, cuddling into Dex’s side with a smug grin. “Told you it was this one.”

Still grinning, Nursey asked Cici, “Can you show us some headboard options?”

There was an entire room of them. Bed frames and headboards and footboards. Big quilted ones that Dex thought would go great in his baby sister’s princess room, studded leather ones, wrought iron frames that looked a little too bondage for Dex’s comfort.

Dex wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but  Cici told them quietly that she would give them a few minutes to look around, even though she had been attached at to their side for the hour they had been in the store.

They wandered around, looking at all the choices. Dex knew he held Nursey’s hand a little too hard, but Nursey didn’t say anything. He let Dex take the lead, inputting his opinion but never tryng to influence Dex, never pushing him to talk about it.

They made two circuits of the room before stopping (for the second time) in front of a simple padded headboard. It wasn’t anything fancy, just smooth, cream colored fabric. Dex ran a finger over the display. It was softer than it looked.

“I don’t understand headboards. Or footboards. They’re totally pointless.”

In the past, that may have been an invitation for Nursey to chirp Dex, to ask what the hell they were doing buying one if Dex thought it was pointless. But after so many years together, Nursey knew Dex needed to talk it out, not have a conversation.

“Did you know that before I went to Samwell, I never slept in a real bed?”

“I didn’t, babe.”

Dex never took his eyes off the headboard. “For a while I had a matress thrown on the floor in me and Adam’s room, but then I gave it to Hannah and I started sleeping on some sleeping bags on the floor. I told myself it was like camping. Even when I imagined my house, I never imagined a having a real bed. What’s the piont of buying something that’s totally pointless? It’s just a waste of money.”

Nursey ran a warm hand up and down Dex’s back. Dex rarely talked about his childhood. It was one of the only things they still faught about sometimes: Nursey taking their money for granted and Dex not being able to accept that he can spend money when he wants to.

“But we can buy this. We can buy something that’s totally pointless, just because I want it.”

It wouldn’t match the room, even a little bit. The whole house was stark greys and bright whites, accents of bright colors. The cream fabric would stick out like a sore thumb. It was meant for a softer house. There was something about it that Dex like, though. He couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, but he loved it.

“What do you think?”

Nursey didn’t bother to look away from Dex when he answered. “I think it’s great, babe. It’ll look good in the bedroom.”

Dex gave him a hard look. “really.”

“Okay, no. but if you like it, then I couldn’t care less.”

And just like that,they bought it. And later that night, in their brand new bed, in their house (their house, not a house they were renting), Dex slept better than he could ever remember sleeping.

The Void Inside Me (NSFW 18+)

A/N: This idea was sprouted by one of those ads we’re the two people are texting about something really agnsty or suspenseful and you have to download the app to see the whole story. I loved the idea so much and thought no one would be more suited for it than Void. I want to thank @writing-obrien for seriously helping me out with this when I was completely stumped. Also @celestial-writing because this fic would not be finished if it weren’t for her motivating me to push through up until the very end. And @sarcasticallystilinski too for all her feedback. I think they all edited this at some point too so thank you beautiful babes, I love you all more than most. Lastly, Koneko is Japanese for kitten so says google translater. I’m sorry if I got that wrong.

Warnings: Smut; choking.

Word Count: 6860

|Masterlist|

Originally posted by teendeucalion

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Drive Safely (Jeff Atkins x Reader)

A/N. JEFF DESERVES BETTER! And because of this, and because I am trash, I rewrote the ending of episode 9 - Clay doesn’t leave, Hannah and Sheri don’t knock over the stop sign, and everyone is safe. I hope you guys like it, and I am more than willing to take requests. Feel free to message me guys. Let’s cry together.

WORD COUNT: 3,420

Alright, enjoy!


The music was blasting, the beer was flowing, and Jessica and Justin were on the verge of procreating on the couch. (Y/n) rolled her eyes at the two sophomores and squeezed through the crowd, balancing the two drinks in her hands as she weaved around the drunk teenagers. She finally made it outside, sucking in a breath of the cooling autumn air and sighing. She was pretty sure Monty had brushed up against her ass. Horny asshole.

She looked around the far less populated, but still crowded, front yard, picking out her boyfriend from the way his poofy hair stood out above everyone else. He was talking to Clay, and as she approached she saw him roll his eyes violently, his whole body swaying with the force of it.

Damn Jensen, she thought with a laugh, you’re gonna break my boyfriend of you and Hannah don’t bang soon.

“Baby, your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.”

Jeff turned, his face changing as he looked at her. He lit up, grinned, and looked her up and down. “Hey babe! Listen, tell Clay he’s being stupid alright?”

She sighed, holding out his drink. “Coke for you, and Clay, you’re being an idiot.”

“I’m leaving.” Clay threw up his hands, exasperated.

“Woah,” (Y/n) lunged forward, catching his arm. Something was obviously wrong, he always played along with her and Jeff, and he was nervous, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “What’s up Clay? You alright?”

“I’m fine.” He shrugged out of her grip. “I just wanna go home alright?”

“Hannah kicked him out of the bedroom.” Jeff said, crossing his arms. “And now Clay’s being a baby and won’t go talk to her about it. Go talk to her Clay.

“Leave him alone,” She elbowed his side. “If Clay is too afraid to–”

“I’m not afraid!” Clay snapped. He looked between the two of them, mouth moving soundlessly, and he growled, spinning on his heel and charging towards the house. “I know what you two assholes are doing!” He shouted over his shoulder, shoving Zach out of the way as he reentered the house, flashing you both the middle finger.

“Wow.” (Y/n) laughed softly, looking up at Jeff and cradling her Palm Bay in both hands. “He is so whipped.”

“Yup.” Jeff wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. “How’re you doing?”

She tilted her face up, kissing him softly. He smiled against her mouth, teeth catching her bottom lip playfully, and she shivered. But there were too many jocks around to really get into it right now. Damn the jocks. She broke away, taking a sip of her drink to keep from kissing him again. “I’m good. You? Jessica managed to remove her tongue from inside Justin’s mouth long enough to tell me they need more beer, and Sheri’s moving the car so you can get out.”

He nodded, attention a little too focused on her mouth and not enough on what she was saying. She nudged his side and he sighed, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry. Yeah I’m good. There’s no vodka in this right?” He wiggled the red cup.

She shook her head. “You have practice tomorrow, I figured you wouldn’t want to drink anymore.”

He kissed her temple, pulling her harder against his side until she was drowning in the smell of him. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thanks baby.”

“Love you.” She mumbled into his chest. Booze made her sentimental.

“Love you too.” He smiled down at her. “You wanna come?”

She nodded. He slid his hand down her back, giving her ass a quick pat. She smacked his hand, laughing, and he grinned down at her, pulling her towards the car. They settled in, and his hand found her knee, tapping a beat against the side of her leg as he turned on the car and the radio started blasting. He started singing along to some country song that made her roll her eyes, but when he looked at her dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows at her, she was forced to sing along.

“OH AND I’M HIGH ON LOVING YOU, HIGH ON LOVING YOU!” He pointed to her, bobbing his head.

“I’m leaving you.”

“I love you too.” He winked at her as he pulled into the beer store parking lot. “Wait here while I run in?” He asked, getting out of the car.

“No I’ll come.” She reached for her door handle, but Jeff pointed the control at the car and clicked the lock button. The door handle jerked in her hand, but the door stayed closed. “Seriously?” She undid the lock, and he pressed the button again, winking at her. He grabbed the passenger side handle, pressed the button again, and opened the door for her.

“M’lady.” He smiled with a mock-bow.

She rolled her eyes. “You are so lame.”

He leaned forward, pecking her lips. “I love you.”

She sighed, taking his hand as he led her towards the store. “I love you too you big dork.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders again, and her arms slid around his waist as they browsed the store, grabbing a couple six packs and some more coolers. He also grabbed a bag of chips, some candy, and a smoothie that he knew she liked. She kissed him again for that, pressing his back against the freezer. His hands found her ass, her fingers tangled in his hair and played with his earring, and they didn’t stop until he mumbled something about getting frostbite in a place that would stop this from going much further into the sensitive skin of her neck. She laughed, pushing him away and squeezing her legs a little closer together as they walked over to the cash register. He pinched her ass while they waited in line, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back flush against his chest. As punishment, she rolled her hips backwards, grinding them against his front subtly, making him groan. Served him right, trying to tease her. Little asshole.

