must be at least this tall

Prince Aladdin

i just rewatched aladdin with the roommates and it got me thinking

aladdin wishes to be made a prince, but all genie does is get him a lot of stuff and money. that’s not what a prince is. a prince is the son of the king, someone in line for the throne. someone with a lot of money is just - rich. so what i think is:

genie goes okay, that’s a big one - and i can do it! but not on my own, not if you want to do it right. not if you truly want a chance to marry your princess for real, as a prince. and aladdin is a foolish, moral, kind boy - and he agrees. he’s fallen in love with jasmine, an innocent all encompassing love, and he’ll do anything for this sweet, clever girl he only knew for a few hours. so genie takes him across the desert, far from agrabah, and plops right in the middle of a skirmish and is like okay, good luck! and aladdin is like ?????

but there’s assholes with swords attacking a young girl, and aladdin doesn’t even have to think about that, just like when he stood in front of the whip for those little kids. there are three men against him, but he’s fast and clever and has been against a dozen trained palace guards. so it’s not easy to get out of there alive, especially with the little girl to protect, but he manages it with only a thin slice on his upper arm, and he’s endured worse for less. so he picks up the little girl and says “i think we should get out of here, hmm?” and she’s in a pretty red silk getup with tiny jewels encrusted on her like stars against sunset. and she nods and throws her arms around his neck. she won’t talk, only points in the direction of home, but aladdin’s okay with that, he’s used to quiet, scared kids. so he keeps up a steady stream of stories of agrabah, which seems almost like this other desert land. but there are more men with swords and aladdin is like what the fuck is going on, but he hides the girl in a corner and fights them too. and that’s how it goes all the way home. there’s no one on the streets really, and they all scatter when the men attack, and they keep on attacking, he fights his way all the way through the city with the girl on his hip or hidden away.

and he should have known, of course, but he was tired and bruised and bleeding by the time he realized the little girl is silently guiding him to the palace and he’s like why can’t you princesses stay inside??? but he walks up and the guards get one look at the child in his arms and whisk him through and multiple people try to take the girl away but she won’t budge from him, a stubborn pout to her lips as her hands remained locked behind his neck. and he’s finally tossed into a throne room where a tall old man is sitting in agony and two young men pace in front of him, each at least a decade older than aladdin. “they’ve taken our sister!” one of the younger men hiss, “i don’t care about their power or their connections, they’ve taken esfir, and we must go get her!”

“uh,” he clears his throat, “hi?”

and all three men whirl on him and the old man stumble-runs to him. esfir finally lets go of aladdin to picked up and twirled around by her father. the two men are rahim and shapur and they look in wonder at this dirty boy of fifteen who’s returned the girl to them, and he speaks with an accent and clearly is not from here and they get the story from him - he’s traveled across the desert because those in his own country want him dead. “you know,” rahim says as the king clutches at esfir in desperate relief, “you could have held her for ransom. you almost died saving her, and we would have paid handsomely to have her returned safely.”

and aladdin gives him a flat disapproving look, appearing in this moment four times his age, and says “people are not objects or bargaining chips. especially not lost little girls.” and rahim and shapur share an impressed conspiring look and they each grab one of his arms and lead him away. “hey! what are you -”

“do be quiet little brother,” shapur says cheerfully, “we really have to get you out of your rags.”

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Bon Soir [Lafayette x Reader] Part One

Description: You, an American patriot from a loyalist family, catch the eye of the Marquis De Lafayette one night at a tavern. After your first night with the enigmatic frenchman, you realize how turbulent life can really get in a time as turbulent as this. 

Warnings For This Chapter: Smut, alcohol, mild swearing, and mild Lams, where I could slip it in ;) 

Notes: So, there will be five parts to this story. It will, if we’re being honest here, be updated probably once or twice a week until it is finished. This story is a mix of Hamilton’s characters and actual historical stuff, and there will also be lots of appearances from the rev set in this fic, so brrrah, brrrah!! Enjoy. 

||Part Two||

It’s a beautiful night in the colony of New York, the moon full and the usual chill in the air slightly warmed. Besides it being a lovely night, it was also quite rowdy- but during these turbulent times, you couldn’t expect less from the Northern colonies.  

You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders… it’s really not a night to be out for a lady, but you couldn’t care less. Your family still clings to the proverbial olive branch, one of the less popular voices of loyalist reconciliation. You’re a patriot, through and through, and any chance you have to escape your frankly shameful homestead under an anonymous family name at night to “cavort” with those who share your views on freedom, you take.

Slipping down a dark alley with the hood of your cloak pulled up, you find your way into the even rowdier Fraunces Tavern. Looking around, you smile. Men clinking their sloshing drinks together, shouts and jeers at the king tossed around liberally- this was the beginning of a revolution, and you’d be damned if you missed it.

“You lookin’ for a good time, honey?” some guy with a heavy Boston accent asks you from the table next to the door, and you turn to him.

“I’m looking for a drink, and whatever good time I can derive from that.” The guy still stares at you, waiting for a follow up, so you decide to win even more favour by voicing your views. “Fuck the king?”

The entire table bursts out in cheers and pounds their fists and mugs down repeatedly as you smirk and saunter past them. You get to the bar, and ask for a Sam Adams, before turning around and surveying. To answer the drunk man’s question, you aren’t actively seeking that sort of good time, really… but, nights like these were full of exceptions.

“Here you are, miss,” the friendly bartender nods to you, then pauses, “I’ve seen you in here a couple times now, and I don’t recall your name.” He looks genuinely confused. “Who’s your husband?”  

“I’ll let you know once I find one,” you wink, and cross the tavern to occupy a booth. Just as you’re lifting up your skirts to sit, the door crashes open, and in come four very loud young men.

“What time is it?!” one yells, and the other three yell back, “Showtime!” while cackling and slapping each other on the back.

You roll your eyes again, imagining all the fights they were sure to start tonight. The bartender seems to know them, and pours four ales for them as well. Snatching up his drink, the short one with the ponytail and goatee marches right up to the table in the middle, getting up on it and chugging half his mug.

“To the revolution!” he finally bursts out with, and almost trips off the table. The large one with the beanie catches him, shaking his head with a grin, and the second shortest one with curly hair and freckles joins the talker with a close arm around his shoulder.

“Now this is the place to be, amiright boys?!” freckles shouts, taking a long drink.

“Oui oui, mon ami,” another voice chuckles, and your interest is immediately peaked. A frenchman in the colonies? The excitement of these taverns is incomparable, and it is exciting to say the least to hear someone from so far away- you know a little of the language, or what you had learned as a girl.

You watch in quiet admiration as a tall, athletically built man with dark hair tied up in a bun and a close trimmed beard steps out, carrying two mugs of ale. He hands one to beanie man, and plops his own down on the table. “We must tell the king casse toi with our war effort!”

“We will, Laf,” beanie assures, “But first? Horses.”

“What?” freckles and goatee both say at the same time.

“Corsets,” beanie laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I meant corsets.”

“Hercules, you are an idiot,” Laf deadpans.

“I’m the most mature one here,” Hercules shoots back.

“Easy, when tes amis are Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens.”

Hercules lets out a booming laugh, and is soon joined by Laf’s own charming snicker. Alex and John are too enamoured with their own private conversation to notice much.

Your eyes train on Laf. If he was french, he must have a longer name than that… you’re determined to know it. He was undeniably a charmer- he was handsome, dashing as a prince, and very stylish. With the words he had uttered earlier, you found it safe to assume he’s as passionate about American independence as you are.

You make an excuse to walk by.

Heyyy there,” goatee (Alexander)? calls, swivelling his head to look at you.


Hercules lets out a low whistle as you turn to face them. “I don’t mean to be too forward, but madamn.”

"What the ever loving merde is that supposed to mean, Hercules?” Laf’s face scrunches up, and Herc just shrugs.

“Works on most of ‘em.”

“I’m Alexander Hamilton, bastard, orphan, son of a whore,” Alex jumps up, grasping your hands, and you can see the gears in his slightly drunk mind turning. “So I’d love to flirt for like, a really long time because you’re pretty and everything, but there’s a revolution to plot-”

“-And drink to!” John adds.

“-And drink to, as my beautiful lover Jackie just piped in and waaait, I’m probably not supposed to say shit like that in a tavern full of guys who will probably have me castrated for it, but hey, we die like men, right?”

