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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years

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Gag Reel

Chris Evans x Actress!Reader Summary: If you scroll through youtube deep enough, you'll find a vid titled "15+ mins of Evans-Y/L/N moments that live in my head rent free." Word Count: 1k+ Warnings: Crack fic themes, fluff, typos, misogyny, etc.

A/N: 🙄 if someone requests another evans crackfic, I'm going to set tumblr on fire. Let this series die I've exhausted all of my creativity T_T I don't even remember what I was supposed to do for this that i put it off and now i've just pulled this out from nothing. Amazing!

Here are the other "parts" of this, but for the final time its not a series, you don't have to read them to understand this.

Dude, She’s Just Not Into You | White Bread | The Other Guy | 400 Flowers

I hope i tagged everyone and I hope yall enjoy and leave comments and stuff!!! @time-for-a-lullaby @christmaswonderworld @readsreblogsfics @marianastudiesart @r2gers @undergroundstyle @notbrooklynsblog @marc-rogers @lam0ureuxq @mickymouselol1 @kimmyevansblog @captainwans @lizamango @freyathehuntress @freshfreakoaftrash @empath-bunny @insomnia-bookworm @cedricdiggorysimpp @inspireriri

The skirt incident

There had been a where amidst filming near a river for you film, you and Chris had been goofing around by the shore, and ultimately you have gotten Chris wet from the waist down.

After being scolded by the producers and the wardrobe team, Chris had to get his pants changed.

But you just couldn't help yourself and snuck in his changing room, swapping out his trousers for a skirt they had in your own wardrobe.

You hear Chris scream your name. The head of wardrobe asked what you did this time and you quickly explained the situation. Suddenly the entire crew was waiting with phones out, urging Chris to get out of the changing room.

"Ha, ha," he calls out dryly. Chris rips the door open and walks out in a itty-bitty, a-line, plaid skirt with his hands on his hips.

The entire crew hollers.

You are-- dare I say-- turned on. Actually you are thoroughly impressed he manged to fit the skirt on his waist and--

"This skirt isn't even my size!" Chris complains, suddenly fumbling something behind him. You gather its the zipper.

"You look so hot though, babe," you throw a flying kiss at him.

Chris gives you a look and attitude, "hotter than you, surely."

The gag is so funny, you actually add it to the film.

"You're ugly though..."

Scene is set behind the scene on a photoshoot. You're doing a couple-y shoot with Chris, obviously to promote your film.

It's amidst the makeup touch up you notice there is a child on set. He's introduced as Caleb, the makeup artist's 4 year old son who's--

"turning 5 in one week!" Caleb smiles at you.

You smile back at him through the reflection on the mirror. Trying to keep your head still, you exclaim as brightly as you can, "wow, Caleb! That must be so exciting!"

Caleb firmly nods, "mommy's going to do face paint!"

"Wow! That's great. Do you have a favorite character you want to do?"

"Hmm... maybe... paw patrol?"

"Ooooh. That sound exciting. Can you tell me a bit about that."

Caleb begins to explain that there are a bunch of dogs who work various jobs, like a policeman, firefighter, life guard, and begins to share his enthusiasm about the children's program.

Just in that moment, you finish your makeup and walk over to Caleb, the same time Chris comes up to you and joins in the conversation.

It's extremely evident to everyone though that Caleb is keen in conversing only with you and he's not about to let this six-foot moron take up your time.

Caleb drags you away, which elicits a laugh from everyone, Chris especially, as he melts into a booby grab laugh.

Chris is keen to join the conversation though and as your conversation swerves to Caleb's favorite superhero, the overly excited Chris tries to chime in, overestimating his capabilities to casual insert himself in Caleb's narrative.

"You know, Caleb," Chris crouches down in front of the couch you and the tiny child had sat on, "I'm actually kinda a superhero."

Caleb is utterly confused and visibly annoyed.

"Do you know the avengers?"

Caleb nods quickly.

"Well, I'm actually Captain America."

Caleb hits him with the side eye, and you are thoroughly amused, breaking into laughter. Caleb quickly turns to you and is disarmed into a laugh as well.

"Hmm? Does he look like Captain America to you Caleb?"

Caleb as quickly shakes his head.

Chris breaks into a laugh but doesn't hide the fact he's offended.

"What does he look like then?"

Chris foolishly tries to answer for him, "handsome?"

Caleb gives him a stinky look and absolutely ends his career, "you look ugly though."

Chris is silenced. The room erupts into wild laughter. Caleb absolutely flamed Chris' red, white, and blue undies.

The cherry on top is Caleb's mom managed to film all of this.

Chris begins to moan, "no, no, put the phone away. I want to talk to my manager. This is defamation!"

Cringy Interview

"Wait, what did you say?" Chris asks titling his head, knitting his brows, and narrowing his eyes, evidently annoyed. You were doing the junket type sort of interviews and this misogynistic interviewer asked you a question, namely, "did you have to work on your stamina to be able to keep up with Chris?"

Having been absolutely used to the shit questions people ask you, you actually broke into a laugh at how ridiculous the question was, when it had absolutely nothing to do with the film, or literally anything at all with the two of you for that matter.

While you were trying to catch your breath from laughing, Chris was starring daggers into the man's face as he waited for him to repeat himself.

Unfazed, probably because of how you had reacted, he dumbly repeats himself, not hearing himself talk at all, apparently.

Chris makes an incredulous look and you manage to say under your breath, "absolute ninnyhammer."

You release a sigh before responding, "this question has no relevance to the film. It's not like we did stunts."

The interviewer 'wittily' responds, "you had a jogging scene in the film!"

Chris visibly rolls his eyes. You smack a hand on your face and break into another laugh.

"For five seconds," Chris responds, "it doesn't take an Oscar nominee to act that out." He mutters under barely under his breath, "but of course you wouldn't know anything about that."

You break into another laugh because of this.

The infamous yacht clip

Now, no one knows exactly what happened on this yacht. The only facts are that you were a guest at a friend's birthday party and you are practically allergic to alcohol.

Well, actually that last part is debatable, considering no one actually knows how much you've had to drink.

And well, you're notoriously wild sober anyway, so the moment your brain shut off and you the alcohol fueling your every move, you turned into the embodiment of the life of the party.

I'm talking clip after clip of you on multiple celebrities stories, dancing on tables, dancing out of beat, and talking to every plant you see.

But what really went viral was you saying--

"Yeah, Chris has really, really bad farts. Like really, really bad," you readily admit to a friend whose camera's flash was open. "Like, I'm sorry if this is disenchanting but, yo, there was a reason he was Human Torch at one point of his career. The gas that man passes is nuclear grade fuel. It stinks and even hurts your eyes! He needs to see a doctor about that."

"OMG, for real?"

"Wait... who are we talking about again?"

"... Chris Evans, love."

"OMG, I was in a movie with him, did you know!?"

And now, by far, the best clip on the internet that perfectly encapsulates the essence of the Evans-Y/L/N relationship

A bunch of stories from Chris' newly mare instagram account.

Clip A

Chris is filming with the back of his phone. You're sat across him. It pans from his lap, to the food on the table, to you with your eyes squinting because of how bright it is, "say hi to the camera!"

"Hi to the camera," you reply, doing a peace sign and duck lips.

"Yuck," Chris says, quickly turning the camera to him, doing the same pose, "this is how you do it folks."

You shudder off cam, "that must be so embarrassing trying to fit in."

The camera quickly pans back to you, "well, I'll have you know--"

Clip B

A boomerang of you and Chris eating ice cream and pie. You're holding up a plate and a fork with a bit of pie and ice cream and you're trying to feed Chris. In its boomerang nature, it's a repeating clip of you bringing up the utensil to Chris' mouth and missing by a hair. You can barely see your shocked expression coming out and Chris' pain reaction somewhere by the end.

It's captioned with, "this is why you should leave stunts to the professionals, kids."

Clip C

It's the aftermath of the said clip.

You're making sobbing sounds in the background. Chris brings the phone up to him and wipes his grinning lips off with a tissue. You are nuzzled up on his chest, moving your head back and forth, arms secured around his torso.

Chris brings his available arm around you and pulls you close as he laughs, then says, "it's fine, babe."

"No, you're bleeding."

Chris' eyes crinkle, and suddenly he drops his expression, "well, you know there's no denying the fact you tried to kill me with a fork and poke my gums out."

You muffle against hus shirt.

"This is it for you, sadly. You'll never work in Hollywood again. All those years of hard work down the drain. What would your mother say?" Chris scoffs suddenly, "I'm posting this as evidence. Everyone take note of this heinous act."

Clip D

A boomerang of you and Chris in an entirely different setting at night, eating ice cream. Chris pushes his chocolate ice cream on your cheek as you smile for the camera.

It's captioned, "Got em."

Clip E

Okay, the last clip isn't from Chris' instagram, it's from yours. It's a boomerang as well of you and Chris smiling at the camera and sharing a kiss. The key moment is when you reach for his cheek and place your hand on his face, showing the very evident ring on your finger.

"Gotem," it's captioned, with a tiny, tiny, tiny sub-caption that reads, "when I tell you how many times we took this to get it right."

#no i will not to another installment #let this 'series' die #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans au #chris evans x actress!reader #captain america fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #chris fluff #c.evans fanfic

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phykios · 2 years

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If I Were A Blackbird, part 6 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

She did end up texting him–she texted him a lot.

His phone buzzed against his thigh. Given that he shouldn’t have had it with him at all while he was practicing, waterproof case or not, he didn’t answer. Even though he was dying to.

Annabeth texted him at all hours of the day and night; random questions, silly memes, even the occasional bored selfie. Or flirty selfie.

He was maybe only a little ashamed of the couple of thirst traps he had sent her a few days ago, under the guise of having her pick them out for his Instagram. Then again, she was the one who had asked him for more. I need more options before I can pick the best one, she had said, and who was he to deny her? Really, though, he was only actually embarrassed because Jason had walked in on him during his mid-bathroom photoshoot. But, then Jason, like the true bro he was, had helped him with his setup, clearing his shit off the bathroom counter and crouching down behind him so he could pinch Percy’s thin shirt at the small of his back, tightening the fabric around his torso.

Annabeth had really liked that one. Percy had promised Jason that their next round was on him.

She had kept him up late last night, too, drawing him into a fascinating conversation about the history of Spartan black broth and viking blood bread, before hitting him with a surprise question about dogs. What about them? He had texted back.

How do you feel about them?

love a good dog! I had a sorta stray when i was growing up, this huge monster named mrs. o leary

That’s so cute! What kind of dog was she?

Honestly? no ideaprobably some kind of cross between a bear and a werewolfwe just called her the hellhound lol

We had a great dane when I was little

After the conversational whiplash had dissipated, he realized distantly that that was a distinctly date-y question, mixed in with all the flirting. And he found he did not have a problem with it.

“Jackson!” his coach shouted at him through the megaphone, yanking him back to reality–a hot, wet, Annabeth-less reality. “Keep it up!”

Shaking his head, he ducked under the jibe, readjusting to tack into the wind.

Afterwards, pulling into the docks, his coach waved at him from his little speedboat. “Nice work out there on the turns,” he said. “That was far and above your best time yet! Your head must have really been in the game.”

Percy chuckled, embarrassed. His head had most certainly not been in the game. “I guess it’s true what they say about most of the Olympics being mental.”

His coach laughed. “Well, if you race like that next week, that gold is as good as yours.”

He should have been pleased, but his mind was already elsewhere. With his coach’s back turned, he slipped out his phone, his heart picking up as he saw the little flashing light which indicated a new text.

There was indeed a new cluster of texts from Annabeth, shot off rapidfire.

So hypotheticallyIf you had a day off soonWould you be interested in going to a movieWith meKing of Sparta 3 is coming out, I thought it might be funUnless you think those movies are lameWe totally don’t have to lolIdk lolWhatever you wantWhat do you think?

Grinning broadly, he didn’t even check his schedule before texting back.

What’s your tolerance for pointing out historical inaccuracies?

Mere seconds passed before her reply.

My dad is a WW2 historianIt’s very high

A historian? He had thought her dad was some kind of politician.

In any case, Percy found himself waiting in front of a Cinepolis theater two days later, on another scorchingly hot day, about to willingly subject himself to the latest and greatest of Hollywood’s awful attempts at reinterpreting Greek mythology. It was kind of unnerving, what he was willing to do for this girl.

The girl in question appeared in the corner of his eye like some ethereal goddess, strolling down the street in a little black dress and sandals, her gorgeous hair pulled back into a bun, with little escaped curls wound tightly due to the humidity. Percy, who had decided to go out in a Yale shirt and shorts, cringed internally. Hopefully he wasn’t too underdressed.

Annabeth wrinkled her nose at his shirt, but gave him a kiss all the same when she reached him. Percy was just proud that he had managed to keep his blush under control. “What’s with the outfit?” she said, running her finger over his shoulder.

Percy, unrepentant, dragged his eyes up and down her dress, and was rewarded with that beautiful smirk of hers he was starting to become dangerously attached to. “I was told we were going to a movie, not a cocktail hour.”

“It’s not the level of dress, it’s the shirt. You couldn’t have picked anything else?”

“Well, excuse me, princess,” he quipped. “I would have gone with Team USA, but I thought that might be too obviously American for you.”

She blinked, face frozen in what Percy could only describe as blind panic, before her features smoothed out into a polite stare.

“Not a Zelda person, I take it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Never mind.” Brazen, and with a mental reminder to show her the stupid Zelda cartoon later, Percy took her hand, leading her inside the blessedly air-conditioned theater.

He had offered to pay for VIP seats, where they could be served full meals and alcohol in a semi-private balcony for some privacy, but she declined. Not that it ended up mattering: the theater was already fairly empty, given that it was 1 PM on a Tuesday, and everyone else was probably watching the track and field events. Luckily for Percy, today was a shotput and javelin kind of day, not a sprinting kind of day, so he didn’t accidentally schedule their date during sprinting. It would be bad bro form to miss Jason’s race.

Percy and Annabeth were able to settle themselves in the very back row of the theater, sharing a couple of cokes and a jumbo bag of Cheetos popcorn. “You know,” he said, speaking over the preview for some dumb superhero flick, “the first time I ever got drunk was watching the original King of Sparta.”

Annabeth made an inquisitive noise, sipping on her coke.

“It was Luke’s idea,” he went on. “I went to visit him at Yale, and he thought it would be funny to play a drinking game. We would drink for inaccuracies, well-oiled chests, gratuitous Islamophobia–that kind of stuff. By the end of it, I was a complete goner.”

“That movie came out when I was fifteen,” she said. “How old were you?”

He smiled, sheepishly. “Fifteen?”

Annabeth gasped, playfully kicking his ankle. “Percy Jackson!”

“Careful,” he warned, “you’re sounding dangerously close to my mother.”

“So irresponsible,” she tsked. “What kind of Olympic role model are you, promoting underage drinking with your… cousin?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And what about you?” he went on, rolling over what would certainly be her next question. Luke was a can of worms for a different day. “When was the first time you got drunk?”

She hummed, chewing a piece of popcorn. “Probably when I was twelve,” she said. “With my cousin, Magnus.”

Percy snorted.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault my aunt Natalie decided to ply us with mead. Besides, it was Yule!”

“Yule?”

“Kind of like Swedish Christmas,” she said. “We were celebrating!”

Percy was an ancient historian by training. He knew what Yule was, how it was decidedly not like Swedish Christmas, and how it was not exactly a common celebration in the modern period. But he decided not to go digging into why her family was celebrating it.

He never got the chance, anyway–the final preview finished, the lights dimmed, and the movie rolled.

Not two minutes in, they were treated to the sight of Tristan McClean’s glorious, well-oiled chest. Percy nudged her shoulder, waggling his eyebrows, and took a sip of his coke. She followed suit, nudging him right back.

Distantly, Percy wondered if they should have gotten the VIP tickets, even if just for the alcohol. But there was something really nice about the two of them knocking elbows and drinking their cokes, like two teenagers skipping class to go check out a movie. About twenty minutes in, Annabeth entwined her hand with his, squeezing his fingers and rubbing her thumb against his palm. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair soft against his neck and chin–and nearly jumped out of his skin at the feel of her lips at the collar of his shirt.

Well, it wasn’t like the movie was very interesting anyway.

Percy couldn’t tell you how much time had passed. King of Sparta: Blood of Mars dragged on, interminable, and Percy was happy to direct his engagement elsewhere, otherwise he would have had to be seriously offended on behalf of himself, his dad, and the entirety of the Greek pantheon. Instead, he got to focus on the way that Annabeth had her fingers twisted in his shirt, her thumbs at the base of his neck, like she was one heavy moment away from wrapping herself around him completely. Her mouth tasted like coke and movie theater popcorn, and while it was hot, there also wasn’t the need for it to get hotter. Percy could have stayed here, watching some shitty Hollywood movie for hours, as long as he got to do it while making out with Annabeth Chase, her fingers in his shirt and her ankle hooked around his.

At some point, she pulled away. In the blue light of the moonlit scene, her gray eyes sparkled. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey, yourself.”

“This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.” And it was. “I’ve… really enjoyed spending time with you.”

She scrunched her nose. “Don’t talk like our time’s up,” she said. “We still have a few weeks of Olympics left to go.” His heart fluttered, both at her protest, and at the looming end of the timeline that she was implying.

Percy drew in a deep breath, the request bubbling out of him. It wasn’t actually a big ask, yet he found himself on pins and needles, almost scared of her response. “Would you… come to my event next week?”

She paused. She unhooked her ankle from his. “You want me to come cheer you on?”

“Yeah.” It was probably a bad idea to have her there. She could potentially throw off his focus, and sailing was almost too much when he wasn’t focused. But he wanted her there. He wanted her with his family, screaming his name, and he wanted to see her when he won gold.

