hmm i quite like this new style of writing people are using

Hades!Harry pt. 1

  A/N: “Could you write about Hades!Harry??xx” I’ve never written anything like this before but i was so excited to step out of my comfort zone. I got a bit carried away so there will be a Part 2. Enjoy!


    Y/n didn’t find herself in scary situations that often. Her days consisted of tending to the crops, making sure her younger siblings are fed three times a day, and treading the two hour journey to the nearest market to sell anything she possibly could for extra cash. Her routine had been this way since her parents were killed out at sea a year ago. That’s all she knows; no major details or even a chance to bid them farewell.  

   They left, one morning, with the intention to trade goods with villagers that resided a couple hundred miles east of the Atlantic. They promised her and her two younger brothers that they would return in a month’s time. Unfortunately, the day after they departed, Y/n received a knock at the door and an unsealed letter with no return address stating that her Mother and Father had died. 

  “Ship caught fire. There were no survivors, sorry for you loss” 

    Y/n had been only seventeen at the time, but her wisdom was well beyond her years. It was that very wisdom that allowed her to take charge of the household and become the new guardian for her brothers. She wouldn’t call the death of her Parents ‘scary’. Incredibly tragic? Yes. But she had been raised to take on challenges when they’re thrown at her.

   The girl always stood by that, even when she found herself being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by two dark figures. She kicked, flailed and scratched every chance she got. There was no way they would take her without a fight. The brawny black figures had managed to pin her down to the bed and tie her hands behind her back with chains. She blew a stray strand of hair from her face as they picked her up and made their way towards the door. She began to wonder how she had not heard them break the door down. 

 'God I’m so stupid’ she thought to herself, though she knew very well that even if she had heard them break into the cottage, she would’ve ended up in the very same position.

   Just before they carried her passed the boys’ room, she was able to peek in and see that they were staring back at her in sheer terror. Her heart broke. She was helpless and she knew they felt the same. It was obvious that whoever these people were, didn’t take an interest in the children and that was the only bright side she could find in this predicament. They throw her in the back of a horse-pulled carriage, one of the men stayed in the back to make sure she didn’t escape somehow. The floor of the carriage was covered in dirt and hay, the walls of it were just high enough to hide her from anyone passing by.

   The man beside her, who she could now see was wearing all black armor, proceeded to tie a cloth of some sort across her mouth to prevent any screaming. He left her nose exposed, which gave her the idea that they wanted her alive for some reason. 

 Numerous hours later

 The sun began to rise and she regained consciousness. She didn’t remember falling asleep but she couldn’t blame herself, she’s human.  The carriage came to an abrupt halt, which caused her to hit the top of her head on the wooden barrier. “mmh!” She groaned in pain; the man that had sat with her the entire night, flashed her an unapologetic smile. A few seconds later she was being lifted once again and pulled out of the cart. 

  She took this opportunity to look around and try to figure out where the hell they had taken her. It was like nothing she’d ever seen.

 Before her, stood a castle, bathed in charcoal colored bricks and dressed with Gargoyles at the large, Redwood double-doors. Her feet were still bare and she couldn’t help but wince every time she stepped on a pebble. The armor clad men showed no remorse as they pushed and pulled her every which way. The doors opened slowly, almost as if the structure itself had been expecting her.

  Once inside, her feet were brought relief by the cold marble flooring in the corridor; her eyes darting across the room. She spied million dollar paintings, two grand stair cases, and several stone pillars that kept the manor standing. It was hard to miss the other knight-like men who were posted at just about every corner. Without a moment to think she was, yet again, being guided rather roughly to a location that remained unknown to her. She gave up fighting a long time ago, figuring that if she kept her sanity in tact, she may be able to think up a way to save herself or find someone who can.

  They dragged her up the set of stairs to the left, and through a massive hallway. The walls in this particular area were made, not of wood or stone, but of skulls. Hundreds, possibly thousands of skulls, bound together to form a wall. She wondered how they did it, and if those people had been killed for that dumb reason. Y/n couldn’t help but wonder if her head would be an addition to the foyer. After examining the enclosure, she decided to look straight ahead. 

There at the end of the hallway, was another set of cherry colored doors. one door was slightly ajar and it allowed her to peek inside, the same way she did as she passed the room of her brothers not so long ago. She saw what looked to be a bed, a big one; garmented in a duvet the color of blood.

A bedroom?

They dropped her, upon their arrival to the room. They finally removed the chains from her arms as well as the cloth from her mouth. She fell to the floor, her arms covered in bruises and welts. She turned to face the men and opened her mouth to demand answers but was cut off off by the sound of another. A deep, raspy voice; coming from somewhere in the spacious room. 

“So glad you could make it”

She turned back to face the front, eyes locking with a man. He was tall and fit. He was someone she had seen before, she just couldn’t put her finger on where. “do i- hmm” she started but had stop and clear her throat, it had been hours since she had some water. “do i know you?” she asked, sheepishly. Something about his presence intimidated her.

“Yes and no” he smirked. He sauntered over to where she was sitting on the ground, rubbing at her sore arms. He crouched down to her level “you’ve probably seen me in an old carving or something of the sort” he ran his index finger across her jaw. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

‘i’m Harry. Although, if we’re being cordial I should give you my real name” he sighed. “Hades, lord of the underworld”. He studied the blank expression she was giving him. 

“I mean I added that bit about the underworld. Has a nice ring to it” he stated She still said nothing. “I’m not fond of it either, that’s why I make people call me Harry” he smiled before standing. She stared up at him, swallowing what moisture she had left in her dry mouth. 

“oooh don’t look at me like that” he chuckled. biting his bottom lip.

She clears her throat again “Why am I here?” her voice is smaller than its ever been. Part of her hoped he didn’t hear, afraid of how he would react. “Well, doll” He breathed. “I’ve been lonely for quite some time now. I used to have a lovely wife but….let’s just say….I let my temper get the best of me one evening” he snickered. She heard the men behind her stifle their laughter as well. 

“Anyways, i want another but I have standards. I’m five thousand years old, i’m not getting any younger and I know what you’re going to say ‘Harry you don’t look a day over twenty-three!’” he shrilled in a high pitched nasally voice. 

“I wasn’t going to say any-”

“Shh! I haven’t finished my monologue” he interjects. She, boldly, rolled her eyes.

“Long story short, you’re a smart, headstrong, young woman. I started watching you after your parents died…sorry about that by the way it wasn’t my intention” he confessed. Her eyes widened but she was frozen in shock by what she  had just heard. She waited for him to explain what he meant by that.

“I had gotten in a fight with Poseidon and it got a little out of hand I really am sorry, darling” his voice was filled with atonement. He looked back to her, searching for any sign of forgiveness. Even though was was the god of all things bad, he still possessed somewhat of a heart. She nodded, sensing a little bit of guilt in his words.

“What i’m trying to say here is, You’re my new Wife!” he declared. 

lookinaro235  asked:

Yang and Ruby are waiter for their mom's diner and Nora drags Weiss and Blake

Nora: Come on guys! I know that you are going to love this place! *Nora cheered as she dragged her friends Weiss and Blake down a the side walk.*

Blake: Nora, while we appreciate you taking us out to lunch, you’re both really busy and don’t really have the time. *Blake calmly told her friend.*

Weiss: Plus, I have a business meet in forty eights!

Nora: Oh please. Blake have been working yourself too hard lately with you new book. And you can always reschedule the meeting Weiss.

Weiss: No Nora! No I ca-

Nora: AND HERE WE ARE! *Nora Interrupted the business woman as she ship in front on a old fashion diner allowing the other two women to look up at its neon light sign.*

Blake: The rosebird dragon diner? *Blake read aloud tilting her head with her cat ear.*

Weiss: You dragged us three blocks for some old diner, Nora? I honestly wonder how Ren deals with your surprises.

Nora: With love and being really flexible in bed. *Nora replied without missing a beat, making Weiss and Blake cringe at the mental image now in there heads as Nora opens the door for them.* Now come on! I want me some pancakes!

