This is what resulted from a chat I had with @frostedpuffs and well, I’m very proud of it lol. It is kind of short tho.
Marinette was a wrecked ball of stress. It was so bad that people probably could smell stress on her while she passed by, if the dark circles under her eyes weren’t a dead giveaway. She had three tests, two presentations, the deadlines for four essays and a lot of commissions for her online clothes shop. And the cherry on top of her funeral cake was, of course, being Ladybug and saving Paris at any moment when an akuma appeared.
(Which happened a lot lately. Hawkmoth can choke.)
Although, Marinette probably won’t have a funeral cake, because, frankly, she didn’t even have time to die. But the real question here was if Marinette was using that time she had in the evening to do anything related to the before mentioned responsibilities?
Look, her plants had priority okay? Marinette can’t pull through stress crisis without her plants. So that’s how that fine evening found Marinette Dupain-Cheng on her balcony, making sure her hortensias were hydrated enough. She was humming a random tune, as she kept arranging her plants, trying to not think about the load of work she had. With a sigh, she glanced up at the skyline, hoping she to get a glint of inspiration for one that one-night dress that was lying between her commissions. As she looked in the distance, she noticed a dark figure jumping around the rooftops. Seems like Chat Noir was out and about. Marinette wondered if she should get some sweets from down in the bakery. That was how they got close after all. She was minding her own business, working on her sketched, when out of nowhere a cat fell on her because he was trying to steal her cookies. He received some swats over the head, but also some cookies, because Marinette has limits when it comes to how much she could resist begging kitty eyes. And well, what was said about feeding strays was very much true and Marinette was still amused that the biggest stray in Paris came to her out of all people.
“Good evening to you, ma princesse.” Marinette looked surprised as Chat landed on her balcony, making a courtly bow.
“Hey, Chat.” she greeted. “Did you come sniffing after some macarons or what?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I actually dropped by because I wanted to check on you. You seemed stressed.”
Marinette rose an eyebrow. “I seemed stressed from three blocks away?”
Chat rubbed the back of his head in a strangely familiar manner. “Call it a cat’s instinct.”
Marinette rolled her eyes fondly as Chat continued. “Anyway, I noticed you are stressed and luckily I know a wonderful type of therapy for this.”
Marinette glanced at him curiously. “You have my attention.”
Clearing his throat, he continued. “You see, this type of therapy is accessible to anyone, it is free, very good, wonderfully calming, utterly relaxing and prescribed by any doctor who cares about the well-being of their patients. In fact, there had been a scientific research, conducted by the Oxford University that came to the conclusion that this therapy was effective in 99,9% of the cases.”
“And what exactly is this therapy?”
Marinette sprayed Chat with her watering bottle, making him yowl and jump back a little. “Very funny, Chat.”
His ears dropped. “But I’m entirely serious!”
Marinette rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”
“Come on, princess! It will work wonders for you, you’ll see.”
Marinette sighed, before glancing at him. His ears were dropped and he was giving her those typical kitty eyes and Marinette wanted to hit herself over the head with something for being tempted by the offer. Honestly, if he wanted a kiss he could have just said so. Albeit, it would have been a kiss on the cheek, but still. Glancing aside, she considered her options. Well, she already kissed him once to get him out of mind control. No feelings there. Absolutely not. There couldn’t be anything happening from a peck on the lips for ‘lowering her stress levels’. Putting her spraying bottle aside, she turned to Chat.
“One kiss.” he declared, making him smile brightly.
“One dose of anti-stress coming your way, princess.”
Marinette opened her arms allowing Chat to bring her in a loose embrace. Tilting her head, Marinette closed her eyes as Chat bent his head and captured her lips.
Marinette found herself really enjoying kissing Chat. Maybe it was because there was no akuma involved this time. Maybe it was because his lips tasted like peaches. Or maybe it was just because Chat was a good kisser. Marinette let herself relax against him as they keept kissing. And then a gentle rumble filled Chat’s chest, making her smile against his lips. He was purring. And oddly enough it made her relax even more, her body going almost limp against Chat. It felt just simply wonderful. And when Chat finally pulled away, his purring stopping as well, Marinette let out an annoyed huff.
The little shit was smiling victoriously. “So princess, was I right or what?”
Marinette couldn’t even roll her eyes, because yes, he was right. She just nodded. “Not bad at all either.”
To her surprise and satisfaction, Chat blushed a little. “Well, er… I… only the best for the princess.”
