#and it combines with my not liking the conversations that pop up on my dash every now and again about witnessing

[aparticularbandit]

Responding to this post as a separate post because I want to respond to something that I think is beyond the scope/intention of the original post (and honestly the scope/intention of the response in the linked post) but that, like.

I want to respond to it because it's been churning in my head.

Specifically the idea of the Protestant Work Ethic and trying to earn your way into heaven.

Because that's the very antithesis of what the Gospel is.

Over and over, it is made very clear that you cannot earn your way into heaven. (Titus 3:5 and Ephesians 2:8-9 are the ones that come immediately to mind, but there are more than that. (I also like - Romans 4 and the entire discussion about it being faith and not works and especially Romans 4:4-8.)) Literally one of the entire points is that you are stuck in your sin and you cannot get out and no matter what you do, you cannot earn your way in, but God loves you and chose you and wants you, so He paid your debt Himself (Jesus) and is giving you His righteousness - His perfection - because He was the only one who could earn His way in.

God is for you, not against you.

Are there things you should be doing? Yes. (Ephesians 2:10 talks about that, too.) But, like. It's not to earn your way in. It's out of love and gratefulness to the One who got you out of your horrible predicament? And then on top of that, made you a co-heir with Him?

Because it's...He paid for you to get in and then also you got adopted as a child of God? And someone described it once as good works after that being like when a child makes a drawing for their dad and their dad hangs it on the fridge? It's not to earn anything; it's because you love Him, too?

So, like - I want to know where the Protestant Work Ethic went wrong. Why so many people think it's about earning their way when it isn't that at all.

It's a gift. It was always a gift.

[babachira]

an assassin and his healer

nagumo yoichi x doctor!reader

── ⟢

+ having graduated with an assassination-medical major, a very small sub-department in the JCC where only the skilled in human science are found, you're technically a licensed doctor for any regular citizen who wants a simple check-up. you have a job in the clinic near sakamoto's store during the day, but during your assassination hours, you deal with injuries ranging from critical to a scratch. you took four years of apprenticeship under granny miya, so you tend to follow her ideology of 'the patient can be healed as long as they're not dead'.

+ your graduation was a special case. the JCC considered scrapping your department due to the lack of applications, but you excelled in combining the assets of poisons and weapons, making equipment like a portable bandaid or even discovering the smallest of pressure points that could enhance someone's strength, which floored their views. after witnessing a presentation of your projects, they decided to keep it up and running just to see what you were capable of, and thank god they did, otherwise, you would've had nowhere to go.

+ you met the famous trio during their prime when you were all 16, and you were fully aware of the fact that if they had no interest in someone, it would be drastically clear. you thought this was the case for you too since no one really appreciated your work because it wasn't 'strong' like the assassination majors, but when you received a personal congrats from them, it took you by surprse.

+ hell, when you saw them enter your lab without a word, you quirked your brows, pausing from pulling the trigger of your flamethrower. upon request from your weapons department friends, you were in the middle of melting a large batch of energy-fuelling pills. you slowly put the flamethrower down on your desk. "if i knew i was having such esteemed guests, i would've cleaned the place up a bit. to what do i owe the pleasure?"

+ but before they could answer, the three of them were hovering over your pile of books, empty beakers and box of surgical equipment. rion plucked a grey glass bottle from your top shelf, which you reserved for your most expensive creations, before popping the lid off.

+ she sniffed the top of it and gave a "hm!" of approval before taking a swig. "wow, this is actually pretty good," rion said, smacking her lips together and offering some to sakamoto, who only took the bottle from her hands, "what's this one for? my stomach feels like it's doing backflips."

+ you folded your arms. "that's because it's for serious internal bleeding. you're only really meant to take it when, you know, you're only puking an alarming amount of blood." rion nodded in acknowledgement and dangled the empty bottle with a grin. "ah, gotcha. no internal bleeding for me now!"

+ "mmm, i prefer this flavour." your eyes flit over to nagumo yoichi, the insufferable student that had all the girls swooning in seconds, swiping four potions from your shelf and stuffing them in his pocket. "i'll come back again to try more!"

+ "wait, you just came here to take my stuff?" you asked, stopping the three in their tracks. sure, it's . . . fine that they stole your things without permission, but your lab was usually off-limits for those who didn't belong in your department. well, now that you think about it, when did these three ever follow rules?

+ rion waved her hand. "we'd love to talk, babes, but we gotta dash. will use these potions well, though!"

+ and nagumo added with a more enthusiastic wave, "keep a separate shelf just for me!"

+ and they left, leaving you to finish your work of delivering pills to the weapons department. they were a funny bunch, you always thought as you sometimes passed by them in the hallway. rion would always strike a conversation whenever you bumped into each other. she was always so sweet to you. sakamoto occasionally asked how your projects were going since it was a season of missions being carried out more often than ever, so you were ever-so-busy with surgeries. nagumo had the biggest grin on his face as he bombarded you with requests like a strawberry and lemon flavoured potion for his fatigue. they were strange but fun all the same.

+ since then, they made a common appearance, sometimes it was just rion who wanted to have a chat. you got along well, getting to know her likes and dislikes, laughing along when she verbally tore sakamoto and nagumo apart like they were shreds of paper. other times, it was nagumo alone and when it was just him, it was like a spitfire of insults after insults.

+ when nagumo is fiddling with one of your brain-relaxing equipments that you made just a week ago, he realises that you're a lot quieter when it's just him, when rion and sakamoto aren't present. "hm? why is it when akao and sakamoto are here, you have so much to say, but you're silent when it's me?" and honestly, it felt like a big slap to the face because wow, it was true.

+ ". . . shut up," you said, earning a chuckle from him. "the whole building will be able to hear you yapping."

+ today, a few years after their first intrusion in your lab, nagumo is taller and different at the age of 19. he wasn't more mature per se, but he definitely carried a more confident wittier aura that you didn't recognise from before. you, at 19 were renowned for your fantastic creations. one of your best moments was when you received a commission from an order member albeit a small one. your efforts were so well-recognised that applications for your department were growing much to your pleasure. rion congratulated you a lot, sakamoto actually used your creations and nagumo had never broken his streak of making sure to visit you almost everyday.

+ and you don't know when you started to feel this way, but whenever nagumo entered the room, time seemed to go painfully slower as though he was staying in your lab for longer than you thought. your equations for perfecting brain damage potions seemed harder than normal and you just couldn't seem to find that one blueprint that was always in its same place. even nagumo went, "it's this one, no? it was right under your hands" much to your embarrassment. your brain was scattered whenever he was near you and you really hated it.

+ and what was worse is that he noticed all this and was enjoying it.

+ "is my (name) . . . a little distracted?"

+ yes, yes. infuriatingly so, you think as you watch nagumo bounce over to where you stand in the far corner of your lab. he has that mischevious grin, the one that you want to melt off his annoyingly-handsome face. did it never occur to him that you couldn't work at your best whenever his talkative ass was in the room? is he really that stupid that you have to say, "nagumo, i need to do my work," then deal with those big eyes of his begging to stay? if he was a little less insufferable, maybe you would've─

+ you freeze. wait, he said 'my?'

+ and nagumo, his face creased with laughter, sees the cogs whir in your brain as you finally realise that he really just indirectly labelled you as his.

+ "don't tell me you've been ignoring me for that long."

+ and much to your dismay, it hits you that yeah, he's always been there. "wow! my (name) seems to like today's lunch! i don't see you here that often!" he once commented when you sat with him at the cafeteria. "the food's not always so great, but today seems ok."

+ or the other time when you had a first-year student schedule an appointment with you because he wanted advice for his weapons. nagumo saw him waiting outside your lab. "hmm, my (name) is a bit busy today! why don't you come back later?" he said while he was opening the door to waltz in, "ah! my (name) i've come to bother you!" he sang before slamming the door. you didn't manage to see the poor kid because nagumo took up your entire evening.

+ and you really did find yourself making a separate cabinet just for nagumo. even to this day, at the ripe age of 27, you made soothing creams for burns, motion sickness pills and gums for him to chew on for whenever osaragi would drive. his placement as an order member made him busier but never enough to keep him away from you. whenever you're at the clinic for your day-job, nagumo made frequent appearances. he'd lean on the front desk and request for his usual "lovely, lovely and beautifully perfected doctor," even when you're literally standing there, typing away at the computer. "yoichi, you're really doing this on my shift." it would never stop him. "i am your shift!"

+ he's surprisingly romantic for someone with little dating history. he's had a few girlfriends in the past but because of his occupation, they obviously don't last long. with you though? though not a fully-fledged assassin yourself, you're part of that world, his world, so you understand the burden and pressure that comes with it. just like nagumo is tasked with completing his missions with no mistakes, you're equally expected to never fail a surgery, always finish on time and come up with new ideas. it's a cycle where you both have each other backs.

+ like, as much as he jokes, he's very proud of your achievements. as an order member himself, he'd probably commission you a lot and if anyone needs surgical assistance or high-tech weapons, he'd be quick to mention your name. of course, he hesitates just a little because he doesn't want to share, but for the better of your work, he puts your name out there.

+ he doesn't get heavily injured because he's scarily skilled. his 'gold assassin's license' that he boasts about keeps him protected, but just to rile you up, he'd limp in through your clinic or house, crying for the kiss of the doctor that he's come to adore. if you're at the clinic, you need to appear more professional because you have people you see everyday watching you care for this grown ass man wailing his guts out. if you're at home, you're much more relaxed and honestly, so's nagumo as he leans into your delicate touch.

+ generally, he's so proud and whipped about the fact that you're a doctor and are so capable of doing what you do. he has extensive knowledge on poisons, so he tries to add his recommendations from time to time and he's grateful whenever you take it. on the rare case that you don't, he acts hurt, "oh . . . my (name) doesn't like my idea," and he'd jokingly mope until you kiss his ego better. anything can solve this man's problems if you silence him with a kiss.

+ sakamoto's like ". . . please tell me you did not get with nagumo," and nagumo finds this hilarious. he's like, "i have an idea! let's go on double dates with you, me, aoi and (name)!" to which sakamoto rejects. he doesn't mind the idea of you being friends with his wife, of course, but he doesn't want to take nagumo anywhere.

+ sometimes, he'd disguise himself as you and nonchalantly act as if he's doing chores in your house until you come back home. so when he sees you, he points and goes, "an imposter!" and at this point, you play along, "there's my doppelganger. can you give me back my boyfriend, please." and as soon as you say that, he transforms back and grabs you.

+ life with this mf is a wild ride, but honestly, you signed up for it, so good luck. once his eyes are set on someone, he goes all in and is not about to give it up. especially when he knows how serious you are about him and he is for you. a match made in heaven!

[hoshigray]

random thought, but like Gojo getting a little handsy while the two of you are out together with your friends.

a/n: yeahhhhh I have no excuse, this literally just popped up in my head two days ago, just read lol

cw: Gojo x fem! reader - nothing too sexual, but very suggestive, so minors stay away!! - fingering (f! receiving) - sexual acts in a public area; in a café - other people present but they don't know what's going on - pet names (angel, baby, princess) - Gojo putting you through hell but you get your getback :3 - you may [or may not] feel second-hand embarrassment, we shall see.

wc: 1k

"...Then I turned to him and said, 'I know you don't think I'm going to have sex with you after you've done thrown up on my dress.'"

"Nooo, after the dress was how much—"

"Right!! So I nicely shoved him off me and called an Uber to..."

It was a pleasant sunny hour to spend with your friends at a local café not too far away, mingling and catching up with them from the last meetup. It was always a splendid time having moments like this with them.

But what made this time a lot more striking was you bringing your boyfriend over! After many weeks of your friends wanting to meet the guy — not to mention him bugging you about also wanting to see your close buds — you promised to have him tag along for the next in-person meetup. And, low and behold, your partner, Satoru Gojo, wasted no time having your mates attracted to his sociable charisma.

Not that you'd think he'd be out of place — if anything, you knew he'd be able to swoon into their sweet graces. With his dashing smile, alluring sky-blue eyes, and engaging conversations, it was only a matter of seconds before the white-haired man could take your spot and engage with your pals. Shit, it's practically happening right now as you sip on your iced tea while he's listening to one of them reminiscing about a terrible night they had last night.

Nevertheless, you're not complaining. A boyfriend who gets along with your friends is better than not, right? That's why you watch and listen to your friend's story with a smile, happy to know that combining two parts of your world results in new companionships.

That is, until, you feel someone's hand land on your thigh. At first, you paid no mind to the action since it's nothing you're not familiar with when it comes to Gojo. But then that exact hand ventures further down and slowly sneaks past your skirt. Your brows furrow with your inner thoughts. I know this man is not trying to start something right now...And when you feel his slender fingers brush your inner thigh, you get your answer.

Your lips release the straw to your iced beverage, and you slowly lean toward your boyfriend. "Gojo," your tone hushed only for him to hear as your companions seemed preoccupied with a talk of their own.

"Hmm?" The tall other leans a bit for his ears to properly hear your whispers, his face still facing front to your friends.

"Can I ask why your hand is up my skirt in public?" You knew by the playful snicker rumbling his chest that his answer would be far from appropriate for the situation.

"Whaaat~, can't touch the love of my life?" He whispers back to you.

"Can't if we're out in the open at a fricken' café," you hiss with a glare from your peripheral. "Especially with others within—Hmmm." Before you could finish that remark, two fingers brushed on your panties, rubbing gently between your clothed folds. He snickers — both at your stifled response and as a faux reaction to a part of your friend's storytelling.

"Sorry, but I can't help myself when I wanna touch my princess." You notice him peeking at you from behind his dark shades. His fingers form a curling motion, causing your body to slightly jerk and prompt your legs to a further spread. He brings his chin down to your ears, his chuckles easier to interpret their mischievous connotation. "Plus, when did I last see you wear that skirt? Had my eyes on it since you looked at the mirror before we left."

God, I hate his ass so fucking much. "Who said I was wearing it for you?" You retort, wanting nothing but to wipe that dumb smirk off his handsome face. "I wore it because of—Ohhh!!" To your surprise, he swiftly puts his digits inside your panties; the sudden warm contact on the folds of your chasm prompts a sneaky cry.

