encounter clothes

What Are You Wearing?

Oliver has always been observant of Felicity’s outfits, they make her very hard to resist.

This is my entry for the Olicity Hiatus Fic-a-thon for the prompt: One More Time, organized by @thebookjumper.

I had no beta so the mistakes are mine. Also available on AO3. Hope you enjoy!

Over the years, Oliver had tried to school his reactions to Felicity’s outfits. He knew he had no right to judge or tell her what to wear but she seemed to be unaware of just how attractive she was. Oliver was just being a supportive friend, trying to protect her from the many men checking her out. She might be oblivious but Oliver was not.

Felicity was always aware of Oliver was paying attention to her outfits. Even if she didn’t let him know.


The first time he recalled noticing her outfit was when they agreed to meet at the cancer fundraiser with plans to catch the dodger.  As she walked into the ballroom, Oliver and Diggle looked up and Felicity did not miss the gulp and dilated eyes of Oliver Queen. He walked toward her and said lowly “you look amazing.”

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anonymous asked:

Sea does not need to post because I just want to vent. Harry did the trick yesterday to take pictures with the bandana, and in the photo with the dog he has a defiant possession. He began to wear the blue bandana by the time he and Louis were submerged in heavy stunts. So I think he just wanted to reassure those who can see through the lines, and what heavy things will come. I feel for them, and for those who are afflicted with it. ( 1)

If it is difficult for us, imagine for them that you have to live this lie? Many people think these little demonstrations are for fandom. But I think this is actually for them. Louis giving rings to Harry and Harry making strange tattoos like the mermaid, the bear and the bee, tattoos that do not have a correct definition and that clearly is not “just a boat”. I’m glad Harry had Louis and he still has him, to go through these trials. Kisses in your hear Sea. I hope you stay. ( 2)


Dear Anon,

This is a beautiful message for today. Thank you for sending it, and if you don’t mind, I’ll add a few of my own thoughts.

Last week I went off Tumblr for a few days, and thought about an extended leave. For me, it has to do with personal issues in my life, not with the band or fandom. I don’t consider myself a big or influential blog. People sometimes do leave/ take a break for personal reasons, and nothing more. I still believe Harry & Louis are together, I still believe in supporting them, and I still believe in a happy ending for them. I don’t think it’s naive or wishful thinking to hope for that.

My blog is centered on the music of 1D, but I’ve been inspired and moved by OT5 in so many ways, I can’t even begin to count them. Over the years, they’ve shown abundant talent, charm, intelligence, generosity, compassion, and most of all, courage.

It’s hard to duplicate 1D because the boys weren’t about pursuing success at any cost, or merely chasing fame or money, or climbing over each other to grab the top prize.

Instead, from the very beginning, they took care of each other and took care of the fans. No one was left behind. They did not let the powers of industry destroy their faith in themselves, or in being good artists AND good people.

They raised money for charity, advocated for tolerance and love, argued against prejudice, shaming, or bullying of any kind, and stood up for those who felt most vulnerable in the fandom.

They appreciated our creative endeavors in making fan art and fan fiction. They thanked us for raising money and awareness for charities. They inspired fans to make their own music, to start writing for the first time, to rekindle their love of art or poetry or songwriting. They made us believe in the power of creativity. They educated us on the music industry; we learned along with them.

The way that the boys of 1D made everyone feel included translated to an incredibly happy feeling at the concerts. Being at a 1D concert, even for an old person like me, was an amazingly uplifting, positive, happy feeling. On a day like this, when Liam is turning 24 and Niall is starting his solo tour, I feel so thankful and nostalgic for the band, it makes me a bit tearful.

The boys were so young when they started, and now they are men. Their tastes and talents have matured, they’re much more savvy dealing with media and fans, they’ve learned to shield themselves from intrusion. That means limiting some access to fans. On balance, that’s a healthy development.

In a way, Harry and Louis are living the best of times (in their career so far) and the worst of times. Their free time is their own— many days spent MIA together, without obligations to 1DHQ, with friends who know them and understand their situation. No magazine shoots, interviews, mall book signings, television appearances, writing/ touring/ recording simultaneously, unless they want to. They are starting solo careers and establishing significant presence in the industry; they are high revenue generators and have large fan bases.

They have a modicum of control over their closets, and can control some of the terms. If they imply relationships with women, they can have some say: who, when, where, how. They will never be able to address what happened during 1D; what they went through will only come to light through carefully worded anecdotes, like the one Louis told about Simon summoning him to LA.

They are still not able to openly be with the person they love, and no matter what, that hurts. Fandom’s ruptures and arguments can’t begin to approximate what HL went through for seven years, through ugly innuendos and stunts, with opportunistic people wanting a piece of their fame.

