flicker state

Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon Week 2: Damn Eye Contact

Okay so here it is…per @diggo26 and @green-arrows-of-karamel this is worth reading so let’s hope they’re right! Warning I truly just went down the smut path with this one so yes it’s explicit for me…

Enjoy and you can read it here or on AO3!

Damn Eye Contact

Blue, textured with flecks of green, aqua, turquoise and, even sometimes a splash of tormented gray. That’s what she saw when she opened her own endless blue depths after the explosion on Lian Yu…that’s what she saw every time she even dared to close her tired eyes.

She’d begun to think of his eyes like they were an endless dream of hopes and, unexplored possibilities; and that was beginning to become a very distracting problem. Felicity growled internally with a confusing mixture of longing, annoyance and, pent up frustration. She stared out along the seemingly endless bank of windows that let the lights from the city below flow along the dark spaces of the wide open room. Her fingers danced along the black mug while the contents within grew tempered from the cold, recycled air that floated around her stately. She rolled her head until her chin was hovering above the half empty mug. Her eyes rolled until her lids shut, her back bowed and her toes curled along the stainless steel rod of the kitchen stool.

She sighed as her shoulders slumped and, her heart thudded quietly as she slowly filled with unexpressed disappointment. Her stomach curled when her tortured mind begun filling her heart with endless images of his grief stricken eyes…

She whimpered almost inaudibly as the images shifted; the way the blue hues of his pupils changed as his emotions rolled over them both in waves left her ruined in her stunned, wrecked heart. She would have gone on this way for hours had it not been for the innocent sound of lightly drumming knuckles upon her partially closed door. She breathed out in tortured defeat, “I can’t live like this Oliver…” she heard him softly close the door as she muttered, “I can’t live with endless regrets…”

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Statistics

Word Count: 1777

Cassian x reader


Originally posted by fandomsarecoolilikequiteafew

(gif not mine)

Sweat rolls down your back as sparks continue to burst from the saw working against the metal shaft of the X-wing. You have long since shed your work shirt, just leaving you in your white undershirt, which is now nearly drenched in sweat. Your goggles feel heavy against your forehead, and you pause your work for a moment to take a breath and gather yourself. You’ve been battling this X-wing’s faulty exhaust port for hours now, and your back has begun to ache from sitting precariously atop the fighter.

You roll your shoulders and survey your surroundings, looking for your fellow mechanic; Om. Om has proven to be a great ally despite the whispers of the your fellow workers. Most of them believe an Ewok has no place working for the rebellion, considering their fairly wild ways, but Om has proven his worth to you ten times over, and you have no doubt he belongs here.

You quickly spot Om working on the front end of the X-wing, tightening a metal plate back into place. A sense of amusement fills you as you watch him; he’s been struggling with that section for hours now.

“Hey, Om! You want some help over there?” you call out to him, having to squint to see his form through the dust in your goggles.

Om grunts something along the lines of, “Leave me the hell alone.”

“(Y/N)?”

You know it’s him before you even turn towards the voice. Your heart nearly stops in your chest, and you slowly turn towards him, trying to keep yourself composed despite the sudden wave of panic that washes over you.
“Oh…hi, Cassian,” you greet, wiping the grease from your hands. You suddenly feel very self conscious about the beads of sweat rolling off your skin.

A look of humor crosses his face, and a moment of confusion is greeted with one of embarrassment as you realize your dusty, gargantuan goggles still dominant your face.  You quickly rip them off and toss them to the side, rubbing at your face in an attempt to get any dust off. “Is there something I can do for you?” You ask, making your way towards the ladder leaning against the side of the X-wing. You notice K-2SO standing nearby as you climb down.

“Actually, yes. I know you’re busy, but I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you?” he prompts as you stride over to him.Your heart continues to flail in your chest as you look into his dark eyes. A slight sparkle is reflected in them as he searches your face, and your cheeks flush red as you realize you’ve taken too long to respond.

“Yes, of course!” you blurt. Your cheeks flush darker and you reign in your eagerness. “What do you need?”

“Well…” Cassian begins, glancing to K-2. “Kay-too has been experiencing some glitches lately. His motor function seems to be slower than normal; I’m thinking his directory is working too fast for his motor chip to follow; so there’s delayed movement in his limbs.” He pauses for a moment, looking back to the tall droid. K-2 notices Cassian, and a full ten seconds later K-2 raises his hand to wave at us. I giggle and Cassian gives a small wave back. “See what I mean?”