As he gesticulated, Marinette caught a glimpse of green. Grabbing his hand, she brought it closer for inspection. She gasped. These weren’t always here, were they? She would have noticed. She poked them.
”You have beans!” she giggled then poked them again.
”A new design detail to my suit.” he explained, clearly amused by her actions. Taking advantage of the fact that her hands were on his, he grabbed the left one and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I’m glad I could help you, princess, but now I have to bid you adieu.”
”Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Marinette said, once she was pull editare out of the cute green beanies trance. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
And with that, Marinette pulled him by the tail, in her room.
Marinette created a very strong opinion about how therapy with cats should become a thing. She spent a couple of hours in Chat’s arms, his purring echoing soundly in the room as she worked. Honestly, she didn’t remember the last time when she had been so calm and relaxed. This was the only reason why she was cuddling Chat. Because it was calming and it was lowering her stress levels. There was no other reason. Honestly.
And with Chat’s purring and cuddles, she managed to finish two essays, four sketches for her commissions and the layout of her presentations. And with a peek on the lips for him, she went to bed (at a reasonable hour, for once), playing with his beans until she fell asleep.
On the topic of vaginal health though, make sure you’re hydrated, learn the different discharge colors and monitor any significant differences, stay away from heavily perfumed products, clean gently, be careful if you shave, and your vagina will be just fine doing its own thing.
Being a native southerner and living in Georgia - the home of the great Dr Leonard McCoy and DeForest Kelley - I thought it would be fun to offer some tips for writing about the South. I love reading Bones fanfics, but I see a lot of misconceptions about my home state and city, Atlanta. THIS IS NOT MEANT AS CRITICISM OF ANYONE’S WRITING!!! Hopefully people will see it in the fun spirit with which it’s intended! I’ve also tagged a few people who have written Bones stories that I’ve really enjoyed. I hope that’s ok!! I love everything you creative writers do!!
2. Georgia is the peach state, but we’re not drowning in peaches. The state doesn’t smell like peaches, taste like peaches, or drip peach juice. 1. Y’all is plural. And yes, we say y’all all the time, but only to refer to groups of more than one person. It’s never you guys or even you when referring to a group - ALWAYS y’all. I can’t talk without using that word!
3. What we are drowning in is Coke. AKA Dixie champagne, the elixir of life, the secret formula. Nobody calls it Coca-cola, it’s just Coke. Coke is headquartered in Atlanta and employees are not allowed to have any other soft drink on pain of being fired if they’re caught! (True!!) I’ve known people who wouldn’t attend a church event because someone was serving Pepsi! Also, all soft drinks are called Coke. If someone says, “Would you like a Coke?” It means “Would you like any carbonated beverage of the Coke family?” It’s never called pop or soda or anything else (especially Pepsi.)
4. Atlanta is not a small town. It’s a city of about 450 million people. If your story setting is Atlanta, then remember that there are no rolling fields or country roads here. But there is Lenox Mall, Phipps Plaza, lots of nice restaurants, and lots of streets named Peachtree. Peachtree Street, Peachtree Way, Peachtree Avenue, and Peachtree Battle Ave. are all within about a mile of my house.
5. We don’t call each other “Darlin’”. Sometimes we call each other “hon’” or “sweetie” or I might call a boy “bud” or “buddy” but I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone called “Darlin’
6. I would suggest not writing in Southern dialect. It’s hard to read and frequently sounds more country than Southern. And yes, there is a difference. Country is more redneck, Southern is more elegant.
7. We frequently say “Bless your heart”, but it’s sort of a way of saying “Isn’t she/he sweet but stupid…” For example, “She ordered a Pepsi, bless her heart.”
8. Outside of metro Atlanta is rural. Really rural. Georgia is a beautiful state that has both beaches and mountains and we love to take advantage of both! But not everyone lives on a farm. I would love to read a story where Bones takes the reader to Amelia Island or St Simon’s Island - it would just be so real! Also, we don’t ever call it the shore. It’s always the beach.
9. It does get hot here. REALLY hot! And humid. But it also gets cold here - but cold to us is anything below about 45 degrees. And the reason we’re so cold is because nobody knows what to do with it - we might own one winter jacket, so when it goes down to 20 degrees everyone just freezes. But it’s not hot here year-round.