Weiss: Fine. But they better have a meal that is low calories.

Blake: I wonder what kind of tea they have? *Blake pondered as the three entered the diner, finding it to be quite nice inside with only a hand full of people with in it sitting at the counter or one of the many booths.* Wow. I like this places style. Very classy.

Weiss: I’d have to agree. Though, I still don’t see why I couldn’t have just… order… in… *The CEO began to say until a beautiful short black hair with red tint and silver eyes woman wearing an old fashion waitress uniform with a small red hooded cloak hanging from her shoulders walk up to them, cause the white hair woman to stare in awe as her.*

Ruby: Hello.~ My name is Ruby. Welcome to the Rosebird Dragon diner. How many will be dining here is today? Oh hey Nora. *Ruby greeted with a heart warming smile, Blake noticing Weiss’s mouth open slightly with a blush making the Faunus chuckle.*

Nora: Hey Ruby! It’s just the three of us. *The red head informed the hooded waitress after giving her a quick hug.*

Ruby: Alllright. Table for three or would you rather sit at the counter? *Ruby smiled, giving three menus as Nora opened her mouth to answer.*

Weiss: *However and to the other two women’s surprise, or humor, Weiss quickly and a bit loudly answered for them.* A Booth In Your Selection, Please! … I-If you are waiting tables that is? I’m Weiss. *She then tried to play off calmly as a large blush grow on her face while holding out her hand.*

Ruby: *Speaking of blushes, after Weiss’s out burst, the red hood waitress’s own cheeks began turn the same shape of red a her cloak as she spoke with a trace of nervous enjoy, taking the CEO’s hand.* O-oh yes. Of course! I’d be happy to have y-I MEAN SERVE! Serve you. Uh, hehe, right this way. *It was a few steps towards the booth along with Nora and Blake giggling before the waitress realized she was still holding Weiss’s hand.* Oh whoopie. Hahaha, Sorry about that.

Weiss: It’s fine. It was my pleasure. *Weiss said without thinking causing Nora to full on laugh now.*

Ruby: O-okay. Uh, here we are. I’ll be right back to take your orders. *Ruby said as she showed them the booth and sped off into the kitchen while hiding her blush.*

Blake: Smooth. *Blake whispered with a smirk, receiving an elbow from her friend as they sat down.*

Weiss: Quiet you! I’m under a lot of pressure at work and I was blind side by the cuteness of the waitress! *Weiss hissed before burying her ace within the menu Ruby left for them.*

Nora: Cuteness? Weiss let’s face it, Ruby just melted your cold icy heart. You like her! *Nora teased causing her to groan.*

Blake: Have to admit. I never thought that Ruby girl was your type. *The writer said as she opened up her menu, glad to see they served her favorite tea.* Then again. With the way you look at puppy dogs I can see why.

Weiss: Oh to hell with you! It’s not my fault she is my type! I know you would do the same!

Blake: *At this Blake laughed and looked at her friend with a smirk.* Please Weiss. If my pass relationships with Adam, Ilia, and Sun have shown anything is that I do not have a type that can make me go head over heels for someone like you just did.

Nora: But what if you just haven’t met them yet. *Nora cut in while wiggling her eyebrows.*

Blake: Nora. The likely hood of me see the person of my dreams here in this random diner is a billion to- hmm? *Blake was explaining to her friend when noticing someone walking up to their booth thinking that it is Ruby to take their drink orders. However, as Blake turned her head her breath was instantly taken, for the waitress that stood next to her was not Ruby but a gorgeous long golden hair purple eyes woman with fit athletic body wearing a waitress uniform a bit to small around her chest.*

Yang: Helloooo.~<3 I’m Yang. I’ll be waitress to day. Can I start you two ladies with something to drink? Nora, I already know what you want. *Yang greeted with a warm smile as she pulled out her pen and pad, looking between Weiss and Blake. Mostly Blake as she tries not to check her out.*

Nora: The pancake and coffee Yang. They call to meeeee. *Nora dramatically exclaimed.*

Weiss: I’ll have a Diet Coke please. *Weiss muttered with disappointment of the new waitress not being Ruby.*

Yang: Okay and for you beauty. *Yang replied to Weiss’s order with a cheery tone before her voice turned to a more attractive voice as she looked to Blake who only continued to gaze upon Yang before answering.*

Blake: You. *The writer spoke with a small smile until she realized what she said and quickly spoke again.* Oolong Tea! I… I meant oolong tea. *Blake then covered her now red face as Weiss leaned over with a smirk and whispered as Nora fell in her side of the booth laughing.*

Weiss: What was that you were saying earlier?

Yang: *Meanwhile, Yang’s smile grow ear to ear, her cheeks suddenly pink, at Blake’s words and who she is acting and let out a giggle.* Hehe, easy there Kitten. You have to take me out on a date first. *She told Blake who’s cat ears drooped down more as she tried to hide her face  even more, not noticing Yang writing down her order and somethings else on a separate piece of paper.*

Blake: I am so sorry. That was rude of me. I just-huh? *Blake apologized feeling the most embarrassed of her life until she looked up to find Yang holding out a piece of paper to her.* What’s…

Yang: I don’t have off tonight but I do tomorrow if you’re free, Miss… *Yang winked at the cat Faunus waiting for Blake to reply and give her name as Weiss’s jaw dropped and Nora awed at the site of two of her friends hooking up.*

Blake: B-Blake. *Blake stutter as she took the paper to see a scroll number on it, a smile as big as Yang’s growing as she continued.* Blake Belladonna and yes. I am and would love to!

Yang: Great! It’s a pleasure to meet you Blakey! See you around- *Yang beamed with joy but before she could finish Ruby zipped over with pen and pad in hand.*

Ruby: So sorry about that! I had to make sure we had enough pancake batter for Nora’s order. So what can I get you? *Ruby explain before smiling  to the three women, blushing slightly a Weiss’s smile at her an then noticing Yang.* Uh, Yang? What are you doing?

Yang: I’m taking their orders, sis. It’s what mom pays me to do when I work here on the off season of my matches. *Yang said, confusing Blake and Weiss who look to Nora.*

Nora: She’s the MMA fighting champ. *She whispered as The two women across from her nod.*

Ruby: But this my table.

Yang: But it’s in my section.

Ruby: No it isn’t.

Yang: Yes it is.

Ruby: Hmmm… Hey Mom! *Ruby called out to the counter where Blake and Weiss’s jaws dropped once again upon seeing a taller black hair red eyed Yang and a taller slight longer haired Ruby both look out through the window.*

Raven/Summer: Yeah/Yes?

Yang: Who’s booth five? Mine or Rubes?

Raven: Ruby got evens right? *Raven asked looking down at her wife.*

Summer: No, Yang does. Oh no wait She had then last week and counter when she punched that guy who was messing with Velvet.

Raven: Hmm… Hey Tai!

Tai: What? *They heard from farther in the kitchen.*

Raven: Who has table five? Yang or Ruby?

Tai: I think Yang!

Yang: Yes. Thanks dad!

Tai: Or is it Ruby? *He question causing all the women of the Xiao Long Rose Brenwen fight to groan.*

Nora: Why not let Blake and Weiss decide? *She suggested which both Waitressed nodded and agreed before looking at Blake and Weiss.*

Blake/Weiss: Yang/Ruby…. No Yang/Ruby. *They both said at the same time, looking at each other with annoyance.*

Weiss: Come on Blake. You already get you dream girls number let me have this. *Weiss whispered.*

Blake: Yeah but I would like to maybe set up a date with her. Beside, you have a meeting to go back to don’t you. *Blake whispered back, both waitress feeling extremely happy about the two fighting over them. Then all four watched Weiss pull out her scroll and call someone.*

Weiss: … Yes. It’s me. Reschedule my meeting for tomorrow I’m taking an extended lunch… I am the owner of the company I can do what I want! *She said hanging up her scroll and move out of the booth pass Blake and up to Ruby and said.* Booth for two please.

