i love how they picked up the silhouette thing. sort of

Our Pet Monster

TW: Mentions of Pedophilia

When we moved to Pine Drive, I never expected to find a conspiracy among the kids there.

I was an only child and a loner, thanks to my parents always moving. My dad’s job had him hopping from state to state. It was a pretty tough going if you wanted to make friends. But he promised that we’d stay at least six months here, so I had a chance to make at least one friend.

And whadya know, on my block, there were a ton of kids to make friends with.

I didn’t even really have to try. Two days after moving in, the Langley twins Diana and David were pounding on my door, asking who owned that bike parked in the front yard and if they wanted to play. I was shy but the twins were ecstatic to meet me.

Apparently their group had an odd number before I moved in and they needed equal teams to play their games with.

There was Alicia, who was six, she was the baby but she was very sweet. The oldest was Fletcher who was thirteen but his social skills were a bit behind so he didn’t mind hanging out with a bunch of nine and ten year olds. I think there was about ten of us all in all.

But I learned soon enough that there was a secret each of them shared.

Keep reading

in which y/n attends the after party…

a part two to in which y/n buys harry starbucks…

Y/N was not a partier. It wasn’t that she was shy or didn’t like them. It was just that she was introverted and partying took a lot out of her (Also, she couldn’t hang like she used to. By 10pm, when most parties were kicking off, she was ready to drag herself into bed). However, when Harry Styles says he wants to see you at a party, you go to that party.

She’d been iffy after she met him at Starbucks about actually getting tickets to the show. Still, a few hours later, she found herself at Will Call, chewing nervously on her bottom lip in hopes that he was serious about what he said previously. And, he was. Relief flooded her as she was slid two tickets along with a piece of paper that held an address on it. She presumed it to be the location of the after party and slid it into her back pocket. 

Her nerves were bouncing all over the place as she stood in line to enter the venue. Her feelings were put to the side, however, as she saw a girl get turned away at the door and her friend stood staring wide eyed with her jaw dropped. She instantly was moved to action. As she neared the front of the line, she could hear the girl who’s ticket was apparently fake, breathing through tears, telling her friend to go in without her, forcing a smile. “Wait!” she called out to them, not that either one of them were going anywhere. They were stood off to the side. “I just saw what happened, and I have two tickets. You could just trade me the one for these two.” She held the tickets out for them, as they eyeballed them.

“These are third row tickets. Mine isn’t even on the floor." 

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "I’m just happy to be here.” And, she was considering three hours ago she didn’t even have tickets or an invitation to an after party extended by Mr. Harry Styles himself. After meeting him today, this was the least she could do. 

“How do we know these are real?” The same girl asked, still eyeing the tickets suspiciously. 

Seeing as they were still holding up the line, Y/N scurried over to the ticket checker, so she could scan the tickets. They checked out. The two girls quickly scrambled to her side, swapped tickets, and made their way inside the venue. Once in, they hugged each other tightly, crying (what she hoped to be) tears of joy, at the sudden turn of events before they turned to her and included her in the action, letting their appreciation known through muffled sobs. “How much do you want for it?” the girl who had the fake ticket asked once she got herself together.

She shook her head, giving them a small smile. “I don’t want your money.”

“Seriously? I can’t just let you do this. These must’ve cost a fortune.”

She didn’t want to reveal that she’d got them for little more than a cup of coffee, so she just shook her head politely once more. “Honestly. I’m fine. You two just have a good time.”

“I could get you a t shirt or a hat or one of those pins or–”

She cut the girl off since she was so insistent upon repaying her in some way—which seemed to be a common theme for her today. “Water! And some popcorn, if you must.”

The girls beamed at her as they made their way to the concession stand. They did not stop talking the entire time, not that she minded. They thanked her endlessly and chatted a bit about Harry, but finally parted ways with her, giving one final hug, when they noticed the time and the length of the merch line, and she went to go find her new seat.

—–

In hindsight, she was glad she wasn’t sitting in the third row. After she played it relatively cool that afternoon it would’ve been moderately embarrassing for him to see the way she sobbed as soon as his silhouette appeared straight through Ever Since New York, only regaining slight composure once the bridge hit. But, really, she was a mess throughout the entire concert. So, not only did she do those girls a favour but also herself and possibly Harry. 

The kind, older lady sat in front of her, whom she’d made friends with, let her borrow her binoculars a few times throughout the show and it wasn’t lost on her the slight look of confusion (or perhaps disappointment, but that was wishful thinking) she saw on his face when he really looked into the first couple rows of the crowd. 

Her presence, or seemingly lack there of, had absolutely no impact on his performance, though. It was arguably the best concert she’d ever been to. She felt so at home with all the Harries screaming their heads off and just going completely nuts, as per Harry’s request, during the show. 

However, the same could not be said for the after party. She was a fan. She didn’t have any connections or friends or any real reason to be there other than the haphazard invitation Harry extended to her earlier in the day. That thought carried her straight to the open bar, where she ordered a Long Island iced tea, then caused her to beeline for one of the outer walls. She meandered around the outside of the party watching everyone mingle, only offering a few smiles to those who passed. 

It seemed as though her presence was going to go unnoticed, not that she was doing much of a job at being approachable, as she contemplated on getting another drink, having sipped hers down over the hour she’d been at the lounge, or leaving altogether. She jumped when she felt a firm grasp on her elbow, breaking her line of thought. 

She hadn’t planned on doing a lot of things that day, but it’s safe to say that getting kidnapped topped that list. Her mind was eased as she turned around to see Harry gripping her, no longer donned in his Gucci suit but looking good nonetheless. She wasn’t quite sure what to say to him so she just grinned at him, subtly looking between his face and her arm before he got the hint and let her go. 

He coughed lightly. “You could’ve told me you didn’t like my music, ya know?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, not quite sure where he got that notion from.
He answered the question she hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask yet, almost immediately after seeing her expression. “You weren’t in the crowd. I literally scanned all the front rows.”

“Ohhhh. No, I went. I didn’t sit there, though.”

“If you had tickets, you should’ve just told me.”

Her face contorted into something that was halfway between confusion and amusement. “Why are you assuming I lied to you earlier? I was waiting in line after picking my tickets up and I saw these two girls. One, apparently, had purchased a fake ticket and instead of holding onto those two tickets, I swapped with the one girl who had a legitimate ticket and just gave them the ones you got me.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times. “Sorry I–”

“Was just wondering how to get your exceptionally large foot out of your even larger mouth?” she finished, rolling her eyes, teetering between the lines of annoyed and amused.

“That was really lovely,” he settled upon as a response.

She shrugged. “Treat people with kindness, right?”

Dimples coined into his cheeks. “Absolutely. Now… can I buy you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar.”

He looked at her like she was crazy, eyebrows shot up with his lips twisted together. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh. Well, you can pay for the Long Island iced tea I already accidentally stole and just get me a glass of water.”

“You sure?” he chuckled.

“Yes, sir.”

He headed to the bar as she turned around bowing raspberries into the air in an attempt to calm herself down. 

All too soon, Harry was back, handing her her water, then slipping his hand into hers, leading her to a booth. Instead of sliding in across from her, he slid in directly next to her which sent her nerves in a frenzy. “Figured I’d sit over here, so I can hear you better. It’s quite loud in here.”

She chucked nervously, nodding in understanding, sipping on her water as he gulped down some of his drink. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She had to ask. “What am I doing here?” she blurted before he could get a word out.

He puckered his lips to the side, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m not quite sure what you mean…”

She splayed her hands out in front of them, releasing broken groans. “Like, bro, I just– I just bought you…. coffee! Now I’m sat in a booth with you at an after party. I’m not even, like–” she waved her hands in circles wildly. 

He giggled, looking down at the table and shaking his head. “I just want to get to know you.”

“But, why?” She just couldn’t wrap her head around it. She wasn’t anything special. She wasn’t exceptionally beautiful or talented or smart. And, she knew, even past all her nerves, that Harry was just a normal guy as well, but why on earth would he spare her more than a passing glance?

“I just think you’re lovely.”

She glared at him. She needed more of an explanation than that. 

“The guy at Starbucks told me you didn’t want him to tell me that you paid for my coffee. And, then you told me yourself that you didn’t expect anything out of it.. And, you gave up your tickets for one in the back. And, I saw you when you first came in, and in the least creepy way possible, I just sort of watched you bounce around smiling, bopping around to the music, chatting with a few people. Also, you haven’t even asked for a picture. Not that I mind when people ask me, but I don’t know, it just, I don’t know,you don’t want anything. It’s, uh– You’re lovely.”

She was stunned. Partly because of what was said and partly because of who said it. She just stared at him, not knowing how to reply. 

“Well, say something.” He laughed, eyes skipping around the room. He wasn’t quite prepared to look straight at her. “Christ, talking to girls is just as terrifying as always.”

Her face lit up and broke into a wide grin. “You’re talking to me?”

“You’re the only other person in the booth, aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “No, like, you’re talking to me. You’re chatting me up? Are you putting the moves on me, Styles? Is this what this is?”

He bumped her shoulder with his. “Piss off.”

They smiled at each other and all the possibilities.. Hers faltered after a few moments. “You’re on tour.”

“I am,” he confirmed.

She clasped her hand on top of his. “Harry, in a few days, I won’t even be a passing thought. Maybe the next time you go into Starbucks I’ll be that one chick that bought you something, but nothing more." 

His face dropped into a pout. "You’re not even going to give me a chance?”

She quirked her lip upwards and shrugged slightly. “I couldn’t ask for that kind of commitment from you.”

“Baby, I just want to get to know you,” he said in a voice all slow and thick and deep. 

She wasn’t sure at which point they shifted that much closer together, but he was resting his forehead against hers leaving her breathless. Naturally, she sputtered out a few strings of laughter. “One thing you should know about me is that I’m uncomfortable in most social situations." 

"Duly noted,” he stated, rolling his eyes because she completely ruined the mood he set, head following suit and backing up a few inches. 

“So… just friends?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Sure."He gulped down the remainder of his drink while she sipped on her water. Neither of them were 100% satisfied with the arrangement, but someone had to be rational. She kept telling herself that she was doing the right thing. "Actually, can I kiss you?”

For the second time that night, she was rendered completely speechless. Y/N had been exercising extreme self-control up to that point. She didn’t have an anxiety attack when she met him the first time. She gave up amazing seats to see him (¼ of the biggest band in the world!). She turned him down when he came onto her. But, she couldn’t find it in herself to reject the chance to feel those lips on hers.. Like she imagined meeting him, she imagined kissing him a million times, but nothing compared to the fluffy, pillowy sensation that washed over her body when she nodded meekly at his request, sliding her hands up to grasp his face. 

It wasn’t like a full blown snog. It was short and sweet, but that knowledge didn’t do anything to quell the butterflies that took flight in her stomach. She kept her eyes closed and hands on his face for a good five seconds after the kiss ended, simply basking in it. “Maybe we can be a little more than friends.”

“Yeah?” he questioned, optimism laced in his every word, before pushing his lips back to hers for a few more seconds. 

“Yeah, but, maybe later. When you’re not so busy. After tour ends, if you even remember me.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be one of the few people I can’t forget.” His face set into that signature lopsided smirk. 

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“That we will, my dear, that we will.”

when things go bump in the night

summary: in which you have a late night run in with a seemingly vicious vampire, only to find out he’s not as intimidating as you first made him out to be.

characters: shin hoseok x female!reader

genre: vampire au, suggestive shit

warnings: very faint mentions of blood, choking, suggestive shit

author’s note: this is my first paranormal au scenario!!! if i’m being honest, i love love love reading these…. so expect more in the future, maybe?? idk, depending on how this one goes, I guess,,,


Originally posted by the-xclan


You step out of the little bakery and into the frigid fall air, immediately grabbing your bare arms while simultaneously cursing at yourself for not thinking to bring any sort of protection from the bone-chilling, autumn nights. You cautiously survey the area; taking in your surroundings before turning back toward the door. You manage to lock it, despite your trembling hands, and turn around, making your way down the sidewalk. You take an exceptionally deep breath before exhaling, examining the visible puff of air in front of you, not looking forward to the mile long hike back to your house.

The minuscule town you called home was already vacant during the day time, but at night it was like that of a ghost town; not a soul in sight. Hardly anything in sight for that matter, due to the thick pool of fog that resides throughout the barren streets. It was like something straight out of a horror movie. That in itself was just one of the many, many reasons you hated being out at that time of night.

