the words are not on the same angle :

How to tell what Phase of the Moon you were born under

If you can count, you can figure this out.

Waxing – when the moon is growing

Waning – when the moon is getting smaller

Balsamic Phase – when the moon is a small crescent before the new moon.

If the sun and moon are the same sign, you were born under a new moon.

If your sun and moon are super close (with in 30 degrees) such as Sun 25 degrees Aries and Moon at 5 degrees Taurus (that’s a 10 degree separation), this would also be a new moon.

If the moon is one sign after the sun (with a further than 30 degree separation), you were born on a waxing crescent moon phase. For example, your Sun is 16 degrees Gemini and your moon is 20 degrees Cancer.

If the moon is two signs after the sun sign, this would also be a waxing crescent. For example, Sun in Taurus, moon in Cancer. This might be a sun sextile moon if the orb is within 6 degrees.

Originally posted by heartsnmagic

If the moon is three signs after the sun, you were born under the first quarter moon phase. This is also called a waxing half moon. You might have the Sun square moon aspect if the orb is tight enough.

If the moon is four or five signs after the sun, this would be a waxing gibbous phase. For example, Sun in Sagittarius, Moon in Aries. Also, Sun in Capricorn, Moon in Gemini. More examples, Sun in Cancer, Moon in Scorpio, or sun in Cancer, moon in Sagittarius. The sun and moon might be trine or quincunx, and either one would totally change the meaning! (Quincunx and Inconjunct are the same thing, it’s a 150 degree angle)

If your moon is the “sister sign” of the sun, in other words, the opposite sign, you were born on a full moon. For example, Sun in Virgo, Moon in Pisces.

Originally posted by lematworks

If your moon sign is five signs before the sun, you were born under the waning gibbous moon phase. For example, Sun in Capricorn, Moon in Leo. You might have sun quincunx/inconjunct moon if the orb is within 3 degrees.

If your moon sign is four signs before the sun, you were born under the disseminating moon phase. For example, Sun in Sagittarius Moon in Leo. Your sun and moon might be trine if the orb is tight enough.

If your moon sign is three signs before the sun, you were born on the last quarter moon phase. This is also referred to as a Waning Half moon. For example, Sun in Scorpio, Moon in Leo. If they are 90 degrees apart, you have the sun square moon aspect.

If the moon is two signs before the sun, this is a waning crescent phase. For example, Sun in Virgo, Moon in Cancer. This could be a sextile if the orb is within 6 degrees.

If the moon is one sign before the sun, this is a balsamic moon phase. If the sun and moon are the same sign, but not conjunct, this could even be a balsamic phase, if the moon is before the sun. For example, Sun at 28 degrees Pisces, Moon at 12 degrees Pisces.

Originally posted by ufo-the-truth-is-out-there


If you want to know the meaning of the moon phase you were born under, I offer lessons and readings for a fee.  and    Message me if you are interested.


For @defiantlilsheep who requested “Draco cant wink. He can do anything and everything but he cant wink. Trust me.” …. this got a bit longer than a tiny Drabble I couldn’t help it!

When Harry had returned for his eighth year at Hogwarts he had absolutely promised himself that if a certain blonde haired pointy git who may or may not have helped save his life but was also most definitely still an arsehole happened to return he would not get himself involved no matter what.

Except, once school started he realized that he had the small matter of returning Malfoy’s wand to handle, so he had to see him. I mean sure he could’ve returned it by owl but that would just been rude. He had to do it person. He had to. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

He put it off for weeks before finally walking up to him while he was studying outside and both thanking him and apologizing for stealing his wand. And the truth was Malfoy had been so different during the exchange; solemn and pensieve and if he didn’t know better even remorseful. He had told Harry not to apologize, that he was the one who should be sorry. Harry had been so flustered he’d muttered something about studying and nearly tripped on his own feet in his haste to escape the confusing thoughts swirling through his brain and making him feel like he’d been punched in the stomach.

But still, none of that could change the fact that he was still an arse and Harry didn’t care what he did. Or at least that’s what he kept trying to tell himself. He’d always been pretty good at lying to himself, so he hoped it might work this time.

As time went on Harry realized that it was definitely not working.

He couldn’t help but be curious when twice in the same week he walked into an empty loo to find Malfoy making an odd face in the mirror. Both times the other boy had looked horrified at being caught and run away. Although Harry had no idea what exactly he’d caught Malfoy doing.

And that was a problem, because try as he might Harry didn’t like when he didn’t know what was going on. It wasn’t that he was obsessed with Malfoy as a person, he just wanted to know why he seemed so different and what exactly he was doing.

Hermione told him he was nosy and to please promise not to become obsessed with Malfoy again. Harry had promised.

The thing was, he had to admit to himself he’d never actually stopped being obsessed with Malfoy and therefore when he caught himself once again searching him out on the Mauraders Map and following him around under the invisibility cloak or ducking around dark corridors he figured he wasn’t actually breaking his promise. You couldn’t exactly start doing something again if you’d never really stopped doing it in the first place.

Harry swore he would only do it a few times, just until he figured out what the other boy was up too. The problem was he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he was doing.

Harry knew he was getting sloppy, knew he was being obvious, but by the second term he just couldn’t help himself. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, being away from Malfoy. And the odd faces he kept catching him making in bathroom mirrors and suits of armor had gone from weird and perplexing to confusing and adorable. Which was more than a little unsettling.

Harry however, had no excuse when he caught himself trying to figure out what kind of tea Malfoy was drinking at breakfast, or what his Potions partner said that made his lips curl up in a soft smile, or what kind of books he was reading when he sat hidden in the corner of the library pretending to study potions and thought no one could see him.


It was a bright and sunny morning. Harry had snuck out of the castle early to get a bit of flying before classes started.

The sky was so clear and the weather was just perfect for flying. Only instead of being happy to be up in the air, Harry’s only thought was of how much he wished Malfoy was up there with him, challenging him to the snitch.

It was at that exact moment that Harry realized he wasn’t obsessed with Malfoy.

He was falling in love with him. And that was definitely worse. Much worse.


“Potter!” Malfoy yelled, grabbing the back of Harry’s robe and dragging him into a darkened alcove behind a rather rusty suit of armor.

“Oi - watch it, Malfoy.”

“Watch it? Watch it?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” He shrieked and Harry had the decency to shrink back a little bit.

“You’re the one who won’t stop watching! Everywhere I look there you are! Always skulking about and staring me and interrupting me when I’m trying to- well it doesn’t matter what I’m trying to do the point is you’re a world class nuisance like always and I can’t concentrate when you’re constantly following me around like a lost kneazle.”

Harry blinked a few times then smiled, which was clearly not what Malfoy was expecting because the look of confusion on his face was priceless.

“You find me distracting?” Harry asked curiously, smiling again when Malfoy began backing up as Harry walked forward.

“Of course you’re distracting, Potter. You bumble around noisily like the obnoxious twat you are. I don’t know how you could possibly think I hadn’t noticed you. You’re everywhere, making a nuisance of yourself.”

Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Malfoy’s fingers were curling as he talked, the sweat building on his brow, and the way his breathing was quickening. To anyone else it looked like Malfoy was angry, but Harry wasn’t anyone else. He’d spent the better part of the last few months doing nothing but watching him and this wasn’t angry this was something else entirely; it was arousal. He was sure of it.

Or pretty sure of t at least. Sure enough to take a chance.

“So then Malfoy, what exactly are you up to? If you tell me I promise to stop following you.”

“So you admit you’ve been following me!” Malfoy shouts, putting his hands on Harry’s chest and shoving him gently. But it’s not aggressive, not even a little bit, and Harry just grins mischievously.

“Are you trying to get my attention?”

Malfoy splutters. “I most certainly am not!”

“Yes you are. Admit it.”

“I was not trying to get your attention I was trying to learn to wink!”

Harry stops at that. Quirking his head to the side. “To wink?”

Malfoy looks embarrassed now, smoothing down the front of his robes and staring at his feet.

“I can’t wink. I saw you wink at that Weasley girl during the first quidditch match of the season and I figured if you could do it so could I. Except I can’t and I look like a right tosser trying! Are you happy now?!”

“I could teach you.”

“Teach me? Teach me?!” He all but shrieks starting to sound a bit hysterical.

“It’s not hard, Malfoy. I can teach you….if you want me to.”

They’re so close now Harry can see Malfoy’s pupils dialating, so close their lips would be touching if he just moved forward a bit, angling his head up.

Malfoy seems to have realized the same thing because he kicks his lips, blinking a few times before muttering “Alright fine, teach me how to blink. Let me have it, Potter.”

Harry isn’t sure what posseses him but at those words he feels some of his self control snap and he leans upwards to close the distance between them, pressing their lips together.

Draco’s lips are cold and chapped and he taste almost bitter like earl grey tea without enough sugar. He smells like fresh air and parchment and the blueberry scones the house elves had sent up for tea today. It’s new and familiar all at one and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever felt more exhilarated in his life, until Draco’s shock wears of and he’s kissing him back fiercely, pulling him closer and sliding his hands into Harry’s hair almost desperately.

Harry would be embarrassed at the whimpering moans of desperation he’s making, but Draco is making them right back so he can’t be arsed to worry about it.

Much later after the desperation has turned softer, they stand there with their foreheads pressed together, out of breath but full of hope.

“So, did you still want me to teach you how to wink?” Harry all but whispers. He’s surprised when Draco just starts to laugh.

