The temperature becomes warm, a baby dragon tries to make a swift entrance, but the glass breaks and a chaos begins, giggling and excited, blowing up balloons with scarlet lava, The party has only just began
swinging on the vines outside, Mother Earth inhales with the trees in the wild, leafy weaved hair sparkling matted with Venus hairspray, held to tradition, its customary for beauty to arrive late
One young, fresh faced winged creature flitters in following sprinkles of scattered chatter, in a second, it vanishes, and another one appears, contradicting everything the first creature said
Arriving with suitcases, a girl with half crescent moon eyes arrives at the door, purple lunar dust she doesn't know her age, her chest has freckles like constellations, she said she was looking for home
Light begins peering through the window, a golden haired baby cub face arrives, snapshots flashing through illuminated eyes, crimson hair that falls behind her like a red carpet
A mental hum sweeps through, in walks a youthful, earthly creature, wings held down to the ground with sewed safety pins, thinking with her eyes as they dart across the ground and sky, her mind impossible to catch
Pan flute music begins playing, and a cloud descends from the sky, translucent and reflective, a creature with a clam necklace and icing sugar for rouge, everybody wants to be friends with her, now the party is fun
Nobody noticed with their eyes that a mystifying essence had arrived, but everybody's soul was alerted, because they felt their spirit swamped with a watchful gaze, a ruthless guardian
A balmy, coconut breeze blows through the party, enchanted, fiery arrows are thrown into the dartboard, a creature of many backgrounds and teachings arrives, speaking many languages and decoding secret rhymes
From a silver lining in a cloud, delicately crafted snowflakes fall down, a Princess arrives at exactly on time, riding a carriage pulled by unicorns, her name engraved on a plaque on the highest star in the sky
A rainbow of illuminated fairy lights beam from the clouds, rain drops of thought fall into your mind, a creature, clear winged and extraterrestrial speaks with every guest telepathically
Music from seashells play in everyones ear, footsteps are heard from galaxies away, reverent and indefinable, a creature enters with sand webbed in her feet, Neptune dust sprinkled in her hair a teal turquoise dream reaching into the sea
aquiver (adj.) [uh-kwiv-er] in a state of trepidation or vibrant agitation; trembling; quivering
min yoongi x
themes, talk of masturbation, smut, language, some type of fluff words—
remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point
of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’,
and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to
provide hand jobs for a living…
inspired by the
novella ‘The Grownup’ by Gillian Flynn, literally just the main character’s past
Pairing: Florist!Steve x Reader x Biker!Bucky Summary: The morning was looking to be a seemingly normal one at Brooklyn Blooms but a change in delivery makes for an interesting Friday. A/N: Okay so this is based off an ask here. This is written in collaboration with @writemarvelousthings, it may be posted on my page but it is just as much her fic as it is mine. I’m so so excited for this series. Please come let us know what you think, we’d love to hear from you. Word count : 1,158
The purple door of Brooklyn Blooms stood out amongst the brownstones, like a colourful shell lying on the dull sands of a beach. It had been Steve’s idea to paint it, no longer wanting the flaking grey paint to reflect the sombre mood of the florist and with that first stroke of purple paint you saw Steve’s smile return.You had met Steve as a young apprentice fresh out of floristry school, his mother taking you under her wing in her cosy Brooklyn shop.
You remember first walking into the shop. Every nook and cranny was covered in plants and flowers of all kinds, the air light with mingling scents. Mostly, you remembered the sheer joy that surrounded the florist, people milling about buying little bouquets of happiness for others and once you had met Sarah and her son Steve the atmosphere made even more sense. Steve and you quickly bonded, becoming friends soon after. So, when his mother got sick Steve didn’t hesitate to ask you to move in with them into the apartment above the shop.
Can you please write a scenario about gabe defending his timid and kinda small gf from overwatch agents that made her cry? Thank you
“No, Gabe, please-”
Your boyfriend currently had his hand around an agent’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh. Your hand reached out to try and grab Gabriel’s black hoody, only to have toned arms wrap around your waist from behind, stilling you instantly.
“Better let him do it, sweetpea.”
You struggled against the southerner, your hand coming up to brush away droplets from your tear stained, bruised cheek. Blood stained your fingers, wiping them on your skirt. To say you were annoyed at how you weren’t as tall or strong as the other agents was an understatement. It was nice to be embraced and protected by Gabe, but when it came to standing up for yourself it was kind of pathetic.
“Jesse, get off me.”
“(Y/N), you’ll get hurt if go over there ‘nd then Reyes’ll have my behind too.”
A solid thud cut your conversation short as the agent who had been abusing you was now splayed out on the floor, your boyfriend hovering menacingly over him. A group of other, younger agents had grouped around, trying to verbally defend the one on the floor.
“Good. Get this shit outta my sight, and if I so much as hear a breath in (Y/N)’s direction, you’ll all be in the depths of hell before you know it.”
Jesse rest his head on top of yours, a deep sigh coming from his chest.
“C'mon, he’s gonna be in a foul mood.”
“I don’t care.”