Keep reading

I always find that, inevitably, I go to the store thinking I’ll walk out with a bundle of cute clothes and extra almond milk, and I walk out with four notebooks with different cats on the covers, a binder in some weird color, and countless packs of pencils and pens- and none of the things on my list (I swear, I was only going in to buy some bananas and toothpaste!!). Seriously, I loVE office supplies. I call it, “the Illusion of Productivity”. This goes without saying, but I have TONS of empty journals lying around. To that end, I have used one journal to come up with a list of things to do with empty journals and have decided to impart to you all my list:

1) Write out a list of things to do with empty journals
2) Start a recipe book for your favorite desserts.
3) Glue different things (i.e., flowers, coins, pictures of pineapples) on every page.
4) Create a style lookbook (cut out things you like from magazines and stuff)
5) Write silly haikus
6) Draw faces and practice applying makeup on them
7) Draw a picture based off of song lyrics
8) Practice your signature
9) Make up a cartoon
10) Start a personal collection of pick-up lines
11) Write a song about writing songs
12) Make a list of prompts for a rainy day (or writer’s block)
13) Write a letter to someone you hate, but don’t send it. Burn it.
14) Start your own “Burn Book” (see Mean Girls) but write nice things about people.
15) Write a “she’s manic depressive he’s got an inferiority complex” AU for your OTP (or make up your own characters)
16) Write about a day in your life from the POV of a fly on the wall
17) Draw something without lifting your pen from the paper
18) Do an anatomy study
19) Draw optical illusions
20) Fill up a whole page with spirals (shhh shh don’t ask why it’s just for procrastination)
21) Make a scrapbook about your favorite year
22) Write an essay on art history
23) Start a bucket list
24) Walk outside and draw or describe the first three things you notice
25) Write a journal entry for your favorite character
26) Draw a water drop
27) Write an extra chapter for your favorite book
28) Draw something punk!Disney
29) Write a short version of a Shakespearean play, set in modern times
30) Design a dress
31) Draw a fish (focus on how the light would reflect off of the scales)
32) Write a horror story and make it as cheesy as you can
33) Pick a line from a classic piece of literature (i.e., anything like Charles Dickens, a religious book, a philosophy piece, Edgar Allen Poe, Charlotte Bronte, Mark Twain, etc.) and draw a picture that interprets the sentence literally
34) Analyze a character (it’s fun to research things like Meyers-Briggs personality types and stuff for this one)
35) Write a story about a schizophrenic who falls in love with one or more of his/her other personalities
36) Draw one of the Seven Deadly Sins
37) Write something based on Greek mythology
38) Write a (scientifically accurate) essay on time travel
39) Design a robot
40) Paint a whole page your favorite color
41) Draw clouds
42) Write about an accurately awkward, un-romanticized first kiss
43) Explore a certain emotion (i.e., anger), focusing on telling the reader what it feels like, looks like, etc.- without explicitly naming it.
44) Describe a person using a metaphor or simile
45) Draw an anatomically correct brain or heart
46) Draw something (flowers, people, trains, anything really) made up of other, smaller things (more flowers, words, cats, anything really)
47) Doodle a computer with your eyes closed
48) Write something inspired by the concept of a “selfie”
49) Design a house
50) Write your inaugural speech for when you become president of something
51) Draw a self portrait with a pink pencil
52) Draw a sandwich
53) Write about an art theft from the artists’ perspective
54) Write a story from the POV of a senior-citizen, unexpected villain
55) Use the whole journal to write kind notes to people and leave them anonymously
56) Draw one line for every day of the year, and at the end of the year see what sort of picture you’ve made
57) Describe your journal, in your journal
58) Write about a poltergeist who is very philosophic
59) Write a “artist/writer” AU for your OTP
60) Draw ice
61) Describe a character’s eyes without comparing them to a certain body of water
62) Finish this sentence: “I am not a god, I do not…”
63) Write the script for a mini movie
64) Create a flip-through moving picture
65) Make a list of your favorite sounds
66) Write a thesis-like paper on your philosophy on life
67) Draw a smell
68) Cut out pop-up silhouettes
69) Write a typical trope for a “perfect” love story (but imply an underlying dark theme, such as abuse or addiction)
70) Write about a character who went from rich to poor. Why did they? Who was responsible?
71) “Interview” a character (really get inside their heads)
72) Make a fleet of paper airplanes and color them ALL
73) Draw a cute monster
74) Write about a character with a bunch of phobias
75) Draw a puppy Tim Burton style
76) Make up “stupid workouts”- then video yourself demonstrating said workouts
77) Practice forging someone’s signature
78) Draw a macho character wearing a tutu. Write about the story behind it.
79) Write one thing per day that you love about yourself
80) Write out a shopping spree of stuff you would buy if you had exactly $2,789.25 to spend (no more, no less)
81) Write a 50 Shades of Grey parody called “50 Shades of Cats”, about a woman who must come to terms with the idea of “forever alone”
82) Interview your parents
83) Make a list of 20 things you want to improve about yourself- then do it.
84) Draw a series entitled, “The Art of Irony”
85) Make your will (it’s always best to be prepared)

Enjoy your writing!! Hope this helped. xx roopira

if viktor and yuuri were artists

 #victuuriweek2017  day ( one ) 
↳ au: other careers  

Title: Colours
Author(s): @viktor-nkfrv
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Street artist Katsuki Yuuri wakes up to find that his wall art has been altered by the famous Viktor Nikiforov. From there, the two get to know each other despite having never met face-to-face, for a picture speaks a thousand words. 

Now also on AO3 here.

Read the full one shot under the cut. (Cut doesn’t work in the original post on mobile, but WILL work once reblogged!!)

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Tiny Dancer - Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak

Title: Tiny Dancer

Author: mai/ppsyko

Fandom: South Park

Setting: Zombie Apocalypse

Pairing: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak

Characters: Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweak

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Rating: T

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1347

Type of Work: Fluff, One-shot

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Mention of the Dead, bit of angst

Disclaimer: I don’t own South Park nor the AU, which was created by @tuckerenthusiast

Summary: Craig notices the distress in Tweek’s eyes as time flies by in the current apocalyptic world and decides that they need a moment to breathe and have some fun.

AN: Alright! First posts here on tumblr! cool! So, I fell in love with the CotD AU and kinda wanted to make a one-shot of it and some doodles. My drawings aren’t the best so hopefully my lil’ writing makes up for it. ^^ Also! Thank you @murdertacos for letting me use this template beginning.

 ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂ ✄ ✂  

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anonymous asked:

How do romanced companions react to seeing Sole come back from a mission all beat up?

Codsworth: The “By Jove!”s were flying through Sanctuary that night. Poor Codsworth, being extremely unequipped to handle medical emergencies, is frantically whipping out anything he thinks might help his poor master. It helps that Codsworth is a domestic wizard. Pillows, blankets, hot drinks and food seems to appear from nowhere. Sole is not left wanting as they quietly nurse their wounds.
“Sir/mum, I must say, as your romantic partner I very much do not appreciate you coming home in this state! This is- I-“
His buzzing, posh accent tapers off as he sees the look Sole gives him, which borders on incredulous.
“I mean… Master, if you have to go on these… Dangerous expeditions, would you at least take me with you? You can count on me to secure the home front, but I worry about you.  The world, it’s so…”
He stops talking again, and finds himself hovering very close to Sole’s bed. He watches his master reach out for one of his three arms, holding the metal like Codsworth could feel the warmth. In a way, he almost could.

Danse: When he spies that familiar silhouette against the horizon his heart leaps, only to immediately sink into his stomach again. He mumbles a lecture about “letting your guard down” as he helps Sole limp their way towards the clinic, disguising his worry as anger, trying (and failing) to hide how much the blood affects him.
Where was your power armor? Who did you travel with? Where were you hit? Is this broken? Do you need-
The questions are (rudely) stopped as Sole seal their lips with a kiss, and in the silence that follows, Danse has time to think properly. As a solider of the Brotherhood of Steel he had been trained for this exact situation. He had helped countless of his fellows with post-battle injuries. Sole didn’t even look seriously hurt. Then how come, if he was prepared for this, that his heart was beating so hard he could feel his pulse in his gums?
When the kiss breaks he lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “It’s gonna be okay,” he mumbles, not sure who he’s comforting the most.

Preston: Preston always claims the guard post at the front of Sanctuary, overlooking the road, just so he can be the first to see them. This time he’s glad he did.
His laser musket forgotten, running so fast his hat almost flies off, he’s at Sole’s side just in time to catch them as they stumble. Instead of getting help he sits them down right there, ass down on the dusty road, and insists on seeing the damage for himself. He speaks clearly and honestly, tipping Sole’s head up to look them in the eye.
“Please, please take care of yourself out there. We can’t afford to lose you.”
He bites his lip.
“I can’t afford to lose you.”

Strong: “Human, you’re leaking.” Strong grunts as he wraps a massive arm around Sole’s waist, hoisting them up and over his shoulder. The leader makes a weird, high-pitched noise and bury their fingers into Strong’s arm, who doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Leader is hurt. Leader needs helps. That’s easy enough, he has done it a hundred times. Humans get themselves hurt a lot, seeing as how their tiny, squishy bodies put up no fight against bullets and animals. That seems stupid, Strong thinks. They should really work on fixing that. Maybe if the leader was more like super mutants and had a strong body instead of a dumb and tiny one, Strong wouldn’t have to carry them quite as much.
…. All though, he did like it. A little. It was soft, and warm, like a scarf that talked too much. Just like when the human invites him into their bed and wraps around him for protection against the things that live in the dark.
He likes that too. And he knows from experience that when humans got hurt they spent a lot of time in bed. So really, thinking about it as logically as he could, this wasn’t all bad.

X6-88: He’s stoic at first, letting the “doctor” at whatever settlement he was waiting in get to Sole first. He watches silently as they patch Sole up again, paying no attention to the nervous glances coming his way.
It’s only later, when they’re alone and he sees how Sole winces when they move, that he reaches out for them. He pulls them to him, and when they’re standing this close he can clearly see the fresh bruises and the dried flakes of blood on their lips. It makes him… Uneasy. Like a calm, controlled sort of panic, swelling in his stomach. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“You have to be careful,” he mumbles against their neck. He refuses to let them out of his sight for long while they heal, feeling that same surge of worry every time he sees them hiss with pain. God, if he had to fall in love, why did he pick the unluckiest person in the wasteland?

Deacon: He knows Sole always comes back to him. He just wishes they would return in better shape.
He doesn’t show it, of course. When someone asks him how Sole is doing, Deacon happily tells them a (slightly exaggerated) story of how a behemoth the size of a skyscraper broke out of the ground, using an entire train as a mallet, and Sole took it down with only two bullets and a molerat skull.
The truth? Sole was in a fight, as always. Getting injured, as always. For all their accomplishments and skill, Sole is still human, and can still be hurt or even die out there. That thought terrifies Deacon in a way that makes it hard to sleep at night.
When Sole returns with new scars, Deacon adjusts his glasses and happily listens to whatever tale Sole tells him, laughing and distracting from the pain. At night, when they’re in bed together and he can feel the heat and bumps of broken ribs beneath Sole’s torn skin, that laughter feels far, far away. Suppose that’s just the price you pay for loving someone.

Piper: “Damn, Blue. Really living up to your name, huh?” Piper jokes. She wasn’t joking a second ago when Sole collapsed on her doorstep looking like they had ran there on broken legs.
In fact she might have been a little hysterical, but so what? It’s natural to freak out about the people you love, it’s just human nature. Piper’s nature in particular is extremely caring, so after patching her lover up the best she can, she lets herself slide under the blankets to begin the emotional healing as well.
To be fair, Sole was more purple than blue right now. And they really shouldn’t be playing on that pip-boy, in case of concussion, but Piper doesn’t have the heart to tell them to stop. Instead she just rests her head on Sole’s chest and listens to their heartbeat as they lose the fifteenth game of “Red Menace” in a row.

Curie: People may think she’s innocent, cute, maybe even weak, but Curie is first and foremost a medical professional. When she hears Sole has finally come back and “looks bad”, she responds like medical lightning. She knows she’s not the best fighter, the best builder or the most socially adept, but god damn it, this is something she knows. No one else is putting a finger on Sole while they heal.
Every complaint is silenced with a huff and a kiss, every cut closed, everything even remotely resembling a bruise is disinfected and wrapped. Sole has no choice but to lay back and let Curie do what she does best. Which is caring.

MacCready: After living the mercenary lifestyle MacCready knows a thing or two about first aid, but applying that knowledge requires him to physically be there. When Sole comes home, battered and bruised, he wishes he had been.  It hurts him to see them so vulnerable, and it hurts him even more when he has to add to that pain, but the bullets have to come out before the wounds close.
“Frick, sorry,” he whispers for the hundredth time as the tweezers slip and stab Sole in the back. At least it was just raiders this time; he had no idea what he would do if it had been the gouges of a deathclaw swipe, or the acid burns from a mirelurk queen. As another bullet hits the surgical tray with a ping, he shakily tries to wipe the blood away and bandage the wounds, pouring a bit of purified water on it for good measure. Then he offers to whip up an apology dinner, but Sole explains in (unnecessary) length that they don’t want to be battered, bruised and poisoned.

