10 reasons to love Cassian Andor:

  • believes in the rebellion wholeheartedly 
  • will never stop fighting for freedom
  • couldn’t bring himself to kill Galen and went against orders because he actually believed and trusted Jyn 
  • looks good in fur 
  • has lost a lot, but isn’t afraid to keep loving 
  • starts caring about Jyn after like a day 
  • “welcome home” 
  • fell for Jyn when she wasted like 5 storm troopers all on her own before he could even think about it
  • hates some of the things he’s had to do in the name of the rebellion, but would probably do them again, if it meant peace throughout the galaxy 
  • has one (1) friend, and he’s a droid who’s a giant asshole 

“Do you hate him?”

That was the question she got the most.

“Yes. Maybe,” she replied. She paused, she thought about it for a second. “Not really, no. Not at all.”

“You have the right to hate him, you know?”

Her expression was calm, almost peaceful. Like the loud noise of the ocean after a huge storm. She said: “oh, I know that very well. Maybe if I could it would make it easier on me, but I don’t, I can’t.”

He asked full of curiosity then, “why?”

“You see, when someone makes you so happy, to the point where you see yourself with that person for the rest of your life and no one else, how is it fair to hate him? How can you do that? He brought so much joy to my life, so much more than I could ever expect, and…” She just stopped talking.

He waited for her to continue but she didn’t, so he asked. “And what?”

“I’ve never been one to be ungrateful. You see, you can hurt me, destroy me, leave me, cut me out of your life, but the good things will always stay with me. The good times, what we’ve been through together, that is part of the package that we call life. It’s not fair to just throw that away and try to forget. It’s not about him, it’s about me.”

He understood. He just watched her quietly moving from the couch to the window, she was just staring at the sky.

“You love with everything you have inside you, I see what it means now: it doesn’t leave space for hate, and especially not for him,” he concluded. “You really did love him.”

She kept looking at the sky outside the window in a sunny day on that late summer. After what seemed like hours, she softly said: “I did. I really did.”

I do, she thought.
I really do.

She hoped that wherever he was and whatever he was doing in his life, in that exact moment, that thought reached him and his heart ached for what it seemed no apparent reason to him. She hoped he knew, somehow, somewhere.

—  excerpt from a book I’ll never write #56
A Day for Lovers

His eyes open, peering into what should be darkness-if not pale dawn.  There’s a chill from the window seeping in through the split in the curtains, the centre showing the light just after the sunrise.  It’s the sort of mottled pink through storm clouds, and there’s a crispness to the air like freshly fallen snow.

Damen thinks it’s strange, how he’s gotten used to it.  The chilly winters, the prospect of a sea of white just beyond the balcony.  He doesn’t spent a lot of time in Vere, but winter is important to Laurent, and things are…at peace.  Not completely, but enough that he can leave the capital from time to time.

Laurent’s half of the bed is empty, though, which is strange.  He’s not an early riser when he doesn’t have to be, and when Damen’s fingers brush along the sheets, he finds them cold.

Were this a year ago–were this even six months ago–he might have worried.  He might have thought his lover–his husband, and what a thrill that word gives him even still–had been overcome with his emotions and fled.  Their past was fraught with it, Laurent’s panic over feeling vulnerable.

But he doesn’t worry about such things these days.

Perhaps he’s gone on a ride.  Or to fetch breakfast.

They have very little to worry about.  It’s the start of the new year, spring just on the horizon.  The planting season will begin soon enough, as will their duties.  But for now, they can enjoy this.  A quiet laze, which Damen craves deep in his bones.

His eyes flutter closed, and he thinks he hears singing from somewhere far off, but he’s not sure, and the warmth of the blankets is drawing him back in.

He wakes again to the smell of something sweet, and warm.  His eyes open and the curtains are drawn.  Snow’s falling again.  Whatever patch of sky had made itself known early that morning is gone, and there’s now a dusty white against mottled grey beyond the stone terrace.

Laurent is in the room.  He’s holding a tray of something–in his sleep-fogged eyes Damen thinks there are flowers on the tray and his heart beats a little faster.  He urges himself up.  There’s still a twinge in his belly, where Kastor’s knife split his skin, split the nerves.  He supposes it’ll never go away, a reminder of his own failings when it comes to trust.  He doesn’t mind.  He merely winces and ignores Laurent’s flicker of worry before a tray is sat on his thighs.

