that was supposed to be reach but you can preach too

Driving Lessons

Plot: Harry is convinced he has to teach Y/N how to drive.

Warnings: None

Request: Yes. 

Hope you enjoy this story! The gif isn’t mine as I would certainly not be here if I’d ever been given he chance to sit that close to Harry.

This really wasn’t going even half as well as he’d promised me it would and slowly my faith in him and especially in his so called teaching skills began to subside. Harry was much braver than me and time had taught him how when he set his mind to something there was most likely a success to be found. I on the other hand knew what failure was and after having discovered my lack of skill when it came to driving and everything else even remotely car related I’d quickly given up all together. However Harry wouldn’t have it.

“Driving is not a big deal,” he’d groaned after learning of my fear, “And I’ll prove that tomorrow just so you know. You’re ridiculous.”

“Over are the days when you preached nothing but how wonderful you find me, huh?” I’d let my head roll back and turned to my boyfriend with a pout, “Guess the romance really does die before you know it.”

To this he’d laughed and I’d shrieked when his hands were grasping my ankles and pulling me onto his lap, where he’d then continued to tackle and kiss me noisily until I’d been convinced of how very present his love for me still was.

Secretly I had hoped he’d let the subject go, I really did. But Harry had a very persistent side to him. So that’s how I’d ended up here in the driver seat of his car with his watchful eyes set on every move I made.
My shaking hands had never before been this sweaty and I was red with embarrassment at how they even left a palm print on the steering wheel whenever I moved to brush the key. This was awful and for what had to be the tenth time I wondered why I always let him do this kind of stuff to me. A shaky breath left my lips and I glanced at Harry with uncertain eyes only to be met by his wide and confident smile.

“I don’t think I can do this, Harry.”

My voice was much thinner than expected, making his smile widen and his eyes warming with sympathy. He leaned in and his lips caught my cheek in a soft peck.

“You do look a little stressed out, love.” Harry chuckled against my skin before gently brushing his hand against my leg.

“What if I crash your car?” I asked, aware of how much he loved the blue vehicle he’d even jokingly named ‘Bradley’, “Or run over a cat? Harry, what if-”

“You’re not chickening out of this now,” Harry spoke whilst rolling his eyes, “I learned how to drive the moment I turned 18 and passed with ease and in one try only.”

I turned to him with arched brows. “Have I ever mentioned that I just love how humble you are?”

“Shut up,” Harry chuckled and squeezed my knee before withdrawing his touch and gesturing towards the wheel. “C'mon. The key’s there to be turned.”

My fingers still shook and I reluctantly touched the small object. It felt wrong and thinking of it now perhaps my feet didn’t reach the pedals well enough either… I turned to Harry once more. “But what when-”

“Y/N, I’m right next to you,” Harry huffed impatiently, “Should anything happen I’m here to step in, alright?”

With serious eyes he nodded towards the keys and I bit my lip, doubts clouding my head as I slowly turned it. Harry laughed when I jumped at the sound of the car coming to life and reached out to rub my shoulder in effort to ease the tension.

“Okay,” Harry hummed lowly, still incredibly calm considering he was sitting next to an emotional wreck, “Now you slowly release the clutch while giving it a little gas. Gently, Y/N. But don’t be shy, just-”

“I’m supposed to be gentle and not shy at the same time? How is that supposed to work, I-”

“It’s fine, c'mon,” Harry reassured me, “Yes, good! Just like that.”

Harry smiled as I slowly followed his instructions and I shrieked in happy surprise as the car moved. Oh god.


My hands held on to the wheel so tightly the whites of my knuckles became visible and I felt so hot I was certain my forehead was dripping with sweat.

“You’re driving!” Harry exclaimed, “Good girl I knew you could do it! Now turn left over there.”

“Why do you sound so surprised and turn left where?” I panicked and Harry’s hand acted quick in grabbing mine and forcing it to stay on the wheel before I could pull away.

“We’re on an empty parking space, love, turn left wherever you want so we’re going in a circle, yeah? At your own time.”

Harry’s ability to stay calm astounded me and he even managed to genuinely smile at me. My panicked state didn’t anger him at all. My teeth sunk into my lower lip as I did what he’d asked and my eyes widened when the car obeyed my commands.

“Oh my god it’s working!” I cried out, eyes finding Harry’s happy expression. I couldn’t remember a time when my heart had hammered in my chest like this before.

“You’re doing great, baby!” he encouraged and I blushed at the pride in his tone, “Eyes on the road, though, love. Know how much you like my face but right now-”

“Please wait to be a narcissist until I’m no longer in the position of potentially killing us both, okay? Does that work for you?”

Harry laughed. “Alright, sorry.”

We continued to drive in a circle and my mood increasingly got better the longer I got to enjoy my success, until Harry decided that he wanted to teach me how to park.
Now this did not work out at all and frankly it annoyed me how he didn’t let me enjoy myself a little longer. I insisted that the space he’d chosen was too narrow for his far too large vehicle and got frustrated the longer he refused to let me give up.
I could tell Harry really tried to remain patient with me and I loved him for it but even though we were on an empty parking space I could see how much closer we were coming to the wall of one of the buildings surrounding us. What if I couldn’t reach the break in time? Or if the wheel didn’t turn properly and we’d crash? Parking was the one thing many drivers struggled with anyway wasn’t it? Why the hell did he need me to humiliate myself, now?

With a forceful push I stepped down onto the break bringing the car to an abrupt halt that jolted Harry and myself forward.

“Fucking hell, what now?” he cried out.

“I wanted to check if the break worked,” I apologized, my breathing harsh, “Sorry.”

“Warn me next time, love. Bradley isn’t the youngest anymore, please remember that.”

“Right,” I murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, love,” Harry assured, his hand finding mine to squeeze my palm, “You’re being a baby chicken but it’s endearing and I love you regardless so-”

“Oh stop it,” I rolled my eyes, “I love you as well but if you don’t shut up I’ll make Bradley kiss that wall over there.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Hope you liked it! Personally I can’t drive so I hope what H is saying in this one shot makes somewhat sense. Thank you to @deuxghosts for the help! x

Rest of my stories:

Thank you SO MUCH to the person, who preferred to remain anonymous, that commissioned me to write this AMAZING fic about Sam moving into his house after he left the Air Force! THIS WAS THE BEST! For more info on commissioning me, click here!

“If you’re interested, let me know,” Sam’s real estate agent tells him.

“Your offer has been accepted!”

“Just sign right here and the keys are yours.”

Sam signs. The keys to his home are now his.

“You bought a house?” His sister asks him. There’s a bit more skepticism in the question than Sam wants.

“Yes, Sarah. I bought a house.”


“In Virginia. About three steps into the state.”

Sarah gives him a look. She owns a townhouse in the city proper. It’s not in the best neighborhood, but it’s a nice house. A beautiful house that’s full of pictures and memories, full of children’s toys and crayon marks on walls that didn’t quite come out all the way, full of food and laughter and recently- Sam.

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[Miraculous Ladybug]: The Sexual Awakening of Chloe Bourgeois

wow i finally updated this hot damn 

[Previous: Chapter 1]

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

Title: The Sexual Awakening of Chloe Bourgeois

Summary: “Chloe didn’t like girls. She didn’t like Ladybug.  She just wanted to make out with her and show her platonic admiration for Ladybug’s gorgeous commitment to civic duty. And if she wanted to continue the making out at Chloe’s place, then hey, who was she to deny a freaking superhero?”

In which Chloe is new to the whole “not-straight” thing, and Marinette can’t just stand by and not help the poor thing out.

Chapter 2: Coffee with the Enemy

Chloe didn’t freakin’ get Marinette. Like, on a fundamental level.

The whole point of two people hating each other was that it was supposed to be ridiculously simple. Chloe threw an insult, Marinette threw one back, everything was a competition, they saw eye to eye on nothing, and being in close proximity to each other was about the closest they could get to hell on Earth. Deceptively simple. In fact, one of the biggest comforts in Chloe’s life was that interacting with Marinette only necessitated three base emotions: anger, annoyance, and frustration. You couldn’t get any more predictable than that.

But of course, Marinette had to go and screw the whole thing up by being all nice and understanding and pretty .

Marinette wasn’t supposed to be any of those things. She was supposed to be her normal brand of infuriating so that Chloe could go on hating her in peace and the world could keep on turning.

Instead, Chloe was sitting in a coffee shop — clutching her latte like a lifeline — staring at Marinette sitting across from her and feeling thoroughly awkward . She didn’t even think that was a thing she could feel around Marinette.

Then again, Chloe didn’t think she would ever start liking girls either, so maybe it was time to stop acting so surprised by the fact that the world as she knew it was bursting into flames around her and just learn to get used to it at this point.