“If you must know I was only trying to learn in order to get your attention.” He seems a bit embarrassed at his admission, but something about it warms Harry’s heart.

“I knew it! You were trying to get my attention and you were up to something.”

“God you’re an wanker, Potter,” he mumbles, reaching his hands around Harry’s body to rest just above his arse.

“Well yeah…but at least now I’m your wanker.”

“Yeah?” Draco asks, a genuine smile on his face.

“Definitely,” Harry says, and he winks at him for good measure.

Draco groans, spinning them around to switch their positions and slamming Harry back against the wall, pressing their bodies together and kissing him with such intensity Harry feels like he might faint.

Oh yes Harry thinks with pleasure as Draco’s mouth attaches itself to his neck, there will definitely be a lot more winking in his future.

✨Dangerous Woman✨

Song Imagine

Author: Joi A. Wade

Requested: Yes,  (Maybe a combo of both??) Based off of Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande, the reader is tired of Pan always being on top. She wants to test her limits, she doesn’t want permission. (..So basically she is top and Pan bottoms..) She is in charge of her sexual desires, not just there to fulfill Pan’s. The reader is a witch that pan is in constant competition with. She and Oan are always at ends with desire and anger ensuring,,,forced to work together and feelings ensure but neither will accept it

Warnings: Swearing | 18+ content | Long | smut 

Note: Gifs made by me. 

Don’t need permission
Made my decision to test my limits
‘Cause it’s my business, God as my witness
Start what I finished

“What am I going to do with you, love? You injured six to ten of my lost boys, stole from us, set fire to the camp…” He paced around the cage, arms behind his back as the she watched his every move with a smirk. “I just might have to kill you, darling.”

“You won’t kill me, Pan.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that?”

“You would have done it by now, instead of interrogating me. Am I correct?” She raised her eyebrow in a smug way, seeing his frustration starting to build up in his face. With a quick lick to his lips, he made his way closer to the cage, no expression on his face whatsoever. 

“You do realize where you are and who I am?”

“I’m very aware. I just don’t care.”

“Why are you so goddamn irritating?” He growled, his hands gripping the bars so tight she could see the whites of his knuckles. Y/n only smirked deeper, getting as close to him as she possibly could. 

“Because. It’s adorable when you’re angry. How you act so strong and intimidating, and shit. Like, you really expect me to be scared of you.”

"Hm. Expect? No. You should be. And if you need reminding of that, sweetheart…then so be it.” 

Don’t need no hold up
Taking control of this kind of moment
I’m locked and loaded
Completely focused, my mind is open

Y/n scoffs in his face, turning the other cheek as she pretended she didn’t know where he was going with this. Sighing deeply, she returns her gaze back to his now deep green eyes, sneering his own words right back at him.

“Let’s play.” 

All that you got, skin to skin, oh my God
Don’t ya stop, boy

Pinned to the wall of his tent, rough and passionate kisses were exchanged between then two. Clothes were scattered all over the room, soft breaths and low growls the only sounds being heard. This was how every argument ended, how every teasing moment would come to; neither one would complain, or admit that this is what both of them lived for everyday. No, not just the sex (even though it’s a bonus) but it was the intense atmosphere the both of them fed off of, the little games they played with each other. 

Pan would never admit it, but he actually had feelings for this girl. Her dominance, her arrogance, everything about her was intoxicating. The same goes for her, only deeper. She loved toying with the lost boy since day one, everything about him she wanted. She needed. But, Y/n hated being controlled, and that’s not a good thing when you live on the island of an egomaniac, sadistic bastard who loves control, fear and agony. 

“Who do you belong to, love,” He would purr in her ear, thrusting at a speed that was inhuman, his hands holding onto her thighs so tight that the bruising he left would be brutal in the morning. 

Y/n chuckles breathlessly, raking her fingers through his hair. “Not you.” 

This only made him angry, his eyes getting darker to where the green was barely visible. He hoisted her legs higher, spreading them wider to where he hit that one spot that made her beg for more. Slowing down and going deeper, he watched as her eyes closed tightly, mouth hanging open slightly, while her moans increased. Pan wrapped one hand around her throat, pulling her in closer to where their lips brushed against each other, and their groans mixed together. 

“I’ll ask again,” He growls, making sure to hit that very spot each time, grinning at every reaction he got from her. “ you..belong to?” 

Y/n opened up her eyes, staring at him with such a stare that could paralyze him right on the spot. And that’s exactly what she did. Halting his thrusts completely, Y/n had him under her hypnotic stare that she learned over the years, dark magic being another thing that drew the two of them together. 

Next thing Pan knew, he was laying down on his bed, with Y/n straddling his waist, a look of pure seduction upon her face. He didn’t move, even though he could, he just chose not to. She’s done this trick before, it’s one of his favorites; whenever he pushed her too far is when the night got even better. 

Y/n placed her hands onto his shoulders, slowly swaying her hips from side to side, grinding herself onto him. Pan bit his lip hard, holding onto her hips, trying to guide her movements, only for them to be smacked away. 

“Don’t touch me. Don’t move. Don’t do shit. Just lay there, like a good boy. You come before me, injured lost boys and setting your camp on fire will be the least of your problems.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way-fuck!” He exclaims, as they finally connected once again, riding him at a steady pace. Cursing under his breath, and clawing at the bed, Pan’s eyes were shut tight at the intense pleasure he was receiving. Y/n’s moans were groaning higher and faster, as the new angle they were in was hitting every spot and nerve deliciously; leaving long scratches down his chest only increased the burning sensation at the pit of his stomach, his member throbbing like crazy, begging for release. And if not being able to let go wasn’t frustrating enough, Y/n slowing down the pace definitely was. 

“No, love, please…” He begged, never in his life believing that it would to come to that. Y/n only smirked down at the boy, watching as his hips bucked upward, hitting her in the right way every time. Y/n leans downward to moan in his ear softly after every hip thrust he gave, practically making his head spin. 

Nothing to prove and
I’m bulletproof and
Know what I’m doing
The way we’re movin’ like introducing
Us to a new thing

“Shit, Peter, I’m close…” She whimpered, enough to push him to the brink of no control. This was the first time, in all the times they’ve messes around, that she called him by his first name. 

Unable to hold back any longer, he grabs her hips roughly before she could protest, and flips the positions. Pinning her down to the bed, his animalistic thrusts returned with Y/n wrapping her arms around him for dear life; moans and squeals spilled from her mouth like a waterfall while he chants her name like a prayer. 

He whispers unholy things into her ear, biting the said area roughly while keeping his pace fast and deep. Now with her scratching down his back, he had to fight to keep his release at bay, while trying to chase hers. It was as if they were both holding on, neither of them wanting to give up so easily. Putting up a fight, Y/n flips the positions back to what they were before, riding him as fast as she can with her head tilted back in pure bliss. Pan watches her in awe at how hard she’s trying to make him release first, not wanting to be the weak one in this situation. But, he could also see how badly she wanted release, tears starting to stream down her face in desperation. 

Gripping onto her hips one last time, Pan thrusts himself into her sharply, pivoting his hips in an angle that sent Y/n’s eyes to the back of her head and her toes to curl. Repeatedly doing that motion, while whispering encouragements to her breathlessly was more than enough to send Y/n beyond the edge. Arching her back and letting out a large and long scream of pleasure, Y/n finally was able to let go. Her pulsating walls had the same effect on him, as she kept thrusting to ride out her orgasm, his hips stuttered with his release coming fast and abrupt. 

“Oh, my fucking-!” He chokes on his words, his back arching off the bed as his euphoria finally hit. Pan came in long, hot spurts that painted Y/n from the inside, leaving a warm feeling deep inside her. Catching their breaths, glistening with sweat, and the smell of sex surrounding them…it was as if they were in their own little sick heaven. 

I wanna savor, save it for later
The taste of flavor, 'cause I’m a taker
'Cause I’m a giver, it’s only nature
I live for danger

As they were finally calming down, sitting in silence and still connected as one, this was the time where they would just sit and…stare. Watch each other, and just memorize one another’s features. This was a time where they weren’t at each other’s throats, where everything is calm and quite…

Y/n leaned downward to the boy, an exhausted look upon her face, while his wore nothing but a content smile. Keeping the intense eye contact for a little longer, Y/n pulled off him swiftly, wincing slightly at the emptiness she felt afterwards. Sitting up on the bed, she ran a hand through her hair, calming down from earlier activities. 

“Why do we keep doing this, Pan?” She rasped, sighing heavily as he sat up as well. Looking at the back of her head in confusion, he shrugged. 

“Because it’s fun. Satisfying.”

“But, we do this all the time, and go right back to hating each other. I’m starting to grow bored…” 

“I don’t think I ever asked for your opinion, I don’t care if you’re bored.” That was a lie. Inside, he was terrified of her being ‘bored’. What did that mean? Did it mean she was bored with him? Would she move on to someone else? He wouldn’t let that happen, not if he had any say in it. Turning her head toward him, the anger was evident on her face after he said what he said. Quickly, but carefully standing from the bed, she starts to collect her things, ready to leave. 

Like always. 

“Where are you going?” He asked, slowly starting to panic at how fast she’s trying to leave. Usually she would stay a little longer…what’s different now?

“I’m a fool to think that for once you would think of me. To think that maybe instead of these childish games, you would be a man and actually move past this useless bickering and bullshit. But, who am I kidding? We can never be anything but enemies, who fuck each other after every fight.” She snapped while getting dressed, not daring to make eye contact with him. Standing as well, Pan watched her with wide eyes, and mouth hanging open for a moment. He didn’t really know how to respond.