He payed fast, practically throwing money at the cashier, grabbed (y/n) around the knees, throwing her over his shoulder. She shrieked, laughing and kicking and smacking his back.

“Put me down you idiot!” She laughed. “What the hell Jeff?” She bumped his stomach with her knee, causing him to grunt.

“Ow.”

“Whoops.” She said sarcastically. “Put me down.”

Don’t move so much babe, I’m gonna drop the beer.” He nudged her hip with his chin, shifting the heavy box between his hands.

“Maybe if you put me down I could help carry stuff.” She rolled her eyes at his antics, but she was blushing and enjoying her lovely view of his ass.

“Just enjoy the view babe.” He teased, approaching the car. “Shit you’re heavy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks honey, I love you too.”

He put the beer on top of the car and put her down, barely giving her a second to adjust to the change in gravity before he had her back pressed against the car door, fingers tunneling into her hair as he kissed her. She laughed against his mouth, running her hands over his chest, and then pushed him away gently.

“Baby,” he groaned, bumping his hips gently against hers.

“We can’t,” she shook her head, breathless. “Gotta take the beer back, then check on Clay and Hannah, drive them home, and then we can go home and–” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, mind wandering to why exactly they could do when they got home.

His eyes widened when he saw where her mind was going. “Really?” He asked, voice husky.

She nodded. “But we’ve gotta go fast, before I change my mind.”

“Fuck yes.” He lunged forward, gave her one more rough kiss, and then all but forced her into the car. He grinned as he got into the driver’s seat, right hand settling on her thigh. “I’m gonna get you home so fast your head will spin.” He promised, fingers tapping a beat against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “But after, we’re doing this shit slow.”

She laughed as he jerked the car into gear, peeling out of the parking lot. The tires actually squeaked, and she heard the beer sliding in the back seat.

“Slow down Jeff!” She laughed, grabbing the door handle for support as he took a sharp turn. “You know we have to be alive to–”

Something hit the floor, glass clinking, and she swore, twisting in her seat. Jeff slowed down considerably, both because they were approaching a busier street and because she was undoing her seatbelt.

“What are you doing?”

“The beer’s gonna fall.” She shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it, put your seatbelt on.” He looked down at her as she twisted in the seat, climbing over the plastic space between the two seats to reach the back. “Seriously babe. It’s not safe for you to be doing that. Crap.” He twisted the wheel violently to make the turn onto a backroad as they drew closer to Jessica’s house.

“Shit!” she swore. “Jeff keep your eyes on the road.”

“Maybe if you stayed in your seat you wouldn’t be bumping around back there.” He shot a look at her, getting an eyeful of her jean-clad ass. “Why am I complaining again?” He turned his attention back to the road.

“It’s fine.” She groaned, twisting back into her seat, the box of drinks in her hands. “See? I got it.” She smiled at him.

“So flexible.” He winked at her, slowing down at the intersection. “Come on baby put your seatbelt on.”

“Alright alright,” she nodded, balancing the box of beer onto the dashboard and twisting to put on her seatbelt. “You’re such a mom Jeff you know that?”

“Come on you love it.” He looked at her in the mirror as he sped up again. “But I mean, I prefer being called–”

Everything happened really fast. One second he was making an innuendo, the next another car sped through the intersection, slamming into the back of the car. They fishtailed, cars sliding on the wet asphalt, and (y/n) screamed. Jeff spun the wheel, slamming on the brakes, as the car slid towards the concrete barrier. They both jerked forward, (y/n) slamming into Jeff’s outstretched arm. The beer slid off the dashboard and slammed into (y/n)’s legs. The car slid to a stop, and they both sat there, panting.

Jeff swallowed, looking over at (y/n) who was staring at him with wide eyes. She didn’t seem aware of the sticky beer splashed across her chest, stomach and lap, or the metal can balancing on her knee. Her knuckles were white, wrapped around the armrest of the door, and all the blood had rushed from her face. He lowered his arm, resting his hand on her knee. He tightened his grip on her thigh until his hand stopped shaking.

“A-are you,” Jeff swallowed, “Are you okay?”

She nodded, still looking at him with wide eyes.

“You sure?” He looked down at the beer in her lap. “Babe you’re covered in beer.”

She nodded again. “Baby, did you–” she ran a shaky hand through her hair, “did you just soccer mom me?”

“What?” He laughed, a sharp, nervous bark, but it was enough. They both started breathing again. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest, and he started running his thumb over her thigh, his other hand releasing a death grip he didn’t realize he had on the doorknob. “Holy fuck. Are you okay?”

She blinked, running her hand through her hand again. “I um, no. My legs really fucking hurt.”

“Seriously?” Jeff put the car in park and took off his seatbelt, turning in his seat. “Shit what’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just– oh my god!” She pointed at the window and Jeff jumped, twisting in his seat. His heart skipped a beat when he saw an old man tap on the glass of his window. He swallowed, turning to look at (y/n), who shrugged, eyes like saucers. He turned back to the window, keeping his hand on her leg.

“Um, hi?” He rolled down the window.

“Are you alright?” The old man asked, looking onto the car with a face full of concern. “I’m so sorry! I was on the phone, I wasn’t looking, I- I’m so sorry. Are you two okay?” He leaned forward to get a closer look at (y/n), making Jeff’s grip tighten on her thigh. “Are you okay honey?”

(Y/n) nodded shakily. “Are- are you okay sir?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me sweetheart. Are you sure you two are alright?” The old man was practically shaking as he looked between the two of them, wringing phone between his hands in guilt. He reminded Jeff of his own granddad. “We should call 911.”

Jeff shook his head. His seventeen year old girlfriend was probably still a little buzzed, and he wasn’t sure what his blood alcohol content was. He knew he was okay to drive, and that he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he didn’t want to risk it. “We’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, listen I- I dented the back of your car. I should pay for the damage.” The man reached for his wallet. “I can–”

“That’s okay.” Jeff interrupted, but the man wouldn’t be stopped.

“Give me your home number at least. I’ll get in touch with your parents, we’ll figure this out.”

The man wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Jeff eventually gave in. The two swapped contact information, and Jeff called his parents, explaining what had happened and letting the man talk to them. Jeff turned his attention back to his girlfriend, who was sitting quietly in the passenger seat.

“Are you okay?” He asked, half inside the car, leaning over the driver’s seat to look at her. “You’ve got glass and crap on you.”

“I’m fine.” She nodded.

He couldn’t tear his eyes off the glass littering her lap, the drying beer and streaks of blood from where the glass had cut her up. “Baby–”

“I promise I’m okay.” She nodded again. “My eyes are up here Jeff.” He chuckled softly, more to humour her than anything else, and tore his eyes up to meet hers. They were wide and shiny with nervous tears, and he reached out and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I love you.” He said quietly, trying to put as much meaning as he could into the three words they had been tossing around casually all night. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” She gave him a watery smile, squeezing his hand. “I’m okay. I promise.”


Four hours later, after the cops and ETM had cleared them to go home, and (y/n)’s parents had taken her home to pick up some stuff, she was in his room, lying on his bed. Their parents had allowed them to have a sleepover, the first one they knew about, after what had happened. It wasn’t even a dangerous accident, but everyone was freaked out. (Y/n)’s parents approved of him, and while her dad was obviously not thrilled by the sleepover, all four parents had agreed that the two of them needed this. And while Jeff wanted to convince everyone that he was fine and that nothing was wrong, he wasn’t going to argue with a parent-approved night spent with his girlfriend.

At first (y/n) had stood hesitantly in his doorway, her hands playing nervously with the strap of her duffel bag. “I um, I know we had… other plans for tonight, but,” she sighed.

“Hey,” He laughed softly, getting off the bed and walking over to her, pulling her into a hug with his right arm. His left shoulder was sore from the jerk of his seat belt. “You’re on a crapton of pain killers because of your legs, and I’ve got a sore shoulder, plus, you know, we almost died earlier, so get in my bed and cuddle with me.”