In this new alternate universe, Chloe wasn’t straight and Marinette invited Chloe for coffee so that they could talk about not-straight things.

She sipped at her drink. Yeah, no, totally fine, totally not weird. Let alone the fact that she didn’t even know where the frilly fucking hell to start or what she was supposed to be saying right now. Plus she was pretty sure she had spontaneously developed restless leg syndrome within the last twenty minutes because the whole table was shaking from the effort, and Marinette was noticing. But Chloe couldn’t stop because Jesus fucking Christ this was the most uncomfortable she’d been in her entire life and she was regretting this truce, and this coffee, and this whole day, and she really just wanted to die in private.

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Song Preference: LOUD (Fuck It)

Vinny: Underpaid, you graduate, to build somebody else’s dream
You slammed the door behind you as you stormed into the apartment. You were already tearing at your uniform, desperate to not be in it a second longer than you had to be. Vinny knew it had to have been a pretty rough day, so while you silently fled to your room he went to the freezer and grabbed a carton of ice cream and two spoons. He crawls into bed with you and you immediately begin your rant about how awful your job is. “I just- I feel like I’m wasting my life. I just spent my entire life in school and the only job I can get is supervisor at a grocery store. It’s like it was all for nothing!” Vinny pulls you in closer as you bury your face in his neck. “I know baby, I know. I promise though you’ll find something better, you’re too perfect to not be successful and sooner or later you’ll find a job that will recognize that.” You sigh, already feeling yourself melt into Vinny’s arms. “You always know just what to say.” “Yeah, that’s ‘cause I’m perfect too.” He smirked as you reached for the ice cream.

Chris: Say “fuck it”, make the best of it
“Well it’s… nice.” You stammered as you dropped your bags. You and Chris had planned a weekend away in Philly, but it hadn’t quite gone as you’d hoped. First, it rained the whole drive up and was supposed to continue the entire weekend, and derail most of your plans. Then your hotel lost your reservation which lead you here. The two of you had just checked into a crappy motel outside the city, which hadn’t been updated since the mid 1970s and smelt vaguely like stale cigarettes. Chris looked around the room, deflated. “I’m sorry Y/N, this isn’t what I had planned.” “That doesn’t matter,” you said wrapping your arms around his waist “we did this to spend time with each other, and that hasn’t changed. We can still have a great weekend in a crappy hotel on a rainy weekend. Besides, I bet it’ll make for a good story someday.” Chris smiled down at you. “Yeah, someday.” You roll your eyes “For now we’ll just have to make the best of it. Like fuck it, we’ve seen worse,” you said as he smirked “We’ll be fine babe. Hell it’ll be great!” Your boyfriend sighed but he knew you were right. “Ok, ok. Let’s see if we can catch a movie or something.”

Devin: Don’t become another victim, put a smile on that face
“I don’t wanna goooo,” You whined to Devin as you got dressed for class “My professor is a douche, I can’t stand him.” For good reason. He’s 60 years old and still uses terms like ‘faggot’, and talks about how millennials don’t work hard enough. “So call him out on it, someone needs to educate him.” You sighed “Last time someone called him on it he told them not to bother showing up to class anymore.” Normally you wouldn’t hesitate to rip this guy a new one, but this was a required course that was only taught every other semester and you couldn’t risk not graduating on time. “Well,” Devin hummed as he came up behind you “you’re going to hate this, but you need to just to put on a fake smile and go to class—and before you argue you know this fucker isn’t worth messing up your graduation date!” You huff, knowing he’s right. Devin kisses the top of your head “Don’t be another victim of this bastard’s ignorance.” “I hate it when you’re right.” “You mean all the time?” He snickers as you shove his shoulders before continuing to get ready for class.

Ricky: You gotta be loud, you gotta be rude, so the world can hear you
You’d never been very assertive. In fact when you were younger you were something of a pushover. You’d always hated it about yourself, but you just didn’t like conflict. Dating Ricky had made you much more confident, but even so these things still weren’t easy for you. One day the two of you were out shopping: you were looking for a copy of The Iliad to replace the one you’d lost when moving. Finally you found the last copy on the shelf, but when you turned to tell Ricky an old man snatched the book off the shelf from beneath your finger tips. “Wait that was mine.” The man scowled back at you, mumbling about ‘your generation’ and ‘lack of respect’. You were crushed—for about .06 seconds before Ricky started in on the guy. “HEY! That was her fucking book! You wanna preach about respect— get a real hobby and stop antagonizing my girl you sick mother fucker!” You watch the color drained from the old man’s face as Ricky snatched the book from his hands and pulled you away. “Thanks babe.” You smiled, holding his hand hoping to calm him down. Ricky looked down at you with a half smile, “Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta be a little rude to get what’s yours.” “I’ll try to remember that.” you smiled as you kissed his cheek.

Ryan: With a noose as a tie… did you fantasize of a much different life
“Do you ever stop and wonder, like, what if?” Ryan looked at you questioningly “What?” The two of you were laying down on the roof of his apartment drinking beer and looking at the stars. You guys were about to finish off another 6-pack and you were getting philosophical. “Like, what if I’d finished college, or what if my family wasn’t so shitty, or what if… what if life didn’t suck so much, or was just… better?” “Nope.” You rolled to your side to face him. “No?” “No, I don’t wonder ‘what if’. Ever.” “Why not?” “Because,” he mused “if any of those things had been any different I wouldn’t be here with you, and you’re worth all the bullshit that brought us here.” “Aww Ryan.” You cooed as your boyfriend turned a new shade of pink. “Oh shut up.” He mumbled as he took another sip of his beer. “Well, I’m glad I’m here too. You’re worth all the bullshit in the world, you keep me going.” Ryan turned back to you and kissed you lightly, and you knew somehow you’d be ok.

Potions Master

I said I would write for @happy-snape-week

Alas, I’ve been a little busy, so please accept this revamped, rewritten and slightly polished fic, as opposed to anything completely fresh.

This originally stemmed from an ask where someone wanted to see Snape’s talent for Potions being acknowledged, and him gaining his Potions Mastery on merit.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Ah, Severus,” Slughorn beamed at the student before him, as the rest of the NEWT class filed out of the dungeon.  “This way, my boy.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he followed Slughorn from the seventh year Potions classroom and into his sumptuous office.  Unlike Lucius, and Regulus, and countless other Slytherins, he’d never been invited into Slughorn’s office.  He’d certainly never had an invite into the Slug Club.  Not that this was a Slug Club invitation.  Not at quarter past four on a Tuesday.

Snape loitered awkwardly in the doorway, clutching his schoolbag against his slight frame. Slughorn turned from the ornate cabinet where he was pouring himself a drink, and waved Snape in.  “Do sit down, do sit down!”  

Snape shuffled forward, and Slughorn flicked his wand, causing the door to slam shut.  “A seat, Severus!” Slughorn repeated, as he sank heavily into his own chair.  

Snape approached the chair furthest from his housemaster, and slowly lowered his bag, perching himself on the very edge of the seat.  Slughorn frowned at the boy’s actions, and gave a small cough in displeasure, but did not comment.  He merely made a great show of summoning a side table and placing it before Snape, balancing his drink on it, and then pulling his own chair closer to the wary student.

“Now, my dear boy,” he started, “you are aware that you are supposed to attend a follow up session regarding your career choices?”

Snape didn’t answer.

“Accio,” Slughorn muttered, and a number of parchment pages flew through the air from his desk.  He quickly rifled through them.  “Where is it, where is it?  J…M…Parkinson, no, no, Rosier, no, aha!  Snape!”  He pulled one from the stack and held it triumphantly aloft, whilst banishing the rest to his desk. “Now, from your initial session before your OWLs…”

Slughorn fell silent as he stared in confusion at the blank parchment.  He turned it over, and back, and then over again.  Finally, he raised his head and looked at the sulky boy seated across from him.  “Ah, now, Severus.  This is a little embarrassing, but I don’t suppose I gave you the copy from your last session, did I?”

“I’ve never had a careers advice session, sir.”

“You’ve never ha-” Slughorn blustered, grabbing his handkerchief and running it dramatically over his forehead.  “You simply must have!  I see all the Slytherins!”

“Not me.  Sir.”  

Slughorn peered helplessly at the blank parchment before him.  “I’ve never…not once…I…”  He looked again at the boy before him, who was shifting awkwardly in his seat.  

“Can I go now, sir?”

“Why on earth didn’t you say something, boy?”

Snape sat silently, glaring at the ceiling, annoyed that he hadn’t been allowed to retreat to his common room.  He willed his housemaster to lose interest and cease his line of questioning.  When he eventually glanced back down and made eye contact, Slughorn was still peering intently at him.  Snape sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was low.  “I asked around.  The others said…”

“The others said what?”

He shrugged, as if it was of no importance, but his sallow cheeks filled with colour.  “They said that you didn’t offer career advice to half bloods.”