You managed to wriggle your way out from your best friend’s grasp, limping slightly over to your boyfriend. Your hand gingerly touched his arm, making him spin around.
“Get her to Ziegler.”
His eyes didn’t meet yours, instead directing themselves over to McCree’s.
“I still need to teach these ingrates a lesson.”
A firm hand grasped around yours, dragging you away from the crowd. You stuttered, trying to say something to Gabe before you went through the doors to Angela’s office.
You were laid down on top of the pristine white sheets, arms crossed over your chest. No matter how many times you had said you were fine, Angela and Jesse would not leave your side until the Blackwatch Commander permmitted them to. The air hung thick with tense awkwardness. Angela was scribbling on her clipboard and Jesse seemed very interested with cleaning his hat. Your eyes were on the door, purple and blue slowly forming in your peripheral vision.
To be fair, you had taken quite a beating from the bastard. He kept on going on about how you got special treatment because you were ‘sleeping with the Blackwatch Commander’, to put it nicely. Your personality meant you’d tried to fight back, only to be given a black eye, cut cheek and lip and a sprained ankle. If Gabriel and Jesse hadn’t come along when they did.. You don’t know. Tears still streamed down your cheeks, no matter how hard you tried to stop them. You felt useless. Being in Overwatch and not even able to defend yourself.
You perked up when the doors opened and in walked Gabriel. Both Angela and Jesse stood up sporting strained smiles.
“How is she?”
“Fine. Bruising along the cheekbone, a few cuts here and there and a swollen ankle. Nothing some rest won’t heal.”
Gabriel nodded. The pair took that as their cue to leave, reassuring looks passed in your direcrion.
You uncrossed your arms and fiddled with your fingers, eyes now downcast from his intense gaze. The bed dipped slightly from his weight where he perched, his large hand covering both of yours.
“I’m sorry, Gabe.”
“Why are you sorry? You did nothing.”
“Exactly. I did nothing. I work at Overwatch and I can’t even fight back.”
“That’s because you’re not an agent. You’re my assistant.”
“Still, getting my ass kicked in front of everyone isn’t-”
“(Y/N). What he did was cowardly. It was an easy win for him until I came along.”
You sighed, head drooping down further.
“Let me train you.”
Your head perked up, him now reaching up to caress away a tear.
“If you’re worried, let me train you. I’m not always going to be here to protect you.”
Your eyes looked into his chocolate pools. He wasn’t joking. You nodded hesitantly. He squeezed your hands in reassurance.
“I hate seeing you hurt.”
“I hate being hurt.”
A gentle kiss was placed on your forehead. He loved you, and you loved him.
Day 1 of lovely langs week. This is kinda trash but, I like it!
The last thing he remembered was his teammates screams. The begs of mercy- Hunks voice begging.. someone.. not to take him, Keith growling about… someone.. laying a finger on him- but he couldn’t remember who had taken him. Who they were fighting. He tried to think. His name was Lance. He was the Blue- er, Red- paladin of voltron. He had five older siblings. Three of those siblings had kids. He was Lance.
He looked around, wandering the dark room with his eyes. A faint purple light encased the door, and he shook with fear. When did purple start meaning fear…? He shook his head trying to clear in. He attempted to move his arms before hissing out in pain. There were cuffs on his wrist, but it hurt more to actually move his arm than anything. His elbow hurt like a bitch. So his arms were out of the picture… he attempted to move his legs, only to find that his feet were chained together.
The door slid open with a ‘shmoof’, and Lance’s head bolted down. It was easier to pretend to be asleep than to face what might be coming. A nimble laugh rang out against the walls of his jail cell, “Do not worry, paladin, by the time this is over, you will no longer be afraid.”
His head jerked up on impulse, as a hand ran its way through his hair. The.. man.. Before him was tall, with long white hair cascading down his back. What.. Lance had seen this- er, galra?- before, but where? He store up at him with fear as blue eyes met yellow.
“Yes,” He said, presumably to someone behind the door, “He will do perfectly.”
He turned to Lance, grabbing his chin in a forceful grip, “Now, little paladin, let’s begin.”
the losers club as roommates???? i can't write for shit and i'm v v v desperate
-ok so after collage, all the losers get two different apartments in the city; one for the core four, one for ben, bev and mike (but only because his job doesn’t cover the cost for how own apartment so he splits rent to make it cheaper)
-bill and stan share a room and so do rich and eddie
-bill and ben both work at the local newspaper; bill writes short stories and ben writes poetry (both in the same page)
-stan does photography, doing headshots for actors, wedding/birthday photos; he also had a part time job st the jc penny photo studio
-rich works at te radio station, dj-ing all the music and throwing around his voices to lighted the mood
-eddie and mike both work at starbucks, and it pays well surprisingly
-anyway back the the rooms; eddie and stan always cook the meals (because whenever richie cooks, something will catch fire, and bill just never learned), which means that rich and bill clean up afterwards.