...A cry so sudden that, of course, your friends stop talking to look in your direction with perplexed expressions. Of course, they would look. Oh, for fuck's sake...

"Uhhh, you okay, Y/n?" One friend blinks while surveying your body language. The other chimes in. "Yeah, you don't look so good; ice tea went the wrong way?"

Quick with your feet, you cough up your answer. "Ahem—Y-Yeah, I'm fine, guys. I was just thinking, ya know," your hand snakes down to Gojo's to pinch the skin, the tall other jolting his hand away from you. And you know he looks to you with pain, yet serves him right. "Since you two are getting along with Gojo, why don't we take him to the mall and show him our favorite spots? He has a good eye on clothes, plus I'm sure he'd like to try the crepe stand in the food court."

The look on your buddies' faces expressed nothing but delight at the idea you pulled out your ass. "That's a great plan, I'm down!" One says while the other nods frantically. "You up for that, Gojo?"

Rubbing his pinched skin, Gojo sends the two a smile. "Sure! I'd love to spend more time with my baby and their friends." He then leans to kiss you, but with a kick to the shin, you turned his face from a lovestruck fool to that of a hurt puppy. Your friends watch as the snow-haired man quivers and puts his forehead on your shoulder for support.

"Hmm? What happened?"

"Don't mind him; he was rocking his chair and probably hit himself with one of the legs." You speak for him as you watch your boyfriend tremble in pain with a smirk on your lips, the two others giggling at your seemingly clumsy man. It's your turn now to whisper to his ear. "That's for that little stunt of yours."

Gojo's laughter seethes through gritted teeth. "Are you really my angel? You're such a meanie...Don't think I won't do it again, princess."

[onlymorelove]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Thank you so much for sending me this ask, Stella! <3<3<3 Did you do a self-rec thing of your own? Pls link me if you did; I'd love to read it. I can't pick favorites of anything, so I'll just mention five fics I wrote that I like.

Unwell (Fandom: Bones (tv show))

Yup, the mighty Temperance Brennan was sick. Takes place after Season 3, Episode 4.

I love banter-y ships. I wrote this fic 15 (!!!) years ago, but I remember getting a kick out of mixing banter and silliness with deeper conversations. Booth even reads Brennan a short section from a romance novel. :D It's been a while since I wrote Unwell, but I think I wanted to follow some loose threads in Bones and explore the emotional ramifications; fic is such a great place to do that. He's a candle (burning in my room) (Fandom: MCU)

It's just sex, isn't it? (Some talking + a lot of feelings + a smidgen of smut = this fic.)

This is a Steve/Tony fic, and it means a lot to me; I think it always will. There's a splash of body image issues, a dash of pining while fucking, and a ton of emotional vulnerability that's tied up in the sex, the build-up, and the afterglow.

My only sibling killed himself in February 2018; my dad died less than five months later; I started writing this story around three months after my dad's death. Life was a huge struggle, and so was writing, but I tried really hard to get down words, and I pushed myself with the imagery and the feelings. some words build houses in your throat (Fandom: MCU)

The night before they travel back in time, Tony says what he needs to say.

Someone anonymously sent me a "stevetony + confession" prompt in response to a three-sentence fic meme here on tumblr. This fic was my attempt to fill their prompt. It's a sort of missing scenes fic for Endgame. I was hungry for a little bit of team feels. I wanted Steve and Tony to both use their words AND try to behave like adults. Adulthood is complicated. We don't always get everything we want. Not all of our dreams and wishes come true. I wanted to play with honesty/revelation but also with restraint. And I really, really wanted Steve and Tony to quote parts of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass to each other. So I wrote it. ;) I Barely Knew I Had Skin Before I Met You (Fandom: Timeless (tv show)

Sometimes love is found in unexpected combinations. Lucy wakes in the middle of the night to find one less man than there should be in her bed. [Set sometime in the future. Lucy, Garcia, and Wyatt are in a polyfidelitous relationship. Translation: the three of them are romantically involved and are faithful to each other. They also live together.]

As mentioned above, I have a weakness for banter. I wanted to write a story with a poly ship—Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan. I wanted banter, flirting, and domestic fluff, and I wanted discussions of grief and loss because I thought they made sense in the context of the show's canon. A few small scenes popped into my head, and I wrote toward and around them.

my life is for you (and no one other than you) (Fandom: Teen Wolf (tv show)

It’s a journey they began years before, but one they have to take again and again. Together. (Post-coital, slice-of-life fic. AKA sass and fluff.)

Courtesy of my Thiam phase in 2017, here we have Liam Dunbar and Theo Raeken as adults, being established-relationship ridiculous and sweet. Thanks again for the ask! *hugs*

[gumpistol]

💡Do you get ideas from reading meta/headcanons/bios, or do those only pop up as you write?

✨ Are you easily intimidated by muns or muses that you admire?

💡Do you get ideas from reading meta/headcanons/bios, or do those only pop up as you write?

   I honestly think it's a combination of both, especially when it comes to writing Luffy! For example, if i see that someone has a straw hat verse, i immediately start getting ideas and want to be part of that if i can. and i'm sure ideas pop up when i read metas too, i just can't think of any specific instances right now. i do think the majority of ideas ( especially with Luffy ) come from the most random shit in my brain though, and then somehow eventually manifest into something different? at least for new interactions, otherwise ideas come as i discuss headcanons ooc with other muns, which in a way is like reading them, just not reading them on the dash. i guess in some chaotic way, my ideas come from everywhere, from every direction, and i genuinely don't know how to to sort through them all??

    like just the other day, i was riding home from work, and i have no idea how i got to this thought, but i got to thinking about Luffy and entomophagy ( eating insects ) and i had to scribble that down as soon as i walked in the door. now that i think about it though, i think it's because i had been discussing food/eating habits with wilder the day before, which originally stemmed from their meta on Doffy's food habits. so yeah, all the ideas, all the time, inspired from so many different sources!

✨ Are you easily intimidated by muns or muses that you admire?

   i think at this point i am very rarely intimidated. once upon a time i was, but coming into this fandom originally by myself AND writing one of the most friendly and outgoing characters, i didn't really see room to let intimidation keep me from interacting? i was definitely nervous at first with writing a new character, and a main, beloved, and complex character at that. but people were very chill as i gradually figured out my voice for Luffy, and now those nerves are pretty much gone, because after 7 months of having this blog, i have confidence in the way i write him! :D

   i think of maybe two or three instances where "intimidation" was a factor, but i look back on it now, and i think it was more of an uncertainty on how to communicate with certain people, like being unable to get a read if that makes sense? so i guess i'm more so intimidated when i don't know how to start the conversation. that's why originally i had an interest tracker on this blog to kind of get an idea of what people would be interested in talking about or plotting, because i am autistic and that direct "this is what i want" really helps me when reaching out. i'm thinking about revamping that and maybe linking it again since i've definitely gotten several new folks here since removing it. 

      🇲​​🇺​​🇳​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇲​​🇲​​🇺​​🇳​​🇮​​🇨​​🇦​​��​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳​ ​🇵​​🇷​​🇪​​🇫​​🇪​​🇷​​🇪​​🇳​​🇨​​🇪​ / @enruiinas

[customteamnames]

10 Hilarious Green Car Names That Will Make You Smile and Spark Conversations

https://customteamnames.com/?p=999 10 Hilarious Green Car Names That Will Make You Smile and Spark Conversations If you think a car’s color is just a shade, think again. A green car isn’t just a vehicle; it’s a statement, a personality, and sometimes even a punchline. Funny green car names can turn heads and spark conversations, making your ride unforgettable. Whether you’re driving a vibrant lime or a deep forest green, the right name adds a dash of humor to your daily commute. Imagine rolling up to a gathering in a car called “The Green Goblin” or “Kermit’s Cruiser.” These names not only make you smile but also showcase your playful spirit. In a industry where cars often blend into the background, why not give yours a unique identity that stands out? Jump into the industry of witty green car names and discover how a little humor can transform your driving experience into something truly special. Table of Contents Toggle Understanding The Appeal Of Funny Green Car NamesTop 10 Funny Green Car Names1. Green Goblin2. Kermit The Car3. The Incredible Hulk4. Shrek’s Ride5. Green Machine6. Yoda Mobile7. The Grinch-mobile8. Olive Oyl9. The Green Mile10. Mint ConditionCreative Ways To Name Your Green Car1. Incorporating Pop Culture References2. Using Food-Related Terms3. Playing With Nature ThemesFamous Green Cars In Movies And TV Shows1. The VW Beetle From “Herbie”2. The Mini Cooper From “The Italian Job”3. The Ecto-1 From “Ghostbusters”How To Choose A Funny Name For Your Own Car1. Consider Your Personality2. Reflect On Your Car’s Characteristics3. Brainstorm With FriendsConclusionFrequently Asked QuestionsWhy should I name my green car?What are some popular funny names for green cars?How can I come up with a name for my green car?How does a car’s color reflect personality?Can naming a car impact my driving experience?What themes are popular for naming green cars?What makes green car names memorable?Are there famous green cars in pop culture?How do I choose a name that suits my green car?Is naming a car a common practice? Understanding The Appeal Of Funny Green Car Names Understanding The Appeal Of Funny Green Car Names Embracing humor in car names can level up your driving experience. A funny name adds personality, making your vehicle feel like a friend instead of just a machine. You’ll notice that quirky names like “Green Lantern” or “The Hulk” often spark joy and conversations among friends and family. Adding whimsy to your car’s identity not only reflects your character but can also create a unique bond. Picture pulling up to a stoplight and someone smiling at the sight of “Elvis Presley’s Green Machine.” Such names break the ice and may even lead to new friendships. The use of color plays a critical role too, especially green, symbolizing nature and freshness. When you combine this with humor, you cultivate an inviting atmosphere around your vehicle. Think of green cars as the life of the party; they’re vibrant and captivating, making them memorable in any crowd. Choosing a funny name can also showcase your creativity. It reveals your playful side and demonstrates a willingness to stand out from the crowd. People tend to remember unique names, which can make you the talk of the town. Finally, funny names for green cars connect to broader cultural references. By tapping into pop culture, you can create something relatable that brings a smile to anyone who hears it. Whether it’s referencing a beloved character or a famous line, these names tie you to shared experiences, improving your car’s story. Top 10 Funny Green Car Names Here’s a list of hilarious and creative names for your green car that’ll surely make you smile. 1. Green Goblin This name brings to mind a playful character from the Marvel universe. A green car called the Green Goblin adds a mischievous flair to your ride, perfect if you’ve got a fun-loving personality. 2. Kermit The Car Embrace the nostalgia with Kermit The Car. Inspired by the beloved Muppet frog, this name captures cheerfulness and whimsy, making it a delightful choice for your green vehicle. 3. The Incredible Hulk Channel your inner superhero with The Incredible Hulk. This name celebrates strength and power, ideal for a robust green car that leaves a lasting impression on the road. 4. Shrek’s Ride Shrek’s Ride pays homage to the iconic ogre from the much-loved animated film. Choosing this name showcases your adventurous spirit and connection to heartwarming stories. 5. Green Machine Keep it simple with Green Machine. This straightforward name highlights your car’s eco-friendly nature and vibrant color, perfectly suiting an environmentally-conscious driver. 6. Yoda Mobile Yoda Mobile combines wisdom and humor. Inspired by the unforgettable Jedi Master, this name adds a sense of cleverness to your green car, showcasing your unique personality. 7. The Grinch-mobile Bring a dash of mischief with The Grinch-mobile. Much like the character, this name conveys a playful edge, perfect for those who love a touch of whimsy in their daily drive. 8. Olive Oyl Olive Oyl invokes images of old-school cartoons and charm. This classic name nods to the famous character, allowing your green car to stand out while eliciting smiles and conversation. 9. The Green Mile A nod to the classic movie, The Green Mile can add a layer of character to your vehicle. If you appreciate storytelling, this name ties your green car to an unforgettable cinematic experience. 10. Mint Condition Opting for Mint Condition conveys freshness and vibrancy. This clever name suggests that your green car is not only in pristine shape but also a joy to drive, improving your driving experience. Creative Ways To Name Your Green Car Creative Ways To Name Your Green Car It’s always a blast to come up with a fun name for your green car. Unique names can help create a personal connection to your vehicle while also sparking joy and conversation. Here are some creative ideas that can inspire you. 1. Incorporating Pop Culture References You can have a lot of fun with pop culture references for green car names. Kermit’s Chariot captures the whimsy of The Muppet character, making your car feel like a lively companion. Alternatively, consider Kermit’s Cruiser; it adds a playful vibe that can make your driving experience even more enjoyable. Have you thought about calling your car Grinch? Named after the mischievous character from Dr. Seuss, this fits perfectly if your vehicle has a mischievous side. Another strong option is Hulkster, drawing inspiration from the Marvel superhero, which suggests power and strength. 2. Using Food-Related Terms Food-themed names can be both humorous and memorable. Think about naming your ride Pickle Parade; it’s quirky and brings a smile to anyone who hears it. You might also enjoy Minty Mayhem, mixing the freshness of mint with a cheeky sense of fun. Don’t forget about Broccolini; this name lightens up your vehicle with a playful nod to the green vegetable. These names not only reflect your vehicle’s color but also showcase your personality and sense of humor. 3. Playing With Nature Themes Nature-themed names are another great direction to explore for your green car. You could go with Emerald Explorer, evoking thoughts of lush forests and adventure. Grasshopper Giddyup captures a spirited essence while embracing a lively connection to nature. Consider Fern Frenzy; it creates a whimsical image grounded in the beauty of plant life. Using nature-inspired names can give your car character and symbolize a love for the environment, improving your driving experience even more. Famous Green Cars In Movies And TV Shows Famous Green Cars In Movies And TV Shows You might be surprised at the iconic green cars that have graced our screens. Here are a few that stand out for their quirks and charm. 1. The VW Beetle From “Herbie” Herbie is the lovable VW Beetle that captured hearts in the Disney franchise. Although it’s known mainly for its red and white stripes, it’s appeared in green variants throughout various films. This sentient car showcases not just personality but also the fun factor in any high-speed pursuit. 2. The Mini Cooper From “The Italian Job” The Mini Coopers in “The Italian Job” are truly memorable, even if they aren’t green. You’ll spot them zooming around in red, white, and blue shades, designed to represent the British flag. Known for their agility and thrilling chase scenes, these cars made a lasting impression in both the 1969 and 2003 versions of the film. 3. The Ecto-1 From “Ghostbusters” Ecto-1 stands out as a classic, recognized by many fans around the industry. This 1956 Cadillac Miller-Meteor ambulance conversion might now be iconic for its role in “Ghostbusters.” While it’s not primarily green, it’s definitely a fun vehicle that has a cheeky cross-over into the area of pop culture with its unique design and memorable ghost-hunting escapades. How To Choose A Funny Name For Your Own Car How To Choose A Funny Name For Your Own Car Naming your green car can be a fun and personal experience. You can reflect your humor and creativity, making your vehicle feel uniquely yours. 1. Consider Your Personality Your personality shines through in the name you choose. If you have a playful side, whimsical names like “Kermit’s Cruiser” or “The Jolly Green Giant” could be just right. Think about what makes you laugh. If puns tickle your funny bone, options like “Green Bean Machine” or “Eco Hulk” may fit perfectly. 2. Reflect On Your Car’s Characteristics Your car’s features offer great inspiration for a name. A bright green car might shine with names like “Lime Light,” “Mint Condition,” or “Emerald Express.” If your ride boasts a fuel-efficient engine, consider calling it “Eco Bandit” or “Green Machine.” For a powerful car, names like “Sage Speeder” or “Verde Vroomer” could highlight its strength. 3. Brainstorm With Friends Collaborating with friends can spark creative ideas. Share laughs and brainstorm names together, which can bring fresh perspectives. Encourage everyone to suggest names that resonate with your vehicle’s vibe. Sometimes, an outside opinion can lead you to the perfect choice, making the naming process even more enjoyable. Conclusion Naming your green car is more than just a fun exercise; it’s a chance to express your personality and creativity. Whether you choose something playful like “Kermit’s Cruiser” or nostalgic like “Shrek’s Ride,” each name adds character and charm to your vehicle. Embracing a funny name can transform your driving experience and spark joy in everyday journeys. Plus it can ignite conversations with friends and family, making your car feel like a true companion. So don’t hesitate to let your imagination run wild. Pick a name that resonates with you and reflects your unique style. After all a great name can turn heads and create lasting memories on the road. Enjoy the process and make your green car truly yours. Frequently Asked Questions Why should I name my green car? Naming your green car adds personality and creates a unique identity. It can enhance your driving experience and foster connections with friends and family through shared humor and stories. What are some popular funny names for green cars? Some popular funny names include “Green Goblin,” “Kermit’s Cruiser,” “The Incredible Hulk,” and “Shrek’s Ride.” These names reflect humor and creativity while embracing the car’s green color. How can I come up with a name for my green car? Consider your personality and the car’s characteristics. Brainstorm with friends, incorporate pop culture references, or use nature-themed terms to spark creative ideas. How does a car’s color reflect personality? A car’s color, especially green, can showcase aspects of your personality, humor, and creativity. It can symbolize eco-friendliness and a carefree attitude while adding a playful touch to your vehicle. Can naming a car impact my driving experience? Yes, choosing a fun and quirky name can elevate the driving experience, making you feel more connected to your car and enhancing your overall enjoyment on the road. What themes are popular for naming green cars? Popular themes for green car names include pop culture references (like superheroes), nature-inspired terms, and food-related names, all of which contribute to a fun and memorable car identity. What makes green car names memorable? Green car names that reference humor, popular culture, or clever concepts resonate with people, creating memorable experiences and conversations. A unique name makes the vehicle feel like a companion. Are there famous green cars in pop culture? Yes, iconic green cars like the VW Beetle from “Herbie” and the Mini Cooper from “The Italian Job” have left a lasting impact on pop culture, showcasing personality and charm. How do I choose a name that suits my green car? Reflect on your personality and the car’s features. Consider names that resonate with your sense of humor or evoke fond memories to ensure the name feels personal and fitting. Is naming a car a common practice? Yes, many car owners enjoy naming their vehicles as a fun way to express their creativity and establish a deeper connection with their cars, making them feel more like companions. https://customteamnames.com/?p=999 Custom Team Names

