backwards boots

basically-echidna replied to your photoset: @imadeablogforchitchat the proportions really are…

I don’t think that one foot is flat on the ground, though. It’s up on tiptoe. See the like, sucker thingy?? from the heel of her boot pointing backwards?

So she’s kind of with her back to wherever she’s looking, but she’s turned?

The second one being more correct?  That might be correct.  I don’t know how the Germa  boots design faces, but this would make more sense… at least to me. ^^

anonymous asked:

I know this imagine has been done before, but have you done a girl receiving his love letter? Your writing is amazing and I'd love to see how you'd roll with Dylan actually giving his love letter to his girl! Please and thanks :)

Of course I can! I know you said “a” girl, but I wrote it as if you were receiving the letter. Hope you enjoy! As a disclaimer, this includes some conversation about suicide, I’m not sure if it would upset anyone. But enjoy!


This is it,” Dylan mutters under his breath as he walks through the crowded halls with a folded up piece of paper tucked in his closed hand. He wears his usual black duster, combat boots, and backwards hat- his demeanor and disposition causing people to scatter around him. He treads over to a collection of lockers at the end of the corridor, and looks over his shoulder in case someone were to to see. He takes the piece of notebook paper, slipping it through a slot in a specific locker, watching it fall inside. He stands there for a moment, realizing that he can’ t go back now, panic and fear bubbling up inside of him.

“I’ve got nothing left to lose,” he mutters, shaking his head and turning around. His muscles stiffen when he spots you standing in front of him with a collection of books cradled in your arms.
“Hello?” you greet, giving him a small smile. You peer around him at your locker, wondering what he was doing here, since the two of you hardly talked before. You’ve had a few classes together, but weren’t necessarily “friends”. He shifts his weight onto his left foot, crossing his arms.
“Is there something you need?” You add curiously, looking up at his face which is now a shade of crimson red. His posture and facial expression screams ‘uncomfortable’ as he looks around the hall in desperation.

“Oh, it’s nothing-” he stammers, shaking his head no.
The fourth hour bell begins to sound off, indicating that it was time to return to class. People begin to divide and migrate to different doors with their backpacks, finishing up their conversations in the hall.

“Well, I should get to class now,” Dylan mutters, secretly thankful for the bell. He moves past you in a hurry, staring down at the floor to avoid looking into your face. “I’ll see you around,” he adds, picking up his pace and rushing down the hall.
He doesn’t give you a chance to say goodbye in return. You dismiss his odd behavior and chalk it up to him just being nervous for an upcoming final exam, or presentation. You shrug and turn around to your locker, diligently moving the lock around in circles for the combination.

The door springs open, as a piece of folded up paper falls to the floor. You shove your textbooks onto the shelf before bending down to collect the mysterious note, thinking it must have fell out of a folder. Your name is scrawled on the front, an obvious sign that it wasn’t notes from class. You look around the almost deserted hall, marveling at who would have planted the note inside of your locker. The paper crinkles as you open it, and you begin reading the contents on the page.

The letter opens with, “You don’t consciously know who I am,” which sparks your interest immediately. You dive into the letter, reading its passionate and heartfelt contents.
I think about you all the time, how this world would be a better place if you loved me as I do you. I know what you’re thinking: (some psycho wrote me this harassing letter).” You eagerly digest every word, taking it all in. You’ve never received something this meaningful, wholehearted, and sincere.

Your stomach begins to turn, as you stop abruptly, lingering on once sentence, “Please don’t feel any guilt about my soon-to-be ‘absence’ of the world.” Covering a mouth with your hand and tears welling in the corner of your eyes, you push yourself to finish the letter, decoding its details, attempting to figure out who wrote it. The person begins explaining personal details of who they are, mentioning that the two of you shared a class in first semester, and even worked on a project together.

Your heart drops at the author’s revelation: “However, if it were true that you loved me as I do you, I would find a way to survive.
Closing your eyes for a moment, you clutch the letter against your chest, feeling the intense pain and sorrow of the worlds sprawled in black ink across the page. Your mind races, as you finish the letter and search around the hall, realizing its ultimately desolate. You shove the piece of paper inside of your pocket, frantically rushing down the hall not knowing exactly what you were doing.

