AU where Adam and Ronan both go to the same gym, and Ronan is always listening to music with his headphones in and goes super hard. And Adam’s just kind of like ? oh my god? who is this super jacked guy with the giant tattoo? (a. bc he’s hot and b.) bc he’s kind of scary) and Adam just kind of assumes Ronan is like, idk listening to metal or some shit bc Ronan’s always scowling and lifting a bunch of weights. but then they actually talk and Ronan’s just been listening to owl city the whole time
dctv writers: ok wentworth snart is straight. he likes girls. he doesn’t like guys wentworth please
wentworth: I understand
wentworth: *pulls out a megaphone* ANYWAY GUYS SNART IS PAN AND HIM AND BARRY ARE GETTING MARRIED,
the fact that plus sized reader fics get way less notes than others really confuse me? like the writing is just as good? and it’s curvy girl representation? and makes people who don’t fall under societal’s stereotypical beauty standards feel like they’re valued and appreciated? what else could you want??
"leave the first sentence of a fic" The first thing Marinette felt was, not pain, but anger, which was absurd considering she'd just been shot.
The first thing Marinette felt was, not pain, but anger, which was absurd considering she’d just been shot.
Shot by a camera, that is.
She hadn’t expected to have so many photos taken of her and Chat Noir that day; especially not pictures of the both of them caught with their lips brushing ever so slightly on a rooftop where they’d thought they could have a moment of privacy.
“Hey!” Ladybug gasped, leaping away from Chat Noir as a small group of reporters burst through the door that led to the roof. Flashes of white light momentarily blinded her, and the sounds of a plethora of pictures being snapped only made the anger bubble hot within her stomach—along with a burning embarrassment that turned her cheeks as red as her suit. “You can’t just interrupt a private moment like that!”
Behind her Chat Noir groaned, his voice nothing more than a disappointed mumble. “You guys interrupted my first kiss.”
GD Monthly Prompt | Canon Divergence AU | Astra is in the pod that Kara finds at the end of Season 1. She’s immediately taken prisoner by the DEO. However, when the Daxamites attack, and their prince tricks Kara and breaks her heart, Astra escapes the DEO to track him down. Alex joins her. Astra kills Mon-El, and almost gets killed by Rhea in retaliation, but Alex manages to save her and kill Rhea, with the help of the DEO. Along the way, the two get to know each other better, and come to an understanding.
i watched kingsman the other day and thought of your kic fic when eggsy wore the bespoke suit harry commissioned for him in secret because i imagined victor commissioning yuuri's own bespoke three-piece pinstriped suit paired with a *nice* tie and expensive ass Oxford leather shoes (everything fit perfectly because lbr victor probably had yuuri's measurements seared into his brain after the Calvin Klein Jeans). But he sends it ~anonymously~ He has a quiet heart attack when he sees yuuri in it
When Yuuri steps into the reception hall, he doesn’t miss the inquisitive looks and hushed whispers that come his way. He swallows and forces his chin up, eyes searching the room for one person. He finds him, of course, standing as far away as possible at the other end of the hall, talking quietly with Chris and a middle-aged couple decked out in faux fur and pearls. Old money.
Yuuri’s tempted to just stand back and admire from afar as Victor and Chris charm the tailored designer pants off of everyone here, but then he remembers he actually has a job to do. He starts making his way over, fingers itching at his sides because he doesn’t have his clipboard to cling to.
(“You’re not bringing that to the gala,” Mila had told him.
Even when Yuuri bit his lip, begging, “But, Mila, how am I supposed to remember—”
“You are not,” she repeated firmly, “bringing that to the gala. It’s already shit enough that I’m not able to go because of this disaster of a cold.” She sniffs. “I was going to be wearing Valentino, for crying out loud.”)
Chris notices him approaching, turns and gives him a look of appraisal. “Yuuri,” he admonishes. “You said you didn’t have anything to wear.”
Victor smiles politely at the couple, dismisses them. Then turns to look at Yuuri, too, and oh. “We’re matching,” Victor says with a raised eyebrow. His mouth twitches.
