cross drilled

Wedding date

A Drabble Games fic requested by @queencaitlin135, featuring Fili

02: “I think I’m in love with you and that scares the hell out of me.”
03: “I almost lost you.” 

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The silvery chime of a bell heralded your arrival as you pushed open the door of the Blue Mountain Roastery, letting the warm smell of coffee waft over you. A smile immediately brightened the face of a plump, raven-haired lady behind the counter who balanced a large tray of freshly baked pastries, ready to find their home in the glass bakery case.

“Good morning, dear,” she called, “so nice to see you again.”

“Thanks, Dis, it’s great to be back.”

Dis’ younger son pushed an unruly mop of dark curls away from his face to greet you with a cheeky grin from where he stood on a stepladder, stocking a display shelf with small bags of coffee beans.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Hey, Kili,” you chuckled. “How’s the wedding planning coming?”

Kili gave a mutinous roll of his eyes, lowering his voice. “Let’s just say Mum’s idea of a small wedding is different from mine and Tauriel’s. Eloping has never sounded so good.”

“Well, not long now, at least,” you consoled him, turning toward the counter and steeling yourself for the flutter of your stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

Your eyes met Fili’s sea-blue ones over the cash register, and his stubbled cheeks dimpled with a dazzling smile as he wiped his hands on his apron before resting them on his hips.

“Haven’t seen you all week,” he noted, with a teasing twinkle in his eye. “Don’t tell me I almost lost you to Starbucks.”

“Bite your tongue,” you mock-scolded, “I was at a conference for work.”

“Well, you’re in luck, your favorite table is empty and I’ll get the usual started for you, hmm?”

“Thanks, Fili,” you grinned, making a beeline for the table in the corner as the bell tinkled again, bringing more people into the cafe.

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Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Imagine: Klaus fucking you in front of your mirror and whispering dirty things in your ear as he fucks you. (Requested ~Smut~)

Klaus positioned your stand-up mirror in front of your bed with a small smile on his lips. You knew he was up to something, considering you were naked and standing in front of the mirror. He walked back around to you, watching you stare at yourself. One of his hands snaked around your waist and up to cup your left breast and he squeezed it gently. Your head rolled back onto his shoulder, his hot breath fanning over your collar bones. 

Your lips parted when his other hand shot up to cup your right breast, his lips attaching to your neck. Slowly, his right hand trailed down your stomach and to your hip where he rested it there and then slid to your folds. You gasped, his fingers pushing into your clit and to your entrance. Klaus grunted and moved his lips to your ear. His left hand reached up and wrapped around your throat to hold you into him.

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During preproduction, Abrams was reminded of Phantasm, a 1979 horror film that featured a gaunt, terrifying figure known as The Tall Man and a flying, silver sphere that bores into its victims’ bodies like a bullet crossed with a drill-tip.

“Phasma I named because of the amazing chrome design that came from Michael Kaplan’s wardrobe team. It reminded me of the ball in Phantasm, and I just thought, Phasma sounds really cool,” [X]

Frequencies - Phan. One-shot

Summary: In a world where talent, luck and intelligence is measured by the frequency you give off. Dan Howell has a frequency of 126 and Phil Lester is a minuscule 56. But with high frequency comes no empathy. Dan Howell cannot feel. Phil wants to help, but there is a severe reaction when they even get near each other.

Words: idk yet

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It was at ten years old that Phil Lester and Dan Howell realised a mixture of fate and science had told them they were not meant to be together.

It started with the rain.

Phil only meant to ask Dan if he wanted to play a game. He knew Mrs. Forks forbid any High Frequencies from interacting and communicating with low frequencies, because of the reaction. They were like magnets repelling from each other. And Dan Howell and Phil Lester were on the opposite sides of the spectrum. They were the kinds of children who would grow up and cause havoc when they so much as touched each other.

But at that moment in time, with the sun shining brightly in the sky, illuminating the playground outside the mediocre building for  Mrs. Forks primary school for the gifted. Shadows danced across the concrete as children, his classmates, played. But with their own frequencies of course. Phil sat alone on the swing set, slowly pushing himself backwards and forwards, his trainers scuffing against the harsh concrete.

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