letter fade

Rosa, drawn in PS.

[Caption: A realistic digital painting of Rosa Diaz from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Portrait is from the waist up. Rosa is wearing a black leather jacket over a button blouse. She has her hands in her pockets, and her black curly hair hangs loose around her shoulders. The background is a vivid pink gradient with ‘ROSA’ spelled in overlaid faded letters behind her head.]

Linger (NSFW)

Summary: After reluctantly going to your colleague’s masseuse, you meet Sam, the man with the magic fingers. But as time goes on, you find out exactly what’s behind that “magic”.

Pairing: Incubus!Samxreader, Dean

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Unprotected sex, language, over stimulation

Word count: 3500+

A/N: So instead of posting Gadreel first I’m somehow posting Sam first. Don’t even ask man I don’t know either bahaha. Also, over protective Dean is the best Dean if you ask me. Enjoy folks! p.s. writing consensual incubi sex is literally the hardest shit in the world bahaha

Eternity squad: (my memory is great..ish) @mrswhozeewhatsis @beriala @busybee612  @kittenofdoomage @aprofoundbondwithdean @ign-is @icantthinkofaname-oops  

This is a bad idea.

You hold the card up, chewing your lip as you flick your eyes up to the building. Some of the letters are faded off of the sign, but you can still make out ‘Winchester’ from it all. You turn to leave, pausing when a shooting pain spikes up your lower back, almost making you topple over. Back pain is basically in the job description of a desk job.

This is, still, a bad idea.

Private masseuse? Kevin couldn’t be trusted with this crap – he’s always handing you over to his clients, most of the time they’re working out of their garages! But damn it, your back is killing you and it couldn’t hurt to try. You pause, frowning. Maybe it could hurt to try, maybe she’d make your back feel even worse. You shake the thoughts away as you walk into the building, smiling at the tiny girl behind the counter.

“Hello,” you say. She keeps typing away on her computer, glancing up at you with a soft smile. “A colleague set up an appointment for me –”

“Who’s the name under?” she says through her clenched teeth.

“Tran…maybe? I think he –”

“Kevin Tran, for his regular, he gave it to you?” she mumbles, typing something into the computer. You watch her fingers dart over the keyboard, almost getting dizzy by her quick typing. “Mary isn’t in, do you want Sam or John?” she asks. You stare at her blankly, shaking your head profusely.

“Uh..no offense, but I don’t want some dude rubbing on me,” you say, whirling around when hearty laughter sounds. You suck in a breath as a tall man approaches you. His smile is far more inviting than hers. He brushes his hair out of his face with one hand, tapping the woman’s computer with the other.

Keep reading


A lot of people have been asking about Osomatsu’s mental state during EP24 and I think I’ve finally recovered enough to answer www

Osomatsu’s definitely in a bad mental place during EP24, which means easy pickings for any malicious spirits… the house is well protected and because Osomatsu doesn’t really leave the house anymore the bigger, more dangerous spirits can’t get to him, but he’s still susceptible.

Honestly, Osomatsu should be able to see the marks on his body but he either can’t see them due to lowered sensitivity.. or he just doesn’t care.

I refuse to make this into a story of our love.
Everyone has heard enough about that already.
This is an apology to the way love fades.

This is me saying I am sorry for putting more dates on the calendar that you do not want to live through.
This is me saying I am sorry for staining you.
For running.
For leaving.
For not coming back.

This is an apology to the both of us for how long this has taken me.
How one moment we were a bright light in the sky; shades of purple painted across the softest storm.
Radio playing gently in the background.
How the next moment you and I were taking turns at falling apart.
Dim lights on a dark road; hardly being able to see anywhere in front of us.
Rain falling too violently.
Windshield wipers not moving fast enough.

This is all the sorries I never said and you never said.
This is me forgiving you for breaking my heart.
Even the hairline fractures.
This is me forgiving you for that letter; for that last blow when my love came crashing down.
Even that time you said you were just frozen in your emotions and you did not want that feeling in your chest.

This is me saying sorry for waiting too long.
This is me sending paper airplanes to the moon.
Forgetting only to remember when you said loving me was miserable.
The hands on the clock are still standing.