“Yo, um, sorry 'bout him,” John blushes with a slight slur, coming over to guide Alex back to his seat. “He gets- *hic*- chatty when he’s tipsy.” You just laugh, letting them know it’s no big deal. John doesn’t seem very interested in you romantically or sexually, only greets with a good natured- albeit tipsy as well- smile. Hercules gets up to introduce himself.

“Hercules Mulligan. I’m Irish.” He drops his voice down to a whisper. “That’s kind of my thing.” Laf gets up to hip bump Hercules out of the way, take your hand, and press a kiss to it. You blush deeply.

“Bon soir, belle mademoiselle. I am Paul Yves Roch-”

Heeere we go,” Alex slurs.

“-Gilbert de Motier de Marquis de Lafayette,” Laf finishes with a glare to his friends, then turns back to you with a gaze that could only be described as… lust ridden?

“Plaisir,” you reply in french, and his eyes widen, his entire body straightening like an arrow in excitement.

“You speak my mother tongue, cherie?!”

“Only a little,” you confess with a timid giggle, “I’m not French, monsieur Lafayette, only acquired some words from my studies.”

“Gorgeous and intelligent,” he flirts, “A lady after my heart.”

“Handsome and bold,” you volley back, “A man after mine.”

“OHHHH SHIT!” John shouts, and Alex begins to laugh.


“Not you two,” Laf growls, and John and Alex tumble over each other watching you both. Hercules just rolls his eyes, and downs his drink.

“Care to drink with us?” Lafayette offers, outstretching his hand, and you happily accept. Hercules gets up to grab you another beer, and slides it over to you. John begins to chug his second, and you smirk, taking it as a challenge. Downing yours to the last drop, you’ve finally earned the respect of Hercules Mulligan as he bangs on the table and shakes his head.

“You are getting better and better as the night goes on,” Laf whispers, and you laugh.

“Is that the alcohol talking?”

“On the contrary, cherie, I am still on my first… though I may be thinking with something other than my mind,” he alludes, and you feel a shiver run through you.

He is very attractive.

“What brings you to the colonies?” you ask Lafayette conversationally, and he takes a sip of his ale.


“You’re here for congressional duties?” you feign ignorance, though you know how to identify a congressman- powdered wigs, brightly coloured jackets, and stuffy mannerisms. Nothing Laf possessed.

“Ah no, mademoiselle. War is imminent- that is the talk here and overseas. I will fight as one of you for your glorious country!”

“Ayyy, to our fighting frenchman!” Alex lifts his mug, and John raises his as well.

“Very brave,” you murmur, “I wish I could serve in the continental army.”

“You can still do your part at home,” Laf assures, taking your hands excitedly, “You can make gunpowder, you can sew uniforms, you can…” he suddenly hesitates, lowering his eyes, “Pray for and write letters to your husband.”

“Why does everyone in this tavern assume I have a husband?” you tease, and he looks back up.

“Forgive me. No one has, eh… courted you yet?”

“Courted me? Oh, quite a few. I have yet to accept,” you giggle, “I suppose I’m just as hard to please as the next young lady.”

“I, too, have very specific tastes,” he nods, and bites his lip, “Mais, it would be very nice to have a woman to boost my morale on the battlefield.”

“Wait… hey, what’s your name?” John laughs, “We didn’t even ask!”

“Oh,” you blush, eye contact with Lafayette broken, “Um…” You sigh. It shouldn’t be any trouble to give them your real name. “(y/n) (y/l/n).”

Everyone repeats your name, raises a glass, and drinks. Lafayette smirks at you a moment longer, then drinks as well.

As the night wears on, you start to become even closer with the group. Stories are passed around, drinking games are played, and talk that would’ve sounded like treason in many other colonies flowed freely from your mouth with the boys. As the night begins to dwindle with the candles burning down close by, hands begin to wander, skirts began to lift a few inches, and blood begins to rise.

“Raise one last glass to freedom,” John finally says, somewhat soberly, as everyone stands up, “Something they can never take away.”

“No matter what they tell you,” Herc adds, placing a hand over his heart.

“Raise a glass to the… five of us, here tonight,” Alex nods, looking to you, “Our cause is a great one.”

“King George will never stand a chance,” you finish, and everyone downs their last sip and sits back down. With that, Laf takes your hand, rubbing a thumb over your knuckle. You turn to him, and take note of how he’s staring at your lips. Danger and adrenaline course through your veins, imagining just what he could be picturing right now. Practically in his lap by now, you shift your hips a little, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“It is getting late, ma cherie,” he murmurs, obviously holding back, and begins to stand.

“It is,” you nod, moving to brush your fingers along the hem of his blue coat, and grasp your fingers firmly in his lapel. His eyes dart to meet yours, dark and warning, and his fingers find yours as he lets out a wistful sigh.

“(y/n)… I am a gentleman, and you have had too much to drink.”

“I assure you,” you grin, turning the tables and ghosting a kiss over his knuckles, “I have not.”

He spends a long time staring at you, debating mentally. You can feel him hardening in his breeches under you, but despite his uncomfortable expression and beading sweat, he doesn’t make even the slightest nudge to meet your grinding movements.

“Are you quite certain?” he finally asks, interest beginning to spark again in his eyes as he realizes that maybe you do want him like this.

“All I want is to feel your lips on my neck,” you confirm with a whisper in his ear, and he slots his large hand around your wrist, standing you up. The three others don’t even question it as Laf leads you out the back door, and the once the heavy wooden door closes, you’re both free. He immediately presses the front of you right up against the brick, pulling your hair aside and grazing his teeth over the back of your neck.

“Then, if there are no reservations on either of our parts, I will give you everything you need,” he growls, and continues his attack on your neck, showering kisses up and down. You flip around so that you can face him, and he pins you back again, opening up the neck of your dress just a little more for better access.

Lafayette’s gaze is hungry. Your excitement is known to him as he reaches under your dress, unbuttons your underclothes and realizes you’re already wet for him.

“So eager,” he groans, “Such an eager little kitten, desperate for her papa, hm?”

“Oh,” you sigh, his words sending pulses down to your core. He pulls your underclothes off, but as his long fingers are about to breach you, he pauses.

“You… have been touched or taken before, yes?”

You bite your lip, look around, and nod shyly. If word of that got out around here, you’d be off the market, as it were…. not that you particularly desired to on the market, but that was a different matter entirely. His face blossoms into a grin, and he lifts your legs up to wrap around him.

“Hold onto me, cherie, do not let go,” he murmurs, and once your arms are secure around his neck as well, he uses one hand to unbutton his breeches. You can already see the outline of his large cock, and once he has everything undone, he pulls it out.

“Monsieur, you’re so big,” you whine, and he gazes at you, licking his lips.

“We can make it fit, ma cherie,” he whispers, “Spread your legs a little wider for me… that is it, kitten… like that.”

You keen under the pet name, and he positions himself at your entrance before finally pushing in, groaning together with you as you tighten around him.

“Oui, oui, yes…” he breathes, “That is good… so good for me…” He sucks his lip between his teeth, and after a few seconds, begins to move, nudging you back against the wall with each deep thrust. He’s very large, so he has no trouble hitting that spot that drives you crazy, but he makes it even better when his fingers find your clit; Laf has a different approach than most men do, though- the select few you’d been with (if they make the effort to find it at all) rub with harsh, rough pushes… Lafayette massages you in slow circles, making you moan for him.

Leaning forward, the intensity between you increases as your foreheads meet, lips drifting close to each other and parting, almost kissing but not for minutes at a time. The teasing was getting to him, and he finally surges forward, breathing in your breath. You give his bottom lip a feisty bite, and he smiles, drawing away.

“You are a true northern belle, mademoiselle (y/n),” he mumbles, panting, “You are not like other ladies.”

“Oh, on the contrary sir,” you reply, “I simply don’t bother with the false customs. I say, fuck tradition, and fuck anybody who wishes to advise me otherwise.”

“There is a revolution on because of Americans who share your general mindset, ma chou,” he grins, and kisses you again.

As you both begin to race toward your climax, his thrusts increase, and you’re soon being pounded into the wall, legs tight around his ass and cries being muffled in his blue coat.

“Please… ah, Laf….”