Slughorn thumped his fist against the small table between them.  “I OFFER CAREER ADVICE TO ALL!”

Snape tensed, and immediately gripped his wand.  Slughorn winced at the boy’s swift reaction.  

“No, no,” Slughorn said, quietly, placating him.  “I wasn’t angry with you.  Put your wand away, Severus.”  He stood, exhaled deeply, and strode over to the drinks cabinet.  He poured a generous measure of firewhisky into two fancy glasses. “Here,” he said, pressing one into Snape’s hand, who looked at it, eyes wide.


“You’re of age, aren’t you, boy?”


“Then drink.”  

Snape lifted the glass, almost recoiling as the fumes from the strong smelling liquid reached his nose. He looked at Slughorn, who had his own glass raised.

“Cheers,” said his teacher, and brought his lips to the rim of the glass.  

Snape did the same, and then his face twisted in anguish as the strong liquor burned his throat.  To his horror, he could feel a tear forming at the edge of his right eye.  He rubbed his sleeve against it, and when his vision cleared, he saw Slughorn smiling oddly at him.  

It was then that Snape noticed Slughorn’s glass was still full.  

“Ah, you youngsters. Always able to hold your liquor,” he laughed, and poured another generous measure into Snape’s now empty glass. “Still, I would take that one much more slowly, else this meeting will be over before it’s started.”  

Snape could feel his flush of embarrassment disappearing as he realised that Slughorn thought he’d swallowed his drink as a statement, and not simply through ignorance.  He nodded, and this time, took a small sip of the harsh liquid, and then placed the glass down on the table between them.

“Now,” Slughorn said, pulling out a quill with a flourish, and starting to write on the previously blank parchment.  “Tell me about your favourite subject.”

“Defence, sir.”

“And what do you like about Defence?”

“Creating spells.”

“Very good.  Am I then also to understand that you have an appreciation for Charms?”

Snape shrugged.  “It’s all right.”

Slughorn raised an eyebrow. “All right?  How can you expect to create your own spells if your charm work isn’t exact?”

“Professor Flitwick doesn’t allow us to experiment,” Snape said, simply.  “Three flicks this way, four flicks that way,” he grumbled.  “What if four flicks this way, and three flicks that way gave better results?”

“I believe that’s why Professor Flitwick is the teacher, Severus,” Slughorn said, trying to keep a hint of amusement from his voice, “and you are his student.”

Snape pursed his lips. “Anyway, Defence is better than Charms. I like duelling.  And learning how to control dark creatures.”

Slughorn peered at him over his paper.  “Controlling dark creatures?  I suppose you took Kettleburn’s class then?”  

“No, sir.”

“No?  May I ask why?”  

“It’s a bit too dangerous, sir.”

Slughorn snorted and took another sip of his drink.  “Indeed. Indeed.  And what else?”

“Herbology could be worse.”

“A glowing recommendation indeed,” Slughorn smiled.  “I will be sure to pass your critique to Pomona.”

Despite himself, Snape smiled back.  “I mean, it’s not bad or anything.  It’s not Divination, or Arithmancy-”

“Divination I can understand,” Slughorn said, cautiously, “But I am surprised to hear that you don’t enjoy Arithmancy.”

“I don’t believe in fortune telling.”

Slughorn gave a tight smile. “I am certain your teachers would disagree with the nature of their subjects.  Arithmancy, in particular, is practically a science-”

Snape snorted. “Ancient Runes is a better way to spend your time.  You can learn a lot from ancient magic.”

“So, Defence and Ancient Runes are your favourite subjects?  With,” Slughorn gave a quick half smile, “Charms being regarded as ‘all right’ and Herbology ‘could be worse’?”

“I didn’t mean it like that about Herbology.  I still wouldn’t want to do it as a career, but I can see it’s useful.”

“Useful for…?”

“Potions, sir. Obviously.”

“Ah, Potions.  I was hoping you would say that.  You had me worried there for a moment.”


Slughorn smiled kindly. “You are a fan of my subject, are you not, Severus?”

“Yes, sir.  It’s my favourite.”

“Not Defence?”

Snape paused, considering. “Both,” he said, finally.  “I like them both the same.”

“Well, you have a certain amount of talent when it comes to Potions.  When you’re not blowing up your cauldron, that is.”

“Sorry, sir.”  

Slughorn stopped writing. “In fact, it amazes me that a boy who has such a grasp of the theory – and your essays, Severus, are nothing short of excellent-” Snape flushed at Slughorn’s words, not used to receiving such high praise.  Slughorn stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “-it astounds me that you cannot grasp the practical.”

“It’s not that I can’t brew,” Snape muttered, a note of petulance in his voice.  

“The simple potions, certainly,” Slughorn conceded.  “I recall that you were rather competent up until your OWL year.  You used to sit next to Lily Evans, didn’t you?” he said, a small smile creeping across his face.  “Perhaps we should re-arrange the seating so-”

“No!  Don’t!” Snape’s vehement response caused Slughorn to raise an eyebrow.

“Very well.  However, I shall say it plainly:  your NEWT examiners will not take kindly to you exploding the contents of your pewter across the classroom.”  Slughorn tried not to roll his eyes as he watched the angry young man grab his bag and rummage through it.  

“Severus,” Slughorn continued loudly, “unfortunately, as impressive as your understanding of the theoretical is, there isn’t much call for wizards who cannot practice what they preach.  Even, I fear, the Ministry would not be intereste…”  Slughorn trailed off as an intricately annotated textbook was thrust before him, Snape’s thin hand trembling slightly as he held it.

“What’s this?” Slughorn said, taking the proffered book.  He turned the book at an angle, staring at the tiny cramped writing that filled the page. “Thirteen Sopophorous beans?  Crushing them instead of cutting?”  He looked back at Snape, his brow furrowed.  “Clockwise as well as anti-clockwise?”  

“It works.  Sir.”  

Slughorn flicked through the rest of the book, noting the cramped but detailed instructions littering each and every page.  He stood, abruptly, and clicked his fingers, motioning for Snape to follow him back into the classroom.



“I want you to brew,” Slughorn said, simply.  “I am going to brew, and you are going to brew.  Get the ingredients from the cupboard.”  He stared at the unmoving boy.  “Well? Come on!  Twelve beans for me, thirteen beans for you.”

Snape nodded.  He almost dropped one of the jars in the storeroom, and he hastily wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his robes before taking a deep breath and continuing.  He laid the ingredients out on the desk, whilst Slughorn gathered the equipment.  Together, under Slughorn’s watchful eye, the young boy brewed using his amendments.

An hour later, Slughorn stared in shock at the perfect potion produced by his student.  “In under an hour,” he noted, glancing at his watch.  “Severus, this is…something special.”


“And the rest of your book? You’ve done this with other potions?”

Snape shrugged non-committedly.  “Some are better than others.  I can only experiment in class.”

Slughorn tapped his finger against his lips.  “Interesting. You try out the most dangerous things under my guidance?  And that’s why you often blow up your cauldron?”

Snape looked down at his shoes, his voice barely more than a whisper.  “Notyourguidancesir.”  

“Sorry?”  Slughorn stared intently at Snape, but the boy didn’t speak again.  “Please don’t mumble, Severus.  Enunciate!”

“It’s not your guidance, sir.”  He glanced up, and saw Slughorn frowning.  He quickly glanced down.  “It’s the most expensive things, sir,” he muttered, his voice dropping again.  

Slughorn stared at his student.  “Are you telling me that you don’t experiment because you cannot afford the ingredients?”

Snape’s cheeks flushed. “I am not like the other Slytherins. Sir.”

“I am aware of your background,” Slughorn said, awkwardly.  “You are telling me that you could make these refinements to other potions, but you cannot experiment because you do not have access to the ingredients?”


“Answer me!  Is that right, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”  

“Every Monday and every Wednesday,” Slughorn said, a note of finality in his tone, “you will come to this office and practice your potions.”

“But sir-”

“No arguments, Severus,” Slughorn said, waving him out of the classroom.  “I will see you here on Wednesday.”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful, sir – but what about Quidditch, sir?”  Snape blurted out, desperately.

“Quidditch, Severus?” Slughorn struggled to prevent a hearty laugh escaping.  “I didn’t think you were so inclined.”

“I don’t mind it,” he said, defensively.  “I’m not that keen on flying on a broom, but…”


“We’re short, sir.” Snape grimaced.  “We’re down four players since Ave, Mulc, Reggie and Ev got in that brawl last week, and Professor McGonagall and Professor Hooch suspended them for the rest of the year.  You know what Ev’s like when it comes to Quidditch.  He’s said that the rest of us have to turn up to practice, no excus-”

“Enough,” Slughorn said, raising his hand.  “I don’t need to know about the Quidditch tactics of Evan Rosier.  Very well.  You shall attend my classroom on Mondays and Fridays, leaving your Wednesdays free for Quidditch practice.”