Ruby: Uh, Two? For you and Nora?

Weiss: No for me and you. I’m sure your boss won’t mind you having lunch now.

Summer: We don’t by the way!

Ruby: O-Okay. Right this way. *Runy stuttered as she lead Weiss to another leaving Yang Blake and Nora to watch in shock before Yang asked.*

Yang: So that Weiss girl…Is she?

Blake: Weiss Schnee head of the Schnee dust Corporation. Yes.

Yang: Uh-huh… By the way you wouldn’t happen to be the same Blake Belladonna who wrote the ninja of love series are you? Because I’m a really big fan of that book series.

Blake: I am.

Yang: I see… Nora do you mind…

Nora: I’ll be closer to my pancakes. *Nora smiled as she moved to the counter as Yang sat across Blake and the two along with Weiss and Ruby started to talk, the smiles never leaving their faces.*

Did you have this in mind or *Kai Kai. You got it right this time.* Okay then.

iv-b. i knew i loved you then

but you’d never know

ft. midorima shintarou

This is the thing that made me want to rip my hair off my head because of my PC randomly blue-screening me. To those who responded to the rant, thank you for your understanding!

@ourneverendingpossibilities​ it’s nice that you have such a positive outlook in life!! I was so mad when it happened, but since it’s complete now I guess everything’s okay ヽ(*>∇<)ノ 

@squirrelsass13​ thanks for the encouragement! I rarely ever write on Word (it transfers weirdly when I copy and paste the text on tumblr) so I was typing straightaway on my Drafts… I click on “Save Draft” every paragraph now lol

Faint connections to the previous installation of Cantabile

Fem!Reader. Semi-NSFW. Long (2728 words).

I’m sorry if this sucks but… yeah.


Originally posted by lightpaleroses

Why do you play?


Isn’t being a doctor busy enough for you?


I’d ask you to tutor my son if you weren’t so busy!


Wow, you’re very ambitious. 


Those are words spoken by housewives, small medium enterprise owners, and white-collar workers. Midorima doesn’t think that they’re somehow lower than him in any aspect—sure, they earnings are technically lesser than his, but how does that define someone as a person? He meets these people everywhere, the people that make up his community, his society: at the clinic, in parties, at the grocery store… It’s no secret that he’s seen as an outstanding person by these people. 

Twenty-seven, has the letters “M.D.” behind his name, helps people get over all sorts of sicknesses from light ones like a common cold to not-so-light ones like diabetes, plays piano as a hobby.

It’s not really surprising to the people who ask him “what do you do in your free time?” because, you know, doctors. They’re classy and smart and all. Sure they can play the piano—he can probably play the violin, too.

But you can see their eyes significantly widen when they know he has a diploma in piano, certified by the Associated Board of Royal Schools of Music. Where is that name from? The United Kingdom. Why did you take it?

He always tells them it was just for fun, but a small voice inside him knows the truth: somewhere deep in his heart, he wanted to be a pianist.


His first words to you are: “It’s a common cold.”

“That much I can see, Doctor,” you deadpan, holding a tissue against your runny nose. He sighs. 

Midorima is used to handling all sorts of patients: naggy, rude, stubborn people… he’s seen them all in the past four years of his practice. Today, however, it’s only after lunchtime and he already wants to go home already. Maybe attending Akashi’s party last night isn’t really a great idea. Sure, it’s not a DJ-inviting or dance floor grinding kind of party, so he’s not physically tired—he’s tired from all the socializing with fake people. “Meet new people,” was Akashi’s reasoning for inviting the doctor, and of course Midorima did, but none of them were enjoyable.

To be precise, he can’t tell if they’re really enjoyable or not through layers of faux talk. Akashi texted him earlier, expressing his regrets that it was somewhat an unpleasant experience for Midorima. He also wrote “but I won’t stop inviting you to these social events—I understand how you think they’re superficial, but I can guarantee you that they genuinely enjoyed your piano very much.”

Well, if there’s one thing Midorima likes about those parties, it’s that he’s presented the opportunity to play.

“As a doctor, I have to announce the diagnosis to you, don’t I?” He replies, scribbling a pen on his prescription pad. “I’m prescribing you to these basic medications, but since your cold isn’t a serious one—yet—I highly recommend that you consume home remedies before resorting to these medicines.”

“M-hmm.”

“Turmeric tea, ginger tea, a mixture of lemon, cinnamon, and honey.”

“Got it.”

“Control your diet; you don’t want to eat food that’s going to worsen your cough.”

A sound of ripping paper. He hands the slip to you.

“You don’t remember me do you?”

That takes Midorima by surprise.

“Have we met before?” He asks warily as you take the prescription paper from his hand and fold it, putting it inside your handbag. Your lips form a small smile, and Midorima eyebrows furrows.

“You sang last night, didn’t you.” It sounds like a question, but his tone makes it clear that it’s rhetorical. He knows for sure that it was you who was dragged by one of your acquaintances that claimed you to be the best singer in a ten-mile radius—the expression itself is a horrible exaggeration, but when Midorima hears you sing, he has to admit that you do have an exceptionally lovely voice.

His first words to you turns out to be “what key?” instead of an illness announcement because he was the pianist accompanying you.

“You look different, Ms. Fly Me To The Moon,” he says aloofly, writing something on a document. You chuckle at the nickname, not knowing that the stoic doctor-slash pianist has the capacity to be somewhat playful, and towards the opposite sex, nonetheless. Midorima can only admire how melodious your laugh is, even when your voice is nasally from the cold. 

“At least you remember what I sang.”

“Like I said, you look different,” he repeats. You were clad in an elegant evening gown for the party last night, and although Midorima doesn’t have the eye to identify expensive clothing brands and such, he is able to appreciate how attractive you looked in the attire. Your hair was done simply in a style that matches your dress, and among the slight make-up you applied, he notices the suppleness of your colored lips first. 

The person sitting in front of him doesn’t carry the glamour of the party—you’re slightly pale, dressed humbly in a sweater and jeans—but the lack of make-up, fancy hairdo and dress doesn’t affect how beautiful you look, in his opinion. Your eyes still glows the same captivating way as he witnessed last night.

“Yes, well,” you sigh with a smile as you stand up, “you better engrave how I look last night deep in your memory, doctor, because I’m never going to attend one of those high-end social events ever again.” The first part was sarcastically said, but Midorima finds himself doing as you told, picturing the details of your gown and hearing your singing voice echo in his mind. Being a quite introvert doesn’t mean he’s immune to any of your charms.

“Shame,” he finds himself saying. You smirk, pausing right before you walk out the door.

“What, not being able to see me all dressed up again?” Ten years ago, Midorima would’ve easily flushed red at the teasing remark. He’s way past that now, and instead of reacting like the teenage boy he was, he looks straight into your eyes when he says:

“I was talking about how it’s a shame that I won’t hear you sing again, but that too.”


Two months later what you said proves to be a blatant lie. You’re standing beside Midorima, arms hooked with his, a casual sign that the two of you are attending together, presumably as a romantic couple. This time it isn’t Akashi’s, but a business partner of his—he nevertheless invited Midorima along to provide him the audience for his piano, and regarding yourself… well, you’re accompanying the pianist. It’s not like you’re crashing this party or anything.

It’s only your third “date” with the man, so to have the opportunity to see him up-close in a formal setting that requires guests to dress up is exhilarating, to say the least. Midorima’s handsome enough in his casual attire—having to stand next to him wearing a nicely tailored, dark-colored suit while having to keep your hands to yourself is almost some sort of punishment. And the collar button of his shirt! He always buttons his shirt all the way up and wears a tie to complement the outfit, but for some unknown reason he’s left it open this time and disregarded the tie.

If you didn’t know any better, he’s trying to tease you. 

“It’s rare to find you with someone by your arm, Midorima-kun.”

“Akashi,” Midorima acknowledges the voice. You turn to meet the redhead face to face, smiling softly.

“Good evening, Akashi-san.”

