mothers with their children behind them

“My mother was sixteen when the war came to St. Petersburg. She was the oldest of four children, so her parents chose to evacuate her first. She was supposed to find a job and the rest of the family would follow. She was evacuated with a factory. The workers were on one boat and the machinery was on the other. The boat with the machinery was bombed and sank to the bottom of the river. My mother ended up in a city thousands of miles away. Sometimes there was such little food that she survived on grass. But everyone who stayed behind in the city died. Her entire family was killed in one night. Growing up, she always told us about St. Petersburg. She hung paintings of the city all over our house. So we wanted to bring her back here before she died. When we arrived in the city, we went straight to visit her old house. Only the foundation was left. But when we got off at the subway stop, the strangest thing happened. Two children came running toward us. Their mother was calling after them: ‘Sonya and Misha!’ They had the same names as me and my brother. It was as if they were greeting us.”

(St. Petersburg, Russia)

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Six

-My girlfriend and I opened the store as the only cashiers, tag-teaming to perfection. She ran a lane with her superior “I Am Totally Awake And Ready To Be Here” face, while I handled the nitty gritty opening chores. Together, we easily conquered what would have alone been a devastating shift. There is nobody I would rather fall asleep at the register with.

-A man insisted on stowing his items within a set of drawers he had purchased. The fact that he had more items than he did storage space seemed an inconvenience, but I chose not to say anything, sure he would quickly notice. As I rang up my next guest five minutes later, I looked back, and wished I had said something earlier.

-A woman who was either in her teens or her forties spent her transaction making an impassioned case for the comedic value of Boss Baby. I always admire someone willing to stand for what they believe in, but I wholeheartedly admonish her choices in life that led to this point.

-Handing me a crumpled bag she decided she no longer wanted, a woman was devastated to hear me say it would be recycled. She declared this wasteful and very nearly took it back for her own purposes. I wish dearly that she had committed to this, as I am desperate to know the fate greater than recycling she feels this bag deserves.

-“I’ve never been carded at Target,” a thirty year-old woman said, as I did just that. I thought nothing of it at first, but after looking at her wizened and worried face, I became concerned that I had blown her cover entirely. What that cover was, I am unsure, but blowing it seems to have been the worst outcome this transaction could have had.

-I came across a basket full of fidget spinners in emblazoned with varying designs. The Superman spinners, the Justice League spinners, and even the plain label spinners, however, were all marked solely with the Superman emblem. I know not how he has risen the ranks to become the default design of fidget toys. That being said, I do believe this is how the plot of Injustice got rolling, so I know now to prepare for the uprising.

-When asked how he was today, a man told me that he was doing great, but he hoped to get over that soon. As a longtime mental roommate of chronic depression, I am ready and willing to get Freaky Friday with this man, giving us both just what we want.

-After her purchase, a woman declared that her cart should be shot. I have no other context, but I do trust her judgement, and I now shall carry out her sentence on my break.

-A mother coached her inexplicably green-faced children to hide their unwanted toys behind the candy shelves rather than hand them to me. I believe them to be the most notorious crime family in southwest Virginia. As they left, one of the boys offered me a high-five. I accepted the gesture, and with it, a membership in the Family. Please leave a comment below if you would like to hear my upcoming Mafia Crime Spreetales.

-I met an undercover time traveler who revealed herself as such through her “It’s Twenty Fourteen Time” sweatshirt which fell just short of subtle. I only hope she can make it back from this recon mission in time.

-Moments after I turned my lane’s light on, a woman approached my lane. She double-checked that I did not need more time to prepare for guests, then, after I said I was ready, she triple-checked, just to be sure. This level of consideration is nigh unrivaled in my experience, and I appreciated it greatly. Her purchase then rang up at barely half of what she expected, proving what I have always said about Cosmic Cashier Karma to be true and setting an example for all.

-I left my lane for twenty minutes to complete a training in the back of the store. Upon my return, I found my register covered from its proverbial head to its proverbial toes in deep purple fingerprints. I will spend the rest of my days working to uncover what I have missed, and how it went so very, very awry.

-Today, I noticed that I have many more Retales than an average shift. More things have seemed spectacular to me, more things have seemed thrilling, more things good and pure and joyful. The reason for this is simple enough: my partner in all things stationed by my side. This makes sense, as my girlfriend has long been my inspiration and the reason I am so prone to looking on the bright side. I hope to have more days like today, and as long as I have her, I know this hope will be fulfilled.

food truck au 1/??

(inspired by my earlier post)

Anyone who knew Jack Zimmermann would laugh at the idea of him even being able to remember the login for his Twitter account.

No one, not even his parents, would ever suspect that he checked his feed every single morning.

Jack didn’t care much for social media; he was too private a person to ever want the world to know where he was or what he was eating at any given moment. In fact, he only followed three accounts: his mother’s, the official Falconers’, and that of Li’l Dicky’s Southern Comforts. The latter was the only one he actually cared about.

See, Jack Zimmermann had a deep, dark secret – he was in love with the mini apple pies that were sold daily at Li’l Dicky’s. It was the only dessert he ever indulged in on a regular basis, and said indulgences were a secret he would take to his grave.

Every morning, Li’l Dicky’s posted their location for the day. Jack knew the general schedule by heart at this point, but some days the truck switched things up, due to weather or construction or event catering, and Twitter was the only way for Jack to know if he would be able to get his apple pie fix.

It didn’t hurt that Eric Bittle, the owner of Li’l Dicky’s, smiled at Jack like the sun shined out of his ass every time he came by. But really, it was the pies Jack couldn’t enough of. Mostly. Probably.

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Shout out to the eldest daughters in black and brown homes who become the default second mother. To the ones who had to be majorly responsible for children while they were still children themselves. To the ones to took on the role voluntarily and the ones who had it forced upon them. To the ones who had familial support and the ones having to shoulder the burden alone. To the ones that had to set their dreams, their educations, their jobs aside in order to be able to carry everyone else. To the ones who couldn’t take anymore and made the heartbreaking choice to flee, leaving their siblings behind. The ones who stayed. The ones who never got any recognition. The ones who don’t want children of their own because they are so exhausted from taking care of everyone else. The ones who want children since they know how to be maternal. The ones who did a better job of raising their siblings than their actual mother. 

I know it’s hard to put yourself first after years of being called selfish for even thinking about doing so, but please take care of yourselves too. 

My Soldier

Here we go! My first Alex imagine! Hope you like it as much I enjoyed writing it! Leave your comments behind, I’d appreciate it very much! (Picture doesn’t belong to me! I found it on google pictures!)

“(Y/N) my dear, can you hang up the laundry outside, please? I’m quite busy with preparing lunch.”