Finally finding the words, he spoke. “Wait, love. Don’t go. I…I do think of us as more…many, many times. I hate having the only way to talk you is by yelling, screaming, and constant headaches. You’re a bitch, of course, but…you’re a bad bitch. You’re a dangerous woman. And I love that about you, so much, darling. I wouldn’t trade you for anything else in the world. I love you.” 

Y/n continued to get dressed, before turning to look at the boy one last time. That angry scowl still colored her face as she glared darkly at his naked form, suddenly disgusted. “You can’t even respond to me. Pathetic.” 

His eyes widened as he realized he didn’t actually speak those words out loud. Pan only imagined himself speaking such words to her, but didn’t dare to utter any of it. He was too cold, too proud of his dark ways, such as an emotion as ‘love’ had no room in his brain, nor his heart. He’s been hating for far too long, cursed to possibly never be loved. 

All girls wanna be like that
Bad girls underneath, like that
You know how I’m feeling inside
Somethin’ 'bout, somethin’ 'bout

Shaking her head, Y/n looks at the ground, shame starting to fill her from the inside. “These late nights that we’ve been sharing are over. From now on, I refuse to be played with, like some cheap sex toy, Pan.”


“I’m done wasting time playing these games with you. To think you were ever a challenge is what really baffles me.” He bites his tongue, while staring back at her in shock. Hurt and offended, he verbally growls at her, that anger starting to boil up from inside him again. On the inside, Y/n was beating herself up. She couldn’t stand making him angrier with her than he already was. The only way she knows how to talk to him would to just provoke him. It’s not her fault, it’s just how she was. Maybe it was for the best…

“Fine. If that’s what you want…prepare to be hunted down by my lost boys, like the filthy animal you are.” He spoke with bared teeth, fist clenched, as his soft green eyes returned to their piercing color from before. Rolling her eyes, Y/n only scoffs at his words, taking out one of the knives from her holster and pointing it in his direction. 

“Prepare to lose more of your lost boys.”

Pan started to stride closer to her, nostrils flared as he threatened. “I will make sure that they show no mercy to you when they catch you. That pretty face of yours won’t be pretty no longer.”

“Aw, then what will you masturbate to at night?” Y/n spat right back, also getting closer and closer to the boy. The last comment left Pan speechless, but it didn’t stop him from throwing another comeback. 

“There are other girls in the world, love. You can be replaced.”

“Can I?” Her eyes flickered downward for a split second, the sight she saw bringing a delightful glint into her eyes, as her smirk grew deeper. “Good luck finding one that can excite you as much as I can, just by using sarcasm.” 

Pan blushed slightly, looking anywhere but at her. Waving his hand, his lower half was covered again by his trousers, but the tent in them was still noticeable. Chuckling slightly, Y/n took a few more steps closer to the boy, to where she close enough to wrap her arms around his neck lazily. He wanted to push her away, but they both knew he couldn’t. 

“Face it, Pan. I weaken you. And you love it.” 

“I thought you were leaving. I recall you being done with my games. So go on, then. I’m not stopping you.” This only made Y/n chuckle more, as she grabbed his jaw to turn his attention right back to her. 

“I’m not hearing you deny it.” Leaning in slightly, she brushed her lips onto his for only a moment, sighing heavily in the process. “I hate that you can make me feel conflicted, Peter Pan. I want to leave, and just throw you out of my mind…but we both know that’s far from possible now. We’re in too deep.” 

Without realizing what he was doing, he had pulled her in closely, kissing her deeply but as softly as he could. Afraid that he might not get the chance, he was going to make sure that this kiss was memorable. Pulling away slowly, Y/n couldn’t hold back the little whine that escaped passed her lips one his were no longer there. Coming back to earth, she pulls away from him fully, seeing the mischief in his eyes, but the evident scowl on his face. 

“Get out. I suggest you start running. The hunt starts at dawn, which mean you have less than an hour to hide.” He crosses his arms, watching as she cracks her neck, grinning at the boy, while he fought not to grin right back. Already knowing where this was going and how it would end up, the both of them ended on the same page. 

“Let’s play.” 

somethin’ 'bout you.

Stress Cleaning (ALiL Deleted Scene)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re too stressed to get any schoolwork done so Bucky offers an alternative plan.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,370

A/N: An anon requested The reader is really stressed and Bucky helps her calm down. It’d be cool to see them clean the kitchen together and joke around. This occurs between “The Little Things (Part One)” and “The Little Things (Part Two)” I should be doing work and preparing for finals, but I was too stressed so I wrote this instead

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

Originally posted by calif0rnia-lovers

You stare at your textbook, willing the words on the page to somehow become more interesting. When they don’t, you move the book from the table onto your lap in the hopes that this new angle will help you absorb what you’re reading. After you catch yourself skimming over the same paragraph for what is now the third time in a row, you slam the textbook closed in frustration.

Midterms are upon you and what you should be doing is studying for the exams you have this week. Unfortunately for you, your brain is not in compliance with this plan. It wants nothing to do with the study guides, outlines, and index cards you’ve created. You had hoped that switching gears and reading straight from your textbook might work, but that attempt failed just as badly as the rest.

You lean forward and rest your forehead on the edge of the cool, wooden table as hopelessness and frustration overwhelm your senses. The last thing you should be doing right now is nothing, and yet, nothing is all you can bring yourself to do.

“Hard at work I see.”

Keep reading

damian doesn’t look like bruce. at all. no listen to me, maybe they share the same hair color but that’s like sharing the same hair color with about ¾ths of the dcu so it’s not that big of a deal. damian takes 98% after his mother, he has her skin color, her eye color, her face angles and her sharp features, the way he’ll form words with very specific mouth movements

so the kids and bruce and alfred, they forget sometimes. i mean, not that they’d literally forget damian is bruce’s very actual son (except for like tim who pretends to keep a file of ongoing DNA tests set to find some hidden secret code in their dna chains that proves damian is devil’s offspring), but it’s just that… the other robins, even though not related to bruce, bare some uncanny resemblances to him that may or may not border on Creepy Land. and yet, there are sometimes when damian is grimacing with a scrunched up face and damian, damian isn’t doing it on purpose, he’s not trying to imitate his father, it’s just that it’s nearly natural to him to stand just like a certain batman mcmopeman stands on top of roofs and mcmopes. how he purses his lips just enough not to be noticeable but enough for the family to know, how he looks in the distance like he’s about to doze off but is ANGRY about it, how he half-closes his eyes like he’s trying to shoot lazer beams in an attempt to set fire to someone and/or everyone

dick happens to pop in gotham for a case and batman and robin are waiting for him in silence on top of rainy rooftop because that’s the right Dramatic Scene comics dictate and nightwing approaches them, he takes his sweet time, and there he sees Big Bird and Small Bird being moody side by side in nearly twin-like ways. and he can’t stop smiling. he can’t stop smiling because genetics are weird and spot on and if he dared mention that, father and son would give him the exact same annoyed stare. simultaneously


I am an amazing friend, right Saxxy? xD

Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: Sam x Reader
Inspiration: @saxxxology sent me the GIF and asked for sex and shitty puns with Sam. Challenge motherfucking accepted
Words: 1,311
The reader gets easily distracted at the worst times
Warnings: Swearing, sass, and smut - oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

Keep reading

teachers aid

summary: When college student, Y/N, has her internship at a school in Oakland, CA, she is pleasantly surprised that the teacher she would be aiding is really fucking hot. Daveed couldn’t help but share the same feelings. So, when they decide to hang out and get drunk at her apartment, things get steamy.
request: nopppe
warning: it’s smut so; sir kink, tons of dirty talk, degradation, orgasm denial,

feedback is appreciated // masterlist

A giggle left your alcohol soaked lips as Daveed spoke. You hadn’t thought you’d be in your bedroom with the teacher that made your heart skip a beat while drinking a bottle of vodka, but God knew you needed this. The soft sound of a Beatles record played in the background but you couldn’t hear it. All you could hear was how Daveed would breathe out words before looking towards you. You would nod even though you didn’t know what he was saying in your dazed, drunken state. His hand was on your thigh, nothing sexual. Of course not. That wouldn’t be right. The teacher’s aid and the teacher? Not what the school needed, but him? That’s what he needed. He needed to feel your mouth around his cock. He craved to hear you moan his name whenever he fucked you into oblivion. He wanted to have you ride his face until you were screaming.

A soft sigh left your lips when his large hand squeezed your thigh. “Do you want to watch something?” You murmured and looked up at him, your eyes were glazed over from the alcohol and lust. Daveed sighed and shrugged. You got up and bent down to get your laptop, Daveed had the most perfect view of your ass. His teeth brought his bottom lip in between them before letting it go, averting his eyes from your butt to the wall. You flipped open the laptop and went to sit next to him again, you quickly logged into your Netflix account, something he’d seen you do many times before this. Your email and password were quickly entered as you pressed on the account that read your name. You went through the movies you had saved only days before, in hopes that he would be over. “What do you want to watch?” You asked. Daveed stared at the screen. His eyes scanning over the movies for a split moment before his mouth opened. He pointed at a horror movie, your heart fell.