This is an apology to you.
To love.
To us.
To who we were.

The way love fades is so quietly.
Nobody ever notices until the words fall clumsily out of mouth.

—  an apology to the way fades.

Mayhap you’re forgetting me
Words wiped like love letters
Left in sun, faded and forlorn
Poetry and prose escaping together.

These hidden messages buried
In esoteric language designed
As protective armor for
A heart with no defenses.

Everything seems colder
Now that you’re drawing 
Your light away by inches–
Every moment is winter.

This is what I have so far
  • ~~~
  • The sound of waves and occasional seagulls fade in.
  • PERCY (voice over): I didn’t want to be a half-blood.
  • “Jagon Suite” by Onur Tarcin fades in--starting at 0.30, waves grow louder. “PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS” slowly materializes on screen. The letters are scrambled at first, and rearrange themselves. As “Jagon Suite” reaches 0.55, the letters disintegrate. The scene fades into scene two, song fading until reaching 1.25, where it ends.
  • ~~~
  • The black screen fades into an aerial view of a school bus driving south down West Street. Cawing birds, engines as cars pass the bus, and quiet laughter is heard.
  • PERCY (voice over as the directions are carried out): But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start...here. Back when I was at Yancy Academy, a boarding school in upstate New York for troubled kids.
  • As the camera zooms towards the front of the bus, the sounds grow louder. Camera zooms through windshield and into bus. Laughter becomes the loudest noise. Most of the 28 students within the bus are laughing and talking; there is an occasional reader and sleeper. Camera pans the aisle, moving towards the back. The camera focuses in on the last two seats on the right, where a set of crutches are propped against the window.
  • In the second to last seat sit two agitated teenage boys. The boy next to the window looks slightly older and has curly brown hair. He, GROVER UNDERWOOD, looks more upset than agitated. GROVER has food in his hair. Next to GROVER sits PERCY JACKSON, his black hair messy, and looking very angry. His fists are clenched, and he is gritting his teeth.
  • In the last seat is a girl, NANCY BOBOFIT, with red hair and lots of freckles, tearing up a sandwich and snickering.
  • PERCY (angrily as NANCY throws a hunk of peanut butter sandwich at GROVER): I’m gonna kill her.
  • GROVER looks sideways at PERCY. He looks putout.
  • GROVER: It’s fine. I like peanut butter.
  • PERCY (voice over): Am I a troubled kid?
  • NANCY throws another piece of food at GROVER.
  • PERCY: That’s it.
  • PERCY begins to stand.
  • PERCY (voice over): I guess you could say that.
  • GROVER pulls him back into the seat.
  • GROVER: You’re already on probation, Percy! You know you’ll get blamed if anything goes wrong!
  • PERCY sinks into the seat, arms crossed, huffing.
  • PERCY: Something always happens….
  • GROVER: Exactly.
  • The bus slows to a stop.
  • PERCY (voice over): And, of course, something happens…
  • ~~~
  • An old man in an old brown jacket, CHIRON, is the first to exit the bus through the ramp in the back of the bus. STUDENTS stand after CHIRON exits, filing out through the front. There is much shoving. PERCY and GROVER, now with his crutches, stumble off of the bus last. STUDENTS are all holding lunch boxes of various sorts.
  • CHIRON wheels into the museum, a stern old lady in a leather jacket, MRS. DODDS, is standing next to an open cooler. STUDENTS follow CHIRON, leaving lunch in cooler as they pass.
  • Camera enters building, zooming through the crowd of bored STUDENTS to the fronts of PERCY, GROVER, and CHIRON. PERCY stares in awe at the artifacts they pass, occasionally whispering praise, to which CHIRON chuckles. The class stops at the Roman and Greek section. ALL CHILDREN clump into the middle of the room. MRS. DODDS has joined. She stands against a wall, glaring in PERCY’S direction.
Cotton Gin

Draco sees her for the first time across his parent’s table. An annual Sunday brunch is underway and she’s smiling amongst platters of sticky sweet lemon cake, crème filled cheese Danishes and glistening crumbles of coffee cake; laugh tinkling against the ceiling like crystals on the chandelier and dress like a confection.  