She smiled. “You’re not upset we’re not gonna do anything else?”

“My parents are in the other room with their ears to the door probably, so we weren’t gonna get much done anyway.” He shrugged. When she rolled his eyes and smacked his chest he pulled her tighter against his side and kissed the top of her head. “It’s fine baby. I just wanna hold you.”

“You’re perfect.” She mumbled, looking up at him and smiling. “I love you Jeff.”

He leaned forward and kissed her gently, sliding both arms around her waist and pulling her tight against him, ignoring the twinge of pain through his shoulder. Her hands slid up his stomach, grabbing fistfuls of the loose t-shirt he was wearing and tugging his closer. He felt her shiver against him and pulled away, looking down in concern. Her bottom lip quivered and his eyebrows drew together. “What’s wrong beautiful?”

“I–” Her voice cracked, and tears spilled out of her eyes. She hid her forehead in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I just, I–” her breath hitched. “I just can’t shake this feeling that something really bad just happened.”

“Why?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her close. “Baby we’re fine. Everything’s okay.”

“I know but– but–” she shuddered, a sob slipping free as she slid her arms around his waist.

Jeff walked backwards, pulling her with him until they reached the bed. He sat down, tugging her into his lap, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She buried her face in the space where his neck met his shoulder and cried.

“We’re okay,” he said quietly, running his fingers up and down her spine. “We’re both fine. My shoulder’s gonna be sore for a couple weeks, and you’re gonna be kinda bruised, and probably not be able to wear shorts for a while, which now that I think about it is actually pretty terrible I take back everything I just said this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to us.”

She laughed, sniffling, and wiped her eyes. “Shut up dummy.”

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “See? We’re okay.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I just, I can’t imagine losing you.”

“Well you’re not going to, so problem solved.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m not going anywhere okay baby? And I promise I’m gonna drive safer, and I’m never gonna scare you like this any more okay?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She shook her head, wiggling out of his lap and lying down. She grabbed his snuggle-pillow and wrapped her arms around it. “It was just scary you know? I thought we were gonna hit the concrete, and I could just see it, I could see smoke, and, and blood, and you weren’t moving, and–” her eyes welled up with tears again.

Jeff lay down on his side, propping himself up on his arm. “Come here.”

She moved forward so he could wrap his arm around her waist. “I’m sorry,” she shrugged, sniffling again, “I’m okay, I’ll be fine. I just want you to hold me.”

“Well that I can do.” Jeff smiled softly, laying down on his back. “Oh wait, hang on a second.” She moved back, giving him room to sit up. He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it across the room, then winked at her. She snorted and he wiggled his eyebrows. “How much does this make you feel better?” He asked, flexing his chest and arms.

She laughed softly. “Much better. Thank you baby.”

He lay back down, kissing the tip of her nose, and patted his chest. “Come here to me honey.” He dropped his voice and wiggled his eyebrows again. (Y/n) giggled and rested her head on top of his chest, sliding her hands around his waist and hooking one leg over both of his. He wrapped his arms around her back, one hand reaching up to play with the ends of her hair while the other rubbed soothing circles against her hip. He kissed the top of her head.

“I love you Jeff Atkins.” (Y/n) mumbled sleepily.

He hummed, his chest rumbling. “I love you too beautiful. So much. And I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Cheap Thrills (reader x Bucky Oneshot)

Characters: reader, Natasha, Sam, Clint, Tony, Bucky, OC Mark. 

Summary: A bet within the Avengers becomes a battle of the sexes, with you at the center of it. Who will be victorious and could it somehow help you snag the man of your dreams? 

Song Inspiration: Cheap Thrills by Sia

Warnings: drinking, sexist behavior? Mild violence mentioned, very subtle mention of sexy times. 

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: This was supposed to be a short one, but eh. I’ve been living in the land of heavy angst with You are My Heaven and intense stress in my real life so when this fun, fluffy idea popped up, I ran with it. I’m working on a lot of other stuff so be patient, please! As always, I appreciate your feedback. Love each and every one of you!! 

Masterlist

_________________________________________________________

Originally posted by luvinchris

“Uh uh. No way.”

“It’s true, trust me.”

“You wanna bet?” Clint challenged the redhead across the table from him.

Natasha leaned forward and held his gaze, not an ounce of doubt in her demeanor. “Absolutely.”

It was too early in the morning for this childish banter, you thought from your seated position at the far end of the long kitchen table. You slumped forward, dipping the tea bag in and out of the steaming mug of liquid before you, then setting it on the small saucer beside it. Wrapping your hands around the cup’s warmth, your eyes unfocused as you continued to tune out the blathering of your teammates. The only other person in the room paying them no mind was Bucky, who was slouched in a cozy chair, thoroughly engrossed in a book.

“Now wait a minute,” a third voice joined the argument, “If we’re gonna do this, we gotta level the playing field a little. Nat could do this in her sleep. We need someone a little more…down to earth. How about Y/N?” Sam gestured toward you.

Blinking a few times, you finally broke out of your stupor. “Hey! I was only half listening to your stupidity, but I think I’m offended.”

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GREY AREA. (M) | 01

And just like that, your fate was sealed - because Min Yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. But hell if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.

And sadly, at the time, you didn’t think that your thoughts would become so literal.

“and maybe sometimes we shout the things we never want to say, and whisper to ourselves all the things which our hearts want to hear.” - ma.c.a

pairing: min yoongi x reader 
warnings: mature, heavy angst
genre: soulmate!au, slowburn
words: 4,444
chapter index



And it starts like this:


You’re standing in a party that one of the college fraternities is throwing, music blaring through a pair of speakers so loudly, that the voice of the singer comes out in a buzz. You feel your heart jump with the rhythm leaking into the room. You’re standing in the foyer of the large house, the room filled with too many people to be considered comfortable, bodies bump into you every few seconds, but you can’t find it within you to care.


You watch and laugh as Hoseok, one of your friend’s, does a keg stand. Two boys you don’t recognize, and you’re sure neither Hoseok or Taehyung do either, holding each one of his legs upwards. A number of people have huddled around to cheer him on, screaming out a chorus of, “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”


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anonymous asked:

53 andreil for the prompt thingy???

53: “Darling, stop.” 

They’re in the chilly fluorescent produce section, Neil steering the cart and Andrew catching it whenever he finds chocolate-covered berries or cartons of blended sugary juice to add to the pile. Neil’s got his old jersey conspicuously clashing with their new team’s red sweats, a dark bandana twisted up in his hair. It’s almost closing, and everything feels a bit cool and loose like no one’s really supposed to be awake.

When Neil’s busy bagging carrots Andrew gets his arms folded over the handle of the shopping cart, this stupid black t-shirt all stretched out at the neck, wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, mouth flat. Neil’s sort of fond of Andrew wearing his glasses in public, and he finds himself walking backwards in front of the cart as it’s pushed, openly watching him. Andrew picks the pace up just enough to bump heavily into his shins.

Neil smiles, looping his fingers through his end of the cart so they each have a side, rolling lopsidedly towards the opening of an aisle.

“Stop making things difficult.”

“Let me drive the cart.”

Andrew regards him, fair eyebrows raised. “You’re a control freak.”

Neil laughs, startled. “You let three people total drive your car. You wouldn’t even let Sir or King in our bed for the first three months we had them. You bartered for my secrets when we met, Andrew. ”

“And?” Andrew asks, examining a box of cake mix.

“I don’t think you should be talking about controlling personalities.”

Andrew ignores him, tossing the box in the cart and pushing it back towards Neil. “Go get your diet plan shit.”

Neil makes a face. “It’s our diet plan.”

“I am not willfully drinking skimmed milk.” Andrew crosses to the bags of jumbo marshmallows and Neil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll put it in your hot chocolate.”

“You’ll die,” Andrew says simply.

Neil jostles the cart into Andrew’s side, and he drops the marshmallows back on the shelf, unimpressed. “Meet me at the front in five. I’m getting actual food to sustain actual people.”

