luck in the sky

Confession rehearsal

A/n: in which Marinette lies to Adrien, daily

The sounds of the city have become a muted thing, all she can hear is the rushing of her heartbeat, a crazy lub dub that fills her sight with stars.

Or maybe that’s just because she’s forgetting to breathe again.

Even the buffeting wind that encircles them is oddly quiet, a blessedly cold caress against her flushed cheeks.

But he’s here. His eyes are wide and curious and the prettiest shade of green. Almost exactly the color of sunlight drifting through leaves.

And she’ll lose her focus if she thinks anymore, because in stark contrast to his eyes, his smile is comforting. It’s a soft, little thing of warmth and encouragement.

Her reality cements itself again when Chat Noir gives her the most earnest thumbs up, the material of his suit is so blatantly loud as he shifts awkwardly.

She gathers up all the courage settled into her dots, the thing that’s decidedly a part of Ladybug and not Marinette.

Her cheeks burn and the words fall out with a vague rush of relief. She shuts her eyes, lets her dry lips stretch and contort to shape what she needs to say.

“Sorry, I know it’s really sudden and all…but I…I really, really like you. For a long time…a-actually…oh god.”

Her eyes are still screwed shut, and this time the stars she sees are from that rather than lack of air. She wonders if she can make a wish on these ones, considering Paris is too bright to ever see real ones.

His soft laughter causes that same familiar pain to lance through her, she wrings her hands in agitation and irritation mixed with all her affection tinges her words.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh.” She chides, closing the distance between them, and with a strangely Herculean effort, punches him casually on the shoulder.

He chuckles a bit more, rubbing at his arm.

“I’m not…not at you…not exactly, Ladybug. It’s just you always close your eyes. It looks really painful. But at least you didn’t call him ‘beautiful boy’ this time around.”

He seems to notice her underlying discomfort and thinks she’s genuinely still worried about this night’s rehearsal. He takes it in the way she wants him to.

(And in the way she really doesn’t.)

And like always, he makes her confidence a priority. His encouragement is the farthest thing from false.

(Even if it hurts…oh so much…that she’s practicing these confessions for some other person.)

He places his hands on her small shoulders, his smile is that a little more mellow, a whole lot more sweet as he looks down at her.

He thinks that she should really keep her eyes open during her confession. Because they’re such a starkly bluebell blue, that he thinks, no matter who she confesses to with those shining bright eyes, they’ll say yes.

He would in a heartbeat. Or less.

But her feelings aren’t for him. There for some mystery person. Someone who makes her stutter and devolve back into the adorable politeness that was his classmate…

“Marinette…you should really have more faith in yourself. Honestly, you’re ready. You’ve been ready to make that confession for a while now. I don’t think we need to practice every day now.”

She vehemently shakes her head, and her eyes are narrowed in dogged refusal to listen to him.

“I need more time. Maybe on…Christmas of next year.”

“You really…really need to see that you’re already there, Marinette…and that’s like,” He takes a moment to tally up the time, before humming in frustration. “That’s twenty months away. You can’t keep putting this off.”

But there’s this sick twisted part of him that wants her to feel just a little unsure. That wants her to keep fake confessing to him…just so he can pretend for a few more nights that the girl he loves, loves him too.

Still, her uncertainty runs deep. It seems to be a part of her own bones, lacing through her just as surely as her kindness does.

He can’t promise that the object of her affections will return her feelings…but he can promise her that she’ll be fine if they don’t. After all, he’s currently an expert on an unrequited love. Except she’s got a lot more gumption that he does and she’s been practicing.

She’s still shaking her head, although a bit dizzy by now and he sees the edge of mischief curling her lips.

He moves his hands to cradle her cheeks, thumbs laid just over the edge of her mask. It takes effort not to move his fingers, not to trace the planes of her precious face.

But he does it, and she’s still trying to shake her head in jest, straining gently against his careful hold.

“You’re the worst bobble head ever.” He snorts, and tries to catch her gaze with earnest joy. “But no matter what you want to do, you’ll be great. You can mess up. It’s totally fine. Whatever happens, it wasn’t you. That person just wasn’t…the right one at that time.”

She stops shaking her head long enough to catch the seriousness of his tone, and he has to look away before those pretty blues drown him in curiosity.