You smile, wiping away the sheen of sweat on your forehead. “I’d be happy to take a look at him; it’s probably just a problem with his circuit wires.”

Cassian offers you his heart-stopping smile, and you feel your knees weaken for a moment. “Thank you so much, (Y/N). I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” you tell him, tucking back a strand of hair that fell loose from your ponytail. Your smile never falters, thanks to the man in front of you.

Cassian looks behind him for moment before returning his attention to you. “I have a few things I have to get to right now, but I’ll come back in a few to check in if that’s okay.”

You nod. “Yeah, of course. Go be the Captain,” you tell him, motioning towards the door leading to the control room.

He smiles again, that sparkle returning to his eyes. “Thanks again.” And with that, he returns to his soldierly duties, leaving you breathless from mere minutes interacting with him.

You watch him stride across the hangar until he’s out of view, your heart thumping heavily in your chest. You let out a sigh, shaking your head in an attempt to return to reality. Turning your gaze to K-2, you try to pull your wild thoughts together so you can focus on the task at hand.

“Hey, Kay-too,” you greet the droid as you approach.

“Hello, Miss (Y/L/N) ,” he replies, giving you a delayed nod.

“You mind if I take a look at your circuit board?” you ask, motioning behind him.

“No. I do not mind,” he responds. You grin slightly at the droid’s deadpan tone.

“So you’re having trouble with your motor function?” you ask, stepping around the droid. You pull a screw from your toolbelt and begin to loosen K-2’s back piece.

“Yes. I seem to be experiencing a delay of movement, which isn’t ideal for Cassian when we’re on missions,” K-2 admits. You let out a huff as his back piece falls loose, slowly lowering the heavy metal to the floor. When you return to full height you are greeted with a maze of wires, and you immediately begin searching them for any oddities.

“Our last mission was on Hoth, so I assumed my delayed movement was due to the freezing temperatures, but obviously something is still wrong. Cassian was not thrilled with the sudden change in proficiency,” K-2 continues. You giggle as silently as possible. K-2 is extraordinarily talkative, even for a droid.

You continue searching for anything peculiar in his wiring, keeping in mind that he was exposed to below freezing temperatures for an extended period of time. A sharp pain travels up your back, and you roll my shoulders in an attempt to stop it. Random pains and aches are just one of the many joys of being a mechanic.

“Have you found any problems yet?” K-2 asks.

“No, not yet, but I should find something soon,” you tell the droid, tracing your fingers along the wires.

“I’m not surprised you’re struggling. After all, you do specialize in starfighter construction, not droid fixture,” K-2 states. A flicker of annoyance sparks within you. He can sometimes be a little harsh with wording, which doesn’t surprise you, but it can still be frustrating. “I would normally try to understand why Cassian would bring me to you instead of a normal droid mechanic, but I’m sure it’s because of his new-found interest in you.”

A hot heat rushes to your face, and you scoff at K-2’s observation. “I assure you, Kay-too, Cassian only thinks of me as a friend.”

“Well approximately 64% of his conversation consists of you, so it appears he’s grown very fond of you.”

You scramble for a convincing point as to why Cassian would want you to look after K-2, and not a usual droid tech. “W-well, I-I think Cassian just wants…just wants someone he’s familiar with to help you. You know how wary he is with strangers.”

K-2 starts to list off more statistics involving you and Cassian, and you rush to find the flaw in the droid’s system, wanting this conversation to end as soon as possible. You do a double take when you see one of the wires in his system has frayed drastically compared to the others.

“Hold on, Kay-too. I think I found the problem.” You cut him off in the middle of his argument, which is filled with numbers and percentages about a possible relationship between you and Cassian.

It only takes a few minutes to repair the wire, and you finish it off with some insulation to ensure it doesn’t happen again. You’re relieved to be free of K-2’s rambling about you and Cassian. You were terrified of Cassian overhearing the conversation.

“There you go, Kay-too. You’re all set,” you inform the droid after screwing his back piece back in.

K-2 picks up both his arms and wiggles his metal fingers. You step out in front of him to momentarily admire your success. “Thank you, Miss (Y/L/N). Your generosity will not go unnoticed.”

You can’t help but smile at K-2. Although he can be a handful, he’s still the most friendly droid you’ve ever spent time with. “It’s no problem.”

Spotting movement behind K-2, you glance behind the droid to see Cassian approaching. Your stomach does that tell-tale somersault, but you’ve learned to keep your cool…somewhat.