“(y/n), so perfect, j’aime votre parfum…”

As he whispers your name, you hear voices, and turn to see two men walking by the alley on the road, in hats and coats. They sound southern.

“What if th…th-” you gasp, and Laf strokes your cheek.

“They will not see us, it is too dark. Besides, why would anybody pay attention to a stray kitten, begging in an alley, like you?”

“Ah,” you throb again at his dark laugh, and he shrugs.

“Also, the alleyway behind a tavern is where all the drunkards stumble out to vomit. No respectable man or woman wants to see that.”

“What an arousing image,” you scowl, and lean in for another kiss.

“You are so beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips once you part, and licks a line up your neck to just below your ear; you’re losing yourself to the pleasure. “Do you think you can come for me, ma (y/n)?” Laf rasps in your ear, stroking over your clit fondly, and you nod with a little whine, crying out his name softly as he slams in particularly hard. Circling his hips to guide you through a long orgasm, he lets out a little gasp of his own after you’ve finished. As you shake and pant his name, he sets you down carefully before quickly pulling out and taking himself in hand, jerking frantically a couple times and coming like a shot against the brick wall. Your name falls from his lips a few times like a prayer, and soon, you’re both sated and exchanging lazy tongue kisses, tasting each other’s mouths in the night air.

It’s chillier than it was earlier. You should get home before your one of your sisters or father notices you’re gone.

“When do you leave to join the ranks?” you ask, staring into his eyes. He does up his buttons precisely, patiently and one at a time.

“Very soon, I assume, cherie.”

“How very childish of me, but… what you said, about having someone to look out for you…”


“Will you…” you look down, embarrassed, and take off a ring on your pinky finger. “Remember me over a couple beers with your friends?”

His eyes light up, and he presses a long kiss to your cheek.

“When I wake up and when I fall asleep, (y/n).”

You smile a little. “Thank you for your service.”

He kisses your hand one last time. “If it takes fighting a war and, eh…” he leans in to your ear, brushing your hair back, “getting better acquainted behind a tavern to meet, it will, most certainly, have been worth it, ma chou,” he smiles back.

You dance and sigh your way home, ignorant of every redcoat who gives you a second dirty look. With men like the Marquis de Lafayette and his friends leading the troops, those bastards’ll be back home where they belong in no time.


When you dream like Ronan can, you get to be a light sleeper.

It’s so late it’s early on an autumn morning when he hears the soft sweep of his bedroom door opening.  It’s an unmistakeable sound, not like the skittering of something he might have pulled from sleep, which means that he doesn’t reach for the knife he has stashed under his pillow.  Habit makes his heart pick up its pace anyway, frenetic against the cage of his ribs for a long moment.

For a moment he thinks it’s Blue, but Blue isn’t that tall and doesn’t walk like that.  She also smells like sweet pastry and something floral, not like gasoline and cold air, like Adam Parrish does.  

Adam Parrish, who is breaking in Ronan’s room on a school night, puts his arm out for Chainsaw when she makes her low croak and flutters across the room to him through the pitch dark.  She lands on his forearm, scrabbling for balance in a way that must at least leave marks.  Ronan is familiar with the feeling; he’s added a few new scars high on his shoulder.

She mutters something to Adam very quietly, reaching out to run her beak along the hem of his shirt at his shoulder.  There isn’t anything quite so familiar as watching Chainsaw interact with Ronan’s friends, like a black feathery version of himself, except with less knowledge of social boundaries.  Adam puts up with her fussing for a moment before moving his arm so she hops off onto the desk.

“S’up,” Ronan says rather than asks, his voice a sleepy rasp.  Adam doesn’t respond, but he does come close enough to slump with his back against the edge of Ronan’s mattress inside the curve of Ronan’s body where he’s lying on his side. “You can get in.”

“Yes,” Adam agrees, but makes no move to join Ronan on the mattress.

“Hate to be the one to point this out,” Ronan says, after a minute. “But aren’t you meant to be in Massachusetts right now?”

“Observant,” Adam mutters. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“What, yesterday night?” It’s an eleven hour drive, give or take, between Harvard and here. Ronan can say that with great certainty, because he’s made it more than once.

Adam shrugs tightly, shoulders shrinking up to his ears and then dropping sharp and final. “For a while.”

“So you drove to Virginia.” It isn’t a question. 

“Are you enjoying stating the obvious?” He sounds annoyed, now.

“Just clarifying,” Ronan replies, with a turn of amusement. “I know how you feel about assumptions.”

Around them, the Barns are quiet with a hush that the two of them can barely break, supernatural in its totality. This moment, with just them, feels very small amidst that. 

Ronan reaches out and curls a hand around Adam’s nape, feeling the heat of his skin and the delicate shifts of his heart. Quietude that isn’t found in the house of prayer is something new to him, in a way, something he’s still learning. Adam, for all his driven purpose, is a good teacher.

“I’m tired,” Adam says, eventually.

“Get in the bed, then,” Ronan replies, unimpressed.

“No,” Adam corrects. “I’m tired.”

That, Ronan can understand. That bare-boned exhaustion that goes deeper than pain, deeper than the body itself, something that sinks in its teeth and holds hard. He’s lived it, he knows Adam has too, but he wishes, intrinsically and inescapably, that they don’t have to live like that anymore.

Life doesn’t work like that, for people like them.

Ronan murmurs, “Yikes.”  His tone somehow manages to be vaguely sympathetic and derisive at the same time.  It’s a talent.

“Yikes,” Adam echoes. He sounds like he’s smirking. He reaches up and peels Ronan’s hand from his neck, examining it like it’s a foreign thing. As ever, his careful regard is its own creature.

“I’ll offer you a deal,” Ronan suggests. “You get into bed and try for a half hour to sleep, and if that doesn’t work we’ll get up and do something.”

“Do what?”

“Shoot hoops, I don’t know. Fuck sake, Parrish.”

“Like you’ve ever done that in living memory, Raven boy,” Adam says. “Move over.”

“Hard sell,” Ronan says, but does as Adam orders. Adam toes off his sneakers and shoves off his jeans before shoving underneath the covers. The two of them fit together familiar, awkwardly shaped with their sharp elbows and jutting stubborn chins and everything else unused to giving ground but still, somehow, managing to anyway.

Adam empties a breath into the pillow and Ronan’s shoulder, slow. His hand presses over Ronan’s heart. He doesn’t make it five minutes. Ronan, lost in the fragility of Adam’s skull curved in his palm and the easy slump of his limbs, breathes until he follows Adam down.

It’s not the answer, to sleep. It’s just a start.

Healing Hands (Part 2)

Ivar x Reader
Healing Hands: Part 2 of 2. 8,341 words.
Here’s Part 1 for anyone that missed it.
Warnings: A little angst, a lotta smut. I wouldn’t read this at work ;)
Wow guys, I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to finish this update! I really didn’t mean to keep you all waiting for so long but life kicked my ass a little bit this month. Thank you all so much for your support and all of your kind words, I honestly never expected such amazing feedback. I was so nervous writing for a new fandom but you all have just been so encouraging and so kind. I really hope that each and every one of you enjoys Part 2 and that it lives up to your expectations! Thank you again, everyone!
Tags: @skeletoresinthebasement @peculiarleah @ivartheboneme @theburningspirit  @splendor-e I’m sorry if I missed anyone!

The days that followed Ivar’s cruel rejection were some of the bitterest you’d ever known. You weren’t sure just what to expect from all those hours at the prince’s side but outright exclusion wasn’t something that had even crossed your mind. Everything seemed to be going so well. You and Ivar constantly lost track of time as you engaged in passionate conversations, talking about everything and nothing and whatever was left in-between. You knew Ivar well know, perhaps well enough to call him a friend and you had secretly hoped that he shared these feelings.

You had even started to wonder if Ivar was more than just a friend. Even before that final blissful evening, the chemistry between you both was undeniable. In all of your years of working with patients in all sorts of intimate situations, not one had responded to your touch like Ivar had. Not even the most flirtatious warrior would gasp and whimper in a way that only a lover would yet Ivar practically melted in your hands.

Then, there were the looks. He may have been a man of few words when it came to discussing anything emotional but disappointment was always noticeable in Ivar’s bright eyes whenever you bid him goodnight. Then every morning, that disappointment vanished again when you arrived and exchanged private, flirty stares that were completely missed by Ubbe.