“What is this?” he asks, delighted.

Laurent almost looks nervous.  He’s dressed warmly, Veretain clothes made for winter, but he’s not as tightly laced as he might have been on any other day.  A ribbon hangs loose at his throat and Damen thinks, I could pull that, expose that bit of skin, press my mouth just there, where his pulse thrums.

He doesn’t do any of that.  He instead stares at the sweet, sticky bread on the tray, and the flowers.  They’re white, and strange, and he wonders what sort of flowers blooms in the Veretian winter, but that’s a question for later.

Because Laurent is looking at him sweetly, hesitant.  Damen dips his finger into the syrup and tastes it.  He hums, pleased.

“Today is…”  Laurent hesitates, and his cheeks go as pink as the sunrise had been that morning.  “It’s a holiday of sorts, here in Vere.  One I never took part in.  I found it…frivilous.  Auguste loved it but it seemed…a waste.”

Damen chuckles.  “How very much like my husband,” he mutters.

Laurent-very briefly-looks as pleased as Damen does every time that word slips out.  Husband.  “It’s a day to celebrate love.  Lovers.  Silly, I know.  Why take a day when you can spend all year showing how much you care but…”

He’s unable to finish his words because Damen as set the tray aside.  He’s taken Laurent by the cheeks, and he’s kissing him.  A soft push-pull, warm lips, a seeking tongue.  Laurent shivers, and his fingers dig into Damen’s sleep-rumpled curls, and he hums a little against Damen’s plump mouth.

“…I…what was I…”

Damen urges Laurent over, into his arms, kissing along his neck.  “You wish to celebrate the day with me?” he asks.  He knows the answer, but he wants nothing more than to hear it.

Laurent sighs and leans into the kisses.  “It’s tradition, to serve sweet breads and give flowers.  I’m not…as well versed as I might be in the traditions.  I believe one involves chocolate…at some point.”

Damen chuckles against Laurent’s warming skin, his hand splayed flat against Laurent’s back.  He finds the space between his jacket and trousers, and slides his fingers, seeking and finding skin there.  “We can see about chocolate later.  For now…I want this.”

“The breads?”  Laurent is being cheeky, and Damen knows it.  Loves it.

He pulls back, cupping Laurent’s cheek.  He smiles.  “The breads.  The flowers.”  He kisses him once more.  “And you.”

  • <p> <b><p></b> <b>Me:</b> *slips fifty dollars to Sarah* please let Rowan and Aelin live happily ever after in the last book so I can die in peace.<p/><b>Me:</b> also can Manon and Dorian get married and have cute deadly babies together.<p/><b>Me:</b> and can Aedion finally forgive lysandra so they can make out<p/><b>Me:</b> also can Lorcan have a change of heart and admit that he loves elide that would be great<p/><b>Also me:</b> And can-<p/><b></b> *guard escorts me out*<p/></p><p/></p>

@thedoorfacesnorth asked: Imagine Jamie is home unusually early, he is in their apartment in Paris looking out the window to see Claire arrive in the carriage, she is wearing her Dior outfit…It is the day after their night in the alcove and he hasn’t been able to think of anything but her…

Peace. Absolute, utter peace in body. And mind.

And soul.

Everything today had been fresh, new – as if seeing the apartment and the carriage and Jared’s offices for the first time, blinking in the sharp sunlight like a hare emerging from its warren after a thunderstorm.

Claire – Sorcha. The light in his darkness – his calm amid so many storms.

They hadn’t returned to bed after Charles had left – preferring to draw the sliding doors shut and nestle, skin on skin, in the small, safe darkness of the alcove.

Talking. And feeling. And tasting. And loving.

The child had been awake most of the night as well. Claire’s mouth hadn’t stopped smiling.


And when they’d heard footsteps in the living room – with the pale glow of dawn seeping beneath the door – he had wrapped Claire in his plaid, helped her to her feet, and ushered her quickly to their bedroom. Nodding at Magnus, busy trimming the wicks in the lanterns, not caring for the first time in a long time of a stranger seeing his back.