“Hello, _________. Good to see you,” he replies smoothly, as you reply in a similar manner. “Even more surprising finding out that you’re with him tonight. Are you two…?”

The two of you exchange looks as if telepathically deciding who should answer, and turns out you are. 

“Sort of,” you say, and the hint of mischief in your smile cannot be missed by even the most oblivious person in the room. Akashi surely isn’t one, but thankfully he doesn’t push you further.

“It’s a long story,” Midorima chips in, as if his relationship with you bloomed out of a blackmail kind of situation of some sorts. You chuckle, and so does Akashi —the latter is gracious enough to show the two of you to where the piano is.


“What are we?”

You are in his arms, as naked as he is, leaning your face against his chest and feeling the beat of his heart when you ask the question. It’s a summer night, and the sheets are loosely resting on your waist, the two of you too hot and sweaty from your previous activity to pull it all the way up to your neck. One of his hands is drawing soft circles with his thumb on your bare skin, while the other one that is untaped (very uncharacteristic of him, but it’s a sign of a good night) brush your hair in long, loving strokes.

He doesn’t respond. You snuggle closer into his chest, relishing the sensation of his nakedness against yours while you think of all the times you’ve spent with him. That one time you had lunch together, those meaningless parties you go to just so you can watch him play and he can hear you sing, the nights you stay together at his place. You’ve spent at least a hundred hours with him, though it doesn’t feel long or dragged—those hours are cherished and enjoyed to the fullest, arguments (petty or not) included.

But it’s his reserved nature that makes you feel insecure sometimes. Tonight is one of those nights.

You move up so that your face is right in front of his because you want to look at him in the eyes. He’s beautiful, the viridian undisturbed by the lenses of his glasses—the eyewear is carefully situated on the nightstand before all this began. You’re sure he can see you clearly from this proximity, your nose against his, your hand caressing his cheek. His hands drift down from the crown of your head to your chest, cupping your breast and playing with a nipple as his eyes grow half-lidded.

Midorima is the one to lean in first, engaging you in a chaste kiss, a perfect juxtaposition what with his hand groping your chest and the other slowly travelling down to your ass, stroking every inch of skin possible. You are the one to pull away, arms around his neck and eyes clouded with lust, thanks to the things he’s doing to your body.

“Do you love me?” The question comes out as a whisper.

“I’ll show you how much,” he answers in a heartbeat before he kisses you again, bringing your body under his. 

He never fails to convince you.


The afternoon sunrays shining through the high glass windows of the music hall are almost blinding, considering how dark it was just a few moments ago in the auditorium. You’re by Midorima’s side as per usual, looking around nervously with a bouquet of daisies and orchids in your arms. Your husband seems to be scanning the area like you are, and when you hear a shrill yell of a young child you know it’s who you’re looking for.

“Mama! Papa!”

The little girl, currently nine years old, runs towards the two of you with two or three large bouquets in her arms, the majority of her face covered by flowers. You laugh at the sight, crouching to hug her tightly once she reaches. Noises of plastic being scrunched can bother you less, as you feel your daughter burying her face against your chest. She pulls away to immediately look up at his father with bright eyes.

“Papa, how did I do?!”

“You did good, nanodayo,” he answers, a faint smile on his face as he fixes his glasses, “although there’s room for improvement in terms of arpeggiation—”

You gasp exaggeratedly, drowning the remaining of Midorima’s sentence. 

“Shiina! Papa says you did a good job! Do you know what that means??”

“No!” She replies, confused but ecstatic.

“I promised you we can go have dinner wherever you want if Papa praises you,” you reply, and the confused expression on her face melts into real unabashed excitement.

“Mama, are you serious!?” Shiina’s voice has become high-pitched from the bubbling enthusiasm that seems to have taken over her whole small body. “We can go anywhere I want!?”

“Yep,” you nod for further affirmation. “Papa has agreed on this, too,” this time you look over at Midorima, only to be amused to find the deadpan expression on his face. You give him a wink, and Midorima, witnessing his own daughter having such a great time just because you told her she can eat whatever she wants for dinner, can’t help but melt a little.

“Maji! I want Maji!”

“Sure, we’ll go to Maji tonight,” you say accommodatingly. Midorima can only smile down at the girl when she looks up at him, a face-splitting grin on her face. Even though her physical attributes are definitely inherited from him, she obviously takes after you in terms personality.

“And then I want to have ice cream after dinner! Can I, Papa? Let’s go home so I can prepare for dinner!!”

“You may, Shiina,” he sighs amusedly—what does a nine-year old kid want to do to ‘prepare for dinner’? “But before we go home you must meet Uncle Akashi first. He came to see you perform, you know.”

“Uncle Akashi is here!?” 

You chuckle. It’s a wonder how said man is viewed as intimidating and merciless among most adults dabbling in business, but is the opposite in the eyes of children. Shiina is almost obsessed with Akashi, what with his gentlemanly behavior that reminds her of Prince Charming. Shiina once even told you that since she can’t marry Papa, maybe she’ll marry Uncle Akashi instead—you have yet to tell Akashi this, but you have a feeling he already knows.

Speak of the devil, the redhead can be seen from twenty feet away thanks to his hair color, maneuvering amongst the crowd to approach your family. Shiina’s acting very much like an excited puppy, and you wonder if it’s immoral to compare the behavior of your human child to an animal (despite said animal being unbelievably cute as well), but that doesn’t matter anymore because Shiina is already in Akashi’s arms as he lifts her up in the air, chuckling amusedly.

Midorima looks at the scene with mild jealousy in his eyes—not that his eyes aren’t green in the first place.


“Mama?”

The usually animated voice of your daughter is now tired and soft as you tuck her in. She must’ve been exhausted after the performance.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you tell me a bedtime story?” This piques your interest a little, because she’s stopped asking for stories before bed for almost a year now.

“Sure. What would you like to hear?” 

“The other day… Mai-chan and Reika-chan were talking about how their parents met and fell in love,” she says shyly, hiding her face behind a beloved doll. “Can you please tell me how you and Papa met, Mama? You’ve never told me that story before.”

You chuckle.

“You’re gonna have to ask Papa for that, honey. It’s a long story anyways, and you’re tired. Best go to sleep soon.”

“Okay…” Shiina says, and it’s not hard to pick up the disappointment in her voice.

“Goodnight honey,” you kiss her cheek before turning off the lights.

“’Night, Mama.”


Truth be told, there is no ‘long story’. Midorima just called you one day to ask you out for coffee with a tinge of nervousness in his voice that you can spot even from the other side of the line. You ended up scheduling a lunch instead, and if Shiina asks him to tell her how you fell in love with each other, he’ll have no explanation except of how breathtakingly beautiful you look with sunshine on your skin and a smile on your face as you talk about music and food and the stars. 

He will ask Shiina to keep it a secret from you, of course, because if you know he’s been in love with you for that long, he knows you’re never going to let it go.

anonymous asked:

Imagine being pregnant and its the middle of the night and you're wide awake because the baby won't let you sleep. While Harry is on his side of the bed all curled up and snoring which makes you a bit annoyed that he's sleeping with no problem. And you get out of bed and head to the living room, throw yourself on the couch to watch T.V cause god knows you won't sleep with the baby kicking. Until maybe an hour in when Harry is standing behind the couch all soft and fluffy and asks "s'the matter?"

I always get so carried away just talking about him that it winds up spinning into a thing. SOMEONE GIVE THE MAN A CHILD TO KEEP FOREVER! SOON! x.

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED I JUST AM A PERPETUAL MONSTER FOR HIM AS A DAD! *explodes*

031. Kicks

You press a little firmer against the same spot on your belly that has been battered from the inside on and off for at least the last three hours. You inhale and exhale slowly, and, for the millionth time, you try to convince the baby inside of you to match your sleep schedule.