“Oh.” Her fingers relaxed in his shirt. “Um… no.”

Percy… didn’t do much of anything in response. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” She trailed off, looking away. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said. “So, um… you’re going to be at table tennis, I take it?” Table tennis could be cool. It was scheduled at the same time as sailing, but he figured that the two groups of fans didn’t necessarily overlap. But if she liked table tennis, he could think it was cool.

“No, I’ll be at the race anyway,” she said.

Oh. “So… who are you cheering for?”

She still avoided his gaze, suddenly very intently paying attention to Tristan McLean making out with Scarlet Johanssen’s Cleopatra. “Ohlsson. Or Holmgren.”

He blinked. “Robert Ohlsson and Loke Holmgren?”

Annabeth tensed up again, almost imperceptible. Percy wouldn’t have felt it if he didn’t still have his hand on her arm. “Yep.”

Sailing at his level was a smallish community. He knew almost every sailor here to some extent. Ohlsson and Holmgren were both great guys, and good sailors. Easy in the water. Easy on the eyes. He didn’t know them super well, as they were on the Swedish team, but he knew them enough–they had been doing the circuit around the world together for years. There were another couple of Swedish sailors who hadn’t made the Olympics he knew better. But he texted with his friend Krister Drakenberg a little, and he had vouched for Loke especially. And he would actually call Adele Cederström and Marie-Sofie Söderlund, who competed in team events, his friends, and they’d talked about Robert when he’d had lunch with them the other day.

So, it made sense that they had fans. Maybe it even made sense that they had this fan. “But I thought you were American?” he said, going for a joke and maybe landing a little flat.

She shrugged. “I said I was from Boston. But it's… it’s more complicated than that.”

“You live in New York.”

“And sometimes I live in Stockholm.”

“Sometimes?”

Her jaw rounded out. “It’s very important to–to them, that I support Sweden.”

“Okay…” Them? He didn’t realize she and the sailors were so close. That was fine, of course. Like he said, Robert and Loke were good guys. “But you can still root for all three of us. You don’t have to support Team USA if you don’t want to. There’s more than two teams competing, anyway.”

Shoulders up to her ears, she flushed. “No, I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because–because it’d be weird!”

“Would it?” They didn’t really have much of a rivalry, not like the USA did with Great Britain or something like that.

She crossed her arms, staring at the screen.

Percy pulled his hands away. “I didn’t realize you were so into Swedish sports.”

“I’m not,” she said.

“Oh.” Then what was the issue? “So why is it so important for you to support Sweden if you’re not really into the teams?”

“Because I have to.”

“It's a race. Literally a single race for a sport most of the world doesn’t give a shit about. Including, apparently, you. Why can’t you cheer me on along with your friends?”

Annabeth glowered. “They aren’t my friends.”

Feeling like he had missed a couple of steps on the ladder, Percy gaped, flabbergasted. “Then why are you making such a big deal out of something so unimportant?”

“If it's so unimportant, why can’t you just let this go?” she almost snapped.

“Because you aren’t making any sense!”

She ground her teeth. “You–I–ugh!” Then she stood up, and stormed out, her hands clenched tightly around her coke.

Percy, left in the wake of a hurricane, could only blink, completely blindsided, until his common sense got the better of him, and he ran out to the lobby, hoping to catch up to her, to apologize. It didn’t matter which team she supported. It didn’t even matter if she showed up or not. Really, it didn’t.

But she was gone by the time he got outside.

***

“I watched your dad’s stupid movie,” was the first thing she said to Piper when her friend finally picked up the phone later that night.

She snorted over the speakerphone. “Why would you ever do that to yourself?”

Red-faced, lying on her hotel bed, she buried her head in her arms. “Because I took a guy on a date there.”

“...I don’t know if I should be offended that you used my father’s oiled and waxed chest to get in the mood,” Annabeth winced at the words because, ew. “Or if I should freak out that you went on a date?”

“Don’t read into it too much,” Annabeth said. “It was the latest showing, and I wanted to beat the crowds, for obvious reasons.” She rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow. “And a date isn’t that big a deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Piper shrieked. “Of course it's a big deal! You haven’t been on a date since Maxwell in college.”

“Well, you might remember how badly that one turned out.”

Piper hummed. “You know, I never got why. So he was an anti-monarchist–so am I, and we’re still friends.”

“You aren’t using me for points on weird political forums.”

“That you know of.” Piper said. “But really, it's been like five years. Normally you just hit it and quit it. Tell me tell me tell me!”

She sighed internally. “Don’t get too excited,” She advised. “Looks like it's going to be quit after all.”

She launched into the story, starting with the club in New York and the fortuitous meeting at the Olympics, glossing over his soft, dark hair and his rough-but-gentle hands and the way his sea-green eyes glittered when they were out on the water, and ending with her entirely unbecoming escape from the movie theater. Hans had said nothing as he pulled up alongside her, taking off before she had even fully closed the door, ignoring the frustrated tears which had already begun leaving tracks on her face.

“...Girl.”

“I know!” She groaned. “I just–when he said he knew Ohlsson I freaked out! Like, what if they’re gossiping in the locker rooms or whatever they have and Percy is talking about this total loser girl he went on two dates with, and Ohlsson will be like, ‘What was her name?’ and Percy will be like, ‘Anna something,’ and then Ohlsson will be like, ‘You mean the princess? The fucking princess?’”

As the resident royal representative, she had had dinner with the entire Swedish athletic delegation just last week. She didn’t remember Holmgren, but she and Ohlsson had had a long conversation about a mutual favorite art gallery. Luckily for Annabeth, it was one of the few she had actually been to. Unluckily for Annabeth, she had spent a good forty percent of it subtly checking her phone for new texts from Percy, and she was pretty damn sure she hadn’t gotten away with it.

“Why would he ask for your name?” Piper mused.

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“It just seems kind of like a weird assumption.”

“Piper, please. I need your help with this.”

“I don’t know why you think I can fix your relationship issues, just because my mom is–”

“It’s not a relationship!” She blurted out.

She could almost feel Piper’s skepticism oozing through her speaker. “Well, did you want it to be?”

Dragging herself upright, Annabeth leaned against her headboard, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Maybe?” She had been tossing the idea around. Maybe she had even found herself occasionally daydreaming about what Percy Jackson might look like in royal finery (and boy, did he look good, even in her imagination). But the truth was, she hadn’t even been thinking about that with him. With Percy, she could tease, banter, laugh–forget. Was she selfish enough to drag him kicking and screaming into her world of nightmares?

“I mean you’ve only been on two dates with the guy.”

She sighed. “I know, I know, I just… there’s just something about him.” Because Piper was right–she had only been on two dates with him. She hadn’t spent much time with him at all, certainly not long enough for her to be considering him for something so serious. And yet, there was something about him, about his sharp, noble features, his effortless confidence, his soft, quiet smile which was very, very appealing to her. “I feel–I feel drawn to him, somehow. Like he gets it. Like he understands me.”

“Maybe he’s a secret prince,” Piper suggested, only half-jokingly.

Annabeth fucking hoped not. “I don’t really know how to explain it,” she mumbled, playing with the hem of her shirt. “I just wanted to spend some time with him.”

“Spend time with him, as in a fling? Or a potential husband?”

She couldn’t answer that right now. She didn’t think she could answer that ever. “I should text him and apologize, right?”

“It’d be a good start,” Piper said, “particularly if you are considering him for a potential husband. And if you are, you should probably tell him that.”

Annabeth groaned.

“In lieu of an animal sacrifice, I will accept an offering of Tom Ford nail polish,” she chirped. “Now go forth and text your man.”

“He’s not–” Annabeth protested, but Piper had already hung up. And Annabeth couldn’t deny the flutter in her stomach at the idea. Percy Jackson. Her man.

It was an intoxicating idea.

Flipping her phone around in her hand, she began composing her text. “I’m sorry” seemed like a poor introduction, but “hey” was even worse. And “How was the rest of the movie” might have been her dumbest idea yet.

So she went with something simple, straightforward. Percy, she sent him, I’m sorry I walked out on you

A minute or so passed. His read receipt came up. There was no reply. I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay, she sent. To explain myself

That would be nice, came the reply. What would be nice, she wondered: to see her again, or whatever half-assed explanation she could come up with? When/where?

You pick, she said. Any time

You free tomorrow night?

Yes, she said without checking. Where?

He didn’t respond after that. Maybe he had done the responsible thing, and gone to sleep.

Annabeth had to turn off her phone, pulling her covers over her head, and tried to think about nothing.

In the morning, she turned on her phone to see a final message from Percy, from just after she had fallen asleep.

Hans didn’t question her when she asked to be taken to the Parque de Santa Ana later that night. He didn’t even try to give her his normal safety talk when he deposited her on the side of a busy street in the hot, sticky, Mérida evening.

Percy had beaten her there. She saw him leaning back against a metal park bench, his gaze focused on the fountain in the center of the park, watching the water shoot up in little spurts. Annabeth stood there for longer than she meant to, trying to figure out the pattern, but there was no pattern, it seemed. Every time she thought she could predict which water jet would go next, another one popped out from nowhere.

Metaphor for her life, she supposed.

“Percy,” she said, finally stepping up to him.

He turned his head, his back straightening. There was movement on his face which suggested that a smile had been quickly smothered into something more serious. “Hey,” he said, softly.

“Hey.”

Entirely too respectfully, he looked her up and down. “Nice dress.”

Glancing down, she flushed. She had totally not meant to wear a blue dress tonight. That was… concerning.

“Um,” she began, intelligently, her hand tightening around the strap of her purse. “I think I owe you an explanation.”

But he shook his head. “I totally overreacted,” he said, hands out in a placating gesture. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. And you definitely don’t need my permission to support whatever team you want.” He paused. “Even the Red Sox.”

“How magnanimous of you,” she quipped. And then she wanted to hit herself. Because they weren’t supposed to be flirting. This was supposed to be her big, off-her-chest moment. “I prefer hockey anyway.”

“I can do hockey,” he said.

“No, I mean–” She sighed. “Percy, I want to talk about this with you. If you’ll let me.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insisted, without missing a beat. “I never want you to feel like you’re backed into a corner with me.”

“I don’t,” she said.

His whole being seemed to soften, a little smile poking out from the serious exterior. She hadn’t even meant to say something so embarrassing, if true, out loud, but to be rewarded with this? It was a perfectly acceptable trade-off. “Let’s go for a walk,” Percy said, standing up. “And maybe a cold drink?”

They ended up grabbing a couple of horchatas at a shop along the road. Annabeth paid for both, and Percy didn’t protest. Nor did he start the conversation, merely sipping at his drink, patiently waiting for her to speak her piece.

“I have a weird relationship with my family,” she said eventually, as they wandered down the main drag. It was a gorgeous street, with wonderfully intricate colonial architecture, their white and beige columns even brighter against the dark sky. The street was thronged with people weaving in and out of the green space which ringed it, chatter and laughter and drunken cheers mixed in with the occasional roar of a car or motorcycle. Even with their company, she couldn’t help but feel safely alone with Percy.

“I thought things with your dad were okay?” Percy asked.

Annabeth laughed, softly. She couldn’t believe he even remembered that. “They are,” she admitted. “But my weird relationship is so much more than just him. My mom… died.” She nearly choked on the strangeness of the word. “And my dad never really got over her. My uncle lost his wife and kids a few years before I was born, and it kind of destroyed him emotionally. So, my dad felt a lot of pressure to carry on the family line. And my stepmother was very eager to step into that place. And pretty upset that her eagerness didn’t really allow my dad to get over my mom. And my uncle… he doesn’t mean to be an asshole, but, you know. The whole emotionally destroyed thing.”

Percy nodded, listening to her with the same focus and intent he had shown her out on the water.

“And that’s to say nothing of the fact that he was kind of wary about my mom,” she went on. “And probably jealous that my dad was able to move on.” For a given value of moving on, anyway. She thought of his quiet tears when they watched Roman Holiday a couple of weeks ago, and sighed. “I do actually try not to rock the boat, so to speak. I don’t want to give them more reasons to be wary. To add my fuel to my stepmother’s resentment fire. Or to make my dad decide he likes my half siblings better than me. They’re very big on home team pride.”

“So you feel like you have to support Sweden?”

“Yes,” she said, because she did feel like she had to. But it wasn’t like the concept was abhorrent to her. “Have you ever been to Sweden?” she asked. It was so hot here. Sticky and humid and scorching. Not at all like the summers she had spent in the fjords.

He shook his head.

She tried to think about how to describe it. “I was born in Boston. And I’ve lived in upstate New York, Virginia, California. All over. But Sweden…” Annabeth turned her gaze upwards, watching the dark tree branches as they wove in and out of the inky black sky. Right now, in Stockholm, it was early morning, but the sun would have already been up for hours. She could see it clearly, in her mind’s eye, the golden light as it gently flowed over the water at Rosersberg Palace, rolling over the lush gardens, picture perfect, like something out of a fairy tale, or one of the sagas. “Like I said, my family dynamic was weird. And where my dad lived was always up in the air. But Sweden is home. Even if I was living in West Point and stuff was weird at home and at school.” Nothing like being the smartest kid in the room, and having it constantly questioned because you couldn’t sit still, or could barely read English. “I always knew I would be able to go back over the summer. My uncle had horses and boats, and sometimes one of his staff would take me out on the ocean, and tell me stories about viking warriors. My cousin Magnus was there. And my Aunt Natalie, and she had just… figured out life. Done things her own way. And gotten away with it.”

He smiled, his face softening. “That sounds nice.”

“It was everything.” She said, because it had been. The royalty thing had been a semi-secret her whole childhood, when they were in the states. In Sweden, there was no pretense. “I love it. I live in New York because I need the space sometime. But it isn’t a permanent solution. I don’t want it to be.” If she had to, she could live without a Dunkin Donut ever again, hard as it would be. But the idea of never again getting to eat one of Lisette’s semla from the palace kitchen was so unbelievably sad. “So, I want to cheer on Sweden. I want them to win.” She looked at him, his eyes were trained on her, his smile soft, understanding. And so she offered a joke. “There are only two Swedish sailors in your race, though. You can have the bronze.”

He cracked a grin. “Well, I thank you for your consideration.”

She grinned in response, sort of slumping against his side, feeling like she just completed a marathon.

“I do get it,” he said. “Family is weird, and home is special.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Percy nodded, and she could feel it at her side more than see it. “I’m a New Yorker.”

“For real?”

“Ha ha.” He swatted at her. “But, for me, home is always going to be this house in Connecticut, where we moved in with Luke and his mom.”

“He’s your cousin, right?”

Percy nodded, and then shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s on our dad’s side. His mom’s sick, and his dad hired my mom to take care of her.”

“Are you close to your dad?”

She could see it in his eyes, that sudden moment of frozen hesitation. The look of a nerve that had been hit. A secret on the cusp of being uncovered. Piper’s words suddenly came back to her: Maybe he’s a secret prince. But she shook them away. It was a silly fantasy.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said. He had given her grace; it was only fair she gave it to him in return.

He shrugged, swallowing. “I… don’t really know my dad,” Percy admitted. By now, they had reached the Monumento a la Patria, a semi-circular art structure decorated with Mayan-inspired reliefs. Tonight, it was all lit up in bright colors, a rainbow neon pinks and greens and blues and yellows, forming the shape of the Olympic rings. Percy took a seat on the steps, away from the couple taking a selfie in front of the central statue, and Annabeth sat down next to him. “I’ve met him a few times over the years.” He played with the straw of his drink, squeezing it between his fingers. “But he’s never really been there, and he didn’t give my mom shit. You know, other than a baby she couldn’t afford when she was eighteen.”

He looked up at the sky, like he was asking the gods why his father was such a deadbeat.

“But I don’t care,” he said. His voice had a touch of darkness she had never heard from him before. “I don’t need him. I never did. I had my mom and Luke and May growing up, and that was more than enough.”

Seized with a spirit of boldness she didn’t know she had, she took his hand. It was warm, even in the hot, sticky night, but she found she didn’t mind one bit. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “That’s terrible, what he did to her.”

He looked at her, then huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. It all worked out in the end. I’m glad I exist. Even if he isn’t.”

“I’m glad, too.” Somehow, without her noticing, they had been moving closer together. His face was now inches from hers, his high cheekbones thrown into sharp relief by the dark night and the glow of the streetlights. In the darkness, his eyes were almost glowing. “I’m so glad you’re here.” For so, so many reasons.

His lips turned up, like he knew that there was more than one. “Annabeth,” he breathed, reverent. And then he kissed her, his free hand resting against her neck.

His lips were soft, his mouth tasted of vanilla and sea salt, and for maybe twenty seconds, all was right with the world.

Which was, of course, when it all went to shit.

Not that she didn’t believe Percy’s kisses could cause her to see stars, but the flashes of light in her face were something else entirely. As were the deafening shouts and questions of the photographers. “Princess!” Someone yelled at her. “Your highness, over here!”

She pulled away, opening her eyes to the blinding flash of photography. Out of the sea of cold lights, Hans appeared in his black suit, already hauling Annabeth up and shielding her from view as he led her to the car, parked just a little ways away. It took her a moment to realize she still had a death-grip on Percy’s hand, dragging him with them.

“Annabeth,” he said, bewildered, “what–”

“Keep your head down,” she said, not knowing if she could be heard over the aggressive roar of a hungry mob. “Don’t look at them.”

Hans didn’t question Percy’s presence, giving him equal cover as Annabeth pulled him into the car, and shutting the door behind them both. In a flash, they were off, speeding out of the square.

Percy pulled his hand away. Annabeth buried her head in hers.

Oh gods above she was screwed.

Hans, bless him, knew to drop Percy off first at the Olympic Village without even being asked. When Annabeth risked a glance, Percy was staring into his hands, his brow furrowed. He looked at her as the car slowed to a stop, confusion written clearly across his face, an unspoken question hanging in the air between them. A question she just couldn’t bring herself to answer.