“Of course, Anne.”  The young woman responded to her future mother-in-law, making her way towards the bathroom. She took a hold of the laundry basket where the freshly washed laundry was neatly folded and put in, then carrying it to the backyard. The weather was beautiful, a perfect summer day and the sun was shining warmly on the sky, not even a single cloud was to be seen.  (Y/N) loved days like this. It changed her mood to a better one. And now that war had taken place, she needed a little distraction even more.

She walked through a sea of different flowers, feeling them brushing her uncovered legs and the touch left a comfortable sensation behind. When she arrived to the hanger, she placed the basket to the ground, bent down and grabbed the first piece of clothes and hung them up, attaching it with two clothes pegs. As she continued doing her task, her mind easily drifted to the young man that she loved with all her heart.

It was not a long time ago that he left off for war but for (Y/N) it felt like a whole eternity. Living without him for a special amount of time was a deep agony. She missed him being around her. His smile, his eyes, his hugs and even his terrible jokes. When Alex told her and his family that he was going to fight against the Germans, it crushed (Y/N)’s heart. She knew letting him go was a huge risk, he might never come back to her, safe and sound. And they were very close to marrying each other. (Y/N) had been so excited to finally settling down with him, living a live as a married couple. But Alex was needed, she was aware of it, every young man in the village they’d been living in was needed there to help their French brothers. And (Y/N) could do nothing against it. She knew pretty damn well that if Alex wouldn’t leave, people would talk about them behind their backs, even shaming them that their children had to fight but Alex was not.

Anne took the news for more badly than (Y/N). She fainted right after Alex made the announcement and when she woke up again, it took all of their strength to calm her down. (Y/N) couldn’t blame her for it, she raised her son after all and if (Y/N) was a mother, she would have probably reacted the same way. She promised Alex that she would stay with his family as long as she could to take care of them and support them, but he had to promise her that he would come home back to her.

“You have to.” She forced out crying, clinging onto his body. “You have to come back to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t know how to live without you.” He kissed her deeply as a promise for his return.

“I’ll see you hopefully soon.” He told her before he went out of the house.

Not a long time ago she had received his last letter. He told her that he was alright and a heavy stone fell from her heart. He described about the hard times he went through and how many times he had faced death but still was alive. “For you.” He wrote. “I’m alive for you, my love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t remember how many times she read all of his letters with tears in her eyes. Reading his own words felt like he was still there with her, whispering them into her ear. This was the only way she could calm down for a while. Plenty of times she had raised her hands up to the sky, praying to god that he would send Alex back to her. She knew Alex was strong and willing to fight. He had the heart of a lion.

She had read in the newspaper that three hundred thousand soldiers were saved and made their way home to their families. If Alex was among them, she couldn’t know. They had fortunately not received any bad message of his death. So she hoped whole-heartedly that he was in one of those trains that carried him back to her.

(Y/N) pitied the fallen soldiers. Their families were waiting for them like she did, but the only thing they would be confronted with would be an announcement that their son couldn’t make it. She respected their braveness, and she would always keep them in her prayers.

While (Y/N) was still doing her task and being deep in thoughts, a young soldier was sneaking his way toward her, paying attention to not making any sounds that would reveal his position. He held a large bouquet of her favorite flowers in his hands. Seeing her again in real after countless nights of dreaming about her made his heart jump in his chest and he was more in love with her than ever. The last steps were always the agonizing ones but he also crossed this obstacle.

(Y/N) suddenly felt a pair of hands covering her eyes, preventing her from doing her work.

“What the hell?” She exclaimed, as she saw nothing but darkness, her body stiffening immediately from the touch.  “Who in god’s name is that?”

“You can guess three times.” She heard someone whisper into her ear delicately. A wave of different emotions was overwhelming every part, every cell and every fiber of her body. Happiness, excitement, love, relief. Everything at once. She knew exactly who was right behind her.

“A-Alex?” She whimpered, tears flooding down her cheeks. The hands released her eyes and she was able to turn around. And as she looked into two familiar green eyes that she longed to see so terribly, she could finally breathe again.

“Oh my goodness!” She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Heavy sobs left her mouth and before the young man in front of him could respond, she threw herself at him, crying on his shoulder. Alex wrapped his arms around her tiny frame, pulling her towards him. Having her in arms again after all the horror he went through was an indescribable feeling. Both clung onto each other like their lives depended on the other one. Once (Y/N) back away slightly, she took his handsome face between her hands.

“You came back. You really came back. Dear god, I can’t believe it!” She peppered every centimeter of his face with affectionate kisses before she captured her lips with his. “Oh my god! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you so so much!” She hugged him again tightly.

“Love, easy!” Alex laughed. “Let me breathe.”

“I’ve been worried sick about you.” (Y/N) admitted, easing her grab on him. “You didn’t send any letters anymore and I thought I lost you. Oh my god!”

“It’s over now, darling. I’m here. I’m back and I’m not planning on leaving any time soon.” He kissed her lightly. “I kept my promise, didn’t I?” He handed her over the bouquet of flowers which created a smile on (Y/N)’s lips.

“I love you, Alex. So much.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He said. “Where is mother? I missed her terribly.”

“She’s inside, preparing lunch. Jesus, she will be out of her shoes when she sees you again.” She intertwined their fingers and dragged him into the house. “Come on, let’s go surprise her. She’ll love this one.”

When they entered the house, (Y/N) called after her second mother. “Anne? Are you still in the kitchen?”

“Yes, love! Lunch is almost ready. If you could help me laying the table that would be very lovely, my dear.”  

Alex’ eyes shone brightly as he heard the sound of his mother’s voice again. It was not only (Y/N)’s but her voice in his head that encouraged him during the battles. He indicated (Y/N) to be quiet whereas she nodded with her head.

He slowly stepped into the kitchen where his lovely mother was doing the last preparations for the meal. Anne hadn’t noticed him yet. She was quite busy with running back and forth, looking for spices for the salad.

“What smells so good in here?” He asked innocently, making his mother freeze in her position. She thought first that she misheard his voice but when she looked up to the door where the young man stood, she couldn’t believe what she saw. Her whole body began to tremble.

“Jesus Christ!” Anne exclaimed, running towards her son. “My boy, my baby!” She cried.

“Hello, mother.” Alex mumbled, hugging her and kissing her head gently.

“Oh my baby boy, you’re here! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She was looking for any bruises on his skin.

“Mum, I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

“Alex.” The older woman sighed. “I missed you so much, my son.”

“I missed you, too mother.”

(Y/N) was gazing at this mother-son moment with new tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

“You won’t leave again, will you? You’ll stay here?” Anne asked worried.

“No mum, I’ll stay here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Anne sighed in relief and led her hands to her face to wipe away all the tears that ran down her cheeks.