“Shit.” You whispered under your breath. A smirk tugged itself onto Daveed’s lips as he heard the curse. “What?” He asked and sat his head on your shoulder, “You going to get scared?” His breath brushed over the sensitive skin of your neck, you inhaled a deep breath and shook your head. “Why would I be scared?” The words were slurred but understandable. He chuckled. His breath smelled of vodka, the same smell that yours would have. He looked at you at an awkward angle, he took in the features of your face as you bite your lip and pressed the movie.

A few minutes in, you could hear the audible sigh that came from his lips. “You can sit on my lap,” He whispered. “I won’t mind.” You shuddered. What would that mean? He wanted you, his teacher aid, to sit on his lap. Something you had dreamed of many times. You had hoped and wished for this day but Lord knows, you would never get it. You nodded and paused the movie, taking the laptop off your lap. Daveed positioned himself for you to sit. You put your body on top of his and then sat your laptop on top of your lap. “Are you okay?” You asked, he nodded and sat his head back on your shoulder. The feeling of your heart pounding in your chest. A sigh left the home that it made on your lips, Daveed looked up at you.

“Are you okay?” He chuckled, you nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked in a breathy tone, eyebrows knitting together. “You are sitting on your boss’ lap.” He pushed, plump brushing against your neck. “I-I mean,” Your voice quivered for a moment, “Yeah, but..” You trailed off with your words when his lips pressed a kiss against your pulse point. “But?” He questioned.

“I-I don’t know.” You felt defeated when you couldn’t find the words. He made you feel like your heart was on fire and as if there was a waterfall in-between your legs. “Why are you on my lap, sweetheart?” He asked, your eyes closed in a motion as your mouth opened.

“Why did you tell me I could sit on your lap?” He chuckled and pressed his lips right under your ear before whispering a simple word.


You could only giggle but it was cut off with the feeling of his lips on your jaw.

“Do you want this?” He asked, his hand now going up your thigh and under the soft material of the skirt you hadn’t taken off yet. A smile was on his lips when you didn’t stop him. He still wanted a verbal response, he wanted to make sure you wanted this. Wanted to know that you craved his cock deep in your pussy and that you would do anything for it.

“Do you want my cock inside you, baby girl? Inside your tight dripping hole? You want me to stretch you, huh?” The words made the wetness that had already formed between your legs pool out and onto your already soaked underwear. You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice.

“Use your words, honey. I want to hear you say it.” He bit the skin making a gasp move from your lips and into the air, where it would linger in Daveed’s ears until you spoke.

“Yes, Sir.” You whispered the pet name before continuing the words that had became a resident in your brain. “I want your cock inside me.” An audible groan left Daveed’s lips. His hand sat right by your throbbing heat. The sound of a whimper leaving your lips. “Please.” You pleaded and felt his thumb trace the wet slit that was restrained by the thin material of your panties. A soft gasp escaped your lips as your eyes fell shut. His thumb touched the sensitive nub of your clit, a smirk was pulled to his lips and he pushed his thumb harshly onto the sensitive bud, rubbing in tight circles, bringing a moan from you. He continued his attack on your clit while his lips began to assault your neck. A groan left you and your head fell back against his shoulder before his lips and hand left you; eliciting a whine.

“Good girls get to cum,” Daveed whispered in your ear as he ran his finger up your covered core. Daveed’s hands squeezed your thighs, signaling you to get up; you obliged. You stood in front of him, his lips getting caught under his teeth. “Strip.” He simply said. Your eye widened. “I-I-What?” You asked quickly, Daveed let out a chuckle.

“Strip.” He repeated and when you failed to oblige he lifted himself up, “Do you need to be punished?” He asked in a teasing tone, his hands going to your hips. Quickly, you shook your head. “N-No sir,” You whispered, his eyebrow raised. “What?” He asked and moved his hands back down, “I didn’t hear you. Maybe you should use your voice, slut.” The name came out slower but a moan left your lips. “No, sir.” You responded; louder this time. He hummed softly as your shaking hands removed your skirt before removing your tank top, leaving you in a black lace bra and pantie set. Daveed’s eyes raked over you and a moan left his lips. “So beautiful.” He murmured and moved his hands back to your hips and up to the back of your bra. Your breath stopped for a moment when his rough hands touched the soft skin of your back, unhooking the bra. Your breasts came free as the material left your body.

“You’re so pretty.” He whispered and moved his hands to knead your breasts, a loud moan moving into the air. “So pretty.” He murmured and pressed his lips against hers. The feeling making her move closer to him. His hands brought her back to the cushion. Their lips molded and his fingers moved down her body and in between your thighs, he slowly parted them, allowing you time to back out. His long finger grazed your clit as he moved it down to your dripping hole. He inserted his finger, a loud gasp leaving your lips. He slowly pumped his fingers in and out of you as low whimpers left your lips. “Do you like that?” He whispered, “Like when I finger-fuck your tight little hole?” You nodded at his words, not trusting your mind to respond. “Such a dirty little slut.” He murmured and pushed a second finger in. His fingers quickly gained speed as loud, needy moans left your lips. Your hips bucked quickly and his other hand met with your clit. You felt the knot in your stomach grow and your face grew a deeper shade of red as you began to beg. Daveed only smirked and pressed against your clit harder, rubbing faster circles. His fingers pumped fast as your mouth hung open, he quickly removed his fingers from every part of you. A loud whine left your lips and a dark chuckle left him. You could feel your wet cunt throbbing with need but you couldn’t do anything about it. He lifted his hand that had just been inside you, to your lips. His index finger tapped it as you opened your mouth. You took his fingers, sucking on his digits. You let out a loud moan at the taste of yourself. “Such a whore, even for your own wetness,” Daveed groaned and removed his fingers.

Daveed got up and unbuttoned his shirt and pants. He allowed them to litter the floor as well as his boxers and tie. His hand met with his hard member, stroking it slowly. His thumb teased his slit as his head fell back in pleasure. A loud groan leaving him. “Do you want this baby girl?” he asked, referring to his cock. A soft nod left your head and he let out a chuckle. “Words or you won’t get fucked.” He whispered and continued to slowly stroke himself. You let out a whine and opened your mouth. “I want your big cock inside my tight pussy.” She whispered softly, “What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He spoke and began to set a faster pace on his cock. “Only whores who speak loud enough get my cock.” He hummed.

“I want you to fuck my tight pussy, sir.” You said louder and closed your eyes. Daveed smiled and stopped his movements before getting back on top of you. Your legs spread and the tip of his cock pressed against her. With a soft moan and a quick thrust, he was inside you. His cock stretched your walls and you couldn’t help the small screech that left your lips. He stilled and looked down at you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered before you nodded. He smiled and waited for your signal to move. Your hips bucked forward and Daveed took that as your signal. He began a slow pace before going faster. Moans and whimpers were heard around the room as well as the sound of skin on skin. He thrust again, his cock hitting your G-spot. Your eyes rolled back and your mouth hung open at the feeling. “You like that?” He asked softly and began to ram his hips harder into you as you nodded. He groaned loudly as you tightened around him again.

“I-I’m going to-” Daveed nodded, agreeing. He moved his hands to your clit again, rubbing right circles. A whimper and loud moan left your lips before you released around his cock. He continued to thrust slowly before releasing into you. Once you both got a clear head he pulled out of you, watching as his cum spilled from your pussy. A loud laugh left his lips as you lifted yourself up.

“What?” You asked quietly, suddenly insecure. Daveed shook his head before looking at you. “Crazy that you’re the teacher’s aid and we just fucked.” He laughed softly, making a snicker leave you.

Pen Pal

The majority of Elsewhere U. students really interest me. Those who live in a liminal space and refuse to see anything out of the ordinary.

This is my first time writing in second-person POV (it happened on accident) and I hope you like it.


It started dully enough. Someone had written ‘Hello’ in the bathroom (in fancy curly purple script, so extra). Juvenile, but it was the single-stall Everyone bathroom in the second sub-basement of the library, so you were willing to write it off as a bored freshman or something. And maybe you were a little bored yourself. Or lonely. Because you replied. You bought a green Sharpie specifically to respond to the purple word on the light orange paint.
‘Hey. W/ u studying?’

You went to check the little-used bathroom a few days later.
'Humans’ was written in beautiful purple handwriting under your green message.
'Psych major, cool. I’m eng-his double major’
You hoped the janitors wouldn’t clean off or paint over this little conversation. It was a little like having a pen pal. A couple days later you had another reply in purple swirls.

'Would you do something for me?’
The request was weird, but so were college kids; and you could always just not do it, you didn’t know who you were talking with, and were pretty sure you weren’t being followed. Like 75% sure. 70% sure.
'W/ u need?’
'Bells NOT silver candy cream beads appreciation’
It took you a few seconds to understand that the beautiful words written at all angles on the wall were a list. (Seriously? Upside down?) It was a pretty cheap request, aside from 'appreciation’, but most college kids lived off dark humor, so you didn’t pay it much mind. Maybe they were doing a psych-sociology experiment; you didn’t want to screw up their data.

You got some cheap gold-painted aluminum jingle bells, thread, and a package of plastic beads at the craft store. They were the same kind of cheap beads a lot of the art majors wore on necklaces, so you figured that’s what your pen pal wanted. At the grocery store you added a box of unflavored single coffee creamers and a bunch of candy, including caramel with creme centers (you couldn’t tell if 'cream’ and 'candy’ were meant to be combined on the bathroom wall or not). You brought it to the single stall bathroom in the second sub-basement of the library and left the bag in the corner. You threw out the receipts, thought a second, then tore out a piece of paper from your notebook and grabbed your green marker.
'I appreciate you :)’ You wrote, messily folding the paper into a crane, the only origami you know, and leaving it on top. 

