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.

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Strangers In The Mind: Part 1

Summary: A cure has been found for Bucky and as he is going under treatment, he starts having bizarre dreams about you. He doesn’t know why or how. Never in his life has he actually met you but, he is determined to find you. (soulmate AU)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1370
Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse/torturing, depressive thoughts?
A/N: This is shorter than the next parts because it’s like a teaser/background. It is going to be angsty and I hope y’all enjoy. Silhouette by Aquilo is a great song for this fic. Feedback is welcomed 💜   


“Hey, stop looking so grim. You should be glad I’m here, mister.”

There you were looking radiant as ever. The wind blew through your hair, creating ripples of your scent to spread out in the open. His heart swells seeing the crinkles of your eyes, the brightness of your smile, and the love you held most emitting from you. Bucky could have sworn an angel came down to visit him every night whenever he tried to sleep.

But time was slipping through his fingers.

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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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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.


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?”

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.


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.


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.”

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

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. 

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Mistress Ep.1

Ep. 1: That one time you reunited with old friends.

Some spoilers below the cut.
Written By: Lady Sci & @sweetstrawberrycandy
Banner image credit to: @emerentis
A/N: This story is a spin-off from Tempus Vernum and contains some spoilers.

 The auditorium is packed from wall to wall between the press and the ticket-holders. The air is a little stuffy.  The pounding bass from the speakers makes your body slightly vibrate. You push through a small crowd of backstage workers, poke your head out from behind the curtain, and scan the hundreds of faces for one in particular. Hundreds of faces … you feel a little queasy.  

“Come on. Please show up … You can’t do this to me. Where are you?” You search the pocket of your robe for your cell phone. You whip it out and dial his number, shouting at him through the speaker before he can even greet you.

“Prompto! Where the hell are you?”

“Ugh. I’m SORRY I’m late… We’re almost there,” he replies apologetically.

“WE!?” Your heart starts racing. “Who else is coming!?

As you try to listen to Promoto’s response over the clamor of the auditorium, a staff member from backstage take you by the shoulder. “(Y/N,) you need to get ready. We’re about to start.”

You nod absentmindedly to the staff member and yell into your phone, “GET YOUR ASS HERE RIGHT NOW! I have to go! …” You soften your voice. Prompto is used to your dramatics, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling a little guilty. “…I miss you, Freckles… See you after the show.”

* * *

 Two blondes and a massive brunette enter the auditorium not too long after the phone call. The group consists of Luna, Prompto and Gladio. The usher at the door gives them a hypercritical glare for arriving just as the show is about to begin.

Prompto requests with a nervous chuckle, “d’ya think we could get some seats close to the runway?”

The usher sighs audibly and after rolling his eyes, leads them down a low-lit aisle way. He adds with snark; “you’re lucky the Queen is with you…”

The three, Gladio especially, shuffle awkwardly infront of a row of seated people to the only seats left close enough to the runway. As they sit down, Luna addresses the two boys.

“Thank you for letting me come along, Prompto. When I heard you were coming to see your friend, I asked Noctis if it was alright for me to come along too. So I owe you BOTH thanks. Without Gladio as our formal escort, I wouldn’t have been able to come. It’s been such a long time since anything exciting like this happened in Insomnia.”

Gladio squeezes into one of the tiny, fold down auditorium seats. He grunts. “It’s ok, Lady Luna. I’m just not used to all this noise and the …er… cramped space. Anyways, I didn’t know you were into this sort of thing.”

“I always loved fashion,” Luna smiles. “And this is event is to raise money for the children left homeless after the Starscourge. I thought it fitting to attend.”

Prompto sighs with relief. “I’m just glad we were able to get close to the runway. If she doesn’t see me here, I’ll get in real trouble.”

Luna laughs. “Sounds like a darling girl.”

“She’s the only girl that Prompto can be around besides you that doesn’t give him a nosebleed,” teases Gladio.