There was no way of really telling where the shy smiles and tantalizing glances were heading but you were certain that they were heading somewhere. That was why Ivar’s rejection hurt even more. You tried to be rational by reminding yourself that you weren’t Ivar’s lover and he had no obligation to explain anything to you but rationality didn’t keep you warm on those cold, lonely nights. 

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Family Reunions Pt 2

Jason Todd x Reader

A/N:  I really hope everyone likes this.  I really tried not to make it too long, but it’s whatever. (Requests are open please send them)

Summary:  After meeting part of the Batfam, to Jason’s surprise you invite all of them to dinner.

Part 1

After breakfast, Dick got a call from work and took Tim back to the manor.  Meanwhile Jason had finally woken up to the sounds of dishes rattling and shuffling in the kitchen.  He winced as he sat up glancing at his fresh bruises and raw shoulder.  As he drug himself out of bed and down the hallway to the kitchen he noticed three unwashed coffee mugs sitting on the counter.

    “Thirsty?” He commented, suspicious.

    “Jason,” she smiled. “How’s your shoulder?  I put some medicine on it this morning, I thought I might numb some of the pain-”

    “Did we have company this morning?” Jason interrupted.

    “Oh just your brothers,” y/n mumbled.

    “What?  They followed me home?!”

    “Jason!” y/n shouted over him.  “It’s okay, I talked out some things with Dick and Tim.  They just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

    “They followed me to our home, y/n,” Jason elaborated.  “This is not okay!  I’m going to see them.”  Jason started walking to their shared room to throw on a shirt.

    “Jason, no!” she said, making a poor attempt to block the door.  Jason glanced at her; how could she be so cute?  In his shirt trying to block him from leaving when he could easily pick her up.  “Listen I know your family isn’t the most functional, but they’re all you’ve got.”

    “Y/n, I need to have conversation with them,” he sighed, “about boundaries.”

  “Then you can talk to them tonight.  I invited your brothers, Bruce, and Alfred over for dinner.”

    “You did what?!”

    “Jason, listen!” She shouted.  “They don’t know me, at all, and they very suspicious people so I need to have a good impression.  Plus, you know they’ll come back here either way, they might aswell be invited.”

    “Well you need to uninvite them or I won’t be here when they come over-”

    “Jason Peter Todd they are going to be our guests and you are going to deal with it!” Y/n yelled, storming out of the room.  Jason threw his face into his hands and groaned, well tonight should be eventful.


    It was around six twenty when y/n came out of their room in a new dress ready to meet Jason’s whole family.  She sauntered down the hallway pleased with the sight in front of her, a spotless apartment and her gorgeous boyfriend putting the finishing touches on their dinner.  She snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso as he kept their meal warm on the stove.

    “Hello, handsome,” she grinned into his back.

    “Hey, beautiful,” he smiled turning around and giving her a peck on her forehead.

    “Like what you see?” she asked.

    “I always do-”  Before Jason could finish his sentence there was a knock at the door.  “What the hell?  One of the neighbors?”

    “Don’t worry, it’s your family,” she stated.

    “How do you know?”

    “They never buzz in.”

    Y/n strolled over to the door and pulled it open to reveal Dick and Tim in the same clothes they were from this morning.

    “Hi boys,” she greeted.  “Come on in, Jason’s making dinner.”  They followed y/n into the kitchen where Jason was.

    “Hey baby bird,” Dick grinned.  “How’s the shoulder?”

    “Sore, but fine,” Jason responded, uninterested.

    “Hello, Jason,” Tim said.

    “Hey, replac-,” Jason was cut off when he noticed a hard glare coming from y/n.  “Tim.  Hello, Tim.”  Dick and Tim glanced at each other almost in shock.  He must really like y/n.

    “So where’s everyone else at?” y/n asked.

    “Oh, you know, Bruce has always been very punctual,” Dick answered.  “I bet he’ll buzz in exactly at six thirty.”  Right as Dick finished speaking someone buzzed in to come up to their appartment and low and behold Dick was right, it was six thirty.  Jason pressed the entrance button and in a few minutes there was a knock at the door.  Y/n was at the door in a matter of seconds primping herself on the way over.  Jason grinned at her, everything she did just made his heart beat a little quicker each time.

“So baby bird,” Dick started, “it looks like you’ve got a keeper.”  For first time in many years Dick heard Jason chuckle.

    “At least you’re right about something,” Jason snickered.

    Y/n opened the door and was greeted with a very tall handsome man who she knew to be Bruce Wayne, Alfred; who she’s seen pictures of; and a boy Jason calls “Demon spawn” also known as Damian Wayne.

    “Hello you must be Jason’s girlfriend-”

    “Y/n,” she interrupted.  “It’s really exciting to meet you, Mr.Wayne.  Please come in.”  

     “Please call me Bruce,” he responded.  They followed her from the doorway into the living room, which was now converted into a dining room.  Y/n ignored Damians judgmental glares while looking at her home.

      She smiled and turned toward the kitchen, “Babe; Bruce, Alfred, and Damian are here.”

As everyone got situated around the table a nice coversation erupted, curtisy of Alfred.  The conversation was steady and calm, putting y/n’s nerves to ease.  Everyone seemed to be getting along.  Even Damian tried to get involved in the conversation and occational bickering with his brothers.  Eventually the topic that everyone was wondering can up.

       “So y/n,” Dick started, “how did you and Jason meet?”

       “Oh my god,” Jason and y/n said simultaneously.

       “You tell it,” Jason smiled at her eagerness.

       "Okay so I had an exam for a course I was taking at Gotham University. I was studying like a mad man during the night-“

        "At four in the morning!”

         “Oh shush. So anyway I was studying and I was blasting Alexander Hamilton, one of my favorite musicals, when this idiot comes banging-”


        “Banging on my door! So I open the door and he starts yelling at me about how he can hear my music all the way across the hall. So you know what I do?”

        “She shut the door in my face.”

        “And guess what he does.”

         "I started knocking again.“

        "Banging again! So I opened the door didn’t say anything and then closed it.”

        "Slammed it in my face, again.“

         "So to calm myself down I went to the kitchen and got something to eat.  So I turn around and see him sitting on my couch!”

         "Your window was unlocked that was dangerous.“

          "He just sat there!” she gaped.  “We stared at each other for like 2 minutes before he says ‘You’ve got guts here’s my number you should text me sometime when you’re free.’ And then he just left!”

         “God I’m good,” Jason smirked.

          “Why didn’t you call the police?” Tim gasped. “He broke into your apartment!”

          “Well he was right it was dangerous to leave my window unlocked,” she stated. “And I established just how dangerous it was when I found Redhood bleeding on my couch a week later.”

         “I basically forced her to date me,” Jason chuckled.  Everyone turned to Bruce who was laughing.

        “Maybe one of you boys,” he jestered to Dick and Tim, “should use that dating tactic.”

         “The second time he broke in he was weak, vunrable,” Damian stated. “This would have been the perfect time for you to have run and called the police.  Why didn’t you?”

         “Very true, but by then I had figured out who he was,” she smiled. “How are the police supposed to put someone in jail who’s already dead?”  It was safe to say the rest of dinner went smoothly and according to plan.

  • botw team making gerudos: okay so it's this race of just women but none of them are gay, you hear? absolutely none. They're all straight. Yeah men aren't allowed in the town and are violently expelled but I want to make it clear that none of the gerudo have ever liked a women. Men are the most important thing and must be mentioned at least once per exchange. See this 6ft tall shredded goddess over here? If she even thinks about a woman she will die
Things that piss me off today: fucking WEDGE HEELS on supposedly practical women fighters

It’s the ultimate ‘this is a practical badass lady!’ but wait! She must be TALLER! Her legs must look LONGER! No! LONGER THAN THAT!

It’s annoying when they do it on Black Widow, who needs to be wearing some good tactical boots when she’s fighting, but at least they mostly keep them out of shot, as far as I recall.

Wonder woman is wearing fucking TOWERING wedge heels and it looks ridiculous. And Gal Gadot is already a tall woman, so I have no idea what they’re even trying here apart from altering her proportions to make her legs look twice the length of her torso.