[4emfox]

The Battle Between Authenticity and “Normal”: Part 1

Nature vs. Nurture.

A classic argument I’ve only been aware of since AP Psych in the 11th grade. Which one is it? Are we more our nature? Or are we more formed by our environment and experiences? Or is it a combination of the two; our nature takes over only to interpret the meaning we gather from our environment and experiences? But, wait — is our nature tainted by those environmental and experiential factors so it’s never truly our nature, only nurture and mental mind-fuck interpretations?

Rather than going down the rabbit-hole of the argument and trying to solve or prove that one carries more weight than the other, I’m just going to word-vomit my experience with a dash of narcissism.

In my story, nature and nurture seem to be constantly at battle one with another. One consistently takes over and my authenticity often feels squashed by conventional wisdom and “supposed to be’s”. For example, my authenticity eventually led me to blog under the guise of a stripper alter-ego…as a Mormon. Chicken or the egg? Was I always wild or was my authenticity rebelling against my culture?

As a born weirdo I innately cared about myself and had a strong will to survive — emotionally, mentally, and physically. I needed my authentic self in order to do that. As a kid, I naturally fed that part of me. My Weird. She is why I write. I like her. I like her far better than the person she tries to showcase to others when she rejects her Weird due to cultural norms and conventional wisdom (ahem…and Corporate America). This piece of amateur word-vomit exists for the things I saw growing up that made me hide My Weird — and how she emerged when I needed her. And finally, how I attempt to keep her around.

I caught bits and pieces of what I was “supposed to be” in pop culture, in conversations, in what I was told, and what I observed. It’s what everyone else was doing. It’s the scene in Men In Black when little Tiffany gets shot by Will Smith because it’s more concerning that an 8-year-old girl is holding a book on Quantum Physics in a dark alley, rather than the multitude of aliens that have clearly seen the ugly side of evolution who are just hanging around on our planet — for funsies. Occam’s Razor: Simply put, the more obvious answer is usually the correct one. This leads me to the conclusion that little Tiffany is obviously just a wicked smart kid. And those aliens obviously just want to blow out her power like a flame.

These “bits and pieces” eventually became the puzzle I built around myself — the shell I wore — in order to hide My Weird.

As a kid, I had no idea what it meant to be “pretty” and how truly beautiful that lack of knowledge was — how freeing it was. I was never limited by beauty standards as a young young kid. This Beauty Box limits you. Once I was enclosed in that box (after having the proverbial carrot of “you will be valued” dangled in front of my face to coax me in) I started to feed the beast that was inside it.

I wanted to be a veterinarian (and an obstetrician; and an artist; and a teacher; and Indiana Jones). Badly. But as soon as I entered high school, I was given the assignment to pick my “dream job”, shadow someone who did it, then write about it. And I picked a Cosmetologist.

Fundamentally, there is nothing wrong with cosmetology. I can absolutely appreciate the artistic nature of the work. But it is such a stark difference from what my Weird wanted — this was the beast in the Beauty Box taking over. Weird Erin was curious and smart. But at some point in her childhood, she was taught to fear science. And her inner voice became incredibly loud, “You’re not good enough to do that. You’re not smart enough to be a veterinarian. Do you know how much schooling you’ll have to do? It’s more important to be pretty.”

That voice eventually became the subconscious, “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t”. And once the voice is in your subconscious, it has a much stronger hold. It becomes a part of who you are — constantly orbiting your mind. Like an alien invasion, it took over. I didn’t even realize the voice was there until my friend, a psychologist, called it out.

To be continued…

[drew-mga2022mi5016]

Introduction | Brief Analysis

"What makes you employable? How do you show a potential employer that you are what they are looking for? This module provides an opportunity for you to learn which skills and attributes are considered most important in the animation industry. You will reflect on your skills and set targets to address any gaps to boost your employability before you graduate."

As one could expect when bringing up the prospect of future employment to college students or any young person, this sent me into a state of panic. What do I want to do? What makes me as an artist unique? How do I want to spend my life?

Currently with the work that I've done, I consider myself an animation generalist, as I've worked with both 2D and 3D media. However, I am more partial to 2D and mixed media animation. Ultimately my interests lie in creative writing, storytelling and social design in addition to the above.

In order to actually do anything with the above though, I realise that I need to first get a job. Sadly, I cannot go guns blazing into the working world with these interests and a dream held together by toothpicks and candle wax. I've decided for immediate future purposes that I should focus my attention on creating 2D animations and illustrations, with a dash of mixed media thrown in for good measure. This would help me get a job which would be the means to which I reach my end goal.

COMPONENT I

"Write a research report about a part of the animation industry that interests you. It could be about how a specific technique is employed - for example - the use of real time backgrounds in the production of The Mandalorian. It could be a cultural enquiry - such as exploring the rise of K-Pop aesthetics, or an ethical issue, such as exploring ‘crunch time’ or gender issues in the videogames and/or animation industry. These examples are purely illustrative - you could choose anything within reason."

Immediately in terms of topics, once again I want to work on a topic that pertains to my interests. This would include; the mixed media animation workflow, 3D animation combined with 2D FX (The Spiderverse Effect), or innovation in animation. As time progresses I shall update this blog with several variations of these topics with case specific ideas.

COMPONENT II

"Write a reflective report on the area of the animation industry that you would like to work in. Comment on the skills required for that area (using the ScreenSkills website and further independent research) and what you will need to do to meet them. Use primary and secondary research to add detail, insight and interest to the report."

I would like to preface this section with saying I do not plan to step within five feet within the animation industry unless absolutely necessary, for a temporary period of time. However, if I were to choose which field to enter, I would choose a place which is rooted in art and history. Conversely, I would also like to spend my time in a design oriented place. If it absolutely had to be within the industry, I would like to work either in a Game Design studio or a 2D or mixed media animation studio. As such, I have currently (subject to change) narrowed it down to these 6 places:

Museum of Metropolitan and Contemporary Art

Riot House

KiCo Design Studio

THE LINE Animation

Studio Grackle

Supergiant Games

The main reason I have chosen these locations is because of the positive work ethic within the institutions. I thoroughly believe a solid work-life balance is key to creating qualitative art, and as such I have chosen places that reflect this philosophy.

In terms of the research report, of course the latter three options lend themselves well to my expertise. This would of course be 2D animation and game design (as of now). Additionally, Component II requires proof of a showreel and the maintenance of a digital presence on an outline platform such as LinkedIn or Instagram. I have prepared both of these in advance for the purpose of showing my growth throughout the course of this module this semester.

With a solid plan now, I can begin ideation on Component I for this module.

[the-hobgoblins]

“Imagine that? Reckless is my middle name, innit,” Oz overheard Rue say, from where he was lurking out of sight and eavesdropping.

Of course, he’d heard all about Gryffindor House—where Maeko had faced scrutiny from her peers who did not believe she belonged with them, until Katie came along.

Oz peered into the room from his hiding place, watching the hedge witch and auror captain continue to converse, circling round each other with magnetic push and pull—a little song and dance that Oz knew well. It was rather beautiful, really. Oz thought Paxton might have said something about their auras tangling.

Rue paced the length of the small space like a caged animal, restless, tossing a small sphere of flame between her hands like a ball. Even from here, Oz could see the way her eyes seemed to gleam like emeralds in a cave illuminated by the torchfire of a wandering explorer as Katie sent her mind spinning with terrifying possibilities. She hummed, pondering their predicament, then said, “The Free Trader haunts are out, I reckon. There’s heat on us—our safehouse got shaken down a beat ago, word is some a your Comrades in Arms are trackin’ ambient spikes and unsanctioned magic signatures all over England.”

Katie made a thoughtful noise as she processed this information, one hand scratching through the scruffy, loose curls at the crown of her head. After a moment, she asked, “I don’t suppose your coven has friends elsewhere on this island? Scotland…Ireland?”

Rue gave a snort and her cheeky reply was lost to the sudden rush of dread that washed through Oz. He knew exactly what fate would befall anyone who dared to trespass in that territory unannounced, who tried conducting magical business without attaining the right permission from the right people—the right person. His palms itched.

Ah, shite…

By the time Oz had settled enough to peek into the room again, Rue and Katie had been blessedly, momentarily sidetracked by Katie’s pet salamander Chickadee seemingly launching itself from its napping place in the ash of the fireplace at the ball of flame between Rue’s hands, and she was cooing and laughing in adoration over the tittering fire sprite as it crawled along her arms and nestled down the front of her shirt, with Katie jumping up to snap photos with her phone.

It was enough of a distraction that Oz hoped they’d forget about the trap they were walking into with this foolhardy revenge mission. But soon enough, the two women settled on the couch, angled toward each other, with Rue stroking Chickadee as he snoozed atop her chest. Picking up the thread of thought, Katie mused, “The Department’s got boots on the ground in Scotland, and I can’t risk this getting traced back to me…”

“Ireland it is, then,” Rue replied decisively, almost gleefully, and Oz swallowed. 

Katie again opened the journal Rue had brought and studied a few pages, muttering to herself. Then she reached out to pop the cap off the whiskey bottle and took a long swig before passing it off to Rue, scurrying over to the chalkboard to scribble out complex symbols and equations, deep in her own thoughts. 

The board was half-full by the time Katie turned, dusting her forehead and hairline with chalk from her fingers as she said, “Your girl was thinking in terms of huge power reserves—spirit magic, combined with the unstable source you all use—the ambient. We’d need a boost like that to contain the bitch’s spirit in a vessel, and…” She drew a small diagram on the chalkboard with exes and dashed lines and arrows, like a football coach mapping a play. “…we would also need a way to stabilize all the ambient magic in a small, contained area, so that when we actually get her in the damn thing, matter doesn’t collapse in on itself and combust and—"

Rue mimicked the sound of an explosion with her mouth, and even summoned a little miniature mushroom cloud in the air for further illustration.