“Oh my, you’re surely hungry, aren’t you? Where is (Y/N)? (Y/N)?! “ She looked at her.

“Yes?” She asked.

“The table. The table is waiting for you!”

“Your wish is my command , madam!” She saluted with a laugh and with Alex she prepared the dining table where afterwards they had a very nice time together.


She felt him stir again in his sleep. This happened very often since he came back home. Every night he would fidget back and forth in his position, crying out for help because he was tormented by nightmares. (Y/N) knew that war had changed him a lot no matter how much he tried to cover it. Nothing would be the same anymore. His body twitched at every tiny little sound but he tried to pretend like it wouldn’t bother him. He tried to be the man that he was before he left, but (Y/N) knew by heart that this man was not there anymore. She was willing to help him. To help him fight against the bad memories that he made.

She supported herself on her elbows, glancing at Alex. Turning on the night lamp beside her, she noticed that his whole body was covered with sweat.

“No, don’t shoot… Please…” She heard him whimpering in his sleep. “Please, don’t shoot… no.. no..” His expression showed a hint of distress and fear. “Help… help me… please…”

“Alex?” (Y/N) shook his shoulder slightly to wake him up, to save him from this agony. “Alex, darling wake up.”

“Help…Help… please help me…” Alex kept whining over and over again.

Seeing him in a state like this, all vulnerable and terrified, tore her heart apart. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt and in pain.

“Wake up, Alex. It’s only a dream. Wake up.” She shook much harder and harsher, causing him to finally open his eyes. Alex panted heavily, looking at her with fright.

“(Y/N)?” His chest lifted and fell heavily, while he tried to regain his breath.

“It’s okay, my dear.” She brought him to an embrace. “It was only a nightmare. You’re safe, my love. You’re safe.” She ran her fingers through his hair, a gesture that would calm him down. “It’s okay, Alex. Everything is fine. You’re home. You’re safe.”

“I thought I was back there. I really thought I was going to die.” He sniffled.

“No, darling. Look at me.” She laid her hands on his cheeks. “Everything is okay, Alex. You’re home, not back there. You’re home with me, your mother and your father.”

Her words made him calm down for a little bit. His tensed body relaxed.

“You made it alive out there, my hero.” (Y/N) said.

“I’m not a hero.” Alex mumbled.

“Yes, you are. You did everything that you could to defeat the enemy Alex. You kept fighting for justice and safety. I really desire you bravery and your strength , my dear. You faced death so many times but yet you’re alive. You never gave up. You just went on and on. And I don’t know anyone who is as selfless and willing as you are. I admire you.”

She offered him a soothing smile.

“You may not have won this war, but you gave everything that you have, my love. War does not always mean winning but also losing. One side always loses. But I’m sure the Germans soon will be defeated and the deaths of the fallen ones will be revenged.”

She put kiss on his temple.

“You’re going to heal, my love. I promise. You may not forget what you went through and I don’t expect you to do so but you will be better after a time. Not today, not tomorrow and the day after. But you will heal. And until then I’m going to support you, hold you, trying to do everything you want me to.”

Alex nodded his head, feeling far more better from the words that she spoke.

“We’re going to beat every nightmare that you have. I’m always there, lying next to you and keeping you safe.”

“I love you, (Y/N). I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you too and I can’t wait to marry you.” She responded. In a few weeks, they would be bonded forever and both of them were looking forward to it. With (Y/N) on his side, Alex knew that he was complete. She was his life safer. His light that guided him through darkness.

They laid down again, talking about their wedding, future children and everything that their heart desired until they fell to a deep slumber. With (Y/N) in his arms, Alex was finally at peace.


Gang Leaders AU

Peter, see, he’s the boss. Looks quiet enough. Some thought he looked like a kid. They were wrong. He wears gloves. Hides the twin lions tattooed on his palms. Everything goes though him, see? All the blood, all of their crimes and death sentences, it’s all on those hands. His heart is stone. And they listen to him. He don’t yell, no one’s ever heard him. But people listen when he speaks. They kill for him.

And Susan, oh, she’s a looker, ain’t she. Looks like she’d be a sweet thing. Dangerous though, like poison. She has a way of getting what she wants. And no one ever gets in her way. She’s got lions on her mouth of all places. Behind her lips. Say it’s like magic, lets her kisses get you drunk and spilling secrets. But that’s probably just her.

Then they’re the dark one. Edmund. No one really knows what he looks like. You probably would’ve recognize him until he put a bullet though your skull at 20 paces. A shadow, he is. Mothers tell their children stories about him to get them to behave. Don’t go out at night, or he’ll get you. Don’t feel like a story when your neighbor says his brother was killed by a man with a lion over his heart.

Lucy, now she’s the tiny one. That’s where it fools ‘em, ain’t it. They laugh, then their voice cuts out because they’re on the floor, one swing of the crowbar all it takes. She’s the best muscle they’ve got, and that’s the facts. She’s got a lion at the hollow of her throat– right at the spot where her knife might land. Then she would wipe it clean, smile, and go to church to pray for your soul.

The Pevensie’s rule these streets, kid. Don’t cross them.

Made of skin and bones

(not my gifs!)

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Language, A/B/O dynamics

Summary: Due to the premature death of the King of your clan, his son, the alpha James Barnes, must assume his destiny and lead his people. As the tradition commands, he must choose some worthy omegas to make their his wives and with which he will ensure the subsistence of your clan. All the omega women are obliged to appear before their king, including you. Luckily for you, you would never be chosen… right?

Tags: at the end

1.Wolves   2.Chess   3.Holy water  4.Hold me

5. Market day

It’s a sunny day and the streets of your city are exactly as you love them: full of life. People chatting animatedly next to stands full of fruit from which their grangers boast, children running through the crowd and mothers behind them yelling to the kids to behave. Inhaling deeply you are pleasantly surprised by the sweet smell of your favorite buns fresh from the oven. Decided, that will be your next stop.

Just  before you mislead the two guards James especially chose to follow you around all day, of course.

Looking at them from the corner of your eye you see how bored they are, one of them can’t stop yawning while the other seems to want to nail himself with something sharp just to feel something. You smile to yourself, that’s part of your plan. You’ve been wandering around the market for hours, looking around, buying here and there but not really doing anything interesting, just making the two poor soldiers dizzy and waiting for they to get their guard down, so you can “get lost” and visit Nat once for all.

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Up to Fate

Request: reader meets Bill at a premier for It, He flirts with her, they hit off, she invites him back her place and fluffy sex ensues. Hope you enjoy! 💙

When the chaos inevitably becomes too much, you begin your search for a quieter place to rest before the film starts. You find refuge in a bar tucked into the corner of the building and order a double gin and tonic, two limes on the side. You weren’t exactly sure how you got yourself into this predicament but it definitely had something to do with your brother needing a plus-one to the Hollywood film premier of a movie he had little to no actual involvement in. He had already found your seats but the idea of sitting in a crowded theatre for more than fifteen minutes without anything actually occurring, made your skin crawl.