Then he’d shut the door – and Claire had turned to him and dropped the plaid. And then they loved – slowly, languidly – for the first time in their sumptuous, decadent bed.

He hadn’t washed this morning – not willing to lose the scent of her on his skin.

It had been only six hours since they parted – him for the docks, her for the Hopital – but he craved her.

No use looking at the account books today – not when his heart thrummed with joy, with completeness, for the first time in a long time.

Finally – hoofbeats on the cobblestones in the courtyard. The carriage glided in. The footman jumped off to set the footstool in place and open the door. Magnus emerged from the shadows to extend a welcoming arm –


Even from behind – with only the back of her hair visible beneath that ridiculous hat and the lovely shiny white and black silks of her dress – she was so very beautiful.

One long white glove extended to take Magnus’ arm, easing out of the carriage.

She disappeared into the house.

Jamie flew through the parlor and down the stairs to greet his wife with a kiss.

She smiled against his lips, inhaling deeply.

He pulled back, gasping.

“I love you,” he rasped.

Her eyes – her smile – were dazzling.

Cancer is a storm, those storms when rain spills from the sky at the speed of bullets and lightning wakes everyone from their safe and peaceful slumbers. Everything is gloomy for a while, and it is midnight so loneliness befalls the soul. The skies are a dark sinister violet, with dust-colored clouds stretching for miles. Some things are damaged, such as fallen trees or broken power lines. The mood of the storm causes old melancholy to surface, reflection of the past. Nevertheless, water does what water does best, it sustains. It heals too. The calm after a storm… Cancer lies resting in the clouds, safely tucked away until disturbed again. The skies have had their mood swings. The sequence continues constantly, never quite the same as the last. Although it leaves ruin in its wake, it has cleansed the lands, nourishing them with purified waters, a necessity of life.

Scorpio is a volcano, destroying and burning the earth, but bringing forth new creations. The volcanic ash creates fresh and fertile soil for new life to blossom. The process repeats, always out with the old and in with the new, a soul purification. The time of eruption is never known, sometimes it’s spontaneous, impulsive, but other times it’s bubbling inside the earth, waiting to emerge…It isn’t always explosive and theatrical. Lava can flow slowly from the earth. It eventually cools once touched by air and then solidifies and hardens…representative of Scorpio’s silent, seeping and long-lived bitterness, but also the building of resilience. The hardening of the heart, a protection and strengthening method. Frightening and shadowy at first; the skies are ashy and daylight is engulfed in darkness, the colors of death, yet full of vibrant, sometimes loud and fleeting colors once it erupts, the colors of life. Scorpio suffers with internal wars yet finds peace through the purging of inner corruption, harbored anger, and toxicity; Rage gives birth to Serenity, or Darkness to Light, Evil to Good…neither can co-exist without the other, and similarly, no one can exist without the cycle. It is an end that brings beginnings.

Pisces is equally the oceans depths and its waves, at dawn preferably, moving back and forth in uncertainty. Is it safe? The waves move forward tentatively. No wait, it’s not safe. And so, the waves retreat. The vast emptiness is the subconscious womb in which one retreats for protection. When the waves are finally calm–but not truly, the waves of the sea are never asleep—Pisces is lost in thought and sheltering themselves privately in the abyss until it’s safe to surface again. Pisces uses seclusion as rejuvenation of the soul, yet the Piscean soul needs 12 eternities to recover. Who knows when that will be?

the signs as aesthetics!

Aries: Lightning bolts, messy sketches, willow trees, fishtail braids, spotted puppies, classroom doodles.

Taurus: Thunderstorms, art supplies, cherry blossoms, heart-shaped sunglasses, knee socks.

Gemini: paint on shirts, bluebirds, space prints, vanilla milkshakes, night sky petunias.

Cancer: Opal stones, handwritten letters, blowing bubbles, the smell of petrichor, undercover kisses.

Leo: Sunflowers, adding milk to coffee, freckles, sun hats, cookie dough, tennis skirts.

Virgo: Macaroons, rolled up sleeves, typewriters, loose ties, peaceful snowy nights, empty art galleries.

Libra: Rainstorms, bath bombs, ancient temples, fawns in cemeteries, skull rings.