Katie grinned, gesturing with the chalk. “—exactly. Not the kind of mess that would look good on you, darlin’…”

Rue snickered in response, and then added, “Might be there’s a local coven could negotiate some extra ambient with…?”

Double, triple shite…

And that’s when Oz finally stepped into the room, resigned in what he knew he had to do—but really not wanting to do it. “I know who ya need ta talk to, if it’s Ireland ya need ta go…”

Katie raised a curious brow at him, too deep into her scheming to be annoyed that he’d deliberately disobeyed her request to stay out of their way, today. And Rue, who was used to the way things were run in a safehouse, was not startled whatsoever by Oz showing up unannounced. 

Their eyes met, impish blue against smoldering green, and all Oz could think was, I chose you, that day, over my own blood. And Mae won’t ever forget it. His heart throbbed in his chest; that was the last time Oz had seen or spoken to Maeko, that day after Halloween at the FTB safehouse. When he’d put himself in front of her wand to protect some hedges that he barely knew. 

Oz hadn’t been able to get that wail of betrayal that Maeko had shrieked at him out of his head these long weeks. He’d disappointed her, and she’d abandoned him in the company of hedges—just like his father had done. 

So they’d chosen their sides, both shown their true colors when their backs were up against a wall. And though he ached without Maeko’s company every single day, looking back, Oz didn’t think he would have made a different choice. Self-sacrifice was the way he was wired. 

But now, as he’d resigned himself to willingly jump into harm’s way yet again, but on a whole different scale, Oz did feel regret that he wouldn’t get to see Maeko one last time. Because he knew, deep down, that when Morrigan got her hands on him again, he likely wouldn’t be coming back.

He looked over at Katie and gave her a sad, wincing smile, holding up his palms to flash HELLO and GOODBYE. “…an’ I know how ta get ya that power boost, too.”

@katiethxrne @outterridge

.

Katie had almost forgotten how refreshing it was to be around folk who didn't attend Hogwarts. There were a handful within the Department who attended other legacy institutions such as Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Thus, they didn't exactly follow House Politics and also knew nothing of Katie during her years at Hogwarts.

It was nice to not be immediately spotted as the Gryffindor with more detentions than sense and could avoid the scrutiny of her previous reputation. It made it easier for Rue to simply trust that Katie knew what she was doing (she did), without being questioned of her intelligence or ability for having not been a Ravenclaw or Slytherin (the Hat offered Slytherin - she didn't look good in green). So as Katie clocked Rue's questions and comments, she wasn't expected to look up from the notebook in hand to answer, as if Katie had to try and multitask - her brain was hardwired to move fast, and she got bored if she had to do things one at a time, it's why class at Hogwarts was numbing.

"Gryffindor - brave, bold, and exceedingly reckless."

Ashworth could see through the veneer Katie had positioned around her and challenged her in those early days of mentorship to keep her mind sharp and moving, her hands working, her mouth on a constant stream. Three tasks at once, fighting and painting runes, brewing and plotting an attack on the blackboard, and paperwork while also writing alchemy papers and keeping a conversation going. All things that mattered in the field, in the laboratories, all the things that had moved Katie from lowly lab rat to dangerous Captain.

So, as she flicked through Yvonne's work, her fingers still making signs, and occasionally stopping to paint a rune in the air between herself and Rue, Katie could listen to how the Hedges worked and figure out their magic.

"...molecular manipulation, a regular scanning at work; it's too bad I never saw it in action. I'll bet it was something - energy and magic manipulation on this kind of level with a brain rivaling my own," Katie closed the journal with a smile, "I would have been terrified of her abilities."

Spirits - goddamn, it always came back to the dead with Katie, didn't it? Always came back around to those who fuck around with the River Styx, and Katie had dipped her toes in and was yanked out fasted than a tick on a July Tuesday. Blood Magic. Spirit Magic. Necromancy. Blood bonds. Katie knew this magic; she'd dabbled, studied, and knifed it in the cradle of a few dark magicians in her career. But Voodoo was a different breed.

"Anyone can be killed - no one is immortal, and Spirit Work is delicate but also incredibly strange. There are tales of souls being bottled into jars, genies in lamps using their magic to grant wishes to muggles, of trapping spirits in gems and locking them into caverns until their final resting place is forgotten and they are kept on the mortal plane." Katie could think of no worse fate than an eternity trapped in anonymity, used like a battery cell, fated to never truly die until the heat death of the universe or until the main character of a manga needs your power to reach their goals for Love and Friendship.

"Voodoo Smoodoo," Katie crowned, kicking up her feet, "I can trap a soul better than these swamp fucks - cut them off from the sacrificial lambs they used as a battery, and they'll cook."

Dimensional pockets, Genie Lamps, soul renting, and Spirit Trapping—it wasn't easy magical working, but then again, Katie hated being bored.

"We just need a place where we can't get... interrupted."

[uncozy-unrose]

Comfortember Day Three : Overthinking

Fandom: Criminal Minds ♡ Main: Emily ♡ Ship: Penemily ♡ Features: Misunderstandings, hot drinks, Emily Prentiss’ smile, losing your mind, losing your voice, but getting the girl

Read on AO3

Patent pink kitten heels scurried down the hall, dodging drops of lukewarm coffee as they fell from a ceramic unicorn mug. 

The tight grip on the handle of that mug was one of Miss Penelope Garcia, the BAU technical analyst, eyes wide with eagerness, as she made her way toward the east entrance elevator. She hastily turned the last corner, dodging two oncoming agents and stealing a look at her watch. 

Three minutes.

Three minutes until the usual time that Emily Prentiss would make her way out of the elevator, where Penelope would ��coincidentally” run in to her, starting up a morning conversation. 

Three minutes until Emily made her daily beeline toward the coffee machine, never even stopping at her desk to take off her coat, all while Penelope scurried behind, trying to keep up.

Three minutes until the blonde’s favorite part of the day- her cheeks warming each time Emily made her laugh as they stirred sweetener into their mugs together. 

Penelope usually had a good handle on this routine, but today was a little bit different. She had come in early to take care of a few things, and a combination of early morning grogginess and autopilot caused the technical analyst to make a solo mug of coffee. A mug that would sit there, untouched until the very moment she began her mad dash down the hallway. 

The thing is, if Penelope thought about it, she didn’t even like coffee all that much.

But she did like Emily. 

“Going somewhere, baby girl?”

Derek Morgan, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, stopped Penelope in her shiny pink tracks, just a few feet from the elevator. He stepped back as another wave of liquid poured out of her mug and onto the floor in front of them. 

“Oh, shoot…”

“You alright there?”

Pushing the mug into Dereks hands, Penelope pulled a package of tissues out of her skirt pocket. She bent down in an attempt to clean up her spill, simultaneously trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for her haste. When she thought of something that she might be able to get away with, the blonde popped up back in front of the other agent, curls bouncing around her jawline. 

“Yeah!- Yeah, I was just running to freshen up my coffee before the briefing started.” 

“Um, okay. But I think you can slow down a bit because we have a briefing this morning. I was just sitting with everyone, and I think JJ would have told us.”

Penelope’s eyes somehow widened even further than they already were, her eyebrows lifting over the orange plastic frames of her glasses.

“Oh! Well silly me, then. Bye now!” 

Penelope pushed past the wall of a man standing in front of her, pulling the unicorn mug back into her possession in the process. As she began to stomp away, wave of realization made her halt, spinning back around on her sensible kitten heel.

“Everyone? Whose everyone? Who you were sitting with?”

“Y’know…everyone? In our cubicle at least. Reid, Prentiss. Rossi and JJ even stopped by for a bit because we were all making fun of-“

“Prentiss?”

“Yeah, how did you kn-“

“What? No- shhh… Prentiss is here already?” 

“Yeah… she’s at her desk. I wouldn’t try talking to her though-“

Penelope started down the hall, abruptly ending the conversation. As she shuffled back in the direction of her lair, she turned her head toward the bullpen for confirmation- and quickly finding it. There was Emily, sat in her chair with a closed-mouth smile, seemingly stifling a laugh as Reid prattled on about something. A travel mug sat next to her on the desk and her coat was draped over the back of her chair.

Penelope’s cheeks warmed as they usually did, but this time it was due embarrassment and concern. A thought enveloped her mind- a tidbit from Morgan that she didn’t even know that she had heard over the sound of her shoes. 

I wouldn’t try talking to her though. 

Why wouldn’t Emily want to talk to her? How did she miss her by the elevator this morning? Why did she bring coffee from home?

Was she trying to avoid me?

After making it back to her office, Penelope plopped down in her seat, causing her plastic earrings to clack in her ears. She pulled a pom-pom adorned pen out of her desk and tapped it against her lips in concentration. 

You’re jumping to conclusions, Penny. She’s not mad at you, you’re just overthinking. Maybe the morning didn’t go as planned, but let’s just wait until lunch. We always talk at lunch.

…

They didn’t talk at lunch. 

Penelope chewed ravenously on the apple slices in front of her. The buzz of the dining hall light above her seemed to grow louder and louder as the seconds ticked by. On any other day these seconds were usually filled with very different sounds- mainly Penelope’s workplace gossip followed by Emily’s laughter and a well-timed witty retort. 

Today, though, it looked like the technical analyst was flying solo. That was until a lanky figure topped with a mop of sandy-brown hair slid into the seat across from her. 

“Apples, huh? Did you know that bobbing for apples started as a British courtship ritual?” 

Reid began shuffling his salad around with his fork. He had no intention of putting anything in his mouth before rambling off his daily quota of “fun” facts to Penelope. 

“That’s wild, Reid…”

The blonde sat there, slightly hunched. Her eyes drifted from the boy-genius in front of her to the cafeteria entrance, where maybe- just maybe a turtleneck-wearing brunette would come through the door.

“They did it to try and determine’s ones future mate-“

“Uh-huh…”

“Maybe we should do it at the BAU Thanksgiving dinner. Imagine getting Hotch’s head in a barrel of water? Or Rossi? Although, now that I think about it the idea of that many microorganisms congregating in one place during cold and flu season is somewhat horrifying.”

“Absolutely…”

“Y’know, I’d still bet that Emily would do it after a few glasses of wine.”

“Emily?”

“Oh yeah, you know she’s kind of wild. One time after a case in Nashville-“

“Where is Emily?”

This caused Reid to stop and take a moment to look around the bustling dining hall. 

“Oh- you’re right, she’s usually here before me… Maybe she went out for lunch today?”

“She would have come and told me.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. She really wouldn’t tell you much of anything-“

“Why do people keep saying things like that?!”

“Garcia, I think she’s sick-“

“Sick of what? Sick of me?!”

Garcia tossed the half-gnawed apple slice back on the tray. She rose hastily and marched out of the door she was staring only moments ago. 

Continuing her brisk pace toward her office, Penelope snapped her head toward the bullpen. Emily’s jacket was still slung over her chair, her bag propped up against the wall of her cubicle, and her computer was locked, but still on. 

She didn’t leave for lunch… Where was she? Reid confirmed it… she’s avoiding you. She knows…

The technical analyst walked as fast as her shoes could take her. She felt tears stinging in her eyes.

You did too much, Penny. She’s a profiler! Of course she would figure you out.

Garcia hung left down the hall, shoes sticking to the floor where someone must have spilled coffee this morning.

Theres only so much I can blame on being naturally affectionate. She’s grossed out by you, Pen. She’s not even gay!

A few final steps and Penelope would be at her office door. A few final steps and she would be face to face with her cute embellished wall placard. A few final steps and she would run into-

Emily.

Penelope’s vision swam as she slammed on her own personal brakes. 

“Em!”, she squeaked, exceptionally less chill than she would have preferred. 

The brunette, looking sullen coming out of Penelope’s dungeon, suddenly brightened when she saw the other woman. Emily broke into a smile that would have caused those tears in Penelope’s eyes to fall if she hadn’t been blinking them back, furiously. 

Emily’s opened her mouth as if to speak, but then simply bit her bottom lip as she tenderly rested her hand on Penelope’s shoulder. The blonde stiffened. 

This is it.

“Look, I know you’ve been avoiding me today. It’s okay. We can talk about it.”

Penelope looked down, unable to keep eye contact as she said the last few words. Because of this, she didn’t notice Emily’s brows furrow in confusion. She did feel the other woman’s hand slip off of her shoulder, though. But what she heard next, over the sound of her racing heartbeat was not what she was expecting. 

A series of weak but persistent coughs rattled through the tight hallway and Penelope shot her head up, startled by the noise. Emily’s back was now turned, head bowed into her elbow as she coughed into her cream cable-knit sweater. After composing herself, she turned back to the blonde, both of their cheeks a bit rosier than they had been before. 

“Sorry…”, Emily’s voice was hoarse, only slightly above a whisper. 

“Don’t be… Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah… Just-“ Emily fruitlessly tried to clear her throat. She continued, most of the time her voice completely skipping over the vowels, “Do you have any more of those lollipops? I mean cough drops would be great but-“

“Shh, shh… Yes I do, come, in.”

Garcia led Emily into her office, directing her to a chair and placing a bowl of several mismatched hard candies and lollipops on the desk beside her.

“I wasn’t avoiding you”, Emily rasped, her voice slightly better with the addition of the candy. 

“I think I knew that… I didn’t see you this morning, and then when you didn’t come to lunch, I-“

“I’m so sorry, I would have texted you, but this morning was such a mess, I forgot my phone. I woke up late, and I sounded like this and I debated not coming in if we didn’t have a case”, she cleared her throat again, “but I changed my mind about a thousand times before deciding to try make a gross cup of tea honey and shit, and powering through.”

“You? Tea?”

Emily let out a rough chuckle, “I know! I couldn’t force it down my throat at home so I tried bringing it with me. It’s still in the thermos on my desk, I can’t drink it! I actually wound up getting here early, which is why I missed you at the elevator this morning.”

Penelope felt an odd mixture of embarrassment and understanding as she laughed at the story. She watched as Emily unwrapped another candy from her bowl and placing it gently on her tongue before continuing. Penelope swallowed thickly. 