You went back to your dorm, finding a small pile of pretty-looking junk on a huge leaf on your pillow. Your roommate wasn’t there. Must be a weird prank or some new internet challenge or something. You sorted through the odds and ends. Pretty rocks, tiny animals carved from wood, marbles, pieces of broken safety glass cracked through with green-blue and so fragile that some crumbled off the sides when you picked them up (you cleaned the miniscule slivers of broken glass off your pillow with some duct tape)… Eventually you found a little purple origami turtle. You opened it to find writing inside. 

'Your assistance is appreciated*’
There was no other asterisk anywhere else on the paper, so it must have been a stylistic choice, not a grammatical one. You put it out of your mind and carefully refolded the turtle and set everything on your desk to deal with later. Maybe you’d give it to an art student, they always seemed to have little trinkets like that. Or trade, the student body really liked trading, or maybe most colleges full of poor college kids were like that.


In the week before midterms you suddenly awoke one night. You almost groaned and rolled over to preserve what sleep you could, but when you grabbed your blanket your hand landed on paper. You squinted at the post-it in the dim light, making out swirly fancy handwriting. Across the room, your roommate was asleep. Whatever. You stuck it to your phone and went back to sleep.

You read the post-it the next morning.
‘*I can help’

“What does that mean?” You asked your roommate, slightly accusingly. He frowned at the note.
“You should probably leave this alone.” He tells you seriously.
“Then why did it you stick it to me last night?”
“What? No I didn’t. My handwriting looks nothing like that.” He had a point. 
“Are you having a friend write the notes? Is a friend of yours messing with me by way of you?”
“No, I have no idea what that’s about. But if I were you, I’d steer clear of it. And make sure you have iron, salt, and cream on you.” Pippin was a theatre major, so he may be lying, but if he wasn’t lying his superstitions were true to his nature. The only group that could rival theatre majors for superstitions were D&D players.

You frowned at the post-it, debating what to do. You decided to stick it to the backside of the dorm door, adding your own post-it below in your green marker.
‘Help how?’ You didn’t think your roommate was the plagiarizing type, hopefully he only meant studying together because of how english, history, and theatre all came together.

You checked the back of the door after lunch to find a new post-it.
‘If you want to find out, come to the pool party tonight. I’ll find you.’
You debated. You knew you needed to study for midterms, but what if your roommate could help? What if he was trying (in a really weird roundabout way) to take your mind off midterms and get you to relax? You decided to go.

The pool party was more fun than you thought it’d be. You jumped in the deep end and swam around there early in the evening, before you could get drunk. They were playing good music, had more than just cheap beer in the coolers. You were genuinely having a good time.
“Hey.” A smiling girl in a bikini put her arm around your shoulders. “You’re Green Marker, right?”
“You’re Purple Marker?” You asked. She nodded. “How do you know Pippin?”
“I know all the theatre majors in passing. And I know anyone down that deep in the library could use a hand come test time. What do you say?”
“You’d help me study? Without plagiarizing?”
“You’d have to provide me with something, too. Fair’s fair.”
“What would you want?”
“What are you willing to offer?”
“More candy?” You tried.
“To help you ace your midterms?”
“Okay, um…”

You tried to think. People were always saying to never wager something you couldn’t bear to lose. What was something valuable enough to get studying help, but that you could bear to lose? You glanced around and realized you’d been slowly walking away from the party, into the darkness.
“I’ll give you…” She wanted appreciation. “I’ll give you my friendship. How’s that?”
“Wonderful.” She sighed, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.


anonymous asked:

Hey 😃Maybe a Bellarke Fic were something dramatic has just happened and they go back to their room and suddenly everything is silent and calm and they clean each other's wounds? Maybe in cannonverse ? Your blog is amazing and you are a blessing thank you

Omg thank you :’) I’m sorry it took me forever to get to this but I hope you like it. Not TOTALLY sure if the title is 100% applicable but it’s super bellarkey anyway so. ALSO! This is 4x06 spec

Hello Love, My Invincible Friend


Fandom: The 100
Pairing: Bellarke
Rating: G, I guess
Words: 1,441

On her forehead there’s a slash from which blood trickles in a steady flow into Clarke’s eye. She feels a bruise blossoming across her cheekbone. Her head pounds in her temples and between her brows, a sharp ache that rears its ugly head with each second that passes.

But Clarke has jumped hundreds of feet into violent waters. She’s opened her own stitches and slit her skin to cut deals. She wrestled a damn jaguar and survived.

She’s dealt with worse.

Bellamy has too, but that doesn’t quell the fear bubbling in Clarke’s gut like a waking volcano when she looks at him now.

His jacket is thrown onto the bed, leaving him with only his t-shirt to veil the gash sliced along his bicep. Blood drips in a curtain down his arm, staining the fabric of his shirt and falling in thick drops to the floor. With his opposite hand, Bellamy tries rolling up his sleeve to get a better look at the damage. When he fumbles, frustrated, Clarke crosses the room to help him.

It’s the first time since Trikru attacked them on their way to Becca’s lab that Clarke has seen the injury, and when she does, she can’t help the shallow breath she sucks in. Bellamy tenses. Clarke knows the blood makes it look worse than it actually is, but even so, she can tell slapping a band aid on this one won’t fix it.

Over the lump in her throat, she says “I need to clean this,” and hurries to the attached bathroom to wet a cloth. “And stitch it.” She grabs her first aid kit from their traveling bag. “And probably amputate it.”


Keep reading

Come Through

COME THROUGH — send me your location. let’s focus on communicating ‘cause i just need the time and place to come through. send me your location. let’s ride the vibrations ‘cause i don’t need nothing else but you! ( location, khalid )

REQUEST — the reader, jughead’s younger sister, and archie like each other but have never acted on it. after the death of jason, both boys grow very protective of her.


CAUTION — graphic description of death; alcohol consumption.

NOTES — i just wanna take the chance to explain that any time i make a reader the sibling of a character it will rarely be by blood. it’s very easy to forget that not every fan’s white, and the last thing i want is for poc to feel excluded, so sometimes the reader could be a half-sibling or adopted or whatever i come up with so as to not isolate anyone. also, i don’t know if riverdale!jughead has a baby sister like comics!jughead does, but i included jellybean anyway because for real, how cute would it be if all the siblings had nicknames? juggie, jelly, and the reader as juicy? that’s so cute! lastly, i wrote this before the new episode, so jughead’s home life is tv show!canon-divergent but comic!canon. ( requests: open + i am in desperate need of some f/f )

Keep reading

I Am Not A Hero

Pairing: Loki x Reader (female)

Words: 670

I need to see the pain in his eyes when I pull his hair back. And, oh those beautiful eyes. So expressive. He is so broken. And yet, somehow, whole.

“You.” He looks at me with a mixture of hatred and arousal as I enter his chambers.

“Me.” I smile. I know that I am the only one that can give him what he wants.

“How are you, pet?” I ask as I move towards him. His eyes track my every move. He angles his body towards mine. I give him the same perusal he affords me. I let a disappointed sigh escape me as I see he is still clothed.

“I gave you very specific instructions, Loki.”

“I am not your slave.”

I laugh and that laugh sounds derisive even to my own ears.

“No. You are my king.”

I reach him and raise my hands to touch him. He is cold and hard but oh so alive.

My hands reach his hair and his pupils dilate. I fist my hands in that dark mane and pull his head back. He gasps in pleasure as the multiple stings register. His throat is bare to me and with one hand I fist it. He is mine. He belongs to me. He shudders in pleasure as I lightly choke him.

“Make no mistake, Loki. I obey you when you order me around but behind these doors you do what I say.”

I pull his hair harder and he falls to his knees in front of me. He wants to touch me. I know because I see him holding himself back with effort.

“You are so beautiful.”

He opens his eyes and I see the same twisted need mirrored in them that makes me double over in jealousy every time I see someone else touch him.

“I saw you with Frey, today. You went into his room and didn’t come out for hours.”

“Jealousy. Tut, tut. You are a king, Loki. You should be used to sharing your lovers.”

He smirks up at me. He knows that he is the best lover I have ever had.

“Did he make you moan as I do, y/n? Did he pet you as I do? Tell me.”

I don’t answer for the longest time.

“Tell. Me.”

I tighten my grip on his throat and he shudders once more. A growl escapes him this time.

“Tell. Me.”


That’s all it takes. He bursts out of my hold.

“You forget who I am, insolent woman.”

“You are one of my many lovers, sweetie and if you can’t handle that….”

I turn to leave but he traps me in an elaborate illusion. His illusions, as always, are beautifully done. He pulls the chains tighter and my arms extend to the limit. He comes up behind me and kisses my shoulder softly. I shiver at the chill his breath sends over me. In that moment, I know, I just know that he has changed his skin.

“Show me.”

“You are not in any position to make demands.”

“Show. Me.”

He circles around to stand in front of me.


The word is breathy. I don’t lose control often but the sight of such beauty leaves me breathless.

“You are magnificent.”

He opens his eyes and they are bloodshot.

“Do not romanticize me, y/n. I know….”

“You are the most beautiful lover I have ever had, pet.”

“I see it in your eyes. You will try to change me.” He almost hisses at those words.

“Why would I?”

“I am not a hero, y/n. I will never be one. I know why you don’t tell your comrades about me. Everyone wants me for a lover but they inevitably mate a man like…..”