“Heh … well. We haven’t seen eachother in a while.”

All of the lights cave in on the runway and after a brief introduction on the spirit of the event, models one after another drift out onto the stage. Their attire fills the auditorium with eccentric colors from artful designs. Sleeves like wings lift behind them. Skirts like water flow around them. A frequency of life oscillates with each swift turn. Harmonics with the essence of Eos herself swell from plumes in their hair and the dazzle of lights that splash in reflection off sequined corsets. The crowd sits in silence, soaking in the rays of the artful display like the vegetation of the earth after the first dawn. Insomnia craves what the show is giving off.

The imaginative spectacle continues for 25 minutes or so and a casual after party is prepared for everyone who attended and all who were a part of the show.

* * *

You arrive at the afterparty in a long black dress with gold details. You feel sleek but comfortable, and the details of gold running along the seams lay a dramatic effect to your silhouette. You’ve gotten there a little bit late. Too much work on your hair, probably. You shoulder through the people and once you find an oasis of space you’re able to spot Gladio as if by a mile away towering over the crowd. You make that your focus point. People are trying to compliment you on your performance as you continue on. You say thank you here and there but you have ONE mission: find the Chocobo butt.

“There you are, sunshine!” you spring out from a cluster of people and wrap your arms around Prompto from behind. He’s holding a drink of something and almost flings it across the hall in surprise.

He turns and embraces you. “Hey there! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yes! Because you traded me for the King, you traitor!” you mess with his hair.

“Ohh, come on!” he laments, pulling you out at arms length. “You know it wasn’t like that. You will always be like a big sister to me. You’re one of my best friends.”

Prompto lays one arm casually across the tops of your shoulders and adds, “So let me introduce you. This is the Queen, Lady Luna Nox Caelum. She and Noct got hitched, ya know? And I’m sure you remember Gladio. ”

You attempt to bow while in Prompto’s hold. “Your majesty. I’m (y/n) Valentine. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Luna lets a gentle smile spread. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure, Miss Valentine. Any friend of Prompto’s is a friend of mine.”

Your eyes jump to Gladio. “Hey there. You’re looking as large and in charge as ever.”

Gladio’s holding a beer. He brings the froth to his lips, takes a swig and grins. “The large got larger and the charge got bigger.”

“If you guys will excuse us, I’d like to kidnap Prompt for a bit. We have so much to catch up on!”

You guide Prompto to a corner where a couple of nice chairs are unaccompanied. The two of you laugh, talk and drink for over an hour, sharing the stories of how life brought you both to where you are now. His friendship with you is the epitome of a TRUE friendship; even with time and distance between you, when you’re together, it’s as if none of the ever existed. You’re able to pick right back up where you left off.

You’ve known Prompto since you were very young. You both grew up in Insomnia foster homes and went to the same school. Your young brain took note on how badly Prompto wanted to know the Prince and curiosity brought you close to him. He turned into your best friend with ease. As you grew into a young woman, he was the only one who saw you for more than just a pretty face. Prompto knew all your fears and all of your dreams. He saw you at your worst and at your best. To see him leave with Noctis all those years ago was more painful than any cliché heartbreak could offer. You were torn. He was the brother you never had.

One of the younger models struts past you and Prompto and gives him a little wink. Prompt turns bright red from the tip of both of his ears.

“So…” you giggle, slightly inebriated. “I see you still freak out with girls. How come? You need to get it together, Argentum! Or I will steal you and take you to one of my practice sessions. You’ll be surrounded by all the pretty girls and HAVE to teach yourself to talk properly to them!”

“What!? No! heh heh! N-no! That won’t be necessary,” he chokes a little.

“I’m just joking!” You laugh and then become very serious. “I really missed you. Please don’t go again. … Or I will KILL that King of yours!”

“Aye!” he covers your mouth so no one catches the slander. “OK! Too much to drink I think!”

You shrug innocently. “Yeah… probably better get back to the hotel.”