10. Manners are super-important. Children are taught to say “Yes Ma’am” and “Yes Sir” from birth. I still say yes ma’am and sir to people older than me. Gentlemen pretty much all still open doors for ladies, pull out their chairs, and stand when a lady approaches your dinner table in a restaurant (then the lady always says “Go ahead and sit!! Don’t stand on my account!”) McCoy would totally be into doing this. We ladies enjoy it. Nobody is insulted. But ladies also open doors for gentlemen. We just try to be nice to each other. I apologize if anyone ever met someone met someone rude from Georgia! They must have been having a bad day, bless their heart. (Maybe someone offered them a Pepsi…)
11. It’s true that tea is always iced. And sweet. And we drink it all the time. Unless we’re drinking Coke.
12. To me, McCoy does not sound like he has any accent, - I just don’t hear it. But Kirk sounds a little funny sometimes!
OK - I’m going to stop here. If anyone has any questions please feel free to ask!! I’m hoping to read a lot more Bones stories and I hope this helps!
I’m not 100% on this specific part of the Break-Up Novella bit I felt like I needed a filler part in between Parts 3 and 5. I promise you, Part 5 will be filled and it’ll be better and we’ll see their relationship really get better. There may or may not be a cheeky smut scene at the end, as well as the cutest scene I think I’ve ever written in my life.
I’m really iffy on this part, so, I apologise in the horrendous flow. I really tried to work through it, I can promise you, haha. Chances are, I will come back to this a really re-do it to fit the novella properly. I lost all inspiration for this section and I’m so unsure as to why. I think I’ve just been SO excited to write the final part because I hate it when the missus and Harry fight because I just love them and I’m rooting for them SO hard… :(((
me, a kiss on each
she whispers, you were never weak,
just gentle as breeze.
she is the season
in which i come back
my hope is not found in
fireworks or midnights,
nor new borns,
my hope sounds like friends singing
indie pop out of key,
tastes like lemon sorbet melting
faster than it can be eaten;
smells like peach scented factor 50 we apply to each
looks like turquoise water where
shallow ocean strokes land.
my hope feels like sand
between my toes,
like saltwater burning my throat,
like hugs from my best friends,
like showering off sweat,
like picking out a postcard for
my grandmother, like holding pinky fingers when it is too
hot to hold hands.
yes, summer can lash out, yesterday she
burned my back but
it was in the shape of
the one thing in the world that gets the most extra reaction out of me in the world is when people tell me they don’t like beer. “I don’t like hops” is the equivalent of someone from Wisconsin telling me they don’t eat Chinese food because they don’t like spice (hops are the spice of beer, and have well over 50 distinct flavor profiles!!!) “but beer is too bitter” bITCH we are calling in sick to work and i am using ur credit card to buy us plane tickets to Belgium where u will be forced to drink quads and wits and tripels until u admit you are wrong. I will buy u German beers that taste like Creme brûlée and bananas, I will buy you kettle sours that taste like fruity pebbles and ripe peaches, I will buy u a pumpkin latte beer that will make u sprout uggs and leggings and a perfectly maintained sock bun!!! everything u know about beer is wrong and that is why I am here 2 help u (aka sit u down with 520357 beers and watch u drink them one by one until ur palate is scraped raw and born anew like a Phoenix from the ashes of its former shitty beer-hating life)
You taste like peaches,
Has anyone ever told you that?
And honestly I’m not sorry
That I kissed you, and honestly
I’m not sorry for the aftermath.
And honestly if you asked me,
I would do it all again-
Even if I knew it would
Leave me in ruins.
Words: 826 Plot:Being King of Narnia isn’t easy - when the girl Peter has a crush on falls from a ladder, he has to dash to the rescue. Fluffiness ensues. Prompt: (Anon) COULD YOU WRITE ME A PETER PEVENSIE THING PLEASE??? like maybe she works in the castle library, and she’s really shy and hiding behind books, but he keeps coming in to try and talk to her cause he likes her, and she’s up on a ladder organizing books one day, when she falls and he catches her and it’s a completely cliche moment except he wasn’t prepared to catch her and they both fall and they’re both laughing and he finally asks her out? i’m sorry if that’s too specific, whatever you write will A/N: I am not ashamed of my love of William Moseley and all that he is. So the idea of him as a 20-something King of Narnia is adorable and great. I hope I can do it justice for you!
Despite the howling storm beating on the castle windows; when Peter Pevensie entered the library, the warm air filled his lungs and soothed his cold muscles. He’d been out hunting this morning, and naturally, he’d made a complete arse of himself. You’d think being King would have given him some sort of grace. Apparently not.