She’s soft, all curves and arches and whispers that drape across his skin like a summer sweat. He can’t help but watch her – the graceful tangle of her hair down her back, the bow of her neck and the slope of her nose and her smile – the one that reminds him of time faded love letters tied up in silk ribbons, heart shaped lockets and Sapphic violets that wilt against the pressed pages of a diary.

Her eyelashes flutter as she giggles, glances upwards and meets his eyes.

There’s no hint of recognition there, no flicker of knowing that typically accompanied sidelong glares and venom smothered remarks.

Instead, there’s only the butter soft caress of a blossoming smile. A quick silver glimpse at the French doors leading to the garden that leaves Draco with one answer, yes, but so many questions.

He’s always had a knack for stumbling upon the things that he wants.


She meets him on the porch, handkerchief clutched between her fingers as she breaths a sigh that peters out onto the summer slick air. He can see a trickle of sweat sliding along the tender notches of her spine; curls loose from her head and cheeks a delicate, fragile pink.

“You were staring at me,” she says.

He’s standing at her back and she hasn’t turned around, no, continues to look out over the winding maze of his mother’s rose garden; all bruise violet and flush pink, snow white and blood red, wilting under the waning heat of the sun.

“Yes,” he admits, tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

The pocket watch tucked against his thumb reads noon.

“Why?” she asks, and finally turns around.

She’s more beautiful up close, he realizes with a jolt. An antebellum smile that precedes a war, violin clamor as debutante silk swishes and sways, lightning bugs trapped in glass jars and butterflies pinned to corkboards by the thin of their wings – but Draco always has been a good seeker.

“What’s your name?” he asks, disregards her question because he’s quite sure that she already knows the answer.

A smile, sugar sweet and venom sticky, slips across her mouth. “Y/N,” she says. Holds out her handkerchief like it’s a white flag.

He doesn’t think she’s surrendering.


The war had ended earlier that year with a fission of red and green sparks.

The Malfoys had escaped by the skin of their teeth, had fallen from grace and managed to evade the brunt of their dually deserved punishment.

He should be grateful, his father tells him.

But he’s not quite sure how that’s possible when the mark is still stark against the pale skin of his arm, when his transgressions hang around his neck growing heavier and heavier until his windpipe is crushed and he can’t quite manage to meet his own eyes in the mirror.

He doesn’t have a phoenix like Potter, no, doesn’t have a peacock like his father –

Draco has an albatross.


He sees her for the second time at the Nott’s jubilee, beneath a kaleidoscope of flickering lights and amid a cache of ludicrously expensive silk dresses, diamonds at pulse points and cigars stuck between teeth.

He asks for a dance and she acquiesces, grips his shoulder tight as he whirls her around the dance floor and doesn’t quite manage to let go.

They meet again at the Parkinson picnic. She’s seated on a checkered blanket on the grass, the faintest hint of a sunburn gracing her cheeks as she steals away his glass of champagne and leaves a lipstick kiss against its rim.

She’s there at the Zabini’s silent auction, where he tamps down numerous boughts of laughter at her antics while the older men bid on priceless antiques that were mandated away in the aftermath of the war.

He corners her afterwards in one of the dark, dusty alcove’s of the manor and steals a kiss, traces a finger along the wing of her clavicle and thinks about the blood churning in her veins, how it had all been different a mere handful of months ago.


She kisses the mark on his arm when he sneaks through her window one night, whispers poems against his skin before offering a smile and a sigh and a kiss to his cheek that lingers, lingers, lingers.

His name sounds like a beginning, a postcard against her mouth. When she whispers it against his lips, giggles it against his neck, breaths it into the cool night air as they lie beneath the stars and trace the constellations with their fingers. “You’re named for that one,” she says, maps out a dragon in the sky and forgets his defeat at the hands of Hercules.

She feels like veritaserum. Like every bit of truth they’d eked out of him following his war crimes. Like the amortentia Slughorn had showed them in sixth year and Draco had been afraid to smell because he didn’t know what he’d find –

It’s floral, he finds out. Saccharine sweet and summer heavy.