“Hotel?” Prompto looks confused. “Why are you staying at a hotel? I’d assume you had a nice penthouse or something uptown.”

“Uh …” you let out a sad little exhale. “I was staying with my parents. But they kicked me out.” You swirl around the cocktail you’ve been sipping. The olive has dropped in and it whirls round and round.

“Oh.My.Gods!” Prompto says excitedly out of the blue. “You should TOTALLY come stay with ME!I have an extra room! It’ll be awesome!”

You feel light swim back into your eyes. You move from the chair and tackle him with another hug. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you!? Really? You’d let me stay with you!? Yes! Ok! Ok.” You step back with a massive grin. “How about tomorrow? Is that too soon? Tomorrow? Because I’d really love to move in like … TOMORROW.”

Prompto laughs and says with a nod of his head, “Of course. I’ll text you the address. But I’d better go find Luna and Gladio. It was really great seeing you. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Prompt. You really are my sunshine.” You kiss his cheek and watch as he saunters away.

* * * 

 The following day, you show up at Prompto’s apartment a little bit earlier than scheduled. …just a little bit. You stand in the early morning sunshine and knock gently. After no response, you knock a little harder. You listen closely for footsteps to approach the other side of the door. Nothing. The only sounds are the birds chittering in the trees and the odd car here and there passing behind you on the street.

You pull out your phone and dial Prompto’s number. You coo out happily as soon as he answers the phone; “Good MORNING, Sunshine! I’m HE-ERE! Wake up and open the door, will you? I’m dying for a cup of coffee!”

Prompto responds a little groggily, “Ah? Wha … what time is it?”

“It’s 8am, sunshine! Let’s go!”

You hear a long groan and the sound of the phone’s speaker brushing up against the pillows. “It’s too early! … Just let me get some pants on.”

You wait with your arms crossed until he opens the door and gives you a huge, somewhat sleepy hug. After stepping away, he gawks at the amount of luggage that’s been sitting like the leaning tower of suitcases in the sun behind you.

“That’s – that’s all YOURS?”

“Hehehe. Yes. Why?” You say coyly

“I don’t know where we’re going to put all that.”

“It’s ok. Don’t worry about it right now!” You reply and grab a couple of suit cases, letting yourself inside. “We will figure it out. But for now; COFFEE.”

After you and Prompto reposition the tower of your things to an unaccompanied corner of the living room, he sets off to the kitchen to start brewing coffee.

“Oh! I forgot!” He calls out to you from the other room. “There’s a party tonight at the palace and you’re coming with me! No excuses, young lady! It’ll be a blast!”

“Ehh …ok. I guess it will be good to see Luna again. Aish! I mean the Queen! I’m really bad with protocol.” You grit your teeth a little and settle into the living room couch. You sweep away some chip crumbs from the cushion. There’s an opened bag of some kind of colorful snack on the coffee table.

“It’s fine!” He reenters the room with a cup of coffee for you. “Just do what you do best; look pretty.”

Prompto’s smile always gave you such comfort. And right now as you sink back into the bachelor’s leather couch, imaging being infront of a bunch of people at a royal party, you need some comfort.

Prompto picks up on your thoughts right away as he hands you your coffee. “Are you still worried about being around a bunch of people? I figured after all the modeling, you’d be good to go!”

You take a little sip. “Every time I go to walk out from backstage, it’s confronting that fear. But I know it’s only for a second. Like I walk out, stare at the furthest thing over all those heads, and turn around. At a party though … totally different story.”

“What about the party yesterday after the show?” he sits down next to you. You hear some mystery wrapper crinkling way down underneath the couch.

“Too many people in a small hall to notice me really,” was the only thing you could say. There was more to it though…

Prompto stretched and kicked his feet up on the table, knocking over an empty soda can. “You’re gonna be fine! You’ll be with me!”