You lift your chin towards Cassian. “You should give Cassian a wave, show him my good work,” you tell K-2. The droid turns and gives Cassian an enthusiastic wave. Cassian’s face breaks out into a grin, and you can’t help but smile yourself.

“Thank you so much, (Y/N),” he says as he approaches. He looks over K-2, a mixture of excitement and relief on his face. His gaze turns to you after a few moments. “How can I repay you?”

You shake your head. “I was happy to do it. It gave me a break from that cursed X-wing.”

Cassian still wasn’t having it. “How about I take you out for a drink? I’m sure you could use it after talking with K-2 for as long as you did.”

You try to keep your composure despite Cassian’s offer. You give him a nod, and slight grin. “That sounds nice,” you reply, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Great. How about we meet at your quarters around seven?” he asks.

“Perfect,” you tell him. You could feel sparks coursing through your veins; you were going out with Cassian Andor.

“I’ll see you then.” Cassian dithers for a moment before flashing you one last smile and heading back towards the control room. “Come on, Kay-too!”

K-2 hesitates for a moment, before turning towards you. “See? I told you he’s grown fond of you.” Then he starts after Cassian.

You try to smother the giddiness building inside you, but the grin on your face makes it apparent. You turn back to the X-wing. Working on it doesn’t seem so bad now that you have plans Cassian tonight.

“Looks like you’ve got a date with the Captain,” Om speaks up from atop the fighter.

You roll your eyes. “Shut up,” you snap. But inside, your pulse quickened at the words your partner spoke…you’ve got a date with the Captain.

Choose Your Mistakes #4B

Part four of the interactive fanfiction, Choose Your Mistakes. Please check the FAQ and the Setting Info if you haven’t already, and be sure to make your choice below.

You chose to let him in. (I did not expect that.)

Originally posted by cestrum--nocturnum

You quickly opened the door, grateful to have somebody, anybody, with you in this nightmare.
Dark paused on the threshold for a moment, a flash of a smile swiftly replaced by a look of concern.
“My mum’s not here,” you explained hurriedly, “and there’s blood…”
“I appreciate you letting me in,” Dark murmured, stepping inside. You checked your phone, but it was still riddled with static and non-responsive. Dark walked into the kitchen, too calmly in your opinion. After a cursory glance at the blood on the wall he spoke again.
“I can see why you’d be concerned,” he said softly, “but I don’t want you to be afraid.”

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anonymous asked:

idk if someone has already aske this but imma do it anyway. so like in tangled rapunzel sings to make her glow/heal (the whole "flower gleam and glow" thing) sO does Keith sing to make his hair burn and if so what's he singiN

Usually Keith’s hair stays at a mildly warm, very a flicker a flame state. When he sings, it’s burn the freaking house down o’clock.

The Seven Deadly Sins: Lust

“I have a feeling that you can’t resist me.” You state, causing Luke to snort and roll his eyes. You tilt your head to the side and slip your hands from off your thighs and sliding your fingers into Luke’s belt hoops of his denim jeans, only tugging him closer that he bumps into your chest.

“I mean you let me touch you and you came to see me when you didn’t have too, and even now, you didn’t have to come near me and you still did.” You state, your eyes flickering between Luke’s chest and his pure sapphire eyes. “That means I have some control over you… right?” You question, Luke turns his head which causes your gaze to only lock with his define jaw line as you watch him swallow.

Originally posted by pikamikey

Words: 3.7k

Request: No

Rating: R

A/N: THERE WILL BE ANOTHER PART FOR THIS! ALSO ENAMORED WILL BE POSTED FRIDAY!


With every smack of your lips the pink bubblegum chewed up between your teeth made the most obscene sound that filled the space around you. Your eyes gazed over the few small amount of people around your age that came to this stupid function, next to you was a girl who was obviously someone who is mommy’s and daddy’s perfect little girl due to her Michael Kors flats, along with her obvious fashion steal from the pink and innocent side of Tumblr. To the right of you was a boy who had blond hair and angelic features, he could definitely be a panties dropper but because of the glasses in front of his eyes made him look like a downright nerd who keeps old copies of classic comic books.

The other three people on the opposite side of you was a boy with dyed black hair with an eyebrow piercing and pale skin who would wink at you from time to time, while the other boy looked like someone who spent their entire life inside his room while the girl looked like a regular teenage girl who bought clothes at Forever 21 and had a really good social life. Unlike you, who was known around town as the ‘reckless teen’, you always found yourself in trouble and in the principal’s office, and since you were always there or in trouble it leads you to where you are today.