You’re about to order another cocktail when someone takes the seat next to you, gesturing to the bartender. “A stoli on the rocks and… whatever the lady wants.” You glance to the stranger sitting next to you, wide-eyed. He’s extremely tall and devastatingly handsome.   

Handle this properly, you remind yourself. “While the gesture is a appreciated, I don’t really need you to buy my next drink,”

“A thank you usually suffices in this instance.” He chuckles, sliding your drink over to you. Your cheeks burn hot, and you know that he’s right so you thank him for the gesture.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something else when someone in the distance calls out to him. You watch as he swills back the last of his vodka, slaps a hand on the counter and turns to you. “What would you say if I told you that you were the most beautiful woman here?” 

You take a decent swig of your gin and tonic, and set the almost empty glass down on the wooden counter in front of you. “I’d call you a bloody liar; and I’d tell you that you’re stepping on my dress.”

His gaze travels south, and he let’s an expletive fall from his mouth when he realizes he has indeed been standing on your dress. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, grinning. “Guess it’s a good thing it’s a rental, huh?”

The taller man scratches at the back of his head, smiling brightly at you. “It has been the greatest pleasure to be able to share a quick drink with you this evening.”

“What’s your name?” You shout out after him when you realize you never actually got it in the first place.
He turns back on his heel, beaming. “It’s Bill!” 

It’s Bill. 

And that’s all it takes; it’s funny how someone can waltz that easily into your life. You had woken up that morning completely oblivious to what was about to happen and here you are now, halfway through a film about a terrifying demon clown and all you can think of is Bill.   

It’s only at the close of the film that your brother turns to you and says, “I’d like to introduce you to someone.” You’re about to protest; you’ve got plenty of other things to be doing… but alas, your evening is wide open. You watch him stand up and wave to someone in the distance. “Come on!” He whispers excitedly.

You notice the shoes first; taught, shiny leather and as your eyes travel further and finally rest on his face, you can’t help but smile like an idiot. “We meet again.” 

Bill outstretches his hand for you to shake. “Fate has an interesting way of doing that, huh?”

“You guys know each other?” The comfortable silence is punctuated by your brother’s understandable confusion.

“Not really, no. We shared a drink at the bar before the premier.” Your brother nods slowly, the pieces falling together. “The film was incredible by the way,” you offer up to Bill. “Truly. Your acting was impeccable.”

A soft smile breaks across his face and he bows towards you. “Thank you very much. This uh… this film meant a lot for me to do and I almost can’t believe it’s out already. I kind of have to keep pinching myself.”

“Should we head to bar then? Celebrate a little? A few of the crew members are heading to a new spot downtown.” Your brothers tone is hopeful but you don’t think you can bare another few hours in these heels.

“I’m actually going to head to my car but you should definitely go out and have some fun.” You smile, poking him teasingly in the ribs. He’s about to protest, but decides against it and simply nods instead.

“I will walk you out to your car,” Bill offers and you fight to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. You watch as he throws a friendly arm around your brother’s shoulder. “Was great seeing you tonight, man. Thanks for showing up to support.”

Goosebumps rise in small patterns on your arms when you enter out into the balmy September evening and it takes only seconds before Bill’s offering up his navy suit jacket to you, which you accept graciously. “You came alone tonight?” You ask, trying to sound as in interested as possible.

Bill shakes his head. “No, I came with my two brothers and their dates. But they left pretty soon after the movie ended.”

“Would you like to come back to mine? I owe you a drink.” You’re at your car; It’s a long shot and probably somewhat inappropriate but you have this particular feeling about Bill that you couldn’t knock even if you tried.
“I’d love that.” He grins.

The car ride is uneventful, only broken by periods of small conversation. He’s from Sweden, is the third youngest in a family of eight children, and loves his mother dearly. At one point you can actually feel his gaze boring a hole into the side of your face and you smile shyly. “You’re just incredibly attractive.” He offers up when you confront him about it. You’re suddenly grateful that it’s dark in the car, the heat in your neck and cheeks is almost too intense.

“This is it,” You murmur once you’ve got the key in the lock and the door open. “Make yourself at home.” You kick off your heels and place them inside the coat closet of your apartment. Bill follows suit behind you, leaving his shoes by the mat at the front door. “What can I make you to drink?” You ask.

Bill shrugs his shoulders. “Anything, really. I’m not too particular with alcohol.”
You hang his suit jacket against the back of your kitchen chair and set to work making him a pisco sour. You’re trying in vain to remember the exact recipe when Bill simply says, “Come here.”

You do as you’re told and join him at the window in your living room. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you without hesitation, your arms circle his waist and this is actually happening. He pulls away, kisses just beneath your ear and simply says, “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you sitting at the bar tonight.”

“Do it again,” you whisper breathlessly. Bill grins at this and kisses you hard again, it’s so intense you’re worried for a second that you’ll pass out. Bill pulls away again though this time it’s to turn you around so that you’re facing the window.

“Lets get this beautiful thing off of you.” His long fingers brush the soft skin of your back as he slowly unzips the dress, pausing every now and then to press his lips to the skin there. You let the pleasant shivers wrack your body. He reaches around to your front to squeeze your breast and you involuntarily moan into the touch. You’re pretty sure you feel him smile into your shoulder, which turns you on even more. He unclasps your bra with near expert skill and slowly pulls your panties down your legs. “So fucking beautiful,” He groans into your neck and you feel weak. He turns you back around again so that you’re facing him, completely stark naked. He kneels down to the ground, slowly kissing down your body as he goes. Your heart is hammering so hard in your chest you’re almost wondering if he can hear it. He stops just above your vagina, placing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. “Place your leg over my shoulder, baby.” He says softly and again, you do as you’re told. He parts you with ease and begins to lap slowly at your tight, wet core.

“Oh my god,” you moan, throwing your head back a little too hard against the glass window pane. Your fingers find purchase in his hair and you fight the urge to grind yourself against his face. His ministrations are slow and deliberate at first and you’re in danger of coming too soon. You remember that he’s also doing all of this in a three-piece suit and you have to tell yourself to breathe. He sucks your clit into his mouth and you bring a hand to yours to keep from screaming out. It’s a constant pattern; deliberate laps against your folds and then your clit in his mouth. It’s only when his teeth scrape over the sensitive bundle of nerves that you actually do scream out into the air before you.