Check out the height on those suckers when she’s climbing the ladder to go into No Man’s Land:

And then later when she’s fighting in the warehouse in Veld:

but then in the stuntie shots…

Because surprise! You can’t actually do those things in those ridiculous heels. And there is no reason Wonder Woman, an Amazon, would give a shit about looking taller or making her legs look longer.

Just, costume departments, just fucking spare us already and give female heroes some normal fucking boots please. Thank you.

you know how you always look at an idol in videos and are like ”you are such a smol bean omg” and then you remember they are actually taller than you and you’re left shook af

Liar Liar (pt. 1)

Pairing: Bill Skarsgård x Reader

Request: a fic where the reader is like 16/17 but lies to get casted in a movie and everyone thinks shes 18/older and bill falls for her? But he doesnt know. And like she acts very cold towards him but he finds her upset and she spills and he says he still loves her and its super cute?

WARNINGS: underage drinking

Word Count: 1.4k

sorry ahead of time for any spelling/grammar mistakes

You were never supposed to actually get the part. With only a few commercials under your belt, who the hell would have thought you would land a role in a major film? You certainly didn’t. You only went to the audition because your best friend convinced you to. For the exposure, she said. So you lied and said you were 21 instead of 17, went to the audition, and actually got the part. 

You were so excited to hear that you had been casted that you didn’t realize the weight of the situation until after you hang up the phone. Immediately, you dialed your best friend. This was all her doing, anyways.

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Just friends (m)

pairing: do kyungsoo x reader / feat. oh sehun, high school! kyungsoo

genre/warnings: smut, fluff

• words: 9,117

Summary: You’ve had feelings for your friend Kyungsoo for as long as you can remember, but you always thought they were unreciprocated. What if it turned out they weren’t…?

“He should be here already,” you whined to your friend, who you were sitting next to on a kitchen counter.

You were at some pretty crappy house party and things were getting boring.

Why wasn’t he here yet?

“Maybe he got lost on the way, I heard he’s that stupid,” your friend replied, his low voice drawing out as if he couldn’t be bothered to speak aloud.

You turned to him with a huff, but that huff trailed off as you were met with his face and you silently groaned.

How after all these years of knowing him, did he still have this effect on you?

His eyes were big and dark, his eyelashes curling upwards, thick and black, and his nose perfectly fit his face, it wasn’t too big but it wasn’t too small…and don’t get you started on his lips. Those lips were enough to make any girl wonder. They were thick and plump, his cupid’s bow flawlessly turned up and his teeth were straight. You loved it when he smiled, his mouth opened up into a heart shape, although these days you didn’t see him smile much. Maybe you had stopped making him smile…

“Hey, don’t me mean!” You warned, remembering to speak.

You watched him roll his eyes and run his hand through his thick hair. It was styled up today and you liked it – it made him look older, more mature.

“It’s true though, right?” He asked, smiling that heart shaped smile, that you missed.

It was your turn to roll your eyes now and you hit him on the shoulder.

“Kyungsoo, be quiet,” you said, however, you couldn’t hide your little smirk, as you watched him laugh at your reaction.

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Need Help? {Soulmate! Johnny}
  • Pairing: Johnny X Reader
  • Genre: Fluff; Soulmate! AU; Bulleted Scenario
  • Request: “hey!! I love your blog, your stories honestly brighten my day. Could you do a boyfriend! ten au or a soulmate! johnny au? (Or both if u feel up to it lol) thanks in advance! ((:”
  • Word Count: 698
  • Summary: You need help getting that book? Well, he can’t reach it either.
  • ok so in this au, your soulmate’s first words to you are tattooed on you
  • like everyone else, you had your tattoo on your wrist
  • it said, “you need help getting that?”
  • and your whole life, you tried to figure out what it exactly meant
  • your friends told you that it’s probably your soulmate asking you if you needed help getting something that you can’t reach
  • and to be honest, you were on the shorter side, not super short but yeah, sometimes you can’t reach stuff
  • and when your friends said that you didn’t know whether or not to be offended
  • because like who wants to get teased for their height
  • anyways you’ve been waiting a long time to meet your soulmate
  • everyone you knew has already met their soulmate and you feel like you are growing impatient
  • i mean who wouldn’t when all you see and hear about people falling in love with their soulmates and meeting them
  • and you just wanted to know what it was like
  • so one day, you go the library to check out a book you need for one of your classes
  • after spending like half an hour walking around the library trying to find the book, you realized it was on the very top shelf
  • and it was like impossible to reach
  • you tried looking for a stool, but it was nowhere to be found, just your luck
  • so a thought came to you
  • jump until you can finally get it
  • and you knew it wasn’t gonna work, but you had to at least make an effort
  • and so you’ve been jumping for quite some time, not caring who was watching
  • because there was in fact someone watching
  • it was a very tall guy
  • and he just watches you struggle because he thinks it’s funny and cute
  • finally, he says “you need help getting that?”
  • and as soon as you hear that, you immediately turn around
  • because those are THE EXACT WORDS ON YOUR WRIST!!
  • so you’re obviously thinking that this must be your soulmate
  • and this is the exact scenario of how your friends said you’d meet your soulmate 
  • so you’re just like “are you kidding me” because your friends were right
  • and johnny is like “oh my god are you my soulmate”
  • and then for a short moment you two are like omg i just met my soulmate
  • so you’re like “my names y/n”
  • and of course he introduces himself as well, as johnny
  • and so you two are both really happy and excited to have met each other and give the most awkward hug
  • but despite how weird and awkward to be hugging someone you just met, it felt right
  • you felt like you’re really gonna get used to being in his arms
  • but after that, he tries getting the book for you
  • and johnny is all confident that he can get it because he’s tall and has long arms, you know?
  • but remember the shelf is actually really high
  • so yeah, despite johnny’s height
    so johnny is all embarrassed and you’re just laughing at him
  • ok but since he can’t reach it either, you two try to figure out a strategy to getting the book
  • first he tried to piggyback you, but that doesn’t really work out
  • and then you try to sit on his shoulders, which is the best method, except you both keep losing your balance
  • but eventually you get it
  • and your first meeting with your soulmate was a bit strange, but it was fun and you wouldn’t have it any other way
  • so after that, you exchange numbers and get to know each other
  • getting to know each other, you realize how perfect you are for each other, like you really are soulmates
  • you can easily talk to him about anything
  • he’s a great listener and easily cheers you up when you’re feeling down
  • lots of great cuddles and bear hugs
  • lots of weird english conversations
  • like calling each other “bro”
  • matching couple items
  • i don’t know what else to say but you two would be the funniest and greatest couple around


Tom Holland - Concert

anon request: you’re in a band and you’ve been a fan of tom for a while and then you meet him at some kind of event and he tells you he loves your music.

okay so i tried my best with this one and i hope you like i anon!! i added some more to this so it was longer and i hope you all enjoy!!

requests are open:))

Originally posted by karlmordo

“i didn’t expect this many people to come” i looked at the large crowd in awe. there must have been at least 350 people that showed up. my band and i sent out two or three tweets saying we will be performing a few songs at a park in LA. we obviously we not expecting this big of a turnout.

i looked back at my three friends, dani was on bass her short brown hair and light brown eyes that kind of resembled a yellow were looking excited. alex on drums alex was tall with darker brown hair that went past her shoulders she was always nervous before a show. lastly marcus on guitar he was care free and that’s what i loved about him he was about 6'0 with short black hair and green eyes. then there was me, i was the singer. we started off as a small garage band, all of us being highschool buddies with the same dream we all came together.

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based on this request :: can you pretty please write something about y/n and harry going to a party and harry getting all jealous when a dude flirts with y/n?? thank you !!

i took a weird spin on this (i think) but i hope it’s acceptable ;) not going to fit with everyone, i’m sure, but i tried!! gonna be honest, don’t really like this piece very much (just feel like i could’ve done better) but i didn’t want to keep this anon waiting any longer. hope you enjoy anyway :)) 

WARNINGS :: some *maybe* offensive song lyrics and a bit angsty?¿ idk man it’s pretty PG - PG-13ish 



“Wha’ in the ever living fuck does that bloke think he’s doing?” Harry slurs a bit on his words, the scene before him making his jaw set and eyes narrow.

“Jesus, they’re just singing. Lighten up a bit, mate.”