Sitting in the middle of a church basement with a pastor who is preaching about some self worth shit and what would Jesus do, it had you rolling your eyes and continuously flicking your gaze towards the clock above his head. It wasn’t worth the effort though, because you only just got here five minutes ago because of your Christian aunt who sees ‘demons’ in you every single time you go to her house to find food or steal money.

So here you were sitting in a circle with the cross in the middle of it as the pastor stood in the circle walking around and talking about everything that you frankly didn’t care about.

“Would anyone like to explain to me what the seven deadly sins are?” The grey haired man asked while looking at everyone.

You hear the sound of someone clearing their throat, making you turn your gaze towards the boy with dyed black hair and piercing emerald eyes.

“Ah Michael, finally speaking,” The fifty two year old man says while turning towards him. You watch as Michael smiles while shrugging his shoulders.

“Isn’t it like sex, drugs, and stealing?” He questions while leaning deeper into his chair that squeaks in pain from the stretch.

The pastor sighs while shaking his head and turning towards the side that you’re on. “No Michael, that isn’t it.” He grunts, his eyes flickering between the three of us before you feel the boy next to raise his hand and clear his throat.

“I know what it is,” He says, voice deep that it causes you to flick your eyes towards him. You thought he would have a high pitched voice that would crack constantly but instead you are welcomed with a voice just dripping in sex.

Your eyes flick amongst every feature detailed in his defined face; his nose was dangerously straight, hair falling over his forehead until it curled by his eyebrows loosely, lips thin but plump and a light shade of pink, while his jaw line stood out prominently against his skin that made you run your tongue over your bottom lip and straighten your back more to admire his beautiful physique.

“Aren’t the seven deadly sins; gluttony, greed, laziness, wrath, envy, pride, and lust.” The angelic boy says while bringing his thin eyebrows together which causes his skin to fold on his forehead.

“And you are correct Luke!” The pastor exclaims while tossing his hands in the air. You roll your eyes at his excitement and then lean over to the angelic boy named Luke.

“You go to church often?” You question, your tongue pushing the gum to the front of your teeth and beginning to blow a bubble. A smirk tugs on the ends of your lips when you see Luke’s gaze come across the pink bubble before turning to your eyes.

“U-Uh yeah, every Sunday with my parents,” Luke stutters out while his eyes watch you suck the pink candy back into your mouth and smirk at him.

“So you get everything that this guy is saying,” You say, eyes staring at Luke intensely as you bite into your fleshly bottom lip.

“Yeah I understand what this guy is saying,” Luke chuckles while gesturing over to the pastor; you let a small laugh leave your lips as your eyes gaze towards the man in a black suit.

You shrug your shoulders while turning your attention back to Luke, your hand slips off your thigh and on to his muscular sturdy one. The feeling of his rough denim jeans runs through the pads of your fingertips as you run your hand up and down his thigh until you gaze your index finger amongst his growing erection. A devious smile spreads on your lips as you look up at Luke while tilting your head to the side.

“Are you a virgin Luke?” You ask, voice quiet while you lean into his personal space and running your tongue along his jaw line.

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anonymous asked:

1. Hello, I heard you wanted a deancas au on your desk by four o’clock? Based on Misha's anecdote? Well this is interesting because I have what you need!

2. Castiel Novak isn’t by any way popular. But neither is he the laughing stock of the other students - not since he left middle school at least. He’s just an average student who doesn’t get himself talked about, attend his classes and studies for exams. And although he’s not valedictorian, he’s still one of the top students. But that’s all. Nothing to add. This is why he is genuinely surprised when, on his way from the library to the auditoriums gallery, he is called out by Dean Winchester.

3. Dean is somewhat popular. He has top grades everywhere, even (or rather especially) in his sports class. He’s also very involved in the campus night life. And when Castiel thinks about it, it’s very likely that Dean just wants to remind him about the next huge student party, as he always tries to gather up the most students as possible. With that in mind, he watches Dean slowing down and coming to a stop right before him.

4. He certainly didn’t expect it when Dean looked him in the eye and asked him if they could talk. In private. But what alerts him a bit is the nervousness in Dean’s tone. And the slight redness on his freckled cheeks. Which makes him even more gorgeous than usual. His next class doesn’t begin before another half hour and he always enjoys talking with Dean, so he agrees and follows him in the closest lecture hall, which they now is empty at his time of day.