Snape hoisted his bag over his shoulder, still looking anxious.  “What about the others, sir?  What should I tell them?  They’ll think you’re giving me preferential treatment if I just turn up here.”

Slughorn smiled.  “I would suggest blowing your cauldron up during the next lesson.  I can easily hand you a detention for a term or two.”


“Oh, and Severus?”


“Make it good, won’t you?”

For once, it wasn’t his own cauldron that erupted.  At the start of the lesson, Snape purposely flung a flobberworm across the room, causing Potter’s cauldron to impressively spew its contents three feet into the air, and across four tables.  Moments later, Snape deliberately threw a bezoar towards Potter’s neighbour, catching Black’s hand as he was in the midst of carefully dribbling precious Dragon’s blood into his mixture.

The fallout was unforgettable.  Legendary, even.  Students yelled and screamed, cauldrons were spilled, and ingredients were flung aside. Without exception, each and every student pointed at Snape when Slughorn’s shouting reached crescendo, and for Snape’s part, he laughed loudly – impudently – as Slughorn issued him with detention.  His mirth only abated when Slughorn lost his temper, and finally shouted that due to his ongoing impertinence, Snape had lost two nights a week for the rest of his Hogwart’s career.

Vengeance was sweet. Snape was still smirking to himself as he sauntered out of the classroom, pleased that he’d managed to make use of Slughorn’s instruction and upset both Potter and Black at the same time. He pulled up short when he saw Lily waiting outside the classroom with Potter, her expression furious.  Instantly, Snape’s smile dropped, and he self-consciously pulled his shoulder bag tight to his body.

“You’ve really changed.”

“Says you,” Snape retorted, hotly.  

“Look at his face!” Lily pointed to the marks on James’ cheek where the potion had splattered against him.  “You could’ve disfigured him.”

“Disfigured him?!  It was only a Mandrake and a few Flobberworms,” he snapped.  “It’ll wear off by tomorrow.”  He glared at the pair, and muttered under his breath, “I’d have used Bubotuber pus if I wanted to disfigure him.”

“You’re lucky Slughorn gave you such a harsh punishment, Snivellus, else I’d be reporting this to Dumbledore,” hissed James.

“Go ahead,” Snape sneered. “I’m sure he’ll be shocked that a Slytherin wannabe Death Eater would do such a thing to our beloved Head Boy.”

“Ignore him, James!” Lily pulled on her boyfriend’s arm before he could retort.  Snape wasn’t certain whether she had already grown tired of their argument – tired of him, even - or whether the mention of James’ Head Boy status reminded her that they both had far more to lose than Snape did if their disagreement turned physical.

He felt as if all of the colour had drained from the world when she shook her head and looked him straight in the eye with burning hatred.  “I was so wrong about you.  There’s just no reasoning with you anymore.”  She barged past him, her elbow purposely digging into his ribs as she dragged her boyfriend behind her.

James allowed himself to be pulled along, but ran his wand over his throat, and pointed at Snape whilst mouthing, “You’re dead.”

Snape sank back against the cold stone wall, watching silently as the pair fled up the dungeon stairs, hand-in-hand.  His efforts had almost been worth it, but the distaste in Lily’s eyes had rather ruined his rare moment of triumph.

Snape’s heart skipped when he walked into the dungeon.  He’d nervously paced outside for several minutes before pushing the door; he knew Slughorn was well respected, and seemed honourable enough – but then, Snape had witnessed too much disappointment to consider any promises a sure thing. He’d half expected the door to swing open and to be confronted with the cauldron scrubbing detention that his classmates believed him to be attending.

Instead, to his pleasure, he saw a long line of ingredients covering the bench, and he almost tripped over his shoelaces in his haste to start work.

True to his word, Slughorn provided all of the ingredients Snape required - even those which he hardly dared touch, knowing from his days in Hogsmeade with his nose pressed up against the glass of Slug and Jiggers that they’d cost someone – Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Slughorn himself, even – a small fortune.  He wasn’t about to blow his opportunity be being greedy or irresponsible.

The first few weeks were fantastic, and Snape made subtle refinements to several potions, and overhauled half a dozen more – but then, Slughorn slipped.  Black earned himself a week’s worth of detentions after tripping Snape in class, causing his carefully brewed potion to splash over the floor, melting one of the flagstones in the process.  Without thinking the action through, Slughorn carelessly issued Black with a week’s worth of detentions – which meant that Snape had to put up the pretence of a real detention.  

Scrubbing out cauldrons would’ve been an unpleasant enough job, but it was made many times worse having to share a bench with a braying, mocking Black – let alone losing his evening of experimental brewing.  Thankfully, Slughorn realised his mistake and let Black off on Thursday night with a stern warning, and a lament about how sincerely sad he was that he hadn’t had Sirius in Slytherin like the rest of his family.

Black had been his usual subtle self, crowing loudly with Potter about how he’d evaded detention, whilst Snape was having to endure months for his earlier transgression – but Snape was so relieved to hear that he’d got his Friday experimentation day back, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  

“Excuse me, Professor,” the first year said, breathing heavily at the doorway of the Transfiguration class.  “Professor Slughorn says that Severus Snape must report to his office immediately.”

“This is most irregular,” Professor McGonagall said, drawing herself up to her full height.  “What’s this about, Severus?”

“I don’t know, Professor,” Snape replied, honestly.  He looked at the Hufflepuff in the doorway.

“I don’t know either, Professor,” said the young Hufflepuff, “but Professor Slughorn and Professor Dumbledore are together and waiting.”

“Well,” said Professor McGonagall, slowly, “if Professor Dumbledore has requested such a thing, then we must acquiesce.  Severus, collect your things, and you can return here tonight after dinner to continue your classwork.”

“I’ve got Quidditch pract-”

“Tonight,” McGonagall said, raising her voice, “or you do not have permission to leave now.”

“Yes, Professor. Tonight, Professor.”

“Good, now go.”  

Severus scooped up his papers, and – arms full - followed the Hufflepuff down the corridor. “What’s this about then?”

“Dunno,” replied the Hufflepuff.  “But Slughorn looked very excited.  He gave me a whole box of crystallised pineapple for coming to get you.”

Taking a deep breath, Snape knocked on the door to the Potions classroom and was surprised when Professor Dumbledore swept the door open.  “Ah, Severus.  Do come in.”

He stepped into the room, past Dumbledore and his eyes widened when he saw the man standing at the back of the room.  Slughorn appeared to be bursting with pride.

“This is the boy?”

“Severus Snape,” Slughorn said, urging Snape forwards to shake the hands of the guest.  

“Snape?”  The man raised his eyebrows as he pulled out of the handshake.  “Can’t say I’ve heard that before.”

Snape glowered. Malfoy was right; this was what his life was going to be like – forever cursed by a Muggle moniker.  

“Ah, Libatius, what’s in a name?” said Professor Dumbledore.  “I do believe Horace invited you here for a demonstration?”


Slughorn placed a hammy hand on Snape’s bony shoulder.  “This boy can do things with a cauldron that will make your head spin.”

“I doubt that very much,” said Borage, scowling.  “Horace, my dear fellow, you have been inviting me here for years.  Each year you promise so much, yet your students deliver so little.  I have told you my terms before, and yet you still insist on this charade.”  

“This time,” Slughorn pronounced, proudly, “you’ll see.”


“Now, Severus,” Dumbledore said, firmly, “I believe you have an appointment with Professor McGonagall?”

Snape glanced down at the watch Lucius Malfoy had gifted him for his seventeenth birthday.  “Yes, sir.”  How had he missed dinner?  He’d been working for hours on end.  He collected his bag and he quietly approached Slughorn and Borage, who were peering over several of his cauldrons.  “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said, holding his hand out.  Borage nodded, and Snape had the feeling that he’d been utterly dismissed.

“Off you go, Severus,” Slughorn said kindly, and with a sinking stomach, Snape departed.


Snape turned at the sound of Dumbledore’s voice.  The Headmaster passed him a note.  “Pass this to Professor McGonagall, please, Severus.”


Professor McGonagall scanned the note, her expression not betraying her feelings.  “Very well,” she said, calling a house elf and passing the note to it. A moment later, the house elf returned with a spread of food from that night’s feast.

“It appears, Mr Snape, that you missed dinner.  I thought I did not see you in the Great Hall tonight.  I have been informed that you are to eat whilst you study, although please do not smear any sauces on your paper. I refuse to mark parchment that is covered in food.”  

He sprawled across the desk, his nose close to the parchment as he filled the page full of his tiny, cramped writing.  McGonagall rolled her eyes; no matter what scathing comments she wrote on his essays, he always managed to turn in more than was necessary.  There was simply no dissuading the boy from his research.