“I don’t want your brother, Loki. Blondes aren’t my type.”

He looks at me with shock. I like that I have caught him off guard.

“You said you were with Frey.”

I let the smile break out of me.

“I don’t count myself among the heroes either.”

anonymous asked:

For the fic meme: "wait, that was you?"

“Wait, that was you?” Yuri asked. Otabek had just told him that they had met at Yakov’s summer camp and that’s when he remembered. He remembered Otabek very well now. That was you who was my first, and only lasting, crush?

“Yes, is there a problem?” Otabek immediately responded with a question of his own, and frankly, Yuri was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this god that was standing next to him and had just rescued him, was in fact the very same person he had a crush on as a boy.

Yuri shook his head slowly, thinking about his next words carefully. “No, it’s just… I remember you too. I never managed to get your name back then, though. I never thought I’d see you again, yet here you are, swooping in to save my from my own psycho fans and then bringing me to probably the most beautiful spot in Barcelona. What’s your angle, Altin?” Yuri was, of course, hoping that his childhood crush was about to confess his own crush. This was, of course, purely wishful thinking and was not very likely.

“Only if you want there to be one, Yuri. I brought you here to ask if we could be friends. From the first day I saw you, I knew you were strong. There was something else in your eyes when you looked at me, and I’ve never known what it was.” He paused and stepped forward. “But if you’re asking for what angle I’d play if I knew for certain it would work out… I suppose I’ll tell you.”

Yuri waited a moment, realizing three things. One was that Otabek wasn’t going to say anything else without an answer from Yuri. The second was that this stoic bastard has said so damn much in the past ten minutes alone, and Yuri wasn’t sure anyone else really every heard him talk so much. He felt special. The third this he realized was that they were facing each other with only about four inches separating them. Yuri had a feeling he knew where this was going especially given the slightest hint of pink on Otabek’s cheeks, and he was, strangely enough, okay with it. When he spoke, it was a whisper. But there was no need to be any louder than that when they were as close as they were. “Tell me.”

He chuckled and smirked. “Well, I’d say something along the lines of ‘Yuri Plisetsky, will you go on a date with me?’. And then maybe… Oh I don’t know, ‘Will you be my boyfriend?’. But that’s just an angle, isn’t it?”

Yuri’s heart stopped. His crush. Was planning on asking him out? Oh, this was almost too much for his heart to handle. Yuri glanced down at Otabek’s lips real quickly and made an impulsive decision.

One second they were standing there in a comfortable silence, the weight of the ‘hypothetical’ questions lingering between them. The next second, Yuri had thrown his arms around Otabek’s neck and pulled his face down ever so slightly to push their lips together. Otabek was surprised for all of three seconds, as he hadn’t expected this response from Yuri. He was certainly not complaining though. He placed his hands on Yuri’s hips and pulled him closer, kissing back happily.

When the kiss broke, Otabek smiled. “Are we gonna be boyfriends or not?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Clearly that kiss didn’t help you figure that out.”

“Maybe you should try again?”

“I think I will.”

The two ice skaters stayed where they were until the sun set, enjoying each other’s company and each other’s kisses. This was the start of something beautiful.


spontaneousam  asked:

Can you write a Daddy!Jensen head canon for him watching Disney movies with the kids and softly singing along to all of the songs because he doesn't want anyone to hear him? Please and thank you 😊

JJ was between his feet, the twins on either side of his thighs, reclined in their boppy pillows and a bottle propped on their tiny fists. This was it, this was what he’d waited his entire life for. 

Yeah, he was tired, he’d changed more diapers today alone than he ever had with JJ, and he’d been watching the same three Disney movies on repeat for days on end, but this was… perfect.

JJ began smacking the back of his calf, squealing as “I See The Light” began, the lanterns floating across the giant television screen signaling the start of the same song he’d already heard twice today. Rapunzel stared off into the glowing night sky and the melody poured from the speakers.

Between his knees, his daughter sang every word, whether she could pronounce it correctly or not. Looking from one twin to the other, he realized Zeppelin was practically chugging his bottle and already needed to be burped.

Positioning Arrow’s bottle just so, he let it rest at an angle where she could keep drinking without a problem. Lifting his son, he eased Zep down onto his shoulder and lightly patted his back. Before long, Flynn Rider’s part started and Jensen smiled when JJ’s voice stopped. 

“You, daddy!” She squeaked. 

“No, not this time baby.” He gave her a smile, but started humming along. 

By the third line, Zeppelin had given a hearty burp and was nestled back into his pillow, eyes falling closed the second the bottle hit his lips. Jensen smiled and lifted Arrow, repeating the process with her. Very softly, his deep voice came out as he sang along.

JJ looked up at her father with stars in her eyes and the biggest smile on her face. She loved when she caught him singing with her movies, even if it was really quiet. Standing up, she started parading around the room and doing her best ballerina moves, despite never having taken a class in her short almost four years. His wife rounded the corner and took in the sight before her eyes, snapping a picture when Jensen had laid Arrow back down.

He couldn’t reach the remote. He could sleep for days and probably still feel tired. He was singing Disney songs and had spit up all over his shoulder. 

Jensen Ackles was living the dream.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Sometimes I wonder how badly that telepathic link with the White Martian must have messed with Alex's mind. Do you think she gets nightmares about attacking and taunting Kara now?

Ofc she does.

She remembers everything she said.


She remembers every one of Kara’s reactions, every nuance of her fear, every detail of her pain.

And it wasn’t her hand, but she still remembers slamming it into Kara’s skin.

She’s punched her sister before.

In DEO training. That time when she was 17 and they both got a little carried away with Mario Kart (it was an accident).

She’s punched her sister before, and she’s knocked her down. She’s taken the wind out of Supergirl, and she’s made Kara cry.

She’s strong. Very.

But she’s not as strong as the white Martian whose flesh wasn’t hers but was, whose memories weren’t hers but were.

And in these memories, she feels how fragile Kara is, how breakable Supergirl is.

All because of the snarl that’s not her snarl, the unearthly strength that’s not her strength.

The agony of knowing what she was doing – and because she wasn’t doing it, she was laying inert, weak, destroyed, shattered – the agony of not being able to stop it.

And it replays every night.

Every night, she watches the insecurity flicker behind Kara’s eyes when the white Martian had called her whiney, had told her it was exhausting to pretend to care about her feelings.

Because it wasn’t Alex – it wasn’t even Alex’s body – but she remembers it like it was, and she knows Kara saw her, heard her, touched her, like she was.

She’d done it to her again.

Tried to kill her, forced her to fight back.

Under Myriad, and now this. This wasn’t the same. And she’d snapped out of Myriad.

She knows this. She knows it.

But knowing it doesn’t stop the nightmares.

She wakes up sweating and she wakes up screaming, and Maggie holds her with one arm, soothes her with soft lips and even softer words, and she angles her body, both of their bodies, so she can reach her phone, so she can type out a one-handed text to Kara.

And Kara is always there, within minutes.

The first couple of times, neither of them are wearing shirts, and the gravity of Alex’s nightmares is temporarily replaced with the awkward hilarity of the situation.

But Alex starts sleeping in a shirt, because she surrenders to the knowledge that these nightmares aren’t going anywhere any time soon, and Maggie follows suit.

Every time, Maggie will transfer Alex from her own strong arms into Kara’s, and Kara will kiss her forehead and her hair and soothe her heavy, gasping, apologetic breathing, coo that she has nothing to apologize for, that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her.

Every time, Maggie will stop in the doorway and watch the Danvers girls for a long, sad moment; sad because Alex is in pain, because the strain of it is eating away at her, at Kara; but grateful, too, because they have each other through it. They’re closer through it.

Every time, Maggie pads into the kitchen to make them all hot chocolate, and she lingers until Alex’s sniffles slow and, eventually, subside.

Every time, they sip in silence, and every time, once their drinks are finished, Alex settles deep into the blankets between her sister and her lover, and Maggie mouths thank you to Kara over Alex’s exhausted head, and Kara mouths exactly the same.

After nearly a week of this, Maggie asks Kara to just spend the entire night sleeping over, and Kara smiles, and her heart breaks in the best of ways, because she’d wanted to from night one but had been scared to impose on Alex’s private time with her girlfriend.

So it becomes a routine: Maggie cooks four times the amount of dinner she normally does, because Kara is Kara, and she and Kara stay awake long after Alex drifts off in their arms, to make sure, to make sure, to make sure.

And eventually, the nightmares stop, but the habit doesn’t, because still, long after Alex has forgiven herself for something she never did, there are nights that Kara just sleeps over with her sister and her sister’s girlfriend, because if they’re being honest, they all sleep better the closer they are to each other.

Do You Feel It?