Without a word, he opened the door and slid out, lightly jogging up the stairs to the Village. Annabeth watched him as he ducked inside, disappearing without so much as a backwards glance.

#my fic #percabeth #pjo fic #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #patatayo #princess sailor au #the rivalry ends here #:*

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imaginesforjohnnydepp · 4 years

Text

Winding Down (Johnny Depp x reader)

for anon

i realize that this is probably not what you had in mind, and i’m sorry but i was having a hard time getting started.

1999

After dinner was always a crazy time in the Depp household, especially on a school night, and John Christopher and your daughter Camille were always hyper after eating. Tonight it was your turn to clean up the kitchen and pack tomorrow’s lunch, while Johnny got Camile ready for bed, and judging from the sounds coming from upstairs, things were not going as planned. “Come on Cammi, stop splashing Daddy.”

You could just picture your daughter getting water all over the place, including Johnny’s clothes. “C’mon princess, please just stay still?” You had just finished putting the leftover pizza in the fridge and took out bread, meat, cheese, and condiments when Three (as your friends and family called him) came running into the kitchen dressed in his pajamas. “Three, what do you want on your sandwich tomorrow? We have turkey and ham and mayo and mustard.” You made a quick run to the store this afternoon after a photoshoot after seeing you were out of juice and graham crackers. “Turkey and mayo. And no crust please!”

You got to work on the sandwich, cutting off the crust once you finished making it; what your son had against the crust on his sandwiches was a mystery to you. Then you grabbed the Buzz Lightyear lunch box that was on the counter and placed the sandwich in a ziplock bag and filled the rest of the lunch box with Three’s favorite potato chips, juice box, and snack, and put it in the fridge before getting started on Camille’s snack. Your three year old went preschool three days a week on a half day basis, and while she wasn’t a big breakfast person, she loved her snacks, and she wasn’t a picky eater. You concentrated on cutting the grapes in half, breaking a few graham crackers, and selecting a juice box before putting them in the fridge. Three had the television on turned to Cartoon Network and you could hear the beginnings of his favorite show starting.

“Come on, Three, you know the rules. After dinner, we start getting ready for bed. You laid your clothes out for tomorrow?” Three grumbled, but turned off the television anyway. On your way to the bathroom, you saw Johnny running a brush through Camille’s wet hair. While your son took his bath, he told you about his day at school; a classmate had a birthday party in class (which would explain why he was more hyper than usual tonight), how his teacher Ms. Thornell made him line leader for the week, an upcoming field trip to the zoo, and you listened, occasionally asking questions. Once he was dry and in his pajamas, you went to his room to pick out his clothes for tomorrow and flung them over your arm; you’d iron them once he was down for the night.

You saw Johnny coming from Camille’s room, leaving the door open just a crack. “Our princess down for the night?” you asked, leaning against the wall. It was almost eight thirty and you were wiped out, and all you wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep, but you still had to iron Three’s clothes for tomorrow. “Finally, after two Madeleine books. One down, one to go.” Johnny looked dead on his feet as well, he had a big week ahead of him, with the promotion of Sleepy Hollow around the corner.

The premiere was this time tomorrow night, and before that he had a full day of press starting early in the morning. “Johnny, you’re dead on your feet. Just go to bed, I’ll be in soon.” Every night before bed, Johnny always sang Three to sleep, a ritual that started when you brought him home from the hospital, and he never missed a night, even when he was away. “I’m fine, baby, really. It’s just one song and then I’ll be done.” Your son was expecting you, sitting up in bed.

Johnny pulled up the chair next to the bed and started singing What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong, and halfway through the song, Three started falling asleep before his head rolled to the side. You both kissed his face before quietly leaving his room, and at this point your husband was ready to drop. “Now go to bed, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

might add this to the power couple universe

#johnny depp x reader #johnny depp imagines #johnny depp imagine

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lnc2 · 5 years

Text

i’ve been having dreams

Summary: Delirious and heat-stricken, Ladybug searches for Chat Noir and stumbles upon Adrien instead.

AO3

Adrien stared up at his cavernous ceiling, making shapes in the plaster and moonlight, reciting physics formulas in his head and doing his damnedest to keep his thoughts from wandering.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not entirely unusual these days, but annoying nevertheless.

Plagg said it had something to do with the miraculous. At least, the parts of it that weren’t induced by his hormone-ridden adolescence. Which, really, was just an additional kick in the balls. Being an alpha was difficult enough as it was– did his body need to add lack of sleep on top of it all?

But even if he wasn’t seventeen and less than a month away from his rut Adrien knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. Not after he’d made such an ass of himself.

What was it about pretty pheromones that turned him from an otherwise perfectly rational being into a stuttering, forward fool? He’d questioned his kwami on the matter, red-faced, head buried into his pillow as he tried to smother the memories from his brain, but Plagg only laughed at him.

“You’re a young kit, yet. It gets easier.”

Which, while relieving to know, did nothing to quell the horrifying memories of the last twenty-four hours. Raging hormones aside, he knew better than to let his mouth run away from him. Or at least he thought he did.

But how else could he explain propositioning not one, but two of his dearest friends in less than a day?

The first he could probably forgive himself. Adrien had been stupid in love with Ladybug the moment she stood up in front of the whole of Paris and told Hawkmoth to fuck off. His heart was always running away with his tongue. Add in her pre-heat pheromones, sluggish hugs, and sleepy-eyed chatons it was hardly a wonder he’d gone and put his paw in his mouth.

It was the end of patrol, a patrol his lady really should have skipped out on judging from her smell alone, and she was curled up into his side, head resting in the curve of his neck, hair tickling beneath his chin and wreaking havoc on his nerves. The smell of marigolds, wet soil, and rain filled his senses like a heady bouquet and he swore the most lavish gardens in the country had nothing on her .

“I’m so tired,” She murmured, eyes closed and nearly dozing.

“Far be it from me to send you away, but maybe you should head home, bug?”

“Don’t want to,” She said, turning her face into his neck, breathing deep. “Comfy. Smell good.”

Chat’s ears were as hot as her breath on his skin. “C-could say the same of you.”

“Pfft.” She sighed and he shivered. “This heat is going to suck, chaton.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm,” Ladybug pulled away, eyes half-lidded as she looked out over the city. “My alpha friend. The one who usually stays with me?”

Chat nodded, trampling the ugly, prickling sense of jealousy that crept up every time her other friend was mentioned. By all accounts their relationship was platonic. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to track her down and tear her out for getting to spend Ladybug’s heats by her side.

“She’s out of town. I’m gonna be a lonesome bug.” She fiddled with her hands in her lap, shoulders curving inward. “I’ve never been alone for one before.”

It was the pooch of her lips that did it. The slight downturn of the smile he loved, the insecurity in her voice.

How could he help himself?

“You could spend it with me.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He blinked, horrified.

Ladybug pulled away from him and his tail twitched at the distance as she stared at him, more alert than she’d been in over a week.

“Did you just…?”

Chat grabbed at the edge of the roof, suddenly feeling very small. He couldn’t meet her eyes as he asked, “Would that be so terrible?”

The silence was so thick he could feel it as he waited for her answer. Chat nearly jumped out of his suit when one of her hands found his and clasped it in her own. Risking a look at her, his heart fell at the sweet rejection in her smile.

Ladybug’s eyes were soft and sad when she shook her head. “No, Chat. It wouldn’t be terrible at all.”

Stupid. He was so stupid.

He must of said that aloud or she read it on his face because she squeezed his hand, hard.

“It’s not that, kitty.” She sighed, settling back into his side and leaning against his shoulder. “I know you’d never hurt me.”

Hurt her? Never.

Bite her? Well.

But he could control himself. He could.

It would be safe, she would be safe with him.

“It’s just a lot to ask of you,” She said and Chat heard the undercurrents as loud as her words.

It would be too close to what he wanted. Desperately. Painfully.

And god help him, she knew it.

Swallowing down his own feelings, Chat grinned, poking at her side until she squirmed away, giggling.

“What are partners for, LB?”

“Probably not that,” She said, gentle smile for a gentle rejection. “But I adore you for offering.”

Just not enough.

Ugh, Adrien groaned, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow. Ladybug was even wonderful when she was letting him down. How the hell was he supposed to handle that?

But even being rejected (again) by his lady was not nearly as mortifying as what had happened at school this morning.

He couldn’t really blame his wayward heart for that mistake.

Adrien had come in halfway through the day thanks to a poorly timed photoshoot. Doing his best to join the class without drawing too much attention to himself he slid in beside Nino and pulled out his notebook. His friend, lifesaver that he was, passed him the notes from the morning without Adrien having to ask.

“Just let me know when you’re done,” He whispered as Ms. Bustier’s back was turned to the board. “I need to make copies for Marinette.”

Marinette?

Adrien turned around to glance at their friend only to find her slumped forward over her desk, eyes barely open as she struggled to pay attention. Beside her Rose was combing her fingers through her hair and rubbing slow circles over her back.

Alarmed, he looked towards Nino who grimaced and tore out a piece of paper from his notes. Scribbling a few words he passed it over.

Her heat is coming up.

Oh. Adrien’s heart went out to his friend. Having just seen Ladybug in a similar haze he knew the days just before it started could be brutal. Hot flashes, shivers, listlessness– it really wasn’t fair.

Frowning he passed the paper back to Nino.

Should she be at school?

Nino shrugged.

Probably not. But you know Marinette. Usually Alya is here to help take the edge off but she’s in Martinique visiting family.

Adrien grimaced. Poor Marinette.

Heats and ruts were always rougher during adolescence. The first few years being the worst as foreign hormones flooded the system, unfamiliar and overwhelming. He knew from textbooks and friends that the worst of a heat’s effects could be abated by spending time with an alpha. He also knew Marinette spent most if not all of her cycles with Alya since middle school.

God, no wonder she looked so rough.

“Would– would it help if I sat next to her for the day?” He whispered, once again glancing over his shoulder to their miserable friend. “I’m not Alya but I could help.”

Nino looked stunned by his suggestion. So much so that Adrien could feel his pride as an alpha bristling in indignation. Sure he wasn’t the most aggressive alpha in their class. He didn’t parade around with his chest puffed out like Kim or bark orders like Chloe. But that didn’t mean he couldn��t help.

Between his friend’s incredulity and Ladybug’s rejection from the night before, Adrien wasn’t entirely sure what happened next was avoidable.

Collecting his things in one arm and grabbing his bag with the other, he stood up and mounted the steps to the bench Marinette and Rose were occupying.

“I can take it from here.”

Rose merely stared up at him in disbelief. It wasn’t a challenge, not really. Any other time and Adrien would have recognized her stunned immobility for what it was. As things stood, however, he took her stupor as a refusal and felt a low growl building in the back of his throat.

“Move,” He said, his voice brooking no refusal.

Rose squeaked and scrambled out of his way as Ms. Bustier scolded him for his interruption. He ignored her and slid into the space beside Marinette. She seemed oblivious to the change as she blinked sleepily up at him.

“Let me help you,” He said, smiling gently, pulling her to lean into his shoulder. She did so, willingly, slumping into his side with a quiet whine. Marinette smelled like warm bread, fresh flowers, and cinnamon. It was thick around them, filling his senses.

The afternoon passed quickly from there.

It wasn’t until he and Nino had dropped Marinette off at the bakery after school that he realized he may have overstepped.

“Dude.”

Nino didn’t have to say anything else. The amusement and accusation were more than present in his eyes.

I fucked up.

Plagg spent the afternoon laughing at him. Teasing him about claiming his girlfriend in the middle of class. About how pigtails would lose her mind when she realized just who she’d spent the afternoon cuddled up against. About what Ladybug would think.

That’s when Adrien had chucked his pillow at the kwami and told him to fuck off.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been helping out a friend.

It wasn’t a big deal.

And yet, here he was, half past 2 am and unable to sleep.

“Arrcg,” He groaned into his pillow. Kicking his sheets off of his legs in a futile effort to expel his embarrassment Adrien nearly missed the sound of a thump against his bedroom window.

Lifting his head, his eyes widened as they adjusted to the familiar silhouette slumped against the window pane.

“Ladybug?”

No sooner was her name out of his mouth than he was scrambling from his bed, kicking his sheet-entangled foot that nearly had him faceplanting onto the floor. He rushed for the window, knowing from the events of the night before and the way she was hunched over that she was in no condition to be navigating rooftops.

No sooner had he opened the window than she proved him right by toppling forward into his unwaiting arms.

“Oof ,” He grunted as her full weight collapsed into him. He took several steps back, arms locked tight around her waist.

“Ladybug?” Adrien reached up to feel her flushed cheeks. She stared up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry,” She murmured, not even trying to stand up. “Too much.”

The smell hit him then, floral and musk and want.

Oh god, she’s reached her heat .

Panicking, Adrien searched the dark for Plagg only to come up empty. Why did she come here ?

Ladybug shifted against him, lips moving faintly against his neck. Repressing a shiver, it took him a moment to realize she was speaking.

“What was that, bug?”

“Chat,” She whispered and he froze. “Need to find Chat.”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped in relief even as his heart kicked into overdrive. She didn’t know.

And still …

“You– you were looking for Chat Noir?”

She nodded, bangs brushing against the underside of his chin. “He promised.”

As if spurred by the thought she pulled away from him only for her body to sway into the window. She held out her hand to keep upright.

“Whoa, hey there,” He said, reaching out to steady her. “Ladybug, you can’t go anywhere like this.”

She shook her head, slowly. “Can’t stay.”

“Well I’m not letting you leave either.”

She frowned. “But… your father–”

Adrien shifted his hold on her and she slumped into him. “Shh. He’s out of town.”

Ladybug nodded, eyes glassy. “Milan.”

He laughed. “I’m not going to ask why you know that.”

“Know a lot of things,” She murmured.

Adrien didn’t doubt it.

Tacit acceptance secured, he slipped his arm around her waist he helped her towards his bed. There was no way he was going to let his partner swing across Paris in this condition. She would have to stay.

It said a lot about his lady’s state of mind that she barely protested even as he guided her to sit on the mattress. Feverish and swaying, she merely blinked at him as Adrien rushed for his closet.

“What are you doing?”

He hummed as he rifled through his clothes and linens. Grabbing every scrap of fabric that might be considered useful, he started bringing her scarves, blankets, sheets, towels, pillows– anything soft or pretty or vibrant. Ladybug squeaked as he dropped the first pile of material at her feet before running back to the closet. He caught Plagg’s eyes glittering at him from the depths of his shirt rack but chose to ignore him. He had more pressing issues to deal with at the moment than his irritated kwami.

Adrien ran his hands through his hair, heart pounding.

Ladybug was here. For better or worse she was here and she would be spending this cycle with him. Or at least the night.

Further still, she’d gone looking for him.

Well, Chat Noir, but still.

God, if he knew she’d actually take him up on the offer he would have… well he absolutely still would have made it.

He’d dreamed of spending Ladybug’s heats with her. Bringing her courting gifts, watching her build her den, being welcomed there in turn. Holding her close, whispering promises, making her his. Maybe, one day, in the far flung future when super villains and school and identities weren’t in the way – giving her pups of her own?

This was not how he thought this would go. But like hell was Adrien sending her away now.

Steeling himself, Adrien left the closet only to nearly collapse back into it as caught sight of Ladybug shuffling around his bed, fluffing up pillows and laying out scarves, head barely visible over the wall of blankets she built up to bolster the edges of the mattress.

A whine escaped his throat before he could help himself. Ladybug looked over to him with a welcoming, sleepy smile.

“Come here.”

Legs shaking, Adrien stumbled forward to the edge of her nest. Ladybug reached out for him from where she was snuggled under one of his many comforters and tugged him tumbling into the bed.

His blood rushed through his ears as his heart tripped into overdrive as his lady wrapped her arm around his stomach and snuggled into his side. Her breath was hot against his skin as she took him in, deep and even.

“Sorry,” She said, eventually, softly. “For invading your space. I… I really was looking for Chat.”

You found him.

“Don’t mention it,” He croaked.

There was no sleeping now, not with the feeling of Ladybug pressed against him cheek to neck to torso to thigh. Not with her scent, heady and thick, filling the air, drugging him. Not with her soft sighs in his ear or whimpers as he shifted– as if she thought he would leave her. As if he could.

God help him. He’d never know a good night’s sleep again.

Not with these memories at least.

Long after he thought she’d gone to sleep, Adrien stared up at the ceiling and willed his poor heart to stop skipping every time she so much as breathed. True to his promise, he remained a gentleman, making sure that any particular… byproducts... of her proximity were under control. Or at least, as much control as a teenage boy could reasonably expect when plastered against the love of his life.

Which was why, when he felt her gloved hand gliding across his chest to rest over his heart, he nearly launched himself off the bed like a scared rabbit. Fortunately, his pheromone drugged reflexes were slow on the uptake and he didn’t dislodge her too much.

Either way, Ladybug didn’t seem to notice as she buried her face in his neck and breathed, long and deep.

“Thought about this,” She confessed.

“This?”

Ladybug nodded. “Having you with me.”

Adrien suddenly found it impossible to swallow. “M-me?”

Her fingers tightened at the fabric over his chest.

“Mmm, you.” She said. “And Chat.”

“Chat?” He squeaked.

Ladybug frowned, eyes closed. Some part of him, the part she hadn’t just shocked senseless, wanted to pull her closer, kiss away the furrow between her brows. Fortunately or not, Adrien found he couldn’t move at all.

“Won’t happen,” She sighed. “Don’t think Chat could share.”

No, he absolutely could not.

Then again, she wasn’t asking him to. Not really.

“You never know,” He said. “He might surprise you.”

Ladybug hummed, happy. “Hope so. Would be nice.”

“Y-yeah?” He looked down at her only to find her smiling up at him.