You cease to a halt, remembering the encounter with the frazzled boy at your locker. He must have been the one to slip it inside of your locker, and you begin racking your brain for his name. You recall the project from first semester the two of you worked on together, the details slowly come flooding back in tidal waves.

Dylan!” You hiss out loud, clapping your hands together. The only thing you were concerned about was finding him.


The cafeteria is loud with laughter and conversation, people moving around with plastic trays and sitting at their usual seats. You stand in the center of the room, desperately searching for Dylan, while people stare in confusion at your obvious state of panic.
Finally, a tall figure descends from the stairs, talking to a group of friends with a smile on his face. You notice his jovial expression and appearance, wondering if this could be the same person who left the melancholic letter in your locker.

You scamper over in his direction, pushing and shoving past people who block your path. If Dylan is really thinking about harming himself, something had to be done. His friends elbow his rib cage upon noticing your presence, to which Dylan looks up in a mixture of terror and embarrassment. He stops at the end of the stairs, his face turning pale.

“I have to talk to you,” you mutter, grabbing on his arm and dragging him the opposite direction of the cafeteria towards a quiet hall. His friends cackle and holler, watching the two of you to hurry off somewhere private.
You look around, making sure there weren’t people listening, and shove a hand in your pocket, pulling out the wrinkled piece of paper. Dylan gulps and gazes at in your hand, beginning to quiver.

“Was this from you?” You inquire, holding the piece of paper up into the air, your voice cracking on the verge of a breakdown. He remains quiet, looking at the floor in shame.
“Dylan, please look at me.” You beg, placing a hand on his face, pulling his chin up. He stares at you for awhile before shaking his head in apprehension.
“I knew it would make you angry,” he spits, slamming a hand against the wall, regret coursing through him.

You listen as he mumbles a few obscenities under his breath, kicking himself for doing such a thing.
“I’m not, though. I’m worried.” You answer crestfallen. Your throat tightens, struggling to hold back tears. He looks up from the floor, detecting the concern in your voice.
“You can’t do that to me,” you begin sobbing, slapping a hand against his chest. The anger drains from his face, replaced with fear and sorrow. “You can’t tell me you love me, and then make plans to end your life.”

He stands there for a moment, his shoulders slumping. You pace around for a moment, wiping tears with the back of your hand from your stained face. Dylan tugs on your wrist, pulling you a little closer to where he stands.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says gently, still holding onto you. You look down at his large hands, speechless.
“I just-” he begins, shaking his head. “I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he replies softly, the sorrow in his voice heartbreaking.

Without a word, you pull him in for a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and lean into him. After a minute, he slowly slides his arms around you, relaxing his muscles.
“What you’re going to do is stay here. Stay here with me,” you murmur back between little gasps of air. You look up at him, your hair matted and wet against your face from all of the tears. He gives you a small smile, and rubs your back gently.

“That sounds good to me,” he answers after awhile, holding onto you and never wanting to let go.  

Week of One-shots, Day 2

I received quite a few requests yesterday, so at random, here’s today’s one-shot.  Feel free to keep sending in requests…I can’t get to all of them this week, but that doesn’t mean I won’t ever do them!

Read Monday’s one-shot here.  I’ll add these to FF.net at some point this week as well, per request.

Enjoy!

Tuesday’s Prompt is from @startswithhope: Prompt: Canon Captain Swan Halloween….go!

Title: Ghosts and Ghouls

Rating: R (for risqué)

Emma straightens the collar of her red leather jacket, wondering if Killian will be disappointed with her costume choice (or lack there of, actually).  Halloween has never been a particular favorite holiday for her.  Growing up, she never had money for a costume and her foster homes weren’t always inclined to take her out trick or treating even if she’d had one. 

When she was older, the appeal of pretending to be something she wasn’t never sat well with her, especially because she worked so hard to be comfortable in her own skin.  Shirking that for a day was not appealing.  And now…

Well, now she really, really liked being Emma Swan and trying to be someone else, even for fun, wasn’t really her thing.

Keep reading

After years of being one of the most photographed stars on the planet, Taylor Swift recently decided she was bored with her usual “step out looking like a fresh-off-the-runway model and dazzle everyone with my poise and grace” routine. So she decided to shake things up a bit and employ a hilarious new tactic to completely stump the paps.