“As for lunch, Hotch basically told me to ‘go the fuck home, and rest’. Not exactly those words, but I could feel it in his stare, y’know? I needed to finish a few reports though, so I figured I’d work through lunch then go home. I must have not realized what time it was when I came to find you and steal your candy. ”

“I’m sorry you’re having an awful day, Em.” Penelope placed a hand on Emily’s knee, disregarding the anxiety from earlier as it threatened to take hold of her again. 

“Nah, it’s alright. I’m sorry I made your day awful too… I mean not that not seeing me would make your day awful, but-“

“It’s okay…” Penelope gently squeezed Emily’s knee. The brunette responded with her infamous smile, her tongue adorably poking out from between her teeth- cherry red from the candy she had in her mouth. 

“If you aren’t completely revolted by the sound of my voice, you can come by my place after work. We can make up for lost time? I missed talking to you today.”

Penelope could feel fireworks going off in her chest as Emily placed her hand over hers and carefully dragged her thumb back and forth. The blonde wordlessly nodded, and the plan was set. 

…

Moments later, when Emily left the office and the door shut with a click, Penelope was again left to her own devices. This meant overthinking the hand-hold, overthinking the invite to the other woman’s apartment, overthinking her ruby-tinted tongue.

Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?

Then, when Penelope got home, and began to get ready to head over to Emily’s, she overthought her outfit, her timing, her bag stocked with lozenges, cough medicine, and soup. 

Was it too much? Am I too much?

It wasn’t until the blonde crossed the threshold into Emily’s apartment, that her head would stop spinning. She felt a welcomed wave of peace when she saw the brunette, clad in a pair of soft sweats and knit cardigan over an old FBI softball tournament t-shirt, hoarsely thanking her for the supplies as they walked inside.

That evening Penelope wouldn’t overthink- not about the closeness of their spots on the couch, or how she played with Emily’s hair as they watched a movie. She didn’t overthink the profuse compliments that the other woman gave her when Penelope finally made her a decent cup of tea. She didn’t over think the brunette’s insistence that she stay over when it got too late or how she felt when she crawled into Emily’s bed. 

There was nothing to overthink about how they ended the night- the cherry-flavored kiss they shared under the covers. Well, other than how they were going to explain to the team where Penelope’s voice went the following morning. 

[cemetery-circus]

Your last headcanon about Isabella and Bruno was so cute 🥺 do you have any more for their relationship?

Isabela my BELOVED she’s my favorite I love her so much

• Once it really sunk in her that her tío- the man who had read to her when her mama was out, who cheated at hide and seek with his gift and made her all huffy only to make her giggle and forget why she was mad in the first place, who would carry her around town on his shoulders and keep every single flower crown she would weave around his forehead -was really and truly the sad and disheveled looking man standing before her, Isabela snatched Bruno up in a crushing hug to rival Luisa’s strength and buried her face into his chest to cry as he rubbed her back and mumbled “It’s me, Isa, it’s me.” until she had calmed down again

• Isabela tried to be mad about him disappearing out of the blue and for a while it worked, she managed to keep a cold shoulder with him for at least two minutes whenever he came around, but his explanation combined with her crushing nostalgic love her him eventually dashed any anger or hatred that tried to form 

• Once the dust settles, the house is rebuilt, and the magic is restored, Bruno does make an effort to try and reconnect with Isabela, a thing that’s easier said than done. Adorable little Isabella tan bella has gone and grown up into a beautiful young woman and the same goes for her interests, having changed a lot from when he last remembers her 12 year old self. Isabela finds it endearingly annoying how hard he tries to rediscover the common ground between them, but she knows that his attempts are genuine and from the heart so she couldn’t mind even if she tried

• They finally find their common ground through hairdressing! Nobody but her mama was allowed to do her hair when she was little and Bruno had disappeared around the time she was learning to do it herself, so when Bruno comes over and effortlessly pulls her hair into a pretty high ponytail after undoubtedly watching her struggle for two and a half minutes to get it all through the tie without it catching, she wants to know when and where he got those skills. The conversation eventually evolves into Isabela sitting in front of the couch every morning while her tío takes brushes and combs and clips and ribbons to her hair while they happily chat idly about nothing and everything.

“Tío, do you think there are any boys in my future?”

“Yeah. Right. Boys. Okay, Isa, whatever you say.”

“Are you rolling your eyes- Don’t roll your eyes at me!”

“Then don’t lie to my face! Now hold still, I’m braiding.”

• In turn, Isabela does Brunos hair when he allows her to. He doesn’t like sitting still for long so it’s never anything too complicated, usually a loose bun or a messy braid that he can easily take apart throughout the day if he so wishes (he never does). No matter the hair style she picks for him that day, she always always always loops a ring of flowers around his forehead to go with it, sometimes popping them up throughout his braid if that’s the choice she’s made. Bruno does everything in his power to keep his hair as neat as he can manage after she’s finished, even telling his rats that they aren’t allowed to nestle in his hair if they aren’t going to be careful.

“Isabela do your hair again, Bruno? It looks nice, you look like Pepa with that braid.”

“Celosa de mi bonito cabello, querida hermana~?”

“A little bit, I won’t lie to you. She did a good job taming that literal rat’s nest.”

“I’m going back in the walls if this is how you’re going to treat me.”

• Bruno, when he feels like going outside but not going into town, often invites Isabela to go with him on his walks through the forest. Isabela goes on and on about every fact she can think of about every interesting plant they pass, which is all of them to her, like what soil they like, how much sun they need, how many colors they can be, how poisonous they are, and so on. Bruno doesn’t understand a god damn word, but he listens proudly to every single thing she says and tries to remember what she tells him. He’s so happy to see that that childhood fascination with the spring flowers in the front yard has grown into such an immaculate knowledge of flora that she shares so passionately to anyone willing to listen

• I like to think that Bruno and Isabela (and Dolores! She missed him to) spend the most time together, apart from him and Mirabel. Isabela happily walks with Bruno through the nervous streets of the town that still jumps at his name, paying nobody any mind as she goes about her chores. Bruno cheerily doesn’t lift a finger to help and is perfectly content to playfully distract and mess with Isabela to make her laugh while she does what’s asked of her, only bringing forth his own gift to warn her of someone possibly having an allergic reaction to her flower choice or a swarm of bees that might get drawn to the color she’s picked. They’re trying to catch up on lost time and Isabela having to fill a few flower pots in town or Bruno finding a morbid enjoyment in the townsfolk shakily trying to be friendly to him again isn’t going to get in the way of that

• When Isabela is upset, but not ready to talk about it to anyone yet, she’ll sometimes come to Bruno and ask him to read to her. She knows it’s a childish request, but she still finds comfort in the way he tells stories so she can see every little detail so clearly in her mind. Bruno never denies her and lets her sit with him without a second thought, tucks her up against his side with her head on his shoulder and his fingers running gently through her hair as starts his book over for her. He reads aloud until she either thanks him and says she’s going to go talk to her mama about something or she falls asleep. He doesn’t stop reading aloud if she does pass out against him, just kisses her forehead and tells her to rest easy before he continues on with the book in a hushed whisper so he doesn’t wake his little Isabella tan bella

[boop-le-snoot]

marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

[themaribatpit]

Jasonette July Day 1: Suit Up

EDIT: Written by The Maribat Pit Content warning: Swearing, there is a quote that is a reference to Titans!Jason, references to Chloe’s actions in “Battle of the Miraculous”. Rated: T Inspired by: that one Tumblr post that suggested what would happen if Jason used a Lucky Charm.   Prompt: Suit Up The kidnappers had Marinette, and Jason knew that desperate times called for desperate measures.  Marinette hadn’t returned home from her mission the night before, Plagg returned that morning without her.  He explained that Marinette had managed to free most of the kidnapped kids, but she was captured shortly after being depowered.  They assumed she was one of the kids that hadn’t managed to escape. 

Jason went from slightly worried to absolutely frantic.  Roy was still in rehab, and there was no time to call in the Bat clan for help, it was up to him.  In his mind, the more time they wasted, the closer she came to sharing his fate.  “Great, just fucking fantastic”, he muttered to himself “the bad guys have the girl you love and you’re here looking for her jewelry”.  If he went in guns blazing as the Red Hood, they would probably just kill her instantly and without a second thought.  That being said, she would probably kill him later for tearing through the apartment like this.   He was flipping the bed on its side, opening all the drawers and pulling out all of the contents.  He was trying to find the Chinese Miracle Box, thinking maybe someone in there would help him if it meant saving their Guardian.  He remembered a conversation they had when his curiosity about her powers got the better of him.

“So what if you were to, hypothetically, use several of these things at once?” He remembered asking.

“I did once, the Multimouse clones were using different fusions.  Wearing them all at once can be pretty draining, even the fusions can be pretty taxing at the best of times if I’m not careful” she explained.

She also explained what happened when her old classmate tried to put on various Miraculous at once and started demanding power from them. Suffice it to say she didn’t get her way.  So, by the sound of things, Tikki was his best bet, or he’d probably end up pissing off the other ones like Chloe did.

He found the box in her closet and opened it, to find that Plagg’s ring was missing and so were Tikki’s earrings.  He closed the box and pushed it back into the closet, before searching the room for the earrings.  She had said something before about Plagg and Tikki being the least suspicious of him.  Probably because their combined magic was what created the Lazarus pits, the very reason he wasn’t still six feet under.  He finally noticed the small red and black box sitting on the chest of drawers, and he popped it open to find the earrings inside.  He wasted no time putting the studs in one ear, before a pink ball of light appeared in front of him. The ball of light turned into Tikki who gave a little stretch and yawn before being startled to see Jason instead of Marinette in front of her. “Hey Tikki, sorry, no time to explain but Marinette’s in trouble” he spluttered, “please I need your help, I wouldn’t be asking otherwise”.

“If that’s true, then there’s no time to waste, let’s go!” Tikki exclaimed, “Just say the words and I’ll help you.” Jason’s mind suddenly drew a blank, as he tried to remember what words Marinette used to transform into Ladybug.  

“Bug Prism Power Make Up?” he tried.

“He doesn’t know the magic words?” Plagg asked slyly, “our Guardian’s life is on the line and he doesn’t know the magic words”.

“I know that you’d make a nice chew toy for Brutus”, Jason snapped as he tried to think.  “Go go Lucky Charm?” he tried, Tikki shook her head.

“Lucky charm usually comes a bit later” she rubbed the back of her head, “keep trying, if Marinette is in trouble, then she needs our help”. 

“Okay let me think, uh…It’s Magic Time? Ladybug Up? In brightest day, in blackest night...?” He kept throwing out suggestions, but Tikki continued to shake her head.  “Uh, Shazam?” he had to give that one a try at least once, Tikki sighed.

Tikki thought it was admirable watching him at least trying to figure it out, even if Plagg was no help at that moment.  It was clear to the little Kwami, she didn’t need to look that hard to know that this boy cared deeply for Marinette, even if he was hesitant to admit it at first.  Tikki remembered gently encouraging Marinette to confess her feelings towards him, while Roy and Jason’s brothers took a more…direct approach.  

“All right Jason, I’ll tell you the magic words but first,” Tikki told him and they both heard the Kwami’s stomach growl, breaking the awkward silence in the room.  Jason remembered why Marinette usually kept a cookie on hand whenever she brought Tikki along, while the faint smell of cheese usually meant Plagg was in tow instead.  

“Come on, let’s go get you a cookie” Jason said, “and some cheese for you” he shot Plagg a slightly irritated look.  As Jason looked around the kitchen, the only cookies and cheese they had were the cheap stuff.  Tikki tried to be polite about the fact that the oreo wasn’t going to cut it, Plagg just turned up his little cat nose at the processed American cheese. “Sorry Tikki, Marinette’s been a bit busy lately,” he told her before rounding on Plagg “what’s your problem?”

“You don’t happen to have any camembert, do you?” he asked, still refusing to even look at the slice of processed cheese.

“Camembert? Who was your last user?” Jason asked incredulously.  Desperate times were calling for even more desperate measures, “just hang in there Marinette,” he thought.

Jason wouldn’t be racing over to Wayne Manor if it wasn’t a dire emergency. Tikki was safely tucked away in his jacket pocket, while Plagg was clinging to the hem of his jacket as it billowed behind him.  Jason brought his motorbike to a stop just outside the gates, before hopping off darting past Damian, petting a sleeping Alfred the cat in his lap.  Right now, he was hoping Alfred the human was baking something that would catch the Kwami’s eye.  Sadly, he was not, a note on the kitchen door explained he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.  Sadly, this couldn’t wait until tomorrow.  He opened the kitchen door, the cookies from Alfred’s last batch were stored in a cookie jar on top of the fridge.  There was one cookie left, he unzipped his pocket and gestured to the cookie in the jar.  Jason reached up and grabbed the jar, before opening it and grabbing the cookie inside.  He also reached into the fridge and grabbed the camembert for Plagg.  With the Kwami munching on their snacks of choice, he dashed out of the kitchen. Plagg had practically inhaled the wheel of cheese all at once, and glided alongside him. Meanwhile, Tikki clung to the cookie with one hand and the hem of Jason’s pocket with the other. 

That morning, Bruce was not expecting to see Jason rushing past him.  He wasn’t expecting to see a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie threatening to fly out of his jacket pocket.  “Hi, can’t talk now, Marinette needs help, bye.” He called before disappearing down the hallway. Jason dashed past Dick who had just woken up, and Tim was on his way to the kitchen for some more coffee. 

“Was that the last cookie?” Dick asked, slightly groggily.

“Oh that had better not be the last cookie” Tim groaned, someone had better be dying if that was the case.

Jason rushed to his motorcycle, and slammed the gate shut behind him before hopping on and putting on his helmet. Tikki was halfway through munching on the cookie, when she gave him a quick rundown of the powers that she would be giving him.  Jason knew that the Miraculous granted the user enhanced speed, strength and endurance, he just hadn’t thought there would come a day when he would have to use their power.  It was probably for the best that their guardian didn’t choose him when he was 13, for reasons that a bunch of guards were about to find out very soon.

Meanwhile, Marinette found herself in a cage inside a warehouse.  There were two men guarding the cage, neither of them knew that Marinette was the girl in the black leather catsuit. They caught her just as the clock had run out on her powers, and they assumed she was one of the kids that had been captured.  She was a petite young woman, and they found her dressed in a polka dotted hoodie, shorts and tights.  She sent Plagg to go get help, and he had been gone for a few hours now.  She was getting increasingly antsy,  Jason was probably worried sick about her.  