And maybe it was the excessive amounts of drinks that were consumed that was making Harry a lot more open about his emotions but maybe he just really hates this boy that’s looking at her as if he has a chance.


harry is y/n’s and y/n is harry’s

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anonymous asked:

Oh this was a calling. “33. celebrity/fan au” with Dadzawa and Shinson

i wound up actually writing this as a non-au, so i hope that’s ok!!

Title: Biggest Fan

Word count: 2,300+

Rating: G, probably.

It starts out just like any other night.

Aizawa’s about three hours into his normal patrol when it happens. He’s working on autopilot. The patrol is fairly regular, and he’s already tracked down the head of the crime ring that’s been tasked to him in the last week. He’s making his way in that direction, taking care of little annoyances that this particular precinct asked him to take a look at. It’s normal, and nothing’s out of the ordinary as Aizawa walks down the otherwise empty street, hands shoved into his pockets, blending in as much as possible.

That is, until he notices the feeling of being watched slowly creeping up on him.

It’s enough to take him out of autopilot, enough to make him slow his pace and ponder his options. Aizawa Shouta knows better than to ignore his instincts, and this is no exception. He doesn’t stop, instead slowing slightly. He can either continue on, or he can turn around and confront it, either of which—

As he passes another building, he hears the unmistakable sound of tennis shoes on the pavement, darting out.

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A Part Of Something

summary: a post-3x20 canon divergence where Zelena’s portal never opens. Just when Emma has made up her mind about a possible future for herself and Henry in Storybrooke, she discovers that Killian is planning to leave.

rating: G and a bit of A for angst

word count: 7k

also on: and ao3

Home is a place, when you leave you just miss it. So yeah, I’m gonna keep running until I feel that.”

So you’re just gonna leave your parents then. Don’t you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?” Killian laid as much brokenness and longing as he dared to in his voice.

Of course I care,” Emma confirmed with honesty and regret in her eyes. “I just have to do what’s right for me and Henry.”

So that was it. She simply wasn’t ready yet, was still too afraid to accept. He knew what he had to do. Deliberately putting some physical distance between them, he leaned back a little, only a twitching muscle in his jaw betraying his tension. “Well, then,” he replied in a controlled voice, “Of course you have to do what you have to do.” Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise, his sudden surrender completely unexpected. He tilted his head. “Who knows, maybe you’ll find what you’re searching for when you leave.”

She was a little confused that he seemed to simply give up, and she was also confused that she felt strangely about that… she told herself she wasn’t disappointed, just surprised. “Thank you,” she managed to cover it up. “For understanding.”

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Summary: Request for @officialboredomblogging Plus Size reader with a giant crush on Sammy. It’s not smut like you wanted doll, but I cannot smut with Sam.

Pairings: Sam Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Lots and Lots of Angst with a happy ending. 

He was it: strong and capable, sensitive and smart. He was everything you wanted. Everything you needed. Everything you craved. But you were you: invisible and unwanted.

Men never came up to you in a bar. No one ever asked you for your number or smiled in your direction.

You weren’t beautiful, at least, not in your eyes. You were what people call plus sized. What the fatphobics called disgusting and unhealthy. You could see the disdain in people’s eyes when they looked at you. Feel their judgment as their eyes traveled from the toes of your boots to the hair on your head. Mocking sneers and hurtful laughter followed you wherever you went.

At least that’s how you perceived it. It’s how you saw yourself, a big lumbering mess unworthy of love and affection. You weren’t skinny, thus you were not attractive. It was logical.

Sam was different. Tall and muscular, thick corded muscles dancing beneath the layers he wore. Eyes which sparkled when he smiled, and oh, his smile. The mere action of a tiny grin could bring you to your knees on your strongest day.

You were in deep.

He must’ve known. He must have seen how your eyes followed him during a hunt. How you would take extra care to make sure he was alright.

Dean sure had. He would tease you constantly about your little “crush”. The elder Winchester was relentless in his comments. Often reducing you to a blubbering mess. He meant nothing by it. It was his nature to tease. He had taken on the role of brother after they found you, cowering in the back of a dank cellar, where you had suffered at the hands of a Djinn. One who fed off fear.

It took the combined efforts of Castiel and the brothers to bring you back to yourself, but, it was too late to go back to your old life. You had, insisted, or rather begged, for them to teach you all they knew. They had reluctantly agreed to take you on, And you had fought beside them ever since.

You weren’t the best nor the brightest, but you liked to think you brought something to the foursome. Even if it was just your cooking skills.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin?’” Dean shouts over the noise in the bar.

Your eyes, however, were glued to Sam who was charming a pretty brunette. Your heart gave a painful lurch with every smile he graced her with, with every touch she gave him. You were near to tears at this point.

Dean follows your line of sight and sighs sadly. “I think you need another drink.” he yells.

“No!” you yell back, shaking your head. “Take me home!”

Dean nods without a thought, grabs you by the upper arm and steers you through the gyrating crowd. He stops at the bar exit and inclines his head in Sam’s direction while handing you the keys to the car.

You nod once, push the door open, and make a break for it. The safety of the shiny black Impala calls to you.

Logically you knew you had no claim over him. He was a free agent, and the betrayal you felt was misplaced. He wasn’t yours. He didn’t see you that way. It was about time you came to grips with it. It was time to move on.

If only your heart would take the hint and let you.

You slide into the backseat of the Impala, your head landing heavily against the headrest. All you wanted was your bed, a hot cup of tea, and a quiet place to cry. Your heart was broken, your self-esteem was swirling mournfully in the toilet. You were ashamed of who you were. Ashamed of what you’d let yourself become. Ashamed you had fallen for a man who could, by merits of his looks alone, have anyone he wanted.

It was a mess. A total and complete mess.

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying to anyone who would listen that Dean would get his butt out of the bar and take you home. You were suffocating. You needed out. Now.

To your surprise, Sam opens the rear left door and slides in next to you, pulling the door shut behind him with a loud thunk.

His knees bunch uncomfortably between the driver seat and his own. The smell of cheap whiskey and cigarettes clings to his clothing. His hair in disarray from running his fingers through it.

“Where’s your friend?” you ask. Trying for nonchalance, it instead comes out squeaky, forcing you to fight the blush rising in your cheeks.

Sam turns his head toward you, his eyebrow raised in question. “She went home, to her fiance,” he counters. Curling his fingers into his worn jeans, he breathes out a heavy breath when you don’t reply.

“Are you ever going to say it?” he asks softly. “I know. I’ve known from the start. You’re not very subtle, (Y/N),” he adds.

It’s at this point you know that you’re going to die. The mortification was a tangible thing, so potent in its poison you felt like you were going to throw up. He was waiting for an answer, one you were not ready to give him, but it was the point of no return. It would be impossible to get over the rejection.

At best he would avoid you. At worst he would tell you to leave.

Your family would be taken from you. All that you had would be gone. You were going to have a panic attack.

“No?” he says. “Fine. I’ll go first.”

Your eyes snap to his, the question clearly written on your face.

“I’ve loved you from the first hunt. Your kindness and intellect, your laugh and smile,” he says quietly, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Soft and inviting. You’re a demon on a hunt, fierce and unforgiving. I haven’t felt this way since Jess. I had thought my chance for happiness died with her. But you…” he trails off. His hand moves to stroke your cheek. Gentle and loving.

“I’m in awe of you,” he murmurs and moves in for a kiss.

Soft lips meet chaffed ones. Your blood turns to liquid fire as he cups your face. His scent fills your nose and you can’t help but wonder if you’re in a dream.

You respond enthusiastically, your hand tangling in his hair to pull him closer. His hands move to your waist, trying to bring you closer. It’s cramped and uncomfortable, but you’ve never felt lighter nor more free.

He loved you. He accepted you. He wanted you.

Dean breaks the moment by tapping on the glass. “No sex in the car!” he yells, opening the driver’s seat door and sitting down. “You can keep it in your pants long enough to get to the bunker.”

You pull away from Sam, slightly drunk on the taste of him, and smile shyly. “I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a quick peck to his cheek.

“Ah, hell! I ain’t getting any sleep am I?” Dean complains.

You giggle as Sam throws a cocky smirk in his brother’s direction. He shrugs and pulls you closer, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head. “Not anytime soon, jerk,” he replies with a wink.

“Bitch,” Dean mutters.

The engine roars to life, and Dean pulls out of the parking lot.