“Two alphas? My alphas?” Her eyes slipped closed and she nuzzled into him, lips brushing just beneath his ear. “Lucky.”

Adrien would laugh if he didn’t feel like crying.

She’d be lucky?

Ha. Hah.

Being considered her anything was enough to shut him down completely. Only natural when every thought and feeling and wish his heart ever hoped to want was wrapped up in the woman who was currently wrapped around him.

His heart pounded, heavy and sluggish beneath her hands.

“I’d like that,” He whispered, finally. “Being yours.”

Adrien had been thinking of Ladybug as his for so long when all he really wanted to be was hers. He was hers. Whether she wanted him or not he was hers.

And she was here.

Even when she didn’t know where to go, she found him.

His arms tightened around her shoulders, hugging her closer. He could tell from her breathing that she was asleep. He also knew, from experience, that her transformation wouldn’t make it until morning.

Plagg floated out from his hiding place, green eyes inscrutable as he took in his charge.

“You sure you’re ready, kid?”

Adrien didn’t know.

He didn’t know if he was ready to find out who was on the other side of the mask. He didn’t know if he was ready to wake up to blue eyes and sleepy smiles and revelations. He didn’t know if he was ready for Ladybug to know how deeply and truly fucked he was over her.

But as she shifted into him, face buried in his neck, hand resting over his heart,

he knew he was ready to find out.

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #Aged Up #Ladrien #Ladynoir #Adrinette #Adrienette #a/b/o dynamics #alpha! chat noir #omega! ladybug #heat #take it i'm so tired

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p-jiminaa · 5 years

Text

Are we even in a relationship? (#4)

Jung Hoseok and You.

Summary: Is this the end?

Genre: Mix? I think.

Gif is not mine, credit to the owner.

#1 | #2 | #3 | #4 | #5

Masterlist

You finished doing the photoshoot exactly at 12 am. Well, it’s not like you have any option other than to follow whatever the clients expected. Your client this time is the owner of a small boutique in Seoul, a woman boutique. There were only 2 models so most of the time was spent waiting for them to change.

Your mobile buzz when you started your car.

I am home - Jihoon

I am on my way. Wait for me.

The distance between the boutique and your apartment is around 15 minutes but since it's midnight, you’ve reached your parking lot after 7 minutes driving. But then the moment you've reached home, you saw Jihoon sprawling on your couch, sleeping. Aish why would he here is he’s going to spend the night here by sleeping and no talking at all.

“Yah!” You slapped his shoulder and he moves a little but his eyes still shut. You push away his leg so you can sit on the couch. He didn’t lay still. He sat up and laid back on the couch by resting his head on your thigh. You lean backwards and rest your head on the headrest.

“See? If you date me you wouldn’t have to go through this you know.” He says, eyes still shut with hoarse voice. You know he didn’t really mean that because you both love to tease each other. You wonder what did he do before he came here but considering the formal attire, he just got back from his work, inherited from his father so it's safe to say that he's a rich kid from a rich family.

“Who told you to come late? If you meet me before I meet him, there's a high chance I will date you now.” Is that even possible? You never love anyone other than Hoseok. Honestly, you never dated anybody since you and he is not a friend anymore. You don’t even know why you did that. Well yeah part of it because you wanted to confront him and asked him about his feelings since that night but then the answer is obvious, he hates you so much.

He let out a chuckle. “Really? I doubt that.” You don’t even know too.

You let out a long sigh and he heard this too.

He then sat up abruptly. He turns to face you with sleepy eyes. “What did he do this time?” He asks.

You shrugged your shoulder, didn’t really know how to explain to him but you go on explaining anyway. “I and Hoseok did it the other night because I thought he forgive me but he fuc*ing rate my performance and the night afterward I confronted him only to be embarrassed in front of his members by showing them the clip.” You can feel tears wells up on your eyes and if he asks you another question, you swore that you will burst out with tears. To this, he pulls your body and engulfs you into a big hug.

“Shhh...” He gently patted your back. “Everything will be okay”

“You don’t know that.” Your voice comes out tiny and you know he realizes that you’ve been refraining yourself from bursting into tears.

“You know Y/n, if you really feel like this a punishment for whatever you’ve done to him then you got it wrong. This is not your punishment. This is him just being stupid. If he realizes that you’ve suffered so much due to his action, I know he will stop. He cares for you. Even after you stop being a friend.”

You pull yourself from him.

“Again, you don’t know that Jihoon-ah.”

The conversation didn’t stop there but you both stop talking about him. He knows you don’t want to talk about this. The most you told him about Hoseok is when you were engaged, that it. So the next topic of your conversation is about his work and girlfriend and well, his life. You don’t have anything to tell him since well, you told him about Hoseok already just now but you did not forget to tell him that you will spend the night tomorrow at your parent’s house but did not tell him the reason of you being summoned.

***

“Morning!” Your father breezes into the kitchen holding a freshly made bread or you should say a freshly bought bread. Well, your family is a big fan of bread so you have someone to deliver fresh bread for your family once in the duration of three days and today co-incidentally is the day it was delivered.

You smile weakly to your Mom. You arrived late the night before and you were literally forced by your mother to wake up. Your mother informs you that there will be a family lunch today with your future in-laws so your presence is required and you have no choice other than to come.

“You don’t look good. Are you sick?” Your father asked as he placed his hand on your forehead to check your temperature. “You’re hot.” He says in a surprised tone.

You smile up to him. “Of course I am.” You say jokingly.

“Y/n...” He says in a warning tone.

“Two days ago I have like a late-night photoshoot and last night too. I have no time to rest as I was busy editing the picture and both of them wanted it to be done next Wednesday.”

“You really need to think about your future seriously Y/n. Until when are you going to do this job?” You Mom says as she put down a glass of water and passed the medicine to you. Ah, not this conversation again. Your mother always wants you to work in an office because according to her this kind of work does not really suit you since you will be alone all the time. You gulp down the medicine and the water before you stood up and ran upstairs to your room.

“Yah!” You heard your Mom’s high pitched voice and your father’s chuckles before you heard he told your mother just to let you rest.

“I am going to sleep now, Mom. Wake me up before the guest is here.” You say as you closed the door.

You covered your eyes with a pillow when your blind was pull up which resulted in the sunlight creeping to your room. You groan as you felt your pounding head. Who the hell have the audacity to pull the blind knowing that the sudden light will only increase your headache?

You felt your leg being kicked harshly. “You need to wake up. Everyone is waiting for you.” He says as he kicks your leg again. Didn’t anyone teach him to be considerate of a sick person?

“Tell them to go on. I am not hungry.” You say as you turned your back to him.

“Whatever.” He says before you heard the door’s being shut.

You moved the pillow away from covering your head and your eyes squinted because of the bright light. Aish why did he left the blind open hence you’ve no choice other than to sit up and close it. When you’re about to lay down again, you were surprised by someone who is suddenly without knocking ambushing your room. When he saw your face that when his expression change.

“Are you sick?” He asks.

“No.” You replied back as you laid back on the bed. He approaches you and placed his hand on your forehead. “You’re very sick. Have you...”

“Already. I just need to sleep.” You retorted back. “And please just leave me. I can’t rest with you coming and going out.”

When you thought that he will leave you alone you were wrong there when he suddenly pulls up the comforter to cover your body properly before he went out and went back with a small bowl and wet towel. You saw how he carefully placed the towel on your forehead. It’s been a long time since you last saw his worried expression. Is he finally back? Has the old Hoseok finally come back? Did he really care for you although he treated you bad? Is that mean Jihoon is right about him? You don’t even know because right now, but one thing for sure, you will treasure this for the rest of your life. You stare at him and when he realized you’re staring he stops his action.

“Don’t be...”

“Just don’t say anything right now. I am too tired to fight.” You say as you slowly drifted to sleep.

You glance at the wall clock when you woke up. Six hours? You’ve been sleeping for six hours. You still feel your head pounding a little and you remove the towel placed on your forehead before you forced yourself to sat up. Slowly, you walk out from your room and went down but your steps halted on the last third steps of the stair.

“I am sorry. I just don’t want us to start our married life with no love at all between us. I hope you both understand my decision. I didn’t mean at all to...” Your mouth falls agape, surprised to the sudden announcement. He doesn’t even discuss this matter with you. Are your feelings that insignificant to him that he decided to do this to you.

“Stop Hoseok. Enough. We understand.” Your father stops him.

You don’t want to hear anything anymore so you climb up the stair again and slowly shut the door so it won’t be unknown to them that you’ve heard everything.

You lie back on your bed, crying your heart out. You heard a knock on the door and you wipe off the tears strain quickly before the door opens revealing Hoseok on the doorway. You feel your heart pounding too right now. You just need to be ready to be heartbroken, for real this time.

Sorry for the long hiatus! I am back now. Part 5 will be the final one.

#bangtan #bts #jung hoseok #bts hobi #bts hoseok #bts imagines #bts series #bts social media au #bts scenarios #hobi imagine #hobi serie #bts army #hobi x reader #hobi x you #hobi x y/n

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mercatorantique · 4 years

Text

aesthetic tag!

tagged by @seungchris

tagging: yall dont have to do it but ! @banghans @kimatas @djxiao @chrrysoda @utunes @itzmidzy n if anybody else wants to feel free to say i tagged u!

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold

soft

dark academia

edgy

seventies

preppy casual

cinanamon - steph

gold jewelry, slowdancing in the kitchen with a lover, sun on skin, red-tinted lip balm, lazy mornings, getting lost in foreign cities, scent of bakeries, high-waisted jeans, kissing someone’s neck, writing reminders on your wrist, sleeping in braids to have waves in the morning, growing an herb garden, gentle touches, sketches tucked between pages, flushed cheeks, tandem bikes, floating in a pool, vintage gold hand-mirror, deer grazing, softly singing while doing chores

jaesmintea - dia

naptimetea - helena

jeonginks

scxrlettwxtches

listening to a song and remembering the times you used to listen to it on repeat | imagining yourself living in any other life than the one you have now | crop tops and high waisted jeans | forgetting to smile but not actually being upset | nuzzling your face in the crook of their neck | back hugs when you’re stressed | turning in assignments 1 minute before they’re due | wanting a relationship but getting scared the moment you’re in one | pretending that you don’t care when inside you’re burning with doubts and fears | the sound of the evening waves as you lie on the sand | lying in your bed listening to your sad playlist | exhaustion but you can’t sleep | singing loudly when you’re the only one home | feeling safe and comfortable with that person in your life | knee high suede black boots with your black winter coat | comfort over appearance | writing essays at 2 am | creative peak from 1 am to 4 am | the one that always ends up walking in the back of a friend group

hyunsracha - sav!

lveletters

dnceracha - sydni

seungchris - tessa

gutenyang - luca

a game over screen playing its melancholy music in the darkness | being so full of love you start choking on it even though it has nowhere to go | being so drained of love that everything runs together | hazy memories as if they’re no longer your own | wet ink staining the palms of your hands | teeth glinting in the dim light, are those really so sharp? | getting lost in a campfire, the voices of your friends laughter and singing fading out as you stare | home-grown roses and lavender and lilies | the burn in your lungs after a good long scream | the ringing in your ears after seeing your favorite artist in concert, live, feeling the vibrations in your very soul | a smile shared between two...not lovers, but impossibly intertwined regardless | the fascination with catholic imagery and disgust with everything else | a ballroom in the modern era | lips against skin, a kiss and a secret whispered | a leather jacket so loaded with pins and patches that it says more about the owner than any words can describe | a bassline so melodic it catches you off guard, sweeps you off your feet | laughter for laughter’s sake | reading between the lines and only praying someone reads between yours as well | that one knife that says ‘jopping’

#i think i did more than 20 but like im a writer it's what i DO #about tag #bullshit.txt #thank u so muc !!!!

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amaranth-daydream · 5 years

Text

Summer Flowers

Kiro X Reader fluff, MLQC fanfiction light spoilers

It started with daisies at the end of spring. The air was crisp and warm with summer closing in. We strolled through the park idly, watching the petals sway on the lake’s surface. His blue eyes danced as we spoke, and I remembered why he was so loved by all who encountered him. He was warmer than the sun itself.

We talked for a while about our jobs and the news before we ended up in a field of daisies. I felt a smirk betray me on my face, as I gently plucked one from the ground to tuck behind the idol’s ear.

“Daisies. New beginnings.” He chimed as he gathered a few to return the gesture.

“New beginnings.” I repeat, closing my eyes as I savor the sound.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” He hums, letting himself fall back into the soft red fescue grass.

“Why do you say that?” I say, taking a seat near him and adjusting the daisies in my hair.

He stays silent for a moment, and I watch quietly as a round honeybee visits the white flower adorning him.

“I’m offended you don’t know,” He says, opening one of his eyes to look at me, “It’s because of how much my life has changed since I met you.”

Heat rushed to my face. He was way too good at being charming, though, I suppose that was what elevated him to the fame he has now. The crowds of fans, the albums and photoshoots. He earned it himself.

“You can’t say things like that!” I scold, laughter betraying my fake angry face.

His eyes snap open and he sits up, scaring off the curious little bee. His eyes held an emotion I dared not try to identify as his voice came out in barely a whisper.

“I’m serious.” He says, frowning.

I go to say something, to comfort him. For someone whose smile dims the brightest stars, a somber expression was a grievous crime. However, he began speaking again, looking down at the daisies that were swaying in the light breeze.

“I’ve always really felt alone. Even when surrounded by people, because they know me on stage, on tv shows, scripted and edited. It always feels so superficial. You, though? You’re my safe space. I don’t have to be on brand or advertiser friendly around you. You’ve given me a sense of freedom. A new beginning.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since then, we made it a bit of a ritual to seek out that little slice of the park with the softest grass and most wildflowers. Schedules were hectic, though, and three weeks had slipped by without a chance to catch up. The warm air of summer began to yield to the crisp winds of approaching autumn. Birds began to prepare their migratory flights, and the last of the summer flowers bloomed. A sense of melancholy was palpable as the days wore on, and it became hideously apparent that the cause wasn’t the cooler weather.

I missed him.

The realization ignited a spark within me, and I threw on a jacket to rush out to the nearest flower shop. I paid admittedly too much and took the newly made bouquet of flowers with haste. I began jogging until I paused, realizing I had no idea where my dear friend was. I frowned and pulled out my phone to text him.

(6:52) Hey, where are you?

Mr. Chips (6:54) Hey!!! I’m just finishing up some recording and heading to the gym, it’s been a crazy week.

(6:55) Yeah, I’ve heard. I have a gift for you, though! It was kinda an impulse buy.

Mr. Chips (6:55) :0 really?

Mr. Chips (6:56) I’ll wait on you outside of the studio!!

(6:56) Okay! I’ll see you soon!

With that I picked up my pace, the alien fervor still in my veins. The sky was just beginning to take on the red-orange tint of evening and I paused, leaning on a post to catch my breath. I needed to hide the bouquet.

I draped my jacket delicately over the paper and took a few deep breaths. I had no idea what I was going to say, or even what I wanted to say. I thanked the flowers for hopefully doing it for me as I steeled myself. I took one last inhale, and took off.

The familiar building appeared in my sight, and I saw an equally familiar disguise. I slowed as I approached, my chest rising and falling even quicker, despite my slowed footfalls.

His smile cracked through his neutral expression, and I could nearly see his eyes light up under his sunglasses. He motioned with a nod for me to follow, and I did so silently, savoring the moment to collect myself. “Let’s go eat. I’m craving cheese fries.” He says, as soon as we’re deep enough in the alley. “Don’t you have to be at the gym? Won’t Savin get mad?” I asked, worried.

“He can die mad about it.” Kiro jokes, chuckling lightly.

Except it wasn’t his usual airy laugh, light with amusement. My brows furrowed in concern and I instinctively moved closer. He didn’t protest, slowing down to allow me to do so. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask, voice quiet and meek. “Hm? Yeah... Can I talk to you about something though? When we get our food.” He replies, his voice losing its cheer as well. “Of course!” The rest of the walk was in silence. Warm, understanding quiet. There was no rush for the moment to pass, but the resturaunt appeared all too quickly. It was a small earthy place that smelled of sweet smoke and fresh bread. We entered and sat at a far booth in the corner. Kiro ordered a large order of their cheesy ranch fries for us to share and he leaned his head on the window lightly. “You’re exhausted...” I note, seeing his drooping eyes and slightly chapped lips. “Mhmm.” Was his half hearted reply before he sat up and stretched. “Don’t tell me you’ve been stressing over a song again. I can and will come to your house and make you go to sleep again.” I say, placing the flowers lightly beside me, the jacket still covering them. He shook his head, “No, surprisingly. It’s the new management. They’ve been cracking down on Savin to crack down on me. They want me to be perfect for a role I have coming up. I’m practicing eight hours a day then working out for 2 hours, and writing and practicing for the new album in all my free time, not to mention the diet they have me on. 1800 calories a day! I’m tired and hungry and I want a break.” His voice was hushed, but full of frustration and stress. He ran a hand through his golden hair, displacing his hat slightly. I couldn’t help but ache to wrap him up in a hug, but the fries arrived, and the thought was lost to the heavenly smell. Kiro dug in shamelessly as I began to talk. I began softly and slowly at first, before my emotions got the best of me. “That’s ridiculous, Kiro. They shouldn’t do that! You’re a person, damnit! They treat you like a machine. A product to sell. I know you love your fans deeply, but they will understand a hiatus. They can’t put money out of their -- Omphh-” My spiel was stopped by very savory fries being pressed against my lips. I looked up in confusion and hesitantly took them. Kiro’s eyes peeked out over the top of his glasses. They were full of emotion. His lips quirked up into a mischeivious smirk. I rolled my eyes and popped the snack into my mouth. “Thank you, y/n.” He said, as I was chewing. I raised my eyebrows, and he answered my obvious confusion. “For being so concerned. You’ve always been so kind. Sometimes it drags me down that I don’t have a family, you know? I look around and I see so many comforted by parents, stood up for by siblings. It hurts sometimes, but you make it better. I know it’s been a while since we got a chance to hang out, but when I’m overwhelmed, I just think back to us sitting in that flower field.” He confesses, and I understand, truly. I gripped the bundle under my jacket and just started talking. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. “Kiro, I’m so glad I can help you like that. You’re the sun itself. So many turn to you, not because of how you look on magazine covers, but because you love so openly, you love everyone around you. It’s your light, your absolute charm. Es-- especially me! I- ... I’ve missed you a lot and the flowers are probably gone from our field, so... So I brought you these!” I say, presenting the bouquet. A sunflower was broken, hanging by the stem, but the rest remained unharmed. He stared, eyes wide with a few fries poking out of his mouth. Sedum, for hearts that ache. Sunflowers for the happiness that he brings. Pink Hydrangeas for gratitude and heartfelt emotions. Dahlia, meaning ‘I think of you always.’ Lavender. Lavender for love and promise. He raised a hand to his eyes and took a shaky breath. When he lifted it, his sunglasses shifted to reveal wet eyes. His hand reached and grasped mine. It was cool, a contrast to my own. He intertwined our fingers quickly. “Miss Chips, you’re too kind. How dare you give me such a thoughtful gift.” He teased, a softer kind of smile gracing his features. “I love you too.”