We know Harry and Louis are people who cherish family, love performing, and love each other. We know this not because we’re “tinhatters” or any other epithet that tries to undermine our intelligence or sanity. We know because they’ve shown their love openly, over and over, year after year, in every medium, in various forms; because they have proclaimed through songs, tattoos, speeches, actual fan encounters, clothing, etc. to give love, share love– always to enlarge the sphere of love in this world.

Lastly, if I’m away, I will still live by this philosophy, and will be supporting Harry and Louis until they get their happy ending. I will check my messages, and even if I don’t answer, I am reading them. Hugs.


Every time I think of soaking wet Mountain Man!Rick I imagine a high society Lady Michonne stranded in the wilderness who encounters a loin-cloth wearing, chest-pounding, grunting Rick of the Jungle. Pretty sure she’s had this dream at some point too.

anonymous asked:

after the curse is broken, another curse is set in place. as punishment for the villagers being so cruel to belle, they are all turned into inanimate objects, and the castle forgets about them and continues on with their lives. in order for the spell to be broken, someone from the castle must wander into the village, stay, and truly forgive them all for whatever secret and dark past they may have. -☁️

oh wow that’s fucking weird. also the Perfect excuse to write the Fucking Trash Fic starring the V I L L A G E R S  i’ve been wanting to do

“Did I have a papa, once?” Chip asks his mum. He’s not sure why, but playing with his little toy donkey—carved from wood, with little wheels for legs—has stirred something in him.

“All little boys have papas,” says Mrs. Potts absently. She is busy drying the dishes, and doesn’t look up from her saucers and plates. “Why would you think of that now?”

Chip tries to string the words together. Something like where is he now, then? Or who is he? Or why don’t we talk about him? Is he dead?

He can’t think of any of the words. His eyes go back to the donkey, and he forgets what he was asking.

Jean Potts is not dead. But sometimes, he feels he might as well be.

There is something about being a plate that feels particularly humiliating. The fact that his lovely porcelain border is striped in the same way his old hat was does nothing to diminish the embarrassment.

He didn’t even like that hat, that much. But now it’s all he is: a white plate with a striped border, and painted eyes and mouth, and nothing else besides. He wish he had thought to bring a change of clothes before encountering the old hag from the mountains.

Agathe hadn’t turned him into a plate. This curse was done by someone else entirely: a hag with corkscrew, blue-streaked hair, and a cranky nose, and a spitfire temper that doomed them all. They didn’t know her name. Just that she was malicious, and had curses to burn.

“If I had known she was like this,” argued Clothilde, newly a fishhook, “we could have bought her jam, or sommat.”

“I don’t think jam was what she wanted,” said Jean. 

The curse had been swift and brutal and ironic in its care to detail. Everyone knew what it was for: to tell them, in no uncertain terms, that Mobs Are Bad, and Hating People You Barely Know Is Bad, and Falling In Line With Tyrants Is Bad, and Being Stupid Is Bad. (the hag had really gone on quite a while before she actually cast the curse.) It was a taste of their own medicine, for acting like tools in the hands of a crazed, angry man.

That didn’t help assuage the feelings of plate, though.

Some had it worse. Alléchant Agriculteur, the local supplier of eggs, couldn’t complain at all; nobody had ever seen such an unbelievably attractive hen coop in their lives. But Forgeron Rouge, the blacksmith so beloved for his bright red cap and helpful manner, had turned into an anvil. He couldn’t move. The horses—now all just horseshoes, poor creatures—whinnied around him pitifully, and all he could do was clang in response.

The hatstands in the window tittered and sighed. They still wanted to be pretty, and here they were, with big bonnets as always, but no pretty black hair to make it worth while. They wondered if Chapeau, their brother, might find them. They wondered if Chapeau still remembered them.

He didn’t.

Sometimes—given to subtle turns of thought, as he was—Chapeau wondered how the castle was meant to survive, in a forest with no villages around. Surely that affected the local economy? Where was Cuisinier meant to buy his eggs and bread, with no farms around to supply it? Given that, where did the servants come from? They couldn’t all come straight from Paris, like Lumiere and Plumette. There had to be some village boys, with pretty mothers—milliners maybe—who could come up to the palace to find work. He had to give it some thought. There was a riddle here he needed to remember.

He didn’t. He forgot.

It was odd, at nights, when some told stories of their families. Mrs. Potts talked about her mother at length—the weaver-woman from Yorkshire, who she hadn’t seen for so long, ever since she left the country and came here. Lumiere, if pressed, will laugh and mock his father, the old man in Paris who wears spectacles and worn brown vests and who he loves so much, so complicatedly, so completely. Even Belle remembers a little of her mother, even though she died so far away.

But nobody seems to come from around the palace. There are no village boys.