For the rest of the day, you unpack in the spare room, help clean up the place, and talk about anything and everything that comes to mind. You relish in the nostalgia. Your cheeks hurt a little after a while of so much laughing. This is going to be good. A good change. Right?

* * *

 For the evening party, you decide to wear a black and silver tulle ballgown with one shoulder strap. The fabric gathers at the waist in jewels. You slip on some pretty but practical heels, they’re hidden under the skirt anyways, and curl your hair until it bounces like springs. When you exit the spare room after hours of meticulous prepping, Prompto is waiting for you in the living room. He’s got a decent suit on, but you notice a few things; the buttons are buttoned unevenly like he missed one, his dress shirt isn’t tucked in, he doesn’t have a tie on, and his hair is a MESS.

He reaches his arms out to you and examines you head to toe, “WOW! Just WOW! I will have the best date of the night!”

He’s so sweet it makes you consider not telling him what you’re about to.

…You do anyways.

“Prompto!” You reach your arms out to him too with a forced smile. “Sunshine. You need to tuck in your shirt, grab a tie, fix your buttons and brush your hair. I’m sorry.”

“Ehh … you really think so?” he scratched his head bashfully.

“Yes.” You say simply and tend to all of those things until he’s all shined up. “MUCH better.”

A royal taxi transports you both to the palace in no time. Prompto escorts you proudly inside with your arm in his. You pass through the corridors and come into a ballroom that is not nearly as crowded as you thought it would be. This was an intimate event.

You squeeze Prompto’s hand. He looks at you with a tender laugh. “You’re going to be FINE. This isn’t your first rodeo. You got this champ!” He lets go of your hand and gives you a little push right through the entrance.

The ballroom expands before your eyes, appearing larger than it looked from the outside. So huge. And yet so few people. They’re all looking at YOU. Your chest tightens. Or maybe the dress needs a little adjusting. You look for the nearest exit since Prompto is blocking the way behind you and find a nearby balcony. You escape quickly with no explanation.

1 2 3 BREATHE… 1 2 3 BREATHE…

“Why am I so frickin nervous?” You ask yourself outloud, pacing on the balcony behind the shelter of a heavy, drawn curtain. “Why!?”

You peek your head out from the curtain and examine the faces quickly. UGH. You retract back to pacing. It doesn’t take long before the taunting negative thoughts that you’ve shoved to the back of your head seep forward.

They’re judging me. Just like mom and dad.

“But I get judged on the walkway for a LIVING!” you fight with yourself, holding onto the railing of the balcony.

These royals aren’t like the audience. These royals are just like mom and dad. I’m not good enough for them.

“ – Are you ok, miss?” A cultured voice interrupts from behind you. You gasp a little and turn on your heels. You recognize the person vaguely. You know him from somewhere. He’s tall, dressed fine as hell, has tidy dark blonde hair and some nasty -looking scars plaguing the side of his face.

“Oh… yes. I’m fine … I guess.” You stutter out.

“I believe you accompanied Prompto, if I’m not mistaken,” the gentleman remarks, looking in no particular direction. Upon further examination, you discover that he’s blind. “I’m sorry to intrude. It sounded like you were in distress. Shall I fetch Promp for you?”

“No …” You say a little embarrassed. Your heart begins pounding and the anxiety thrusts itself forward in the form of a verbal explosion. “No. You know what!? I don’t need Prompto right now. I don’t need ANYONE. What I need right now is for people to stop judging me for what I do for a living! What’s wrong with being a model? Hm? Tell me.”

The gentleman’s mouth is gaping a little. He nods his head slightly and says, “I didn’t even know you were a model. But I suppose – “

“You suppose NOTHING. What makes me sooo different from someone like … like LUNA! I mean the Queen! Just because she’s a royal means she not superficial? But I am because I’m in the fashion industry?! I’m just as smart as the people out there!” You point to the curtain even though he can’t see you point. “I have a freaking degree in Ancient History! And! And! I know THREE different languages! AND! I know how to cook my own food! GOOD food because I took TWO years of culinary school!”