Andrew shrugs and turns to wander out of the aisle, dragging the cart the wrong way behind him.

Neil coughs so he doesn’t laugh, senselessly thrilled. He jogs back towards the meat section, threading through coolers and displays until he finds the turkey bacon and lean chicken breasts that they live on. He’s frowning at an especially lifeless beige cut of fish when he’s wrenched around by the arm.

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Dean’s Plaid

Summary: You and Dean do NOT get along. Until the night that you do.

Warning: smut, anger sex

Word Count: 3200

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy some Dean smut! XOXO

There are two things in the world you really hate: plaid and Dean Winchester.

There are plenty of things that you don’t like, that irritate and annoy you, that you’d rather not deal with. But those are the only two things you actively hate. A store with a window display of plaid clothing is enough to get your blood boiling these days. And Dean? Well, you make sure you never think of Dean. That just tailspins your world into a mess of violent anger for days before it wears off.

So the fact that you are currently wearing one of Dean Winchester’s plaid shirts, listening to him hum along with the radio as he drives you to his motel?

Yeah. You’re gonna need something to kill.

Or you could just kill Dean.

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zimbits au wherein a run in with the lax bros leads to a run in with jack

Eric’s walking down the street, latte in one hand and phone in the other, only a very little bit lost on his spontaneous scenic detour to the library. He’s halfway through composing a tweet when several air-horns blast in his direction at once.

He swears, jumps about a mile out of his skin, and drops both his coffee and his phone.

The coffee, sadly, goes up before it comes down, and manages to splash all over his front before spilling across his shoes too. He quickly retrieves his phone from the pavement before it’s similarly attacked by the travelling coffee, and checks it over for damage. He sighs out when he sees it’s only a little scratched on the side of the case, and presses a palm to his chest to try and calm the furious beating of his heart.

He looks over to the house across the way, out of which several, men—actually, boys, Eric’s going to call them after that stunt—are laughing at him, and high-fiving each other. Eric flushes and screws his lips together, telling himself not to cry in front of them, not to give them the satisfaction.

“Hey! Dickfaces!”

Eric looks behind him to see a moustached man flipping the bird to the boys in the house across the street.

“Fuck off to your basement of inadequacy and wine coolers, you absolute shitfuckers.”

The boys don’t take his advice, but rather, blast their air-horns again which causes Eric to hunch up his shoulders.

“Hey, brah, you alright?” The man walks up to Eric and looks him over. “Shit, dude. They got you good.”

Eric sighs out, trying to keep his composure. “It’s alright. Thanks for telling them off.”

“Fucking LAX bros. I live for telling them off. Come on inside and I’ll help you clean up.”

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Smoke And Fire

Summary: Billy refuses to admit his love for Noelle, because she is Steve’s sister. How can he be seen around school with the other Harrington?

Authors Note: this isn’t my first story I’ve written, I use to write all the time back in the myspace days. lol but I have been feeling really nostalgic lately so I figured why not write again? I tend to get really self conscious with my writing so please give me feed back.  There will be 3 parts to this, and if it does well enough I’ll post the other two parts!

[Part 2] [part 3]

                                           

I laid on my side staring at my alarm clock. Quietly counting down the minutes when the boy next to me would wake up, climb out of my window and go back to forgetting my existence. This was a normal occurrence for him, coming to my window late at night to escape the emotional and physical trauma he endured at home. Some nights I would hold him, play with his hair and sing to him as he fell asleep. Other nights, We would have sex, letting him get all his pent up aggression out. The nights always ended the same me holding him singing him to sleep, and in the morning him leaving without a goodbye.

It was even worse at school, he was a grade A asshole, who had it out for my twin brother, Steve. He had already dethroned him from being the “King” of Hawkins High School but that still wasn’t enough. He had to go the extra mile and beat steve to a pulp one night only to get subdued by his little sister max.

———

I stayed behind that night cleaning up the Beyers house, and waiting for Billy to wake up. When he did it was just as unpleasant as I thought it would be.

He sat up rubbing his neck grumbling something incoherently. “Good evening sleepy head” I said making him groan.

“Who the fuck are you? Where’s that little shit at? I can’t go home without her”

I rolled my eyes sitting Ms. Joyce’s copy of Les Miserable on the coffee table crossing my legs under one another. “Max and the kids are with my brother and my nam-“

“Harrington has a sister?” He asked eyeing me with a smirk.I wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Billy Hargrove didn’t know me. Opposite from my brother, I flew under the radar when it came to school. My brother always tried to included me with his friends, who I hated for the most part, so I found solace in the photo lab with Jonathan Beyers.

“My name is Noah. We have six classes together, four of which you are failing, but that’s none of my business” I said standing up. Billy was actually really intelligent, but for whatever reason he dumbed himself down and was on the verge of being kicked out of all his AP classes.

You’re Noah Harrington? I thought Steve had a brother not a sister.” I scrunched my nose.

“Disappointed that I’m not a dude you can beat up like you did Steve are we? Noah is short for Noelle. I go by Noah because it sounds more masculine. It works because creeps like you assume I’m a boy and leave me alone.”

He laughed slightly running his tongue across his bottom lip. Before grabbing a cigarette and placing it between his lips. He lit it laying down with a grunt.

I sighed picking up the book flipping back to the page i was on laying back on the couch.

“I was kidding about thinking you were Steve’s brother. I’m not stupid. I knew who you were.” He said letting out a puff of smoke breaking the 40 minutes of painful silence we had sat in.

“Oh yeah?” I retorted a little more bitchy than I planned for it to be.

“Mmhm. You live in your twin’s shadow. But you don’t really mind it because it’s what you’re use to at home. Your parents love you but you don’t compare to your brother. They’d rather go to his games than see some art contest you have entered with a mediocre picture of a plant. They always talk about how you have to be the responsible one and put too much pressure on your shoulders when they let whatever Steve does wrong slide.” He said making me roll my eyes.

“My parents and my brother love me and are proud of me. Sounds to me like this is coming from experience. You have a twin you’re hiding somewhere? Is he nicer than you are?” I said as he sat up on his elbows.

“She was.”

“Was?” I asked as Billy took a drag of his cigarette.

“She died last year. Car accident.”

I frowned. I could never imagine losing Steve. He was my best friend. And seemed to be the only person in the world that completely understood me aside from Jonathan, who had been spending more time with Nancy Wheeler than me.

We had the twin telepathy down to a science.

So much so that we could sense one another being in danger, which is how I ended up at the Beyers place right as Max stuck Billy in the neck with a needle. Both steve and Jonathan refused to let me get caught up in the upside down stuff, and had me stay behind waiting for Billy to wake up.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” I mumbled.

He didn’t say anything just laid there until he finished smoking his third cigarette in the past hour, standing to his feet losing his balance and catching himself on the wall.

“Hey, hey” I said getting up and catching him by his arm. “You were sedated. So you might want to sit down for a little bit longer until it fully wears off.”

He reluctantly let me help him to the couch him slamming down with a thud as I sat down next  to him. He laid his head back looking over at me. “You know, you’re one of the only girls in school who hasn’t thrown herself at me”

I snorted a laugh picking up my book.

“It’s kind of a bummer because you are easily the prettiest girl in school. And one with an actual personality.”

I felt my cheeks grow warm as a smiled grew on Billy’s face.

“You’re an ass to my brother and almost killed him tonight. My brother is included in the people Max wants you to leave alone. Got it?”

His smiled faded and he rolled his eyes lighting another cigarette.

“Whatever. Where are my keys?” He asked patting himself down looking out the window than back at me when he saw his car missing.

“They took my car!?”

“Yeah…about that. Before you completely lose your cool, don’t. They just had to borrow it for a little while” I said which was technically true.

Billy grumbled something before standing up and walking out the door with me following behind him. “Listen you don’t have to talk to me but, I’m going to need you to stay….please”

He was the last person I wanted to be around if a demadog decided to show up and try and kill us, but at least I wouldnt die alone if it did happen. Being scared was an understatement .

“I need to find Max. Now.” He said as he continued to walk down the Beyers’ drive way. Me following closely behind him. “I didn’t invite you to come Harrington” he said.