The walls of the library were filled with mahogany shelves; floor to ceiling, stretching up endlessly to the curved stone roof. In the centre of the room, the stone fireplace blazed, shining a halo of light against the stormy world outside the windows. Ladders dotted the shelves, the only route to the highest books. And atop one of those ladders, there she was.
They had first met several years ago; Peter had been nervously browsing for information on Narnian languages and had no idea what he was doing. She’d given him a warm smile, a gentle look, and she’s shyly taken him to the right section. Even then, butterflies had filled his stomach. Just a little at first; soft sparks on his skin as she brushes his shoulder. And then, over time, he’d found himself wandering into the library whenever he felt as though a task was insurmountable and he’d sit and read by the fire while she worked. It brought him unsaid comfort. In this room, he wasn’t King of anything. He was just…Peter. Just Peter.
“(y/n)!” He called from the bottom of the ladder “I just finished the novel you recommended on Centaurs, and I had to let you know how much I loved it.” “Your majesty” she nodded, a smile softening her features “hang on one moment, I’ll come right down”. Peter laughed “you know I’ve asked that you call me Peter.” (y/n) began climbing down the ladder with ease, her boots clinking on the wooden platforms. “I-” she began, before stopping immediately. An audible creak echoed off of the walls, and in a sudden blur, the rung she was standing on snapped. She cried out, hurtling through the air. Peter felt his heart catch in his throat, reaching up his arms to soften her fall reflexively. When she fell into them, Peter felt his centre of balance shift. With a loud yelp, they both crashed to the floor in a heap, Peter’s arms supporting her as he lay sprawled over her. For a moment, they were both in shock. And then, (y/n) burst out laughing, the musical sound echoing off of the walls. Peter snickered, before falling into hysterics, the pure madness of the situation overcoming them both. When they managed to regain their composure, (y/n) reached up and brushed the tears of laugher out of her eyes. “A good catch” she grinned “you may have just saved my life”. “I suppose there is a first time for everything” Peter smiled, biting his lip briefly. Silence fell between them, and Peter felt something stirring in his chest. Looking down at her, her wrapped in his arms, he felt a force unlike any he’d known. To protect her, to always be there to catch her when she fell. His blood felt as though it were on fire and he- “I’m still…I’m still lying on you” Peter stuttered, before moving his arms out from under her so that he could sit back. She breathed out audibly, sitting opposite him, her face still inches from his own. He could see her dark lashes, the curve of her lips. The brilliant colour of her eyes; shining sharply in the firelight.
“Your M…Peter. Thank you” she swallowed, her eyes moving to his lips “I didn’t know if-” Peter leaned in then, slowly, softly, his lips touching against hers for only the briefest of moments. She tastes like peaches and walks in the rain, and it took all of his restraint to pull away, to lean back. But he wanted to do this right. He knew his title could scare her off. “I’ve wanted to do that” he breathed “for a long, long time”. She laughed, clasping a hand to her mouth in giddy excitement. “I’m not sorry you did” she whispered, her happiness audible in her voice. Peter felt his heart leap in his chest, the world falling away to nothing. There was only she and him, alight by the fireplace, burning brighter than the flames themselves. “Did you…I mean, did you want to perhaps come to tea with me sometime? We could go on a picnic, or go for a walk, or-” (y/n) moved forwards, her lips pressing against his, her hands folding atop his own. He felt as though he were on fire; his skin pricking with ecstacy. He opened his hand to lace his fingers with her own. When she pulled away, he was left blinking away the headrush he’d had, the shock plain on his face. She laughed, her cheeks flushed red in the firelight. She was so beautiful. “I’d like that, Peter. I’d like that very much”.
You are nine and watching your best friend’s older sister throw herself into the teeth of hungry-eyed boys who call her pretty names and buy her gifts and leave her lips looking just like blood, and your best friend leans over and tells you that this is what dead love tastes like, and
you don’t think you’ve ever forgotten the way her eyes looked because you’ve grown up leaning forward, standing on your toes peering into the eyes of your parents wondering how long it’ll take for their love to turn blood red and too heavy to hold back and leak all over your white carpets, and
when you first met him you swore he smelled like peaches and honey-suckle in springtime and he made bitter summer taste like poetry and he called you his little bird but he held down your wings whenever you tried to fly and that’s when you realized he smelled like peaches but tasted a lot more like decay, and
some things get caught in your throat when you try to speak them, getting trapped in the ready-set snares you swallowed to keep all the soft words away, you’d think he can read them in the blood that spills like basement leaks from your teeth, but he kisses you like he is drinking cherry wine instead and this is what dead love tastes like.