“You going to come for me baby?” he asks, and all you can do is nod soundlessly. He pulls away to insert two fingers into you and a few more slow, hard licks and you’re coming in overpowering waves against his face. His rides it out with you and places a kiss to your vagina when he’s finished. It’s only when he straightens up that you notice the tent form hard and tight against his trousers. Wordlessly, you take his hand and lead him to your bedroom down the hall.   

You’re both quiet as you set to work undressing him, taking time to marvel at the soft, alabaster skin beneath his shirt. He’s watching you intently, a small smile evident on his face. He pulls down his boxers and moves to the side of your bed, glancing at the drawer next to it. “They’re in there.” You nod and watch, amused as he reaches in, grabs a condom, rips open the foil packaging with his teeth and rolls it on. “I’d like you to ride me.” The confession is so quiet you almost don’t hear it. You swallow hard and watch as he positions himself on your bed, half sitting up, his back rests against your wooden headboard. “Come here, baby.”

You stumble over to him, legs still weak from your previous orgasm. You place both hands on top of his shoulders, one leg on either side of his and sink yourself onto his fully erect penis. “Holy fuck,” Bill gasps, dropping his head to your collarbone. You begin to bounce rhythmically on top of him, letting your head fall back as he begins to hit that one particular spot inside of you. He plants his hands firmly on top of your hips. “So fucking wet,” He groans loudly in pleasure.

“Just for you,” you whisper against the shell of his ear; this alone causes him to involuntarily buck his hips against yours and you cry out in pleasure.

“I need more,” Bill moans, and physically lifts you off of him. You know almost immediately that he wants to do it doggy style so you position yourself on all fours and wait for him to start. He positions himself behind you, placing chaste kisses down the length of your spine. “Here we go,” He murmurs, pushing himself inside of you. His thrusts are slow at first and then they begin to pick up tempo and it’s all you can do to keep from screaming out into thin air. You arch your back for him, and he taps your bottom lightly. “Not going to last much longer like this, y/n.” A few more finite thrusts into you and he’s tumbling over the edge, groaning your name into the damp skin of your back. “Oh my fucking god,” He gasps, pulling out and collapsing into the space next to you. He kisses the back of your head and pulls you into his embrace.

You take a deep breath and let it out, revelling in his touch. “Just so this is clear… I am not in the habit of sleeping with famous Swedish men the first night I meet them.”

Bill presses a soft kiss to your neck. “Just so you and I are clear… you were, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman there tonight.”

The Impossible Duet - Request

Requested by anon:  Can you do a Sherlock imagine where the reader plays the viola.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 1,294

Warnings: None.

A/N: I got so excited while writing this, omg.


Originally posted by violincameos

A mellifluous noise invaded the whole Baker Street, cheering the passer-by’s day as the sound of it got to their ears. It was coming out from that coarse flat at 221B, and even when the neighbours were used to Sherlock’s afternoon playing, they got surprised by the different vibe that melody had.

It was obvious it wasn’t Sherlock playing.

To anyone with a trained ear and basic knowledge on musical instruments, it would’ve been obvious that the source of the sound wasn’t coming from Sherlock’s violin, but rather from a viola that belonged to the mysterious woman behind the yellow curtains.

Mysterious until then, at least. The whole street gathered under the open window as the silhouette of a delicate being waltzed around gracefully as it played. If she hadn’t been so nubivagant in that moment, she would’ve noticed the cheers, and the applause as well as the chit-chat the old ladies held about her.

Keep reading

The Leather Loafers

Words: 11.2k
Genre: Fluff & Humour, Cinderella!Au
Summary: Yes. You went to the ball. Yes. You ran into the prince. Yes. The shoe fits. BUT-! You aren’t that Cinderella bitch. THEY’VE GOT THE WRONG PERSON!
Warnings: Swearing…that’s really it. lol

Midnight strikes the clock.

A child is curled up at the fireplace to stay warm. The cinders crackle, dusting along her cheeks but the girl pays no mind, staring straight into the flickering flames. A few of the orphans behind her snicker beneath their hands. “Look at the new kid! She’s so dirty! We should call her Cin-”

A chunk of coal smacks the boy right in the forehead and he falls back on his butt, outright stunned. The mischievous smiles of all the other orphans fall as she holds a steaming fire iron like a sword.

“You want to fight?! Fight me like a real person instead of laughing behind my back! Huzzah!”

The children scream in terror, arms in the air as they scatter and run. A bunch of them end up toppling over each other in a heap and you laugh, swinging the device that’s used to poke the fire. The mother of the orphanage comes over in hysterics, dragging you away. “Let go of me!”

“Y/N!” She screeches, “This is unacceptable!”

The small, meager dwelling is in absolute chaos.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How does it reek of racism or albeism? Its a genuine question sorry. In my knowledge even show rhaegar didn't leave elia because she was of colour or because she had fragile health. (No salt) {Book rhaegar from beyond grave to show : Shame, shame,shame}

Hello anon!

As for the books, throughout the narrative in POVs of characters that knew Rhaegar, we are drawn towards Rhaegar’s relationship and the potential he had with other ladies. For instance, Cersei thinks, multiple times, about what could have come of her life and Rhaegar’s if Aerys had agreed to their marriage, and in her mind, Elia was not as pretty as she was and she was incapable of delivering what Cersei has delivered (three healthy children.) In her mind, also, that’s why Rhaegar “had to” run away with Lyanna; because Elia was not pretty enough to satisfy him, not “strong” enough to bear him one more child. Cersei also compares her own ethnic features to Elia’s (her blond hair, her green eyes etc) and implies that hers are superior. We are treated, many times, to the lovely sight of Westerosi characters being racist against Dornishmen (including Aerys himself who commented that his own granddaughter “smelled Dornish” because she had her mother’s dark hair and skin.) Another character who made such a comparison was Barristan, but this time, he compared Elia to her peer, able-bodied Ashara who possibly had lighter skin and hair than Elia (the Daynes are descended from the first men, not the Rhoynar) and canonically had lighter eyes, and again, finds Ashara superior. 

As for the show, things are a bit different because show-only viewers are led to believe that Rhaegar did not act that way to fulfill the prophecy at all, there was no complex motive behind his actions, only that he fell in love with Lyanna Stark. What happens usually when you fall in love with a woman who isn’t your wife while you’re married is that you either give it up and remain loyal to your wife, cheat, or end your relationship with your wife. Your children, however, remain your children; it doesn’t matter if you’re no longer/were never in love with their mother, they’re your blood, you conceived them, they’re *your kids*. 