They are matching. They’re both sporting deep grey and oxford blue, except Yuuri’s in a bespoke three-piece with pinstripes and Victor’s in a simple, slim fit suit.
“I didn’t have anything to wear,” Yuuri says, swallowing. He pokes at his face subconsciously, then remembers he’s not wearing glasses. He wants to run a hand through his hair, too—he needs to do something with them, anything—but Sara had been very clear that if he ruined the slick-backed style that she’d pulled it in that she would never do anything for him again, his job be damned. “This just.. appeared? On my doorstep. This afternoon.”
“Fancy that,” Chris says, glancing at Victor.
Victor takes a slow sip from the glass of champagne in his hands. “Fancy that,” he agrees, looking back at Chris. They exchange a silent conversation. Then, Victor’s handing Chris the glass. He says suddenly, “Let’s dance, Yuuri.”
Yuuri blinks, checks his watch. “What? The program’s about to start. Don’t you need to—”
Victor stretches out a hand impatiently. “Let’s dance.”
Yuuri inhales. Chris has disappeared. More people are making their way off the floor, too, finding their seats. There’s not even proper dancing music playing, he realizes. But Victor’s staring at him, gorgeous and waiting and they’re matching, and Yuuri exhales, finally.
fic title "sweethome alabama fic of my dreams" but if that's a bit too obscure i guess i'll accept "Watershed"
“Howdy,” Peeta drawled, letting the rake in his hand fall to the side. He was sweaty, shirtless, and still annoyingly appealing. Time had been a friend to Peeta Mellark, giving him definition where she had fervently hoped a beer belly had grown instead. No such luck. “What’s it been? Four, five years?”
She adjusted her sunglasses and walked further into the yard that used to be her own. “Six.”
“Ah, yeah. That’s right. Guess time flies when you don’t give a shit.” He gave her a pleasant smile with a side of cold blue eyes. “What brings you back around these parts, Katniss?” He peered over her shoulder, feigning confusion. “I don’t see a broom. What in the world did you ride in on?”
“Oh, okay. Fun. I see we’re playing the role of an ignorant hick today,” she said, pulling a folder from her designer bag. Her hand shook with barely repressed anger. “That’s fine. You do it so nicely. Play your little games. And while you’re at it, can you finally, please, give me my fucking divorce?”
His lips stayed frozen in that curled-lip smile. “Well now, honey. I sure like the way you beg. But…no. I don’t think I will.”
Congrats on 6k, cuddle buddy!! 💜 I adore you and I wouldn't wanna be this in sync with anyone else. Prompt: "Stop trying to make me laugh when I'm mad at you!" + Malec. 👀
bub!!! thank u so very much :’) im honoured to be your cuddle buddy, and i wouldn’t wanna be in sync with anyone else either! love you!!
Magnus was looking at Alec with an innocent
look on his face. A small pout to his lips that said I don’t know what you’re talking about. The mischievous glint in
his eyes, however, let Alec know that Magnus knew damn well what he had done,
and not only that, he was amused by it. Alec could see Magnus trying not to
laugh, the corners of his lips twitching as Alec glared at him.
With egg yolk dripping from his
Magnus had decided that instead of
cracking the egg into the bowl, he would crack it on his boyfriends head. From
the outside, seeing Alec with egg yolk slowly falling down his face, with the
shell clinging to his hair, was hilarious. But Alec just continued to scowl.
“Whatever is the matter, my dear?”
Alec didn’t think his glare could get even harder but Magnus was always one to
surprise him and show him things about himself that he never knew. Alec reached
for a towel to wipe his face, which in hindsight seemed like a good idea. But taking
his eyes off Magnus when surrounded by baking supplies was never a good idea. As
soon as Alec pulled the cloth away from his face, a puff of flour was blown in
his face, sticking to the last remnants of egg.
“Don’t look at me like that, my precious
little flour.” And oh, Magnus was really about to test his
strength. Magnus’ eyebrows quirked, he’d noticed that Alec had wanted to laugh,
but Alec was determined not to break his resolve. He wasn’t about to break and
let Magnus win this one, not when he was covered in egg and flour.