A/N: I absolutely LOVE the “seeing wings = soulmates!” troupe. However, the fics I’ve come across for Gabriel always seem to have him getting super excited super quickly. I feel like it would be a more emotional moment that takes a moment to adjust to. I wanted to see him vulnerable and flustered. Here’s my take on the idea of wings and soulmates. 
Pairing: Gabriel/Reader 
Warnings: fluffy fluff 
Synopsis: “Angles have this…thing. About angels. And angel wings.”
Gabriel. The name was familiar, obviously. Besides perhaps Lucifer, he was the most well known Angel, even if I hadn’t been raised Christian. I’d learned about the Archangel Gabriel in the same breath I’d learned about Jesus, seeing how he announced Jesus’s existence to the Virgin Mary. His name was spoken in a reverence by every religious figure I’d met growing up, he was a biblical fixture in my life. Which is why I was left a bit short for words when Sam and Dean announced his impending arrival with undisguised disdain.
“Gabriel. THE Gabriel. Is coming here? To help us with a hunt?”
Sam gave a disgruntled sigh, “yeah. Hopefully he won’t be here long and we won’t have to deal with him too much.”
I knew the stories about the boys’ run-ins with the angel. As much of a show as they put on, they didn’t seem to hate him as much as they hated some of the other angels. There was a deep-seated distrust and vague annoyance, but their faces didn’t darken at his name like it did with others, which I took to be a good sign.
Honestly, I loved the stories about Gabriel. While misguided, he seemed to have a good heart and sense of humor. I mean, come on, trapped in TV? It’s the single-greatest prank I’d ever heard of. The Mystery Spot mess was perhaps a little overboard, but the point he was tying to make to Sam was with good intention. Surely he’d redeemed himself, at least somewhat, in their eyes when he helped them against Lucifer. It had broken my heart to think he’d almost died, even though I’d never met him. It was several years later that the boys found me hunting a rugaroo solo and had taken me in. I’d been with them for about a year now, so it surprised me that I hadn’t met Gabriel. I was quite looking forward to it, much to the apparent annoyance on the Winchesters’ faces. If they’d expected me to be sulky about this interesting turn of events and expansion into my hunting life, they were sorely disappointed.
“(Y/n) really, he’s not that big of a deal, and if you act like he is, it’s going to go straight to his head and make him even more of an annoying jerk than he already is.”
Dean piped up, “Not to mention he did technically kill me, like, a lot. No matter what funny façade he presents, you can’t afford to forget how dangerous he can be. In fact…maybe it’s best if you aren’t here when he comes. The less he knows about you, the better, if you ask me.”
“Are you kidding me, Dean?” I turned to Sam, who had an expression that was starting to mirror Dean’s. “Sam, you’ve got to be kidding me! I am a grown woman, the two of you are not my keepers!” They may have taken the place of surrogate brothers in my life, but they most certainly did not have any authority over me. “If I want to meet the infamous Archangel Gabriel, I will, and you cannot stop me. Dean, no-” Dean had opened his mouth, about to argue. “I was hunting for YEARS before I met the two of you. I’ve met every monster imaginable and my religion is one of the only things I’ve held on to from my pre-hunting life. I’ve been around Cas a ton and hell, I’ve literally met Mr. Call Me Chuck himself! You say Gabriel has information that could help us, by Chuck, I’m going to be there to meet him with you and there’s nothing you can do about it!” I finished, a little childishly, just short of stomping my foot and sticking out my tongue.
“This one’s firey, I like her. Where’d you find her?”
Startled, the three of us whipped around. Standing in the middle of the library behind us was a (rather attractive) man. He was much shorter than the boys, but a couple inches taller than me. He had golden blonde hair and caramel-colored eyes that seemed to constantly sparkle like he was mid-laugh. His face was upturned in an amused smirk. He noticed me watching him and gave me a wink. “Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord, but I believe you’ve figured that out.” He turned to the boys, “No holy fire? No pre-drawn angel banishing sigils? Boys, I don’t know whether to be disappointed in your lack of preparedness or impressed with your increasing capacity for trusting people. What can I do you for?”
The boys begrudgingly began explaining to Gabriel the details of the case. We suspected the witch we’d been tracking had somehow gotten hold of a Hand of God. With Gabriel’s attention fixed on the boys (or, mostly fixed. Every so often he would glance at me, almost like he was sizing me up. It was both intriguing and intimidating) I took a moment to examine the most incredible feature of my new acquaintance: the six massive golden wings protruding from his shoulder blades. They seemed to fill the entire room. They looked like they were spun with pure gold. Not only did they reflect light, they seemed to radiate light and warmth. There was an edge of one of the wings near me. I resisted the urge to reach out and stroke it. I wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked, but I didn’t want to overstep any weird angel boundaries. I couldn’t help but be a little confused. I’d been around Cas a hundred times. I’d met Hannah and Balthazar. Why had they kept their wings hidden? Gabriel seemed to be proud of his, showing them off like he was. Every so often he would give them a gentle shake, as if he was adjusting them, causing the light to ripple down his feathers. The effect was mesmerizing. If Cas’ wings were half as beautiful, surely he’d want to show them off, too.
“–(y/n)? (Y/n), you there?” I shook my head a little and turned to the three pairs of eyes watching me, waiting for a response. I wasn’t sure whether or not mentioning an angel’s wings was acceptable or appropriate, so I decided to keep my thoughts on their beauty to myself.
“Sorry, I got lost in thought for a minute there. What were you saying?”
Dean replied, “we were saying that we need hard proof before we go charging in, just in case this is the real deal. You ready to tank this bitch tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I replied. “The three of us? Or…all of us?” I tried to ask innocently, glancing at Gabriel. With all my heart I wanted Gabriel to be there, too. However, I had only just met the man. I hadn’t even spoken to him yet. Why I so desperately wanted him to stay I didn’t know and I didn’t want to be…weird. Gabriel was watching me, dear Chuck I hoped he wasn’t reading my mind.
“You, me, and Dean tomorrow,” came Sam’s reply. “We need to cover our bases and find out everything we can about what we’re dealing with tonight. If this truly is a Hand of God, we need to be prepared.”
“I’ll be on standby,” Gabriel added. “Just a quick prayer and I’m there. Now, who’s hungry?”
Gabriel ended up spending the afternoon at the bunker. After he popped in six pizzas (two topped with chocolate sauce and candy. It looked awful but according to him “candy goes good with everything”) Gabriel half-helped the boys research and half-spent his time talking to me. I tried to help research with the boys, but I couldn’t help myself talking to Gabriel. There was this strange pull I was feeling toward the angel. Perhaps it’s because he’s an archangel. Against my normal thorough hunter’s training, my head was only halfway in the researching while he sat across from me talking about his favorite biblical misconceptions and telling me stories about the boys from before I’d met them.
“Here’s a thought,” I said two hours later after closing the book I’d been attempting to read from. “Why don’t we simply…ask Chuck?”
“Well, we don’t exactly have him on speed-dial,” replied Sam.
“Besides,” added Dean, “He split after the whole Amara thing, remember? ‘The world has you’ and all that bullshit. I doubt he’d answer even if we could call him.” I nodded my head, conceding to the reasonable argument. I grabbed another book and pulled it toward me. I could feel eyes on me. I looked up and my eyes met Gabriel’s. He was watching me with an intensity that almost made me uncomfortable. Instead of opening the book, I stood up, breaking eye contact.
“I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk.”
The boys didn’t look up from the books they were engrossed in. Dean grunted and Sam gave a vague wave of acknowledgment. Determinedly not looking at the angel, I grabbed my jacket and walked across the room and up the stairs to the door. Making sure I had my key, I stepped out into the cool evening air.
I took a deep breath and began walking. I barely paid attention to where I was headed, vaguely west toward the sunset. I had walked a radius around the bunker of a few miles in every direction during the year I’d spent here and my feet took me to one of my favorite spots: a small clearing in a grove of trees on a hillside, perfect for watching the sunset. I sat down and surveyed my surroundings. The air was definitely helping me clear my head. What was wrong with me? It was like Gabriel was clogging my senses, making my head fuzzy and warm. It was a strangely comfortable suffocation, one that was equal parts invited and confusing as hell. I had literally only met him this afternoon! I had never developed feelings for anyone this quickly, especially feelings this strong! It didn’t make any sense!
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
I stood up quickly, turning to the voice behind me. I relaxed immediately once I saw Gabriel. Which was also wrong! I was a hunter! What was I doing relaxing at the sight of a potentially dangerous creature that I barely knew? Gabriel seemed to read the mix of emotions on my face.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I…don’t think I even could. I have this…weird pull toward you. Am I crazy? Do you feel it?”
It was almost unnerving seeing him so vulnerable, asking for reassurance. The stories I’d read and learned about for as long as I could remember were of this mythical and intimidating figure of Heaven. The stories the boys had told me were of this powerful and annoyingly pretentious asshole. The man before me was…a man.
He reached his hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable with my silence. His wings twitched, causing the light from the setting sun to dance with the golden luminescence of his feathers. The movement caught my eye, which he noticed. His hand froze on his neck and his eyes widened. I met his eyes and his eyebrows cinched, mouth slightly agape. He shook one of his wings purposefully. I glanced toward the movement and back to his face, confusion I’m sure was evident on mine. His hand dropped from his neck and he released a long breath he had been holding. He took a step backward as if in shock and asked in a quiet voice, “…you can see them, can’t you?”
Slowly, I nodded. “Gabriel…why can I see your wings, but not Castiel’s? Hannah’s? Balthazar’s? Do they keep theirs hidden?”
Gabriel’s focus on me was intense as he seemed to gather himself. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps toward me. His hands looked like they were attempting to reach out and take my arms, but he was holding himself back. “Um…no. Not technically. There’s this…thing. About angels. And angel wings. Even we can’t see each other’s wings.”
This surprised me, but it only deepened my confusion. Angels couldn’t see each other’s wings? So, why could I?
“I guess that’s not entirely true,” he amended. “In certain…circumstances, we can. It’s simply one of those things. Showing your wings is kinda like showing your privates. It’s an intimate thing. Only reserved for special…partners…” he trailed off. I stepped toward him. We were inches apart. The fuzziness in my head was starting to return, along with a strange clarity.
“Partners?” I pressed.
“Well, more like…mates. Like…soul mates. It sounds cheesy, but only an angel’s soul mate is able to see an angel’s wings. You can’t see Castiel’s because he’s not your soulmate.”
“But I can see yours. So that must mean…”
“Yeah.” He closed the distance between us, allowing his hands to wrap around my back and hold me closer to him for a fiercely passionate kiss. I returned it with fervor. His hands trailed up my arms to cradle my face. My hands found their way to his hips and our bodies pressed against one another. Every cell in my body was on fire. Every ounce of my being was screaming how perfect this felt, how natural and overwhelmingly right. I wanted to kiss him for the rest of my life.
I started to giggle while we kissed. He broke away and rested his forehead against mine. “What, in the name of my father, could be so funny at a moment like this?” He teased.
I grinned at him. “I’m standing on a hill in a field kissing THE literal archangel Gabriel whom happens to somehow be my soulmate. If my mother could see me now…” he chuckled and kissed my nose. His wings, unbeknownst to me, had wrapped around us, forming a sort of cocoon around us both. I started to reach my hand toward the feathers close to me, but stopped. I glanced at Gabriel, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of permission. I continued my reach and stroked the feathers. They felt like clouds woven into a fabric. Their softness was indescribable and the warmth was comforting to the touch. Gabriel let out a hissing gasp the moment I made contact. I pulled my hand away and looked to him immediately, terrified that I had somehow managed to hurt him. He noticed my distress and kissed my forehead.
“It’s okay. I’ve just…never felt anyone touch my wings before. It’s like if you suddenly had nerve endings in your hair. It’s startling, but extremely pleasant.”
Just then, my cellphone began to buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
“The boys seem to be getting worried…how long have we been out here?” I couldn’t see the sunset behind Gabe’s wings. When he pulled them back, I learned that not only had the sun gone down long ago, but the heat radiating from his wings had effectively blocked off the chill of the night. I was immediately onslaught by cold air and wrapped my arms around myself, shivering at the temperature difference. Gabriel noticed and held me in his arms.
“Hold on tight, sugar,” he whispered in my ear before snapping us into the bunker’s living room. Dean and Sam, who had been sitting on the couch and in an armchair respectively, both jumped up as we materialized in front of them, concern evident in their faces. Concern that quickly turned into confusion and apprehension as they took in the protective and possessive way Gabriel was standing with his arms around me, and the comfortable way I was leaning my back against his front. Dean’s eyebrow slowly raised as he caught my eye.
Grinning sheepishly, I looked at the two of them and said, “boys…you may want to sit down. I believe you both need a break from research and there’s some…things….that need to be talked about.”