Cait: Cait is no stranger to injury, and yet there is something very wrong about seeing Sole all beat up like that. It’s all bloody, and raw, and wrong. She’s not the best with words, so when the settlers pull Sole inside and the bare lightbulb brings every fresh injury into focus, she can only manage a “God fucking damn it, Sole!”.
She cares for Sole the only way she knows how; a shot to disinfect the wound and a shot to forget the pain. Maybe two. Maybe three. Getting drunk not only makes it easier to speak her mind, but also helps dissolve that hard, tight knot that had appeared in her stomach when she saw Sole limp into town.
“You gotta take care of yourself, Sole!” she insists, getting a fifth blanket from god-knows-where.
“ ‘Cause if you die out there without me, I’ll fuckin’ kill you! Hear me?”

Nick: He knows pain doesn’t feel the same for him as it does for Sole. Besides, he’s a detective, not a doctor, so when Sole stumbles through his door looking like they got back from a hot date with a deathclaw, there’s not much for him to do. The constant reassurances of “it looks worse than it is” doesn’t help at all.
He cares for sole the only way he knows how; painkillers and chicken soup. He knows soup is supposed to help with coughs and not dislocated shoulders, but what else is he supposed to do? He tucks them into bed and tries to come up with an interesting story about his last case to distract them, keeping a close eye on them as they start drifting into sleep. If someone might be concussed, were you supposed to let them sleep? Or was it the opposite?
“If you keep this up you’re gonna end up lookin’ like me, doll…” he murmurs, and is surprised to hear Sole huff with laughter.

Hancock: There’s something charming about scars, Hancock has always thought. Maybe that’s why Sole is so goddamn beautiful to him. It feels like there’s a new one every time they meet, complete with an exciting story to go with it, and as he watches Sole clean the dirt from their wounds he feels his heart swell.
How did someone like him get someone like this, huh? He holds his charred palm over Sole’s bruised skin and feels the heat of every punctured blood vessel radiate from it. There’s beauty in that, too, and in the way his lover toughs it out, like the pain is just a part of life. A part of them.
“No use in hurtin’ yourself just for fun, love,” Hancock muses as he hands Sole another stimpak.
“There’s easier ways to get my attention.”
It’s said with a nudge and a wink, but he can’t help but notice how Sole winces at the touch. Then it’s not so fun anymore.
Still, Hancock knows a hundred ways to forget pain, and he’s happy to share every single one of them as Sole recovers. No worries. Nope, none at all.
… But maybe, the next time Sole goes out, he’ll insist on coming with them. Just to be sure.

2

Now ‘Spamilton’ Really Can’t Miss Its Shot to Tease ‘Hamilton’ (NYT):

[…] “Spamilton,” the uproarious Off Broadway spoof of the blockbuster Broadway musical, has become an increasingly popular ticket for people who can’t afford or can’t get seats for “Hamilton” (top ticket price: $849). “Spamilton” skirts right up to the line, mimicking music from “Hamilton,” satirizing its characters and scenes, using a similar logo and channeling the hip-hop vibe that has invigorated the colossal “Hamilton” fan base. But the top price for premium “Spamilton” tickets is $113.

And on Friday, “Spamilton” will even begin performances in the backyard of “Hamilton,” moving from an Upper West Side theater to the 47th Street Theater, a block away from where “Hamilton” is running.

If “Hamilton” executives have a problem with “Spamilton,” they aren’t saying: They declined to comment for this article. The spoof’s creator, Gerard Alessandrini, said his show is paying homage to “Hamilton” by mocking it — and doing so within the legal bounds for parodies.

“I chose to make it just about ‘Hamilton,’ but not because we’re going to make more money,” said Mr. Alessandrini, who has had enormous success for decades with “Forbidden Broadway,” his series of theater parodies. “But because it’s a better idea.”

“Hamilton” regularly grosses between $2.5 million and $3 million a week, while “Spamilton” makes a fraction of that, although Mr. Alessandrini and his colleagues declined to say exactly how much. The 47th Street Theater seats 182.

“We’re on the coattails of ‘Hamilton,’” Mr. Alessandrini continued, in an interview at the theater while the cast was rehearsing. “But in a good way, a loving way. The way a little child would be on the coattails of their parents. Or a puppy dog.”

[…]

Make no mistake: Mr. Alessandrini, 63, skewers Broadway because he loves Broadway. He has been satirizing shows with pinpoint precision dating back to 1982, when “Forbidden Broadway” first opened, the parody musical revue that left none of theater’s most popular shows untouched. (“Annie” has been mocked repeatedly, even in “Spamilton.”)

In 2009, Mr. Alessandrini briefly put “Forbidden Broadway” on ice because he felt that shows on Broadway weren’t good enough to parody. As “Hamilton” box-office grosses piled up, the equation changed. He felt duty-bound as Broadway’s premier satirist to knock it down a peg.

At the same time, the caricature has not so subtly attached itself to its originator, by using a similar tagline, “An American Parody” (but not exactly the same as “An American Musical”). The “Spamilton” logo is a star with its top point cut off. The “Hamilton” logo happens to be a star with its top point cut off. The difference is that the sendup illustrates a silhouette thumbing its nose at the top, while the “Hamilton” emblem shows one pointing an arm toward the sky.

“Spamilton” reimagines Lin-Manuel Miranda, the creator of “Hamilton,” and his quest to reshape Broadway with rap — a Broadway revolution of sorts.

“I just felt, ‘Oh, thank god,’ when it came on,” Mr. Alessandrini said. “A new way of doing a musical. For so many years, musicals were rehashes.”

[…]

The teams behind “Hamilton” and “Spamilton” would not comment as to whether the parody was compensating its source material. Most parodies are protected under “fair use,” which allows for limited uses of unlicensed copyrighted material. In terms of trademark infringement, according to Domenic Romano, a New York City-based entertainment lawyer, “Spamilton” is probably on solid ground.

“If you compare them side by side, there are obviously similarities, but no one in commerce would confuse these two products,” Mr. Romano said. “‘Hamilton’ would have a case against ‘Spamilton’ if you could show, ‘You’re taking our audience away because people went to ‘Spamilton’ thinking it was ‘Hamilton.’”

Mr. Alessandrini, who has already picked his next target (a sendup of Hollywood called “Blah Blah Land”), batted away suggestions that his show’s sole aim was to piggyback on an iconic show’s brand.

“‘Hamilton’ is the biggest hit since I’ve been alive,” he said. “I had to spoof it.”

Merry Christmas, baby.

A/N: This is something I wrote a few years back. But I thought, why not upload it? 

In which Shawn comes home early from tour to celebrate Christmas at home and to give Y/N a special surprise.

Warning: Fluff.

Originally posted by shawnsmitten

It was Christmas Eve and you were standing in your living room, inspecting the glass silhouette ornament that you and Shawn had bought together for your tree last year. You placed it back on a fuzzy branch of your small, plastic tree and sighed. Shawn was on tour and Christmas without him just wouldn’t be the same. You’d have to drive two hours upstate to your parents’ house just to get lectured and interrogated all day about your life choices. The last three Christmases had been so easy, just spending the day with Shawn and trading small gifts and going out for dinner. You were never really one for big traditions, and neither was Shawn, so it made it a lot easier just to be together on Christmas instead of trying to figure out who’s family to go to and buying gifts for everyone and all of that annoying holiday type stuff.

You’d pretty much accepted your loneliness this year, since you refused to go to your family and you didn’t have a lot of friends out here in Toronto, since you’d moved to be with Shawn last summer. 

As you laid down on your bed, you set your alarm to feed and walk the dogs in the morning. As far as you were concerned, Christmas would just be another regular day this year.

When your alarm went off, you rolled over and covered your face. 

“God dammit.” you grumbled when one of the dogs, Jimmy, a black Labrador, jumped onto the bed and whined at you, demanding food and exercise. You threw your legs over the side of the bed and yanked a brush through your knotted hair. Should I straighten it? You thought. Nah, I’ll just throw it into a messy bun and wear a cute headband.

Once that was sorted out, you jogged down the stairs and poured the dogs’ food, dosing out their vitamins and pills. When you went to set their bowls down, they were nowhere to be seen. Unusual, considering they’re usually drooling at your ankles while you fix their meals. 

You took the bowls with you and walked out of the kitchen to find them in the living room, getting their ears scratched by your boyfriend who stood in front of the Christmas tree. You instantly dropped the dishes and ran to Shawn, while the dogs chased after their spilled food.

“Oh my god, Shawn!” You gasped, burying your face in his chest. He smelled like leather and the tour bus. The smell of him coming home. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” he said in that deep voice that hadn’t hit your ears in person for months, and he kissed the top of your head.

“Merry Christmas!” You said excitedly, looking up at him. “How long have you been here?!”

“Since this morning. Before you were awake.” He said. That’s why you hadn’t heard him come in. “I’ve been waiting for you in here for like two hours! And then you walked by the doorway and didn’t even notice me!”

“Aw I’m sorry, baby.” you laughed and kissed him. 

After walking the dogs together, you two had spent the day like any other day Shawn came back from tour. You went to Starbucks, picked up lattes and caught up, talking about life and tour as you walked home.

“How was Europe?” you asked, sipping warm vanilla. “I haven’t been there for a while.”

“Actually can we not talk about this?” he asked, his voice jumping octaves. “I want to give you your Christmas present.”

“Oh my god.” you clapped your hand to your forehead. “I didn’t even think of it, yours is at home.”

“Don’t worry about it.” he shook his head, waving his hand dismissively and grinning like an idiot. “I don’t even really want it. All I really want this year is to give you this.”

 You tilt your head to one side a little, a confused look painted on your face. With an amused smile he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a ring.

“Merry Christmas.” he said simply. You stared between him and the glittery loop in his fingers. It was classy. One big princess cut diamond and another on either side of it. You stopped in your tracks.

“Is that what I think it is?” you whispered. He nodded, still smiling like a child.

“Merry Christmas.” he repeated as he gets to one knee. “Would you like to marry me?”

“Yes.” You gasped, covering your mouth. “Of course!”

“Really?” His eyes brightened. You nodded, swallowing hard, unable to find words. He took your left hand in his, wrapping his fingers gently around your wrist. He slid the beautiful ring onto your finger. He pulled you into a tight embrace and you breathed him in. 

“I love you.” you breathed.

“I love you too.” he said, his voice was thick with tears. You sighed hazily and looked closer at the ring. The sparkle was stunningly glorious. “Turn it over.”

“Hm?” you looked at him.

He cupped your hand in both of his and turned it over, tapping the palm side of the ring. When you looked closer, it read in tiny cursive Today, Tomorrow and Forever.

“Shawn.” you whispered, starting to tear up. “That is so sweet.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and clicked some things before holding it up to your ear. The most beautiful acoustic guitar intro started playing from the speakers. About thirty seconds into it, Shawn’s raspy voice began to sing. You looked at him.

“Is this…?”

He nodded. “It’s going to be on my new album. It’s called Today, Tomorrow and Forever.”

“You wrote me a song?” You gasped. 

“Shh.” he nodded somewhat absently. “The best part is coming up.”

You listened closely as the second verse came around. Every line started with your name, sung softly through his lips as he started to sing along, standing beside you. When the song ended with a single perfect guitar chord, he was staring at your teary face.

“Do you like it?” he asked tentatively.

“It’s amazing.” you wiped your eyes and collapsed against his chest as he hugged you tight.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” he whispered.

“Merry Christmas, Shawn.”

What I See | Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1,072

Inspired by: @the-modern-typewriter the excerpt i used will be in bold and I have added the accurate pronouns. I hope I did it justice. (:

Warnings: Weight insecurities, swearing, and a half-naked reader

A/N: This took me forever to write and i know it isn’t very good. I did base the reader’s habits off of my own. You should never feel that you are not beautiful, because I promise you that you are. You are amazing and you are loved. It is sort of slow in the beginning but I am very happy with the ending. I hope you all enjoy. Much love, lucayaatrash. <3

Originally posted by spderman


How does one love themselves? You honestly have no clue.

Keep reading

Taxi Cab (Thomas x Reader)

There’s an urban legend thats been circulating about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go.


It was raining on the cold January night. It had been sunny all week, but now that Y/N decided to walk home, fate had decided to release the cold showers onto Y/N shivering back. She blamed Maria, she really did. If it wasn’t for her dark haired friend, Y/N would be home cuddled up in bed right now. But alas, Y/N was wandering the freezing New York streets at one in the morning.

Maria had convinced Y/N to go out drinking with her, and Y/N reluctantly obliged to her best friends wishes. The pair spent the night jumping from one club to the next, and downing numerous shots. It wasn’t long, though, until Maria abandoned Y/N for some hot guy she met at the bar, and her friend disappeared to do who knows what.