I rolled my eyes wrapping my arms around my waste. I wasn’t going to even try and argue with him about staying or me going where ever he decided to look for Max at.

“Just be careful ok?” I yelled as he held up his middle finger to me.

————-

“You go home Stevie. I’ll take Max in Billy’s car and you take the others. Ok?” My brother nodded throwing me the keys to the Camero.

Steve got in his car with the boys while I got in Billy’s with Max. Driving off in the direction Max told me to go in.

“Thank you, by the way. For saving my brother.” I said breaking the silence. “Oh…you’re welcome.  I like you and Steve. You two are cooler and nicer than Billy” She said making me smile.

“Consider yourself my unofficial official little sister.” I said. A smile grew across her face but quickly faded as we both noticed at the same time Billy walking down the street. I pulled over honking at him. “Look who I found” I yelled nodding over to Max.

He looked over angrily as Max climbed in the back seat. He walked over to the drivers side opening the door as I slid over to the passenger side.

“Get out. I’m not taking you home” he said harshly. Max popped her head between the both of us glaring at Billy.

“Need me to remind you of the little conversation we had earlier Billy?” Max grabbed my brother’s nail bat showing it off to him. “This time I won’t miss.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Fine. I’ll take her home. But first i need to get you home before Dad and your mom file a missing person report”

Max turned to me and smiled smugly before sitting back in the seat.

“Sisters?” she said sticking her pinky finger. I hooked mine with hers. “Sisters”

———-

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Hargrove,” I apologized walking up the steps to their house

“I just assumed that Max told you we were together. It was a mistake on my end. The club i’m in at school got assigned an 8th grader to be a big sister to and Max and I was paired up. I helped her with some homework and then we went to get some dinner. Billy found us at the diner so he offered me a ride home. I just wanted to formally introduce myself. I’m Noelle Harrington. Noah, for short.”

“Oh honey, that is a beautiful name. Thank you for taking care of my baby girl. You are welcome here for dinner anytime seeing that you are her big sister at school.” Mrs. Hargrove said with a smile.

I returned one looking down at Max. “Ok, Squish. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Max smiled and nodded ducking into the house her mom following her lead. “It was very nice meeting you, Noah. I better let Billy get you home before your parents get worried” she said leaving Billy and I alone on the front steps.

The ride to my house was silent but i could feel Billy staring at me every so often.

“I’m sorry for hurting Steve like I did.” He said pulling into my driveway.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. You need to apologize to Steve….and Lucus. Listen, I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours but the way you harbor your feelings and emotions is unhealthy. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here for you.” I said getting out of the car.

“Have a good night, Noah” he grumbled peeling out of my drive way

————-

Two days later, Billy started showing up at my house knocking on my window to come in. And I let him, it took almost a full month for him to fully open up to me about his father, which was when he started to spend the night.

This brings us to now, Billy asleep beside me. Four months later. We had become almost best friends, in the way that when none of his school friends were around he was nice to me, but when they were he wasn’t. It kinda sucked, but I let it happen.

I held my breathe as Billy stirred in his sleep and just like clockwork he sat up getting out of my bed and putting last night’s clothes on. I heard my window unlatch and him quietly crawl out shutting it. I waited a good twenty minutes before I could bring myself to get up and get ready for school.

It was time to go back to Billy being the king of Hawkins and me being Steve’s sister.

Centuries in the Making: Part 1

AN: *Loud squeaking noise” This is my first attempt at an Original reader insert, and quite possibly the start of another soulmark universe. Cause, I never do anything half way. Still I’m pretty excited, and happy that this is my first attempt at branching out. Please enjoy, and don’t forget to let me know what you think! 

This is a soulmark AU, so be prepared. This is taking place at the middle of season 2, with a slightly delayed timeline. 



   “You know, eight months ago I would have freaked at coming home and finding two shelves in my refrigerator filled with blood.”

Rebekah grinned at you, “Yes, well, you’ve come a long way. I’m very proud.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the woman, before pulling out a bottle of water and closing the door. “Where’s Hope?”

“Fast asleep like the angel she is.”

This time you can’t resist the urge, you roll your eyes, “Says the woman who refuses to deal with the crying fits.”

You watch her pout, “I’m a vampire. Sensitive hearing and all that. Plus you’re very good with her.”

You stare her down, “You’re spoiled.”

She shrugs, “Guilty as charged.” You say nothing else, choosing to return to your room instead. You have lesson plans to complete, and little time for games. Especially supernatural games. Unfortunately, the supernatural seemed out to get you.

Eight months ago you had been oblivious to the secret world around you. You’d been able to move through the streets without looking for signs of vampires or witches. In fact, the only thing you had been looking for was a roommate. Enter Rebekah Mikaelson.

She had strolled up to your door like she already owned the place, a small infant in her arms. You had gone through the motions of showing her around the apartment, and were ready to show her out after the fourth snarky comment, when she had looked you in the eyes and simply said, I’m staying. That had been the first time you’d been compelled.

The second time came seconds later when she told you to offer your neck, and stay quiet. The fangs had hurt, enough that you had wanted to cry out, but you had found yourself unable to say anything. Her story had come out over the next several weeks. Original vampires. Witches. Evil parents. New Orleans. It had been a lot to absorb. You’d simply been grateful that she hadn’t sunk her teeth into you again.

Still, more often than not you found Rebekah to be more of a pain than a villain. She was lonely and unsure of herself. Conscious of the eyes on her. She reminded you of a middle schooler in that way. Still trying to find out who she was. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was her love for that baby.

The child rarely left her sight, and the only true times you dealt with the crying fits were when she was off feeding, or the supply in the fridge was running low. Other than that you had little interaction with Hope. And you were okay with that.

You spend two more hours completing lesson plans before deciding to call it a night. You retreat to the shower, moving quietly past Rebekah and Hope’s room, before stripping. The water is scalding hot, something you prefer in cooler months. You take your time enjoying the spray before ending the bliss.

You towel dry your hair, and like always, that catches your eye. It’s elegant. Refined. A type of handwriting you don’t see anymore. I’ve waited centuries to hear those words. You tug the towel up so that you can’t see it anymore. There were too many questions there. Too much unknown, and you had more than enough of that at the moment.

You don’t bother with the hair dryer. Instead, you pull on a hoodie and your favorite pajama pants. That’s when you hear it. Glass breaking, things being knocked over, people yelling.

You stumble into the living room to find Rebekah dripping in blood, bodies on the surrounding floor. The veins around her eyes are dark, and second later she’s in front of you. You watch her pupils expand, and the familiar weight of compulsion settles around you, “Take Hope and drive to New Orleans. Stop for nothing. You are to go to a restaurant called Russeus. Ask for Cami. Tell her I sent you.”

As her orders settle on you, more men come through the window. With a growl, she turns to face them, and you run to the baby. She’s awake. Quiet, but awake. You cradle her to you gently, before grabbing the diaper bag and making your way to the car. You run down three flights of stairs before making it to the car.

You strap the baby into her car seat, climb into the driver’s seat and turn the key. The engine comes to life, and you pull out of the garage moments later. It’s an eight hour drive, and by the time you enter New Orleans, you feel as though you’re dying.

By the time you park, you’re painfully aware that you’re dressed only in pajama pants and a sweatshirt. You’re simply grateful you’d had time to slip on a pair of flats before leaving the apartment. The walk to Rousseau’s is short and filled with people. The streets are packed, and the lights are lit, and one glance at Hope shows that that baby is mesmerized by it all.

The restaurant is filled with the smells of cajun food, and makes the fact that you haven’t eaten in nine hours more apparent. You settle the baby carrier onto the bar, and wait to be noticed. The bartender smiles at you, and then peers to look at the baby. Her name tag catches your eyes, and a wave of relief settles over you. Your voice is a bit hesitant, as you ask, “Are you Cami?”

The woman’s smile is easy, “That’s me, how can I help you?”

You take a shaky breath, “My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, Rebekah Mikaelson sent me. She said you could contact the necessary people to help Hope.”

Her eyes go wide, “You know Rebekah?”

“Roommate of eight months. You?”

“Her brother’s psychiatrist.”