#mlqc kiro #mlqc #sfw #fanfic #zhou qiluo #light spoilers #flowers #soft #reader is oblivious #but that's okay kiro is too #feelings #reader is really precious to Kiro #flower language #request #angst #but only a little

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blouisparadise · 7 years

Photo

Upon request, here is a fic rec of fluffy bottom Louis fics. Happy reading!

Update as of January 2019: This rec list has been updated! New fics that have been added are marked with a 🍑 emoji.

1) Pinkies Never Lie: A Christmas Drabble | Explicit | 4009 words | 🍑

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Between the baked goods required for holiday parties and the endless stream of Christmas card photoshoots, December is always a challenging month for Harry at work. That's why this year, Louis came up with a brilliant plan to take his mind off things.

2) In That Bright White Noise | Explicit | 5060 words

Blind dates are usually destined to go terribly, so Louis doesn't exactly trust his friends when they say they've set him up with Gemma's younger brother, Harry, at an evening bonfire they're attending. Luckily, Harry's much hotter and kinder than Louis thought he'd be, which is a relief. He's also really fucking good at sex, which is just a wonderful bonus.

3) Just Like Live Wires | Explicit | 5427 words

Harry climbs into Louis' bed when he's cold. Louis pines.

4) Snow Sweet | Mature | 7111 words | 🍑

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Christmas On Stylish Apples Orchard, A Slice/Bite of Life.

5) Casting Lines | Explicit | 7554 words

Amidst the noise - the dog whining, Jamie's shrieking, Evie's giggles and bird noises, and Daniel asking loudly, again, about ice-skating - Louis leans in to press a kiss to Harry's smiling mouth. "Hi."

Harry doesn't loosen his grip on Evie's ankles where they hang over his shoulders, but he kisses Louis back and murmurs a quiet, "Hey, love."

6) Raised on Rhythm and Blues | Explicit | 8034 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

“That look on your face makes me think you’re not cooking me spaghetti fast enough,” Louis announces as he walks back into the kitchen. Harry knows exactly where Zoe gets her habits from.

“Cooking for my two beautiful and insanely intelligent children, not for the weird bloke that sleeps in my bed and eats all my food,” Harry answers, tilting his head and wondering if he should add more sauce.

7) Cease the Day | Explicit | 8195 words

In which 1D Day takes on a whole new meaning.

Instead of a seven hour livestream, the One Direction team deem it more profitable to offer an entire day spent with any one member of the band for the highest bidder. What happens when the same buyer wins both Louis and Harry for a day?

8) Tattooed Heart | Explicit | 10035 words | 🍑

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

“Is that fucking real?”

Harry grins. “Feel for yourself.”

A curious hand comes to trace over Harry’s chest, sighing in awe. “Harry.”

He watches him as he does it and wishes he had a camera on him, because the sight of Louis’ dainty hand caressing the beautiful L written in intricate cursive right over Harry’s heart has to be the single greatest thing he’s ever seen.

“Like it?” he asks.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, suddenly digging his thumb into the skin as if it was going to disappear at any second—it wasn’t, something Harry’s tattoo artist made sure of. “That’s—that’s permanent.”

“You’re permanent,” Harry replies, simple as can be.

9) Gay Happy Meetings (When Friends Come To Call) | Mature | 13951 words | 🍑

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

The one where Louis' birthday and Christmas are filled with one too many surprises.

10) Symptoms Of The Culture | Explicit | 14612 words | 🍑

Harry's fraternity has become obsessed with the newest online game, and they'd like to think they're getting pretty good at it. Only, they keep getting killed by The Rogue, an online player who has no connection to the Frat, but seems to have a vendetta against them.

11) Don’t Put Out The Glow | Not Rated | 15007 words | 🍑

The one where Louis picks up the wrong bag on his way to Paris.

12) Dreams Can’t Take The Place Of Loving You | Explicit | 15496 words | 🍑

Harry’s watching Louis as he stands on a ladder, paint covering his arms and dripping down his legs a bit, when it occurs to him just how bare Louis’ fingers look. He knows exactly what should go there, too, but the thought of doing so sets his nerves spinning.

13) I Put A Spell On You | Explicit | 17525 words | 🍑

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

A BBC/Secret Santa mashup featuring Captain Niall, our intrepid weatherman/amateur matchmaker, rather clueless sports reporter Liam, charming political analyst Zayn, and cheeky entertainment reporter Louis. Harry is the new fashion correspondent who prefers to dress like a flamingo. And pining. There’s a lot of pining.

14) In a World Like This | Explicit | 19980 words

Just when Louis' given up on love, Niall makes him download Tinder. He's skeptical but he goes along with it. Nothing could have prepared him for the moment he swipes right for Cute Boy in his class.

Or when Cute Boys swipes right too.

And it's an instant match.

15) Then We Talk Slow | Explicit | 20493 words

A famous/non-famous AU in which Louis banters back and forth with his new record company on Twitter, only to find out that Harry is the man behind the tweets.

16) I Wanna Be More Than Friends | Not Rated | 20721 words | 🍑

The one where Harry’s an alpha with no sense of smell, Louis’ an omega who isn’t allowed to scent his best friend, and that’s all they’ll ever be. Obviously.

17) Love Like Wildfire | Explicit | 21774 words

Louis was an Omega and a Prefect. Harry was an Alpha and a little rascal. They were mates, drawn to each other since they first met in the Hogwarts Express. They worked well like that, or at least they tried, which only made their relationship way more interesting.

18) Middle Ground | Explicit | 23561 words | 🍑

Harry moves to a new town for work where he meets the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson.

19) Let Me Make A Thing Of Cream and Stars | Explicit | 24914 words

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

20) A Whole New World | Not Rated | 24967 words | 🍑

Louis has moved into his new apartment to start his new job as a teacher. Things would be great. If only his arsehole neighbour didn't wake him up every morning by playing piano.

21) Whether Clouds or Clear Skies | Explicit | 25861 words

Louis gets into the habit of stealing baked goods while Harry’s busy keeping tabs on the weather.

22) Always Come Back To You | Explicit | 28862 words

“I’ll do it,” Harry offers brightly. No one even blinks. “I’ll do it?”

Louis sighs irritably. “Shut up,” he orders, tossing a pillow in the general direction of Harry’s face. This is a terrible time for jokes, especially Harry’s lame, old people ones.

Not that it was an old people joke. Just that most of the time Harry’s jokes consist of knock-knocks or terrible puns. The type of jokes old people like, Louis’ pretty sure. His nan always finds them hilarious when Harry tells her one.

Harry bats the pillow out of the air without even blinking. “Be reasonable, Lou,” he says in his most reasonable voice.

Louis is perfectly reasonable, thank you very much, and he’s also frustrated and upset and tired and he really wants to punch something. Maybe he should have held on to that pillow a little longer.

“You’re not gonna fucking do it,” he snaps. “That’s the last thing I need.”

23) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

24) The List | Mature | 32094 words

In the weeks that follow, Harry opens his old journal more than he has in the past two years each time he remembers Venice or thinks about Louis. He always flips to the same random page in the middle of the book, marked by the picture of himself that Louis sent him a few days after they got home. There’s a message on the back that says, ‘Spontaneous looks good on you! See you soon,’ and it makes Harry’s chest warm each time he reads it. He wedges their list out from between the worn pages, and it feels silly staring down at a folded up piece of paper with a strange sense of nostalgia for experiences they’ve yet to have; for places they’ve never even been.

25) I Know How To Whisk (But Teach Me Anyway) | Mature | 32111 words | 🍑

The one in which banana bread just might make Louis change his mind about soulmates.

26) All The Right Moves | Explicit | 32264 words

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

27) A Rhythm In Rush | Explicit | 40010 words

Harry is a WWF journalist with big dreams and Louis is a glaciologist that flies helicopters for fun. Greenland is an odd place to spend Christmas, but just maybe, the perfect place to fall headfirst into love.

28) Roots | Explicit | 43233 words

There aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous. He’s spent the past couple of years on and off various stages, filled with screaming fans, all chanting his name, loud and adoring. He’s done countless interviews, some even on live, national television, never faltering over his words, answers meticulously planned out, smooth and steady. He’s signed countless autographs, taken just as many photos, and even when he sat in his label’s studio, waiting to see how high up on the charts his single made it, he didn’t feel uneasy or uncomfortable. It’s all been unbelievably fun. No, there aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous.

Enter Louis Tomlinson.

29) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

30) I Found A Love For Me (Darling Just Dive Right In) | Explicit | 46652 words | Sequel | 🍑

Louis, an omega with very little control. Harry, an alpha with a lot of emotion. Neither of them have any idea what do to with this little thing called love, but they'll be damned if they don't put up a good fight.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #blp fic recs #blp #top harry #bottom louis #fluff #updated #january 2019

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hcstingspence-blog · 7 years

Text

in the shadows.

Bad decisions had always been her bread and butter.

For as long as she could remember, Spencer’s entire life could be pinpointed to one bad choice or another. Befriending Ali despite her mean girl tendencies, taking a little white pill her Brainiac club friend had promised would ‘help slow down time’, kissing her sisters boyfriend and later on, a fiancee.

Mona hadn’t known the half of it, really, despite what she tried to uncover. Spencer had gotten off easy - vague threats and half truths. The scarier things, the darker things - no one had written those down, no one had seen them. Blinding Jenna Marshall should have been the most terrifying secret of all, and yet somehow, it wasn’t.

This time, however, she was leaving it in Caleb’s hands. If this attraction to one another was going to bloom into action, it would be on him. She might not be innocent, but she wouldn’t make the first move.

( Or, at least, more of a move. Telling your best friends boyfriend you wanted to give him head was probably considered a come on by most. )

The fashion show had been a fundraiser, something Ali put together every year that Spencer had wound up in charge of in her absence. And with the arrival of Cece Drake - with a voice so familiar it made Spencer’s blood run cold, a smile that could haunt her dreams, blonde locks that looked eerily similar - it was easy to see why Spencer had been so on edge. Her offer to help fit the models with clothing had seemed sincere enough, but Spencer didn’t trust her.

It was probably just the resemblance to Ali, though.

Hanna had adored every minute of it, strutting down the catwalk in her new clothes, a rabid audience cheering for her. Aria had perfected the moody teen aesthetic for her own walk, and Emily - well, Emily was Emily.

But Caleb had swapped the music for Spencer, something slinky and sensual as she strutted down in a short flapper dress her mother would have never agreed to let her leave the house in, much less walk down a stage on. And Spencer had watched him like a hawk, the way his eyes were trained on her, raking over her body, her flesh covered in goosebumps.

She’d needed a drink as soon as she was done.

Noel Kahn’s parties were infamous, and he had one for every event - talent shows, fashion shows, Homecoming, a random Wednesday because they’d all had a rough week. It was a tradition he’d taken from his older brother, one that was as much a part of Rosewood as The Brew or the old farmhouses converted into mini mansions. Spencer and the girls had only ever attended a few of them, especially since the absence of Ali; without her, they preferred the company of one another to the mindless sound of their screaming classmates.

Spencer, however, had always enjoyed parties. It allowed her to blend in a little better, to try and act like a normal girl. Over the summer, Wren had taken her to tons of parties, Spencer becoming more and more comfortable with strange guys hitting on her under the influence of alcohol and dancing with people she would never look twice at during the day.

Caleb was sitting on a couch with a few other guys, most of them ignoring him or occasionally engaging him in a small conversation. For the most part, she saw his thumbs moving on his phone screen, replying to her as she moved through the party, her stomach twisting with a desire she was trying in vain to keep in check.

After all, Hanna was on his lap. If Spencer ever needed a reminder of what a bad decision engaging in any sort of activity with Caleb was, all she had to do was look at the two of them.

But the alcohol was already coursing through her veins, the want stronger than her morals. And she could justify it, if only to herself; Hanna didn’t understand him, not completely, and she sure as hell didn’t understand Spencer. With the possible return of a stalker, Hanna’s freak out had been insurmountable - Spencer was panicking, of course, but nothing like Hanna.

And then Hanna hadn’t even wanted to tell Emily and Aria.

So if Hanna wanted to keep secrets again, to start the danger that had put them in that position with Mona in the first place, why shouldn’t Spencer engage? So what if Mona thought she could try again from her place in rehab, or pass the game along to someone new?

Spencer could take whatever they threw at her. Probably.

The fall air nipped at her bare legs, goosebumps crawling over her bare thighs as she wrapped the light jacket tighter around her arms, stomping her heels into the concrete walkway behind the garage as she fumbled with the pack of cigarettes, her back pressed against the wall. She had left her phone in her purse at the party purposefully; if Caleb wasn’t coming, she didn’t want to deal with the disappointment. And if he was, she didn’t think she should know beforehand - for her own guilt.

It took two cigarettes before he appeared, hands in his jacket pocket as he sauntered over to her. Everything about him seemed to call to her; his dark eyes, the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek, even the way the wind blew his hair behind him like he was at a photoshoot instead of sneaking around to meet his girlfriends best friend.

He took the cigarette right out of her hand and didn’t look twice at it as he threw it behind them, a hand cupping her jaw as he pulled her towards him. In her heels, there was almost no difference in their height, and when his lips crashed against hers Spencer let out a barely audible moan.

She had wanted it for far too long.

Her own arms wound around his neck, pulling him tighter to her, his knee pushing between her thighs to hold her against the wall and she rocked against it, knowing he couldn’t feel how wet she was as the lace of her underwear scraped against her but also knowing he somehow just knew. He may have initiated the kiss, but Spencer pushed them further, her tongue scraping his teeth and her nails biting the back of his neck as she pressed him as close to her as possible, his own hands moving from her throat to her chest to the hem of her skirt, trying to take in as much of her as he could.

Trying to memorize the way she felt while he could.

She wanted him to lift her up by the waist, to let her legs wrap around his hips and let him take every single inch of her, but even through the lust that fueled her, she could feel eyes somewhere on her.

Old paranoia, possibly, but enough to make her pause, to pull back, to breathe.

“Spence - “ he said, but she pressed a finger to his lips, a small groan escaping as he took it into his mouth, sucking on the digit and giving her no question of what it might feel like to have him between her thighs. But she could almost hear something, the scrape of leaves, the sound of footsteps.

Someone was there. Spencer knew it.

And then, from the opposite direction, a slightly drunk “Caleb?” came, both of them jumping apart as Hanna’s voice came closer. Spencer slipped away before she would be spotted, walking as quietly as she could in the opposite direction, just barely making it to the front yard when she heard Hanna’s “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!”, knowing just how close they had come to being caught.

She tried to strain her eyes through the dark, to see who else had been there, to figure out why she was so focused on the way her skin crawled with nerves instead of arousal, why she couldn’t stop thinking about Mona hiding in the woods by the house and not the feeling of Caleb flush against her.

Bad decisions, Spencer knew, would be the end of her. And this was only one more to add to the list.

#para #sp #in the shadows

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sinkingorswimming · 7 years

Note

"Sunrise" of the In the Heights OST

*these are just all gonna be the x-men au now, i got eaten by it, i have no control anymore sorry*

“I have no idea what to do with this,” Celestino admits an hour after the commotion at Webster Hall with a vague wave of his left hand.

This being Longshot, who smiles at him, his mouth shaping into a pink heart.

“It’s why we brought him to you,” Phichit says. “You’re the one who knows weird.”

Celestino gives Phichit a sigh and an exasperated look. “Television,” he says as he absently ties up his hair. “A dimension ruled by television.”

Longshot shrugs with a softer smile.

“Well,” Celestino says. “We’ll find a way to get you home, Longshot, since your revolution sounds like it can use all the help it can get.”

Longshot nods with a combination of gratitude and resignation. He folds his hands over his mouth, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

It’s Sunday in the West Village loft Phichit and Yuuri call theirs. They share bunk beds so Yuuri can have a workspace for his studies and his writing and so Phichit has space for his rigs. Phichit’s an NYU student too, he’s in Tisch, and he single-handedly keeps the corner bodega in business because of an addiction to their egg sandwiches.

Celestino gets up, and he makes a face like he just recalled something. “Right,” he says. He picks up a large shopping bag that says Intoxicated by Giacometti on the side. “Chris had prototypes for Fall ‘18 lying around. Longshot looks like he’s a sample size—he said he figured he shouldn’t draw as much attention in these.”

Longshot takes the black bag with metallic blue and purple writing. He holds up a grey and black sweater, pawing at its fabric like he’s a stranger to the concept of wool.