“That’s – that’s quite impressive miss …?”

“Valentine!” You shout at him. “It’s VALENTINE! And you won’t forget it!” You exhale angrily, pull back the curtain and start walking fast across the ball room floor.

Your heels clap madly beneath you as you go, tears pooling in your eyes. You feel a little insane. You pass through tiny clusters of people as they share drinks. You keep your stare to the floor. It looks like there’s a small corridor up ahead to run too. Run. Run. Run. Always running.

Oof! You run right into the arms of the unexpected.

“Is it really you? No way! Are you ok?”

You fix your hair and lift your gaze from beneath your eye lashes. The person helping you up is Noctis – KING Noctis Lucis Caelum.

“I am SO sorry!” You say, suddenly aware of the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“It’s ok!” He says, helping you to your feet. “I’m just shocked to see you here. I never would’ve expected it. It’s been so long!”

He smiles pleasantly at the small group of people that he was entertaining in discussion. “Please excuse me. We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Noctis takes soft hold of your hand and leads you to the small corridor that you were heading to in the first place. Beyond the noise of the hall, he pulls out a handkerchief for you. Abashedly, you wipe your eyes and see him fully for the first time in over ten years; a mature, sculpted face freshly shaved and looking as smooth as just-whipped butter, crisp blue eyes and hair that LOOKS like it wants to be touched. Whoa.

“Thank you … your Highness …” you say, wishing you could force the blood from rising in your face.

“Ahh, geez,” he scratches the back of his head the same way Prompto does. “That’s too formal coming from you. Just call me Noctis or Noct or whatever. We’re friends, right?”

“Sure … Noct – Noctis,” a smile finds its way to your lips.

“That’s better,” he sets a hand on your bare shoulder. You shiver unintentionally. “Do you want to go back to the party? Or do you need a little more time?”

Noctis smiles gently at you and you feel both relaxed and nervous at the same time. There’s a little fire rumbling eagerly in the pit of your stomach – a tiny new flame that wants you to feed it.

Go. Go with him.

You nod your head and hand him his handkerchief. “Yeah. …Thank you so much. I could really use a drink right now.”

The King offers you his arm and he accompanies you for the rest of the evening. You limit yourself to just a couple of drinks. Prompto sticks close by, taking pictures and prompting (for no better word) old memories of the three of you in high school. The entire ordeal feels like an out of body experience. Is this real life? And … where’s Luna?


To read the story that this one is a spin-off to and other pieces of my works, check out my masterlist. <—

4 o’clock

Originally posted by chimchams

A/N:: Just a little drabble thing based on (obviously) 4 o’clock… So I’m just going to tag my vmin buds @caught-in-a-lie and @taesberet​ hehe~ I felt really emotional yesterday and it’s sort of also based on my own personal experiences? Anyhow, please read, enjoy and give me feedback?

Genre: Fluff
Pairing: VMin
Words: 1645

Your singing voice,
That follows deep into the night,
brings the scarlet morning
One step, then another step

It had been a tiring day filled with schedules, practice and just of endless work. But he wasn’t about to miss this, a time he had reserved for only them, a time when they could sit together, sip canned coffee from the nearest bending machine and talk, or just seek comfort in each other. Taehyung sat at the bench that they always occupied. He checked the time on his phone as he sat down. 3:56 AM. They were part of the same team but Jimin and Taehyung had different schedules other than their group practises. Taehyung smiled to himself as he reached into his bag to pull out the book he had recently been reading. The rustling of the leaves, the chirping of the earliest birds, the bluish glow of the moonlight all made a perfect atmosphere for him to read in.