Your heart soars. With a little help from your friends and the love of a good man, you knew you could learn to love yourself. It would take time and patience, but you knew you could get there.


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I’ll Give You The Sun (unofficial scene)

My skin prickles with excitement or maybe it’s just fear. I don’t know. My legs feel like lead that I have to keep lifting high enough to take each step. My hands are clammy and it’s not even that hot. My chest feels like a piece of wood the nail is being driven into. The words keep appearing in my head over and over : I’ll be there. Was he messing with me? Brian isn’t someone who’d do that but how could I know that. I haven’t seen him for years. For all I know, he would have drastically changed. But here I am, finally getting to see, repenting for my mistakes and hoping…maybe hoping there’s a chance for another.

The woods seem like they’ve changed, as if the trees simply sprouted legs and changed places. Maybe they know something’s happening today. They’re watching me, every move, every breath. Every single day without fail, I’ve been here, been within the envelope of this sanctity. Today it’s like breathing fire. Jumping off Devil’s Drop seems like a much better option.

I imagine being at CSA, painting and drawing behind a canvas. Would it feel as liberating as it used to be? The pressure to be perfect would begin to grow, it might not feel like second nature. It’s been so long since my hands have created. I look down at my hands, the lines that run along my palms, and the shapes of my fingers. It’s been so long. I don’t know if I’m ready for it yet. Jude’s jealously might have been a good thing after all. It loosened the screws for me, released the tension that made me want to be better than her, better than others, to be the Michelangelo of art. I’m me now. I’m my own person. I’m Noah the artist now. Not Picasso the artist or anyone else, wanting to be better and perfect.

I lean against a tree and breathe in the forest air. My fingers curl around the rock in my pocket, the one Brian gave me years ago on the rooftop of my house. One of his broken meteors. In the distance is CSA, the back of the studio crowded by the trees. I decide to visit it sometime, it holds memories after all. Memories of Oscar. Huh. I snort. Oscar. Jude somehow managed to find Oscar amongst every other guy who lives here. Oscar of all! Oscar bloody Ralph! That’s where I got to know Brian too. Brian who watched me swear like a madman and sit outside the studio for a very long time just so I can have classes. It’s embarrassing every time I remember it.

I start to wonder about him, what he might be like now. Maybe he’s tall, like really tall and funny and smart and popular and just Brian. He was all those things before and maybe he’s a better version of all that now. He’s coming to meet plain old Noah. I’ve created a wall of lies around me, everything I’ve done and pretended to be, all lies. Perhaps he might not come after all, maybe he’ll think it’s a waste of time, there’s absolutely no reason why he’d want to see me anyway. It’s stupid. I’m stupid for thinking we might have something. I’m stupid for wanting him after all this time.  He could’ve found someone at Stanford. Someone who’s not a weird, fake Picasso. He doesn’t need to see this lying version of myself.

There’s a moment when I feel like I need to leave, to pretend this never happened but it’s like I’m stuck here. The trees won’t let me go just yet. I can’t get up to leave but my stomach is squirming with every minute that passes. It was a crazy idea to send him drawing after drawing from my invisible museum. What was I even thinking? At the time it felt like the only way to get through to Brian, to apologize, to show him how I feel. Now it feels like I’ve made a mistake. What if he didn’t like any of the art? But then he wouldn’t say he’d be here. But he could also be taking the piss at me.

If mum had never caught us that day in the bedroom, I wonder if this would be different, if we would be different. Brian might have stayed for a long time. If that stupid closet game hadn’t happened, then I wouldn’t have avoided Brian, everything would’ve been right, mum would’ve never caught us, Brian would be here. Nothing would’ve gone wrong. But things always go wrong. We’ve got a knack for bad luck.

The leaves stir and the trees yawn, and I drag my gaze towards them. Jude had given me the trees for Oscar, not just the trees, everything but the flowers. She sacrificed almost all of her world for Oscar. I know…I can feel their love like a thick string that won’t break, that rolls longer, the distance they part. I want that with Brian. We have something too, I know we do. I wouldn’t be wanting him after so long if we didn’t. I remember mum’s words. Stay true to your heart, she said. I wonder if she’s here, watching me waiting for Brian. I wonder if she’s smiling with Grandma Sweetwine. Only Jude would know. Jude sees their ghosts.

When the light seeps through the forest, getting sucked away to another part of the world, and paints the sunset as farewell, I begin to grow anxious. I was an hour early, to calm my racing heart and to get my wits together. I wanted to be the first one here. I hadn’t brought a watch but I know it’s a little bit past five o’clock. Would he have kipped out like this? The Brian I knew wouldn’t, but I know nothing about the Brian now. It’s still too early to panic or feel disappointed. I can’t help it. I pull out the brushes and start painting in my head. I paint the Brian I imagine him to be now.

I paint an angry Brian, squinted eyes, turned lips and red cheeks, tossing a single rock in his right hand. I paint him in colours after that, lots and lots of colours that speak his soul. The rocks lay by his feet, floating and the colours that flood out of him like waves are dotted with stars. He is the stars, he is everything this world has to offer in this thick haze of untruths and alienation. How cheesy. This is something Jude would think although it seems like we’ve switched personalities over the years.

Leaves crunch underneath heavy footsteps and everything melts in my head. I drop the brushes, I throw the canvas and I am standing up with frantic fervor, wiping my hands on the bottom of my jeans. My stomach drops, turning uncomfortably with each breath held moment.

He appears like a blinding star and the trees move to let him through. His flaming hair has been cropped short, exposed. He’s grown taller and broader around the shoulders and I can only imagine what I must look like to him. I am tall and big but not as big as he has grown to be. He smiles but I stare at his squinty eyes, my favourite part of him. The closer he gets, the shorter my breath becomes. There’s no bounce to his steps anymore, there’s no bag of meteorites in his hand like I kept imagining him to be.

“Hi.” He greets. I drop my gaze and kick at a stone. The familiar sound of his voice reminds me of old times. 

You haven’t changed. I scoff, in my head at least. I have changed I want to scream at him, I have changed because of you but none of that matters anymore. All that change is built on a foundation of utter lies. “Hi.” I say instead, hardly breathing at all. Are my lungs even working?

It’s like the world has stopped spinning the moment Brian steps into my circle. I remember the day he threw stones at Zephyr and Fry, the day when it felt like he was on my side, a freak like me, revolutionaries. I don’t know if we’re still the same anymore, maybe somewhere deep. I know he’s changed a lot of things but he’d been brave and strong. He became who he is inside by not being a coward, but me, I am one. Who I am inside isn’t who I am on the outside.

“You’re quiet.” Brian flicks at my shoulder. I wonder how he can smile after everything I’d done. He doesn’t look mad at all.

“I’ve always been quiet.” I tell him. He laughs.

“Not in your head, you’re not.”

It makes me look up and I am immediately entranced by his copper eyes, bright and shimmering like the stars that fall out of his bag. “I thought you’d be mad.”

“Why?” I watch his hands slip into the pockets of his trousers. There aren’t any pockets on me. I can’t do anything with my hands, I let them hang by my sides, hoping I don’t do anything stupid.

“You know why.” This whole thing is making me feel weird. Why had I even agreed to this? Jesus. I’m going to mess this up real bad. Where’s effing Clark Gable when you need him? “How–how have you been?”

He shrugs, moving his hands in his pockets. “Good I guess. Stanford’s pretty good. I’m sure you’ve heard of–stuff.” Of course I have. I don’t tell him that.

“I’m sorry. I missed you.” Is all that comes out of my mouth. My mouth needs a jail, not my hands. I should be apologizing more. He should be getting mad at me, yelling even, fists flying. We should be talking about what’s happened in the past few years of our lives and what not. Not about how I’m missing him. I know he does too. Nothing seems to matter in this bubble of mine he has stepped back into. I can’t even pick up the brushes in my head. I am too focused on his eyes, the way they move and change colour, his lips and the space between his teeth.

“You know,” He says, moving closer and prompting me to take a step backwards. “I’ve missed you too.” I gulp, watching his hands emerge out of his pockets. My chest is thumping like a freaking jack hammer. I remember the two boys at the party. Is it going to be us again? That same feeling under this same tree? What if it doesn’t feel the same anymore? Not even that stupid bird is here to yell Where the hell is Ralph? anymore. In my head I ask him if he’s kissed anyone else, another boy and if he liked it. In my head he’s saying yes, nodding.