He may be, Yuuri realizes. “We’ll get you showered and prettied up,” Phichit says to Longshot with a wink.

“I’m already pretty, it’s part of my design,” Logshot says with a raised eyebrow.

“You have a mullet,” Phichit counters. “No one in New York City has a mullet. It’s gotta go.”

Longshot gives Phichit a confused stare, and Yuuri clears his throat. “He means you need a haircut. Between the color and the style, you’ll stand out too much. It’s either we dye it or we cut it.”

Longshot touches his hair, the strands sliding through his (four still how the fuck) fingers. “Cut it,” he says after a few minutes contemplation.

Phichit smiles and Yuuri nods. He leads Longshot to the bathroom—it’s surprisingly decent for its size, no bathtub though. Just a decent shower and pair sinks. Yuuri gets a spare towel and wash cloth of him. “Okay my soap is the white and green bar, Phichit’s the blue one—mine smells like cedar, is flowers and—”

Yuuri stops and swallows like a huge rock is in his throat. Longshot’s already mostly naked, and yes he’s beautiful, like a Greek statue, but his spine—

Instead of a subtle ident curving down his back, his vertebrae protrude like if an invertebrate made him. Yuuri stares, partially because it’s a new sight, but also because it’s…appealing “Do they hurt?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Longshot looks over his shoulder at him. “Not really,” he replies. “You can touch them, if you like.”

Yuuri comes close, reaches to the one at the base of his neck, and runs his hands over it, the holographic teal glitter nail lacquer bright against Longshot’s pale skin. It feels like a really large knuckle, but on his back. His skin is warm, smooth, and soft.

Longshot smiles over his shoulder. “That feels good.”

Yuuri clears his throat and takes two steps back. He clears his throat. “Well, um—” He turns to the sink, grabbing the MAC wipes and his glasses. He deals with his make up at his desk since the light’s better. “Hot water runs out after fifteen minutes. Try to be quick.”

He hightails it out of the bathroom with his face like a tomato, falling gracelessly into his make up chair and wiping his face down. Once there’s only a touch of blue in his eyelashes, he throws the used towelettes out and groans.

Phichit hangs upside down from the top bunk by his tail. “Your merch sales are improving,” he says. “We’re out of a few t-shirts and some posters—should I restock or should we make new designs? We have that one photoshoot we did with the blue and gold jacket—”

“The alternate take of the indigo outfit with the crystals,” Yuuri answers as he removes the purple lenses and puts on his blue half-rimmed eyeglasses. He shakes his hair loose out of his stage style and puts on a plain lip balm flavored like melons.

“Oooh yes!” Phichit accesses the file on the cloud and sends it to their printshop. “Perfect.”

Yuuri puts on a pair of skinny denim jeans and a slightly-oversized oatmeal and navy striped sweater. His socks are navy with cream colored dogs on them. The water cuts off and he grabs his clippers and a pair of scissors. Phichit flips upright into his bed. “I’m gonna nap.”

“Kay,” Yuuri answers. He knocks before entering to a Longshot in a burgundy t-shirt with a silver abstract print and dark gray denim. Chris provided him a pair of Chuck Taylors the same color as the shirt, and there’s a soft looking leather jacket on the back of the toilet. “Sit please, back to me.”

Longshot does. Yuuri combs out his wet hair, then gets to work shearing off the length first and then clipping down the sides and back, leaving it long in the front and on top. It’s a respectable yet fashionable hairstyle. Yuuri uses the blow-dryer phichit uses for his body and when he’s finished, he puts a bit of product in it.

His hair is soft and smells like Yuuri’s shampoo, and Yuuri has to step back a second time.

Longshot stands and looks in the mirror. He nods with approval. “You do good work, beautiful,” he says.

Yuuri gives him a strange look.

“You look good with the make up,” Longshot elaborates. “But this is better.” He rakes his eyes up and down Yuuri.

Yuuri stammers with his eyes wide. “Pancakes.”

“What?” Longshot asks.

“Breakfast food,” Yuuri manages. “Uh—eating? We…eat. Yeah.”

He turns away and scoots out of the bathroom, Longshot following. Yuuri texts Phichit that they went out so he’ll see it when he wakes up. He locks the door and they walk down the six flights of stairs to the street. Empire Diner’s not a long walk, and Longshot keeps looking up and around as they head to the restaurant.

“What’s that?” he asks. It’s a building with a red awning, bins of bright flowers in the front, and smells wafting from it.

“A bodega,” Yuuri replies.

Longshot gives him a curious look.

Yuuri blinks. “Right um—it’s a Spanish word for corner store, basically. They sell flowers, groceries, sandwiches, beer—it’s easier than a big grocery sometimes.”

“Gro-cer-ies,” Longshot sounds out. “I don’t know—”

“Food,” Yuuri answers, kind of taken aback. “We have to buy food to cook and live off of. A grocer provides it.”

“Major Gosha fed us,” Longshot says. “When we’d be taken out of stasis to perform for Yakov’s shows. He’d wake us, give us the food, wardrobe, hair, and make up, and then showtime!”

“Well, we make three meals a day or buy them from a restaurant,” Yuuri elaborates. “Restuarants are expensive, but I got paid for the show last night even though—well you were there. Anyways, I’m buying you brunch. My treat as a Welcome to Earth, Longshot! gift.”

“Victor,” he says. “I want you to call me Victor. The others can call me Longshot—but please, beauitful, call me Victor.”

Yuuri feels the heat flood his face. He bites back an awkward reply, opening the Diner’s door instead. They’re shown to a window-side booth, and Victor looks up and around with wonder like a child.

The waitress comes over. “Hi guys, what’ll it be to drink?”

“Coffee please,” Yuuri answers. “Two of them.”

Long…Victor gives her a bright smile. “Yes this…coffee!”

She flushes and giggles before leaving, and Yuuri’s less flustered the next time his dining compainion smiles at him. He does it to everyone, Yuuri realizes.

Okay.

“What is…a waffle?” he asks, saying “whuffle” instead of the correct pronunciation.

“Waffles are like a bread thing that’s sweet,” Yuuri explains.

“Avocado?” he’s asked.

“It’s a vegetable that’s soft and green on the inside,” Yuuri says, feeling like Human Google.

His companion keeps looking. “We just eat this Nutrient drink; it’s peach and flavorless. This is all very complex.”

“Wait you’ve…never had food?” The disappointment vanishes because what the fuck?

“The Spineless Ones get to have the food,” Victor says. “Entertainers get nutrients.The Spineless Ruling Class eats real food.”

Of course Yuuri’s heard of socities like this—pre-Revolution France, third world nations—but it’s different knowing someone from one, seeing them in real life and hearing them discuss it.

Especially since he sounds so calm and matter-of-fact.

“Order whatever you like,” Yuuri says. “However much of it you want.”

Victor looks at him, but he doesn’t seem to understand the bit about the financials. His eyes are confused but grateful, like he understands Yuuri’s gift but doesn’t at the same time. The server brings their coffee and asks for their orders—Yuuri gets the salmon pastrami avo toast, and Victor orders both the pancakes and the waffle.

The way he lights up when he gets his first bites, the happiness and excitement in his expression and voice—risks to himself be damned.

Yuuri’s gonna help him.

#Anonymous #asked and answered #dazz and longshot au #dommi's fic #victuuri fic #yoi fic #dazzler!yuuri #longshot!victor #lost in your light #sexy haircut is sexy #sexy pre-shower is sexy #yuuri misunderstanding again

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rpritchardjournal · 5 years

Text

07/02/2020 Uncensored @ Antwerp Mansion

On the 7th of February, West Art collective held their show Uncensored at Antwerp Mansion. The show was extremely successful and bought together a bread selection of artists working across different mediums and from different backgrounds.

The show was tied together under a debaucherous theme exploring human seuxality, with an emphasis on the extremes of sex, with an ‘eyes wide shut’ appeal. The exhibition spun several rooms across two floors, with DJS and performance art featured alongside more traditional work. There were also a ‘blue room takeover’ by Erotic Art London.

The show was an absolute credit to the curators, making use of the intricate spaces, including a living room set up, with artwork showing on a TV monitor, and a live wet photoshoot taking place in the toilets. The venue, which could be perceived as challenging, was worked with, not against- with the decrepit feel, and it’s history as a notorious nightclub adding to the raunch factor of the work on display.

The exhibition, which on paper could have been taken for too rude and scrappy, was in reality, an ambitious, professional and exciting venture. West Art Collective are succeeding, not only in putting on shows of their own work, but in giving a platform for other up-and-coming artists to be exhibited. Their marketing and branding proved successful in the turn out, with tickets selling out in advance, and they have really established a look and feel for themselves as a young collective pushing boundaries in Manchester today.

Going to this show proved to me what fine art students can do, and how ambitious I can be with my projects. Going forth I want to be more collaborative, and work on more ambitious ideas, getting my work out into the world and establishing myself.

In relation to our PC2 module, I think it was a perfect example of how successful our exhibition can be if we get behind it fully, and put our most into making it something we are proud of. I’m excited to press on with the organising and planning of our exhibition, to make it as ambitious and exciting as know it can be.

#PC2 #lvl5

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quicksilversquared · 7 years

Text

Eurovision Fever

When May rolled around in Paris, that could only mean one thing: it was time for Eurovision.

Add together (most of) the class, one song contest, and one food-laden watching party, and you get a night full of fun, singing, and dancing.....and maybe even a certain caterwauling cat adding in a bit of unexpected fun.

(yes, I know Eurovision was ages ago. This got lost in my drafts. Whoops.)

(FF.net) (AO3)

The season of sequins, fireworks, tacky outfits, and occasionally questionable singing was upon them. Snack were prepped, friends and classmates were invited over to watch together, and couches were dragged around TVs.

Yes, it was time for Eurovision.

"Oh, I never watch that nonsense," Chloe sniffed when Alya (rather grudgingly) extended the invitation to her and Sabrina. "The 'fashion'- ugh. It hurts my eyes. And even if I did watch it, why would I want to crowd around a tiny little TV in your family's minuscule apartment when I could watch it at my daddy's hotel?" With that she flounced off, dragging a somewhat reluctant Sabrina along behind her.

"We didn't want you anyway," Alya grumbled, crossing off Chloe and Sabrina's names in her notebook. "All right, we've asked everyone. Out of the entire class, eight people are coming. Sabrina and Chloe aren't, of course. Nathaniel said he was watching with his own family, Ivan and Mylène are watching with Mylène's family, and Kim wasn't interested. But everyone else is coming." A devious grin lit up Alya's face and she elbowed Marinette's side teasingly. "Adrien will be there this time. His father- well, Nathalie, at any rate- gave him permission to come for the entire thing."

Marinette's eyes blew wide open. "The whole thing?" She couldn't believe it. She, Alya, and Nino had tried inviting Adrien to watch the Eurovision semifinals with them, but he had been kept busy for the entire evening with a photoshoot followed by piano lessons. She had kind of assumed that the same thing would probably happen with the finals as well.

Alya bounced up and down in excitement. "Uh-huh! And he's even coming over early to help set up, so you have to come over then as well."

"I'll try to get up early so I can get all of the baking done in time to come over early," Marinette promised.

Alya sniggered as they headed from the locker room towards the stairs up to their classroom. "Before noon, you mean?"

Marinette couldn't help giggling as well. "Something like that."

"Will you really need all of that time?" Alya wanted to know. "I know our party starts an hour before the contest does, but isn't that plenty of time?"

"The yeast for the bread takes two hours to rise, and then proofing is almost another hour," Marinette pointed out as they climbed up the stairs. "And then there's the cupcakes, which need to cool first before I can frost them. And then not everything cooks at the same temperature, and if I put in too much then it affects the evenness of the baking-"

"All right, all right, I get it," Alya said with a laugh. "You're making a lot and baking is complicated. My mom is helping me prep stuff for tomorrow tonight and then my dad is helping me cook everything before people arrive."

"We're going to have so much food," Marinette commented as they entered the classroom. "I'm bringing stuff, you're making things, Rose and Juleka are bringing something..."

"I think the others are also bringing stuff, but not a lot," Alya said. "Crackers and cheese and sparkling juice and whatnot."

"We're all going to be passed out in food comas by the end of the night," Marinette groaned. Still, she grinned. "It sounds like it's gonna be a ton of fun."

Marinette had just packed the last of the cookies into the last box when her phone chimed. She dusted the crumbs off of her hands and quickly rinsed them before reaching over to see what Alya was texting her this time. Her friend had been sending her updates all afternoon on the state of the preparations.

Adrien asked if there was any other way he could help get ready, read the text. And I figured that you might appreciate a lift, so he's showing up at your place in 30 minutes. You're welcome!

Marinette squeaked.

"What does it say, Marinette?" Tikki asked from where she sat on the counter, serving as 'quality control' (aka taste-testing everything). Her mouth was smudged with chocolate and sugar, and cookie (and cupcake) crumbs surrounded her.

"Adrien is coming over here to help me bring stuff over to Alya's!" Marinette gasped, tugging on her pigtails anxiously. "Oh gosh, and I still have to do all of the dishes, and change clothes so I'm not covered in flour, and-"

"Breathe, Marinette," Tikki advised before Marinette could get too far into her Adrien-induced freak-out. "All of the cupcakes and cookies and bread are all ready, and you already did most of the dishes. Just finish those up, and then you'll have plenty of time to get ready."

"But maybe I should get dressed first-"

"And then you might splash water on your shirt," Tikki pointed out, polishing off the scattered crumbs that surrounded her. "I'll start wiping down the counters."

The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. Marinette washed the few dishes she had left and dried them. Tikki pushed a damp rag around the counter, wiping up the thin dusting of flour that had accumulated there. Eight minutes and forty-one seconds after Marinette got the text, the kitchen was back in order.

"I don't have flour in my hair, do I?" Marinette asked anxiously as she put the last dish away. "I don't have time for a shower!"

"Not in your hair," Tikki said as she followed Marinette up the stairs to her room. "There's a smear on your face, though."

"Ooh! I couldn't face Adrien like that!" Marinette dashed right back down the stairs and into the bathroom to wet a washcloth and hastily wipe the streaks of flour off of her face. "That would be so embarrassing!"

Tikki was of the opinion that Adrien would probably find it cute, but she wasn't about to say that. Knowing Marinette, she would probably freak out, spend a few minutes squealing in glee at the thought of Adrien finding her cute, and then spend another few minutes pondering the idea of reapplying the flour smudges.

Twenty minutes later, Marinette had just finished the final touches on her outfit. She had wanted to be comfortable, of course- there was no point in getting all dolled up when they were pretty much just going to be sitting on the couch for three and a half hours- but with Adrien there, she definitely wanted to look cute. She paired a cute top with an embroidered skort and combed her hair, then added a few sparkly hairpins for that Eurovision flair. She was adjusting one of the pins in her hair when there was a knock on the door below.

"Oh! Adrien's here!" Marinette gasped, and then she wasted several precious seconds spinning in place, desperately searching the room for anything she might have forgotten. She was only broken out of her panic-induced reverie by Tikki flying right into her face.

"You look lovely, now go let Adrien in," the kwami demanded. "He'll wonder what's going on if you don't."

"Right!" Marinette gasped, and then she nearly tripped down the stairs in her haste. She took several quick deep breaths (which sounded much closer to hyperventilating) before pasting on a smile and opening the door. Adrien was waiting there with a wide grin on his face and the Gorilla standing behind him.

"Hi, Marinette!" Adrien greeted her cheerfully. He sniffed and his grin grew wider. "It smells amazing in here! You look great, by the way."

"T-thank you," Marinette managed. Then she remembered her manners and why he had come. "You look nice as well. Uh, the treats are all ready to go. Would you like to come in?"

Adrien nodded eagerly and followed her inside. His bodyguard grunted and followed his charge. Adrien's eyes grew wide as they took in the boxes of cookies and cupcakes and bags of bread. "Wow, Marinette. This looks amazing!"

"Would you like to try a couple before we leave?" Marinette asked quickly, remembering a comment she had seen once or twice about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach. Then, to be polite, she addressed Adrien's bodyguard. "And would you like something, sir?"

She got eager nods from both Adrien and his bodyguard, so Marinette opened a couple boxes and let them sample. Everything had turned out well- Tikki had made sure of that- but that didn't stop Marinette from being nervous as she waited for a response.

"This is amazing, Marinette," Adrien exclaimed as he swallowed his first bite. "Wow. Wow, okay, I'm gonna have to wait on the other side of the room until those boxes are closed again, 'cause otherwise there won't be any left for the rest of the group." His bodyguard made a noise of agreement.

"That's good to hear," Marinette said with a smile as she closed up the boxes again. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for not stuttering. She had been getting better and better towards the end of the year, but to say that she was over her Adrien-induced debilitation would be an overstatement. "Are you looking forward to Eurovision?"

Adrien was practically bouncing in place. "Yes! I've watched before, of course, but never with friends. I've looked up all of the lyrics to the songs so we can sing along, and I watched the semifinals a couple days ago- Nino recorded them for me- and I can't wait to see the final. Some of the performances are so weird."

Marinette couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, that's...kind of Eurovision's trademark. Weird performances."

"Yeah, but have they gotten even weirder in recent years? I don't remember them being quite so glittery before."

The conversation on the level of glitteriness of past Eurovision contests carried them all the way to Alya's apartment. Adrien's bodyguard escorted them into the building and up the stairs, then headed back down to the car with a gifted cupcake. Adrien and Marinette only realized after he was gone that, with the addition of the boxes the bodyguard had been carrying and the additional bags that Adrien had brought, they had no free hands with which to actually open the apartment door.

Whoops.