5. They know they won’t be disturbed. Castiel likes to come in this hall to be at peace during his free time between his classes and Dean sometimes did the same, and they now know the exact times where no one will come. Now is one of them. They enter the lecture theater and Castiel hauls himself on one of the tables, looking at Dean apprehensively. The latter is staring at him, his lower lip trapped between his teeth.

6. They stare at each other for several seconds (minutes?), and Castiel can feel the tension rising, he wants to ask Dean what he wanted to talk about, but he feels his throat going dry, what with the intensity of Dean’s gaze. He no longer seems that nervous. Eventually, his classmate moves and takes a few steps forward, stepping in his personal space. Not that it bothers him anyway. Dean looks him right in the eye.

7. “Okay Cas, I have an offer to make.” He finally says, an octave lower than a few minutes ago. “I’m all ears.” Castiel replies. Dean swallows hard and quickly licks his lips. “20$” He says. Castiel narrows his eyes. “I give you 20$ for a blowjob.” And Castiel widens his eyes because what the fuck?! He jerks backward, clasping his thighs together. “What?? No!” He says categorically, offended that Dean thinks he can just buy him like some kind of whore.

8. Dean slightly furrows his brows, then his eyes widen as in realization and he hastens to say: “No, I’d give YOU the blowjob.” And Castiel can only watch him, stunned, before bursting into a laugh, because his brain can’t handle the situation otherwise for now. And he laughs till he cries, doubled up. He eventually calms down and slowly looks up to Dean who is still staring intensely at him. Castiel immediately sobers up and he swallows hard.

9. “Seriously?” He asks, incredulous. “Yes.” He answers. Castiel licks his lips and he sees Dean tracking the movement with his eyes before doing the same. And fuck, Dean is serious. And for a second he has the image of Dean between his legs, his green eyes fixed into his own, and he shifts slightly on the table. “Why giving me money then?” He asks, furrowing his brows. Dean bits his lower lip. “So you’d accept.” And Castiel can again see the nervousness in his eyes.

10. “You want to blow me this bad?” He asks again, half-disbelieving, half-aroused. And he sees Dean blush and sway on his feet. Adorable. He bits his lower lip again. “Well you’re very attractive and… your eyes… God, your eyes are incredible. You have a perfect body and… your mouth… I swear your mouth is wonderful. And your voice… it’s made to give chills to those who hear it.” He states, eyes flickering between Cas’ and his lips.

11. Castiel studies his face, thinking. Dean is certainly the most handsome man he has ever seen. And he seems really interested. It’s been a long time since Cas has done anything with anyone, and he is more than interested if the reaction of his body is any indication. He leans forwards ever so slightly, catching Dean’s eye in the process. “And what if you could have it for free?” He says, voice dropping low.

you did the thing

Expert

Omg the inbox is open.. I had so many ideas but I got so excited and blanked haha okay! If you could maybe do a cute fluffy Elementary one? Like Joan has a friend on the case and Sherlock is smitten by her? Ah thank you lovely if you do it!

Yay!  My first true attempt at an Elementary one-shot.  I hope that you enjoy it, and that it lives up to some of the one-shots I’ve seen on this show.  Here it is, comin’ ‘atcha!


“Sherlock, before we go I-”

“Come on, we musn’t waste anymore precious time,” Sherlock nods as he grasps his coat off the rack.

“But Gregson approached me asking if-”

“Miss Watson, we must get a move on!” Sherlock yells as he shuffles down the staircase.

“Gregson wanted an expert on this job so I called a friend and she’s gonna be here any second!”

And just as Joan had spit out the sentence, the doorbell rang as Sherlock’s eyes grew, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he slowly pans his gaze over his shoulder.

“An expert?” Sherlock bounces.

“Apparently the case has a massive musical undertone?” Joan questions as she shrugs her shoulders.

“And your friend is-?”

Pointing towards the door, you knock lightly upon the wooden surface as Sherlock tilts his head, stretching his neck before rolling his shoulders.

And then?  He throws the door open.

“Ah!  You must me Joan’s friend,” he states.

But he couldn’t deny how mesmerizing your eyes were, your Y/C/E eyes complimenting the strands of hair falling in your face as they flutter around a broad smile.

“And you must me Sherlock,” you lull.

“Y/N!” Joan exclaims as she pushes by Sherlock, “Thank god.”