The street Y/N was currently walking on was empty, the street was lit by the flickering light of the lamp post overhead. Y/N was shivering furiously, her silver sequined dress clung to her dress due to the moisture by said rain. She was positive she looked a mess now. Her hair was wet and mangled, resembling a rat’s nest. Y/N couldn’t actually see herself, but she assumed her makeup was runny and just as messed up as the rest of her night. She swore to herself, she was beginning to get too old for clubbing. 

Y/N’s night was lifted when warm light shown over her body and engulfed the street in brightness. She turned, and a limp smile slowly appeared as her eyes landed on a sleek yellow taxi cab turned onto the street she was on. Y/N was quick to hail the cab, and just as quickly climbed into the backseat of the car, happy to escape the rain.

The cab smelled of lavender and citrus, a refreshing smell from the smokey scent of the usual cab. Little did Y/N know, this was no ordinary taxi cab. Y/N briskly uttered the directions to her apartment, not caring to take a second glance at the driver. The soft rumble of the engine sounded as the taxi took off for its destination, softly lulling Y/N to sleep.


“We’re here.” Announced the gruff voice of the driver.


It wasn’t long until the cab lurched to a stop, waking Y/N from her brisk slumber. She rummaged through her handbag, pulling out the sufficient amount of cash, and hastily handing it to the cab driver, uttering a small thanks to the cab driver and slipping out the door. 

The taxi speedily drove off, and Y/N finally had a chance to examine her surroundings. Her eyes widened as she realized this wasn’t her street at all. Not even close. Y/N stumbled onto the sidewalk, the reality of how much she had drank was catching up with her. She held her arms around her tightly, and glanced around for some sort of sign as to where she was.

Y/N’s eyes landed on a man sitting on the steps to an apartment building. The man had long curly hair that wilted due to the dampness in the air. He wore a gray suit, with matching bland colored shoes. His facial features were well defined and handsome, although his eyes were sad. But there was something else Y/N saw in his eyes… shock? Fear? Hope? Y/N wasn’t sure.

“Excuse me sir? Can you tell me where I am?” Y/N asked.

She began to stumble over to him, and a wave of nausea washed over her. Y/N steadied herself against a iron gate the lined the buildings, pulling herself closer to the man. He only watched her with questioning eyes. The man opened his mouth, about to say something, then closed it again. Y/N made it to where he was, and stood in front of him.

“I-I’m afraid I’m terribly lost.” Y/N uttered, another wave of nausea swept over Y/N, and she felt her legs give out from beneath her. The world began to fade from view, the last sight she could remember was the man in the suit reaching out for her.


Thomas sat on the cold, stone steps that led up to his apartment. His body had gone completely numb to the world around him. He didn’t hear the sounds of New York night life, and he didn’t feel the cold flecks of water that rained down on to him. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, and he held a mug with a colorful logo on it tightly in his hands. 

Water droplets began pooling in the mug, turning the yellowish hue of the once peppermint tea near translucent. Thomas didn’t mind the rain too much, in fact, he embraced it. The rain disguised the tears that slipped down the dark skinned man’s cheeks. It must’ve been past midnight already, Thomas concluded. He decided that he liked the night, it was quieter. For New York, at least.

Lucy was sound asleep upstairs, this would be the only time for Thomas to gather his thoughts in piece. It had been two years today, but Thomas still wasn’t ready to move on. He probably would never be. It still hurt to think about her. Thomas hated her, for leaving him alone to take care of Lucy, but at the same time, he still loved her.

The rain water seeped through his shirt, and Thomas could feel the cold in his bones, but was too dazed to move and go inside. It was late, and he was tired, But then again, he had been tired for two years. Thomas hadn’t gotten a goodnights rest in what seemed like forever. His lack of sleep was beginning to affect his life at work as well. 

Thomas had been so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice when a shiny taxi cab pulled up on his street. He blinked as the bright lights lit up the street, and he wondered who could that possibly be at this hour? Thomas set down the cup of tea, rain, and tears, and leaned forward to examine the figure stepping out of the cab.

It was a woman. She wore a sparkling silver dress that shimmered under the streetlights, and bright blue heels adorned her feet. Her hair was soaking wet, yet it perfectly framed her face. And her face. It was all too familiar to Thomas. He had stared into those eyes, held those cheeks, and kissed those lips. She stumbled as she walked, Thomas concluded she must be drunk.

“Excuse me sir? Can you tell me where I am?” Her voice rang out in the cold evening hair, she took a few steps toward him. “I-I’m afraid I’m terribly lost.”

Thomas shuddered as words left he lips. That voice was hauntingly familiar to him. This couldn’t be happening. Why was fate mocking him like this? He stared at the woman in front of him, his heart leapt out of his chest as he gazed upon her features closer up. She stood directly in front of him, swaying slightly.

Before Thomas knew it, the girl began to collapse, his instincts kicked in, catching her before her head could hit the ground. Thomas held her tightly in his arms, knowing that this was impossible. A single word escaped his lips.

“Martha.”


Y/N woke up in warmth. That couldn’t be right. The last thing Y/N could remember was stumbling around the streets of New York streets. She hesitantly opened her eyes, and examined her surroundings. Y/N was in a large room, sitting on a king size bed, too large for one person. A large window was on one side of the room, and Y/N could see it was morning through the blinds.

A dresser made of dark colored wood sat against a wall, a floor length mirror was directly across from it. A desk sat in the corner of the room, a laptop sat on it. Other than the few pieces of furniture, the large room was sparsely decorated. This room was practical, apparently the owner didn’t care about lavish decorating.

Y/N slid off the bed, straightening the gray comforter. She noted that she was still wearing the sequin dress she had on the night before, her blue shoes had been set at the foot of the bed. She picked up her shoes in one hand, and decided to try and find where she was. But first, Y/N found herself wandering over to the desk, examining the design. 

She couldn’t help but notice a silhouette of a picture frame outlined in dust. Taking a quick glance around the room, Y/N saw that the frame on the desk wasn’t the only missing picture. She could see two nails on a wall where pictures should have hung. Perhaps the owner of this room had removed the decorations, but why?

Remembering that this wasn’t her home, Y/N convinced herself to try to find the owner and figure out why she was here. She slowly opened the door that led to the rest of the apartment, light from the apartment flooded into the room.  Y/N found herself in a bright living room that connected to the apartments kitchen. 

The room had a magenta armchair, a tan couch, coffee table, and a grand piano displayed neatly to the side of the room. Y/N could tell that the piano had once been the masterpiece of the room, but the instrument looked like it hadn’t been played in years. The most intriguing part of the room though, was the man sleeping on the couch.

Sleeping wasn’t the exactly the right word, as it seemed to Y/N that he was awake. Dazed, perhaps? Dazed was the right word to use. As the man saw movement in the corner of his eye, he sat up and studied Y/N standing in front of him. Y/N stood there awkwardly, attempting an uncomfortable smile.

“Uhm, hello.” Y/N said, biting her lip gently. “I’m Y/N L/N, and I was wondering if you could help me figure out where I am and how I got here.”

The man watched her carefully, as if expecting something more from her. He stood up from the couch, taking a small step toward Y/N. Y/N’s eyes trailed over this man’s body, he only wore a pair of sweatpants, and Y/N could see his defined muscles. 

“Y/N?” He tested the name on his lips. “I’m Thomas. Thomas Jefferson. You showed up on my street last night and passed out, so I brought you up to my apartment.”

Y/N blushed as she began to remember what happened the night before. She crossed her arms over her chest, realizing that her dress was a bit revealing.

“Oh, goodness. I’m so, so sorry. This is really embarrassing. I guess I should be going then.” Y/N decided, her cheeks flushed a red color.

Thomas nodded, then suggested, “I could maybe give you a ride? I have to take my daughter to school in five minutes, it wouldn’t be a problem for me to drop you off as well.”

Y/N felt her heart sink a little at the mention of his daughter. This attractive stranger was probably already married. She didn’t know why she was upset, she had just only met him, but there was something about Thomas that she liked. 

“If it’s not too much of a problem, that would be great.” Y/N replied. “I wouldn’t want to get lost again.”


It was almost a month later, that Thomas had met with his coworker, and best friend, James Madison. The two men met at a small coffee shop after Thomas had dropped Lucy off at school. 

“I’m telling you, Thomas, you’ve sacrificed too much already. What has it been? Two years? You’ve put your life on hold. You still have the rest of your life in front of you! Your whole career! Thomas, go out there and meet a nice girl. You know Martha would want you to move on, and stop moping around.” James told Thomas forcefully. Thomas hadn’t seen his friend get so worked up about a topic ever, and it was honestly quite frightening. 

Thomas put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, James. Look, I’ll try to find someone, okay? But I don’t think girls like men with as much baggage as I have. Hell, I don’t know what girls like!”

“Baggage? Thomas, you could be a serial killer and girls would be falling for you!” Madison chuckled, patting Thomas on the back. 

James had promised to pick Lucy up from school that day, Thomas knew he could trust James with his daughter. He would trust James with his life. Thomas had to stay at work a few hours later for a conference, and on his way home, he decided to pick up ingredients for Lucy’s favorite soup. 

He roamed the aisles of a local grocery store, picking up all the ingredients necessary for dinner. Thomas had just added a can of chicken broth to his shopping cart when he saw her again. Y/N L/N stood in the same aisle, adding a large box of goldfish to her own cart.

“Ms. L/N?” Thomas asked hesitantly.

Y/N looked up and a smile spread across her face. “Thomas Jefferson? Wow, crazy running into you again. Please, just call me Y/N.”

“Well, it was nice running into you again, Y/N. See you around.” Thomas told her with a soft smile.

“It was nice seeing you, too, Thomas.” Y/N replied, she began to turn the corner when Madison’s words echoed in his mind. Martha would want you to move on, stop moping around.

Wait, Y/N!” Thomas called after her. Y/N stopped before she turned the corner of the aisle, and turned back to see Thomas rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Gaining some courage, Thomas asked, “Y/N, would you… I don’t know, maybe want to get coffee or a drink sometime?”

A smile slowly spread across Y/N’s face and she nodded. “I’d love that. Here. let me give you my number.”

Thomas let out a relieved sigh as Y/N put her number in his phone. 

“Au revoir, Thomas.” Y/N smiled as she left him in the aisle.

Thomas smiled back, and replied with, “Yes, until we meet again.”


A week later, Thomas sat at his desk, running a hand through his hair. He needed to finish his presentation for the meeting tomorrow, and his coworker, Alex Hamilton, was driving him crazy. Thomas decided he needed a break, and knew just what to do. Thomas searched through his contacts until he saw the name he was looking for. He clicked the phone icon, and waited impatiently to the sound of the ringing. After what seemed like forever, Y/N finally picked up.

“Hello? This is Y/N L/N.” Thomas grinned at the sound of her voice.

He immediately replied. “Hi, Y/N. This is Thomas, Thomas Jefferson. I was wondering if you wanted to get that drink?”

Thomas was certain he heard her laugh. “Hi Thomas, it’s good to hear from you again. I’d love to get a drink, what time were you thinking?”

“Uhm, would now work?” Thomas asked sheepishly. “I have some free time, and there’s a nice coffee place I know…”

“Sounds perfect. Send me the address, and I’ll see you soon.” Y/N replied. 

“Will do. See you soon!” Thomas said, hanging up. He quickly sent Y/N the address, and set aside his work. For the first time in years, Thomas was excited again. 

He rushed to the base of the building, and hailed the first cab he found. Oddly enough, the cab smelled of fresh flowers and citrus. It wasn’t the kind of smell that would come from tacky car fresheners, it was quite relaxing. Thomas didn’t care much of the smell of the car, he was to excited to see Y/N again. He couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N since he ran into her at the grocery store. Before Thomas knew it, they had arrived at the Coffee Shop. Thomas quickly payed the driver, instructing him to “Keep the change!”

Thomas was pleased to find that Y/N was already in the coffee shop, sitting at one of the tables in the back, sipping a cup of coffee. She smiled when she saw him, and waved him over. 


After coffee that day, Y/N and Thomas began dating, and had had more dates since. It was two months into their relationship, when Thomas decided it was time for Y/N to officially meet Lucy this time. Lucy immediately loved Y/N, the two bonded quickly. It was at dinner one night, that Y/N sensed something was up.

“Y/N, you look a lot like my mommy.” Seven-year-old Lucy decided while finishing up her dinner.

Y/N’s brows knitted together in confusion. She was about to ask Lucy about it, when Thomas interrupted.

“Lucy, I think it’s time for bed.” Thomas said sternly.

Lucy didn’t complain, getting up from the table and heading toward her bedroom. Y/N and Thomas stood up from the table as well. Y/N began collecting the dishes and setting them in the sink. “Go tuck Lucy in, Thomas. I can clean up the kitchen.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” Thomas said, placing a kiss on Y/N’s cheek, and followed Lucy into her room. 

As Y/N stored the leftover food, and washed the dishes, Lucy’s words weighed heavily on her mind. What did she mean when she said Y/N looked a lot like her mom? Thomas was always incredibly closed up when it came to Lucy’s mom. Thomas finished putting Lucy to bed, and emerged from her room. Y/N had found her way to the couch, and patted the spot next to her. 