"I'm sure we can get it open," Adrien said, shifting the bags on his arms a bit, then frowned and tried to stick the box in his hands under his arm. He had to shift it back to his hands a second later as the box threatened to crumple. "How on earth were you planning to get all of this stuff over here by yourself? I mean, I know some of it is mine, but..."

"My parents were going to help," Marinette said, keeping an eye on the box Adrien was trying to shuffle around. She really didn't want it falling, since that would mean that the cupcakes' frosting would get ruined. "They wanted be to thank you for picking me up, actually. They ended up not having to rush clean-up in the bakery."

"Anytime," Adrien said, pausing in his bag-shuffling to throw a grin over his shoulder at her. "Any time you need a lift, feel free to call me."

Marinette resisted a squeal. Adrien wanted her to call him? Granted, it would be for a completely and totally platonic favor, but still. Before she could thank Adrien, a thought struck her and she frowned. "Hey, Adrien?"

Adrien glanced back at her as he tried to turn the door handle with his elbow. "Yeah?"

"What's your bodyguard's name? I just realized that I've never asked." It was rude of her, really. She had met the man before, when he did her family the favor of driving her great-uncle to the Grand Paris for the cooking contest and when he ran errands to the bakery. He had even driven their group of friends around once or twice, and she had completely forgotten to ever ask before.

Adrien cringed. "Well..."

Marinette blinked, puzzled. "What?"

"I...might not know his real name?" At Marinette's incredulous look, he cringed again. "No one ever told me! And he never says anything, so I just call him the Gorilla."

"The Gorilla?"

"Yeah, because he's built kind of like a gorilla and when we went to the zoo when I was younger, he spent forever at the gorilla cages watching them." Adrien shrugged, looking sheepish. "And he never talks anyway, so it's never really mattered."

Before Marinette could respond, the apartment door flew open. Alya stood there, beaming. "I thought I heard you guys! Come in, come in. Wow, you guys really brought a lot of food."

"Most of it is from Marinette," Adrien said as they piled into the apartment. "I have, what? One bag? Two?"

"Three," Marinette corrected, smiling at Nino as he helped her unload the boxes in her arms onto the table. "The one with the sparking juice, that giant bag with all of the chips, and the duffel bag."

"Anyone up for a group exercise session tomorrow?" Nino joked as he put a box of cupcakes on the table. "I'm gonna gain a ton from all of this stuff."

"Rose and Juleka are bringing fruit and veggies and dip," Alya said as she unloaded Adrien's bags of chips onto the table. "Some healthy stuff. Adrien, what's in that last bag?"

"Something for later," Adrien said with a mysterious smile, nudging the small duffel bag away under a side table near one of the couches. "So, what all do we need to do to prepare?"

"Don't think for a second that I don't notice you trying to change the subject," Alya warned, but she let it drop. "I'm going all-out. We have streamers and lights and some cool lamps and this mini disco ball thing that Nino brought, plus we have to move the couches around so they all have a good view of the TV, and I want the bean-bag chairs brought from my room."

"Is the rest of your family joining us?" Marinette asked as she arranged her boxes so they were placed a little less precariously.

Alya shrugged. "Maybe for the first part? I don't know. My sisters won't stay up for the voting, that's for sure, and my parents both have to get up early for their jobs, so I don't think they'll stay up super-late either."

"So we should keep it down towards the end," Adrien guessed. "...maybe it's a good thing that Kim didn't want to come. If he and Alix were both here, we'd never get them to keep it down."

Alya paused on her way down the hallway and frowned. "No, I think we should be fine. My parents have earplugs and a white noise machine, and they probably won't go to bed until the votes are being tallied. Besides, our next door neighbors have a Eurovision party every year, and I can promise you that they are way louder than we're gonna be." She shrugged and then her gaze caught on the wall clock. Alya's eyes widened. "We have to get to work! Nino, come help me with the bean bag chairs. Marinette, you remember where we had the couches for the semifinals, right? C'mon, let's go, go, go!"

The tables were groaning under the weight of the food and drink loaded on them. Everyone had definitely overdone it on the amount that they brought.

"We're all going to be stuffed messes by the time this is over," Alix laughed as she snatched a couple cookies from the table. "This is enough to feed an army."

"That would depend on the size of the army," Max corrected as he straightened the platter of fruit that he had brought. "But yes, this amount of food is quite excessive when the number of people present is considered."

"Did anyone bring bags for leftovers?" Nino joked. "Because I think we're gonna need them."

"I love the decorations!" Rose enthused, inspecting the purple and blue tinfoil streamers twisting from the middle of the ceiling to the wall. "You guys really went all-out, didn't you?"

"My sisters just had their birthday party last week, so that's where some of the stuff came from," Alya admitted as Rose glanced at the lights they had hung on the walls. "And then there's some Christmas lights, and Nino brought some stuff over too. I wanted it to be fun."

"I'm already having fun and we haven't even started," Adrien said cheerfully. He had really thrown himself into the decorating. "The ceremony starts in twenty minutes, right?"

"Fifteen, Agreste, don't you know how to tell time?" Alix teased before Max could chime in with an exact, down-to-the-second correction. "Or is your fancy-pants watch wrong?"

It didn't take the group long to settle on the couches with full plates of food. Alix and Adrien's plates were nearly identical, with cookies and fruit piled on precariously. Somehow (Marinette suspected intervention a la Alya), Adrien and Marinette ended up sitting side-by-side on one of the couches. With Juleka also sharing the couch, there was little enough space on the couch that Adrien's leg was pressed up against Marinette's.

She was going to explode, and Eurovision hadn't even started yet.

"Ooh! Goodies!"

The entire group spun around at the voice. The front door had just opened and Alya's parents were coming in, with Alya's twin sisters on their heels. The little girls' eyes had lit up as soon as they spotted the piles of cookies and treats.

"Those are for the big kids, Etta," Mrs. Césaire said, steering the girls away from the table. "We can get you guys a treat from the treat jar later, okay?"

"Oh, there's plenty to share," Alya said as both of her sisters pouted. "We'll get sick if we eat all of it ourselves."

"Okay, then, two treats each because it's Eurovision night, and then go say thank you to Alya and her friends," Mrs. Césaire amended as Etta and Ella cheered. "...and no, Etta, you cannot have two cupcakes. I meant two cookies."

"Awww," Etta muttered, putting the cupcakes back. "But muuuuuum..."

"You would get sick if you ate all of that sugar," Mrs. Césaire insisted. "If you want, you can have one cupcake and nothing else."

Etta grabbed a cupcake and gleefully retreated to the pile of pillows on the floor in front of the couches to eat it. Ella followed her with the two largest cookies she could find. Mrs. Césaire sighed and rolled her eyes but smiled fondly before picking a cookie for herself out of the pile and pulling over a chair from the dining room table so she could join the group in front of the TV. Her husband joined her a second later with a cookie of his own.

"Is it just me, or is there more glitter and sparkle this year than before?" Mr. Césaire asked as the spotlights illuminated the arena, pack with hundreds of cheering fans waving flags and signs. "Look at that! The songs haven't even started yet and it's already insane."

"Papa doesn't like Eurovision," Alya said in a stage whisper. Mr. Césaire made a face at her and her sisters both giggled. Mrs. Césaire hid a smile behind her cookie.

"It's not that I don't like it, it's just that I don't understand how popular it is," Mr. Césaire grumbled. "And some of the songs- ugh! They're the very worst aspects of pop music all shoved together."

"He got one of last year's songs stuck in his head and couldn't stop singing it for weeks," Mrs. Césaire stage-whispered out of the corner of her mouth, making all of the kids giggle. "He was even singing it as he cleaned out cages at the zoo."

They quieted down as the announcer started talking and introducing the contestants. Already some rather interesting outfits were coming out. Marinette had pulled out her sketchpad and was absently doodling as she watched a woman twirling around in the tackiest ball gown that she had ever seen.

"Redesigning the outfits, Marinette?" Adrien asked as he craned his neck to watch. "That looks nice already."

Marinette blushed at the praise. "Y-yeah. I mean, some of them have nice ideas. I like imagining what I would do if I was in their designer's place."

"So if you had to create the same effect?" Adrien looked interested. "I can't wait to see what you come up with!"

"She already did a couple during the semifinals," Alya said. "Much better than the originals. And then there were a couple things she designed that were inspired by the outfits on stage."

Adrien perked up. "Can I see?"

As Marinette showed off her designs to Adrien, the hosts introduced the contest and the French announcer started translating over top of their voices. The result, as always, was a little muddled, but it was a necessary evil so that everyone could understand.

Alya turned up the volume as the previous year's winner bounded onto stage to kick the ceremony off. Fireworks exploded over the stage as the beat dropped and the crowd cheered. Alya and Alix both started singing along, joined quickly by Rose. Juleka mumbled along. After a moment's pause, Adrien started singing along as well, quieter than the others. Through the apartment walls, they could hear Alya's next-door neighbors. Just as promised, they were loud enough to hear over the music, but since they were singing along to the same song, it just added to the party atmosphere.

"I loved that song," Alya said as the song drew to an end and the hosts went back to introducing the rest of the contest. "I don't really know if I like any of the ones this year quite as well."

"I think they just have to grow on you a bit," Nino said as he settled back onto the couch and rescued a cookie that had slid rather precariously while he was rocking out. "You've been listening to that one almost all year, of course you'll favor it."

"What position is France in?" Mrs. Césaire as the first performer started warbling out a slow ballad. "And are we likely to win?"

There were simultaneous snorts from all of the teens. "They're up second," Nino said. He didn't look happy about it. "And they've entered a ballad again. Somehow no one has figured out that those don't win."

"And historically, second place in the lineup has never produced a win," Max added.

"Eww, a ballad," Ella and Etta chorused, and then they wrinkled their noses. "What's a ballad?"

"Like this," Alya explained, gesturing to the TV screen. "Slow. Boring. They'll maybe get a couple points from the music judge people, but not really from voters."

"They're good for bathroom breaks," Adrien added, extracting himself from the couch. He glanced over at Mr. and Mrs. Césaire. "Uh-"

"Down the hall on the left. It's the door without a name and with plenty of stickers." Mrs. Césaire rose halfway out of her chair and pointed. "You'll see it. "

"Thank you." Adrien rounded the couch to head to the bathroom, grabbing the bag he had stashed away earlier before continuing on his way with a grin. Marinette's eyes followed him for a moment before snapping back to the TV. She didn't want to come off as a creeper, after all. It would be weird to watch Adrien as he headed to the bathroom.

The first ballad dragged on for several minutes more before coming to a merciful end. They all let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"I don't understand how some of these songs make it through," Nino said with a groan. "Like, they have to be selected by their country first, then make it through the semis before they get here. You would think that a better song would crop up at some point."

"I'm going to guess that established groups don't bother," Mr. Césaire pointed out as France's postcard played. "Is it against the rules to have a, y'know, really well known artist play for your country?"

The teens shrugged.

"It would make sense, so that people are voting for the music and not their favorite performers with a subpar song," Nino said. "But then where's the cut off for success?"

"I've never heard of most of the groups before, so maybe the cutoff is pretty obscure," Alix said. She ignored the start of France's song and kept talking. "And if they get famous because of Eurovision, that probably doesn't count. Because I've heard of people coming and back and performing for a couple years in a row."

"I like this ballad," Rose commented as the French entry swung into a sappy chorus. "It's sweet."

"It's slow," Alix and the twins complained in near-unison.

"Statistically speaking, slow songs are less likely to win the contest," Max said from where he had been silently observing the proceedings. "And songs sung in the country's native language rather than in English are also at a disadvantage in the voting."

"What's statistically most likely to win?" Alix asked, half-joking and half actually curious. "Glitter and fireworks?"

"Energetic, catchy songs quite often do well in the rankings," Max said, "Although the statistics may be thrown off by the sheer number of songs fitting that description that are in the contest. If there's enough of them, then of course they're going to make up a large proportion of the wins."

"Of course, of course," Alix said in a scarily accurate imitation of Kim's usual response to Max's statistics. "Anything else?"

"Songs that stir people's hearts," Max decided after a moment. "But they usually are a little too fast to be ballads, and they rely heavily on strong voices."

"This is boring," Etta complained as the singer warbled out another note. "Why is everyone so excited about this? This song sucks."

"Etta!" Mrs. Césaire scolded. "That's not very nice."

"But it does stink," Ella chimed in. She yawned. "I thought the songs were supposed to be fun! Where are the fireworks?"

"Soon," Alya promised as France's performance drew to a close. "I think the next one is supposed to be pretty flashy."

"Glitter!" the twins cheered. Their parents both hid smiles.

"Uh, where did Adrien go?" Nino asked as the next act was introduced. He frowned at the still-empty spot next to Marinette. "He didn't get a phone call from his father or something, did he?"

Marinette was about to reassure Nino that no, Adrien had just gone to the bathroom when she was cut off by a blast of music from the TV and two voices belting out the opening line of the song. Adrien slid into the room with a grin on his face as he sang along, sliding through the dance moves along with the performer on screen as he spun around the couch. He was outfitted in a sequined jacket and pants that was just as tacky as the performer's, and somehow he had gotten several colored clip-in hair extensions attached and in place. Etta and Ella's mouths dropped open and their eyes went wide. Mr. and Mrs. Césaire muffled laughs behind their hands.

"Oh my god, Adrien," Nino gasped through his laughter. "Dude."

"Work it, Agreste!" Alix whooped as Adrien strutted and spun. He was really working the model, with ridiculous hair flips and exaggerated dance moves. Marinette's eyes were huge and were glued on Adrien as he spun around and struck a pose. Adrien was grinning at the attention and he kept going for the entire song, much to the delight to all of his friends and the twins. He ended with a ridiculous pose, and the whole group burst into cheers. The twins clapped wildly.

"Dude, you are so ridiculously extra sometimes," Nino laughed as Adrien bowed and sat back down on the couch. "That was great."

"Thank you, thank you," Adrien said grandly as he bit into a strawberry. "...I practiced a lot."

"That was highly unexpected," Max said. He consulted his phone. "I would have predicted that there would been only a 5% chance of Adrien doing that, max."

"I was gonna suggest a dance-along later, but I don't think anything can stand up to that," Alix said with a snort. Her shoulders were still shaking with repressed laughter.

"I was gonna suggest a sing-along," Nino added, "but yeah, I don't think we could come anywhere close."

"It would still be fun!" Rose exclaimed. "We should still do it. I'm not as good of a singer as Adrien, but I still like singing." Juleka mumbled an agreement.

Marinette didn't say anything. She was still stuck on the image of her crush posing with his hand on his stuck-out hip, gazing over his shoulder with a positively dreamy expression on his face. Tacky outfit aside, he had been the picture of a teenage dream. He had practically been glowing as he danced, lit up with excitement as he sang and danced and goofed off like a proper teenager.

Adrien was still breathing a little harder than usual as the next country's postcard played. He had hoped that his friends would be amused, of course, but he had still been nervous that they might judge him for doing something so...undignified. Goofy. Not very in line with the image of Adrien Agreste, straight-laced son. But they were absolutely delighted.

(Adrien couldn't lie- Marinette's wide-eyed wtf expression when he first burst into the room was quite possibly one of the funniest faces she had ever made.)

It was just luck that Adrien's favorite routine of the night was third on the list, after two songs that he really hadn't minded missing. He had had adequate time to get prepared in the bathroom, shucking his normal jeans and shirt for the insanely sparkly pants and top he had found at the thrift store. He had taken a moment to review the lyrics (thank goodness he had taken English lessons for several years, because that was the language that the song was in and it would not have been an easy task to remember the words without knowing what they meant at all), done a few practice shimmies, and then prowled back out to the living room just in time for the start of the song, all while fighting back the nerves in his stomach. He hadn't been expecting the extra presence of Alya's parents.

Now he was wishing that he had pulled together another routine to do. It would have been really fun.

The next few songs went by without too much excitement. Etta and Ella, inspired by Adrien's dance, pranced around to one of the more energetic songs, big grins on their faces. They tried to imitate the dancers on screen for the first minute before giving up and just improvising their way through the song.

"Okay, our turn," Alix announced as the next song came on. "Max! Up, up."

Max looked alarmed. "I- what?"

Alix only grinned and bounced up, setting her mostly empty plate aside. She yanked Max out of his seat, trying to get him to dance. He didn't look entirely comfortable. Adrien wasn't certain if it was just the dancing, or if it was the fact that Alix and Max (and Etta and Ella) were the only ones dancing while the rest of them just watched. Nino seemed to come to the same conclusion as Adrien at the same time, and so he pulled Alya out into the middle of the room to join the dance. Adrien turned to Marinette and tugged at her arm, hoping she would be willing to dance with him. It took a second, but then she was following Adrien into the middle of the room. Adrien grinned and started dancing with his friend. She was a little awkward, but considering that he couldn't dance unless he had a routine that he had copied, so was he. Things got a little squished as Rose and Juleka joined the rest of the group, but it only made things more fun.

"This is awesome," Adrien said with a grin as the music picked up. "Are you having fun?"

Marinette nodded. There was a slight pink tinge to her cheeks, but that could easily be attributed to excitement or the light from the Christmas lights hanging above them. "Yeah! It's definitely more fun with friends."

Adrien nodded and grinned in agreement. If he were listening alone again, there would be no dancing, no singing, no treats. He would have to try to get Nathalie to block off the Eurovision semifinals and finals next year so he could get to do this again. It would be too much to hope that he could host his friends- his father wouldn't approve of the gathering, and the Gorilla would no doubt hover and inadvertently put a damper on all of the fun- but visiting his friends' places was plenty fun.

The song ended and they all cheered as they returned to their seats. Adrien caught sight of Alya shooting Marinette a double thumbs-up for some reason as they sat down, but he ignored it as probably nothing important. He scooted over so he was pressed up against the armrest, letting Marinette have a little more room. Even though all of them were pretty small, the couch wasn't made to hold three teens and still have elbow room to spare. Even though he and Marinette had gotten a lot more comfortable around each other as the school year went on, Adrien didn't want to press things by being in Marinette's personal space bubble too much.