As the 25-year-old was leaving a friend’s house in Los Angeles earlier this week, a swarm of photographers naturally waited outside for her to emerge. But Tay was having none of it. With the help of her bodyguard, a.k.a. her partner-in-crime, she slowly walked backward (in heeled wedge boots, no less!) before quickly spinning around and jumping into an awaiting SUV.

—  MTV
Justice In The Trees

Pairing: Peter x Reader 

Rating: +13

Summary: Reader was molested by one of the newer Lost Boys and doesn’t tell anyone because she wants to be strong. Then Peter heard her having a nightmare and coaxed it out of her.

(If you are sensitive to thematic elements such as these, do NOT read.)

Originally posted by pans-dreamshade-of-neverland

Y/N tried to be strong. Being in Neverland was certainly not for the weak, so she kept it inside. Kept her fear inside.

She could still remember the night as if it was yesterday.



There was no sunset that night. Just blue light sending Neverland’s forest into it’s blue period.
She used to love the feeling the low light gave her. It was welcoming and she enjoyed the cool breeze, a break from the hot sun during the days in the summer.

She had set off for a small walk. Peter had warned her not to stray too far, and she made sure that she could still hear the bustle of camp. Her ears picked up the sounds of the wilderness around her and she smiled slightly. Suddenly, a dirty hand covered her mouth and she could feel the person’s breath on her neck. She let out a startled squeak, but the hand muffled it. Though the person’s breath was warm, it sent chills down her spine.

The person let her go almost immediately and she turned. She let out a relieved breath seeing as it was just the new Lost Boy, Landon. “Don’t do that!” She scolded with a smile. “I thought that you were a pirate!” He gave a disgusted face.

“I’m not that ugly, am I?” He stroked his chin.

“Maybe a little.” She teased and they both laughed. They had a good friendship. It was enough for Y/N to be comfortable around him. There was a pause.

“I wanted to show you something.” Landon said nodding his head further away from camp. Y/N hesitated. Pan wouldn’t be happy.

“I don’t think that that’s such a good idea. It’s getting dark and Pan told us specifically to stay near camp.” She shook her head. “Not to mention the dangers of Neverland.”

“Oh, come on.” Landon sighed. “It isn’t that far, we’ll be back before anyone notices that we have been gone too long.” He pleaded. Almost as an after thought, he added, “I’ll protect you.” Little did she know that it was an empty promise. It wasn’t light conversation anymore. It seemed that he would burst if she didn’t go with him. Still, Y/N declined and began walking back when she saw Landon’s features contort.

She was grabbed from behind again and this time, she put up a fight. He hushed her, his hand keeping her muffled and his other hand went from just under her chest to the top of her thigh. Landon began to drag her backwards and her boots made scuff marks on Neverland’s dirt floor. Panic filled her belly, despite Landon’s “words of comfort.”

She was scared and she put up a large fight to get as far from Landon as possible, but he was too strong for her. She felt weak and she bit her tongue.

“It will all be over soon.” Landon’s low voice made her shiver and he ripped off her hooded cloak. A feeling of dread filled her as she was pushed to the dirt.



Y/N shook her head as if shaking away the memory. She never went on walks anymore. The twilight now gave her tremors through her hands and heart palpitations. She pushed off of the tree that she had been leaning against and walked over to sit on a log next to the fire. Pan’s soothing flute drifted through the air, though it did little for her, She sat as far from Landon as she could, unconsciously alarming the more observant of the Lost Boys. They didn’t understand why she was so distant the past months, but said nothing.

She never danced with the boys anymore. She didn’t dance much, but every once in a while she would join. She hadn’t stepped within five feet of the fire in ages.
Sitting by the fire, trying to eat her dinner, Landon came over to sit on the log not to far from hers. He hadn’t made any attempt to talk to her since that night, so she was alarmed. She visibly stiffened. The quiet conversation between Felix and Devin, two of the older Lost Boys, had slowed as they noticed the small shift in their friend’s mannerisms. Y/N was the only girl, so they were automatically more aware for her.