Scorpio: Chokers, misty mornings, black nail polish, ice cream in bowls, black cardigans.

Sagittarius: Sunrises in the city, watercolours, thick eyebrows, the sea after a storm, misty mornings.

Capricorn: Red lipstick, undercuts, starry nights, playing piano, greek statues, winged eye-liner.

Aquarius: Greek statues, crescent moons, bruised knuckles, geodes, loving stares.

Pisces: Purple skies, wildflowers, peaches, ballet shoes, flower crowns, picking blueberries.

falling for you was a whirlwind, losing breath, having it knocked out of me from the impact with the concrete of the seven foot drop to you.
and loving you was a whirlwind of fighting a losing battle with a bruising heart, knuckles to knuckles we were, bringing out the bottle of gin and a cigarette to your lips mumbling a sorry that didn’t mean sorry, all it meant was “don’t get upset when i get drunk with my friends every weekend” there was never a sorry part of you, your hazel eyes were filled with broken bottles and ashtrays of past, highs of right now and god loving you was a fucking whirlwind.
now, falling out of you well that is as explainable as the tides after a thunder storm, ocean gently lapping at your toes slowly, washing the blood of heartbreak.
yes falling out of love with you was peaceful
—  a.m

Cannot believe that today marks one year since Delirium was released. Thank you for creating such a fun and euphorically wonderful album @elliegoulding. I don’t know about y’all but Ellie’s music always seems to fit into my life. Halcyon helped me battle my demons and find the peace within the chaos and still does to this day. Halcyon awakened and healed my soul in so many ways and Delirium is the other side of that for me, it’s the clouds clearing after a long storm, finding happiness after countless years of darkness. I am forever grateful for Ellie, her music and the masterpiece that is Delirium. Happy Birthday, Delirium! :)



I would like to speak to you of Haven—the village in the Frostbacks, close to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. We are all aware of its past. It was home to the “Disciples of Andraste,” as they called themselves. Descended from the people who built the temple itself, they had strayed, over years of isolation, from their once-noble roots to become dragon worshippers. After the Hero of Ferelden discovered the Temple of Sacred Ashes, which the Disciples guarded jealously, what remained of the cult moved on, and Haven was abandoned to the ice and the snow.

I passed through Haven on my pilgrimage to see the Temple of the Sacred Ashes. There was a storm, and I took shelter in the hall of Haven’s chantry. Though they were dusty from neglect, the walls of that lonely place were strong and shielded me from the biting winds. Peace came upon me, and my eyes were opened to Haven’s incredible beauty. It could not be overcome by the pain and the horror of the past. It could not be masked by decay and disuse. It would not be forgotten.

Haven is precious to Orlais, to the Chantry, and to the Sunburst Throne for its historical and religious significance. It is my will that Haven be restored, rededicated to the service of Andraste, and preserved for the ages. Let it be a sanctuary for the pilgrims who seek out the Temple of Sacred Ashes. May they rest here beneath the cold, bright skies. May the glory of the Maker be revealed to them, as they gaze upon the grey peaks that are the work of His hand. Now and forever more, let this be a Haven for the faithful.

—From a speech by Divine Justinia V in 9:35 Dragon

Morning After: Thor imagine

The morning was cold but perfect. The storm outside took over the perfect Asgard weather. But this was your favorite weather. Rough and raw dark skies as rain harshly pummeled against the window. The thunder sounding ever few times in an almost peaceful way to you. The lightening ever so slightly slipping light in the dark room.

Even if it was freezing in the bedroom you felt nothing but warmth as you laid in the large silk bedding with the arms of a God around you.

You laid securely on top of Thor’s chest. He was a giant compared to you. He laid under you, one arm slung over your waist as his other hand rested on your thigh… right under your bum. Your fave was buried in his neck as your leg was thrown over him. Your bodies were pressed against each other as close as possible. 

Keep reading

Child of Peace 8 - Remember

FYI - The title for the manorian post-EoS collection is Child of Peace, now available on ao3. I’ll continue to post here too. I’m not sure how many more there will be - maybe 8-9? I keep getting distracted with little stuff, probably because I’m afraid of the big scenes I have planned. I tried to make this one a bit fluffier to counteract all the recent sad.