Bon Appetit - Yixing

Originally posted by baekhyuntella

Genre: just plain, filthy smut, drabble

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: rated m, oral, language

A/N: Because @second-thot knows what’s up

Keep reading


How’d we go from that to this?? Smdh…

I was so happy how Windblade was usually treated with dignity, how she got her own spinoff, how she was usually drawn like an actual mechanical lifeform. Now we get this sexualized predator-prey thing

Mm yeah, sure do love when two hot chicks are discussing the fate of their worlds and totally not about to fight over a lemon tree. And look, this is what was on the cover!

But when you open its all

I think one of the things that bug me the most is the way the light hits her chest? like, before it was essentially a uniboob, now it’s two clearly formed breasts with a divet between them. I’m not saying a fictional robot needs to have a flat chest to be dignified or respected, it’s just that the angles and poses (and inconsistent “breast” size) makes it clear this is for the gaze of the audience and not so much a focus on her circumstance, her choices, her words, or the plot. There’s a fantasy here that she is trapped, captured, strung up in a suggestive position, helpless to onlookers. She could have been chained to the floor, she could have been floating in an ominous space and zapped/tortured that way. There are endless alternatives to what we got. But no, instead we get this. Anyone else feel a twinge of Slave!Princess Leia?

Girl, same.

The Simple Things Aren’t Always So Simple - Part 3 - Show Me

Word Count:  2554

Warnings: Smut, pretty much pure smut, cheating, unprotected sex (please be smart), language, Daddy!kink, praise!kink

A/N: I, in no way, condone cheating on your spouse or partner. This fic is the result of a dream my friend @spntrista had one glorious night. Remember, this is strictly a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. We mean no disrespect to Jensen or his beautiful family. 

(images are not mine but thank you google)

The Simple Things Aren’t Always So Simple Masterlist

“Jensen? What time is it?” I asked, my face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

Jensen laid me gently on my bed, opening my robe, exposing my scantily clad body to him.  “It is time for you to forget. Forget thinking that you aren’t what I want or what I need. I can’t wait until tomorrow. Our time starts now.”

Jensen stood above me, devouring my body with his eyes. He slowly undid his bow tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Each inch of skin he revealed to me made my heart skip a beat. I pulled myself to kneel in front of him. I ran my hands up his chest and over his shoulders, pushing the shirt from him as I went. I trailed light kisses over his jaw and face as my hands traveled over his skin, creamy, freckled and soft. My tongue sought out the taste of him; a nip here, a flick there, I left a trail over his chest and stomach as I inched closer to where I wanted to be.

I lifted my eyes to look at him. He was watching me intently, his breath heavy. I reached lower in an attempt to release him from his trousers. He grabbed my wrists, halting my movements.

“No, Y/N. Remember what you said to me this morning? That you weren’t what I wanted or needed right now. And I made a oath to you that I was going to show you. Now let me. Be a good girl and lay down.” Jensen commanded.

Before I could even think about it, the words rolled off my tongue. “Yes, Daddy.”

Jensen voice rumbled low in his chest, reverberating off the walls and straight to my core. “Do you know what that does to me?” Jensen asked as he removed his pants.

“No, but I am hoping you will show me. I promise to be good for you, Daddy.” I vowed, teasing slightly, as I remembered his reaction from earlier in the evening.

Keep reading

MARCH 21: Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit (1985)

First published on this day in 1985, the semi-autobiographical novel Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson tells the story of a young lesbian growing up in the bleak world of the Evangelical church.

The thesis of Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit is right there in the title; raised by a mother whose only two pieces of advice for her daughter are to read the Bible and eat an orange, the novel follows Jeanette as she learns that the world is in fact a lot larger than her mother would have her believe. Born in 1959, the real Jeanette Winterson was raised in Accrington, Lancashire by her adoptive mother and father. The fictionalized version of Jeanette is surrounded by a similar rural community from which she must escape – both mentally and physically – once she is outed as someone “consumed by unnatural passions.”

Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit is not a happy book, but rather an unflinching look at what it is like to realize you are an alien in your own home. Jeanette was raised in the church, but as she grows older it becomes clear that she was not meant to stay in the church. After developing a crush on a girl named Melanie, sixteen-year-old Jeanette is subject to public shaming, starvation, and even an attempt at an exorcism by both her mother and her pastor, who believe her to be inhabited by a demon. Although the words “lesbian” or “gay” never appear in the book, the feelings of wandering identity and alienation are center stage in Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit. There’s a heart-wrenching humor present in Jeanette’s journey as we’re presented with the image of an adolescent girl whose only friends are the elderly band members of her church, and then that same girl, now a teenager, driving an ice cream truck in order to save up money to move to the city. The good things are not separated from the bad things; laughter and death, meanness and love all exist simultaneously at sometimes uncomfortable angles throughout the novel, brutally reflecting real life. The story concludes with Jeanette living a financially independent, fully out life in the city she had worked so hard to get to, but still, she feels aimless. While visiting her mother for the first time in years, Jeanette thinks, 

“Perhaps it was the snow, or the food, or the impossibility of my life that made me hope to go to bed and wake up with the past intact. I seemed to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.” 

Winterson creates a world where life is not a single line ascending some invisible graph, but a circle the never quite allows you to leave the places you come from.


Reality High

- One Shot - 

Summary: The clique six feature on a reality television series that follows them around school. Exciting at first but Riley quickly realises that reality TV might not always be real.

Word Count: 6141 (Haven’t written a one shot in a while so here’s a long one!)

♢ ♢ ♢ ♢

“Riley, hurry!” Maya yells from the comfort of her friends sofa, “It’s starting!”

“I’m coming!” Riley shouts back from the kitchen. The brunette bolts over with two cans of soda in hand.

The two best friends watch the season finale of their favourite reality tv show, ‘Reality High’. Each season has the same layout; it follows a number of students from the beginning of the year to the end of the year but the only difference being, when a new season begins the show would follow a new set of students in a new school and a new city. In it’s third season - the one the girls sit and watch now - it’s set somewhere in LA.

The two soon to be juniors sit with their eyes glued to the screen hanging off every bit of drama as it concludes their favourite season to date. When the show wraps up the girls are on the brink of tears watching their favourite of the students - A girl name Miranda - graduating.

After the end credits roll, Riley and Maya are about to enter a loud discussion about their thoughts on the finale when a clip pops up advertising the entry period for season four.

“Did that just say Abigail Adams High?” Riley’s mouth is agape as she stares at the television in disbelief.

“No way!” Maya springs up from the sofa in excitement, “Season four is being filmed at out high school?”

Riley squeals, “Maybe we’ll know the kids on the show!”

“Maybe we’ll be the kids on the show!” Maya jokes but secretly wishes for it to be true.

Keep reading