He – or she – has had a nasty habit over the last week of waking you up at odd hours of the night. The first night it had been a fluke, but when a pattern had developed you’d started getting grouchy. It doesn’t help that Harry is sound asleep and completely oblivious to your sleepless doom. You’d woken him up the first few times, but now you just let him sleep. Fresh from sleep and often deprived of it he’s pretty much useless in the dark of night to do anything but express sympathy and drift right back to dreamland. Not that you can really expect him to do much of anything, but a little solidarity would be nice.

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theytookmywingsaway  asked:

Hi there! I was wondering if you'd like to write a blurb where Y/N is not really experienced if it comes to relationships and boyfriends, as in having troubles with communicating and not being used to physical stuff (kissing, touching, hugging), so Harry tries to help and make her more comfortable? :)

Hello lovey! So sorry this took so long, but I really wanted to take my time with this one, just like Harry does in the story. I wanted it to be perfect and make somewhat of a statement. I also wanted it to be sweet, yet sexy. I hope that comes across. Thanks again for the request, and I hope you enjoy xo.

***

The drive home was quiet. But that’s nothing new. You tend to be quiet around boys anyway, not just Harry. This time, though, you’re afraid you really fucked up.

You can tell Harry likes you. It’s obvious with the way he looks at you like you’re the most important person in the room. The way he always lets you finish a thought before opening his mouth, instead of interrupting you like some guys do. The way he holds the door for you and lets you walk ahead, and how he smiles when you shake your head because you said something silly.

Tonight was no exception. He’d even kicked it up a notch by placing his hand on the small of your back as you stood in line at the movie theater. You thought it felt weird at first. It just wasn’t something you were used to. Then he tried to hold your hand after you reached over for some popcorn. It came as a shock to you so your automatic reaction was to pull away. Harry gave you a confused glare, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” you mouthed.

You offered your hand to him meekly, and he took it. But you felt like it was forced. You barely could concentrate on the film because you were worried you’d offended him. Also your palms were sweating like mad. You sort of wanted Harry to release your hand just so you could wipe it on your jeans.

So it was no wonder the tension in the car afterwards was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Harry was silent, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was angry. He was probably hurt, but you weren’t sure how to rectify the situation.

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Honeymoon

Can you do a one shot about Harry and the missus on there honeymoon please

———————————————————————————————

The wedding itself had flown by. You and Harry had laughed and danced and ate and drank long into the night surrounded by family and friends and people both of you loved so dearly. It was the wedding of your dreams and beyond anything you could have ever imagined as a little girl. It wasn’t that it had been overly flashy or full of expensive food or fancy dresses; this wedding had been the wedding of your dreams because of the man you now got to call your husband. The constant reminder as you looked down at the new ring on your finger and the matching one on Harry’s that he was yours and you were his, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live.

Harry was your husband, and that was the only thing that mattered about the day.

Before the wedding, you and Harry had sat down to talk about where you wanted to go for your honeymoon. The one downside to Harry being a famous singer who travelled everywhere for free, was that you also got to travel everywhere for free and, over the past few years, the two of you had gotten quite a few miles in. You hadn’t seen everywhere, of course, but you had seen more places with Harry than you had in all the years leading up to when you met him. You wanted your honeymoon to be something different; less about the destination and more about the quality time you got to spend with him.

You also didn’t want to go anywhere that you thought fans or paparazzi would be able to find you. That meant no fancy resorts, no ski lodges, no beaches in Hawaii or Belize, no restaurants in Italy or Greece and basically nowhere that had any resemblance to a tourist town.

All of those stipulations really cut down on your options.

It was Harry’s dad who finally came to your rescue with a solution. He had a cabin back in Yorkshire that he rarely used anymore. It was a bit rundown, but he told you that if you and Harry wanted to use it for a week or so, he would run up and give it a clean before the wedding. You had never been there before, but Harry had. He told you that it was absolutely perfect for what you were looking for. It was out of the way, it was remote, the scenery was beautiful, you wouldn’t have any neighbours and the place would be all yours for as long as you wanted. All you would have to do was bring some of your own food and whatever bedding and other daily staples you needed.

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Celebrity Crush

Originally posted by rbieber

Requested by anonymous:

“Could you please do a Justin imagine where the reader is America’s sweetheart celebrity who attends the Bieber Roast and this interviewer is asking her lots of really uncomfortable questions and Justin notices and rushes to save her and they meet for the first time and there is lots of fluff?”

Warnings: Fluffff, suggestive comments, swearing 

Note: Freaking love this request :O oh and I also made it that you dated Harry Styles because why not I love Harry so teehee :*


“We’re five minutes away are you ready Ms *yln*?” The chauffeur asked me politely.

“No.” I reply honestly and I hear him chuckle from the front seat. “And I’ve already told you to call me *yn*.” I smile. “Sorry Ms- uh *yn*. It’s a bad habit.” He admits. “It’s ok I get it, I just don’t like feeling like I’m more important than everyone else. We’re all equals.” I explain as I nervously check my teeth again for any lipstick for the hundredth time in my hand held mirror. I look up to see him shaking his head with a smile on his face.

“What’s so funny?” I ask in amusement and he just chuckles.

“Nothing, it’s just that you really are America’s Sweetheart.” 

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Johnlock in canon

Holmes and Watson are very much in love with each other and together:

First of all, let’s hear what Doyle calls them: “Sherlock and his Watson”

After knowing Watson for a week: “my dear fellow”  (A Study in Scarlet)

“My friend and partner” the whole time (eg in Red-Headed League).

After knowing each other for three years, Watson once wakes up in the “morning to find SH standing, fully dressed, by the side of [his] bed” at quarter past seven (Speckled Band). Etiquette was exceedingly important, and Holmes openly flouts convention. It is one of his most interesting traits: he does not believe in the law (cf Charles Augustus Milverton) and therefore would not have any problems with anything that opposes jurisdiction if he is convinced it is the right thing to do.

“It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.” (Final Problem) – if you ignore the past with the marriage (see below) the only thing that remains is the “very intimate” relationship between them.  

Watson certainly is very vocal in his admiration: “the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known” (Final Problem)

The story where Holmes comes back from the dead also shows Watson’s complete devotion: “I find myself thrilling as I think of it, and feeling once more that sudden flood of joy, amazement, and incredulity which utterly submerged my mind”, “When I turned again Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life.” (Empty House)

Now to a very conclusive piece of evidence: they are being attacked by a criminal: “In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes’s pistol came down on the man’s head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with blood running down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Then my friend’s wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair. “You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say that you are not hurt!” It was worth a wound – it was worth many wounds – to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain.“ [Watson reassures him he’s fine] "He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife. "You are right,” he cried with an immense sigh of relief. “It is quite superficial.” His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”“ (Three Garridebs)

Do I have to comment on this? "Depth of loyalty and love”? He’s supposed to be “an automaton, a calculating-machine”.

Holmes has just drugged them with something that works exactly the same way as in “Hounds” (2.2): “The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes’s face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror–the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned…”

Aha. So he is dying, but what gives him strength is that Holmes is suffering? And the end is just ridiculously romantic.

Mere minutes later: “"You know,” I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes’ heart before, “that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you.”“ (Devil’s Foot)

No comment.

They are breaking into a criminal’s house, and are in danger of being discovered: "I felt Holmes’ hand steal into mine…” (Charles Augustus Milverton) - So when there is a threat, Holmes clearly doesn’t care about propriety, but wants to reassure the doctor instead. What would any author who writes such a scene about a man and a woman very obviously “imply”?

“the man whom above all others I revere” (Thor Bridge) - Hmm… Watson can be quite eloquent.  

But the following quotation/situation is my favourite: “It was in the year ‘95 that a combination of events, into which I need not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself to spend some weeks in one of our great University towns […] It will be obvious that any details which would help the reader to exactly identify the college or the criminal would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a scandal may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to illustrate some of those qualities for which my friend was remarkable. I will endeavour in my statement to avoid such terms as would serve to limit the events to any particular place, or give a clue as to the people concerned.” (Three Students)

Or to give a clue as to what really happened. So… Explanation:

1. In the year 1895 there were the Oscar Wilde trials, which caused a great many men who were more or less openly gay to “go on holiday” for a few months.