But before he could read a single word on the page he had opened to, he sat back and thought about his life. It seemed to be an occurrence typical at this time of the day, when the sun hadn’t come out yet had already cast some of its light on the sky to brighten it up some, the moon still shining its glory down to Earth. As he spent more time thinking, he realised the importance of the person he was waiting for. During his tough days as a trainee (everyone had those, right?) he could lean on Jimin to understand his struggles. He was glad for the days he could lend Jimin a shoulder, he felt like he was giving back at least a bit of the love he was constantly receiving from his friend. He pats himself silently on the back on the days Jimin thanked him for being his friend, for being his voice of reason when he couldn’t see straight but Taehyung couldn’t remember a single day he wasn’t thankful for Jimin.

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LOT/CC fic: Just One Night, Ch. 2 (of 4)

When Team Legends returns to Central City for Barry and Iris’ wedding, Sara jumps at a chance to do something, anything, else.

She doesn’t even remotely suspect where that decision will lead her. (Or to whom.)

Thanks, as always, to @larielromeniel for the beta! Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

It’s melodramatic to say that the world tilts around her, but that’s precisely what it feels like. Sara puts a hand to the wall as if checking to see that it’s still there, that she’s not dreaming, that she’s not going to wake up in a moment, stomach and heart clenched with a pain she can’t show. 

It is there, cool and solid beneath her fingers, and that’s all the moment of weakness she gives herself. And then her gun is in her hand, aimed straight for his heart, and if her hands are shaking just the tiniest bit, well, she knows she can compensate for that. 

“Don’t move,” she repeats, keeping her voice cold, without a quaver. “I will fire."  

Leonard tilts his head just a little and regards her for a moment that feels like forever. 

"Ah,” he says, finally. “Right.” Slowly, he raises his hands in front of him, eyes never leaving hers, and they’re not that rat bastard’s eyes, there’s actually warmth in them and concern… “The last time you saw me, it was that me." 

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Merry Christmas baby.

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

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

It was Christmas Eve and you were standing in your living room, inspecting the glass silhouette ornament that you and Harry had bought together for your tree last year. You placed it back on a fuzzy branch of your small, plastic tree and sighed. Harry 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 Harry and trading small gifts and going out for dinner. You were never really one for big traditions, and neither was Harry, 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 LA, since you’d moved to be with Harry last summer. 

As you laid down to 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 Harry, while the dogs chased after their spilled food.

“Oh my god, Harry!” 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 Harry came back from tour. You went to Starbucks, picked up lattes and caught up, talking about life and the band as you walked home.

“What about Liam and Cheryl?” you asked, sipping warm vanilla. “I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

“Actually can we not talk about this?” he asked, his voice jumping octaves. “I wanna 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 had 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.

“Harry.” 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, Harry’s raspy voice began to sing. You looked at him.

“Is this…?”

He nodded. “It’s on our 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, Harry.”

ktrovosky asked for some ronsey tattoo aftercare and I honestly live to serve adriana so I wrote what was supposed to be a drabble and is actually 1.8k :’)

idk how gay and sad you wanted this to be but hoooo boy it is both

Gansey finds him swaddled in cling wrap like a miserable cafeteria sandwich, his fine freckled back drenched in black and red.

“Jesus Christ.”

Ronan glances over his shoulder at him and bares his teeth.

“Badass, right?”

Gansey tuts, an impossibly condescending noise inherited from a long line of impossible, condescending people. “Declan will be livid.”

Ronan’s face twists, but he doesn’t move to spit or break or topple like he usually would. Gansey realizes all at once it’s because he’s paralyzed by pain. 

He steps closer, trying not to visibly hover.

Fuck Declan. What can he do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

Gansey rolls his eyes. “Oh but he’s constantly outdoing himself.”

“I wasn’t talking about things he’s done,” Ronan says darkly, and Gansey’s mouth twitches, indulgent.

“No. You weren’t, were you.” Gansey fingers the peeling edge of the second skin holding Ronan’s tattoo together, and he twitches violently. “He could cut you off,” Gansey suggests.

Ronan scoffs, as he knew he would. “Good thing I have a filthy fucking loaded best friend.”