You just feel tired, “A vamp with a shrink… that’s…”

She nods, “Trust me, I know. Compulsion?”

You nod, and she scowls before throwing a rag on the bar. “Wait here.” You watch her disappear into the back before re-appearing. She motions towards the door with her head and you follow her. You stick close as she weaves through the people on the streets.

When she goes through a large gate, you follow. She stops in the middle before yelling, “Klaus get out here, right now.”

It’s similar to a magic trick, the way he appears. Or maybe a predator looking for a snack. He stares at you with interest, and you hug the baby carrier closer. His eyes immediately go to it. The snarl of rage comes a moment later, and then you find yourself flying. You hit the far wall, and pain explodes over your body. “Klaus don’t.”

You look up to see him standing over you, the baby carrier safely in Cami’s arms. You whimper when he picks you up using your neck. His hand tightens, and your ears start to ring. From the corner of your eye you see Cami say something. Then, suddenly, his hand is gone, and you suck in as much air as possible.

You collapse against the floor, the palms of your hand scraping against the tile. You look at the newcomer. He’s dressed in a three piece suit that has to cost more than your car. You watch as he studies you for a moment, before crouching down to eye level.

“And why, dear brother have you stopped me from killing this intruder?” You glare at your attacker, before drawing whatever strength you have left, “Rebekah sent me. She gave me Hope, and told me to come here..”

You watch as they both stiffen, and the more brutish one takes a step forward, “What did she just say?” You don’t say anything, and he takes a step forward, and you shrink back. “What did you just say?”

You stutter the words out, “Rebekah sent me. She gave me Hope, and told me to come here.”  

A second later, you feel a finger brush against your cheek, as the man crouching in front of you brushes hair away from your face. His voice is a whisper, as he says “I’ve waited centuries to hear those words.”

pre-zimbits, in which bittle is drunk and jack is very patient (and a jerk with a great ass)

“I can’t believe I didn’t stay for Senior Week last year.”

Bittle was sprawled across the grass in the little cemetery on the other side of the soccer field. Jack wasn’t entirely sure how he got here, but he was very drunk and very alone, and everyone else was very drunk and not answering Bittle’s texts.

“Having fun?” Jack asked, hands in his pockets.

Bittle pulled himself to his feet, using a headstone for balance. “Mmph, sorry there, Mr. Dead Dude. Don’t haunt me for this.”

Bittle was drunker than Jack feared. He stumbled over, eyes glassy and unfocused. There was no doubt Jack would be cleaning vomit tonight; Bittle was so buying him Annie’s tomorrow.

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lisa-in-the-sky  asked:

I'M HAVING THE WORST DAY so I would lovvvve to read stucky "it's 2am and I'm drunk and need salt for my fries and I know you're awake so OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR" 😁😁

“You need /what/?” Steve asks the handsome man who has lived across the hall for three weeks.

“Salt,” the man says, holding a soggy McDonald’s bag in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He is tearing up. “I need salt.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

“To exorcise demons,” the man says, then winces. “No, that sounded so much cooler in my head, but I can’t lie to you. I have all of these french fries but none of them are salty. I need salt for them, or else the world may end.” He pauses, then amends, “/My/ world may end.”

Steve gives him a once-over. The guy from across the hall is typically put-together. Steve has only ever seen him in a suit, with his hair slicked back. Now, he’s stubbled, wearing a t-shirt so worn that Steve can practically see his nipples through it, and a leather jacket. He also smells like a brewery.

Honestly? Steve kind of likes him better this way.

“How many fries will you give me?”

The man’s eyes go wide, like this question has caused him actual thought and, frankly, hurt. He groans. “Five!” he shouts. Steve holds back a laugh. “I will give you five french fries in exchange for your salt.”

“Ten,” Steve counters.

The man’s mouth opens, like he genuinely cannot believe that Steve would have the audacity to ask this of him. Steve can barely restrain his laughter. Then he shuts it, straightens up, and nods with firm resolve. “Fine,” he says, “but only because they are getting cold.”

“‘Course,” Steve says, then opens the door wider. “C’mon in.”

He’d feel more self-conscious about the way his apartment looked if he thought that the guy from across the hall would remember this in the morning. As it is right now, he doesn’t feel self-conscious in the least, and is actually sort of excited for his fries.

“So what’s the occasion?” Steve asks. “Why all the fries?”

“My fiancé dumped me for a secret agent.”

Admittedly, that wasn’t what Steve was expecting. “Sit,” he says, pointing to the couch. The guy from across the hall sits. “I’m Bucky,” he says, then adds with wide eyes, “and I’m really sad.”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, “and I’ll get the salt.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says, then starts to cry.

— —

The next morning, there’s a knock on the door.

Steve opens it, blurry-eyed and tired. “Hi,” he says, when he sees it’s Bucky. “You feeling okay?”

“No,” Bucky says, “but I brought you a present.”

“What?” Steve asks.

Bucky holds out a cylinder of Morton’s salt with a red bow on top. “I’m sorry for last night,” he says.

Steve can’t help but smile as he takes the salt. “It wasn’t a problem, really. Made my night a lot more interesting.”

Bucky looks down, straightens out his shirt. “You’re really chill,” he says. “And I know I’m a mess, but I appreciate you letting me into your apartment and everything.”

“We could do it again the next time you have a break down,” Steve suggests, then adds, “or whenever, really.”

Bucky looks up. “Yeah?” he asks, looking kind of cute and shy beneath long lashes.

Steve shrugs. “Sure,” he says. Then, “But the fry tax goes up if you’re in a good mood. I’ll need my own order.”

Bucky groans, Steve laughs, and together, they empty that new container of salt.

In the Heat of the Moment

Fandom: Sanders Sides
Pairings: Prinxiety (if you squint hard enough)
Words: 1,093

A/N: This idea was created by my great friend @availe so please go read her comic version here too!

Prompt: It’s hot. But Virgil refuses to take off his jacket.

-

It was stifling in the commons area today.

Thomas had been asked to go hiking with some friends and since Logan had planned a day off in between videos, Thomas agreed to go with his friends. Living in Florida, there wasn’t much to the areas where people hiked or camped, but the one major thing that sucked most of all about the idea: it was hot.

Not just the hot that you need a drink of water to cool you off, but more like the air around you felt wet, and the longer you stood outside the more you just felt like dying inside. The heat sucked all of the coolness off your body the instant you walked outside.

Because Thomas himself was in a hot environment, the sides themselves were also feeling the heat.

Luckily for Roman, Patton, and Logan, their clothing was pretty thin, just a small fan blowing towards them was enough to keep them happy. However, Virgil was another story. He had hold himself up in his room claiming that the commons area was just too bright for him that day.

Virgil paced around his room, trying to fan himself with his hands but it wasn’t nearly enough. He absolutely refused to take off his clothing - it felt as if it was a part of who he was now, especially after his change up. The hoodie was very thick though and adding onto his long sleeve undershirt, Virgil was sweating pretty profusely.

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Guys my age

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

Warnings: Lots of smut, protected though, but smut. Wrap it before ye tap it.

A/N: My baby @imaginedaily asked me if I could write a little something for her and of course I said yes because she’s my baby and I love her and I’m guessing I’m a bit gay – okay, A LOT hehe <3 Inspired in Hey Violet’s “Guys my Age


Originally posted by mayawolf

You got out of the shower with a white towel wrapped around your body. Andy Black blasting in the background, as loud as your neighbors allowed. Dancing around at the rhythm of the music, you took out clothing from the drawers and started sliding it on your frame.

Your music faded away and in its place, your ringtone rang. You looked at it and ignored the caller. It had been about four weeks since you’d been ignoring your lame ex; he wanted to get back together with you because he missed you very much but you felt completely disgusted by the idea. Someone told you guys your age were idiots and even though he seemed normal at first, he proved to be everything you were told he would.

Zipping up your leather jacket and turning the keys, you hit downtown to see what could the night life offer a single lady such as yourself. You came across a nice-looking place with some live music and seats near the stage to enjoy the music while being seated and drinking. As you made your first order, you couldn’t help but to look at the guy a few tables away from you. He was kinda hot in a rough way.