And now sugar.
“You, my darling, are the sweetest.”
“Stop trying to make me laugh when
I’m mad at you!” Magnus was grinning from where he stood, holding the bag of
now empty sugar in his hand. Alec could tell that he had plenty more puns, and
he knew he wasn’t going to last.
“But Alexander,” Magnus stopped to
pick up a jar of raspberry jam, “I love you berry
Alec broke. Laughter bubbled out of
him, and then like a dam breaking, he couldn’t stop the happiness from pouring
out from him. As he managed to calm down, he heard his boyfriend laughing along
with him, both with glee of seeing Alec laugh and from knowing he had won. Or
so he thought. Two can play at that game,
“You didn’t even try on that one.”
“Then why did you laugh, hmm?” Alec
smirked as he stepped closer to Magnus, his boyfriend matching his expression,
tilting his head to invite Alec in. Alec crowded into Magnus’ personal space,
and just before their lips reached, he smashed an egg against Magnus’ hair.
Magnus gasped in shock, looking up at his grinning boyfriend with wide eyes
and eyebrows furrowed with confusion.
hey there! i was wondering if you could rec me some good 2jae smut fics? For *coughs* research...
research papers for school are getting weirder and weirder these days….
anyways make sure to read tags and warnings before reading anything bc honestly i read anything when it comes to smut (but i don’t read problematic stuff like non-con so u don’t have to worry about that)
i’m physically incapable of accepting any non-happy ending Supercat fic or WORSE any fic that has Supercat as Kara’s previous relationship that ended badly and broke her heart (usually because Cat is such a ~horrible person~ but the portion of fandom that characterizes her that way is a whole other topic) because like
it’s so UNREALISTIC to me like??? Cat and Kara??? leaving each other for any reason at all??? and you can’t say “cheating” because neither of them would EVER so like…..lmfao….
Cat and Kara “breaking up”?? a truly impossible concept, the very peak of impossible concepts
I FORGOT I HAD THIS ASK HOW COULD I IT’S SO GOOD (Okay let me first say AUs in which any of les amis are royalty weird me out since, yknow, monarchy, so let’s assume Enjolras happened to be born the crown prince of Camelot and absolutely hates it and is determined to dissolve the whole notion of a kingdom when he’s supposed to ascend to the throne or something like that)
We all know how the story goes: everyone hates the current king for his ban on magic throughout Camelot. Enter Grantaire, a powerful (though he doesn’t realize it) wizard new to the kingdom who hates the king for the exact same reason, and his son by extension.
A vengeful witch tries to kill Enjolras. Grantaire saves his life, though he doesn’t understand why at the time. The king makes Grantaire Enjolras’ manservant as a ‘reward’.
They can’t standeach other at first. Grantaire’s never been that well-off, and he’s uncomfortable in a ridiculously lavish place like the castle. He throws snark at Enjolras every time he’s forced to dress him or pull his bath water or whatever. Enjolras, for his part, hates Grantaire’s attitude and snaps back every time he prods, saying things like ‘the size of my bed/stable/army is beyond my control’.
The Great Dragon tells him it’s his destiny to protect Enjolras and stay by his side. ‘Two sides of the same coin’, the Dragon calls them. Grantaire wants to serve Enjolras even less, after that.
Then he starts to notice things. The sparseness of Enjolras’ chambers compared to the other rooms in the castle. Enjolras paying the merchants for far more than their goods cost, then distributing it to the children of the town. His camaraderie with many of Camelot’s knights, yet his disdain towards the ones who talk down on the poor. Arguments that happen between Enjolras and his father behind closed doors while Grantaire stands outside (”No one person should be allowed to decide who lives or dies!” “It’s the way we’ve lived for centuries.” “Then the way we live must be changed. When I become king…”).
Grantaire sees a glimmer of hope through Enjolras. Maybe, just maybe, he’s someone who could change Camelot for the better.
Grantaire stops complaining about having to prepare Enjolras’ breakfast or polish his armour, even after Enjolras says he doesn’t have to. Grantaire tells himself he’s only doing it because it takes no effort with his magic.