Jason arrived at the suspected gang hideout as fast as could, leapt off his bike and grappled to a vantage point. “Ok, relatively small time trafficking racket. Now where is Pixie Pop?” Jason thought to himself, scanning the area from his vantage point. “Plagg, go find Marinette, and tell her to not transform until I arrive.”  Plagg flew out of Jason’s pocket and made his way there.  “Alright Tikki, what's the magic word?” The Kwami flew out of Jason’s pocket as he spoke, Tikki glided to Jason’s ear and whispered to him the phrase. Jason repeated “Spots On” and felt power coursing through his veins. It felt like Venom without the addictive or berserk tendencies, pure energy was flowing through him. He felt the uncontrollable urge to pose and move with the flow of energy, doing a flourish of kicks and punches.  It ended with him raising his left leg to his head, as if it was a vertical split and slamming it down. “Owwwwwwwwwwww” Jason groaned, “My thighs were not meant to do that.” He was not expecting the compulsive flourishes for the transformation itself.

Jason looked at his reflection in a nearby puddle, he could see he was wearing a full spotted suit and domino mask like Ladybug, yet his leather jacket stayed during the transformation and received its own ladybug pattern. Jason sucked up the pain and pushed onwards to the gang hideout.

Jason snuck in through a vent and approached a large main room, housing most if not all of the guards and their “merchandise” with cages strewn across the room with mostly women and children locked up. He finally sees Marinette, alive but imprisoned in a cage with a few other people in a corner. Jason needed a distraction so that Marinette could transform into Lady Noire. He had to do something to take the attention off every single person in the room. 

Jason sighed and thought of a plan, it may not be the most flattering, but it worked and it would not be so threatening as cutting out the lights. He burst from the air vents and landed in a crouch, standing straight and shouting “Halt Evildoers, it I...Red Bug?” 

This indeed worked as planned, as every guard, goon and hostage set their eyes on the intruder.  The guards began pointing and laughing, “Good, they don't think I’m a threat” thought Jason. The guards underestimating Red Bug was what he needed, so that they would not find him threatening or harm anyone just yet. 

Marinette took this opportunity to transform into Lady Noire. She wasted no time and began with Cataclysm, bringing down all the cages and making her way to Jason’s position. Both Lady Noire and Red Bug began fighting the guards, buying the hostages time to make their escape. As the last person successfully escaped the gang hideout, both Lady Noire and Red Bug stood side by side.  More of them began to trickle in as they heard the commotion and began to surround the pair.

Marinette needed to think fast, she didn't have much time left after casting Cataclysm. She said to her partner, “Lucky Charm, Now!” Red Bug raised his eyebrow, “Lucky Charm?” he repeated. He suddenly felt the same compulsion as he did during the transformation, his arm suddenly shot upward with the yo-yo spinning. He looked up to see a swarm of ladybugs converge to form...a purse? Red Bug caught the purse with a look of disbelief, Lady Noire looked around the room for a plan to use the purse. Lady Noire got a burst of inspiration and turned around to tell her partner of her cunning plan, only to be greeted by thin air. She was brought out of her stupor hearing her partner yell out “LIGHTS OUT BITCH!”.  She whipped her head towards the source of the noise to see Red Bug beating the guards with the Ladybug-themed purse.  “I guess that works too” she said to nobody in particular. Knowing she had little time remaining as Lady Noire, she started running for the exit. Red Bug had no issue dealing with the remaining goons. Marinette hadn’t expected Jason to suit up with one of the Miraculous, not that she was complaining.  She had expected him to come charging in as the Red Hood, or maybe start by picking off the guards one-by-one.  She was surprised, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one, mostly.  Since leaving Chat Noir behind in Paris, the fight left her feeling oddly nostalgic.  Sometimes she missed fighting alongside a Miraculous user, though Tikki might have something to say about his...unusual use of a Lucky Charm.  She walked over to Jason’s parked motorcycle and waited. Within minutes Jason followed suit and walked out the front door of the hideout.  A swirl of green light surrounded him as he changed back, and Tikki zoomed over towards Marinette.  Tikki nuzzled against Marinette’s face for a moment, before Jason walked towards her.  He pulled his girlfriend into a big hug,  Marinette is left breathless for a moment as he nuzzles into her neck.   He didn’t say anything, but neither of them really needed to say anything at that moment. Touched by how much Jason cared for her, Marinette returned the hug. She stayed in that warm embrace for a long moment, before reaching up and gently patting him on the head.  “Let’s go home...Pixie Pop.” Jason pulled away at the mention of the nickname he gave her, and before she could react, Jason began pinching her cheeks. “What did you call me?” Jason jokingly interrogated, while Marinette giggled like an idiot. EXTRA: Jason is sitting next to Dick and Damian in the Wayne manor lounge with two ice packs on his thighs Jason:  I don’t know how you do it Dickie, my thighs were not meant to do that. Dick (covers Damian’s ears): Soooo did you and Marinette…. Jason:  I literally beat up some guys with a purse today, don’t push me.

[sinnaminsuga]

(GIF was sent to me by a friend so i'm not sure of the owner! if it's you let me know so i can credit you!)

Title: Be Gentle With Him

Summary: just some soft geralt. he deserves the world.

Word Count: 1,130

A/N: hello! this idea just popped up in my head and the lovely @wendimydarling encouraged me to write it out! wendi i cant thank you enough for being so sweet to me and always being there for whatever dumb questions i have 😂💕

Tags: @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @infinite-shite @inlovewithhisblueeyes @october505 @hope-to-hell @littlefreya @viking-raider @the-soot-sprite @raspberrydreamclouds @thelastsock @connieisland @nuggsmum @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @foodieforthoughts @geek-eat-repeat @oddsnendsfanfics @oddduckthatgirl @feralrunaway @its--fandom--darling @madbaddic7ed

(if i missed you let me know or if you want to be removed also let me know! ☺️💛)

This hunt had been particularly grueling. I knew by the way Geralt had come limping to my front door in much worse shape than when he’d left. Seeing him in such a state threw me into nurture mode and I pulled the large man through the door of my cottage just as I had many times before. Silently Geralt slumped into a chair at my kitchen table as I began to fix him a proper meal while also collecting the things I’d need to soothe whatever ailments he most likely had brought home with him.

After he was fed and mended, I drew a bath. There was no doubt that his muscles were sore and tired, the man was a monster hunter for god's sake. Swinging a sword around and dancing with death every day took a toll on his body no matter how much Geralt wouldn't admit it. I searched through my cabinets of herbs, potions, and elixirs to find the right combination. I began adding my collection of items to a bowl, under the watchful gaze of the witcher. Almond, chamomile, and lavender oils joined dried calendula and rose petals in the bowl. After adding a dash of red clover blossoms, I made my way back to the tub to turn off the faucet. I retrieved the bowl and scattered its contents into the water, the inviting scent eventually taking over the room.

Geralt sat in the corner, still silent, but observing. Once the bath preparation was finished I made my way to him and slowly started ridding him of his clothing, and he just let me. When he was fully undressed, I removed my own clothing and stepped into the tub, motioning for him to join me. I sat with him between my legs, and began gently washing his broad body. He hummed every now and then as the cloth travelled over his skin and I found myself smiling a little, happy that he was finally letting me take care of him. I scrubbed his scalp and hair with a mixture I’d concocted, effectively stripping the dirt and grime from him.

When I'd finished cleaning Geralt I tugged him back to lay against my chest. He needed to rest and I was determined to help him. We layed there in the steaming water, my hands tracing his shoulders and digging into the muscles of his strong neck every so often, peppering soft kisses over his exposed skin and now clean hair. Suddenly his breathing became uneven and his shoulders slumped against me. I softly tilted his head so I could see his face and that's when I saw. He was crying. Geralt of Rivia, the mighty White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was crying in my arms. The offending briny liquid slipped down his cheeks in what seemed to be a constant flow and he attempted to tear his amber gaze away from my face, but I wasn't having it. “Geralt, sweetheart, speak to me.” I said landing a kiss to his forehead.

“It seems to be becoming increasingly more difficult to leave you, little dove.” He spoke quietly. “And I know I must go. I have to provide for you somehow. But my heart longs to be here, with you. And it's making me clumsy. I’m so wrapped up in thoughts of you and my desire to return home, that I miss things. I never miss things, little dove. Never. I let a monster get the drop on me because I was too busy planning my route home. I don't think I can keep doing it. But then I think “what use would she have for me if I was around all the time?”. You’ll grow tired of me dove, I know you will. And then what? What's this old witcher to do then hmm?” He finished speaking and sniffed a few times before attempting to turn away again.

Bracing my hands on both sides of his face, I forced Geralt to look at me again. “Now you listen here good sir. I will never grow tired of you. Never. Do you know how many nights I've spent laying awake, wishing you weren't out there in harm's way? How much I wished you would return home days early?” I said, fingertips brushing over his cheek. “You don't have to do this Geralt. I’d take you as a monster hunter or a farmer or a stableman. It doesn't matter to me. We’ll find a way to get by no matter what you choose to do. Your mother stole that choice from you long ago and I won't be involved in doing that to you for a second time. You can be whatever you want. As long as you're mine.” I whispered into his hair. “Come now. The water is getting cold.” I said, moving to extract us both from the now tepid water.

The conversation in the bath seemed to be cathartic for Geralt and he was in a much better mood, teasing me as I dressed and tickling me whenever I passed by him. “Would you mind doing something about this, little dove?” He asked shyly, a small smile gracing his beautiful face as he gestured to his fresh clean hair. I nodded emphatically and grabbed a brush and some small thin leather strips from my drawer, then made myself comfortable on the bed while directing Geralt to sit on the bench at the foot of the bed. He grabbed a book from my shelf and made himself comfortable. “Read to me Geralt.”

I started slowly and gently detangling his long hair. Parting it down the middle, I listened as his voice rumbled out the words from the book in his big hands. I couldn't help but marvel at his hair, it truly was beautiful. Soft and silky, it slipped through my fingers like rays of moonlight. The more I toyed with the strands, the more I could feel him leaning into my touch, happy and comfortable. I continued to part and weave his hair into two wide braids, tying off the ends with the leather strips. A few wispy pieces too short to stay anchored within the braids, framed his face and curled around his ears. I slid out from behind him and knelt between his open legs, my hands holding his cheeks. “So beautiful. Truly.” I whispered as my eyes roamed his face, meticulously committing the sight of his blushing cheeks and wide smile to my memory. Before I could do anything else, Geralt pulled me up from my kneeling position and cradled me in his lap.

“You make me want to be a softer man little dove. A kinder man. I think that is what I shall become. A better man. For you.”

THE END

[seasonofthewicth]

next to you

I’ve wanted to write this exact scenario for rowaelin for so long and today I was supposed to write for agkol so obviously this came out. Rowaelin - 2.4k

part 2

-

“It’s totally fine,” Aedion says, his broad arm a warm weight around her shoulders as they both take in the room before them. And the bed. Aelin doesn’t move to take a step any further than their perch in the doorway. “He’s away for the weekend, he won’t know.”

A more sober Aelin would probably protest, but as it is she’s had a couple too many glasses of wine and she really doesn’t fancy having to order an Uber back to her own place. 

She had come over to Aedion’s under the pretence of watching a movie with her cousin and his girlfriend, but she had made the first mistake of inviting Dorian who had made the second mistake of bringing the wine. 

One thing had led to another which had led to the four of them lying around in various states of non-sobriety in the roof garden of Aedion’s building. At one point she’d slung on his fleece for extra warmth as she curled into Lysandra’s side as they watched the stars. Aedion and Dorian had stood at the railings looking over the city, sharing a smoke as they spoke in voices too low for Aelin to hear. 

All in all, a good night.

The view from the roof terrace catches her breath each time she visits, it’s high enough to capture the lines of the city in all directions and being so high up, at such a step back, always feels like a breath of fresh air. 

Aedion has a cool apartment, one she wishes she could afford, with it’s basement gym, the scenic garden and it’s unfailing hot water system. It’s a shame she doesn’t spend more time here. 

She chews her lip as she takes in the tidy bedroom before her, the crisp green sheets on the bed, the orderly desk in the corner with only a laptop and a lamp atop it, the laundry hamper in the corner surely holding the dirty clothes that in Aelin’s place live on the floor until she can bring herself to wash them. 

It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to crash in Aedion’s roommate’s bed for the night. Like Aedion says, he’s away for the weekend and she can change the sheets afterwards so he'll never know she was there. 

She can’t believe she’s actually considering it but the wine is wearing off slightly now leaving her feeling like she wants to collapse into the giant bed and bury herself beneath the covers. 

“Well,” Aedion says from her side, his voice only slightly slurred. “It’s here if you want it. I’m going to hit the hay. Whatever you decide, don’t walk home. I can call you a cab.”

“You’re sure he’s away for the weekend?” Aelin says as she shrugs out from underneath his arm. 

“Hundred percent,” Aedion nods as she steps closer towards the welcoming bed. 

Well, it’s decided then.

“Ah,” Aelin moans as she finally collapses onto the bed. She can’t believe she ever considered getting a taxi home, the sheets beneath her cheek are luxuriously soft and the mattress - gods the mattress. She could sink into it and stay here forever, it cups and moulds around each of her curves and she can’t help the sigh of satisfaction that slips out of her.  

Aedion’s laugh sounds from behind her as he shuts the door. “Night, Ae.”

Her own response is muffled into the brushed cotton beneath her. She lies still for a moment, resting her eyes as the buzz of the booze settles into her. There’s a thrumming beneath her skin, and the room spins somewhat as she lays still with her eyes shut gently against the sensations. Her fingertips are definitely tingling, a sign that she knows she’ll feel rotten in the morning, but for now the bliss of a dark room and a soft bed beneath her are all that her mind can care to contemplate.

It’s been a while since she’s hung out with her cousin, both of them just busy, and she’s missed him. She’s missed the easy companionship they have and the slick conversations they have, only aided tonight by the presence of Dorian and Lysandra and the wine. 