What show Rhaegar did was a bit different from a divorce: An divorce is concept that means that you were once married, but you choose to end that marriage because it is no longer satisfactory to either or both parties. An annulment, however, means that you *erase* a marriage; you make it as if that marriage never existed, because, from the beginning, it was built on a sham/on unstable grounds. The commonly known valid grounds for annulment are: 1. Lack of consummation 2. Lack of consent of one or two of the parties 3. Because the wife can’t deliver an heir, which could threaten the extinction of the line. Elia’s and Rhaegar’s marriage was consummated, consensual, and Elia had delivered an heir and a spare (and even if she hadn’t, the line wouldn’t go extinct because Viserys was live and well.) 

Not only that, but after annulling his marriage with Elia on no valid grounds (resulting in an insult towards a good woman and her great house) he chose to “restart” by naming his new son Aegon; a gesture that means he is actively erasing the “original” Aegon too, and by extension, Rhaenys. That he wants to restart his line of heirs who will inherit the seven kingdoms with a new woman. The only reason I can conceive for that is if he found his “original” children inferior to Jon (and any more children he was going to have with Lyanna) and why would he find them inferior? He is their father, and their mother is a princess of her own right. The only difference is that Aegon and Rhaenys didn’t fit into the perfect Aryan image of Targaryens in Westeros; strong, pale, silver-haired, with two perfect white and able-bodied parents; an image that Lyanna Stark was able to deliver, while Elia Martell was not. 

So, even if we assume that Rhaegar set Elia aside solely because he wasn’t in love with her, the only possible reason for him to set his own children by her aside too is if he found them unworthy to inherit the seven kingdoms because of who their mother is; a disabled woman of color. And that doesn’t only say something about HBO’s Rhaegar, it also says a lot about the people who wrote him that this act was romanticized and celebrated; solely because it puts their favorite bland-ass white boy on top of the line of succession; a position he does not deserve; regardless of what this caused to Rhaegar’s two children of color. 

Elia had asked to see the baby. It was really curious to her that no one seemed to want to talk about a newborn babe, let even mention it. 

Cersei and Jaime, she could understand, they were children who had just lost their own mother – but even Elia’s mother herself seemed to be… ill at ease when she asked about him. Everyone was whispering, but never talking.

Tyrion, Cersei said he was named, her face wincing in disgust and anger. He’s horrible, you know. He is a monster, and he killed our mother, you really don’t want to see him.

Yet Elia had insisted, and Cersei had decided to make a show of it. He will die in a few days anyway. He does not have long left.

Even Oberyn had looked shaken in the end ; not by the babe’s looks, but by the way Cersei hurted him. Is someone talking to these children ? Did no one even comfort this girl about her dead mother, for her to take it out on a baby

Then, Elia stayed behind. 

While Jaime pulled Cersei away from the squalling babe, she stayed behind. She could hear them arguing on the way out. Even Oberyn had not yet noticed that she did not follow them – it would not be long. No one would allow her alone in the nursery. 

She let the babe grab her fingers with his little hands. Sure, he is small, and his head is a little big, but he is a baby, just a baby… She smiled, then. He would be strong, she was sure of it. It’s not good telling him he’ll die…

“Do you know what the maesters said about me, little one ?” she whispered, close to the wide, mismatched eyes that were staring at her. He had stopped crying. “I was very small when I was born. I think I was smaller than you even. They all said I wouldn’t live… My mother had lost two sons already, she was scared, but she did not believe them. And I did not die. I’m ill, and a little frail, but I’m alive. I think you too will live, Tyrion Lannister. Maybe it will be hard, but it’s better than dying.”

Elia, are you coming ? Leave him.

“I hope we will meet again,” she added before kissing the tiny fingers that held on hers and running after the others.

Jaal: Ryder, I noticed something the last time we were in, eugh, Kadara Port.

Ryder: Oh? What was it?

Jaal: The Milky Way has odd practices because I seem to have seen a shop? For children?

Ryder: A shop..? Oh, you mean an orphanage, oh no we don’t sell kids, they’re to house the kids whose parents have died.

Jaal: Do not the other mothers take care of them then?

Ryder: As far as I know, Milky Way aliens just have one set usually.

Jaal: Ah, well, that makes sense and do not be alarmed, but I have purchased– :stops talking as children pour out of his rofjinn onto the floor and appear from behind crates and down from the wiring and up through hatches on the floor:

Ryder: …………….

Sahuna, in the distance: YAAASSS GRANDKIDSSSSSS

This is what Slytherin gets as a legacy.

It gets friendships forged on tartan seats shattered by a snake and green trim

It gets sent to the dungeons to lie with the troll and shake in their beds

It gets hatred and bitterness and Draco fucking Malfoy as a mouthpiece.

Cunning becomes cruel,

Ambition becomes greed,

Pure of heart becomes pure of blood and hate is born under sickly green lights

And in seven years, after tripping jinxes, and hissed curses, and never walking to class alone, and watching the war come to their doors sooner,

(Slytherin house didn’t have to belive Harry Potter. Slytherin house already knew)

of watching parents shrink and shake when they realise their glorious leader has returned a madman

(they are not bitter children anymore, those who escaped azkaban, they have children now, they are parents, protection is their watchword, not revolution)

a school turns on them and sends them to a dungeon, a school that has hated them for years, says,

we have never given you space in these hallowed halls, you have had to carve with fire and fury that are not your weapons everything you have in this place

but here, turn on you mothers, your fathers, your brothers, you sisters. Here is your family, standing behind a madman, and you see their shaking hands and tired eyes, and all we see is monsters soaked in blood who want for war.

These are our demons, our nightmares come to life, but they are your family, your home, your saftey.

Here, turn on them.

And when you say no, it will haunt you. Till your dying day, it will be that Green did not fight, that snakes cannot be trusted, that they will never do the right thing. You will carry the legacy of not slaughtering those you loved for those who had hated you and wonder, what did we do wrong?

Here is Slytherin house’s legacy. Loyalty, to those who have earned it, to those who stood between them and curses from madwomen and slurs thrown in the street. 

Slytherin house has always been loyal. But only to their own.

professor mcgonagall headcanons and appreciation

I missed my favourite professors birthday (which I’m very proud to say is the same day as mine) while I was on my break, so I’m making up for it now.

Master list

Originally posted by my-harry-potter-generation

Her and professor Sprout have weekly tea and natter sessions, sometimes Dumbledore will join them and bring cake.

She has amassed a fair few godson and daughters over the years, enough for her own army.

Anytime she has faced heartache in her life, she has thrown herself into her work, determined to make life better for other people.

Pulling Remus into her office a few days after every full moon, just to make sure he’s alright, filling him full of tea and biscuits

Tears of pride filling her eyes when Sirius tells her he left his family, and was joining the order

She danced with every marauder at James and Lily’s wedding

Refusing to believe that this mischievous, loyal boy had handed over his brother in arms, godson and dear friend over to Voldemort

Always having tea and biscuits for any student or member of staff that needed a chat

She fought tooth and nail against Dumbledore giving Harry to the Dursley’s

She would bring harry extra nutritious food, in animagus form when he was younger, so he wouldn’t become malnourished.