If it were up to Enjolras, he wouldn’t have a manservant, but he can’t bring himself to tell Grantaire to leave. He doesn’t understand why–Grantaire is loud, insufferable, pessimistic, and often shows up late in the morning reeking of the town’s tavern.
But sometimes Enjolras catches a glimmer in Grantaire’s eyes. When he’s reading, or caring for Enjolras’ horse, or when he’s laughing with the knights on the training grounds. The grass seems to stand up taller where Grantaire walks through it. Enjolras knows that’s a ridiculous notion.
One day, Camelot is swept up in a mysterious drought that left it with barely any water and food (hint: it was magic). Enjolras steals the food that the king has been hoarding away in the castle stores and distributes it to the people.
It’s the same day Grantaire realizes he now has two secrets to keep: that he’s a sorcerer, and that he loves Enjolras.
Another day, a great beast which seems impervious to Enjolras and his knights’ attacks (hint: it was magical) knocks Enjolras unconscious on his back. When he comes to, it’s only to see an armourless, weaponless Grantaire standing alone in front of the slain beast. Grantaire’s eyes are golden when he turns around and fixes them on Enjolras.
It’s strange. He could swear on the life of every citizen in Camelot that Grantaire’s eyes are a deep brown.
“Do you permit it?” Grantaire keeps asking Enjolras. He asks when he wants to leave the castle, or assist one of the knights, or borrow a book. Enjolras tells him he doesn’t need to ask for permission to do anything. Grantaire is his own person, after all. Not that Enjolras could refuse him anyway. Still, Grantaire keeps asking.
“Do you permit it?” he asks, with a roll of his eyes, when Enjolras asks where he’s going. He’s only going back to his own chambers. Enjolras reddens.
“Do you permit it?” he asks, shyly, holding a tunic that Enjolras has gifted him for his birthday (which Enjolras went through a lot of trouble to discover).
“Do you permit it?” he asks, with thinly veiled panic behind his eyes as he holds a letter from his mother with shaking hands. He needs to return to his hometown for a while. Enjolras never wants to see that look on him again.
“Do you permit it?” he asks one day, when he stands beside Enjolras as a dozen archers aim their arrows at him. Enjolras takes his hand and smiles. He wishes they had more time together.
They aren’t shot. As if propelled by an invisible force, all the archers are knocked off their feet and their bows broken. Grantaire holds his free hand towards them. His eyes are golden. It’s all the confession Enjolras needs.
“Do you permit it?” he asks, wanting permission to leave Enjolras’ service. They avoided each other for a week after the incident. Grantaire’s use of magic broke Camelot’s highest law, which Enjolras hates. He doesn’t understand why Grantaire wants to leave. The thought makes his heart clench.
Enjolras permits it, on the condition that Grantaire stay by his side. It’s not an order, but a plea. No one should be forced to live in the servitude of another, after all, least of all someone like Grantaire.
Grantaire wants the reason for his condition. Enjolras gives it to him in a rush of breath. Grantaire’s eyes go wide.
“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asks, laying a tentative hand on Enjolras’ cheek.
“Yes,” Enjolras says. Grantaire’s eyes close. Maybe they’re golden. Somehow, when Grantaire’s lips touch his, he can’t bring himself to care.
It is cold. The concrete under Lafay’s feet. The night air. The stuttering stillness of his anxious heart. Everything is cold.
Lafay hasn’t breathed a word, he watches Gaston on the bed, hardly breathing. He has a million things he wants to say. Why did you leave me? Why did you choose her over me? When did I stop mattering to you? But he can’t speak. Even if he did, the chances Gaston would hear him are slim and the chances he would be well-received are slimmer.
So he sits there, watching him day in and day out.
In thirteen days, Gaston opens his eyes.
But the first day, they exchange no words. Gaston looks at Lafay, and Lafay looks at Gaston, and they never breathe a word.
Lafay continues sitting in the room, though. The minutes stretch into hours, and he doesn’t move, especially now that Gaston is awake. They gaze each other with novels to say but never speak.
Sixteen days into Gaston’s recovery, Gaston finally speaks.