After an hour, she stood, and dismissed the Slytherin.  “I’m sorry about Quidditch,” she huffed, “but your classwork is more important.  There are only a handful of games left in the season, of course.”  

Snape nodded, but as he stood to leave, the door burst open.  “Well done, my boy!” Slughorn boomed, marching in to the room.  


“Minerva!” Slughorn returned her greeting bombastically, mistaking McGonagall’s annoyance for enthusiasm.  “Now Severus, down to the dungeons and gather your things.  Professor Dumbledore is making the necessary arrangements with your parents as we speak!”


“Horace, what on earth is this about?”

“Libatius Borage wants you as an apprentice, Severus.”

Snape’s knees went weak, and he gripped the desk before him.

“The pay is a little ungenerous, but then, that’s Libatius for you,” Slughorn admitted.  “What you’ll pick up in experience, knowledge and connections – well, my boy, that’s priceless.  Priceless!”  

“He’s not sat his NEWTs,” McGonagall said disapprovingly.  “You’ll affect the boy’s career if he leaves without them.”

“Oh, Libatius has agreed to special dispensation,” Slughorn said, waving his hand.  “Details, details.  With an apprenticeship under Borage, young master Snape here won’t want for anything else.”

“I’ll be a Potions Master, sir?”

“Indeed, Severus. You’ll be a Potions Master.”  

More than One Path

So, back in the old expanded universe of Star Wars there was a spice called Glitterstim. Glitterstim was featured prominently in the Han Solo trilogy as well as other books. Glitterstim was a spice that granted the user psychic powers temporarily, but it came with some pretty steep penalties.

trigger warnings: Drug use and abuse.

@sarkastically made me write this, and it is the angstiest, longest piece of spiritassassin fic I have written to date. Enjoy?

AO3 link

Chirrut opened his eyes as he exited his meditation and looked up at the ceiling. Nothing. He had felt nothing again. He had successfully slipped into the meditation, cleared his mind, and reached out with his feelings but he had felt… nothing. Chirrut swallowed and he bowed his head. It had been three months since Baze had successfully felt the Force through meditation. There had been stars in Baze’s eyes when he came out, gasping for breath and trying to explain over stumbling words. Chirrut had pulled Baze into his arms, smiled brightly, and told Baze how proud of him he was. Of course Baze would sense the Force first. He was devoted and kind, the best student of them all. It only made sense.

That had been three months ago now, and Chirrut still felt nothing. He had tried every day since then, and all anyone could tell him was to be patient, it would happen in its own time. He just had to be patient.

Chirrut was getting sick of being patient.

Keep reading

8.18: Dean pushes Sam to talk about how he’s feeling physically due to the trials, but Sam turns it right around on him and makes it about Dean’s feelings…

SAM: Yeah. Um, Cas dinged you up pretty good.
DEAN: And?
SAM: And I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.
DEAN: What like my feelings?
SAM: If that’s what you want to talk about, sure.
DEAN: Okay. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I go get some, uh, herbal tea.
SAM: Okay.
DEAN: And you can find some cowboy junkies on the dial.

Like Dean recognized the description of Claire in 12.16 when Sam didn’t, Dean recognized Krissy Chambers on the surveillance footage when Sam didn’t…

KRISSY: You’re never too young to kill monsters, especially the ones that kill your family.

Thing is, the “monster” that killed her father is actually the human hunter who took her and her friends in to train them to be the next generation of hunters in the style of his choosing. Victor partnered with a vampire who turned innocent people, then set them out as easy “training targets” for the kids who were now dependent on him. LIED to them, telling the kids that these were the vampires who killed their families so they could get their “revenge” and their Hunter Origin Story. The experience bonds the three young hunters together, but it was all based on a lie until Sam and Dean remind her that hunting’s not all about killing and revenge.

Sam and Dean see the combination of hunting and normal family life that Victor is providing the kids. Dean objects at first, arguing that kids should be protected from hunting… But Victor wants the next generation of hunters to be “better than them.” He uses Martin and Garth as examples of hunters he’s trying to improve upon.

VICTOR: Better than us. Oh, come on, guys. I know your friends. I mean, Martin was insane. And somebody obviously dropped Garth on his head when he was a baby. And I know you two loved that Bobby guy, but he was a barely functional alcoholic.
DEAN: Watch it.
VICTOR: No disrespect meant, but Josephine is an all-state athlete and National Merit scholar. Aiden is so fast he could pick your pocket before you could even blink. And Krissy, oh she’s just a natural-born leader and hunter.
DEAN: So what?
VICTOR: So these kids are the cream of the crop. They are the Beatles. They are the dream team. And once they get their revenge……they’ll be better hunters than any of us ever dreamed of.

On the surface, it sounds like a far less horrifying version of Kendricks…

Victor believes a “balanced approach” is the way to get there.

DEAN: Kids aren’t supposed to hunt, Sam.
SAM: We did.
DEAN: Yeah, and look what that did for us.
SAM: Well, maybe they’re doing it right. Maybe they can hunt and have a real life.

But Dean still doesn’t believe it can work for anybody. And he’s still suspicious of the inconsistencies he saw in the vampire hunt where they’d found Krissy, so he starts investigating while Sam stays with Victor and the kids.

VICTOR: But you know what I realized, Sam, is that these kids, they don’t have to live it the way we have. You know, crappy hotel rooms, always moving, no family, no life. It’s not the only way.

(taking a moment to talk about Jimmy, the war hero that everyone in town knew, who was reduced to a crying mess repeating I’M SORRY to the vampire victim, who thought he just seemed scared)

Sam didn’t want to believe that Victor was lying about having found the vamp that killed Krissy’s father, and just assumed he was mistaken, so Sam brings Victor along to investigate the mysterious blue van, and that’s when Victor and the vampire he’s been working with all along turn on Sam. MISPLACED TRUST, SAMMY.

Meanwhile Dean finds where the vampire’s been stashing its bait victims after they’ve been turned, and realizes that the girl is freshly turned and has never fed before, and therefore couldn’t possibly have been the vampire who killed Krissy’s father.

Dean earns Krissy’s trust, and proves to all three kids that they don’t know everything.

KRISSY: So, let’s say this isn’t the vamp who killed my dad. She’s still a monster and deserves to die.
DEAN: Not if we can save her.
AIDEN: What?
DEAN: She hasn’t fed yet. We can reverse this if we find her maker and get his blood.
AIDEN: And why should we care about her?
DEAN: Like I said, hunting isn’t always about killing.
ADIEN: Oh, please. Preach to some other choir. We’re not buying it.
DEAN: You want to kill an innocent girl?!
KRISSY: I want the blood sucker who killed my dad to pay.
DEAN: And we’re gonna find out who that is. But let’s not be so bloodthirsty that just anyone will do.
JOSEPHINE: But Victor says it’s her.
DEAN: And I say it ain’t! So we’re gonna pack her to go, and we’re gonna ask Victor ourselves. Okay?

Sometimes the REAL monster is just a human…

VICTOR: We are at war –a war that we are losing. That Leviathan fiasco was a wake-up call. We have to do what we can to survive. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re not a father. You don’t know what it’s like to hear the cries of your children dying.But now I have a second chance to make it all right, to create the next generation of hunters – stronger, faster, smarter.

Sounds EXACTLY like the BMoL in s12, no?

VICTOR: You have to understand. I saw a way to make the future better. But to get there, I had to do something hard.

Sorta like what Mary believes she’s doing working with the MoL?

KRISSY: If we want revenge for our families’ deaths, he gives it to us!
DEAN: We don’t kill people. You don’t kill people.
KRISSY: He’s not a person. He’s a monster.

She points the gun at Victor and fires, but the bullets are in her pocket. And she delivers his sentence:

AIDEN: So, we’re just gonna let him live?
KRISSY: Yeah. All alone, with himself. No family. No friends. Ask me, that’s not much of anything.

Meanwhile they get to save the life of an innocent girl, and Krissy proves she’s a better hunter than Victor ever was. At least, far more “balanced.”

KRISSY: Look, I hate how we were put together, but…I can’t deny that it feels right. And why should I let Victor ruin that, too?
DEAN: So, what you’re saying is that you like that boy over there and you want to stay?
KRISSY: What? Aiden? No. I mean… He’s like my brother. It’s nothing like that.
DEAN: Well, you’re all still minors.
KRISSY: Not for long. Josephine will be 18 in a few months. And we all have a life and each other here.
DEAN: And hunting?
KRISSY: We won’t go looking for it. But if any monsters show up around here, they better look out. 
DEAN: Okay. Good.
KRISSY: Really? I thought I was gonna have to fight you way more on that.
DEAN: Well, you’re right. You’re not a kid anymore. You can make your own decisions.