“Thomas, come sit.” Y/N ordered. Thomas walked over to her, and sat next to her. He wrapped an arm around her relaxing. “Thomas, what did Lucy mean when she said I looked like her mother?”

Y/N could feel Thomas physically tense up. “Let’s not talk about that right now.”

“No, Thomas. You’re not telling me something. Thomas, we’re in a relationship now, you can’t keep things from me. I know you don’t like talking about Lucy’s mom, but not opening up to me is coming between us.” Y/N said, beginning to get worked up.

Thomas sighed. “Y/N nows not a good-”

“Thomas, stop.” Y/N interrupted. “Tell me right now what’s going on, or I’m walking out.”

There was a long pause, before Thomas finally broke the silence. “You’re right. You deserve the truth. I married Lucy’s mother, Martha, when we were very young. When we were 22, Martha gave birth to Lucy. Everything was great for a time. But, it didn’t last. When Lucy was four, Martha began to get very sick. She died before Lucy was five.”

Thomas’s hands begun to shake as he remembered it all. Y/N took his hand in hers, and soothingly stroked his hair as a few tears slipped from his eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry Thomas!” Y/N told him, comforting him.

Thomas shook his head. “Y/N, that’s not all. I need you to know something. I’ll be right back.”

Thomas left to his room, and reappeared with a small wooden frame in his hand. 

“Y/N, the first time I saw you, I was immediately entranced. The truth is, Y/N, you look identical to Lucy’s mother Martha.” Thomas showed Y/N the picture. It was a photograph of Lucy and her mother, who did in fact, look completely like Y/N. Y/N was shocked and she took the photograph from Thomas’s hands. She was silent as she studied the picture.

“Y/N?” Thomas said after a long pause. “Y/N, please say something.”

Y/N looked up from the picture to meet Thomas’s eyes. “How could you not tell me this, Thomas?! I can’t believe you! Is that why you asked me out? Because I look like her?”

Thomas flinched at her words. “Y/N, it’s not like that. Well, sure I was first attracted to you because you looked like her, but Y/N, you’re so-”

“Stop. Thomas, just stop.” Y/N said, putting her hand up to silence him. “You used me, just because I looked like Martha. I-I can’t be around you right now. Goodbye, Thomas Jefferson.”


It had been a week since Y/N had stormed out of Thomas’s place. She was still mad at him, but she missed him like hell. She was headed for work that morning, and hailed a cab to work. Y/N slipped into the back seat of the cab, and pulled out her phone. Three voicemails from Thomas, and nine unread messages. Y/N was tempted to open one of his texts, or possibly call him back? Y/N decided against it. 

While she was distracted by her phone, she didn’t notice that the cab she had stepped into carried the same scent as the one she had gotten in the night she met Thomas. Soon the cab lurched to a stop, and Y/N stepped out. Before she could do anything, the cab sped off, leaving Y/N at the entrance to a small park. 

“Wait!” Y/N called after the cab, but it was too late, the cab was already gone. 

Y/N sighed, and began to walk in the direction of her workplace. When she looked up, Y/N saw a magenta kite flying in the air. Curious, Y/N began to follow the kite into the park, where she saw Thomas Jefferson helping Lucy fly the kite. Y/N silently watched the two, a small smile appeared on her face. Y/N didn’t watch for long, as Lucy spotted her and came running over.

“Y/N!” Lucy wrapped her arms tightly around Y/N’s waist. “I missed you so much.”

Y/N laughed light;y. “I missed you, too, Lucy.”

Thomas cleared his voice from behind them. “Lucy, can I speak with Y/N?”

Lucy nodded, and left to play with her kite. 

“Y/N, please, I need you to hear me out.” Thomas pleaded. Y/N crossed her arms, but let him talk. “I want to start by saying, I’m sorry. I should have told you from the beginning, it wasn’t fair to you. I’ll admit, I was first drawn to you because you looked like Martha, but that all changed when I got to know you. Y/N, you’re beautiful, smart, kind, loving. You’re everything, Y/N, my entire world. Lucy loves you, god Y/N, I love you. This past week, I can’t live without you. Y/N, I-”

“Shut up, Thomas. I love you, too.”

With that, Y/N pressed her lips against his.

Like the Deserts Missed the Rain

This started out as an attempt to fulfil the Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon week 3 prompt: “Taste”  but quickly spiraled into something else.  Thank you to @thebookjumper who encouraged me to go down my own rabbit hole and start writing; and thank you to  @nalla-madness  for reading, for the advise and because she taught me the meaning of “Saudade”


Felicity didn’t like to waste time.  She considered time very precious.  There was so much she wanted to do, so many books to read, so many programs to write, so much to decode, so many firewalls to hack into; she just didn’t have the time.

What little time she had beyond her work, she liked to spend it relaxing by taking care of herself, baths, mani/pedis, taming her curls, applying her makeup, and shopping, definitely shopping for shoes online!

Food did not factor in her time equation, she couldn’t be bothered to invest the time.  She usually either ordered takeout, stopped for Big Belly Burger or heated some canned soup or microwave-ready meals.  Skillets and pots sat in her kitchen as pieces of décor.  She couldn’t bare to waste the time on stocking a fridge, cooking, or dishwashing.  Her mind couldn’t reconcile the effort or time!

But, her taste buds suffered. She missed real food, she missed home cooked meals, she missed Olivers home cooked meals in particular..  how she regretted not thinking it through before breaking up with him two months ago, not because of Olivers exceptional cooking skills, but because she really loved him, and truly missed him, missed his warmth and his scent, and the little glance of domesticity their brief time together had offered; something she had never had before with anyone.

Although Felicity knew that she was right to have broken up with him, not a day went by that she wished that he hadn’t lied, that he had told her when everyone else found out, that he had trusted in their relationship, that he knew in his soul that he wasn’t going to lose her by sharing the truth!

She wished that this enforced separation was making a difference with Oliver, that it had shifted his perspective and allowed him to think about why he had chosen to alienate her instead of include her and share being a father with her? She had hoped that by now, he would have some sort of explanation for why he chose not to trust her. Felicity felt like the only thing she accomplished by walking out was a self-inflicted punishment; that she continues to pay a heavy price every night when she walks into that empty desolate loft space!

Sometimes Felicity would come home and imagine she saw his silhouette through the glazed balcony doors, but then whenever she would walk closer the silhouette would fade and disappear like a cold trick in the light.

Sigh..

Felicity touched her finger to the crease of her upper lip, recalling Olivers kiss, no other kiss had tasted like Olivers kiss!

She was starving, not just for real food or warmth, her soul was starving for Oliver.  Her palate was missing the salty taste of his sweat-slicked abs!  

As she walked into the loft after a long night at the comms, Felicity kicked off her heels and sank down on the couch. God she missed him. How was she going to ever be with Oliver again after her protestations of lies, islands, and trust? After all she had done to push him away after giving him so much time, and seeing no real change, how could she excuse giving him another chance in her own mind?

Felicity knew that when she walked out the night they found William, that she had done the right thing, her mind was at total peace with all her decisions concerning Oliver, but her heart was breaking. Two nights had passed since they got drunk and she had asked him for lessons on the salmon ladder, and even after that small reprieve, her heart was still breaking, every night she saw him in the bunker and held herself back from touching him, from tasting him, her heart shattered further!

99% of the time she just wanted to throw it all to the wind and call him to come over and as soon as he walked through that door she just wanted to throw herself in his arms and taste those lips she was starving for!

Felicity missed him so much, she missed him like a Sade song, she missed him like the deserts missed the rain, so for a person who didn’t like to waste time, why was she wasting precious time now?  Life was short, and she already had so much regret! She knew that Oliver had even more regrets!  

What if she came back to the loft and Oliver was real, what if they tried to work it out, what if they tried to find a way to heal? What if there was a little bit of hope for them yet?

“Fuck it!”

She yelled out loud.  

Felicity couldn’t walk away from Oliver a second time, she couldn’t continue to yearn for him and pretend that she didn’t leave a part of herself back in the bunker every time she left.  She couldn’t suppress her own pain anymore.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed his number, she didn’t have to wait too long, on the third ring, the phone picked up.

“Felicity.” His voice laden with sleep had that sexy gruff that sounded like his Arrow voice. How she missed hearing his voice whisper in the middle of the night! 

“Is everything alright?”

He sounded concerned because Felicity was not in the habit of calling him after hours!

Her decision was made, she didn’t want to go back. Her soul needed him more than her mind could justify the need to keep him away!

“Oliver, I miss you.”

She heard him inhale. 

“I miss you too, Felicity,” he whispered.

“I am ready for that talk now, could you please come back home?”

Deception | Taeyong | Sicheng

Genre: Drama ; Mystery  

Description: He had been your world. Your world had been a lie. 

Word Count: 3800

Author’s Note: How do you even pick a bias in NCT!!!11 Seriously tho, they wreck me, I’m considering writing a “cherry bomb” inspired scenario with Yuta or Jaehyun helP. Anyway, this took me kind of long and it is kind of long lmao, please don’t leave 😂😂 also, I’ve thought about writting a second part?? I actually lost part of it and had to write it again I– ;^;  

e n j o y *^*


He smiled at you—your hand in his grasp, soft and warm, not unlike him—his eyes expectant, waiting for your answer. How was your day? Not hard to answer, yet you wondered why was it almost impossible in that instant to let out a single word, why you had to stop and rewind your every second to remember what you had for breakfast. You could talk to him about anything. The ideas that went through your head in a moment. The opinion you had on the often-discouraging news that flashed through the T.V every morning. Even the dreams, those little snips that woke you lightheaded, sometimes nauseated, or the fact that you could barely remember them. You could tell him all that and more (after a minute of pause, that is) and he would be willing to listen just as much. Why wouldn’t he? He was your boyfriend after all.

“It was alright,” you replied with all honesty. It hadn’t been the best morning, waking up with a ruthless headache and finding you’d slept in anything but comfy PJ’s.

He pouted lightly, blue eyes glimmering with mischief. “Is there any way I could help? Do you want anything else?”

He’d always been like that, Lee Taeyong, for as long as you knew him. Soft and compliant, casually naughty. You’d been together for the longest time, perhaps as long as you could remember. You often smiled at the thought, you couldn’t be more happier and safe and warm and everything. Yes, Lee Taeyong made you everything. As if you knew only him and you and nothing else in the world—as if there were nothing else in the world.

You often felt that was the case.

“I’m pretty full, actually,” you smiled after taking his offer into consideration, setting down a laminated menu. “But, thanks.”

The place wasn’t at all flashy or posh or any of the liking. A mere restaurant cornering the street that led to your apartment, it had become sort of a habit for you to visit at least once a week. You liked it, the lack of extravagancy, the smell of food and familiarity.

A friendly lady, whose name you’ve come to know was Jiwoo, approached your table. Her hair was golden and her smile bright; she worked there and you two had developed a bit of a friendship between the days you dropped by the establishment. “Is there something else you need?”

Taeyong returned the smile, “No, that’d be all, thank you.”

Jiwoo’s smile seemed to falter, something you’d come to notice happened when Taeyong was around. You didn’t give it much of a thought, though. Perhaps it was just you being over analytic.

“Here you go, then,” the flicker of seeming disdain in her eyes seemed to disappear and he offered Taeyong the bill, along with a pair of fortune cookies for which the restaurant was known for. She hurried down behind the counter not before giving you a smile, somehow off putting you with the almost overlooked veil of concern in them.

“May I?” You turned to the delicacy, placing the previous thought on the back of your mind.

“Be my guest,” Taeyong replied, running a hand through his colored hair. Pink. You weren’t going to lie; the color was unexpected. It suited his countenance, without a doubt, but there was simply something off. It wouldn’t keep you from thinking about how cute he was, however. Cute and handsome. The sharp lines and precise, almost aggressive, angles of his jaw, right above the expanses of his neck; the smooth curves of a clavicle, the glowing ivory white extent of his chest, then another; the soft locks of hair; the feathered kisses that were his eyelashes on his cheeks whenever his blue eyes came to a close. You were no artist but you itched to engrave his beauty on paper, on millions of them. You couldn’t stare enough, you felt as if he might suddenly disappear.

Noticing his smirk, you decided you might just have stared for a bit too long and cowered your eyes to the treat in your hands shyly, cracking it open.

“Be careful who you trust, the devil was an angel once.”

Well, that’s relieving, you thought. You weren’t expecting anything at all like that. You’d been ready for the short gags or generic advice or anything but that. There was an unsettling feeling on your stomach, a shiver along your back. Taeyong seemed to be battling with something in the back of his mind, but then again you couldn’t tell, you never could. Lee Taeyong was the closest thing you knew to home but his eyes were something so distant. Radiant and impossibly out of reach like a star. You knew nothing in the world but him yet sometimes you felt as if you knew anything but him. Now was one of those times. You struggled to swallow a bitter acid that clogged your throat, static at your ears, nonexistent fog clouding your vision.