Because under no circumstances will he allow their friendship to be ruined because he couldn’t control his emotions.

His hands fall away quickly from her, fiddling with the trailing end of his tail as he finishes his point.

“You’ve…you got this, Marinette.” He says gently, and even beyond her Ladybug suit, he sees the way his encouragement helps. The way she stands a little bit taller. The way the energy of her hope seems to make even her ribbons perk up a bit.

“Thanks…Adrien. It really…it really means a lot. I’m so happy.” She answers back…and somehow she doesn’t sound entirely truthful.

She doesn’t sound happy, but Chat decides to attribute that to lingering uncertainty.

(And for once, she wishes her cat was more observant.)

But the night devolves into a gentle, easy conversation. Ending with him scribbling down the answers to the physics homework for her with a half hearted complaint.

“These only cover your butt for the homework. You’re actually going to have to learn the concepts for the test.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“So what if I take the path of least resistance?” She remarks, picking her away from around the chimney stack and beginning to swing her yoyo to begin her journey home.

“Did you just make a joke about circuits? Ohm my god….” He deadpans, his grin turning into one that is absolutely shit-eating.

She laughs sweetly, and waves at him over her shoulder…eager to leave before he catches the harsh beating of her heart.

(And he watches her arc through the sky, a streak of red luck breaking through the winter haze with his heart in his throat. His fingers still tremble, regretting everything.)

She knows she’s being entirely selfish.

She knows she’s being entirely stupid.

But there was a culmination of circumstances that had lead to her current conundrum

And that word happened to start with a C too. Chat Noir..who was Adrien Agreste…who as Chat Noir..

The reveal is inconsequential. How it happened is anticlimactic at best and underwhelming at worst.

She had pieced it together before him. It had been an amalgamation of overly specific puns and a shared reference that only the two of them could have known.

He’d found her out after they’d both gone into the same broom closet to transform…the strangest of liminal spaces encasing two confused heroes and two giggling kwamis.

Another story for another time.

For now, what matters is that the reveals had lead to a better friendship. A relationship the spans both sides of their coins. A person with whom they could share everything.

Well, almost everything. She can’t very well tell Adrien that she’s loved him since day two. She can’t tell him that now her first love and her almost love have coalesced into one wonderfully flawed and dorky boy.

So she lies. Sort of.

She tells him that she likes someone in school.

He asks if he knows them.

She shrugs and says she thinks so.

He asks about their hobbies and what they look like.

She resorts to nauseating poetry to throw him off.

Eyes the color of la Seine in winter. Hair that is woven from ambrosia. A smile made of sunbeams.

He laughs it all off, in a way that’s too easy…to casual for her to even fathom that he feels anything other than amusement.

She’s noticed…a miniscule change…but after the reveal, he’s less flirtatious as Chat. A lot more laid back and maybe just the tiniest bit more sarcastic.

A mark of friendship…something blessed and cursed at the same time.

So when she confesses, she’s not lying. She tells him everyday in various iterations how much she loves him…and he still has no idea she’s confessing to him.

It’s painful, but it’s a hurt of her own making.

Except for now…today is the day. She won’t lie anymore, because unfortunately she’s noticed the growing numbers of Valentine’s he’d received last month.

Because she’s noticed how much more at ease he is with girls that fawn over him and how much more familiar he is with everyone in class.

Because one day they’ll graduate and one day Hawkmoth will be defeated and her pride is stubborn enough not to let her confession happen because a man with a butterfly obsession threatens to throw her life into chaos.

It’s the same scene. The same cloudy haze and the same bright city.

The same stars she sees in her sight because she’s not breathing right, but she’s got no more time.

She’s silent for a bit, and it’s enough to prompt the usual encouragement.

“Hey…I’m really cheering for you.” Tumbles from his mouth when she feels it break.

Despite her months of practice, she still screws her eyes shut and practically shoves out her confession.

“Sorry I know I lie all the time, but I’ve lo..liked you for a long time…and I don’t want to hide anymore. I know I’ve messed up everything…I know you might not like me back, but I really…I really needed to tell that to you, Adrien.”

It’s only now that the volume has returned. The loud rushing sounds of traffic float up from below, the wailing of a boat horn in the distance…the brief, choked laughing that comes from him.