After exchanging glances at one another, he made the first move of changing seats next to you. His name was Clint, or so he said. Much older than you but not enough to be an old guy.

“And what is a nice girl like you, doing in a place like this?” He asked before sipping from his drink.

“What can I say?” you shrugged, “my ex-man done me wrong and here I am spending my nights talking to hot but old strangers.” A flirty smile drew on your lips.

“Ouch,” Clint took his hand to his heart in an offended manner, “don’t hurt your old man like that, kid.”

After some enriching music, conversation and drinks, you found that that Clint used to work in a circus and that he was more or less skilled at shooting arrows. You were rather impressed with that and you asked him to please show you how to shoot one, and after paying for the drinks, he walked with you back to his place which was not far from the bar.

The night was a bit chilly, but not enough to make you shiver. His conversation was just as fun and as relaxed as he was inside the bar with all the noise and the people around you. At first you thought he was one of those guys who liked pick up young girls because he couldn’t afford to be with one his age, but he seemed more like the guy who actually didn’t care if he was with one or not. Like he didn’t care at all of anything around him, really.

His apartment was entirely neat, and even cleaner than yours. You wandered around his living room while he took out some beers from the fridge for you to drink. You saw some pictures with him and two children, and lots and lots of other people.

“If it’s not too personal, who are the kids in these pictures?” You pointed at one of the pictures.

“My sister’s kids.” He replied, getting closer and handing you your freezing can. “Good kids.”

“And I’m sure they love their uncle Clint, right?” You mocked. “That’s sweet.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, rising his hands along with him, “all people tend to love me the minute they meet me so… we all win here, right?” He opened his can and took a long sip from it. You saw how his Adam’s apple bobbed and suddenly he became even hotter than how you pictured him. You decided to take a good sip too and let yourself enjoy his company.

Two beers later you were on the rooftop trying to shoot arrows, but it was useless, you were not only bad at it, you were terrible; not a single one hit the bull’s-eye, nonce. He, on the other hand, was incredibly good. He was so damn good that he didn’t need to look at his target. He looked at you and kept talking while shooting.

It was like watching that Brave scene when Merida rejects the sons of the lords, only 10 times cooler.

“You have to relax. You have to be the bow.” He tried to explain. “Try screaming, at the top of your lungs,” you did as he told you but you only ended up with a sore throat, “did that work?” you shook your head. “I didn’t think so,” he rolled his eyes, “ok, now try shaking?” you did, but you only felt even more ridiculous and he tried hard not to laugh at you.

“Oh god, I’m done with this.” You huffed and handed Clint his bow and the arrow he gave you to try.

“No, come on.” He said. “Take my hand–” Clint reached out his free hand and you reluctantly accepted it— “now close your eyes and try to breathe with me.” His voice was soft, and it took you a moment before you started imitating what he was doing. You felt your chest expanding with the air income and with your hands in his, you actually felt much more relaxed.

He slowly got closer and closer, until you had his breath brushing your lips. Your mouth hung a bit open when you felt the proximity of his. It was pure gut instinct that took over your senses, and in a split second you were crashing your lips on his and pulling from his jacket to make the distance disappear.

His strong hands held your waist tightly, and his thumbs circled the uncovered spots of your skin. The bow and quiver fell onto the concrete floor and the night suddenly became hotter. His mouth molded perfectly with yours and his tongue gently slid to intertwine with yours. Somehow, you were not very interested in shooting arrows anymore.

He carried you back to his apartment and closed the door by pushing you onto it. You got rid of your jacket and top and Clint followed in suit, revealing a scarred but ridiculously well-defined torso. You went for his lips again as he walked with you somewhere in his apartment, soon you realized it was his bedroom.

He gently placed you over the mattress and started placing soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He clearly knew what he was doing and you understood why people kept telling that messing around with boys your age was a waste of time. Older men definitely knew what to do, where to do it, when to do it and how to do it. His pace was soft, unlike your ex’s who wanted to get shit done ASAP; oh no, Clint took his time with you, making you enjoy the pleasures of being with a man with experience.

Your breath got caught in your windpipe when you felt a pair of calloused hands near the valley of your breasts, he slowly pulled down the fabric of your bra, giving you enough time to react and tell him to stop, but you said nothing, and your silence only indicated the permission he had. You helped Clint by freeing yourself from the straps and unclasping it from behind. Just a little help.

“I could that on my own, (Y/N).” He teased, keeping his lips glued to the skin of your chest. “I am not like the guys your age.”

“Since you’re a bit older—” you gasped— “I thought you might need a little help, right?”

“Well, I appreciate that.” He looked up at you and nodded.

He kissed and sucked on the hot skin of your breasts; Clint also spread your legs wider to lay comfortable in between them and use them as support once his lips carried on their way down to the hem of your jeans. He quickly unmade the button and pulled the fabric down your legs.

You supported yourself with your elbows on the mattress as he pulled away your wet underwear with his teeth. His hot breathing was a terrible teaser and it was amazing, because in your life someone had taken such care of you. His tongue did wonders and you were sure that you were tearing up his quilt with your tight grip. Hope he didn’t mind.

In a matter of seconds, you were blissfully screaming the Lord’s name and pushing Clint’s head closer to you. It took you a while you fathom how good he was just by eating you out. You stared at the ceiling, trying hard to catch your breath.

“Better than younger guys?” he savored his own lips, smirking wickedly at you.

“Oh, most certainly. Guys my age don’t know how to treat me right.”

“It’s only about to get better.” He unmade his jeans, revealing a glorious shaft under the tight underwear, and before throwing them away, he picked up a condom from his side table. At least he didn’t need to be told to fucking use one. You made a mental note on the various reasons why older guys were better than guys your age.

He positioned himself in between your legs, teasing your entrance with his length and slowly pushed in. He placed his hands on both sides of your head and lowered his upper body to distract you from the terrible stretching feeling by placing soft kisses on your lips. You were rather confused by his love demonstrations, was this a plain fuck or was he… being tender?

You arched your back from the mattress and held on to his broad shoulders as he pounded harder each second. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels on his butt. You loved to hear when he grunted trying to reach a deeper point in you; he was not loud, and compared to you he was a bit silent, but the little moans that spilled on his lips sounded like heaven.

If your previous orgasm was amazing, this one was indescribable. You couldn’t recall coming so loud and so joyfully. You surrendered on the mattress while he helped you ride out the orgasm while reaching his own. You had never been the one to come first, let alone a guy waiting for you. Well, he was not a random guy, he was a man.

After pulling out, he placed a sweet kiss on your forehead, and headed to the bathroom. You started picking up your clothes to get quickly dressed and leave, but before you could walk away from the bedroom, he appeared in his pajamas (that only included a pair of shorts) and leaned on the door frame.

“You’re not staying for breakfast?” He asked. “I mean, it’s a bit late for you to go out there.”

“I can call an Uber.” You shrugged.

“I’m a bit of a sucker for cuddling,” he admitted, shrugging and walking to the bed, “why don’t you accept my invitation for breakfast and stay the night?” He patted the bed with a huge grin on his face. “You can take a shirt from the drawer; the first one.”

You sighed and did as he told. He was a bit right, it was too late to call an Uber and breakfast sounded like a great idea. You searched for a shirt you liked and that you could keep. A purple one with a red, white and blue bull’s-eye in the middle. It was big enough to cover your butt and you loved the way it looked on you. You even got whistles and cheering from Clint as you did a bit of modeling. When you were about to close the drawer, you found some dark, leather-looking clothing.

“What’s this?” You asked, holding the sort of sleeveless vest.

“Oh, it’s my uniform.”

“Circus uniform?” You asked again, folding the garment and closing for good the drawer. You slid under the covers and cuddled next to Clint.

“No, more like avenging uniform. I’m Clint Barton, by the way.” He smiled, kissed the top of your head and then called it quits by turning off the lights.

marino-kun  asked:

Do you take prompt? What about Stiles having a secret crush on Derek but when saw him, taking care Scott's son, he fell in love.

I’m not much of a kid fic person, so this took me a while, but I tried. Hopefully it’s kind of what you were angling for!