2. Universities were supposed to be more progressive than cities. Oscar Wilde met Robbie Ross at uni.

3. The “painful scandal” Watson is talking about here is about three students who are meant to sit a Greek exam, but one of them cheats. That’s not a scandal. Even I’ve helped another student to cheat in a Greek exam (Greek can be a horrible subject), and I’m a model student.

4. They had to flee from London because of the public awareness the spectacular trials had caused.

5. But of course Watson could not say it like that, so he had to invent a virtually new case.


Do we want to know more?

“Partly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate (…) those who were around him.” (The Hound of the Baskervilles)


But why did Sir Arthur Conan Doyle create a character who would have been imprisoned if he had been a real person and had the authorities known about his illegal preferences? An important question, and more than one point has to be considered to answer this.

Sir ACD’s Sherlock Holmes was heavily inspired by Poe’s Dupin. Poe wrote three stories about Dupin, an amateur detective living in nearly complete isolation in Paris. These stories are narrated by an unnamed narrator, probably a Briton or an American. And their relationship is quite unequivocally a romantic one. Here parts of the first story, The Murders in Rue Morgue:

“Our first meeting was at an obscure library […] where the accident of our both being in search of the same very rare and very remarkable volume brought us into closer communion. We saw each other again and again […] I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid freshness of his imagination […] I felt that the society of such a man would be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged that we should live together during my stay in the city; […] I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common temper […] Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we should have been regarded as madmen—although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. […] We existed within ourselves alone. It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the Night for her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon […]”

So… I do not think that I have to explain all that much. The so-called subtext is not even subtext here. Paris was – due to the Napoleonic Laws – known as a place where is was possible to have a homosexual affair in relative safety. So it is reasonable to say that Dupin and his nameless friend were indeed lovers.

Now, Sir ACD chose to take those two characters and their flat and – with some minor alterations – wrote his stories about Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson living at 221b Baker Street in London. His characters are based on two men having a physical relationship with each other, and although why he chose to do this, nobody knows, it is a fact. You could make more of this argument, but I think it is enough at this point.

Sir ACD, the upright Victorian moralist gentleman, hated Sherlock Holmes. He told an actor he may “marry him, murder him, or do anything he liked with him”, which not only shows that marriage and death are essentially the same for Sherlock Holmes, but also – and more importantly here – expresses his disdain for his own creation.

I said I was going to talk about Oscar Wilde. Wilde was born in 1854 (the year of SH’s birth – what a coincidence) and represents a type of decadent man known as the dandy. Holmes is a Bohemian, which was considered about as decadent as dandyism, and their lives follow similar patterns. Interestingly enough, Dorian Gray and The Sign of Four were commissioned during the same dinner by the same editor, and it can be said that the two authors were competitors. Wilde, however, was probably the more popular person, and I believe Sir ACD was somewhat jealous of him. Oscar Wilde’s trials are constantly alluded to in 1895 Sherlock Holmes stories, by the way… 

I mentioned above that he hated Sherlock Holmes. But how do these two things fit? Sir ACD wanted a good reason to hate Holmes. There is the expression “to laugh up one’s sleeve”, I personally I am of the opinion that is precisely what he did.

The Bookstore

Heyo!

Summary: Dan Howell runs a bookstore with 2am as it’s closing time. He’s really beginning to regret that… well, that is until Phil Lester stumbles in through the door.

Word count: 2530

disclaimer: I don’t own Dan and Phil, and nor am I claiming that Phan is real, I wrote this purely for fun so there.

Dan yawned, this 2am-closing-time thing is really getting to me, he thought. He owned a book store that was a bit of a hole-in-the-wall, with a few customers that came in regularly but most of his customers were people who just stumbled across it and let their curiosity get the better of him.

Humming New Born to himself, Dan curled up on his black armchair behind the counter. Just as he had gotten comfortable and opened his book, it started raining. Dan smiled, he always liked it when it rained.

He liked being curled up here, in his soft, dark armchair surrounded by a glowing heat as the sound of rain and the gently coolness trickled in through the glass door.  Dan had read The Fault In Our Starts a thousand times, so he allowed his eyes to lazily roll over the familiar words and phrases as he saw the scenes being played out between the lines.

The bell sounded, and a man seemingly soaked to the bone entered the shop. “Hi” he said breathlessly as Dan extracted himself from the comfort of his armchair “I’m looking for… well, a book - I’ve run out of interesting reads at the library and someone there told me to come here… can you recommend any good ones?”

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anonymous asked:

Inexperienced Caroline asks Klaus for tips/lessons of the sexual kind ;)

My trash romance soul would let me go nowhere but historical with this one!

An Insatiable Curiosity

Her dance partner’s quiet snort drew her attention and Caroline’s eyes snapped to Klaus, “What?” she asked, annoyed by his amused expression and making no effort to soften her tone.

Klaus shows no offense, “You’re staring, love. Aren’t young ladies supposed to be demure? What would your mother say if she way you eyeing Young Lord Lockwood like a particularly scrumptious jam tart that you wished to inhale?”

Caroline lifted up slightly to scan the room. He has a point, her mother would reprimand her, and Caroline would rather avoid such a conversation. Lord knew they had enough of them. Luck is on her side and her mother is paying her little mind, engrossed in a conversation with Lady Gilbert by the punch bowl.

The lack of concern on her mother’s part is to be expected. Klaus was considered eligible by her mother despite being a third son. His family is one of the wealthiest of the ton, with power and influence to spare. The close relationship between their families, however, meant that he was not subjected to the hawkish scrutiny other single men endure when they near Caroline. The Mikaelson estate borders her father’s and their London homes are also closely situated. Rebekah is her dearest friend, Kol an old playmate, and she and Klaus have been sniping at each other since they could talk.

Honestly, he was so overbearing. Thought he knew everything. He had caught her early in the evening, scribbled his name in her dance card, for several dances, with an infuriating smirk. She had been obliged to take his arm and let him lead her on to the floor when he had offered her his arm to claim the first set.

At least he was actually good at it. She was not looking forward to having Mr. Stefan Salvatore tread all over her new slippers later on.

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BLOODIED TUX Pt.½

Rating: PG-13 to NC-17

Kim Jonghyun is one to handle all his business affairs seriously, he’s a man of focus, zeal—that’s how he makes his money. There’s no time for chit-chat, no time for pondering whether or not a contract should be signed. Come in ready, be ready, that’s the motto he lives by. “We have a few new employees with us.” One of Jonghyun’s higher-ups announces. “Names? Do you have a profile on them?”

“Yes sir, of course, sir.” Jonghyun leans forward, resting his elbows on the wooden desk, awaiting the man to list off each employers name. “Well, uhm, we have—“

“Start again.” Jonghyun waves his hand back and forth. “I placed you where you are because of your quick wit, now sharpen that tongue of yours and start again.” The man blinks his eyes rapidly and starts again. “We have Sulli, Song Ji-eun, Young Bae and a Kim Kibum.” Jonghyun nods, leaning back in his chair and nodding.  Four new employers wouldn’t be much trouble, of course they’d complain about the type of work they were getting themselves into, but if they wanted the job they’d get over it and if they didn’t well Jonghyun didn’t care what happened to them afterwards. “Is there anything else I should know of?” He asks and the man nods. “You have a meeting two days from now.”

“A meeting?”