Gansey warms. This has been their inside (and only) joke in the broken glass marathon of the last few months. Declan is the obstacle and Gansey the solution. He wishes it didn’t make him feel so gorgeously needed.

He wishes Ronan wasn’t in this warped custody battle between brother and friend at all, that he hadn’t found himself in sudden need of that kind of parental display. He wishes Niall Lynch would walk in right now and fill the room up wall to wall to ceiling, leather and whiskey, ground shaking laughter and crystal cruel eyes.

“What is it?” He asks quietly, eyeing the puffy black lines twisting Ronan’s back into something as angry as his insides.

Ronan shrugs delicately. “Lots of shit. Nightmares.” He seems to find this funny for some reason, and his back quakes.

“May I?” Gansey asks, a tender palm at the nape of Ronan’s neck just above where the mess begins.

He shrugs again, but there’s new tension in him, and a silence that Gansey doesn’t understand.

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anonymous asked:

Dearest Amy Rose, do you maybe feel like writing this? Please? It would be amazeballs! Imagine your OTP proposing repeatedly at different restaurants to get free food + #AND WHEN THE REAL PROPOSAL COMES AND THEY GET FREE ICE CREAM OR SOMETHING#PERSON A IS LIKE ‘omg that was a good one the whole speech was a nice touch where did you get this ring it looks so realistic omg’#and person B is just like ‘r u fucking kidding me’

“Holy shit,” Stiles feels his eyes go wide as he looks down at the check. “Dude, I can’t—”

“Relax,” Derek shrugs, pulls out his wallet, “I got this one.”

“Aw, gee,” Stiles claps his hands together, pouts a little, “Does this mean I have to put out, later?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

“You can just say yes,” Stiles smirks, “I know you wanna lock this down.” He rubs a hand up and down his stomach, gives Derek what he hopes is an appealing leer. “How could you say no.”

“Sure,” Derek drawls, “I can’t resist the over-fed, unkempt, weary college kid look.”

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anonymous asked:

Hey! Did you ever thought of making a tutorial on how you make backgrounds? I love all your sceneries and I'm very curious to know how you do that, it's too perfect!!


first off here’s a quick breakdown of how get the base I use for painting:

(the final piece you can see here)

it’s important to have the basics blocked out, I’d suggest blocking like this because you approach the piece with a lot of balance, you don’t focus on getting one area done before starting another- it’s just all at once. To get a strong harmony between your figure (if you have one) and your scenery is to approach both with the same level of care and attention. it sucks at first if you like just drawing people, but you may end up loving it.

speaking of all at once, all my paintings tend to be on one layer (maybe two)

this piece is on a total of 2 layers, the person being on the second one just to be able to mess with her if I needed. the rest is all on one layer. the groups above are for the animation. (you can see the completed piece here)

but this is the final result. when I’m working I tend to use a technique that boils down to transparency locks and blocking

I use this (vague) technique to get clean objects while still keeping the painterly effect. basically block the object (get its silhouette down) and then work from there using the transparency lock/masking option when adding value. after finishing that part/object I merge it with the rest of the piece, and it’s how I get clean yet painterly looking stuff like this:

I suggest merging down because if you do want to modify something, you’ll end up going over your other work, and you’ll end up with a painting look (because there’s no layers in traditional media) this sort of look is much easier if you approach it like actual paint.

a very good thing to do in pieces is to vary scale and empty space. never have everything the same size or with the same size brush. use this to separate information and direct the viewer.