"It's a good thing that we saw these performances in the semi-finals," Alix said with a snort as she bounced back up to go refill her plate. "Since we sort of haven't been watching them so much and all."

"Eh, dancing is more fun," Nino said, grinning as he joined her. "And really, don't we all already know what we're voting for?"

"I don't," Rose piped up. On the TV, the next postcard played. "I mean, I have a couple favorites, but I missed a few songs because I was in the bathroom suring the semifinals."

The rest of the performances went by in a flash. Nino warbled along to the first thirty seconds of the Ukrainian song before he cracked up too much to continue, Etta and Ella rocked out to the UK entry, and they all got up to dance along to the very last song.

"Well, now the fun part's over," Nino said mournfully, settling back onto the couch and laying his arm over the back. "Bugger."

"There's still the interval performance," Marinette pointed out. "That's...sometimes good."

"Real convincing argument there, Marinette," Nino snarked as the rest of the group giggled.

"There have been a couple really snooze-worthy performances," Marinette defended herself. "I mean, they're pretty good most of the time."

"There have been a couple years where they just have really slow songs," Adrien agreed. "Which I don't understand. Surely they know that the audience wants energy at this time of the night?"

"Maybe they don't want people to get too distracted from voting," Rose suggested.

"Maybe they should be more concerned about making sure that people don't fall asleep instead of voting," Alix suggested right back.

"Are we still talking about the interval act?" Alya asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought that referred to the stuff after voting closed and before country points came in."

They all puzzled over that for a moment.

"Either way, fun songs during both times is best," Alya decided. "...but I don't think we're gonna get it, at least not during the voting period. Look at that staging."

They looked. It didn't look promising.

"It's highly possible that the hosts didn't want to upstage this year's performers until after all of the votes are in," Max chimed in. He had his phone in hand, no doubt in the middle of trying to calculate the probability of each song winning. "An energetic song could induce dancing instead of voting, which would not be desirable."

Alix looked like she was about to comment on that when the song started. It was the previous year's singer again, back with a song that wasn't quite as dull as the staging would suggest.

"This isn't bad," Adrien commented as he voted for his favorite. The choice was a no-brainer, really- his favorite song of the evening was the one he had initially danced along to. A glance to the side told him that Marinette had a very similar taste in music. "I mean, it looks like people there are singing along."

"Makes sense; the singer is pretty popular over there," Alya said as she edged around her sisters to head for the snacks. "I think I recognize this song, but I couldn't sing along to it at all."

"The people next door clearly recognize it," Adrien said with a snicker. They could hear the neighbors belting out the lyrics. Some were better singers than others. "I mean, it sounds like they're probably getting most of the words right."

"Oops, I think someone just messed up," Nino sniggered as there was a pause in the song and someone kept singing for a moment longer. An outcry from the others stopped the soloist before he could sing for too long. "Wow, just how much d'you think they've had to drink?"

"They're just naturally like this," Alya's mother informed Nino with a long-suffering sigh. "We've met them before and believe me, they don't need any help at all to get this rowdy."

"They're fun!" Etta piped up with a grin. "I like them! I wanna be just like them when I grow up!"

Her parents both groaned.

The interval act was full of glitter, racing drum beats, and energy, just as it was meant to be. It was an amazing act, and one that felt rather like a finale. Because then the lights faded, the dancers and singers vanished behind the stage again, and it was time for the countries to call in their votes.

"Who wants to bet that our call is gonna be from in front of the Eiffel Tower again?" Nino asked with a yawn. "They've only done it, what? Every year?"

"They need to mix it up," Alix agreed as the first country called in. "Wouldn't it be funny if Ladybug and Chat Noir swung through the frame during France's call? That would make things more interesting."

Alya perked up. "D'you think there's gonna be a Eurovision akuma? That would be so cool!"

Both Adrien and Marinette hid their groans. Neither of them particularly wanted to leave the party to go fight a spangly singing akuma turning Paris into a tacky disco ball.

"Given past experience with game shows and their tendencies to produce akuma, I would calculate the probability of a Eurovision akuma at 87%," Max said, tapping away at the calculator on his phone. "Possibly 88%."

"But those akumas were all people on the show who lost," Adrien pointed out. "Not people watching the show on TV. There's less investment for people that are just watching, and all of the performers are several countries away. They aren't going to get akumatized."

He hoped not, at least. It certainly had never happened before.

Max looked alarmed and then went back to frantically tapping out numbers. "Of course, of course! That definitely influences the numbers. So with that in mind, I would calculate the probability of an akuma at 22%."

Marinette frowned. "It's not even lower? Why?"

"I decided to take into account the akumas that pop up when someone's favorite sports team loses since the situation is closest to what we have now," Max explained, pushing his glasses up his nose. "There's most likely always someone upset at the end of a game, but Hawkmoth has not always taken advantage of the opportunity."

"Probably because there's only so many iterations on a theme that he can do before he runs out of ideas," Nino pointed out. He turned to Alya. "Have you ever looked at that kind of thing on the Ladyblog? The frequency of similarly-themed akumas over time?"

Alya shook her head. "That would be interesting, though. Maybe I'll do that once the school year is over."

"I can help with the analysis," Max volunteered. "It would be interesting."

"Well, I certainly hope that there isn't an akuma tonight," Mrs. Césaire said firmly. "Ladybug and Chat Noir probably would appreciate a break from fighting akumas. If they're watching Eurovision, they probably don't want to get interrupted any more than any of you would."

"I think that an akuma would be more interesting than this," Etta said loudly as another country called in. The caller was taking their sweet time with announcing the points and since the younger girls didn't know any English (and the French announcer wasn't translating the small talk), they were understandably bored. "Is there gonna be more glitter?"

"Not for a while," Mr. Césaire said.

The twins blinked up at their father. "How long is a while?" Ella wanted to know. "Five minutes? Ten minutes?"

"An hour, about," Mr. Césaire answered, making both twins whine. "Maybe more. And then they'll play the winning song one more time and then it's all over until next year."

"And the song that wins might not be one of the ones you liked a lot," Mrs. Césaire added. "See, the one winning right now is the one you said was stupid."

The twins exchanged a glance and then turned identical pouts on their parents. "That's boring! We don't wanna watch that!"

"That's fine. It's nearly your bedtime anyway. Say good-night to Alya's friends." Mrs. Césaire got up and started ushering the girls out of the room. "And we do have this recording, so you two can listen to the winning song tomorrow if you want."

"Good night!" the twins chorused, and then they were off, racing each other down the hallway to their room. Mrs. Césaire followed them, with Mr. Césaire not far behind. They turned to wave to the group, and all of the teens waved back.

"Now back to the votes," Nino said with a sigh, leaning back on the couch. "...at least we still have loads of treats. I'm gonna need some serious sugar to get through this."

"It is a bit boring, isn't it?" Adrien couldn't remember much of the voting from other years, which probably meant that he just turned the program off after the intermission show and went to bed. His parents had probably made him go to bed before the voting finished, so there was no point in listening to any of it. Based on what he was seeing so far, he really hadn't missed out on much.

"Just a bit, yeah." Nino was already over by the table of snacks, piling treats on his plate. Apparently he was quite serious about eating a lot of sugar to get through the voting. Adrien briefly considered what his father would say if he ate the same amount that Nino clearly was planning to, and then he decided that he didn't care. If he was going to be at a Eurovision party, he wanted the full experience. If that meant nearly making himself sick on sugar, then so be it.

...okay, maybe he wouldn't go that far. Getting sick was no fun and it was hard to hide from Nathalie. But he would eat far more sugar than his father would approve of, and he would enjoy every bite.

Just like he would enjoy every last minute of this party.

Chat Noir adjusted the bag on his back before peering out from behind the chimney. He could see Ladybug up on the Eiffel Tower, no doubt waiting for him to show up, but he still had a few minutes yet before he could really be considered late. He ducked back behind the chimney, dropping the bag to the roof and crouching to dig through it to pull out the glittery outfit he had packed.

Eurovision might be over, but Chat Noir wanted to repeat his song and dance routine for his Lady. He was paw-sitive that her expression would be just as funny as the one on Marinette's face when he first burst out singing at the party. He had been nervous about the idea when he first came up with it, because he had already done the routine for his friends and what if someone saw Chat Noir doing it too and posted it on the Internet, but then his favorite song had won the contest and everybody was singing it. Adrien had even heard Kim humming the tune under his breath the previous day at school. It wouldn't be at all out of place at all for one of Paris' superheroes to be mimicking the winning entry, so he had bought another ridiculous jacket and downloaded the song onto his baton.

As he poked his head out again, this time with the spangly jacket in place, Chat Noir spotted Alya on the ground below the Eiffel Tower, no doubt waiting for a bit of footage of him and Ladybug on patrol or perhaps hoping for a spontaneous interview. He thanked his past self for having the foresight to get a different outfit than the one he had worn as Adrien to his friends' Eurovision party. He definitely didn't want to be outed as Chat Noir because of a Eurovision outfit, of all things. Plagg would never let him live it down.

With one last check to make sure nothing would snag, Chat Noir vaulted onto the Eiffel Tower and landed smoothly behind Ladybug. Before she really had time to react, he punched play and the music blared out into the night.

He sang. He danced. He shimmied around his partner, who looked torn between laughter and bemusement. He had to modify a few steps, of course- the tower's beams weren't exactly the most optimal setting for a dance performance- but Chat Noir was fairly certain that he had kept the spirit of the performance intact. Judging by Ladybug's laughter, she agreed.

"You're a dork," Ladybug told him, even as Alya whooped and cheered from down below. She was wrestling with her smile, but it was winning. "A grade-A dork."

Chat Noir grinned at her. "But am I at least a Eurovision-worthy dork?"

"Well, I don't know if your caterwauling is quite TV-worthy," Ladybug said, grinning at the way Chat Noir pouted at her in mock offense."But I mean...I suppose the dance maybe wasn't completely terrible."

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #this is insanely late but...better late than never?

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devontroxell · 4 years

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How to Sell on Etsy: Your All-in-One Guide to Getting Started

If you are the proud owner of a new cloth mask, maybe you bought that mask from a seller on Etsy. And you’re in good company; I bought mine on Etsy, too! And maybe when you were scrolling through an endless supply of masks—tie-dye, sports-themed, silly mouths, and inspirational slogans—you stumbled upon some other cool merch. I’m a sucker for the vintage jewelry and needlepoint from Etsy sellers.

Etsy shops have exploded during the pandemic, not just with mask sellers, but with new boutiques started by people who got into “quarantine hobbies” or small businesses pivoting to ecommerce. If you’re looking to make some cash money from your side hustle, we’re going to break down exactly how to sell on Etsy, including:

Why you should sell on Etsy

How to set up your Etsy shop

How to sell A LOT of your product on Etsy

Let’s get started.

Is selling on Etsy worth it?

The short answer is yes.

But let me explain. One of the best things about Etsy is that they help sell your merchandise. Yes, that means they advertise your items for you! So if you’re just getting started on your ecommerce adventure, Etsy is a great place to get your feet wet and crowd-test your products.

Etsy’s top sellers make $10,000 per year from their shops, and the platform boasts 31.7 million active buyers. This means that your products could be discovered by millions of people who would never hear of your business otherwise. The exposure and free advertising is a great place to kick off your custom-made craft business.

Particularly because the world of ecommerce can be fraught with scams, Etsy is a safe place to start. The platform truly teaches you best practices on how to sell your products, with plenty of hand-holding, community forums, seller handbooks, and a dedicated team to help sort out any issues you may run into.

How to set up your etsy shop

If you’ve bought items on Etsy before, you probably already have an account. If not, go ahead and set up a shiny new Etsy login. Once that’s all set, you’ll be able to start setting up your very own Etsy shop!

Set your shop preferences

The process is fairly simple. Etsy walks you through the step-by-step process below, starting with the basics: your shop language, country, currency, and a little bit about yourself as a seller.

Name your Etsy shop

Truly, the toughest part is the next step: naming your shop. The pressure. is. on. I recommend naming your shop something broadly descriptive. For example, if you’re interested in selling fresh pizza dough and you want to name your name PizzaDoughOnly2000, think about how you might diversify or expand in the future. What if you want to sell bread one day? Or pizza toppings?

You can also go abstract, like “Rising Yeast 2020,” or add your name into the mix, e.g., Mary Lister Baking. Before you commit, google your Etsy shop name to make sure you’re not replicating an existing shop (on or off Etsy), or accidentally choosing a problematic name.

Finally, remember that capitalization and spelling matters! Proofread before you publish!

Stock your shop

Next, it’s time to stock up. This is the most laborious part of setting up your Etsy shop—but it’s easier than setting up an ecommerce website since Etsy lets you plug-and-play. They suggest adding ten or more items when you get started since shoppers love to have options.

First, add your imagery. Etsy walks you through the best ways to take product photos—and, in exciting news, you can now add videos to bring your product to life! One video seems way easier than 15 pictures from different angles, and it’ll help give your shoppers a better understanding of the craftsmanship.

Next, you’ll be prompted to fill in details about your items. The options displayed below are mandatory fields and self-explanatory.

The next options involve creating sections in your shop. For instance, if you sell leather goods and want to break it down into wallets, purses, keychains, etc., as well as selecting tags to make it easier to search and find your goods, and the materials you used to create them.

Select pricing and shipping

If you’re already selling your wares elsewhere—maybe a swap meet or farmer’s market—pricing your products should be pretty easy. I would adjust pricing to include Etsy’s fees, which are $0.20 per listing and 5% of the item price when it is sold. You’ll have the option to assign SKUs to your products, display any variations (e.g., color, material, size), and allow a shopper to input personalization information.

After you set the price for your listing, you can set up shipping costs. While it may seem simple when you’re the shopper, stores meticulously choose what type of shipping costs they want to cover, build into the cost of the item or bill directly to you.

Etsy gives you the option of manually selecting the cost of shipping or having their algorithm calculate it for you. You’ll input the zip code you’ll be shipping from, how long it’ll take you to ship, if you want to ship internationally or just domestically (and which countries you can ship to), the types of shipping services, and allow you to add a handling fee. Finally, you’ll need to input the weight and measurements of your products to accurately estimate the total shipping costs.

How to get paid

You can enroll in Etsy Payments, which gives buyers a variety of ways to pay for your products, like Apple Pay, Paypal, major credit cards, Google Pay, and Etsy credit and gift cards. It means all the money you collect from sales can be directly deposited in your account, in your own currency, on a regular basis. Etsy requires all eligible sellers to enroll in Etsy Payments to provide a more consistent shopping experience for their users, but … it’s unclear how you wouldn’t qualify for Etsy Payments. Otherwise, you can select your own preferences for which payments you’ll accept from buyers.

Set up billing

Final step! You need to attach a line of credit (credit card) to your brand new shop in order to pay Etsy’s seller fees. Make sure you understand all of Etsy’s fees before you dive in. It can get complicated, and while it probably isn’t expensive off the bat, the fees can add up. Check out more detail on those fees here.

How to sell A LOT on Etsy

There you have it—getting started selling on Etsy is straightforward. But it can be difficult to stand out from the crowd on Etsy. That’s why we rounded up some quick tips to make you’re not just selling on Etsy but selling a lot on this platform.

Do some competitive research

Before you start selling, check out your favorite Etsy stores to see what stands out to you! Why did you pick those sellers—was it the description of their offerings? The materials they use? The efficiency in shipping and handling? Identify the best traits in each shop so you can replicate them in yours for an optimal buying experience for your own ecommerce brand on Etsy.

Image source

Follow the guidelines

Follow the guidelines for what to sell—more specifically, what you’re allowed and not allowed to sell. Etsy is different from ecommerce platforms like, say, Amazon or eBay. Etsy requires their sellers to offer unique items. That means you need to be selling vintage, handmade, or craft supplies to open an Etsy shop. Etsy has an article about items that are prohibited from sale on their site, which you can view here.

Tell your brand story in your Etsy profile

Take the time to tell your brand story in your shop description. Like cooking blogs, with cool backstories about where they found the recipe and how they adjusted to make it their own, it’ll draw shoppers in. Kingsley Leather explains his leather working journey in his shop description; how he began working with leather as a hobby and eventually made it his full-time job.

He also dives into why he values quality leather products, namely, that he was sick of cheaply made goods and hated wearing through wallets quickly. This particular tidbit is great marketing; sure, his products may be expensive, but they’re worth it.

Connect your social media accounts

Connect your social media accounts and website for your business. This gives shoppers more options if they want to see your designs IRL (online), you can show off new projects you’re working on, and promote your buyers through your social channels. Think of it as a great way to get more followers on social, more buyers on Etsy, and, even better, it can help you sell more goods that may not meet Etsy’s guidelines.

BrynnandCo connected her Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest, so you can take a peek into her work studio and see more of how she displays her finished products--needlepoints!

Keep your availability and estimates up to date

If you’re on vacation or experiencing difficulties with productivity, make an announcement so your shoppers know what to expect. This will prevent disappointments if they can’t get their item on time or can give buyers a heads up if you’re about to drop a new line of cool new shirts. Even better, provide them with a discount code for their patience, as The Fro Experts did.

The first step to selling on Etsy: Go and get started!

And there you have it—everything you need to know about how to sell on Etsy, a platform that offers everything. If you want anything handmade and personalized, unique and crafted, it’s on Etsy. And I’m all for it. I’ve even taken a dive into taxidermy Etsy (yes, it’s really real), vintage board game Etsy, and miniature doll Etsy for photoshoots, which *did not* disappoint. If you have a unique product created with your own two hands, Etsy is the place to sell. Good luck out there!

How to Sell on Etsy: Your All-in-One Guide to Getting Started published first on https://wabusinessapi.tumblr.com/

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