Part 1 - Good (has links to 2-7)

Part 9 - Dessert

After several hard days of travel over the White Fangs, they were relieved to reach the better weather of the foothills. The time they’d gained early on had been quickly eaten up by the delay in the mountains. Manon had known the crossing would be risky. But no one had expected the back-to-back storms that grounded them - the second one keeping them confined to a cave for two full days. They’d been lucky to find it when they did. The violent winds had come on so fast, Fallon’s wyvern had been thrown against a sheer wall of rock, injuring her tail. While they were holed up in the cave, Dorian had used his magic to heal all the wyverns’ cuts and scrapes. But he wasn’t able to knit the tiny broken bones back together in Banshee’s tail. So, they’d resorted to using traditional methods, splinting it in several spots. When they were finally able to leave, Banshee’s balance was off, slowing their progress even more.

Thankfully, they were now on the western side of the range, enjoying the warmer temperatures of the lower altitudes. When they reached the edge of the plains that would eventually become the Western Wastes, Manon decided to take a day off from flying. They were still in Adarlan, but their need for rest outweighed the danger of their location. The mountains offered good protection from Morath, and they were far enough from the Ferian Gap that it wasn’t of much concern.

Sorrel had flown ahead to scout out a suitable campsite. When she returned and announced she’d found one near a large spring, Ghislaine had cheered. “Thank the Goddess! I was about to kill someone for a bath.” The twins whooped in agreement as Sorrel and Dorian laughed.

The instant the wyverns were settled and fed, the three witches ran to the pool, shedding clothes along the way. Dorian cleared his throat and awkwardly turned away until they were out of site. Sorrel snorted a laugh and glanced at Manon, who nodded for her Third to go ahead.

“Perhaps we can visit it later this evening,” Dorian said, walking up behind her and sliding his arm around her waist. “I just might be able to magically warm up the water,” he whispered as he wiggled his fingers, causing her to jerk away. He didn’t let her get far. “Oh. Are you ticklish Witchling?”

“Don’t. You. Dare,” she growled. He only laughed and pulled her closer. She twisted around, planning to say something cheeky. But she was stopped by his soft, full lips and his hand running through the hair that had blown free of her braid. Everything left her mind except for the feel of his strong arm around her, the cool taste of his mouth, his fire and ice touch on her skin. She slipped her tongue between his lips and ran her fingertips lightly over his collarbone. Dorian shuddered, bringing a smile to her face. The intensity of his kiss grew as she hitched her leg around his and spread her hands out under his shirt.

A loud huff from close by made them pause. “Ignore him”, she mumbled against his mouth.

But Dorian broke away from her. “He’s a little difficult to ignore.”

She turned to see Abraxos flashing his sharp, iron teeth and swishing his tail back and forth in a menacing display.

“I’ve had enough of this territorial bullshit,” she snarled at him. He replied with a long whine, curling his neck to look behind him. Thinking he was warning them of some unseen danger, she and Dorian pulled out their swords and crept past him only to find a field of wildflowers swaying with the warm breeze. Abraxos pulled on the lead securing him to a tree and whined again.

Manon sighed heavily and dropped her head into her hand, Dorian laughing beside her. Their reactions elicited another impatient huff. She undid the lead and he took off for the field. She raised her eyebrows in question to Dorian and he bowed slightly, gesturing for her to lead the way.

Keep reading

Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. 

And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.


This is my shortest one yet. And came dangerously close to breaking one of my rules haha

Kinda NSFW Manorian

In the dark hours of the night, Manon lay beside her Princeling. The sheets hugged her bare skin as she moved to face him. Dorian rarely looked peaceful, even after the war, because of the memories that still haunted him. And at the thought of the horrible things he couldn’t remember. But right now he was peaceful, laying on his back with one hand behind his head, the sheet barely reaching his abdomen. He rarely got cold anymore.

Manon stared at him awhile. Few men would dare to sleep so soundly next to an Ironteeth. Then again, few men would be foolish enough to ask to court an Ironteeth. But Dorian didn’t scare easily, and he accepted who she was. Just as she accepted him, magic and all.