Beyond her vulnerability, anger and hurt make her eyes fly open. Make her fingers curl into fists and make her open her mouth to tell him to please realize that she’s being serious, but…

He stands there with a giant smile, a boy made a little bit of laughter and a little bit of tears, as he says-

“I love you too.”

bloodofwinter  asked:

Do you know any fics where Dean is openly bisexual from the beginning and flirts with Cas?

Here are a few mostly fluffy fics that fit the bill!

I. Openly bisexual!Dean with lots of flirting:

II. Closeted bisexual or bicurous!Dean:

For more fic recs, check out the following tags: bartender!deanbicurious, secret affair and coming out


Luck would have it that a very nicely formed super cell popped up out of nowhere right near my house. further luck would have it that it was almost magic hour as I began to chase it across the prairie, watching it suck up moisture and cycle from shape to shape protected from collapse by a good updraft. It started pulling the universe out of shape very briefly where every thing in the sky is drawn to it. 

The luck ran out though as it got broken off from its feeder clouds just as it was achieving mothership status. All magical with multiple layers and stretching time and space in the way only few storms can. I didn’t get into good position till she was already in the death throws but it still filled me up. still quenched that need to see something magnificent and awe inspiring. 

I’m going on a little overnight road trip today so I expect there will be a flurry of perfectly formed, wonderfully photogenic, non-harming tornados right by my house in my absence. 

Lana Del Rey

I’m glamorous
Dangerous, but I’m crazy
I’m gonna leave you, he said you’re not a real girl
You’re like a cartoon, all caught up in this fame game
Yo, good luck, good luck, good luck
And may all the stars in the sky bow down to you
We’re through

Yuanfen - Part 11

Characters - Bucky x Reader, Steve, Tesla

Word Count -  2023

Warnings - Language, Smut, idk…crying during sex is that a thing?

A/N - Someone finally gets laid. I haven’t written smut in MONTHS so it’s probably horrible but I tried. Please let me know what you think because I crave attention.

Yuanfen Masterlist

Steve was left staring at the back of your head as you walked away with Bucky. He thought he was doing the right thing; getting you back into work, feeling the motivation take over the need to lounge around on your couch. Ultimately, as he watched Bucky’s fingers tangle with yours, he realized that he’d gone about things the wrong way. You were more than just his boss, you were his best friend. Some days you were the only person he could turn to and he cared about you deeply.

A lump formed in his throat as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes found the pavements, willing the tears back into their ducts. As if his luck couldn’t get any worse, rain started pouring from the sky, soaking through the dirty blond locks on his head.

“I don’t want any trouble, papi chulo,” Tesla called across the counter that her elbows rested on.

Keep reading

their first kiss probably happens when baze and chirrut are sitting together somewhere and chirrut is talking animatedly about something or the other and for a moment baze is overcome with adoration for that skinny, reckless fool and leans over to silence him mid-sentence and it’s somehow the most natural thing he’s ever done and so worth it for the finger chirrut raises to his upper lip and his astonished eyes as he looks at baze like he’s hung the stars in the sky

lupanaoflaminar  asked:

Hey! Have you heard of this movie being made by Silver Sky Studio called Wolf? It's an all-volunteer production to showcase wolves in a more positive light. It's not released yet but I thought it might interest you!

Hello, thank you for the heads up. How cool that the proceeds go to wolf conservation. Good luck to you and all the other volunteers!

 For people interested:

anonymous asked:

Would Mr. Min and Hoseok ever do face masks together like Yoongi and Hobi did in that Vlive? Or maybe the better question is how drunk and depressed would Mr. Min have to be to agree to that lmao

God dammit.  Okay.  So I fully intended on finishing Watch Me tonight but then I saw this ask and the ideas started turning.  You didn’t even ask for a drabble but…the wine started flowing and the ideas wouldn’t stop…so enjoy this.

Keep reading

‘River on the Rise’ by Debra Blake for Vegetarian Times, March 1988 (Part I)

Film Star River Phoenix says being a vegetarian is the most important role he’ll ever play. 