She snorts a laugh into the sheets and the movement causes the button of her jeans to dig into her stomach. She forces herself up with a groan and just manages to tug off the stiff denim, slinging the offending item across the room somewhere.

She laughs to herself at the thought of her already messing up such a clean room. 

She doesn’t know Aedion’s roommate that well. She knows he’s called Rowan, and that he’s twenty-eight and now she knows that he has a disgustingly tidy room. Or he did, she adds to herself as she throws her top to the other side of the room. 

Rowan only moved in with her cousin a couple of months ago, but from his room she can guess he’s uptight and quite possibly deathly boring. How Aedion lives with someone like that she doesn’t know, Aelin’s own roommates - Manon and Elide - are the perfect level of chaos with just enough order to function. 

Aelin considers her options as she slumps on the corner of his bed, clad only in her underwear. Sleeping in a bra is uncomfortable but would she want to be naked in this stranger’s bed? Whether or not she changes the sheets afterwards he could be sweaty or gross or worse. He could have had guests in this bed before her. 

Her gaze lands on a chest of drawers tucked against the wall on the far side of the room and before she knows she’s tiptoeing across and tugging open a drawer. Bingo. In-keeping with the rest of the room there are rows and rows of neatly folded t-shirts and before she can second guess herself she tugs out a black one, tugging it over herself before slipping off her bra and dropping it to the floor. 

Another thing she’s learning tonight about Aedion’s mysterious roommate? He’s absolutely huge. 

Aelin is far above average height for a woman and still, Rowan’s t-shirt hits mid thigh. She feels somewhat scandalous, in his room and wearing his clothes without his knowledge. A thought pops into her mind before she can help it - she hopes he doesn’t have a girlfriend. 

Aelin launches herself back at the bed, sliding into the sleek sheets before flicking off the light at her side. She nestles in tightly, burrowing into the deliciously inviting bed and takes a deep breath. Gods this Rowan person smells good too. 

She relaxes into the softness of the sheets and the euphoria that is lying on his mattress. In combination with the wine it doesn’t take her long at all to drift off. 

When she wakes Aelin is aware of two things. 

Firstly, her mouth tastes like shit. That would be the wine and not brushing her teeth the night before.

Secondly, she’s not alone. 

It takes her a few beats to realise, but there’s a strong arm slung around her waist, tucking her into a broad chest. A puff of breath dashes across her neck as the man takes each slow, deep breath as he slumbers behind her. 

Aelin lays still for a moment, her brain not yet fully turned on. 

She definitely went to bed alone, but maybe-

“Dorian?” She whispers into the dark, trying to roll over to see him, but the strong arm around her waist is clamped too tightly for her to get anything more than a glance. She has no idea where Dorian ended up last night but it wouldn’t be the first time they had ended up in bed together.

“Dorian?” She tries again and the man behind her shifts allowing her an eyeful of the top of the head tucked into the crook of her neck. 

Well, the man with the silver hair is definitely not Dorian, and as he shifts he tugs her tighter against him and shit. The pressure of morning wood against her backside is unmistakable. 

Aelin’s mouth goes dry as her traitorous body grinds back into it, her ass rubbing against the hard length. 

Nope. 

“Hey,” She whispers, louder this time as she tries to pry his hand from her waist. “Wake up.”

The man shifts, rolling back slightly away from her, his hand sliding up from her waist to sit on her hip. A low moan sounds from the back of his throat as he begins to wake and damn if Aelin doesn’t clamp her thighs together at the sound. 

She finally manages to wrestle herself up onto her elbows and she twists around to get a look at the man she definitely did not share a bed with last night when she went to sleep. 

Yet another thing she’s learning about Aedion’s roommate Rowan? He’s fucking gorgeous. 

In the dim light of the morning she can make out the sharp line of his jaw and the full curve of his lips, even as they twist into a slight frown. His silver brows are drawn together as he shifts and as his eyes flutter open she’s greeted by the most striking green eyes she’s ever seen. 

“What the fuck?” Even his voice is sexy, the low rasp sending shivers down her spine, heat sparking from the hand still resting on her hip. 

As though they remember that point of contact at the same time he jerks his hand back and repeats his earlier question. “Who are you?” He hisses. 

“I’m Aelin.” She says as though it’s the most obvious answer. “What are you doing in here?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh and Aelin curses herself for how hot she finds it. Objectively, she is in the wrong, but she’s going to blame Aedion. 

“What am I doing here?” He says. “This is my bed. What are you doing here?”

Aelin shrugs as if this is a regular occurrence, “Aedion said I could crash here.”

Rowan lifts his hand to draw it across his face, letting out another dark curl of laughter as he rolls onto his back, seemingly needing a minute to process the situation he has found himself in. Aelin catches the shadows of dark ink down his arm and curses her cousin for not introducing them earlier, she’s quite enjoying her morning. 

“Did he now?”

She’s very much aware that she’s still tucked into his side, his right arm curled beneath her pillow as he lays back. She drops herself down from her elbows, her head is aching and Rowan doesn’t seem to be making sense of this any time soon so she may as well get comfortable.

He doesn’t shy away from her, in fact his thumb brushes against the cotton of his t-shirt covering her shoulder. 

Rowan pulls his hand away from his face and tilts his head to face her fully. 

Those green eyes make her feel like she’s caught in the most enticing of traps. She couldn’t look away if she tried. 

“Are you wearing my shirt?” He asks, and Aelin shrugs as she glances down at herself. 

It’s a glance that allows her the knowledge that Rowan himself is not wearing a shirt and the broad, muscular planes of his chest start her heart beating quickly. The ink on his arm stretches onto his upper chest and Aelin wants to touch. 

“You should be thankful,” She says. “I almost didn’t.” 

Rowan opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to change his mind. Instead he shifts up onto an elbow and rolls over so that he’s leaning towards her. Aelin can’t stop her brain from imagining how it would feel if he slipped his thigh between hers. How she could shuffle down slightly to press his leg right where she wants it, and the darkening of Rowan’s eyes tells her he’s contemplating giving her exactly what she wants. 

When his eyes flick to her lips Aelin wishes she’d bothered to brush her teeth last night. 

This is not where she saw her morning going when she was too lazy to call a cab last night but she’s far from complaining. 

The cocky smile that slips onto his lips has her mouth dropping open. Short, sharp breaths draw her chest up and down and Rowan glances down to where she’s not wearing a bra beneath his t-shirt and the sleepy but still predatory smile grows. 

Aelin can’t draw her eyes away from that smile, away from the wicked curve of his lips as his leg shifts closer to her beneath the covers. 

“Aelin, are you-” The burst of light that fills the room as Aedion barges in burns her eyes and Aelin squeezes her eyes shut tight against it. 

“Um, I… Rowan?” Her cousin manages, still frozen in the doorway. 

Aelin knows what this looks like, Rowan is almost on top of her and she knows she’s flushed from his proximity. 

He clears his throat as he eases back away from her, the cool air that fills the space between them clears her head enough for her eyes to flicker open. 

“Yeah, I decided to come home last night instead.” His voice is tight, Aelin notes with a hint of pride. “Didn’t know you were offering out my bed while I was gone.”

Aelin can only bite her lip in what she hopes in a not-guilty expression. From the pure bewilderment clouding Aedion’s expression she’s not sure she achieves it. 

“You weren’t supposed to be back until later,” Aedion says, his voice still sounding strangled. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen.” 

Aelin snorts, tugging herself up to sit against the headboard, her thigh pressing against Rowan’s bare shoulder. His green eyes dart to the point of contact before locking onto her own and that gaze makes Aelin blush all over again. 

Rowan huffs a laugh as Aelin says, “Yeah, me neither.” 

She can’t draw her eyes away from Rowan’s face. She doesn’t care that he’s probably boring or uptight as she guessed in her snooping through his bedroom last night as long as he keeps on looking at her like that. 

“Aedion,” She says in a low voice as she manages to draw her gaze from Rowan, who’s firm shoulder is brushing against her thigh beneath the duvet. “Get out.”

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

When Clary meets Ash (Fan Fic)

Hey :) this is how I imagine Clary and Ash's reunion (after the events of TDA) in the fic I am currently writing.

It's Chapter 5 of "The new Shadowhunter Academy" (Ao3 link to the full fic is here but don't click or skip Chapter 4 if you are not in for Kitty sexy times).

Thanks to @amchara for providing beta work and to @blaidr for letting me bounce my ideas off him.

To give you context, Ash met Dru in Faerie and they exchanged their numbers. Clary seized the opportunity to obtain Ash's number from Dru and write him the following text message:

“Hey, Ash. Dru gave me your number and please don’t be angry with her, I am very strong headed and there was absolutely no way she could have refused. I am Clary. You may have heard of me. I am your late father’s sister. That’s right, your aunt. You can call me whatever you like. Emma told me what you did in Thule, how you saved her. How you saved everyone. That was very brave of you. In a way, both of us were faced with a very difficult choice and made the same. Doing what we thought was right. I would love to meet you and tell you about my mother – your grandmother – or just talk about anything. It can be things totally unrelated to the Shadow world. Hobbies, movies, books and games we like. You can pick the time and place. Neutral territory. Hope to see you soon. Clary.”

This is what happens following the text:

*****

Clary wrapped her oversized woolen coat tighter around herself, as she made her way through the crowded streets of Manhattan. The route was familiar. She took it almost every week to meet up with her parabatai and have what they called their “mundane hour”. They talked about everything, from Clary’s art to the latest TV shows they had binge watched. No topic was off the table, save for anything related to Shadowhunter duties, and the Shadow world in general. As co-head of the New York Institute and since recently, artist owning her own gallery, her weeks were very busy so she looked forward to those rare and precious moments when she could escape with Simon. Her heart rate seemed to accelerate with each of her steps, and it didn’t help that she also had the strange feeling she was being observed. When she reached her destination, she took a deep breath and opened the double glass doors leading her inside the coffee shop. She and Simon had their regular routine there, and her gaze went automatically to their usual spot, near the large windows.

A broad-shouldered jock with a baseball jacket was already sitting there, speaking loudly to his cheerleader girlfriend. Two of his friends were standing next to him, mock punching his muscular arms. It made her realize that Ash probably never had this. High school friends and romance. Ash. She was still struggling to figure out why he had asked her to meet up at this place, at the exact time she usually got there with Simon. Was it him being considerate, a clumsy way to make her feel comfortable in familiar surroundings? Or was it a warning? I know your habits, and precisely where you take your coffee, when and with whom.

Her gaze swept over the crowded room - her heart seemed to have moved up her throat, the frantic pulse almost choking her - and zeroed on a tall, white blond haired boy ordering coffee at the counter, standing with his back to Clary. She sucked in a breath. Ash. He was fully clothed in black - Dru had told her that was his usual style - and huge headphones were covering his ears. She slowly and cautiously approached him and when she was close enough, put a tentative hand on his elbow. “Ash,” she whispered. The boy glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes quizzical and… it was not Ash.

She mumbled an apology.

“Clary,” said a voice coming from behind, and she froze. It was not a boy’s but a man’s voice, the sound beautiful and ethereal. She just stood there for a few seconds before she slowly turned.

What had she expected? Merely a taller version of the young boy with pointy ears and a sour expression that she had met three years before, dressed in the same refined velvet clothing threaded with gold that identified him as fey royalty?

If so, she had clearly been mistaken.

She blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks. He was tall, as she had anticipated (Sebastian had been after all). At least two heads taller than her and probably taller than Jace. But he was also very different from the Ash of her memories, from the sketches she had drawn of him after they had crossed paths. He had amazingly grown into his features, his face now the best combination of the Seelie Queen and Sebastian’s. As if he had picked the most alluring colours of the palette. And the result was… Stunning. Clary’s hand twitched, aching for a pencil.

He was not dressed in black, but in plain blue jeans and he had stuffed his hands in a very elegant, long pale gray cashmere coat. His white blond hair and pointy ears were concealed under a deep green beanie, the same colour as the scarf around his neck.

He arched a silvery eyebrow at Clary, his expression bemused, and she realized she was staring.

“Clary, seriously?” he said, his gently scolding tone at odds with his enchanting voice. “This guy isn't even half as good looking as me." He glanced pointedly at the patron in question, who was gaping at him, and shrugged. "No offense, dude,” Ash added as an afterthought.

He turned his attention to the barista. She was beautiful, dark skinned with long braided hair and pouty lips. “Hello, gorgeous. We’ll have a double espresso with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon for the lady and a plain black coffee for me.”

Clary stifled a gasp and tried to hide her discomfort. He knew exactly how she took her coffee, and she didn’t know how she felt about this.

The pretty barista nodded eagerly, her cheeks red and her big dark eyes dreamy as she stared at Ash. “Why don’t you… Go sit at your table and I’ll bring you your beverages when they are ready?” the girl offered enthusiastically. The long line of patrons that had formed behind Clary and Ash would probably disagree but she didn’t seem to care.

“That would be lovely,” Ash said in his euphonious voice. “And so are you.” He winked at her, and Clary wondered if she would need to catch her while she swooned. He paid before Clary even had a chance to reach for her purse.

“Come,” he said in a commanding tone, as he made his way to Clary and Simon's usual table. This was unnerving.

The jock seated there paused in the middle of his conversation with his girlfriend when he saw Ash stand casually next to him. Clary braced herself for a heated exchange, but she should have known better.

“You want to sit somewhere else,” Ash said evenly, one hand inside the pocket of his designer coat and the other stretched out in front of him as he studied his fingernails.

“I want to sit somewhere else,” the jock repeated in a monotonous voice, his gaze blank. He stood, as if in a trance, and his girlfriend and friends followed him, puzzled, to an empty table at the far end of the room.

Ash drew a chair for Clary and she sat. He did the same, opposite her. He pulled off his beanie, and shook his silvery hair, like a crown of liquid white gold. He wasn’t dressed for the part but he had never looked more like a prince.

“Ash… please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your mind tricks.”

He cocked his head and observed her, his face unreadable, for what seemed like an endless minute.

“You’ve been my aunt for what? Five minutes? And you’re already trying to boss me around?”