(reverberations of Mary’s talks with Dean in s12… but with Mary in Dean’s role, and Dean in Krissy’s here… But Mary’s got her own issues that she’s also dealing with, and it’s taken a lot longer for her to reach “acceptance.”)

Wrong Side of Heaven (Pt 2)

Haha, I can’t count; there’s six parts in total. I’m silly.

Part 1 / Part 2 (here) / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Blake narrowed her eyes, trying very hard to keep the heat from her voice and failing miserably. They sat in a diner in the middle of the night, having left one city and started heading to another, hoping to draw even more Demons out into the open. At least, that was her excuse; the creature across the table from her, on the other hand, seemed to possess a penchant for… sightseeing.

It sounded preposterous but there was no mistaking the genuine enthusiasm with which the Demon partook in the simple things of the mortals’ world, like food and drink, music and idle chatter, a host of things that would never be found in the pits of Hell. She’d already traveled through several cities on the west coast and decided that a change in scenery was in order. Somewhere, in a hidden satchel the Fallen Angel could never find when she looked for it but always seemed within Weiss’ reach, there existed a list of things the Demon wanted to seek out, a to-do list of sorts, and she seemed eager in crossing things off rather than sitting back and waiting for the messengers of Hell to come for her.

“You can’t be serious,” Blake said, pushing aside her empty plate and leaning back against the booth’s seat. It still bothered her, sometimes, leaning back and not feeling the familiar pressure of her wings, but she’d grown somewhat accustomed to it by this point. The Fallen Angel had resolved to keep them hidden away except when hunting, hating the strange sensation of them at her back, these pale imitations. “There can’t be things like that in Hell.”

Keep reading


Notes: Dex has hella siblings, Aubrey is two years older than him and Jenna is three years younger. Also Dex’s family calls him Liam, but I kept his name Will in the narrative. Shout out to everyone who had extremely ugly glasses as a kid.

      He couldn’t breathe. He absolutely can’t see and he can’t breathe. His last pair of prescription contacts, which were supposed to last him two more weeks had ripped. He had scoured the bathroom for an extra pair, even tried to make do with the ripped lens, but the contact immediately fell out of his eye. He clutched his chest and took several deep breaths before pulling the bulky glasses case out from the shoe box hidden in the back corner of his closet. He steadied his hands before pulling the large frames onto to his face.

 “Yo Poindexter!” Will sank into himself, turning the corner and racing down the hall towards the closest classroom. Behind him James Corrs and Chad McGowan were dodging other students in an effort to reach him, and Will felt a rush of panic shoot down his spine as he realizes he had ran directly into Dennis Stevens. He had no idea why, but a large group of the student body, especially a group of certain eighth graders had found it hilarious when Will was forced to get glasses. For a few weeks he had refused to wear them during the school day, but one too many teachers had called home complaining that Will wasn’t getting anything done in class because he spent the entire period squinting at the board. His mother had threatened to take away his season tickets to the hockey rink if he refused to wear the glasses, and for some ridiculous reason he had convinced himself that he couldn’t tell his mother about the threats, so he complied. When he asked his older brother to take him to get contacts he had scoffed, “Twelve year olds can’t get contacts, Liam.” So there he stood, his back against a row of lockers as the crowd taunted him chanting “Four-eyed Poindexter” and Chad pounded Will’s stomach with his fists. They had only stopped when the second period bell rang, but James had turned back at the last second to punch him directly in the nose. When Aubrey was called into the nurse’s office to calm him down, he lied and told her he had slipped and broken his nose. And even though Aubrey stuck by side as often as she could from then on, Will still had to hide black eyes and bruises from his family until his fifteenth birthday. His mother had found it “incredibly strange that you want to spend your birthday at the optometrists, Liam, really we can go tomorrow.” But he had insisted, and it was the best birthday present he had ever gotten.

     He ducks his head, trying to keep his breathing shallow and even as he shuffled into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. But of course everyone is there, stuffed in tight around the dining table and leaning against the counters as Bitty flipped pancakes at the stove. He keeps his head down, but Bitty notices him immediately and chirps, “Morning, Mr. Poindexeter.” But when he actually looks at Dex, he does a double take, “I didn’t know you wore glasses!” And then everyone is staring at him, at the gigantic, thick lensed glasses. His entire body burns, he can feel the blood flooding his cheeks but the room is silent so he gives a forced chuckle, “I wear contacts but my prescription ran out.” But as he turns toward the table everyone is still staring at him in wonder, except Nursey who is wearing a mischievous grin. He knows what is coming, as a spark of humiliation and rage flutters in the pit of his stomach, Nursey huffs out a small laugh. “You pick out those frames yourself? You look like true 1960’s Poindexter, all you’re missing are the suspenders and pocket protector.” It was a weak chirp, and honestly, he’d heard it a thousand times before but hearing it from his friends, especially Nursey, who was gorgeous and flawless with perfect vision, it just stung. Immediately he felt dizzy with embarrassment and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying. Without thinking he ripped the glasses off of his face let them hit the ground before stepping on the lens. The second he heard them crunch, he bolted up the staircase, only faintly hearing the, “Not cool, Nursey.” Followed by an, “I didn’t know, I- had no idea-“

    He found himself on the roof, clutching his knees to his chest as he waited for Jenna to answer her cell, and when he got her voicemail, he explained that he would give her anything she wanted if she drove to the optometrist’s office and convinced them to express mail him his next prescription. He was adding the twentieth please to the end of the message when he heard the window behind him. He didn’t bother to turn around because he probably wouldn’t be able to tell who they were until they got to his side. He was typing a message to Jenna, holding the screen about an inch from his face, when a body settled next to him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Dex.” Nursey tried to rest a hand on his shoulder, the way that makes his stomach flutter, but Dex moves flinches away violently. He hears a desperate whine from Nursey, and when he looks to his side, Nursey has a one hand fisted in his curls, with the other clutching what Dex assumes are the glasses. He sucks in a deep breath before whispering, “They look really cute on you.”

  “Excuse me?!” For someone who preached peace and acceptance, Nursey was being incredibly cruel. Dex could feel his hands start to shake uncontrollably as he reached out to snatch the glasses, but Nursey caught his wrist and pulled him in close.  He could feel Nursey’s breath on his face and see the specs of gold in his eyes.

“I only said what I said because I was trying to cover up the fact that I am so incredibly turned on by the image of you in glasses.” Dex is ready to punch Nursey for being such douchebag but Nursey is slipping the glasses onto his face (the frames had cracked in several places, but lenses had escaped unscathed) and leaned in to press a hot kiss against his mouth.

    Just as Nursey slipped his tongue into his mouth, he pulled back and searched his face, their foreheads pressed together. Nursey had eyes shut and he’s laughing breathlessly, and he reaches a hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other moves to his waist. “If you’re fucking with me I’m gonna push you off this roof.” Nursey shook his head before ducking in again, kissing him gently before whispering, “What do I have to do to get you to wear these in bed?” And Dex actually shoves his shoulder hard.

Downstairs Lardo comes back in the front door announcing, “They’re all good.” To everyone’s relief.

Sparky - Part 5

Imagine: It’s Christmas and all you really want is to see Len. With news of him out of Iron Heights, the last place you expect to see him is in Joe’s living room.

A/N: Len and that damn mug. This entire scene never fails to make me smile, and adding in the reader to it was surprisingly easy, though I did have to watch it a few times to make sure I had the flow right. Thank you all for your patience with me getting this up. I’m in the process of changing between jobs while working at both and my days are just crazy right now.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Conclusion

It was one thing to have a snowy Christmas, but the combination of snow, the Christmas spirit, and knowing that Len was out of Iron Heights had you in a better mood than you’ve been for months. You may not be in complete agreement on how Len got out, but a part of you was simply excited to see the man.

However, other things were clouding your thoughts. Your spirits may have been high so far this holiday, but learning about Iris’ mother and the brother she never knew about, the son Joe never knew about, made your heart ache for the family that took you in, for the man that helped raise Barry and kept you out of trouble while you went through a darker period in your teens after what had happened with your parents. They were part of your foundation, and right now they were cracking.

You were a bit behind Iris and Barry, lost in your own thoughts, as you all entered the West family home. While the others went inside, you paused at the top of the steps before the door, looking around the neighborhood, your mind wandering. As you turned back towards the house, you saw the tell tale flash of light that was your brother using his super speed. You raced inside, albeit much slower than Barry would, to see him pinning a familiar figure against the mantle over the fireplace, catching the last part of the older man’s statement.

“She won’t.” Len spoke, gaze going over to Iris, who you were stopping next to. You saw sudden hesitation in his expression, something that Barry must have caught himself because he looked over his shoulder and saw you.

Turning back to Len, both hands still gripping the parka, Barry hissed, “you’d threaten me and Iris, but you wouldn’t dare hurt her.”