Manon was about to drift to sleep when she felt a chill go through the room. The fireplace flickered out, and soon he could see her breath. Goosebumps formed on her skin. As she looked at the king, she was startled to see how pale he was.

He reached out to grip the sheets, eyes screwed shut so tight there were wrinkles in his skin. But the thing that nearly broke her was the whimper that escaped his lips. He sounded pained, frightened, weak.

Manon reached out to him, cursing as ice coated her fingers. Still she cupped his cheek, shaking him. Urging him to wake up. But the ice continued up her arm. Soon she found herself straddling him, shaking him with both hands. But the ice kept going, reaching her shoulders as her fingers started to turn purple.

At a loss for what to do, Manon did the first thing to come to her mind. Her iron teeth slammed down, and she bit the King’s shoulder. She flinched as he yelped, but it woke him up. And Gods, the taste of him. It called to her, winter winds and the first snow, and woke some part of her she hadn’t realized was asleep.

Suddenly, Manon found herself on her back. Dorian’s blood dripped to her chin, she could see the puncture wounds already healing on his shoulder. She also saw the icy talons held against her throat, the confused look on Dorian’s face.

“You were having a nightmare.” Manon stated, gasping as the movement caused the icy talons to graze her neck.

“So you bit me?” The talons retracted, but Dorian leaned down farther, his forearms on either side of her and their faces inches apart.

“It woke you up, didn’t it?” She was still reeling after the shock of his taste.

“It also hurt.” Dorian pointed out, his breath fanning her face.

“Poor, poor Princeling.”  Manon wrapped her arms around his neck as Dorian tangled his fingers in her unbound hair. She leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Would you like to bite me back?”

She laughed a bit as Dorian shuddered, a groan escaping his lips. The sound was quickly cut short as Dorian lowered his lips to her neck. He ghosted over her skin until he reached where her neck met her shoulder. Manon barely breathed as his teeth grazed her skin. He stayed there for a moment, and just as Manon was about to curse him Dorian bit down.

Manon whimpered and bucked off the bed, so out of character but Gods she loved this. She was panting as Dorian pulled away, her blood glistening on his lips and his pupils blown wide.


But Dorian didn’t get to respond as Manon lunged at him, kissing him with a fervor that had him growling in appreciation.

Dorian lost all control as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Later, after they were both spent, Manon found herself in Dorian’s arms. Both their wounds had healed, though the scent of blood lingered. Dorian had her tucked under his chin and was playing with her hair. Manon nearly purred at the sensation.

“You’re a cruel, wicked, amazing female.” Dorian murmured into her hair. “I’m not sure what I would do without you.”

“You’d probably have less wounds to explain to your advisors.” Manon murmured, already feeling tired. Dorian huffed a laugh.

“True, but where would the fun be in that?” They were silent for a moment, before Manon broke the silence with a quiet question.

“Did you want to talk about the nightmare?” Manon asked, immediately regretting it as Dorian tensed.

“Right now I want to sleep.” Dorian pulled her closer, tangling their legs together as he held her. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell you all about my demons. If you will share yours.”

“An equal trade?” Dorian hummed his affirmative, and Manon pretended to consider it. “I suppose it’s a deal.”

“Then tomorrow it is.”

“Tomorrow.” Manon affirmed. “Goodnight, Princeling.”

“Goodnight, Witchling.”

The Signs as Warrior Cats Prophecies

@ TheSignsAs || IG

Aries - Darkness, Air, Water and Sky will come together and shake the forest to its roots.
Taurus - Fire alone can save our Clan.
Gemini - Like Fire, You Will Blaze Through the Forest
Cancer - There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws.
Leo - Four will become two, Lion and Tiger will meet in battle, and blood will rule the forest.
Virgo - After the sharp-eyed jay and the roaring lion, peace will come on dove’s gentle wing.
Libra - Greenleaf will come, but it will bring even greater storms than these. SkyClan will need deeper roots if it is to survive.
Scorpio - Before there is peace, blood will spill blood, and the lake will run red.
Sagittarius - The end of the stars draws near. Three must become four to battle the darkness that lasts forever.
Capricorn - A poison will spring from the heart of ShadowClan, and spread to the other Clans. A storm of blood and fire will sweep the forest.
Aquarius - When water meets blood, blood will rise.
Pisces - Beware an enemy who seems to sleep.
Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works


Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Alya/Nino


After 5 years of a never ending battle with Hawk Moth, the Akumas suddenly come to a stop. For 4 months Paris seems like it’s finally at peace, but it may turn out to be only the calm before the storm. When Alya starts to hear a familiar voice, she realises very quickly that Hawk Moth is far from gone. Alya must resist the temptation to discover the truth behind Ladybug, but as her life slowly falls apart around her Hawk Moth’s grip only becomes stronger. 