“I am not trying to boss you around, Ash. Simply asking you not to abuse your powers.”

A shadow flickered across his green eyes.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Clary. I spend much more time and energy holding back than using my powers. If I did let go, trust me, you would know.”

Clary opened her mouth to reply but was cut short as the barista popped in front of them and placed the mugs on the table. She slid a paper napkin to Ash, her phone number scribbled on it. Clary tried not to roll her eyes, as Ash flashed his dazzling smile at the girl, who almost tripped on her own feet as she returned to the counter.

Clary lifted her cup to her lips and paused, as she caught sight of the cinnamon powder floating on the surface. She put it down.

“What about this?" She pointed at her coffee mug and waved around them. “ What is it, if not a show of power? What are you trying to tell me? That you know everything about me? That you’ve been spying on me?”

Ash pulled on a fake shocked expression, mouth open and green eyes wide in mock innocence. “Spying on you? What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Ash. The evidence is right here.” She lifted her cup abruptly, and hot liquid splashed out of it. “You know exactly how I like it. When I take it, where I take it.”

Ash’s mouth twitched. “Where did you pick up these lines? From the script of some lame X-rated movie?”

“Adult movies have storylines?” Clary asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Of course they do. Where do you think the Grimm Brothers took their inspiration from?”

He grabbed the paper napkin and started mopping the coffee she had spilled on the table. The blue ink faded and the barista’s phone number vanished.

“You lost that girl’s number,” Clary noted.

Ash shrugged. “I have a girlfriend now.”

Right. Drusilla Blackthorn. From the moment she had met her, Clary had known that the smart and quiet turquoise-eyed girl would someday turn heads.

Clary knew that Dru hadn’t really confirmed their relationship status yet, but it was neither the time nor place to broach the subject with Ash. She was, after all, on a mission to win over her nephew and had not been doing a very good job so far.

A young lanky boy with pink hair and piercings covering his skin walked by and dropped a glossy flyer of the upcoming Mortal Instruments concert on the table between them. Clary hid a smile. It reminded her...

“I have something for you.” She said as she fumbled inside her bag and took out the drawing she had made of Jocelyn, Luke and herself, in front of Luke’s upstate farm (before it was turned into the new Shadowhunter Academy) and laid it on the table.

Ash looked at it hesitantly, like a kid who really wanted to grab the candy but was afraid there was a mouse trap under it. He hunched his shoulders forward and clasped his hands under the table, as if to keep himself from temptation.

“I recognize your art. I like it. I also appreciate Julian Blackthorn’s but I may not be as objective where… one of the subjects of his drawings is concerned.”

“You’ve seen my art?”

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his long arms behind his head. Somehow, he managed to make it look graceful.

“Which Shadowhunter hasn’t? I noticed that you often drew Jace with angel wings.”

“Yes. That’s how he used to appear to me. In recurring dreams.”

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Jace. In your dreams.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Someone who looks like him, but who actually has wings.”

“You mean Kit.”

Ash shrugged. “It would make more sense.” His gaze flickered back to the drawing, which still lay on the table, untouched. “You look a lot like your mom.”

“So do you”, Clary blurted before she could take it back.

Ash shot her an unfathomable look.

“How is she?” She asked.

“You mean, the Seelie Queen? You tell me. You must see her more often than I do.”

“Well, not really. I am not that involved in politics, even though Alec is Consul. Julian Blackthorn is the one who deals with her most of the time. She appears to have... a fondness for him.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Clary’s mouth quirked up.

“I am glad you are getting along with the Blackthorns. They are such an incredibly strong and talented family.”

“They are.” He turned his face away, but not before she could see the expression of longing plain on his delicate features.

She swallowed. She was painfully reminded that Ash never had a shot at a happy family. Born of a political union, and dragged here and there, though interdimensional portals, by people more interested in his powers than anything else he had to offer as a person. And judging by how Dru talked about Ash, he had a lot to offer.

“I imagine it must have been awful living in Thule… But what you did for Emma and Julian back there... if it hadn’t been for you…”

“I don’t want to talk about Thule,” he interrupted her. “Can I borrow this?” He asked, his long fingers brushing the Mortal Instruments concert flyer.

“Sure.”

She watched as he started folding the paper, realizing with a jolt of surprise that he was making an origami and wondering what shape would come out of it. It was odd seeing him doing such an innocuous thing, as if he was not a faerie prince with a heavy heritage and a giant target on his back, but an ordinary boy. She remembered what Emma had told her of her encounter with Ash in a nightclub in Thule. The way he had shown no interest, playing a video game in a corner of the room, while Sebastian was committing atrocities. Had he really been as indifferent as he looked?

“Ash, we don’t need to talk about Thule if you don’t want to, but if I can help you… If there is anything I can do-”

“Why?” He looked up sharply. “Are you able to create a rune that could undo the things I saw?” His tone was even, but his delicate fingers had started slightly shaking and he suddenly dropped the paper - his work unfinished - to fold his hands under the table to hide it. From that moment, she knew.

“No…” Clary said, drawing the word out. “But trust me, coming from someone whose memory has been tampered with... it’s not a solution.”

“I said undo. Not forget.” He snapped. “I am not such a coward that I would choose blissful ignorance over knowledge.”

He caught himself, blinking, then clenched his jaw and looked away. As if he was ashamed he had allowed himself to show any emotion at all. But Clary had managed to catch a glimpse of what lay underneath the mask and wanted nothing more than to see the rest of it.

“I don’t think you are a coward,” she said.

He looked over at her, a silver eyebrow raised. “I let it all happen, didn’t I? I didn’t lift a finger.”

“Because you couldn’t. Sebastian would have killed you. And you, Ash, are just like me. A survivor.”

He snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back on his chair. He had stretched out his long legs and Clary realized that he was tapping a foot nervously next to hers.

“Wrong. I could have. I chose not to. Because I am selfish. I don’t care about other people’s fate.”

His face split into a lazy, wicked grin. Clary could see Sebastian’s influence in his leer, but she wouldn't let it deceive her. Just as she wasn't fooled by his laid-back demeanor.

“I think it’s the opposite, actually. I think it’s because you care too much. It’s not death you are afraid of. The thing is, you have such a tender heart, you need to protect it from an affliction far greater than any physical pain you could endure. So you’d rather lie to yourself and pretend you feel nothing.”

From the long conversations she had with Tessa about her ancestors, Clary knew of a Fairchild boy who had been too compassionate for his own good. And he had been surrounded by loyal friends and loving parents, even though he had shut himself, putting on a facade while burying his grief in alcohol. Ash never had that kind of support. Throughout his life, he was left to figure things out on his own. If he was as empathetic as Clary thought he was, Ash probably had no other choice but to deal with his sensitivity alone. It was a miracle he had turned out the way he did.

“You have a lot of imagination,” he said after a moment. The ghost of a smile was still playing on his lips but something had passed across his eyes. “Then again, you are an artist. You seek beauty in the ugly. You find colors on a blank page. I admire your faith, but in this case, there is nothing to see.”

Clary jutted her chin stubbornly and they held each other’s gaze - his green eyes glittering in amusement and hers dead serious - in a staring contest.

“Still,” he said when he finally broke, first. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I am sorry.”

Clary softened. “Don’t be. I am glad you are finally showing your true self. You don’t need to wear your mask around me, Ash.”

He chuckled. “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

“It’s funny that you would quote Oscar Wilde.”

“And why is that?”

She shrugged. “Just another thing you share in common with a Fairchild I heard stories about.”

“Clary,” he said in a gently reproving tone. Her name sounded like a caress in his melodious voice. “Are you being purposefully cryptic to arouse my curiosity?”

She moved closer, so she was sitting at the edge of her chair, and leaned forward, hands folded over the table.

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she whispered. “Let me in. Shed all pretense.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered back in confidence, leaning closer still so that their faces were inches from each other. “It’s like fabric that burns and melts into skin. If you peel it off, the skin goes with it.” He grimaced, reclining on his chair. “It won’t be a pretty sight. I don’t think even my level of hotness could sustain it.”

“Ash…” Clary said, sensing that she finally had an opening to say what she had been brooding over ever since she had learnt of Ash’s return from that forsaken land. “I wanted to tell you… I am sorry.”

Ash’s green eyes widened.

“Sorry for what?”

“I should have looked for you. I should not have given up on you.”

Ash’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do. Seb-...Ash, we...”

“What did you just call me?” He snarled. His eyes snapped back to her, suddenly cold as ice.

“Sorry, Ash. What I meant to say is… we are family."

“I already have a family.”

“I know that you care about Janus…”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he cut her off.

“And we don’t need to. I just wanted you to know… I understand that he’s been like a father to you, and I don’t plan on moving against him, unless he strikes first or makes it impossible for me to overlook his actions.”

“Because of me?”

“Of course, because of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Ash… You are my nephew, my blood. You may not feel the same way about me, but that’s how I feel about you. I want you to know that, if things go wrong, for any reason, you can always turn to me. My home is your home.”

“What you are actually telling me is, Ash, if I kill the one person who has ever really cared about you - and it might definitely come to that - you can always grab my hand, still sticky and warm from his blood. Well, how nice of you. To quote Oscar Wilde again, true friends stab you in the front.”

“That’s not what I am-”

“Clary,” Ash interrupted as he stood. “Do not make me choose between you and him. Because…” Looking down at her, he swallowed hard, as if the words pained him. “Because you will lose.”

She knew exactly what he was telling her. Because they were the same in that way. Ruthless, even with their own blood, when it came to protecting their loved ones. If I had to choose between killing him and you, I would not hesitate. I would end you. Yet, despite his cold statement, despite his sharp and resolved tone, his eyes seemed to carry a deep regret.

“Ash, I understand what you're saying and I swear I am not trying to make you pick a side”, Clary said, suddenly desperate, as she mirrored him and stood. “Please don’t go. I am sorry I brought it up. We will stop talking about him. Starting now.”

“This was a bad idea. Never try to contact me again.” He drew his green beanie from the pocket of his coat and put it back on. He turned and strode toward the exit. She grabbed the family drawing that still lay on the table, stuffed it in her bag and followed him, half-running, as he was quickly losing here with his long legs.

“Ash! Please. Give me another chance. I am so sorry.”

He paused right outside the coffee shop, closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t be. It didn’t change what I had planned to tell you anyway. I don’t want to know anything about you or your mother. I don’t want to have anything to do with either of you.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, and he whipped his head around to look at her in surprise. “I know you were under house arrest. You probably had to break out of whichever place they were holding you in to come here. You wouldn’t have done that unless you wanted something. Something from me. Tell me, Ash. Tell me what it is.”

He turned his face away so she could not see his expression. A full minute passed and she had almost given up on receiving an answer, when he finally spoke.

“My fa… Sebastian. How different do you think he would have been if not for the demon blood?”

“Oh. Ash.” she whispered. She brought her knuckle against her sternum instinctively, as if to cover the gaping whole in her chest. “I saw him, you know. The brother I should have had. The father that should have raised you. If only for a few minutes.” She paused to bite back tears. “In those few minutes, he told us how to get rid of the Endarkened and said he was sorry. It’s not much to go for, but… that’s not all. I have recurring dreams of the green eyed boy that was robbed from us. And I know in my heart he would have been the best brother a sister could ever dream of.”

He was still looking away and she could see the sharp line, the stubborn set of his jaw. She wanted to hug him, to tell him she would not fail him again. That they could mourn her brother, his father, together. That he didn’t need to bear the anger at everything that was wasted alone.

He finally turned to look at her. A tear had escaped to run freely down his cheek. He had completely shed off his mask, and what Clary saw was like a stab in her gut. She shivered. Wordlessly, he reached for his deep green scarf and tied it gingerly around her neck. The way Sebastian had when they had walked down the streets of Paris. Ash looked nothing like her brother had then. His green eyes held an infinite sadness that spoke of a grief deeper, older than the short years of his life.

“It doesn’t change anything.” He said - she hadn’t imagined his beautiful voice could sound so hollow - and turned to leave.

“Ash, wait.” She grabbed him by the elbow and he froze. His eyes widened as his gaze zeroed on the fingers covering his coat, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She realized she had never touched him before.

“Clary, what do you want from me?” He asked in a tired voice.

“I just want to get to know you.”

“Trust me, you don’t. I am not the brother who was stolen from you. I cannot replace him. If anything, I am just like Sebastian was before me... my father’s broken toy. There is no way to fix me.”

“I don’t believe it for a second,” she said, almost frantic. “And I don’t want to find my brother's replacement, I want to get to know you! Ash. The real Ash.”

“I already told you. That’s not happening. Don’t ever try to contact me again. I am serious.”

“So that’s it?” She tried not to sound too whiny but panic was eating away at her stomach and she thought she would throw up. “You went through all this trouble spying on me, learning how I take my coffee to simply disappear from my life from one moment to the next?”

He gazed at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“I was not spying on you, Clary. I was merely following your stalker.”

“What? You were… protecting me?”

“Take care of yourself, Clary.”

He said as he stepped away from her and vanished into the crowd.

****

Clary threw herself in Jace’s arms as soon as he opened the door to their bedroom at the New York Institute. He froze, then started stroking her hair in a soothing gesture.

“Clary, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Tell me, Clary. What is it?”

She pulled away and wiped tears with the back of her hand. Jace’s face was a mask of shock. Clary couldn’t blame him. She almost never cried.

“I messed up.”

“What did you mess up?”

She walked to the bed and sat on the mattress. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his reaction. “Ash. I met up with him earlier today.”

Jace tensed and his hands clenched into fists. “WHAT- Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have insisted on coming.”

“Damn right, I would have. And I would have been right, too. Look at you, you look miserable.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a small voice. “I pushed him too far.”

Jace sighed and came to sit next to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I am sure you did nothing wrong, Clary.”

“I thought- When I showed him the drawing… the way he looked at it, Jace. He is not indifferent. He cares.”

“What drawing?”

“The one I made of the family,” she said absently, as she grabbed her bag and started fumbling inside.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The drawing wasn’t there. Peeking out in its stead, and folded out of the flyer of the Mortal Instruments concert, were origami faerie wings. The Fairchild family symbol.