Landon shifted a little closer and Y/N gripped her eating utensil. She had finished her food, now she was gripping her empty dish. She couldn’t show weakness, she just had to suck it up. What happened to her didn’t matter. Or so she kept telling herself. She kept her gaze trained on the fire and tried not to think about it.

She looked over and Landon was sitting right next to her. She gasped and recoiled, falling off of the end of her log. Landon’s mouth was upturned into a smirk and she couldn’t fight her shaking hands. Her chest moved rapidly up and down and memories from that night flooded her mind.

The flute music had stopped, Devin and Felix’s conversation had done the same and the other Lost Boys froze. All eyes were trained on the two. Felix stood up and walked over, pushing past a few of the boys. His hand brushed Y/N’s shoulder and she jumped, looking up at him. Her face grew red in embarrassment and Felix helped her up. There were tears in her eyes and she brushed a few of them away as soon as they fell. 

 She picked up her dish hurriedly and sped to her hut at the far end of camp. Pan had noticed the change in her mood, as had all of the Lost Boys, and they all shared a glance. Y/N never cried, she had always been tough, tougher than some of the Lost Boys even. Pan tried to play the flute again, but it seemed as though they all just wanted bed. After seeing something as startling as their tough Lost Girl crying, they weren’t in the mood. Pan hoped that things would be better and more upbeat in the morning.



 It was almost pitch black in the camp, the fire still had many embers, casting a dull glow to the trees. Pan stared at them, thinking. Y/N, his only Lost Girl, had always been resilient. She had told him off after badgering her once. He had admired her fiery persona and had grown respect for her. She was unlike Wendy, the first girl that Pan had brought to Neverland. Where Wendy was dainty and weak, Y/N was confident and strong. But something had changed her. Pan had thought over the events of the past few months, those that he and the boys had noticed the change, and the only thing that he could think of, was the new boy, Landon.

 This struck him as odd. Landon was a generally nice guy. Pan thought that maybe the two had a past, that was shot down immediately. Y/N had most likely been in Neverland since years before Landon was born, not to mention no one was allowed off the island. Maybe they had been in a relationship since he got to Neverland and they had a rough break up? It wouldn’t be uncommon, but Pan specifically told all of his Lost Boys, even each new one, that Y/N was off limits. Including Landon. (She was the only girl after all.) 

 Perhaps- His thoughts were interrupted by a muffled whimper. He looked up and around immediately. The whimper came again and his brows furrowed. It sounded feminine. Y/N. Pan looked towards her hut as the whimper came again. This one was louder and had a panicked edge to it, more so than the first two. He jogged to her hut in worry. Thoughts raced through his mind. Was she being attacked? 

 He rapped softly on the door of her hut. No answer. He listened and the next sound was not a whimper. It was a cry of terror. He opened the door immediately. Y/N was alone in her bed, the thin blanket was tangled around her legs, effectively restraining her. It looked like she was trying to push something. Pan walked over and put his hands gently on her shoulders. She reacted violently and Pan moved away quickly, thinking that she was awake and aware. But as soon as he moved away, she went back to her previous state, pushing at nothing. He sat on the edge of her bed and gripped her shoulders, shaking them to wake her. Y/N cried out louder this time as she woke up. She pushed her attacker away and scrambled up the bed. Tears ran down her cheeks. She saw a silhouette in her dark room and gasped trying to make herself smaller.

 "Hey, it’s just me.“ Pan said gently as he reached out for her. She curled into herself and shook violently. The dream had been so vivid for her, almost like it had happened again. "Y/N, it’s alright. No one is going to hurt you.” Pan knew what comfort was and how to extend it, but he hadn’t had to do it in a long time, so he felt a bit rusty. 

 "I’m sorry. . I-If I woke you.“ Her first instinct was to apologize to Pan. He wasn’t the kindest of the boys and she tried to stay out of his way. They were on good terms so far, aside from when she told him off, and she didn’t want to jeopardise that. Pan shook his head and reached for her. She winced and closed her eyes, expecting the worst.

 "Darling, I won’t hurt you, open your eyes.” She did as she was told, slowly, and found a concerned Pan. He had wished for a candle and put it beside her bed to cast light. “You were having a nightmare, Sweetheart.” He brought his fingers up and brushed some hair from her face. She would have said something along the lines of: ‘I know that.’ But she was too stunned from the nickname. Pan had called her 'Darling’ and 'Love’, but never 'Sweetheart’. It just wasn’t in his personality. He was gruff and unemotional. This Pan was different. 