His hands rest against my chest and I back against the tree. Why is it always a tree? We could kiss on Devil’s Drop. Wouldn’t that be ironic? I laugh in my head. My stomach churns. His hands are big and warm. They sear through my shirt, through my skin, touching the red, beating thing in my chest. He breathes in my face. I breathe on his face. I wonder if my breath stinks. I should’ve popped a mint or something. His smells like chocolate.

And then I’m kissing him. Hard and frantic. My head explodes with fireworks, the type of fireworks that are colourful and not burning. Brian is all over me, his hands, on my back, in the loop of my sweatpants, underneath my shirt. Mine are shakily pulling at his hair, trying to merge into him, become one. He feels like the stars, a kind of chilly comfort.

I remember the way it felt to kiss him the first time. The colours flowing in splatters and the urge. We tremble, kissing like kids with pathetic crushes or more like lust. Huh. No one can know. Ever. I remember it again. This time it won’t matter if they know. I stumble but before he can question I pulling him into me, my back against the tree, pulling and pulling. I tug at the hem of his shirt, sliding my hands under and over the hard expanse of his stomach. Effing Clark Gable! A shuddery groan escapes my mouth. I feel embarrassed. He’s doing it to me now. All those thoughts. Millions of endless thoughts. I hadn’t said it the last time.

What if he leaves again? He squeezes my narrow hips. “I love you.” I breathe.

Everything slows. His hands cease to touch me. Mine slips away from him. But there’s not an inch of space between us. Now would be a good time for someone to come barreling through. But then he smiles, a knowing grin. Fucking jerk. He pulls me by the collar of my shirt and goes, “It took you so fucking long.”

#DanversSistersWeek Day 1: Sister Night

One of my #SanversWeek posts was about a Maggie x Kara brotp, so hope you can forgive Maggie’s narration in this one. I promise, I’m not the SG writers; I’d never de-center our favorite sisters!

Maggie’s new neighbor is having a party.

It’s Maggie’s first week in this apartment building. It’s nicer than her old one – slightly smaller in terms of square feet but with an airy open layout and it’s in good repair. She’s never really been a meet-the-neighbors type of person, but she figured it was a good omen when the girl who lives next door in 4A, a tall blonde with a cheerful smile and a firm handshake, helped her carry a few boxes up from her truck.

She’d chirped a welcome and was halfway through inviting Maggie over for some cookies before she’d gotten a weird look on her face, announced that she’d forgotten about a work thing, and dashed away.

It was 3:30pm on a Sunday, but, sure. Maggie works weird hours too. But, hey, good friendly neighbors are a boon. Someone to water her bonsai trees when she’s out of town, or check to make sure she locked her door if she left in a hurry – invaluable.

Maggie never learned her name. She thinks of her as Tall, Blonde, and Perky.

And she hasn’t heard much more than a low rumble from the TV before now, but tonight, she’s definitely having a party.

Turns out the walls in this apartment building are pretty thin.

Maggie hears a knock on Tall, Blonde, and Perky’s door, and then hears her making friendly conversation with someone who, Maggie figures out, is a pizza delivery person. He names out all the pizzas she’s ordered, and Maggie can’t hear every word but it’s at least three pies. He doesn’t seem to mention any salads, and Perky’s thin and fit, so there must be a lot of people coming over.

After the pizza, it’s only about ten minutes until someone else arrives, a woman, Maggie guesses by the sound of her voice. Maggie can hear the gentle hum of conversation through the walls, punctuated pretty frequently with laughter. Maggie waits for more people to come over, but no one else seems to. Just the voices of the two women, rising and falling naturally, laughing and, Maggie’s pretty sure, one of them gets socked with a pillow once.

As it gets later, the sounds of conversation are replaced by the unmistakable opening music of Moulin Rouge. Maggie rolls her eyes. Of course Perky likes Moulin Rouge. She’s definitely the type.

Turns out both Perky and her guest know all the words. To all the songs. For the whole movie. They have nice singing voices, but…it’s a lot.

It becomes clear that this is a weekly thing. Each Wednesday night Perky orders three pizzas, or so much Chinese food that two delivery people have to come (Maggie’d actually poked out her door for that one). Only one person ever comes to it, and Maggie’s pretty sure it’s the same person every time, even though she’s never seen her. They always talk for a couple of hours, usually a conversation peppered with laughter, and then watch a movie. Usually a musical.

After Moulin Rouge, it was Mamma Mia. Then Beauty and the Beast. Finally, this week it’s National Treasure, which Maggie realizes, with a puff of relief, has no singing it in.

Perky’s guest, however, has a lot of feelings about the inaccuracies of National Treasure.

“That’s not how you fire a gun, you dipshit,” she hears through the wall, clear as day.

Maggie decides, then and there, that she likes this guest, who apparently eats her own weight in pizza each week and has strong opinions on gun grips.

But later, when Maggie’s trying to fall asleep, she likes her less. “They just took the Declaration of Independence and ROLLED IT UP,” the guest is saying for the fourth time. Her words haven’t changed, but they have gotten louder. “They touched it with their HANDS. Do you KNOW what the oil on a human hand can do to an old document? DO YOU?”

Perky just laughs.

Maggie pulls a pillow over her head, but she can’t help but smile.

Tonight Maggie looks back fondly on how quiet the mystery guest was during National Treasure. Because they’re watching some action movie that Maggie can’t quite place through the wall, which is filled with explosions and shouting.

And, from what the woman is yelling about, there are aliens in it.

She is not pleased. “Are you kidding?” She screeches, and Maggie rolls her eyes. How fucking long is this movie, honestly. They’re going on hour three of her being this hyped up. “You can’t just handcuff an alien to a pipe and leave him there! What the fuck is your containment protocol? Are you NEW?”

Maggie wants to sleep, but she can’t help but snort. It’s a fair question.

She’s been living there for over three months when she catches a look at the mystery guest for the first time. She’s just dragging her ass home after nineteen grueling hours at the station chasing down a lead that completely disintegrated in her hands. She’s pissed, and starving, and just completely exhausted.

She walks in the front door just in time to see the elevator doors sliding closed. “Fucking wonderful,” she mutters, but just before the doors completely close, a hand sticks itself out and the doors bounce back open.

Maggie plods forward. “Thanks,” she mumbles before she gets a good look at the person attached to the hand.

It’s a ridiculously beautiful woman in a sexy black suit, and if she weren’t completely dead on her feet Maggie’d be flashing her dimples and seeing how susceptible this woman might be to them. As it is, she just sends an angry tendril up into the universe. Couldn’t they have sent this perfect creature to her on a day when she didn’t just want to collapse in a heap and fall asleep in this elevator?

“Uh, which floor?”

Maggie looks over as quickly as she can (which may still be in slow motion). “Oh, sorry. Right. Four. Please.” She leans her head against the wall, slipping her eyes closed and letting the cool metal soothe her. “Sorry.”

“Long day?” The woman sounds amused and Maggie doesn’t even have it in her to be embarrassed.

“The longest.”

The woman makes a humming sound and then Maggie hears her fiddling with her purse.

She feels her get physically closer. Maggie opens her eyes and blinks a couple times, wondering if she’s hallucinating, because there’s suddenly a donut floating in front of her face.

“I was saving this for my sister,” the woman says, “but you seem like you need it more than she does.”

Maggie just blinks at her.

The elevator stops and the doors open. Fourth floor. The woman doesn’t look back, just walks firmly out. Maggie wonders if her offer has already been revoked before she realizes this is her floor too. She follows the woman out, still not completely sure she isn’t hallucinating.

As soon as the doors close behind Maggie, the woman turns back to her, holding the donut out again. “Here,” she says again. “Not to be rude, but seems like you could use the sugar.”

Maggie reaches out and takes it. She’s definitely going in slow motion. “Thank you,” she manages to mumble. “My donut angel.”

Keep reading

Aragorn, direct descendant of Elendil and his son Isildur, both of whom had been seven feet tall, must have nonetheless have been a very tall man … probably at least 6 ft. 6, and Boromir, of high Númenórean lineage, not much shorter

—random note of Tolkien’s in the Bodleian Library

(I don’t know if I’m more charmed by my freakish faves or by the fact that he actually wrote a random note about this)