Aunt Petunia once caught her dropping a paper bag full of strawberries into little Harry’s lap, when he supposed to be pulling weeds in the garden.

The cat glared at Petunia before leaping onto the fence, staying there until she went back inside.

Keeping an eye on harry in her animagus form over every summer

A lump growing in her throat when she tells Harry that she can’t sign his hogsmead permission slip

Whenever Umbridge tried to pet her in her animagus form, she would lay at least one good scratch on her

Asking what happened the next day at breakfast, like butter wouldn’t melt.

Putting secret bets on Gryffindor to win every quiditch match with Fred and George, before pretending to tell them off for it.

Being one of the first people to set foot in Fred and Georges shop, giving them the her seal of approval.

Taking four stunning spells to the chest, and just flats out refusing to die

Dancing with Ron on his wedding day, for old times Sake

She keeps a picture of every fallen student, in an old shortbread tin

Dancing with Harry on his wedding day, while Ginny danced with Arthur

She may not of had any biological children of her own, but that’s not say she wasn’t a mother to every Hogwarts student that passed through those doors, while she was there.


Have a great day and be safe

p.s. when McGonagall pulled Harry behind her and started duelling Snape , is when I burst into tears in the pictures when I first saw deathly hallows ll, it still chokes me up every time.


- covers up the truth about his sister hosting a party at their house while their parents were out for a wedding dinner so that she would not get into trouble

- when her friends leave behind bottles of alcohol after the party, he keeps them quickly so that their parents wouldn’t find out about the alcohol or the party

- stands up for his sister and asks for his mother to trust his younger sister when she is overprotective and suspicious of her children

- talks to his younger sister about religion and points out that it is more important to live like you believe in Allah than to say you believe in Allah; and in doing so, alleviates her worry about liking a guy who does not believe in Allah 

- wants his sister to be happy because if she’s sad, he will be sad too 

- does not tell his younger sister to resent their mother for being overprotective; he teaches his younger sister that their mother was merely born in a ‘different country in a completely different time’, resulting in differences in opinions but she ultimately only wants the best for her children

- supports his sister when she reveals she is crushing on his close friend 

- only wants his sister to be with a good guy  

- makes his sister smile

Dear everyone victim blaming this girl who exposed Xander Berkeley.

Those of you saying she’s faked the DM’s and posting videos about how it’s done on a web browser. 

1. Her first exposing screen captures were shots from her cellphone. You can’t fake those with editing website code, and you’d have to have hours on your hands to edit the screen shots.
2. She literally uploaded videos of her logging into her account and scrolling up through the DM’s. Even if she used some website trickery to fake the DM’s, as soon as she exited out of the DM’s the code would change and she’d have to enter it all over again, but she clearly does not do that in the video.

Those of you saying the picture he drew of her isn’t of her but of some actress/TV character.
1. You are wrong!
2. I don’t want to link the picture but there is a selfie this girl took on her Twitter from March (which fits with the dates on her phone) where she looks exactly the same as the picture he drew.
3. It looks like he drew it in the same sketchbook he’s drawn other’s in.

Here’s a collage of the images put together and I’ve obscured her face for her protection but you can rest assured that’s absolutely her in the drawing.

And the sketchbook with which he drew Steven Ogg looks remarkably similar too. You can’t fake art style and there are numerous drawings on his IG account that are without question the same style as that drawing of this girl.

This drawing is from a different sketchbook but it clearly shows his style (he’s made his account private so here’s a cap)

Those of you who are saying “but she’s nineteen” or “she lead him on”. Or worse, capping her old tweets to paint her as a “slut”.

1. So fucking what?
2. It doesn’t matter who she is, when HE is a 61 year old married man with two children (daughters, I believe) who was pressuring a girl 40 some years younger than him into taking nude photos of herself for his pleasure.
3. He was using classic grooming techniques. This is often how it starts with peodphiles. They test the waters with slightly older girls, and see how well their “tastes” are accepted by editing them for reveal in the way he did may have done in saying he liked girls 15+, when the case could very well be he likes them below that age too, but 15 is just more “acceptable”.
4. This guy literally said he likes 15 year old girls. It doesn’t matter how old the girl who exposed him is.

He confirmed he has a taste for children. This man is not worthy of your sympathies. Even if by some wild stretch of the imagination he’s not sexually into teenage girls, then he is a piece of shit who is going behind the back of his wife and mother of his children while away from her to solicit nude images, and potentially more than that, from a girl who is 40 YEARS YOUNGER THAN HIM!

This is not acceptable. I know we all like to give people the benefit of the doubt, an it’s always easier to blame the young girl who you think is an “attention seeker” rather than admit the famous guy doing it is a douchebag pervert.

This guy is an “art hoe” who probably read Lolita and thought it was the hottest shit ever. He probably thinks it’s okay to look at nude images of teenage girls as long as it’s “artistic”.

Well it’s not fucking’ okay. None of this is okay. This is not a fabricated witch hunt. This guy fucked up and it should be exposed. At very least he needs to have the authorities checking his computer because I would be very unsurprised if he doesn’t have indecent images stored somewhere with this kind of attitude about young girls. Probably “artsy” and black and white ones.

Too many old white dudes get away with this shit, simply because they’re “famous” in some way or a seemingly an otherwise upstanding member of the community. This shouldn’t be swept under the carpet or excused.

All you people who are attempting to discredit this girl, calling her a liar even after the proof, are literally the reason why girls don’t report being raped and go the rest of their life haunted by the abuse they endured through fear of not being believed.

Yes, not everyone ever is always telling the truth, but you’d have to reach really hard to deny the proof this girl has put forward. If you choose not to believe it, it says as much about you as it does about him.

Artist & Thief (an excerpt from my SCBWI keynote for those who weren't there)

I used to think that my ideal job was to write. To make up stories. To lie for a living. Now that I’m in it, though, now that I’m comfortable in my novelist skin, it doesn’t feel that way at all. I observe for a living. I steal for a living. I stylize for a living. I find things in the real world, I take them for my own, and then I hammer them into a story-shaped thing. Writer? I am a thief and an artist.

One of my loves is mythology and folklore, and one of the earliest folkloric traditions I got into was Celtic fairy lore. Probably I can blame my mother for this. We were Navy brats and moved about all over, and one of the ways she would distract us children on long coast-to-coast moving trips was pointing out the window and saying LOOK! THERE! DID YOU SEE THAT FAIRY? BEHIND THAT TREE? The reasonable response would have been: No, mother, we did not, because we are traveling at 65 miles per hour and that tree is a thing of our now-distant past. But my mother was very persuasive, so instead, we always craned our necks and tried to see the fairies in between the trees or dancing on the lakes or hiding in the fog in the hills, etcetera, etcetera.