 She only nodded and brought up a hand to dry her face. Pan handed her a handkerchief and she sniffled. He waited patiently as she calmed enough before helping her sit up. “Would you mind telling me about it?” Pan asked and she shook her head immediately. He nodded. She had the right to refuse, not like he could do anything about it. “Alright…” He paused. 

As previously stated, he wasn’t practiced in the comfort department. He decided to treat this like talking to a scared animal. He knew that it would be degrading to refer to it as such, but it was the best he had. “If I do something you don’t like, tell me.” With those words he began to move, slowly as to not startle the girl. He kicked off his shoes as he moved further onto the bed. She moved as he did. Shuffling out of his way. Y/N was left slightly confused in her reducing panicked state. What in the world was he doing? 

Six(-ish) Sentence Sunday

From my upcoming season 2 canon-divergent “Inhuman AU,” tentatively titled The Storm Inside. This is the opening of the fic, and takes place during 2x10.

Darkness. Screaming.

Fitz’s hand almost slipped on the edge of the dark tunnel into which Trip had just vanished, and Jemma grabbed onto his sleeve, screaming after their friend to come back. He turned to her, eyes wide and heart pounding. “We have to go after them.”

Being swallowed whole. Laughing yellow eyes, terrified.

They ran hand-in-hand down a stone corridor, screaming for their friends and clutching each other for dear life. Finally, they saw Trip wedged into an archway, struggling to keep the stone door from closing. “Get her out,” he yelled, out of breath, hands slipping against the rock and boots skidding backwards on the dirt beneath him.

Born again but broken. Walls crumbling.

Fitz squeezed around Trip, into the room where Skye was crying, blaming Raina for the disaster that was upon them. Although he pulled Skye hard towards the entrance, she struggled, not wanting to let the girl no longer in a flower dress get away. Trip let out a desperate grunt, the door slipped another inch closed, and Fitz shoved Skye through the gap, knocking Trip out after her. The door slammed shut before he could even reach a hand through, and he could just barely hear Jemma scream his name.

Stones cracking. Silence. Footsteps.

Raina sighed, teasingly lamenting his impending fate, but Fitz ignored her in favor of trying to pry the floor-to-ceiling door open – to no avail. Dirt gathered underneath his short fingernails, leaving shallow tracks in the stone. On the other side, Jemma screamed for him over and over again, he thought he heard fists pounding uselessly against the door, and Skye called out that Trip had run to get the explosives, that they were going to get him out of there. A blue light reflected on the wall, and Fitz turned, staring at the crystals that emerged from what had once been the alien obelisk. Thinking only that he needed to do something, he grabbed a nearby rock and smashed the crystals into nothingness. A pulse of energy threw him down, his skull cracking nastily against the floor.

And then Leopold Fitz became something completely different.

lemundemuse  asked:

HEADS UP SPOOK (asktheredengie, if you don't mind!)

Send me ‘HEADS UP’ and I’ll generate a number for how my muse will react to your muse throwing one of the following at them

@asktheredengie
10. Boot 

The battle for that day was going well. 

After making a fool of both the enemy Sniper and Medic, it was time to pay the dear Engineer and his sentry nest a much needed visit. With the Engineer nowhere in sight, Spy made a break for the sentry nest in a RED Sniper disguise, making quick work to place his sapper on each machine. It was incredible luck that was no one was around. Everything was going perfectly until he heard Engineer’s voice. 

At hearing his nickname, Spy subtly glanced up as he started to walk away. Maybe he could get away under his cloak. However, Spy barely took one step before a boot sailing across the sky smacked him square in the nose, knocking off his disguise mask in the process, his false identity dropping in a shroud of smoke. With a loud curse, Spy held his nose, stumbling backwards from the offending boot that landed on the floorboards with a solid thud. 

A boot. He had really thrown a boot at him.

“For fuck’s sake - you honestly threw a boot at me?!” the Spy hissed out in between clenched teeth, still cupping his hands over his nose tightly.