“Barry, let him go!” You exclaim, moving around the couch towards them. You ignore Iris’ clear questioning on what was going on as you put a hand on Barry’s arm, begging him to let go. “Please Barry. He won’t hurt anyone.”

Barry looked at you, anger and frustration clear in your brother’s gaze. After the two of you had run into each other while visiting Len at Iron Heights, Barry had stopped by your apartment, only for you to confirm that, in a sense, you were dating Captain Cold. He’d been pissed, despite his own preaching that there was good in Len, something you’d just seen sooner than your sibling had. Barry had made it clear he still wasn’t in agreement with the relationship, but knew he couldn’t argue. You were both Allens, you were both stubborn.

“Please.” You say again, and with a huff, Barry lets go and steps back, giving you room with Len. You turn to him and smile. “It’s good to see you without a wall of glass between us Len.”

“I could say the same, Y/N.” He smirked at you.

You let out a short, happy laugh before launching yourself at him and wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders in a hug. “Can you stop threatening my brother?” You whisper as he wraps an arm around your waist.

“Life would be too boring if I did.” He whispered back with a grin, causing you to shake your head.

“They’re dating?!” You hear from behind you suddenly, remembering that Iris and Barry were still here. Which, crap, Iris.

You let go and turn around quickly, smiling as best you could, despite the situation. Only Barry and the Rogues knew about you and Len, but then again, none of the Rogues knew you were Elektra either.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it dating.” You tell her, earning a shocked, yet still upset glare directed at you. “We just never got around to labels.”

“It’s good to finally meet you, Miss West. Read your article on the disappearing middle-class. Strong point of view.” Len spoke, watching Iris cautiously. “Nice prose style.”

“Yeah,” she started softly, frowning as she moved around the couch to stand in the living room with you, Len, and Barry, “well, who needs a Pulitzer when you have a homicidal maniac’s seal of approval.”

You frown, going to respond, but Len beats you to the punch. “Didn’t Barry and Y/N tell you? I had a rough childhood.”

“Everyone in this room had a rough childhood.” Iris snapped. “Get over it.”

“Iris.” You say softly, pleading that they just play nice. It was Christmas after all. But the look she gave you said you were going to get an ear full later.

“Why are you here, Snart?” Barry asked, changing the subject.

“I got the Noel spirit, wanted to give you a gift.” He paused, his gaze falling on you. “And seeing Y/N is always an added bonus.” You smiled at him softly before his gaze returned to Barry and he continued, “Mardon broke Jesse and me out to kill you. Both of you. Jesse’s on board, of course. He’s shaking with excitement.” Len’s gaze snapped to you: stern, cold, cautious. “Me, I’m gonna pass.”

“Why?” Iris bit. “You grow a conscious?”

“Iris!” You turned to her, frowning.

Len let out a soft huff. “Mardon wants revenge. Jesse wants chaos.” He pointed out, gaze still on you. He reached out, pulling you to his side with an arm wrapped around your shoulder. You fit there perfectly, tucked up against his side, held like that was the safest place you could be. “I’m just not invested like they are.” He spoke softly then, meeting your gaze. You smiled.

“Len.” You nearly whispered, touched at the meaning behind his words, reading what lay beyond, what very few were able to see in him the way you could.

You heard Barry curse and turned to look at him and Iris, who were both staring at you and Len with wide, surprised eyes. “What?” You asked.

“Well, he’s invested alright.” Iris commented, causing you to blush when Len’s hold tightened on you. “I’m sure it helps that this all just means there’s no money in it for you Snart.”

“I was never much for non-profit work.” Len admitted with a slight shrug.

Barry shifted then, moving closer with a glare still upon his face. “If you aren’t in with them, then tell us where they are.”

Len stole a glance at you before turning back to your little brother with that grin. Before he even spoke, you knew he wasn’t telling. “Nah, consider me more of a secret Santa. Besides, you and your friends like to solve a good mystery.” He turned his head towards you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “I’ll be by your place later.” He said softly, pulling away to head out.

As he made his way around Barry and towards the front door, your brother scoffed. “You are full of it, Snart.” He said, turning to the criminal as he paused in the foyer. “I think this is more than just about protecting Y/N. My friends and I saved your sister’s life, and you just can’t stand owing me a marker. I hate to break it to you, but that, that right there is called honor.”

“Go on,” Len stated, turning to Barry, expression bemused, “make your pitch. I see you’re dying to.”

“Help me stop them.” Barry told him, then turned to glance at you before returning his gaze to Len. “Help us stop them.”

Len’s gaze turned to you, pausing there for several long, silent moments. You met his gaze, silently hoping he’d say yes. But you knew better. Len was stuck in a world that was black and white, and while he saw you as the light amongst his darkness, he was still very much full of dark.

Len must have seen the hope in your eyes, because when he gave Barry his answer, he was still looking right at you. “Sorry, I’m not interested in being a hero.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty lousy job of being a villain this week.” Barry told him, catching Len’s attention again.

Len hesitated, eyes flickering back to you for a brief moment.

“Merry Christmas, Barry.” Len’s voice was soft as he left.

Silence followed his exit, your gaze jumping between Barry and Iris, waiting for one of them to turn and snap.

It was Iris that turned to you first, and you suppose that you shouldn’t be surprised. “Snart, seriously?”

“In my defense, it started before I knew he was a thief.” You stated.

“Wait, you and Snart have been together for over a year?!” Barry asked, turning quickly with shock in his gaze.

“No! We met Kahndaq Dynasty Diamond incident. I made sure to avoid him after that, but he showed up at my apartment when he learned our identities. We agreed that us was a no go, because of obvious reasons, but things just kept…drawing us together.” You explained.

“How long?” Barry asked. “I never asked that before.”

You tensed, knowing how they were about to react. “Since Ferris Air.”

“What?!” Barry snapped.

“Okay, Y/N, you and I need to have a serious talk here.” Iris determined.

You raised an eyebrow at her. “Who’s the older sister here again?” You ask, knowing that you were about to be in for a scolding.

Imagine being Rafael’s daughter and introducing Sonny as your Dad for the first time

This part of an un-chronological Barisi series

Part One is here

Imagine being Rafael’s daughter and introducing Sonny as your Dad for the first time

“Y/N?” you heard Sonny’s voice call from down the hallway.

You turned your head to see him at the end of the corridor, looking at you. You watched as he let a breath of relief when he saw you. Then you continued to watch as he did some sort of weird gentle but hurried jog towards you.

“Sonny?” you questioned back when he finally reached you.

“Y/N.” he greeted, slightly out of breath, you had a feeling that this wasn’t the first corridor he’d ran down in his hunt for you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked curious, as he doubled over trying to catch his breath.

“Your Dad sent me. He got the call from your school right as he was going to court so he sent me to court instead.” he explained, standing back up again.

“See I knew he was going to be in court. I tried to get the ladies at the office to call you in the first place.” you sighed in annoyance before you started to ramble, “ But they said they needed an authorise party that was on my record and I was like but he’s my Dad…”

“Y/N, you’re rambling again.” he interrupted lightly clearly missing what you had just said.

“Oh it doesn’t matter.” you sighed once again, “I’m just glad you’re here. I need your help.”

“With what? What’s going on?” he suddenly asked, remembering he still didn’t know what was going on.

“I’m being discriminated against.” you stated maybe a bit too dramatically.

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Irresposible-Bruce Wayne

Requested by anonymous. Part of the Autumn Fic Meme Prompts. Request: Cold & Pie.

“Bruce, I really don’t think you should go out,” you said after he sneezed for the eight hundredth time during dinner. He grumbled something and wouldn’t meet your gaze. You exchanged a look with Tim. “Why don’t you get some rest, and Tim and Jason can handle things tonight.”

“I’ll be fine, Y/N. Stop worrying so much.”

“I wouldn’t worry about you if you weren’t currently sitting wrapped up in a blanket.” Bruce looked down at the dark purple throw around his shoulders and shrugged it off. “You’re such a baby! You took a day off when I had the flu, but won’t do it for yourself.”

“I don’t have the flu.”

“Alfred, does Bruce have the flu?” you called.

“Absolutely,” he called back immediately. Bruce mumbled something that sounded almost exactly like, ‘traitor.’

“Bruce, come on,” Tim tried.

“I’m going out. There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” he said dramatically, throwing his napkin down on the table before storming out. You and Tim exchanged a look, daring each other to go reason with him.

“You’re married to him,” he said. You rolled your eyes and stood up.

“Yeah, but I didn’t marry this man-child.”

“He does dress up every night. You should have known.” You sighed and left the dining room, walking straight to the bat cave elevator. As the elevator brought you down, you heard Bruce coughing. When it came to a stop, you walked straight up to him, taking the cowl from his hands.