Title: Bad Idea
Fandom: Marvel
Word Count: 600
Characters: Sean Cassidy (Banshee) x Reader, Charles Xavier
Reader Gender: Female
Warnings: One swear word
Notes: Inspired by an imagine by @imaginexmenI wrote it so long ago that I’m not sure which one. ◆ This would take place shortly after First Class. // For your “Banshee-mourning soul”s, @imagine-marvel-12. 😂

Originally posted by claracivry

       Rain poured down from the sky in massive torrents one particularly dreary evening. All inhabitants of Xavier Mansion remained indoors. A few decided to play board games, while others sat alone, enjoying the peacefulness that accompanied the storm. One of the latter was Sean Cassidy, who sat alone in his room, facing the windows that lined the wall. He sat with his legs criss-crossed on the bed, watching the rain crash against the glass.
       Y/N decided that she wanted to play a game with him, so she set out to find him. After searching the usual places that Sean resided, she concluded that he must be in his room, so she made her way there. The door was cracked ever so slightly, and she peered in to see him sitting on his bed, his back to her. An idea dawned on her, and she slowly opened the door.
       The storm was loud enough that the small creaks emitted from the door and the occasional noisy floorboard went unnoticed by Sean. She crept over to him, and when she was right behind him, she grabbed his shoulders and yelled “BOO!”                  
       Sean jumped at least a foot off of the bed with a shriek. This would have been absolutely hilarious, if Y/N had not briefly forgotten that the individual she was frightening possessed a sonic scream.
       The windows, along with several other fragile objects in the room, shattered. Y/N was fairly certain her eardrums went along with them, and her hands flew to her ears. Rain poured into the room, the windows no longer separating them from the storm. Sean was at Y/N’s side in the blink of an eye, his hands on either side of her face, his back to the rain to block it from her.
       "Oh shit! Y/N, are you okay? Can you hear me? Baby, look at me – say something – please,“ Sean said frantically, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs.
       She could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears. She nodded slightly, opening her eyes and looking up at him. She gave a slight smile in an attempt to reassure him. Sean sighed heavily from relief.      
        “Why would you do that, you dork?” Sean asked affectionately, although she couldn’t hear him. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead as the bedroom door swung open.
       Everyone piled into the room to see the cause and effect of Sean’s shriek. They looked around with confused expressions, probably having assumed that he had been attacked. They parted as Professor Xavier rolled into the room, his face holding a stony glare. He looked at both Sean and Y/N for a moment, searching their minds to see what had happened. His eyes then turned to Y/N.
       "What in the world made you think that would be a good idea?“ he inquired. She was thankful that he not only spoke aloud, but also projected the question into her mind; otherwise she likely wouldn’t have been able to hear him.
       "I didn’t think it through. I’m very sorry, Professor,” she said, looking down. 
       "It’s alright, Y/N. Just please be more careful next time,“ he said, then turned to Sean. "Don’t worry yourself, Sean. Take her to Hank for him to examine her ears. The rest of you, please help to clean up the room while I go call the window repairmen.”
       They all quickly did as they were told. Sean wrapped his arm around Y/N and led her to Hank, while rubbing circles on her arm and peppering her with kisses and abundant apologies.

I’m the kind of person who finds an incredible peace in thunderstorms. Lightning screams through the darkness, destroying trees and telephone poles. Thunder shakes entire cities, waging war in the clouds above our heads. Rain and hail pelt windowpanes and dent the hoods of cars. All of this fury surrounds me and I sigh, and my shoulders relax, and my heartbeat slows as though I’ve returned to my own bed after being away for a while. I wonder if I’m made of chaos, and that’s why a storm feels like home.
—  Z.M.