As Sherlock watches Joan slip her arm within yours, your bodies turning towards the street as the two of you descend the stairs, you turn your head back before flashing Sherlock yet another kind smile.

“Are you joining us?” you ask lightly.

“Uh…yes!  Yes.  Very much so,” he says before clearing his throat, pulling his back taut, and closing the door behind him before descending the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You mean…every time?” you question, looking at the piece of paper in front of you as you peek back up at the Captain.

“Every time.  Body’s mutilated the same way, but a different classical song is playing in the background.”

“Not a coincidence, I presume.  He must be cherry-picking these songs for specific purposes,” Sherlock notes as he peers over your shoulder at the paper.

“Or specific messages…” you murmur.

“Captain, I’m gonna need the photographs of all of the crime scenes, as well as backgrounds of the people being killed.”

“As well as background on your suspects,” Sherlock muses behind you.

“No need for me.  Just one copy for Sherlock,” you state, flickering your eyes up as Gregson as Joan smirks in the corner.

“You don’t want details on the suspects?” Sherlock questions.

“No need.  Don’t think he’s important…” you trail off as Sherlock hikes his eyebrows high upon his forehead.

“You don’t think the killer is important?” Sherlock asks incredulously, his hands balling into fists as his back pulls taut yet again.

“Not when it comes to the messages behind the songs, uh…Captain Gregson?  I’ll be in this room when you have the pictures and backgrounds of the victims,” you state, smiling kindly at him as you begin to backtrack.

As Sherlock watches you enter the room, he sees you pull out your phone as you begin flicking your fingers across the screen.

“What do you think she is doing?” Sherlock asks as Joan approaches his side.

“Probably pulling up all of the songs on the paper so she has them readily accessibly,” Joan says as they both look upon your figure hunched over your phone.

“Well, we better get a move-on,” Sherlock breathes as he puts his hand on Joan’s shoulder, turning her around and taking her with him.

“Where are we going?” she asks as she follows Sherlock out the door.

Someone has to find the suspects important…” Sherlock mutters under his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ve got it!” you yell, busting out of the room as you catch the attention of the crowd standing around your door.

As Detective Bell, Captain Gregson, Joan, and Sherlock whip their attention your way, you thrust the same piece of paper back towards the Captain, your chicken scratch handwriting causing his face to wrinkle up as you begin talking breathlessly with your hands.

“Usually when a composer begins composing a song, he has a muse.  A story or-…or an emotion…that fuels the very first notes of his main melody.”

As the tune of the first song begins to waft through your ears, you close your eyes as Bell shoots a confused look over to his Captain, while Joan smirks and Sherlock’s attention locks onto your body.

“And within those songs are basic mechanics: keys, tonal center, and basic harmonies.”

As your hands begin to float into the air, conducting the piece in your head, your eyes begin to water behind your eyelids as the first dead body pops up in the middle of your field of vision.

“And keys…they denote, and pull out of us, distinct emotions.”

“Like major keys and happiness and minor keys and sadness,” Joan interjects.

“Yessssss…” you whisper as your hands continue conducting the piece, the chords building in your head as your chest begins to heave.

“The background stories of these songs denotes the background stories of the victims.  Victim 1 had Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings playing because it’s a well-noted rumor that Barber was homosexual, and that wasn’t accepted in his culture.  So, he wrote his sadness and confusion into the piece,” you breathe as the song reaches his precipice, a tear trickling down your cheek as Sherlock’s jaw lightly begins to unhinge.

“The first victim, according to his boyfriend, was homosexual.  But not ‘out’ to anyone in his family yet,” Sherlock lulls.

“His family was incredibly conservative,” Joan inputs as she turns her shocked attention to her colleague, who was hooked onto your every move.

“Hold on, are you sayin’ all the victims are like that.  They’re…they’re backstories match up with the rumored backstories of all these…these songs?” Bell questions.

“Yes,” you breathe as you nod lightly, opening your eyes as you bring your hands slowly down to your sides, “every single one of them.”

“How does that help us find our guy?” Captain Gregson asks, his hands crossed across his chest.

“I was hoping you would ask,” you smile as you continue to allow your tears to leak down your face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We never would’ve closed this without her, Joan,” Bell says as he hits the top of the car, watching as the police vehicle with the murderer fade off into the distance.

“I would have eventually figured it out,” Sherlock muses.

“Uh huh…” Bell trails off, throwing a knowing smirk towards Joan as he shakes his head.