“Bruce,” you said, forcing him to meet your gaze. He frowned at you as you ran a hand through his soft hair. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t let Tim and Jason go out by themselves. And there’s no chance that Dick can get here in time to help them.”

“Then they’ll take the night off, too. Gotham can survive for one day without you.” 

“What if something happens while I’m gone?”

“Call Gordon. Have him put out extra squad cars.” He sighed and you took that as a yes. You began pulling off his armor until he was back in his jeans and white t-shirt. “Come on.” He followed you to the elevator, wrapping an arm around you waist and sticking his hand in your back pocket. You rolled your eyes and walked up the steps to your bedroom. Opening the door to the dark room, you led Bruce straight to bed.

“Take off your pants,” you said. He raised an eyebrow and smirked at you.

“I thought I was suppose to relax.”

“You are. I’m making you change into sweatpants.” He groaned and kicked off his jeans, crawling into bed.

“Will you at least join me?” he asked.

“Maybe. I’ve got a couple of things to still do.” He groaned again and rolled over, burying himself in the sheets of your king bed. You shut the door to your bedroom and made you way back downstairs. Tim and Jason were sitting in the living room, whispering among themselves.

“What’s up, guys?” you asked.


“If you’re thinking of going out, please don’t. I just got him into bed.”

“We weren’t,” Jason said.

“Yes you were. Stop it or I’ll lock you in your rooms, too.”

“Okay, mom.” You rolled your eyes and walked into the kitchen. Alfred was cooking something and smiled when you walked in. You reached into the fridge and grabbed a deer, downing almost half of it immediately.

“Okay, Miss Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired of taking care of all these boys.” Alfred shot you a look and you frowned. “Sorry, preaching to the choir.”

“That’s alright. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I’ve only got one more think to do,” you said, picking up Bruce’s phone and sending a message to Commissioner Gordon. “There. Now I can relax,” you said, just s the familiar clank of the bat cave elevator sounded. Before you could do or say anything, Alfred placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Go take care of Master Bruce. I’ll handle the boys.”


“Yeah, go on.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. You ran up the steps, opening the door to your bedroom. You crawled in bed with Bruce, who only stirred slightly. You sighed and he opened his eyes. He was always a light sleeper.

“Hey,” he said groggily.

“Am I a boring person?” you asked.

“What?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows and sitting up a little.

“Am I boring? All I do is stay in this house, taking care of you and your children. I’m turning into a boring adult.” Bruce smiled and took your hand.

“Y/N, you are an adult, but that doesn’t mean you’re boring. Just because you’re responsible that doesn’t make you boring. You’re still the most exciting, gorgeous, amazing woman I know.” You frowned and brushed his cheek with your thumb.

“I haven’t done anything irresponsible or stupid in so long,” you whined. Bruce chuckled and reach across the bed for his phone.

“Well we’ll change that right now.”


“Shh, it’s a surprise. But first, we’re gonna make out for an extremely long time.” You were about to argue, saying that that would just spread germs but Bruce kissed you before you. He pressed you up against the sheets as he crawled on top of you. You kissed him back passionately, letting your hand explore his scarred and defined chest. 

Every once in a while you would reach a scar that felt really horrible and furrow up your eyebrows. Bruce hardly noticed, except for the fact that he would kiss you harder every time it happened. Some time later, a knock came from your door, pulling you two apart.

“Come in,” Bruce called, sitting back up. Jason walked in, surprisingly with a pie in his hand. He looked in between the two of you and curled up his lip.

“Alfred asked me to bring this up,” he said, handing it to Bruce.

“Thanks. Where are the-” Jason handed him two spoons and Bruce smiled. “Thanks, Jason. Alfred isn’t too angry is he?”

“Why would Alfred be angry?” you asked.

“Because this was supposed to be at the gala we’re hosting soon. I told him not to make another one either.”

“Wow, that’s really irresponsible,” you said with a grin. “Jason, leave,” you said. He grumbled something and left, right before you kissed Bruce again. “We’re gonna eat this whole pie, right?” you asked, pulling away for a moment.

“Oh definitely.” You smiled and kissed him quickly.

“I love you so much,” you said before crawling on top of him and kissing him some more.

would you like fries with that?

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.– would you like fries with that?– Melinda May, Leopold Fitz, Jemma Simmons (MayFitzSimmons, Fitzsimmons)

If Melinda May and late night chicken nuggets can’t help you solve your problems, you’re probably doomed.

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Famous Last Words

Summary: In a world where the last words your soulmate will say to you are written on your wrist, fearful and introverted Phil works in a bookstore. His greatest fear? The words counting down the seconds until he meet his soulmate, someone called ‘Dan.’ But it isn’t until he befriends a university student that he nicknames ‘Bear’ that Phil realizes that surviving through fear isn’t the same as living.

A/N: And here comes the storm.

Fun fact I actually met a man named Bear the other day. 

                      Previous Chapter               Masterpost   Next Chapter

Chapter Six

     Somehow, Bear had managed to become an constant presence during Phil’s time at Ink and Quill. By this point it had become habit for him to look up at any given moment and spy the university student duck through the door with a thoughtful expression and a cryptic statement ready to spill from his lips with the right question. Not that Phil minded, exactly. Sometimes he felt he lived for the stolen hour or two with Bear, whether it was at the shop or the chance meeting at Starbucks.
      Phil wasn’t sure when he first noticed that Bear had stopped visiting. It had been less of a conscious realization and more of a subconscious observation along with an intuitive feeling that something was wrong.
        It was strange, he reflected, how much of a difference the absence of one unnamed customer could make when it came to determining how good of a day he was having.
        While Phil knew it was stupid, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He was hardly one to inflate his own self-importance, but after spending the past couple of months religiously visiting both Phil and Ink and Quill it seemed uncharacteristic of Bear to simply get up and leave without an explanation. And though Phil supposed that beyond what little Bear volunteered he didn’t really know who Bear was at all, if Bear was anything like he acted like he was the move was strange even for someone as unpredictable as he was.
        But as Phil didn’t even have a name to work with, he tried to push it to the back of his mind. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it anyway.

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lovesick | shawn mendes imagine


requested by literally nobody (seriously. no one asked for this.)

word count: 1,111

author’s note: my inbox was filling up with angsty/romantic imagines and i wanted to break that up by doing something lighthearted. plus i’ve been made aware i’ve been lacking in the imagines department lately so, yeah. enjoy!

Your name: submit What is this?

As far as you were concerned, this was all Jack’s fault.

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Gods Of A Bad Religion (Shalaska)-Luci

An: I’m taking a Trixya break <3 Thank you to @apatheticskeleton for the x I’ve written all the parts to this, so I’ll post them every other day or something xx

summary: Alaska, the catholic daughter of a preacher gets dragged into a world of rebellion, corruption, and feminism with a girl who may or may not be the antichrist.

tw: slight violence, alcohol/drug abuse

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TITLE: Magical Mishap 


AUTHOR: Valarieravenhearst2


imagine if one day Loki just kinda… Poofs into a Cat. Like, think Maine Coon Long-Hair Cat, except he’s somehow managed to turn himself blue and got stuck in a cat form. He can still talk, it’s just now he’s an annoying cat who follows you around wherever you go until you break his accidental magical curse. Shenanigans ensue!!!


“Hey, I’m back.” Kicking the door closed with my arms full I head down the corridor. Loki leaps from the table; dozens of books and scrolls tossed across the floor. “What on earth?” I place my things on the counter and turn back to frown at him. “Have a tantrum did we?” I place my hands on my hips, tapping my foot.

“This is ridiculous.” He seethes. “There’s not one solution for this.”

“I’m sure your mother will know what to do.”

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The Sound of Your Voice Calls to Me (Chapter 2)

Honestly took me forever to write, but here it is. Inspired by so much music I won’t list it or that’d be a whole other story. There’s probably typos and what not, it may not even be the best. But I was tired of writing this chapter, it’s the least interesting of all of them, So… what can you do? (Shrugs)

Chapter 1

Nesta ran until her breath came out in gasps. Her feet traveling on a pathway she had walked many times before. The wind touched her face with an icy hand, but she still felt feverish. The darkness of the forest enclosed in on her, trapping her from the wide expanse of the sky. She couldn’t help but feel as if some great beast had swallowed her whole.

He was seated on the rock bed on the edge of the lake. His hair, dark as midnight, was tied behind his neck. She thought he looked beautiful, magical even. A mythical creature caught in the middle of a forest. Her breathing raced on as if it, too, had grown feet.  

His skin glistened, as it often was from the high temperatures of the keep. He was always there whenever they weren’t together. His passion as much as it was his job. Nesta was convinced that if they had never met, if they had never felt the taste of each other’s skin, he’d still be hammering away into the late hours of the night. She almost wished they hadn’t. Almost.

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