I talked about brushes in this ask, and it’s the same with the pieces here. for getting that level of texture and using the brush I suggest being very gestural, set the same brush you’re painting with for your eraser. instead of going over the same edge with a brush push and pull using the eraser and get a solid shape. you can easily overwork textured brushes. it’s really hard to balance. look at art you like and step back from your own work and gauge when the texture is taking away from the piece. pick textured brushes that vaguely reflect the item’s texture (values and contrast can also help!) or help bring the piece together. work with what you feel is good and something you enjoy. 

after the entire image is done, I do these last two steps as final touch ups:

it’s mostly to refine color and make sure the image has the mood I want it to have. this is one of the last steps I do and it’s after everything’s merged and animated (if I do that). don’t expect post-editing to save a piece- have values and a generally solid color palette. If you’re offset by something (the perspective, the color of this thing or that, the scale) change it asap. the sooner you do the less mess you have to deal with. if you have photoshop this is where the transform tools and filter>liquify are your friends.

I hoped this helped! just keep working and find what works best for you, and thank you for the kind compliment!!

“Were You Looking for Me?” IV

Parts [I], [II], [III]

A Rowaelin Teenage AU

Word Count: 1,470

Author’s Note: This one picks up right where part three ends, sorry for the delay. Enjoy!

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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, _________.”


“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?”



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.”

Jackson Wang//Best Friend’s Brother - Part 3

Prompt: It’s finally the summer, and that means you and your best friend are determined to go crazy and have the best summer ever - but her older brother’s come back from his gap year along with a couple of his friends, and they want to join in on the fun…
Scenario: fluff, angst, romance, smut in later parts
Word Count: 2257

Part1 Part2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  Part 8

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Day 244: With a Gentle Hand

A fic for @quaviver​, who asked for some Texas Toast, with Engie being patient about Pyro being comfortable showing themselves.

When he was a boy, Dell spent his summers on his uncle’s farm. It was a good place for a boy to while away the days, far away from the city. Bee Cave wasn’t like Houston or Dallas by any means, but it gave him a chance to “get his head back in the real world,” as his mama used to say.  A week after school let out he would be dropped off at the bus terminal with his suitcase in hand, and given explicit instructions about not thinking too hard.

His favorite part of those visits had always been helping with the horses. Dell had always loved horses, their bodies beautiful examples of the elegant designs nature could come up with. He would watch them for hours as their powerful muscles moved effortlessly under sleek coats as they galloped through the fields.

Then there were the foals, with their spindly legs and doe eyes, awkwardly trotting along behind their dams. They were all knock knees and energy, playful little things who had no problem poking their muzzles into a jacked just in case an apple or carrot had managed to find its way inside. Summer was after foaling season, so he always arrived just as they were starting to get trained. Not carrying any weight - they were far too young for that - but little things. Wearing a halter, for example, or not being skittish when a man walked up to them. Or being touched. Early on he’d learned that you had to take it slow. One step at a time, earning their trust before going on to the next step.

Pyro was like a foal in that way.

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On the sixth day of #PAIN fic...

12 Days | Masterlist

A/N: GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS?? No, it’s not hump day (I just had to, I’m sorry). It’s DAY SIX.

Woohoo!! It’s the halfway point, friends, and that means there are just six days left until Part Three drops! We just wanna thank you all again for joining us on this huge adventure that’s been tucked up our sleeves for a while now, and we’re so humbled by the response we’ve received. This isn’t what we anticipated 2017 would be, but we’re sure glad this is how it’s starting. We hope you guys enjoy the rest of what’s to come.

So allow me to shut up now as we present to you DAY SIX!

Word Count: 2,127

College was hard. It was hard enough having to deal with wanting a degree but also not wanting to get out of bed on top of the daily dilemma of wanting to be sociable despite your crippling social anxiety, let alone having to endure all of this without your best friend by your side. Except you relinquished your right to feel that way because you were the one that left, so you were forced to deal with the consequences.

But still, anything and everything you did reminded you of him. Heard a song on the radio? Great, you knew damn well that Lin would’ve loved it. Saw an album cover that reminded you of your childhood home? Awesome, you were positive Lin would’ve had a comment about it. Had a subpar meal by yourself? Sweet, you pretty much imagined his commentary if he were with you.

Lin wasn’t there. He couldn’t enjoy any of it with you, so you wallowed in everything.

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