“Everything good there, love?”

There it was. The word that seemed to make everything right. You waited for its effects, toxic seeping through your veins akin to anesthesia or any other mind-numbing drug. You managed to nod, though you felt you’d only been compelled to do so. Your eyes shifted away, and, as if from a distance, you saw a silhouette, the intricate outline of a man.

Dong Sicheng, you remembered. You’d seen him before—he worked there, after all. Black, no, red hair (you recalled just briefly that one time the light had shone directly upon him and you’d noted the streaks of copper and rays of scarlet), bronze skin, brown eyes, you remembered seeing him just once or twice up close, never had your eyes truly met his until now. He seemed to be looking directly at you.

His eyes were intense, a bit hostile. Then you noticed, he was not looking at you. His eyes bore directly into Taeyong—his back, really—and seemed to travel down his figure. His mouth twitched, the hands at his sides gripped into tight fists. Your eyes fell on your hand, fingers in tangles with Taeyong’s slender ones, where his eyes had stopped. You looked back at him in wonder, brows knitted together in a frown.

Now he was looking directly at you. The unwavering vehemence in his eyes made you try to tear your sight away from his yet you couldn’t. You felt lost, so sudden, a misplaced object in a broken space. The ghost of a smile in his plump lips, something you felt was so intimate and forbidden, not meant for your eyes to see.

A tug at your hand and you were up on your feet. Taeyong smiled. He had settled the bill already and was pulling you out of the establishment in a hurry, disregarding your protests about you having agreed to pay half of it. A blowing gale slapped your face, the chiming of a bell above your head, and you almost failed to turn back one last time only to notice Sicheng gone.

Taeyong’s hold on your hand failed to be gentle, its pressing force only increasing every step you took. You didn’t know where he was leading you to, you never really did, quite frankly—you had no need to question, you simply followed.

His free hand, you realized, hung in a tight fist by his side. He was clutching something, a white thin strip of paper which, after a second of thought, you distinguished as your “fortune”.

Be careful who you trust…

Your eyes darted back and forth between the vicinity. It had darkened quite suddenly and you couldn’t help but shiver at the mist of darkness and crisp that overcame you.

“Where are we going?” You asked, waiting in vain for an answer that would not come. Your hand tightened on Taeyong’s and eventually tugged. “Taeyong,” you called slightly on edge. He did not glance back, nor did he offer one of his darling smiles—his face was hidden, both under the shadows and too far away from you to notice the sharp incisors that worried at his lip.

“You had to make it more difficult than it already is.”

A hiss, barely a whisper—a warning. Then, a low throaty chuckle.

You didn’t know what took over you. Shudders far too adamant to even get a taste of the fire that seemed to sizzle the air around you. You broke free from his hand with a start and ran, not before realizing you’d been pulled into a pitch-black passage that had the faint smell of salt and flames. Too distracted by the loud palpitations by your ear and the nauseating scent, something caught your arm and you were sent backwards and onto the pavement.

Oxygen was forced out from your lungs and you lost focus along with the smallest sense of where you were and what you were. Flat palms against moisture running chills up your spine—it had rained, and you were attacked by the fresh smell of petrichor and the treacherous presence of someone behind you. You were lost, once again, but you stood nevertheless and readied yourself for a second chase.

A step. Another. A clash.

You were seized by a pair of firm arms, amusingly familiar. Not the I’ve-felt-this-before familiar but the type of familiar that came with the most pleasant of inexperiences—the one that spelled safety without being recognizable or known, the one that was simply right.

“Sicheng?” His name felt strange against your lips, like a foreign delicacy that had only ever been desired but not once tasted. You’d never actually said his name aloud; there wasn’t a need for he usually remained behind the counter and, if not, only ever crossed words with you in a meticulously brief manner. His eyes seemed to glimmer a dark brown even under the dark wave of night hovering above you.

“Are you in pain? Did he do anything to you?” His words came out in a fluster; the desperation in them produced panic from within you. His hands gripped at your shoulders and you felt as if you might break. Not because they clung onto you with such strength—which surprisingly did not hurt in any way—but because they felt as if they were the very reason why in that moment you were standing. Because you did not know why Sicheng might think Taeyong would hurt you—and because you did not know why you suddenly considered it possible.

It was just a flash of hesitancy, gone as fast as it had arrived. “No. No, he wouldn’t…” You replied with a sort of unwavering certainty. You knew Lee Taeyong. Your Taeyong. Who had made his way into your heart with impossible vehemence– your heart that did not let just anyone in, your heart that only ever held him.

Sicheng sighed, a long, restless noise as if from someone who’d been dealing with a fight and realized that it wasn’t over just yet. You felt like you might fall when he released you from his hold but when he reached to frame your face with his hands, a thumb tracing the expanses of your cheek, you felt like you might utterly collapse.

He drew his forehead to yours and spoke in the softest, most tender of voices, “Good. If something were to happen to you again,” his head shook against yours in denial. “I would not stop them. I would let them dispose of me as best they like this time.”

You couldn’t bear his closeness, suddenly, and backed away in almost leaping steps. It could have appeared cartoonish if it weren’t for his reaction—he did not find it funny, his eyes reflected the night and dark and the deepest of sorrows and it hurt. It hurt to see the desperation as he took another step forward and you did nothing but take one backward.

And you felt desperate, too. Perhaps it’d been his words—if something were to happen to you again—because just what did he mean by that? Or maybe it was the fact that you did not know where Taeyong went or what happened to him and why it mattered a bit less than it should. Your mind could not concentrate in anything but the rippling fire that surged from where Sicheng had touched; your shoulder blades through your coat; your cheeks and forehead through no barrier; and it scared you. The burning thrill of it all did.

“You, what do you mean by that?” You managed to whisper. Your hands were stilled in front of you to offer protection, though for some reason you doubted Sicheng might try to hurt you.

That line from your fortune burned at the back of your mind and you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t trust anyone. Not Jiwoo who had appeared to be the only familiar face in that restaurant and whom you suddenly remembered, nor Sicheng whose hands had been so pleasurably tender. No, you reminded yourself, not anyone but Taeyong.

Sicheng seemed to have a tough time coming up with an answer, either because he hadn’t planned for one or it mentally consumed him to think about it. Anyway, you found it was one more reason to be wary of him. “He really erased them,” he answered, finally. He looked as if he’d been expecting, as if whatever he meant by that could only but be certain. “He really erased you.”

Your brows furrowed and as an instinct you glanced down at yourself. You were, well, you. There was nothing strange, out-of-the-norm about you. Sure, you’d lost a bit of weight—the tiniest bit, you weren’t sure why but lately you’d lost your appetite and nothing enticed you either—but you weren’t disappearing.

“I don’t understand,” you sounded rather apologetic as your head shook. “Erased? Who is ‘he’, exactly?”

“Taeyong. I’m talking about Taeyong.”

The bile and detestation with which he said it had the hairs at the back of your neck rising. Sicheng, you had to admit, looked dangerous. From his long, dark red bangs to his sole posture and lean physique. He was the kind of dangerous to be somewhat afraid of—the hidden, never expected kind.

“Is there something wrong with him?” You couldn’t help but wonder. Had there been anything between the two of them you didn’t know of?

His perilous gaze turned soft again, a bit melancholic. It gave you some kind of relief. “Don’t worry about him, worry about yourself.”

“How can I not worry, he’s my boyfriend, all I love.” Maybe the last part had been a bit too much, you realized belatedly.

“No, he’s not.”

Too late you realized he’d closed the space between you. His hand clung at your wrist with a gentle forcefulness which only seemed to be possible in him, and the other circled your waist and positioned itself more tenderly on the small of your back. You could feel his lungs expanding and contracting with every breath and the wild palpitations of his heart against you. You could see his breaths against the cold, dark night and his eyes, impossible windows of menace and hazard and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t stand here listening to you calling him your lover after we—dammit. I can’t, and I don’t want to, I need you to know. Call me fucking selfish, it won’t stop me. Even if the king might want me beheaded by tomorrow morning, at least I had this one night with you, this one moment. And you need to know, I know it’s not the best way but it’s your right, you would want it this way. So please, My Lady, remember.”

You were mute. Your eyes did not waver, they held his, but you couldn’t help the blinding pain in your head that caused you to recoil lightly in his arms, which still, so strangely, held you.

“Please, if you could not bite your lip.” It’d barely been a whisper, clearly not intended for you to hear, but you managed to do so either way. That woke you up.

You collected all your strength on that one swing. A single punch and his grasp had dissolved to nothing. You massaged your hand, waiting for the pain that never came. You decided you couldn’t do enough damaged so you readied yourself for a second swing. You did until he finally looked back at you.

You were taken aback—you had never been the violent type. Blood dripping from a cut on his lips told you otherwise. You felt sick that you managed to hurt him like that—yes, he had been weirdly close but perhaps if you moved him aside first you wouldn’t have had to do that—and took a step forward with every intention to help when he held his hand up to stop you.

His gaze lowered and you heard him laugh. An actual laugh, a joyous laugh, the kind of when you’re told the funniest, most clever joke or simply given an exquisite treat.

“I was wrong,” he gasped, redirecting his eyes towards you. You saw the tiniest gleam of pride and adoration and amusement all the same. “You’re still here.”

Confusion seemed to have become a part of you but you did not hesitate to answer. “I’ve always been.”

Sicheng was awestricken in all his usual calm and collectedness, which gave you a moment of fleeting pride, as he straightened himself before taking a small step toward you. You did not back away this time, instead you raised your hands tight in fists, you felt more confident about your skills.

He called your name for the first time, softly, as if finally savoring something he had been deprived of for the longest time. He began towards you when a voice ripped through the night.

“Have you been looking for me, love?”

Your eyes darted immediately from Sicheng to the owner of the voice. You knew, of course you did. If the tone of his voice hadn’t convinced you—which, really, was nearly impossible, you’d memorized every word and sound of him—the other certainly did, the little hope, the little “love”.

Without a second thought, you started for him, when something caught your wrist. You turned to look at the culprit. “Don’t go,” his voice was demanding, yet you could hear the silent plea. “Please.”

But how could you not go, when he was all you had? How could you not go, when he was your “love”?

“Let’s go back home, baby. Don’t waste our time.”

And you finally looked at him. He was different, very much so. Cotton candy pink replaced by black, so very dark it could easily blend as a shadow, perhaps even a smudge of charcoal on a drawing. The only thing darker were his eyes. They were the depths of the sea where murderous creatures hid and monstrosities dwelled. Taeyong had always been art to you, surreal beauty—the menace and hazard did little to change the fact.

Suddenly you felt the warmth by your wrist gone and saw Sicheng leaping forward. A swift movement against the dark, he seemed to dance in the night. And he seemed to glimmer. Though, belatedly you realized, the object which he held outstretched towards Taeyong. And you screamed.

“Taeyong!” The shrill of your voice frightened even you and you ran forward until then not.

Taeyong collapsed. And your world collided.

You fell on your knees, stiff and rigid, a death weight. Your mind was clogged with the image. Sicheng, the figure of grace, spiraling in the night; a gleaming dagger; Taeyong; the perfect puncture to the heart. Blood rushed savagely through your system and you were momentarily deaf, you failed to listen.

“How does it feel,” he smiled, the inside of his mouth tinted with scarlet blood, the aroma of metal alive and enduring. “How does it feel to know she’s no longer yours, little warrior.”

Sicheng was still, disgust clear in his features as what had been Taeyong vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving the reek of salt and inferno behind. Figures, Sicheng thought, straightening up.

“He…” Your voice was silent—you had managed to regain strength at the last moment to see Taeyong vanish into nothing. “He…disappeared.”

“It wasn’t him,” Sicheng replied curtly, a bit cold, a bit distant. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye briefly before returning to his dagger, free from any vital body fluids. “It was an illusion, a deception. I do not know where he learned that from, but it could be dangerous.”

You wanted to joke and say that he looked more dangerous with a dagger than Taeyong would ever be but decided it would be best not to.

“Listen,” his hands clenched by his sides, he seemed hesitant. He did not reach for you. “I promised you once I will not lie to you, and I will not. Nothing about Taeyong is real. None of it. He is not whom he appears to be nor whom you think he is. He has lied. To you, to everyone. Countless of times. You cannot trust him, for your safety, you cannot.”

And then, you truly knew your world had collided. You felt as if your breath had suddenly decided to rip itself out from your body, leaving you trembling, gasping. Taeyong had been your world. Now it was taken away from you. But how, just how were you to live from then on? You had lost everything with him, and it wasn’t an understatement. You had found a home in him, a friend, a lover. And it had all been a hoax. Your life had been one.