“Yes…they called in hopes of making a deal with you.” A grin quirks Jonghyun’s lips. “A deal, huh.” He echoes amusedly, before shooing the man away in basking in the silence of his office. It was a dark, windowless room, black curtains drawn to block out the sun and the furniture was either black or a blood red color. Jonghyun couldn’t stand those vibrant hues and rainbow color palettes renovators brought to him. He runs a hair through his ashen hair before rising to his feet. His clothes were always a solid dark color. Ranging from deep brown, navy blue and faded black. He went out and shopped for his own clothes, he had a specific style. Classy, elegant yet sexy. He adjusts the velvet cuffs of his suit jacket—he was an expensive man. He begins to walk around the room, his hands clasped behind his back. There were murals hanging from the walls of his office adding a bit of an artistic flare to his business. He owns a banking company of sorts, management one would say. He gets people jobs, he handles big business marketing and contacting overseas. People come to him when they want to spread their market globally. He was considered perfect, The Dark Lord of the business world. It always humored him to hear such a name spread around the firm. Yes…simplly a dark lord. There’s a light rasping at his door, breaking him away from his thoughts and causing him to look towards the door suspiciously. He checks his watch. His next meeting wasn’t until an hour from now…who could be coming in so early. The rasping appears again, this time more persistent, Jonghyun groans, making his way over to the door and opening it dejectedly. “I’m sorry, but my next meeting isn’t unti—“

“Sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted to ask you a few questions before I officially started working here.” The voice belonged to a young man in a beige pink suit, his brown hair slicked up stylishly—he was well dressed for his first day—Jonghyun grins—he knows what he’s doing. “Well, I only talk to those who have scheduled a meeting; mind telling me your name?”

“It’s Kibum, Kim Kibum.” The man says unfazed, his slanted eyes never moving away from Jonghyun’s. “Kim Kibum…” Jonghyun pauses to act like he was actually thinking about it. “Mm, I don’t think I have your name written down.”

“Well you should write it down now because I need to talk to you about a few things.” Jonghyun raises a brow, taken aback by the mans’ forward way of speaking. Once he’s regained his composure, he laughs. “My, my, you’re quite blunt for a first time employee.” Kibum shrugs, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his suit. “I get that a lot.” Jonghyun ‘humphs’ his arms crossing over his chest. “Kibum right?”

“Yes.”

“Come back later and I’ll talk to you then.”

“Here right?”

“Yes and we’ll have a nice long conversation.” Kibum’s gaze lingers on Jonghyun’s eyes before he bows his head mumbling an apology and walking away. Jonghyun leans against the door frame, his head tilting as he scoped out Kibum’s shapely behind. “Hmm,” He taps his chin. “He’s interesting.” And a pink tongue flickers out to lick along his lips and then his sharp teeth.

~*~

As Kibum rounds the corner he releases a deep breath, a hand coming out to rest against the wall so he could hold himself up. “Fuck, he’s much more attractive in person.” He finally exhales, his feline eyes blinking rapidly as the recent memory of Jonghyun’s voice raced back and forth in his mind. Sharp jawline that was softened by his disproportionate nose and full lips, big, deep eyes that seemed to see into Kibum’s soul…the longer he stared at him, the more Kibum felt like he was getting sucked into a warmhole. He stands up straight, fixing his suit jacket and clearing his throat before slinking his way back to the waiting room, in which he had come. Kibum was a twenty-four year rookie model, he was called in for simple magazine gigs or store posters to lure in customers. Photographers always said he was “pleasing to look at.” Kibum took it as a compliment, it was better than being called “average” by his old high-school friends. “Look at me now!” He wanted to scream at them, but not yet, not until he was business partners with the boss—he’d get there soon enough. He plops into one of the comfortable red chairs, his legs spreading as he relaxed. “I’m so tired…” The other night he was up going over what questions he would ask and what he would wear. He always chose his first day outfits with care; whether it was the first day of school or the first day at his new job. Kibum did a lot of odd jobs when he was younger; fixing fences, being a taxi driver, mowing lawns, watching kids (he was really good at that)—at some point he had gained some muscle, his abs tightened up and his biceps rounded over and bulged. He wasn’t as muscular as he was back then, but he kept his body toned. “Are you new?” came a husky yet gentle voice. Kibum looks to his right, his gaze landing on a young male with blonde hair and clear skin. “Yes.”

“I’m Taemin,” He thrusts his slender hand out, Kibum takes it with a smile. “Kibum.”

“Nice to meet you.” Kibum noticed that Taemins teeth were unusually white and long, before he could get a better look they disappeared in his mouth. “This must be your first day, I’ve never seen you around.” Kibum nods. “Yeah, this is my first day,” he runs a hand through his brown hair. “I don’t feel that nervous, but then I met with the boss….” He trails off and Taemin nods. “Aaah, yeah, Mr. Kim can do that.”

“Does everyone call him that? Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah…” And then Taemin leans over to whisper in Kibum’s ear. “Unless he takes a special interest in you.” Kibum blinks, his grip on his briefcase tightening. He always bought the local newspaper and Jonghyun’s face would always be splayed across the front page. He was a twenty-five year old billionaire, hah, how do you figure. Kibum took a liking to his face and the half grin, half smile he always showed during interviews. It was like he was talking through the camera and to Kibum, but there was always a dark mystery surrounding him…atleast that’s what Kibum thought whenever he saw him. He shifts in his seat and glances at his phone to check the time. Only eight minutes passed since his encounter with Jonghyun.

A few hours later…

The toilets flushes and Kibum yanks up the zipper on his pants before pushing the stall door open and moving towards the sink to wash his hands. As the waters running, he looks up at his reflection, tilting his head left and right to check for any pimples; there were none, his skin was still clear minus the occasional bump or two. He pumps the foamy soap into the palm of his hand before spreading it up to his wrists and then along his fingers. Another toilet flushes behind him and a stall creaks open, a well-dressed figure emerging. Kibum turns the faucet off, shaking the water from his hand and then turning to dry his hands with the brown paper towels, but he stops short when the figure comes to a halt in front of him. Kibum blinks, his gaze locked on the males lower region, his eyes focusing in on his crotch area. “I’m in your way aren’t I?” A velvety-smooth voice questions and Kibum looks up slowly, his gaze finally meeting the mans’ gaze who turned out to be—Jonghyun. “Y-yes, you are.”

“You must want me to move.” Jonghyun continues on, his hands in his pockets, Kibum could smell his cologne—a fresh coconut scent. “Yes, I’m trying to get to the paper towels.”

“Oh?” Jonghyun steps closer, his scent growing stronger. “Then get them.” Kibum didn’t know if that was a threat, a taunt or a command. Does he want me to go around him or should I push him out of the way? Kibum opts for the first option and begins to walk around Jonghyun, but is stopped when his wrist is clutched. “Lets go to my office, don’t you have a few questions?”—his grip was inhumane, Kibum thought his wrist was breaking.

“Yes, but my hands—“

“They’ll dry on the way there.” Jonghyun raises Kibum’s wrist to his nose to show this, but it looked like he was smelling Kibum’s skin. Kibum yanks his hand away before ripping a few paper towels and drying his hands. Jonghyun watches as he goes with a chuckle, before following after him, his dark eyes tracing up and down Kibum’s backside and he growls ever so softly, his eyes flickering red. Once inside the office, the door clicks shut and Kibum’s turned off by the complete darkness and isolation of the room. “It’s so…dark here.” He comments, Jonghyun walks around him to go sit behind his desk. “I guess to others it is, but I like it like this.” Kibum takes a seat across from him, his eyes dancing around the room. Jonghyun watches him, his hands folded together and a faint grin tugging at his lips. Kibum’s jawline was equally as sharp as his, if not sharper—to be quite honest—all his features were sharp and well defined, but Jonghyun liked his lips the most or maybe it was his neck. Pale skin balanced by his pink lips; Jonghyun swallows that yearning tickling the back of his mind and then tingling against the roof of his mouth. He hadn’t taken someone in ages, his body was just aching for it. Jonghyun takes a secretive glance around, his ears straining for any voices. It didn’t seem like anyone was in the office, but he wouldn’t take any chances. “I only have a few questions, Mr. Kim.” Jonghyun ‘s eyes slide over to meet Kibum’s and he smiles merrily. “Mr. Kim” He sighs. “That’s quite formal, please, call me Jonghyun.” His eyes crinkle up as he smiles and Kibum nods hesitantly, his long legs crossing together. “Well, I was wondering what type of work you have in store for me, how far can I make it up the ladder in this business?”

“You’re asking what type of position you can acquire.”