“I love you,” she says, when there’s a spot of blood marring her bedsheets and he’s running his fingers along her hips and they’re both breathing hard, night suffused in the marrow of their bones and stars flickering with the atmosphere’s density overhead.

He says it back. Bites it into the string of veins along her neck and murmurs it as he kisses the spot that makes her ache.


He procures a ring from his father just as the leaves are beginning to change.

A Malfoy family heirloom that’s as old as the bloodline itself.

He clutches it in his pocket and hopes, hopes, hopes as he kisses her amidst the twinkling lights strung around the garden. She tastes like a beginning and a redemption and something else, maybe, he just isn’t sure what –

Because the albatross has been shot through the neck with an arrow and she’s rubbing the swell of her stomach with a secret of a smile and the ring in his pocket feels, right, yes.

He slips it onto her finger and twines their hands together -

As though he could tell her all of the things that she meant to him.


Shore Leave Part Two 

Part One

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)

Pairing: ReaderXBones

Word Count: 1341

Rating: Everyone

Beta’d: No

You roll over in the bed and a cold draft hits your hand. You frown and feel around on the other half of the bed. Raising your head you open your eyes and find the bed empty. Sighing you sit up and glance at the time. Eight o’clock. You turn back to the empty bed and notice a piece of paper stuck to the pillow. Picking it up you smile as you read Leonard’s messy handwriting.

Donna had to leave early and I didn’t want to wake you. Come down when you’re ready and I’ll make breakfast.

Setting the note on the bedside table you walk over to the dresser and pull out a worn red t-shirt with “Ole’ Miss” across the front in fading blue letters. You pull the oversized shirt on and slip into a pair of leggings before heading downstairs. Walking into the kitchen Kirk grins at you from the dining room table, “Nice shirt.”

Leonard looks around and smiles at you. “Good Morning! I thought you’d sleep later than this.”

You shake your head and make your way over to him, “I guess I’m just used to being on the ship.”

“I do like the shirt.” He says as he moves a pot from the stove to the counter behind him.

You smile and wrap your arms around his waist. “It’s comfy and it smells like you.”

Kirk snarls his nose, “I think I’m gonna go. I can’t handle all this lovey dovey business.” He stands to his feet and ruffles Joanna’s hair. “Later small fry.”

She looks up at him, “Bye Uncle Jim.”

Leonard stares down at you and waves Kirk off, “Bye Jim.” He bends his head down and kisses you on the forehead. “You hungry? I’ve got biscuits about to come out of the oven and the sausage gravy is ready.”

You raise an eyebrow and peer into the pot on the counter beside you, “You cooked? Is it edible?”

His hands slip down to your waist and he leans in closer to you, “You know what I ought to do to you for that?” he says quietly.

You nod and kiss his cheek, “Maybe later. I think your biscuits are burning.”

“Dammit!” He releases you and spins around to the oven. Grabbing the potholders he pulls the door open and yanks the tray out. Dropping the tray on the stovetop he sighs.

Joanna turns around in her chair to look at him, “Did you burn them daddy?”

“No doodle-bug, they’re just a little more brown than usual.” he says, transferring the biscuits to a plate.

“Aunt Donna says you never learned to cook.”

He takes the plate over to the table and sets it down in the center. “Aunt Donna doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I’m a perfectly good cook.”

Keep reading

carterashofficial  asked:

That shirt or other item of clothing that the other ‘borrowed’ and never gave back and it became theirs

Have some really crappy, wine-induced writing about Rayleigh and Quinn because… why not?

The door to the refresher closed with an audible thud, prompting Quinn to glance up from the datapad in his hand.

He swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat at the sight of her.

Rayleigh had stepped out of the ‘fresher with nothing but one of his old military t-shirts on. Not that he was going to complain. The shirt was positively ancient, letters all but faded from the front. Despite that, she somehow managed to make it look seductive.

The way it loosely hung off one shoulder. Hem barely hitting her mid-thigh.

She gave him an impish grin when she caught him staring. “Should I take it off, Malavai?”

A shiver ran down his spine.

“Only if you wish, my lord.” The smallest of smiles hinted at his lips.