Sicheng sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and slowly found the courage to place his hand over yours; waited for your reaction, and gripped it tightly, intertwining, unaware and in the most subtle of ways, his fingers with yours. “You are not alone. You have thousands behind you, believe it or not. And you have me,” his hand gave yours a little squeeze, a small notice, perhaps a supplication. “Please do remember you have me.”

You could only but nod. You didn’t know what you were agreeing to but, really, you had no other choice. Sicheng was perchance the only other “someone” in your life. One of the few constants in it and, somehow, you had already decided you wanted to keep it that way. You wanted to trust him. You truly did. But, as his hand brushed strands of hair tenderly away from your face, you smiled and couldn’t help remembering,

the devil was an angel once, after all.

anonymous asked:

‘Answer me, you fool!’

You didn’t give me a specific pairing, so I wrote some Javid 

Davey was exhausted, and more so than on a normal day. It was almost six o’clock, and normally he was home by five. Two of his students had gotten into an argument over kickball during recess that had escalated throughout the rest of the day, until one of them tore up the other’s classwork. And that meant an afternoon conflict mediation session, and a talk with the parents, who for some reason never want to believe that their perfect little angels could do wrong. Clearly, their overworked and underpaid teacher was the one to blame. Sometimes Davey wondered if the parents weren’t the real eight year olds.

Keep reading

even if it’s a lie - kaitlyn x mc

author’s note: this story takes place from the perspective of kaitlyn. mc had broken up with her during their study session, and is now dating becca. grab ya tissues folks. i haven’t seen many kaitlyn fanfics around these parts lately, but maybe i’m just looking in all the wrong places. anyways, enjoy lol

song: Even If It’s A Lie by Matt Maltese

word count: 1745

~

Kaitlyn was distraught. It had been months, and nothing had improved. Ever since she had told off MC at the concert last year, her life wasn’t the same. She knew she screwed up right as the words came out of her mouth that night. She ruined everything, and now look what’s happened. MC, from the looks of it, is dating her arch-nemesis. Kaitlyn knows there’s something going on between MC and Becca, despite their attempts to hide it. Frequent “tutoring” in Kaitlyn’s ex-girlfriend’s bedroom silently picked away at the scattered, broken, pieces of her heart. And there was nothing she could do.

I was growing younger day by day, there was love and it was all arranged
And I held you with the wandering eye
Now I know the girl I shoulda known, now I feel the love I should’ve shown
And I pull you in but you push me out

She’s tried everything. Boxes of chocolate on the floor outside of MC’s doorway, 3-page-long letters, accompanied by bouquets of her favorite flowers, left on her night stand. Literally anything and everything Kaitlyn could think up, she’s tried. But to no avail. MC is attached to Becca by the hip, and it made Kaitlyn furious. Not at MC, but at herself. She was the only one who could’ve prevented their falling out, and yet she did nothing. The careless girl she was, she let MC slip right through her fingers. Becca doesn’t know her like I do. Kaitlyn told herself. Becca doesn’t love her like I do- did. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t even near being over MC. She wasn’t even trying.

I know that you can feel me
Tell me that you don’t love me
But say it one more time
I’m going darling, I’ll step lightly
Live on as if you still love me
Just say it one more time
Even if it’s a lie, even if it’s a lie

Kaitlyn thought what she needed was closure. Yes, that was it. Closure. For her own health, Kaitlyn was determined to get over MC. One last “I love you.” One last embrace. One last goodnight text. One last inkling of any sort of affection so Kaitlyn could finally move on. So it was decided, that after band practice, MC would be approached for the closure Kaitlyn so desperately needed.

Colors in the dress you used to wear
The way that you’d put up your golden hair
But I’ll turn the lights down and leave
All the ways that I could say it now
You’re the girl to push away my doubt
But it’s too late and were too young to know

As Kaitlyn mentally prepared herself for what was about to go down later that night, she couldn’t stop herself from reminiscing. Every moment they had spent together came flooding into her memory. The tinge of pain following every remembrance caused her heart to ache. Memories of the boat dance after second quarter of freshman year, where their first “I love you”s were whispered under the gleaming fireworks. Memories of the play, where Kaitlyn was able to kiss the girl she loved in front of everyone with no worry. She felt the tears begin to prick at her eyes, threatening to come out. No, no, no. I have to be strong. Kaitlyn reminded herself. But how could she be strong when the only one she’s ever loved is seemingly oblivious to her entire existence? Snap out of it, you can do this. Clawing at her eyes to remove any evidence of tears, Kaitlyn bounded out the door for practice.

And I, know, you don’t love me so but please say it once before I go
I know that you can feel me
Tell me that you don’t love me
But say it one more time
I’m going darling, I’ll step lightly
Live on as if you still love me
Just say it one more time

It was time. MC had just returned home from a meeting at the library, and Kaitlyn couldn’t be more terrified. Closure.

Breathe in, breathe out.

As MC sat at the counter, scrolling through her social media feeds, Kaitlyn’s silhouette haunted the hallway’s entry. She knew MC felt her presence. When they were dating, they had some superhuman sense of knowing whenever they were near each other. Thus ruining Kaitlyn’s 6 month anniversary surprise, but MC’s heart still soared when she found Kaitlyn on the roof preparing dinner. “No! Cut it out! Get her out of your head!” Kaitlyn told herself mentally, or so she thought. MC’s head snapped up, aiming directly at the darkened hallway where Kaitlyn stood.
“Kaitlyn?” questioned her ex-girlfriend, timidly.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhh
Oooooooooohhhhhhh ohhhhh oooooooh ohhh

Her nerves were on overdrive, heart beating a mile a minute. You can do this. Kaitlyn reminded herself. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her hiding place. With a sheepish wave, Kaitlyn approached MC. MC’s face immediately lit up with her usual, heart-stopping smile. “Hey you!”

This would be harder than Kaitlyn had planned.

“Hey…How are you? It’s been a while since we were able to talk.” Kaitlyn said, immediately thinking she had said too much. “I’m doing well! And you?” MC responded, with such ease that left Kaitlyn gasping for breath. Is she over me? How can she be so happy, while I’m an utter mess? MC must’ve noticed Kaitlyn’s zoning out, because a concerned look came across her face.
“Kait? What’s wrong?” Kait. Kait. The nickname only MC used for her. It had been forever since she had heard that name. The name she so desperately had longed to be called.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Look MC, I’m still lost. What I did to you that night was incredibly awful and entirely unforgivable. To even think that you did, somehow, forgive me, still is beyond my comprehension.” MC scowls, seemingly confused. Kaitlyn powers on, “I’m happy for you and Becca, really I am, bu-”
“Me and Becca? Who are you and what have you done with Kaitlyn Liao?” MC spouts. Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, shocked at what she’s just heard.
“You and Becca…aren’t dating?” she questions.
“Of course not! I could say the same thing about this Annisa girl.”
Oh, not this again. I have zero interest in Annisa. I swear.”
MC stares contemplatively at Kaitlyn, and gestures for her to continue. She scrambles to find her words. What she had planned to say had been thrown out the window after finding out MC and Becca weren’t involved.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“When we broke up, I became stuck in this endless cycle. My entire life became nothing but wallowing in my own sorrow and going to band practice. I was a mess, MC. And when I started to catch on to you and Becca becoming more regularly seen together, it was kind of like the nail in the coffin, you know?” MC nods, staring at her feet. With MC sitting in a stool at the counter, and Kaitlyn halfway across the room leaning against the arm of the couch, the distance between them only made things worse. She continued on, “I’m not asking you to drop any kind of grudge you have against me, and honestly, I don’t deserve any kind of second chance. All I’m asking for is closure. These past months have been absolute hell for me, MC. I can’t keep living this way, and the only way to stop it is to have this conversation.” MC nods again, slower this time, each bob of her head breaking Kaitlyn’s heart a little more, even though it should be doing the opposite.

I know that she can feel me
Tell me that you don’t love me
But say it one more time
I’m going darling, I’ll step lightly
Live on as if you still love me
Just say it one more time
Even if it’s a lie, even if it’s a lie

Looking up from the floor, MC finally speaks. “Do you think I’m over you?” Kaitlyn’s breath hitches, she had never anticipated this question.
“I would assume…but I mean…I don’t really know.” she replies, after an extended pause. MC lets out a short, exasperated laugh, shaking her head.
“So did I. After all this time, getting dating advice from Becca, going on as many dates as I could, doing anything and everything humanly possible to try to get you out of my head, it was impossible. Impossible, Kaitlyn.” MC confessed.

Kaitlyn was speechless.

She felt like she was in a scene of a movie. Was this a dream? Is she dreaming? Kaitlyn found herself staring, wide-eyed, at MC’s feet dangling from her stool. “Wait, you’re not…..-?”
“No, Kaitlyn, I never was.” Another small chuckle. “Look, don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been acting. I know how hard this was on you, and I can’t even believe how much of a douche I was during this situation. Not once did I even pay the slightest attention to you.” She frowns, shaking her head.”I regret it, with every part of me. No, I’m not over you. But I’m not ready to date you again, either. For now, let’s just take this slow. I need you in my life, Kaitlyn. I need your love, even if it’s a lie. Even if you don’t mean it.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes welled up with tears. This isn’t real, don’t fool yourself. She couldn’t let herself get worked up like this, MC was gone and she knew it. It wasn’t until she really thought about what MC had just said that it hit her. A single tear slipped out of her eye.

Breathe in, breathe out.

MC stood up, and walked toward the couch. Wiping off the tear, she leaned in and kissed Kaitlyn on the cheek. Turning to leave, Kaitlyn grabs her arm.
“MC?”
“Yes, Kait?”
Kait.
“Thank you.” This causes MC to look at her, confused.
“For what?”
“Everything.”

With a small smile, MC promptly left the room. After hearing her door quietly shut, Kaitlyn allowed the tears to spill. Leaning back into the couch, she ran her hands through her hair. She began to thank each of her lucky stars, because lord knows, she had everything to be thankful for.

Even if it’s a lie, even if it’s a lie

iii. i need you darling

come on set the tone

ft. Himuro Tatsuya

I’m sad about the fact that Ed Sheeran’s two new singles dropped after I announced Cantabile—could’ve used one of those songs.

Semi-NSFW; sexy, basically.


Originally posted by electric-hearts-war

“Photoshoots tomorrow. 10 a.m. for Metropolis and 3 p.m. for Junon.”

“Cool,” Himuro replies, sipping from his cup of latte.

“Need me to drive you around tomorrow?” You ask.

He seems to contemplate your offer for a few seconds before nodding a yes and saying a quiet “thanks”. You nod back, acknowledging his words as you walk down the hallway with him. Some of the recording studio staff are walking around hastily despite the time saying it’s a little bit past 8 in the evening—such is the life of an employee of the entertainment industry. 

“I really hope I’m not bothering you or anything,” he replies, “I think Alex is still using my car.”

“Oh,” the fact that his old basketball mentor is in town seems to slip out your mind in the midst of your hectic day, “right. You want me to clear up some space in your schedule so you can spend time with her?”

Himuro shrugs offhandedly. “Nah,” he answers. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Alex has her own thing to do anyway.” He looks at you from behind aviator sunglasses. “Thanks for offering, anyway.”

“Don’t mention it, it’s my job.” The two of you walk down some set of stairs.

“Oh, _________.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna grab a bite or something?” Himuro says, his gaze unreadable through the black lenses of his eyewear, “you haven’t eaten dinner, have you?”

“Sure.”

“Burger?”

You smile. “I’m on.”

Being Himuro Tatsuya’s personal assistant and manager requires great patience and precision. He’s no ordinary man, despite how humble he carries himself around people—he’s a national star and has his face plastered all around big cityscapes on screens and papers. You’re willing to bet at least a thousand teenage girls in Japan has a poster of him in their bedrooms. The man is the face of a band, the engineer behind hit songs, and he’s notably the most humble among his fellow celebrities.

Thankfully, Himuro is not difficult, unlike the people you’ve worked for before being his manager. He’s aware of basic courtesy, like saying ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ (yes, your previous employers were probably unacquainted with the concept of greeting other people). He also treats you like you’re his equal, and somehow, after being stuck with each other for work purposes, the two of you became friends.

That’s how you end up eating McDonald’s with him as you walk down to your car. He’s munching on a McChicken, and you get to tease him about how he’s going to ruin his diet. He chuckles in return, and even though his steel gray eyes are blocked by a pair of Raybans, you know that he’s not upset about that comment. 

“It’ll be worth the weight,” he jokes back, and you can’t help but laugh quietly, covering your mouth. 

He makes it very easy for you to fall in love with him, and if there’s a reason to condemn Himuro Tatsuya, it’s how his charm makes you (and many other people) unintentionally fall for him.


Himuro sighs as he closes the door to his apartment, locking it before venturing further in. Today’s recording session wasn’t as tiring—he’s had worse—so what is this unease and why is his heart heavy?