In Japan they adore him. The teenagers call out to him when he comes to promote one of his films: “Rio! Rio!” they chant. It is their nickname for him. They think he’s the next James Dean. And boy, does he have the looks for it. But smoldering looks and shirt-off-the-shoulder poses aren’t what River Phoenix is all about, and he gets a little embarrassed when he comes off that way. The 17-year-old’s dark clothes aren’t meant to impress. His canvas and rubber high-top boots are unexceptional. Still, it’s hard sometimes to resist just gazing at his blonde-streaked pretty head against the blue Florida sky, or wondering how he lucked into those dark eyebrows.

But he calls you back to what he’s saying, to his simple intensity. “Vegetarianism is a link to perfection and peace,” he’s saying now, and his voice is soft but strong, very sincere. “But it’s a small link. There are lots of other issues: apartheid , vivisection, political prisoners, the arms race. There’s so much going on in this world today, so much ignorance among people. That’s not to say I’m not standing amongst everybody. But the point is, what can we do now? That’s the thing about vegetarianism; it’s an individual’s decision and it’s something you have control over. How many things do we really have control over?”

River Phoenix is one of the lucky ones; he’s an actor making a successful go of it in a tough business. Years ago, he was one of the brothers in the television series Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Later, he got his big break as a spunky but thoughtful kid in Stand by Me, and then as the elder son in The Mosquito Coast with Harrison Ford. He’s in demand now: Producers send him scripts, and this spring he’s scheduled to show up in three new movies: Jimmy Reardon, Little Nikita with Sidney poitier, and Running on Empty

River Phoenix. He’s a big name in Hollywood.

But the River sitting here on the lawn of his parents’ rented house in Florida is only as large as life. He’s not all seriousness and theory. His eyes are warm and welcoming; he laughs easily. Right away you know he’s a regular guy. Still, he’s eager to take advantage of what he calls the “rare opportunity” to discuss issues that really matter to him: veganism, health concerns most teens don’t even know exist, fulfillment in relationships with family and friends, world peace, and change in South Africa.

Do you put much faith into what a 17- year-old says or is he just trying on some ideals for size? In short order, you decide to trust him. He’s had a life unlike most people in the world - one of met challenges, enormous changes and great ideals-and that colors your reactions. He can keep you interested in what he’s saying longer than most people twice his age. So somehow you know he’s sincere. And you see that the “Rio! Rio!” business in Japan and the perfect eyebrows are small parts of a very large picture.

Most of what has been written about River Phoenix weaves his story into the story of his family. And try as you might to see him apart from them, you can’t entirely. They’re part of the big picture. His four younger siblings - one brother, Leaf, and three sisters, Rainbow, Liberty and Summer - also act; Summer and Leaf recently were cast in Russkies, and last summer Rainbow had a role in Maid to Order with fellow vegan Ally Sheedy. Their parents, Arlyn and John Phoenix, manage their kids’ careers, having decided years ago to forgo outside work and commit themselves to the family venture. The entire family is vegan, and they all come across as gentle and kind people who work together like clockwork. River’s history is the history of the Phoenixes, and he’s grateful for and satisfied by being a part of that.

Arlyn Phoenix is also grateful for the family, and she’s unflustered by their success. “You have to understand,” she says, sipping her sorghum-sweetened herbal tea, “that this didn’t just happen to us. We planned it.” Success is part of the Phoenix family mission. It’s why their name is Phoenix. They’re on the rise.

Arlyn and John chose the name phoenix together, years ago, and they nursed their five babies on the twin ideals of love and peace. The couple became vegetarian soon after they met in the ‘60s, but dropped it after moving to Venezuela with a born-again-style Christian group. Several years-and several babies-later, in 1978, they broke from the organization. On their way back to the United States they rekindled their commitment to vegetarianism, taking the cue from their children. 

 River was seven then. He remembers how it began. “On the boat we saw men fishing,” he said. “It was our [the kids’] first time seeing that. And it was the first time that I really saw that meat wasn’t just a hamburger or hot dog or some disguised food on your plate, that it was an animal, it was flesh. It seemed very barbaric and kind of cruel, and me and my brother and sister were all crying and were traumatized. The reality just hit us so hard. Our parents were very sensitive to our feelings. I mean, they were obviously immune to it themselves-meat eating is so much a part of society as a whole and how people eat-but they were very interested in our sensitivity to it, so they were open to us becoming vegetarian.”