“Anyone up for some Chinese?” he asks.

“Nope.  Got a soft bed waiting for my head,” the Captain says.

It was then that Sherlock’s gaze panned around, looking for you in the darkness.

“Maybe another time…” Sherlock trails off as he turns his body towards the concert hall, slowly walking up the steps as he walks through the large set of double doors.

He knew exactly where to find you.

Walking into the enormous concert hall, he finds you on stage, standing in the center under a light, your back to him as you guide your hands fluidly through what he could only guess was the last piece of the evening.

The only piece the murderer wasn’t able to use from the concert list.

“Brilliant deduction,” Sherlock calls out, causing you to pause mid-air as you take a deep breath.

“…the songs being on the concert list for the area’s symphony orchestra,” Sherlock states.

“I am not sure that even I would have put it together that quickly,” Sherlock admits lowly to himself.

“You would have eventually,” you state from the stage as Sherlock furrows his brow, “and yes, I heard you.”

As you slowly drop your hands, turning around on stage as you face Sherlock in the aisle, you walk towards the edge as you sit down, your legs dangling off of the side as your eyes stay hooked on him.

“Don’t think that I’m more brilliant than you, Sherlock,” you muse, “I’m an expert because this is what I devote my time to.  You are an expert in all things.  I am but an expert in one.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Sherlock states as he takes a step closer to you.

“I would,” you state matter-of-factly.

The way the stage light haloed the frizzy hair around your hairline almost made you angelic.

And he couldn’t stop staring.

“You’re staring,” you smirk.

“So are you, if you have noticed my actions,” Sherlock states as he nods his head and clenches his hands behind his back.

“Maybe I have a reason,” you smile as you begin to swing your legs side to side against the stage.

“I do not,” Sherlock states.

“Oh?” you ask, cocking your head lightly, “And why is that?”

“Staring would denote a sense of surprise.  Something that has caught your eye that would otherwise have gone unnoticed by others had it been perceived as normal.  Staring is an almost involuntary reaction to something your brain attempts to process, usually something considered out of the ordinary from how you perceive your normal existence,” Sherlock rambles as he takes a few more steps towards you.

Furrowing your brow lightly, you watch him walk up to you, his head craning back to keep your face in view as he draws in a deep breath through his nose.

“My staring is wholly selfish,” he nods as his eyes dance between yours.

“Selfish, as opposed to a relatively involuntary reaction?” you ask.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because staring at you because you are merely beautiful is like staring at a child because it is young.  Neither is something surprising or out of the ordinary,” Sherlock muses.

His statement shocked you into silence.

“I am staring, not because your beauty is surprising, but because it is rare.  And I fear, now that this case is finished, that I will no longer have the pleasure of gazing upon your rarity any longer,” Sherlock finishes lowly, his eyes darting to your lips before shooting his gaze over your shoulder.

He was nervous.

Your friend’s quirky, intelligent, handsome roommate…was nervous.

“You know, I believe that’s why someone invented coffee,” you muse as you hop off of the stage, standing in front of him as his eyesight follows your downward projection as you stand and look up at him.

“Actually, the legend of Kaldi states-”

“I meant,” you shake your head lightly as you smile, “that maybe we could grab a cup of coffee sometime.”

“Oh,” Sherlock says as he bounces his head, his eyes casing the room before falling back upon your face.

“I would enjoy that very much,” he says before pulling his lips into a taut line.

“Joan has my number,” you smile as you side-step him, slowly making your way up the aisle as your hips lightly sway within the darkness of the concert hall.

“I shall obtain it from her,” Sherlock calls after you as you smile broadly to yourself.

“You better!” you call back, opening the concert hall doors and making your way out towards the lobby, leaving Sherlock bathing in the light of the concert hall.

He just couldn’t stop staring.

Meet the Avengers

Originally posted by the-mosaic

Author’s Note: eh. Definitely not my best, but it’s as good as it’s going to get.

Summary: Based on the Disney movie ‘Meet the Robinsons’. Part of @sincerelysaraahh‘s A Month of Fairytales.

Pairing: Avengers x Reader

Words: 2700+


Shadows traveled down the hallway walls, heading straight towards the orphanage’s nursery. A hand was placed on the doorknob and slowly twisted it open. The figure slowly opened the door, letting the hallway lights beam through the small crack of the door. The old hinges creaked as the door continued to open, the light showcasing the sleeping babies in their crib. The dark figure carefully entered the nursery as to not wake up the sleeping children.