He silently thanked the stars that she had decided to keep that shirt of his.

the Book

Request: can you do a liam imagine where youre having a nightmare about the doctors and liam wakes up and comforts you? just make it really fluffy please :) 

*I don’t own the gif; credit goes to the wonderful owner/maker*

Warning: the reader has a nightmare

My brow furrowed as I glared down at the book in my hands. The faded letters labeled it “the Dread Doctors” and underneath the title were three peculiar looking people, with copper masks and an ominous aura.

           Suddenly I was sitting down at my desk table- the one I had bought three weeks ago with my parents. The book was the only thing on it. I tried to move my arms to pick it up, but I couldn’t move. Grunting, I glanced down. Nothing was visibly restraining me; it was as if invisible chains were strapped around me, squeezing my arms to my sides so tight that I couldn’t breathe.

           The book blew open. The pages began to flip at an alarming pace, filling the room with the sounds of them fluttering past. They seemed to go faster and faster, matching my erratic heartbeat.

           Panting, I closed my eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but the sound of paper turning.

           Heavy footsteps came from behind me- three sets, to be exact. Hands covered in thick gloves stroked the back of my head. Gasping, I opened my eyes to see that I was no longer in the safety of my bedroom. The lightning was too dim; the room was too spacious.

           The footsteps had stopped but the pages were getting louder and louder.

           Whirls and ticks joined the chaos. A red eye loomed over me. I screamed.


Gasping, I shot straight up, colliding harshly with something solid. I thrashed as my mind referenced images from my dream- if it was a dream. Could the Dread Doctors be here?

           “Y/N! Y/N, calm down!” A familiar voice yelped. Slowly, I stopped. I examined my surroundings, and everything started coming back to me. I had come over to Liam’s house to study for the big English exam we had tomorrow. I must’ve dosed off while waiting for him to use the bathroom.

           “I-I’m sorry.” I stammered, still breathing heavy. “I just had a bad dream.”

           “Yeah,” he nodded with wide eyes. “I kind of figured. Are you okay?”

           Gulping, I shook my head.

           “Do you want to talk about it?”

           I shrugged.

           Liam softly asked, “Do you want to tell me what it was about at least?”

           My voice shook as I whispered, “The Dread Doctors.”

           He sighed and slung an arm over my shoulder, cuddling me into his chest. I allowed my head to fall against his collarbone, taking refuge in his warmth. Liam’s thumb rubbed circles on my shoulder. “You want to know something?” He rested his cheek on the top of my head. “I’m scared of them too.”

           “You are?” I scrunched my nose, puzzled. Liam always seemed so sure of himself, so brave. I couldn’t imagine him having fears.

           “Of course I am.” He laughed nervously. “They’re kidnapping teenagers and mutating them. I happen to be a teenager.”

           My mood darkened at the thought of what the Dread Doctors did to Tracy and the other teens. “Don’t remind me.” I mumbled, turning my face to nuzzle his neck.

           “That was supposed to make you smile.” Liam whined. “Not turn you even further to the Dark Side. Come on, you love it when I’m a dork.”

           I pulled back with a look of suspicion. “The Dark Side? Liam, did you just make a Star Wars reference?”

           Cheeks becoming very pink very quickly, Liam muttered, “Stiles kidnapped me last weekend. He said that he was tired of being the only one in the pack who had seen it- sorry, them. There’s six movies. And they’re all very long.” He hung his head from embarrassment.

           “Bless your heart.” I attempted to soothe as I fought back a wave of giggles. “You spent the whole weekend with Stiles watching Star Wars?”

           “Yeah,” Liam gave me a lop-sided smile. “They were actually pretty cool though. I liked all the spaceships and lightsabers.” He glanced at the stack of textbooks at the end of the bed. Then he looked at me with a sheepish smile. “Do you wanna maybe watch the first one?”

I held on, waiting for a time when we could be together. When the storm would pass and the wreckage in your heart would be washed away at last. I let you go, are you coming back? You’re drifting on and I’m fading fast.
—  Letters to JJM, Seraphine
Floral & Fading - PTV

I was browsing YouTube as per usual and I thought “Hey why not browse Fearless for some new bands to listen to?” And so I did.

Just a casual scroll y’know just random brows-

(Screenshot taken after me watching it soz)








Okay let me just