Vegetarianism came easily to the Phoenix family. Within the year, with encouragement from Arlyn’s vegan sister, the family also stopped eating eggs and dairy products. “It was hard to give up dairy for a while for a lot of people in my family,” River remembers. “My mom and dad were so used to eating cheese, and it was so convenient. But I said, 'Hey, if we’re doing this thing, let’s go all the way with it.’ The other kids were into it, so my parents said, 'OK, let’s do it.’ And we did.”

It’s been 10 years since anyone in the Phoenix family has worn leather shoes, carried a leather handbag or brought honey into their home. They embrace every possible reason for veganism. They love animals and they believe dairyless eating is better for health. They believe the move away from a meat-centered culture will better support the world’s ecology. Above all, they see veganism as one of the early steps people can take to be conscious of their relationships in the world: relationships with animals, people, and the planet itself. To the Phoenix family, veganism is an essential ingredient of a loving and peaceful world-an extension of the values that motivated John and Arlyn when the two first met. 

sloths-in-the-sky-with-diamonds  asked:

Congrats on graduating! I loved seeing all the senior shows you guys put on, they were all really inspiring! (I go to RISD lol) Your art has always been super inspirational to me, and I was wondering how you were able to find confidence in your style? I've had a few professors tell me that my style is "still emerging" and I've been practicing drawing people more, but I'm afraid that by the time I'm a senior next year I still won't find what they're looking for in my art. Hope all is well!

thank you!! I don’t know if I ever consciously created a style, but rather tried a lot of things out. I think my style is always evolving too. try to simplify and figure out what elements of peoples’ styles you like and how they do it.  style is often a lot about shape, so try to reduce things to simple shapes when you can.

style is also largely what you like. though i haven’t always had the same style, i’ve always loved drawing character interactions, plants, hair, clothes, and generally round or fluffy shapes. the hard part is incorporating things you don’t naturally like to draw into your style - for me that’s mostly geometric shapes. 

also and probably most importantly, style comes from observation, then stylization. i used to avoid drawing, for example, haggard old men, but once i practiced drawing them more and more i could boil down their ‘essence’. same for animals, which i used to have 0 idea how to draw. this ‘essence’ is usually their shape, their texture, the mood they evoke. sorry if this sounds abstract :0 

good luck! 

Originally posted by girl--venus

The drought is over. There was a blackout and a rumble, the thunderstomached god sucking his misplaced angel off of the playground. The sticky fingers and bobbled pigtails disappear from the teeter totter and the balance is restored. The fields go green overnight, like a bone snapped.

Hound Dog comes on beneath static and rain, rising like a new born zombie, I am decoding nothing except the pins and needles in my chest. Hearts are like dogs sometimes, they know a ghost when they see one. And this is the song that makes the spirits under my bed come out and dance with me. This is the one that makes the bogeyman get electric all night long.

I pressed my nose against the glass at the snake exhibit, and wiped the green snot from my red nose with my blue sweater. I wished I could take you home with me. Slide you into the cubbie holes of bullies, and let them feel the venom like I feel the venom. All my sweaters are black now. That was not a choice, that was a prophecy spoken by you alone. The red eyed, the ancient skinned, and colder than your swimming pool in half naked january.

We are moving fast, and ignoring the signs. Some of them use letters, mostly though just roadkill. We are mixing the taste of squirrel blood and skidding tires into truth or dare at sleepaway camp, sneaked out and hopped up, and smacking this broken flashlight into a spruce tree. The mist carries the smell of deer carcass and marsh flesh, into your socks, between your toes, curling around your sprained ankles like a one eyed cat. Beckoning bad luck. A scream from the woods cuts the sky open. We all hear it. We put our tongues out for the rain.

The drought is over. The geek down the street slipped and busted his asthmatic lungs at the edge of the lake, that’s the end of the story, ok? Ok. The drought is over, we wake to dew on our eyelashes, and the roses outside the town asylum yellow instead of brown. The grass is green now, the dryads are drinking wine with their sisters, the woodland fairies are alive and tearing their struggling food to pieces, green wrigglers and powdery moth flesh between their pink jaws. Three weeks of rain and for once in neighborhood history everybody kept their tongues in their mouths.

He just slipped. We got our sacrifice, we aren’t savages like our fathers, but we got our sacrifice, even if we didn’t ask for it. We throw the evidence into the river, and hope for a good summer.

—  4. cult practice starts in suburbia