-ben, bev and mike spend all their free time in (what the four call) The Friends Pad (cause they painted their door purple), that sometimes they wonder if they even need their own apartment
-they do, cause bev cannot stand richies messiness
-stan, ed and bill are pretty clean and organized buT RICHIE OH DEAR LORD THAT BOY HAS NEVER HEARD OF A LAUNDRY BASKET G O D
-they put up with it though
-now onto the the three’s apartment; they all have their own room, but since the place only came with two rooms, ben and bev share (cAusE tHeyRe iN lOvE) and mike gets the room near the kitchen
-their apartment is filled with aesthetic art and the living rooms looks like i came from tumbr jesus
-that was bev’s doing
-the Friends Pad look… ok??? it looks like a general apartment but inside all the rooms it’s a diff colour
-rich and eds is a nice soft yellow and bill and stan’s is a sky blue
-the rest is a weird beige/white colour
-they all walk to word (except for bill and ben, who carpool)
-one special dates (anniversary’s, birthdays, etc) they all go out and eat at the nice place downtown called Ben Franklins that makes malts and shakes the old fashioned way, and it’s super cheap
(if anyone has been there in Phily, dEAR GOD ITS SO GOOD AGH)
-they have sleepovers all the time, and sleep outside on the three’s fairly large patio. they take all the blankets and pillows and pile it up. with a white sheep they’ll set up a projector and watch movies and stay up till 4am
that’s all i can think of now but this was so fun omg thank you, gAh
Mr. Hamilton asks her to marry him so often it becomes a game. “Marry me, Miss Barlow,” he’ll say when they step together in a dance, smiling at her as the dance separates them.
“I couldn’t marry you today,” she’ll reply when the music joins them again, and his palm presses lightly against hers. “You will note the stormclouds.”
“The rain would not do,” Mr. Hamilton will agree, hers for a few more measures. “Perhaps next week, when the weather clears?”
“Certainly not,” Miranda will say, and caress his thumb briefly with her own, risking the scandalized eye of Lady Heyward. “I could never marry under clear skies.”
James books their passage under the names of Mr. and Mrs. McGraw, and although she understands the necessity–she won’t be parted from him, any more than he’ll be parted from her, and not even the relaxed atmosphere of a merchant vessel bound for Port Royal will allow Mr. McGraw and Mrs. Hamilton to share a cabin–she hates it. James is not her husband, although she’s never loved him more than she does now, the way misery loves grief.
She’ll never have a husband again.
Miranda refuses to marry Mr. Hamilton twice at the opera with the Dudleys, much to their amusement, but she takes his arm and arranges things so the two of them are side by side in the Dudleys’ box. He murmurs softly to her for the duration of the play, clever and wicked by turns, and she had him only the day before, on his knees in Duke R––’s library, but she’s already desperate to have him again.
“Oh, marry me, Miranda,” he says with amused frustration when the night is over, but the conversation is not. “Come home and talk with me until we’ve put Caccini thoroughly to bed.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, Mr. Hamilton,” Miranda says gently, and hopes that her eyes are promising him what she cannot, in their company–that she will give him whatever he likes in private, but she is clever enough to recognize the jaws of marriage, its unyielding bite. She has a few years yet before she must step into the trap.
On the ship from Port Royal to Nassau, no one cares what their names are, or who shares her bed. She lies in the living dark of the ship at night–the men at watch walking above her head, the groaning communion of the ship and sea an endless chorus–and smooths her hand over James’s hair, mindless and repetitive. He’s awake, but quiet, his breath warm on the bare skin of her stomach.
The last thing Thomas said to her was Take care of James.
“I love you,” she says to the man in her bed.
“I would never trap you,” Thomas swears in her bed, tender and relentless. “Would you trap me?”
“Never,” Miranda says, pressing a brief kiss to his knuckles. “But it would not be the same. You would always have power over me.”
He looks at her, very serious. “Would you like power over me?” he asks.
James Flint murders a man at her word, and then returns to her, like an animal at the end of its chain.
He tells her that Alfred Hamilton begged for his life. He tells her that her mother-in-law was there on the ship, too, and he did not spare her. His voice shakes in the telling, and she kisses him for it.
Thomas died alone, in a cold, dark place. Captain Flint is bloodstained and grim in her arms, and she loves him, she loves him, she loves him.
Thomas gives her a ring, a household, the promise of a title, and a small bundle of letters that would ruin him utterly if they fell into the wrong hands. He places them in hers with terrifying ease. “Come live with me,” he says, grinning like he’s won, like she’s won, like they’ve triumphed over an enemy together, “and be my love.”
A year into their marriage, Miranda throws the letters into the fire.
James comes home after a two month voyage and kisses her clumsily at the door, purple shadows under his eyes. She manages to get him to take off his boots before he falls into bed, but he’s too exhausted to remember his belt, or his coat. He’s asleep almost as soon as he lies down, and she sits down beside him, feels a rush of affection so strong it feels like fury.
Oh, she thinks, looking down at the wounded face she knows as well as her own. You are all I have in the world.
The affection dims under the weight of the thought.
Arriving with suitcases, a girl with half crescent moon eyes arrives at the door, purple lunar dust she doesn’t know her age, her chest has freckles like constellations, she said she was looking for home