*

“Do you think I’m ready for fatherhood?” Stiles asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He’s not freaking out about this. He’s not.

Boyd says flatly, “Stilinski, you’re twenty-one years old. You’re supposed to know how to use a condom by now.“

Stiles’ hand spasms and he accidentally squirts a huge glob of ketchup on his mound of curly fries. Fuck. He has the ideal ketchup-to-curly-fry ratio down to a science, and this is not it. “No, absolutely not what I meant. It’s just. Did you know Derek had a kid?”

Boyd meditatively takes a bite of his burger. “No. But the nice thing about Derek is that he doesn’t go in for personal talk.”

Stiles shoots him a weird look. Of course Boyd would think that was nice. Stiles, though, has been trying to break down Derek’s walls even just a little bit for months now—sitting with him in class, sharing his notes, studying with him in the library and getting late-night waffles together afterwards, little by little pulling Derek out of his shell. He’d thought he was getting somewhere, but obviously not, not if Derek failed to mention this kid even existed.

Which he does. Stiles knows, because he can see him right now, over by Prof. Martin’s pool. Apparently his name is Jamie.

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A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1910s

Irma Vep in Les Vampires (1915-6)

[Image Description: Photo of me dressed up and posed as Irma Vep (Musidora) from Les Vampires (1915-6). I’m wearing black from head to toe standing with a defiant posture in front a wall with floral wallpaper.]

The Movie

Louis Feuillade’s Les Vampires (1915-6) serials were made at a time when the cinematic forms of genres were crystallizing into the conventions we know all too well today. Les Vampires is a macabre crime-drama serial, often retroactively labeled horror.

The film follows Philippe, a newspaper reporter, as he investigates a shadowy gang of criminals called The Vampires. Starting with a decapitated police inspector, each successive episode sees Philippe get closer to unraveling the labyrinthine world of The Vampires while alliances shift and the body count rises. Irma Vep (Musidora) is a member of the gang who moonlights as a cabaret singer. Over the course of the series, Irma emerges as the true lead, though she never repents or renounces her life of crime; a quintessential vamp.

Derided by contemporary critics, but beloved by audiences, Les Vampires is classic pulp. One film critic expressed his feelings toward Les Vampire thusly in a 1916 issue of Hebdo-Film:

“That a man of talent, an artist, as the director of most of the great films which have been the success and glory of Gaumont, starts again to deal with this unhealthy genre, obsolete and condemned by all people of taste, remains for me a real problem.”

It’s understandably divisive that Feuillade ignores accepted filmmaking “rules” here and there. But the reading that Feuillade’s rule-breaking is strategic is certainly valid. The viewing experience is destabilized to create tension but not in ways that sacrifice narrative clarity. Feuillade will subtly skirt the rules by making unexpected cuts or switch within a scene from sequences that follow (what would later be termed) “invisible editing” standards to flat tableaus. Taken together, the audience is unsettled without necessarily knowing why. (Yes, 1915 audiences were already accustomed to these standards of visual storytelling!) It’s a great companion to the macabre events depicted in the films. A century later, The Witch: A New England Folktale (2015), directed by Robert Eggers, employs some of the same strategies.

I know seven hours of silent-film viewing might seem daunting but, unlike other serials from the era, Les Vampires’ installments are fairly self-contained stories. (My favorite is the fifth episode “Dead Man’s Escape.”) 


The Look

Musidora’s Irma Vep (yes, that is an anagram for vampire) is an archetypal vamp, in characterization and in aesthetic. Irma’s a master of disguise who can assume practically any role to further the aims of The Vampires and her loyalties change almost as often as her costumes.

The Clothes

The iconic Irma Vep look is her black catsuit, which is even referenced in a ballet about The Vampires within the film. Irma is a clear predecessor of Catwoman (not the only inspiration Batman pulls from Feuillade’s crime serials btw). 

For the closet-cosplay (or work-appropriate version), I went for an all black outfit with lace-up dress shoes.

I don’t own a black catsuit, so I made do with black tights and a black turtleneck top. Planning ahead for the costume, black hoods are easily found on amazon. I, however, don’t have a hood in my closet, so I put another pair of (clean) black tights on my head and simply wrapped the legs around my neck and tucked the ends into the back of my sweater. Voila!

The Makeup

Musidora’s Irma makeup is only occasionally as dramatic as other film vamps. When Irma’s not performing on stage, her makeup is more muted, a great basis for a wearable closet-cosplay makeup look.

For the base, I applied an even layer of powder a shade slightly lighter than my skin tone and concealed under my eyes. (Obviously Musidora would’ve been wearing more face makeup and you can too! I stuck with powder to stay true to the era. ) I didn’t bother with blush or contouring since I didn’t find it necessary.

The eye makeup is dramatic and emphasizes the shape her eyes. Since this is meant to be a more wearable look, I used brown shadow create an elongated smoky eye, (1.) blending a light layer from the lashline to just below my eyebrows and smudging what’s left on the brush all along my lower lid. (2.) Then I built up the shading around the lashline by using a wet brush in the same shadow. (3.) Then I added a little extra darker brown shadow very close to the lashline. Since this look isn’t much about the lashes, I just painted on a layer of black mascara. 

If you think this makes your eyes look too small, run liner in your lower waterline that’s either white (more striking) or a bit lighter than your skin-tone (more subtle).

Her eyebrows are slightly rounded without much of an arch, roughly mirroring the shape of her eyes. I used a brown pencil to get the shape and softened it a bit with a cooler brown powder.

As for lips, you may be tempted to go for a purple-y wine shade, but based on how contemporary cameras captured such detail around her lips, I’d wager Musidora used a medium shade. Just dark enough to create a definitive shape. Musidora’s lips are on the smaller side so, think underlining instead of overlining to make straight, sharp lines on both upper & lower lips. I carved out the lip shape with cream concealer then used a deep pink lipstick shade.

Shifting to the FULL COSTUME, you can follow the same basic steps but switch to dark gray and black for the eye makeup. I went into the waterline with black liner but, as with the daytime look, if you think it’s shrinks your eyes too much, line the waterline with white or a neutral shade just a bit lighter than your skin tone. Block the eyebrows out with a more solid line rather than keeping them natural. For the lips, I also went darker to match the high-contrast effect of the eye makeup.


Hope this inspires you all in putting together your costumes this year! 

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anonymous asked:

any new sterek highschool au?

Well, our absolute favs are under our High School AU tag but, because we don’t want you to lack anything, here is a rec of doom (there’s more than 30 fics here) with all the other fics I’ve read in the last few months/years! - C

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Just Pretend by dragon_temeraire

Stiles tells his dad he has a boyfriend. The problem is, he doesn’t actually have one.


Something New Is Going to Happen by dragon_temeraire

Stiles accidentally discovers that their school mascot is super cute.


All the broken hearts in the world still beat by dragon_temeraire

Stiles totally needs to make Lydia Martin jealous. Yeah. And his best chance is to convince star lacrosse player Derek Hale to (fake) date him.


Smile On The Sidelines by clotpolesonly

Derek was not pining.

Not to say that he didn’t miss Stiles, didn’t want to be with him at that moment (or literally any moment, to be quite honest), but he wasn’t one of those obnoxious clingy people who lost track of the world as soon his boyfriend was out of his sight.

It was just a basketball game anyway.


“Five Days in Detention” (A Future Song by Stiles Stilinski) by alisvolatpropiis

It’s still preseason, sure, but he needs to be practicing. He led the team to the State semifinals last year, and he’s determined to not only make it to the finals this year, but to win the title. He should be on the field right now, practicing his play calls and prepping for next week’s season opener against Saint Pius.

And he can’t do that if he’s wasting his time in detention with these losers. There are a couple of burnouts lazing over some seats by the window, one kid with his face on a desk, hood over his head, and a few Goth kids are sitting in the back corner, looking surly and morose. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you didn’t listen to such shitty music, he thinks, turning towards his usual seat in the back of the room.

He pauses for the briefest of moments when he sees who’s already sitting there, in the second-to-last row, black-clad limbs spread out, acoustic guitar in his lap, long fingers casually plucking at the strings.

Stiles Stilinski.


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