“Yes, a higher one than I am in now.” Jonghyun nods, leaning back and spreading his legs as a show of authority, he unbuttons his suit jacket and whips it back to reveal his dark blue shirt—a simple gesture to show off the relaxed mood—relax, he was telling Kibum. “Well, there’s two options,” Kibum leans forward, his brown eyes blinking eagerly. “You can work hard just like everyone else; running errands, setting up meetings, taking calls or…” Jonghyun stops dramatically, taking pleasure in the way Kibum’s eyes squinted and his pink lips thinned out. “Or you can sleep with me and have whatever position you desire in no time.” Jonghyun says it coolly as though he were pitching another business idea. Kibum blinks—it takes a moment for the words to actually catch up with him and once they do his eyes zero in on Jonghyun with scorn. “What?”

“Sleep with me, have sex, fuck, if you want to get vulgar.” Jonghyun smirks. “What’ll it be?” Kibum leans back, his eyes widening. “None of the above, so I’ll ask you again, what can I do to get to such a position and in a short amount of time?” Jonghyun is slightly thrown off by Kibum’s composure after such a suggestion, but leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Kibum,”

“Yes?” He still managed to keep a tone of mutual respect. “All you have to do is work for it—everyone who wants it,” Jonghyun’s brown eyes glimmer. “Works for it.” Kibum nods. “Can you show me that you’ll work for what you want?”

“Yes, of course, that’s what I applied for.” Jonghyun rises to his feet. “Excellent.” Kibum took note of the way the fabric of his shirt strained against the muscle of his pectorals. Jonghyun glances at his golden Rolex and heaves a sigh. “I’m sorry to have to cut this short on you, but I have to go take care of some business.” Kibum jumps up, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s quite alright,” He bows. “Thank you for your time.” Jonghyun smiles—attractive, well-dressed, blunt and respectful—jackpot. “Not a problem at all, I hope to see your face more often, Kibum.” Kibum lifts his head with a cheery smile, Jonghyun noticed the dimples in his cheeks. “Yes, me too.” He bows his head once more before walking out of the office with a bubbly gait that matched the pink of his suit. Jonghyun stares after him, his smile from before still plastered onto his lips before it fades away into a frown. “Damn,” He crumples into his seat, rubbing his nose and licking his teeth. “I was this close to nabbing him.” Jonghyun spoke to the shadow lurking in the dark. “Why didn’t you?” That same gentle yet husky voice from before questions. “Too many people and I didn’t want to scare him.”

“Isn’t scaring your prey how you get off?” Jonghyun scoffs. “Thanks for putting my sadism out there, Taemin.” The shadow—Taemin—emerges from the dark with a playful grin. “You’re always welcome, Mr. Kim.” Jonghyun rolls his eyes, rubbing his chest trying to cease the need that was quelling up inside of him. “I want him.” He declares.

“You just met him.”

“But his blood, you must have smelt it.”

“I could feel it when we shook hands.” Taemin recalls their brief greeting from a few hours before. “It was heavenly.” He says ironically causing Jonghyun to chuckle. “Don’t let anyone else get to him.”

“Okay and you just make sure you don’t get caught making one of your “deals.” Taemin warns and Jonghyun throws him a wink. “I’ve never gotten caught.” And as he smiled his sharp fangs peeked from beneath his lips and his eyes gleamed red.

A/N YAAAAAy!! So I finally got around to writing the first part ^^ I’ll be getting to the second part soon~

mggardner  asked:

When you are writing in someone else's world, what kinds of restrictions or guidelines do you have to work with? For example, in Spock's World, you created the history of Vulcan, and even formed the basis for the philosophies of Surak. Did you have any guidance from Paramount or Mr. Roddenberry? Dr. McCoy's debate in the referendum is one of my favorite scenes.

tl;dr version: No guidance whatsoever. I made it all up.  (While stealing whatever I needed for the job.)  :)

…And now the details:

There are normally quite a lot of restrictions, varying widely from company to company and licensor to licensor. Sometimes you find out about these along the way: sometimes they’re set out for you in contract or in discussion with your editors or the licensors. There’s no way to even begin listing what they might look like, as they’d normally differ so widely. (Though “FFS Don’t Kill The Main Characters!” would probably be one, at least in the ST novel universe, after Vonda McIntyre scared Simon & Schuster’s editorial staff half out of their wits with The Entropy Effect.)

(Under the cut: hardball, the School of Hard Knocks, corruption, Surak, Star Trek the New Movie, and crying havoc and unleashing Dr. McCoy)

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Coffee, Black. (Namjin Barista AU)

Title- Coffee, Black.

Author- Older Jade

Ship- Namjin 

Summary- Namjoon just can’t stop drinking this coffee. 

Lol. Sorry about the poor quality but I did write this whilst I was sat in Costa on a free from college. 



“Just a moment.”

Namjoon nods at the voice, even though he can not see the speaker and it already late for a meeting he didn’t want to go to in the first place, the soothing surrounding of the little cafe seem to take his mind off everything. He was about to debate leaving when a smaller  - though this is not hard with Namjoon being so tall- man comes from out the back. Namjoon is slightly speechless, taking in the sight of the man. His hair was sticking up a little, his lips a plump pink and his beautiful wide eyes.

“Sorry, what can I get for you?”

Namjoon cleared his throat, he may have just fallen in love at first sight but he was a cold hard business man and knew how to hide his emotions. “Coffee, black.”

The barista half smiles at him, placing his order into the computer. “How…interesting.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, he’s not quite used to this, people talking back at him. “Do you make it habit to talk to your customers.”

The barista laughs, making his coffee and handing the hot cup into namjoons hand, his fingers accidentally brushing past his. “If I didn’t I would be out of business sir.”

“Hmm..”

“Come again soon.” The barista cheerfully waves Namjoon off and Namjoon thinks he might just have to.

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Kyo : Happiness of nothing, the assembled and neck Haiiro no ginka 64

How was the GAUZE tour?

Kyo: I was about how I thought I would be.

What do you mean?

Kyo: Like I wasn’t in my normal mode, because I knew that in the power and message of the GAUZE songs I probably couldn’t put out 100% of my current self. So like that, the GAUZE tour went how I was expecting.

Like what you said before about it being a festival, everyone seemed to enjoy it.

Kyo: Well, I think it’s better to enjoy it then just stand still, quietly, but in my personal style, the way I perform and my stance on performing isn’t about enjoying it, so that part was quite different from past tours.

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Stars Both Infinite and Distant: the Necessity of Isolation in Supernatural's Heaven

There’s an essay under this read more. It’s a 3,850 word essay about the structure of heaven in a tv show. That’s all the warning you get. Sail on if you want to avoid supernatural meta, writings about heaven, or yet another response, however tangential, to the question, “do the events in Dark Side of the Moon Canonically establish Sam and Dean as soul mates?”

tl;dr answer: No.

hugely long answer: No. And here’s why:

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Can I have a Luke one where he’s the new boy at school and I become friends with him or much more and you know my details from the last one

AN Requested by movella user: spriinkleofglitter. This one is actually really cute, I hope you take the time to read it :) Thank you so much for requesting and being super cool. Shoutout to Jamie on movella for requesting cute things. Enjoy the imagine xx

Your POV

I closed my locker and headed off to homeroom. As I dodged bodies through the hallway, I never really stopped to study their faces. They just whizzed past me like they were nothing, like they were air. I didn’t even stop to take a breather.

I arrived at my classroom and sat down in my seat. There was a spot next to me that was open all year, and I sighed. People already formed their cliques, leaving me kind of out. I mean, I do have friends, but we’re not really tied down to one area. Not like everyone else. We’re wanderers. Meandering from place to place. But that leaves me alone in book projects. Including this class where no one sits next to me.

When the bell rings, the teacher isn’t in yet, but the kids all gather around the vicinity of the chairs. They don’t go right away, but they’re close enough to fall into position once that door opens. When it does, they drop to their seats and in walks someone I’ve never seen before. Too young to be a substitute teacher, and obviously a student due to the backpack on his back.

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