That’s right, it’s your fault, he ponders as he walks to the kitchen, inspecting the refrigerator for a cold drink. Himuro realizes that he actually misses you, even though you literally dropped him off less than five minutes ago with your car. The can of lemon tea opens with a distinct sound, but it’s not enough to wake him up from his train of thoughts.

Really, though… when did he start feeling this way?


“You want me to clear up some space in your schedule so you can spend time with her?”


Your voice echoes in his head. Since day one, you’ve been the kindest manager he’s ever had. Sure, you made sure that he’s actively participating in all sorts of work, be it photoshoots or promotional events, but there’s not one single time where you neglect asking his consent. “Are you okay with this”, “is this time alright with you”… 

You’re never unkind to him. Or anybody else in particular. Sure, you sometimes have those bad days where you seem like you don’t want to be involved in anything, but instead of being rude, you’re just tired. Himuro makes sure that it’s not some kind of farce you’re putting up because you want to impress him (he’s met people like that, which isn’t a pleasant experience), and he appreciates that. Then, he began to feel refreshed around you, as if he weren’t some worshiped idol. He was just him, completely comfortable and carefree. After that, he starts to pay more attention to how attractive you are—he tried not to dwell on that thought when he first met you—and how you smell so nice whenever you lean in closer to whisper some pointers into his ear.

Himuro grabs his phone, fingers hovering with uncertainty over the touch screen before typing his text nimbly.


Sent 20:57 [Thanks again for sending me home. Good night, see you tomorrow.]


A minute later his phone buzzes, startling him out of his stupor. The can of lemon tea, now half-empty, is loosely held in his hand, and Himuro’s lucky his surprised jolt didn’t spill the drink all over the countertop.


Received 20:58 [No prob. I’ll pick you up at 9 tomorrow, sleep tight! xo]


He smiles. He’s usually not a fan of internet slang, which is why he doesn’t really use much of them, but seeing the two letters at the end of your message and thinking about their meanings of affection… It’s harder because anyone can interpret the “xo” differently, and his lovesick mind just likes to play with him—he’s secretly hoping that you mean those two letters are more than just a friendly gesture.


A VIP room in a high-end nightclub and a tall glass of champagne isn’t part of Himuro’s schedule, you’re quite sure of that. If it were, you’d notice your own words scribbled in your trusty notebook or your mobile. It happened so suddenly—several models invited him to join their nightly activities after the photoshoot, and you noticed their lust-glazed eyes and sultry smiles, men and women alike. Himuro wanted to decline, as he isn’t one to be usually found in clubs or bars at night, but they were so insistent to the point where he agreed just to shut them up.

“I gotta bring _________ along,” he said as a requirement to the models, standing tall in front of him like a flock of cranes. You only agreed because you’re responsible for bringing him back home safely—the designated driver, or so you said, but the fire at the pit of your stomach tell you your real intentions: you’re jealous of how those people are looking at him.

So here you are, in a purple-lit room on the second floor of the club, standing against a wall with a non-alcoholic drink in your hand. Himuro’s surrounded by a few of the models on the sofa across the room, while the rest of them are busying themselves by making out at another secluded corner or dancing downstairs.

Unbeknownst to you, Himuro has been trying to get closer to you the whole night, but these people whose company he doesn’t really enjoy keeps getting in his way. They think you’re just a manager. They don’t know that Himuro sees you as a friend (and secretly more than that). They keep sending him flirtatious lines, asking risque questions, and acting to seduce him—alcohol is probably going to be their excuse, but he knows their true intentions.


[If you love me, come on get involved]


The only one that is allowed to do all that to him, even without the influence of alcohol, would be you.

You, sipping your drink while you endlessly scroll down your mobile phone as you lean against the wall. You, skin highlighted by the sultry mauve, the light creating a silhouette of your body. You, the object of his affection, obsession, desire, worship. He wants to do things to and with you. He wants to go on cute dates, buy you gifts, love you, maybe in bed too if you’ll allow him.

Call it intuition, but when he sees you glancing his way with a look on your face that is bitterness and pining, a zing runs down his spine, lighting a spark of hope inside him. You widen your eyes in surprise as your eyes meet his and, to cover up your true feelings, look back at the screen of your mobile. If you don’t let him see what’s in your gaze for too long, he’ll probably forget about it, right?


[Feel it rushing through you from your head to toe]   


The pulsing song from the rowdier setting downstairs and the chatter of people surrounding him are nothing but background noise in his ears. Himuro downs his fourth glass of alcohol, and although his tolerance for intoxication is considerably stronger than that, the drink gives him liquid courage to stand up from his seat and approach you.

His steps are slow and almost sensual, but also calculative. Some eyebrows are raised at how he looks like he’s predator stalking prey, and his… companions are not less than appalled when he stands extremely close in front of you, successfully switching your attention from the mobile phone to himself. 

You’re as surprised as those models with crane-like legs when he cups a jaw with his hand, leaning his face to yours, your lips dangerously close to each other. 


[Can you feel it?]


The sudden increase of your heartbeat. The way your lungs stop yourself from breathing.

“Can you tell me something, _________?” He asks, breath caressing the skin of your face and you shiver.

He has to be drunk, and this event shall not be remembered in the following morning. You will try your best to act like nothing has happened between the two of you in this particular nightclub, in this particular room, in this particular situation where you’re practically sandwiched by his body and the wall. And your efforts will fail, because you can never forget such a thing. He, however, will continue on with his life as per usual, with you as his manager.

Your eyes search his steel gray ones, only to surprise yourself once again by discovering uncoated want in his eyes, along with insecurity—one thing that he’ll only allow his loved ones to witness. 

“What?” You whisper.

Himuro swallows the urge to kiss you senseless down his throat. He needs to hear you say it.

“Tell me how you feel about me.”


[Found you hiding here so won’t you take my hand, darling]


“Tatsuya,” you respond, voice more hoarse-sounding that it usually is, “are you drunk…?”

“I’ve never been more sober,” he answers, “now tell me.”

What are you supposed to say to that? You’re not ready to tell him that you’ve actually liked him for a long time, that you’ve admired him from afar, and you’ve dreamed of having his affections for your own. He’ll retract himself and say that it’s creepy, that you’re supposed to maintain a professional relationship with him instead of fantasizing about him. He’ll say it’s disgusting.

—but when his lips touches yours, ghosting over your slightly chapped lips ever-so-slightly and moving slowly to cover everything he can get, you think that the chances of that scenario happening is very low, especially when his hand dips under your shirt like that…


[Before the beat kicks in again]  


“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” 

Instead of answering the question, his lips press against yours fervently, capturing your bottom lip in between his as he nibbles and sucks. You moan at the contact into his mouth, which somehow spurs Himuro to be more intense in the kiss. The hand that was touching the skin below your shirt now pulls you closer by the waist, while the other that was cupping your jaw snakes to the back of your head, deepening the kiss. 

You can hear the sound of glass breaking, angry footsteps, and the bang of the door: one of the models is pissed, threw the glass of drink on the floor and exited dramatically. Neither you nor Himuro cares—this is something you’ve undeniably thought of before you went to bed, and drunk or not, this is still Himuro. Is he going to remember this in the morning? That’s the least important thing that is on your mind. Right now it’s the way his tongue begs for entrance to your mouth, the way he tilts his head, the way he tugs at your hair, the way his body is pressed against yours.

The remaining models, women and men alike, realizes that Himuro is not going to be available any time soon—especially not when he has his hand on your chest like that. So they leave in silence, the only sounds they make are produced by heels, articles of clothing, and the occasional clearing of throats. You’re now alone with the celebrity you’re managing, pressed against the wall of a VIP room in a nightclub, and you’re making out with him.

“Fuck,” he says in between kisses and grunts of your name, “there’s no way in hell I’m going to forget this tomorrow.” 

He’s abandoned your mouth in favor of your ear, sucking at your earlobe and breathing against your ear before leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and your exposed neck. 

“You’re coming to my place tonight,” he purrs, and a surge of arousal immediately shoots to your core. He’s never sounded so dominant before. 

“We have a lot of talking to do.”

Give My Love to Huckleberry Finn (Part One)

A few days ago @finding–cat tagged me to share a piece of my favorite writing. This is the prologue to a story I wrote in the fall. I’m not sure it’s my best work but it was my first attempt at magical realism and I had a really good time writing it, which for me matters more than the final product. Since it’s completed and edited and just sitting on my hard drive, I figure why not share it?

Synopsis: Once schoolmates, Harry and Cece haven’t seen each other in ten years. That is until one Autumn afternoon when Cece stumbles onto the strawberry farm where Harry lives and works. After seeing his meager life conditions, she offers to teach him how to read in the hopes that he will make a better life for himself. Only, that’s easier said than done considering the fact that Harry has a pair of wings. 

Keep reading

gush post about Altair’s character design + backstory

I know none of this is new but GOD I love this absolute horrible girl and all of the effort that went in to her character design. HUGE spoilers below obviously. I will concede right out the gate that it’s entirely possible that I’m reading far too much into a design (both visual and in terms of backstory) that was never meant to be this complex, but given that now more than I ever I’m sure that re:Creators knows what it’s doing, I don’t think that’s the case.

So, this chick:

I’m fairly certain the one up at the top is an official style sheet of sorts though offhand I’m not 100% certain. Nonetheless it’s what she looks like in show and this is a rare picture that shows her without her hat, so it’s useful for me here.

Altair is legitimately one of the most overdesigned characters I have ever seen. It’s not even immediately obvious at first because the first thing your brain tries to do is just sort of absorb her general shape, the funnelish figure of her silhouette. You need to really stare at her awhile before it becomes apparent how much there is to draw (among a number of other things: her coat, iconic cap including its plate and tassels, her shoulder tassels, the design on her skirt, the odd pack-like things on her hips, her gauntlets, the ribbons in her hair and of course her high heel boots. Not to mention her multicolor eyes), but all of it is there for a single purpose.

At first glance it is, I think, sort of supposed to look like someone dumped a box labeled “cool anime character shit” onto a table and picked out what looked the sickest. And that’s part of the point. Altair looks like someone’s edgy OC because that’s what she is, down to being based off an existing character in-universe. But it’d be a little on the nose if it was just that, thankfully there’s a bit more. Namely, Altair’s subtle resemblance to one of the most famous doujin characters ever.

Altair’s feint resemblance to Black Rock Shooter is most likely deliberate, and makes sense when one considers her backstory. They’re from the same very narrow medium (music video focusing on an original creation spun off from another franchise) and are “darker” interpretations that take a lot of liberty with their source characters (a fairly bland MMO character in Altair’s case, Miku Hatsune in BRS’). The visual nod comes in when one considers that Altair’s hair color (white with red) is the opposite of BRS’ (black with blue).

Altair’s looks sample from other sources of course (there is clearly some of Akame ga Kill’s Esdeath’s DNA in her) and the BRS comparison isn’t the most obvious, but I think it’s the most interesting, essentially having the doujin character be a nod to probably the most famous doujin character.

But this runs even deeper. Almost every aspect of what Altair is and can do are elements very typical to the sorts of overpowered fan characters almost everyone creates when they’re young and in what the Japanese call their “chuuni” stage. She is to be sure, absurdly powerful, due to her in-story nature as a character with no “canon” powerset, her Holopsicon weapon can do just about anything providing some fan-artist or another has thought of it first. This results in an ever-growing pile of abilities with no real unifying theme or logic to them. Which would be bad if that weren’t the exact point, Altair is interesting because she breaks so many rules of ‘good’ character design.

Altair spends a fair chunk of the series’ first half lazing in her lair like a typical villain. But in a typical story, that lair would probably be some kind of magnificent iron fortress, staffed by loyal minions, which she’d rule from her throne. Here, as part of RC’s wider stories / real world contrast, she has to make do with an abandoned building, a group of four misfits who want nothing to do with her or for the most part each other (one of whom never even allies herself with her at all), and a couch she dragged in from somewhere.

And of course, her “mother” (her creator Setsuna) is dead. And what good OC doesn’t have a dead parent (or two) to provide an injection of angst into their backstory? But here, it’s all Altair has. She’s consumed by the desire to avenge her creator, and instead of a righteous crusade visited upon the unjust, as would be expected of an anti-hero, or even a reasonable motivation for more down to earth goals as in an anti-villain, her goal is to destroy all of reality.

Finally there’s her mannerisms. She is always playing it cool, and speaks in a very polite form of Japanese most of the time. But there are indications (particularly her fit of rage when Mamika confronts her) that this actually requires quite a good deal of effort on her part! Indeed I don’t think it’s a stretch to suggest that underneath her calm facade Altair is quite possibly boiling with rage and resentment almost all the time. It’s enough to make one pity her! And I think that is Altair’s brilliance ultimately, she takes so many hallmarks of “bad” character design and by cranking them up to and then way past 11, absolutely owns them, and turns her from a ridiculous character into one who is honestly pretty tragic, she’s the living embodiment of a child’s imagination gone very, very wrong.