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Eventually he caught up with me. I abandoned him. Broke his heart. Wished him a happy married life. And then, years after, rummaging through old year books and clothes, i encountered a ring box. Not just any ring box, but a pink velvet box that i had once treasured. The days i ran my finger down it’s surface, feeling the texture of my dreams, the days i dug it out of my vanity draws when i needed reconcilation after the arguments, the days…i was in love, all flashed before my eyes. But since i gave away the ring, i frowned as i hesitantly pushed it aside, wondering why on Earth i kept the empty box. But it beckoned, called for me, and so i couldn’t help but hold it in the palm of my hand. Involuntarily out of habit i push the lid open, and there sat the crooked metal that had diamonds arranged into a flower. My heart stopped and somehow i felt like i was trapped inside of myself. In that moment i understood what it felt like to have an out of body experience. Watching myself numbly slide the ring down my finger, my breath catching in my thraot as it fit perfectly in place. “When you propose, get this ring remade.”
—  Indelible Ink [Some Things Are Meant To Remain Incomplete]

“I thoroughly enjoy the ability to escape the restrictions of society and to feel free in the wilderness. I don’t always strip my clothes off when I’m out on a hike but I do seek out the solitude to allow me to do so. There is something so natural and invigorating about being completely naked out in forest, mountains or taking an uninhibited dip in freezing glacial waters. Getting my ass out into nature is truly a passion of mine and I look forward to every natural experience I encounter, clothed or not :)” //#getyourassintonature

I Hate That I Need You

Request by ima-monster-bitch : “Idk if you’re taking requests but Can you make a imagine where you and j get into a fight you say something like “shut up I hate you” and he says stuff like because I love you, you’re not alone you know, I don’t want to lose you okay, I need you I need us and just and lots of fluff after the fight please and thank you”


You were always up for a nice argument, get things off your chest and clear your mind - As was J.. but this time it just hurt a little too much and some real feelings came through full force.

Warnings: Non-Joker behaviour, Very harsh language, other than that fluff 😊


You always pull this bullshit on me J!!! I told you not to! I Told you not to fucking pull any jobs this week! Just this week! That’s all I asked for and you didn’t even care!!”

You were beyond furious this time, usually you liked helping J with his plots and schemes but this time you wanted him to yourself. Even if it was for just a week or a few days, but it was your birthday, and you didn’t want dead bodies being a part of it.

“Y/N, doll, relax, it was just one…” he started to explain

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Duck Hunt - a Bear Brown One Shot

After receiving some cryptic anon’s asking for fics featuring Bear quacking, I finally gave in. 

Hope all the Bear babes enjoy, especially @jessicamoreno83

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Suggestive Language

Bear hunched in the weeds. It was rare, but he sat stock still, camouflaged by the tall, waving blades of grass as he watched the targets gliding through the air. He cupped his hands over his mouth and called to them.

“Quaaaaaack, quack, quack, quack quack quack. …Quack.”

Kacey had to cover her mouth to hide the smile and stifle a giggle. While his quacking was fairly spot on and appeared to be working, the ducks drawing ever closer in, it still tickled her to listen to him make the noise. Sometimes she’d catch him running through the woods, occasionally quacking at birds that clearly weren’t ducks, but it didn’t stop him.

“What?” He whispered watching her eyes crinkle, a tell tale sign of the smile she hid beneath her palm.

“Nothing.” Kacey lied, biting down on her lip, she lowered her hand.

“Well then why are you laughing at me, princess?” He nudged her with his elbow, careful not to push her hard enough to topple her to the side. The tide was coming in  and while their Xtra Tuff boots were keeping them dry, they were still in ankle deep water that was steadily rising.

She grabbed for his arm as he did, steadying herself. Now he smiled.

“Kace, don’t overreact, I’m not going to push you in the water. I don’t wanna get my princess all wet.” But he flexed under her touch, feeling a bit proud of how tightly she held herself to him.

“Well that’s not what you said last night…” She leaned more into him, whispering in his ear. The innuendo caught him off guard as he laughed a little.

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Tobio’s rude command slapped Alvar, his spitted words like sharp fingers. But it were the droplets of actual spit hitting his face that made Alvar jump to his feet in disgust, nearly knocking down Tobio, who still stood on his knees.

“Like beasts.” Alvar commented, much to himself, avoiding any glance in Tobio’s direction, for a moment inspecting the dusty wooden floor bearing the scratches of their encounter. Noticing his fine clothes now resembling cleaning rags, he shook his head, once more bearing the beret he had rescued from a dirty corner, wrinkled and wrapped in cobweb. “Never.” Alvar stated, in a whisper, again much to himself – though Tobio was close enough to hear it. While brushing off and straightening his suit, Alvar squeezed between the sculpture and the bench to leave the dark of the niche. Had it really been that narrow, and shallow? How had they actually fitted, and done what they… “This will never again happen.” Alvar affirmed.

But his sentence held no weigh of prophecy – since, after a couple of weeks of distance and estrangement, each fallen to his side and studies, with enough time to think through, and repent, regret, doubt, evaluate the act, sense the bond, reminisce, appreciate the shared secret, further fantasize, touch oneself while longing for the touch of the other – until, finally missing one another, Alvar and Tobio had gotten together again.

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