Anyway, one of the traditions around fairies is that they live in grand underground worlds, ruled over by the powerful fairy queen. Stories talk about how humans descend to this underground world and are dazzled by the beauty and wonder they see. The most beautiful citizens, the most intricate of architecture, the most delicious of fruits hanging from enchanted trees. But they also talk about how the longer you are underground — the more canny you are — the more you begin to recognize your surroundings. Because the fairy queen, for all her power, can’t create anything from scratch. She can only observe beauty and wonder in the real world, then take it for herself and assemble it in different ways. She is a thief. An artistic thief, but a thief nonetheless.

Increasingly, I’ve realized that I am very rarely creating something entirely from scratch. Instead, I am a thief as well, stealing from everything I see, everything I do, everyone I meet. And then I’m an artist — choosing carefully how to stitch them back together.

For instance, I shall set the scene. A few years ago, I began bringing a sketchbook with me as I toured. I wanted to get better at sketching people in real time, and the only way to get better in just about anything is practice.

Here’s the annoying thing about people who are alive, though, something you, too, may have noticed: they move. They move even more if they get wise to the notion that you’re sketching them. So by this point, I had begun to choose my victims rather carefully. People reading books. People staring at signs. People dozing on their hands. People studying their lunches with distrust. In this case, I was on an airplane, traveling from a tour stop to a tour stop. Normally I didn’t sketch on planes, because all you can see are the backs of people’s heads, or your seatmate, who can definitely spot that you’re sketching them, and will definitely move around, even if he or she is distrustful of his or her lunch.

Also normally I write on airplanes. I very much enjoy writing on planes, but only as long as I am in the window seat with only one flank to protect. This is because of a flight when I was trapped in a middle seat and after I wrote a joke into my novel, the man beside me laughed. I asked him: why did you DO that? And he said SORRY, it was funny. And I told him: YOU HAVE RUINED MY LIFE. From then on, I only wrote in window seats.

On this particular day, I was in an aisle seat, so there would be no writing. The seat in the middle was empty. In my coveted window seat was a young man whom I hated for being in the coveted window seat. Once I got over my resentment that he had stolen my throne, however, I realized that he was an ideal victim for sketching, as he was sitting with his ball cap pulled over his face. He was so still that it was possible he was dead. PERFECT. Dead people rarely move! I would check him for a pulse after I was done.

So I sketched him with delight, and then, a half hour later, I heard a voice.  “Is that me?” He had this real soft Southern accent — the sort I’d grown up with back in the Shenandoah Valley — and it was audible because he’d removed his hat from his face and because he was alive. I showed him the drawing. He was pleased. I told him that I couldn’t write because I wasn’t in the window seat, and it was a long plane ride, so he might as well tell me his life story. It wasn’t long enough for his entire life story, but he did tell me how his hand. I had noticed it while I was sketching: it was oddly shaped, and I’d drawn it oddly shaped. When he noticed that I noticed, he told me the tale of how he’d broken it. It turned out that, although he assured me he was a peaceful creature, he’d broken it on someone’s face. He’d been in a minor altercation defending his sister’s honor. As he was telling me this story — which may or may not have been true — I was listening to him with my mind on record. I was getting ready to steal him.

I used to steal the surface of a thing. I would have stolen that story of the barfight, for instance, and all the details around it, wholecloth. I would have recorded it as truthfully as I could imagine and I would’ve been proud of myself for accurately transcribing the human experience. But that’s bad thievery. Shallow thievery. Copying, not artistry.

Now I know that when I’m stealing someone, it’s not their details I need. It’s their soul. I’ve learned to solve for x. To simplify to the essence. It’s not about the punch. It’s about why he threw that punch. No, it’s about why he threw that punch then and never any other time. It’s about how he’s telling me the story. How he includes his sister’s honor in this story of a single, crippling punch, because her honor adds a weight that the mere velocity of the swing does not. He can’t own that punch — that single punch — even to me, a stranger on a plane, without including the backstory of its purpose. It’s about how he wants me to know that he’s not bragging about a casual barroom brawl, this hand — this broken hand — he broke his hand for a reason.

Here’s the thing: he could’ve been lying to me. His story could be completely fabricated, and then, if I stole that story, I’d be telling a lie of a lie. A copy of a copy, each version a bit less like reality. That would be bad stealing on my part.

But here is solving for x, simplifying for the truth, stealing the essence. Here was the truth, sitting beside me, a confession in the knit of his eyebrows and that soft Southern accent. Here was a boy who had lost his temper once, much to his shame, and here was a boy who had had to look at that moment every day since it had happened. Everything else was details. Just noise. But THAT was the soul: and that’s what I stole.

That boy became Adam Parrish from the Raven Cycle.  

A boy who made a mistake and has to live with it every day. A boy who carries physical evidence of a moment’s anger.

Writer? I am a thief and an artist.

What it means to be Queen //Harry Hook x OC// Part One

Originally posted by imultifandomstuff

Originally posted by sitting-in-wonderland

Harry Hook finds himself at Auradon Prep. As soon as he lays eyes on Clara, daughter of the White Queen and princess of Wonderland, he decides he’s going to break her perfect image

As Clara sat before him, a perfect image of what you’d expect of the White Queen’s daughter, he found her demeanor unnerving.  Even after nearly eight years of friendship Ben never quite got use to Clara’s poised behavior.  

He remembers that until her met Clara, he had never met or even seen someone from Wonderland, or ‘Underland’. Back then tensions had been high between Wonderland and the rest of Auradon, even more between his father and Clara’s mother. 

Her mother had been one of the only royal against the Isle of the Lost when the idea if it was first proposed. She felt is was cruel and inhumane to just leave them on the Isle by themselves, things only got worse when she heard of how they planned to feed the inhabitants of the Isle; with garbage.  Tensions only grew when the White Queen heard her sister had, had a son. She wanted for the child to be brought to Wonderland to be raised as he was innocent of his mother’s crimes. She felt the same way when it came to the other children on the Isle but his father, King Adam hadn’t allowed it. 

He remembers the day Clara came to Auradon with other Wonderlandian children. 

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Covert Affair (Request)

Taeyong x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k 

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Suggested child neglect and miscarriage 

A/N: I’ve never had to put a warning before for a scenario.. It isn’t too prominent, tbh it’s more hinted than anything, but I just put them as warnings just incase.. So please read with caution if those are sensitive topics! But this was requested by  t h e  Taeyong stan and lord, it has stretched me out of my comfort zone ngl 

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