A baby was coddled in a blanket burrito, sleeping peacefully with a small smile on her lips. The figure loomed over the baby’s crib and gently picks the baby up, holding her to their chest. The baby cooed at the new position but stayed asleep. The figure looked left and right to ensure the room was clear before fleeing the room with the baby in stow. The figure carefully left the orphanage, leaving no traces behind.

A car was parked across the street with its lights off. The figure entered the car, and the car drove away into the night.

“You have her?” the driver asked lowly.

The figure moved the baby away from their chest to get a good look at her. “The mission is complete. We have Y/N,” he stated before looking at the driver.

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Title: Complications by (x) Characters: Reader, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Raven Darkholme, mentions of Sean Cassidy and Hank McCoy Age Suggestion / Rating: PG Word Count: 1,005 Summary: Based off “Charles, Erik and Raven trying to calm you down.” (With one grandmother who was like a mother to me having passed away, and another currently not doing too well with battling her aggressive cancer, this was unfortunately the direction my imagination took with the prompt. I understand if this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you first read the imagine, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.)

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for badmooonrising, as a belated birthday present and also a cheeryuppything to combat the sads

Stiles loves hotels. He never got to travel a lot as a kid, so this is a whole new experience for him. While all the other grad students are already retired in their rooms, either slacking off on the Internet or doing last minute preparations on their speeches, Stiles has pulled on his swimsuit (bright red Speedo, Stiles has no shame) and is ready for that perfect, shining Olympic-sized pool advertised on their website. 

The elevator chimes and Stiles steps in, holding his fluffy towel and keycard, and presses for the lobby. 

On the eighth floor the doors open. 

Stiles almost regrets not wearing clothes, because damn, he’d love to have a conversation with this guy, but as is, the gorgeous man just takes in the large expanse of skin and blinks. He looks a little embarrassed, and Stiles is the one in the Speedo. It’s kind of hilarious. 

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Of course I love you, darling. I love you more than summer nights sprinkled with fireflies and giggles and even more than the way the lights atop the empire state building flicker like the aurora borealis of our concrete jungle. But I have not tripped and fallen in love with you… yet. Or if I have, I can’t even admit it to myself just now.
—  A.O.A.M. || I’m Not Quite Sure About The Way I Love You
The Secret to Yoga Mind/Body Control

The secret? It really is no secret. People think that yogis are able to do things like slow their metabolic rate, raise body temperature and control thought and emotion by some superhuman power of will.

Nope.

The trick is observation and feedback. Just as many trainers of world class athletes use electronic biofeedback harnesses to train their athletes in body mind control the yogis use a similar if more low tech techniques. First by careful observation of the physical or mental process or action they seek to control. Then slow and deliberate pattern of visualization and focus. This is made all the easier if one is trained in yogic concentration already.

It works on both body and mind. Try this experiment. Focus your mind on your solar plexus. Observe it carefully. Feel its movement. Feel the different emotional states which flicker through it as your thoughts change. Now, think of something sad. Some past event which caused you deep despair. Observe how the thoughts affect the emotion. Now, change that thought to a joyful thought. Now a terrifying thought. See how it changes. Note how there is a slight delay. This is because it takes time,  usually a second or two, for your brain to produce the necessary chemicals to manifest the emotion.

Practice this as part of your meditation until you can easily recognize and adjust these emotions. Learn to recognize the connection between thought and emotion and you can begin to gain control over it.

Sam.

the ritual of writing poetry for you

poetry’s ovulation lurking solemnly in
the density of my demented hauntings
patterns itself into fractal mental states
flickering virginal words with slick avidity

as my maniacal temperament flirts with an
inebriated awkwardness … aloof with an ego

absorbed
in
the aesthetics
of quantum equations
seeking
to further my
madness into
your elite flesh
held
by bones
caging your
feudatory soul …

as landlords of dark things
whisper your name in unison

and i scribble their tales
under
the light of the full moon

and your soul migrates
into my villainous veins

my
words
are found in the
medicinal grimoires
of
the ancients;

scrolls drip with ink …

scarlet …

where
dark things lay
adjacent to the nuptial
alchemical laboratories
breeding
seed-pods of
mandrake and the
witchery belladonna …

they are
all for you …

for everything is a tale of madness
weaving itself into the ritual of my poetry
and the whispers are deadly in this chamber …

your
name …
so invisible
to my readers …
but burning on my flesh …
casting poetry upon these pages …