And Gaston says, “Lefou,” and then, “thank you,” in a scratchy voice that is strong albeit quiet. Much like the ocean at night, forceful and serene.
Lafay is at a loss.
“You’re welcome,” the words punch out of him as if they were stolen.
Gaston turns his head toward the window on the opposite wall.
They lapse into silence again.
Gaston begins eating more. Lafay begins breathing more.
Upon the twenty-first day, they speak some more.
“No one asked this if you,” Gaston accuses, “and yet here you are.”
Lafay ponders this, then agrees with a nod, “Here I am.”
Gaston fists his hands in the blanket of the bed. His jaw is set, face tense. Lafay watches curiously to see if Gaston will say something damning or something redeeming.
It turns out, he says something redeeming.
“Why?” he bursts, “Why do you stay?”
Lafay shrugs. He’d asked himself the same thing a million times, and each time finds but one irrational, irrelevant answer.
But saying it out loud is too difficult, so Lafay says, “Isn’t it obvious?”
The next day Gaston says, “What have I done to deserve this?” quickly and bemusedly.
“You turned the entire town against an innocent man-!”
“No,” Gaston interrupts. “Not- Not this,” he gestures to himself. And then to Lafay. “You. What have I done to deserve being saved and cared for by you?”
Lafay’s heart stops. He expected Gaston to thrash and yell, maybe even run back to the village to finish the job he’d started. It’s he monster he became. Lafay wouldn’t be surprised. He never expected Gaston to receive and welcome help.
“And don’t start with the cryptic responses, Lefou. It isn’t obvious and I don’t understand. All that I know is I was commanding an army and protecting our village one minute- and the next something happened. Now I’m here.
"I’ve obviously done something wrong,” Gaston finishes. “I only wish I knew what it was, and how things turned out the way they did.”
Lafay nears the bed and habitually grasps Gaston’s shoulder. He wanted to reassure him. He wanted to cheer him up. But he couldn’t, because he didn’t know who Gaston was anymore. Was Gaston the same man who fought wars with him, defended the weak? Was Gaston the same man who tried to kill the father of a woman he claimed to love?
Was Gaston the same man who left Lafay to die in the castle?
“Gaston…” Lafay starts. “Tell me honestly why you attacked The Beast that night.”
And Gaston replies, “To save Belle-”
“No,” Lafay stops him. “Tell me why.”
There’s a breath of silence.
“I-” Gaston stops.
“Because I think- I want to think and hope to think- it’s because you were scared,” Lafay starts rambling. “None of us had ever seen magic like that before. Tell me you were just confused and scared and you wouldn’t have hurt anyone if you were yourself.”
Lafay stops. Then, says, “Tell me that you left me because you were not yourself.”
“Lefou,” Gaston says pleadingly, “I regret that more than I regret anything I’ve ever done.”
Lafay laughs brokenheartedly, massaging his shoulder more aggressively. “Gaston we both know regret isn’t something you identify with-”
“You’re wrong,” Gaston says. “I know I haven’t much experience in the past, but any word said to mean regret is nothing without accommodation for how I feel knowing I betrayed you-
"And for what? A stupid girl. I don’t care about Belle. I know that now. I don’t think I ever cared about her. I wanted something to be an example of- an example of what it is to be normal. Because what I want isn’t.
"Lefou,” Gaston stresses. “what I want isn’t normal.”
Lafay’s heart stops with each syllable, hands slowing until they rest softly on Gaston’s collarbone. Gaston can’t be saying what Lafay thinks he’s saying.
“Forgive me if I am misreading this, but I want you, not Belle.”
Lafay suddenly can’t breathe. In a thousand varieties he’s heard those words, mumbled in the abyss of dreams and the shroud of fabricated memories, but never so clear and real as now. And he doesn’t know what to say.
Time stops, and Lafay forces air in and out of his lungs like factory work.
“I- Of course- Yes. I mean, no, you’re not misreading anything I just-”
“Lefou,” Gaston reaches out with one hand, twisting the fabric of his shirt and dragging his body weight down onto his own.