normal shot

Picconail - Little Egg

Author’s Note:-
This Normal People one-shot is turning into a pretty long thing XD But to be fair, the last three chapters were basically the same lol. Anyway… this will probably be the last instalment because it was just meant to be one chapter, but I did think of writing this recently so here it is. I wasn’t going to, but when I decided to do a little gift fic for @ellipticalgalaxy1 I figured she would like this more than anything else ^_^ So, this one’s dedicated to her. I hope you like it!
(but that doesn’t mean other people can’t reblog and leave comments, obviously XD lol!)

xxxxx

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To Spot a Friend

Request: Hello, dear Author. Can You do the following request. Hope it will interest You. Reader is a famous singer, whose voice gets is a voice of a angel, but she hides her face behind a mask. Newt running after niffler is in concert hall and heard her. He sees her singing and fell in love with voice. But she had an abusive boyfriend, who is heating her… and here can be any variation of action…

Word Count: 5,703

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous but tagging @caseoffics @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother

WARNING: Allusions to an Abusive Relationship


The silver lights cast the room in a sultry glow that drapes over the red plush seats and diamond-and-pearl covered guests like a silken shawl. Their conversations, soft under the intimidation of the glow, drift languidly toward the high ceiling of the theater and mingle together as they wander through the room.

A soft jazz tune weaves through the crowd, no more than a lazy cat no one pays much attention to as it sneaks over their heels and between the legs of their black slacks. The song wafts from the open orchestra pit, a moat between the seats and the massive wooden stage that juts out, looming in front of the crowd, a stage with such a history of grandeur that few agree to step onto it.

Some women shift in their seats in an attempt to peer around the velvet curtains that guard the back of the stage, separating audience and artist for now. They murmur to one another, wondering if the brave artist is back there, hidden in the folds of the shadows, listening to the conversations swirling around. Their chairs squeak as they move, trying to earn the first glimpse of the acclaimed performer with the voice of a cherubim.

They never see her, though, never notice you as you lean against the cool stone wall and try to understand the bits of muffled conversation that amble past you. Your eyes are shut, arms wrapped around your stomach, while you take slow breaths in through your nose, let them out through your mouth. The terror you’d known your first time on stage still haunts you, a ghost you can never rid yourself of no matter the amount of glowing reviews in newspapers or number of sold out concert halls. Terror is a constant in your life, one of the only constants you’ve known for the past four years.

Two hands wrap around your waist, covering your own hands, a wave of thick cologne that ruins your slow breathing and causes you to cough accompanying them.

Theo’s hot breath, smelling of cigarettes and whiskey, scrapes across the side of your face. “You know you’re not supposed to hang out side stage before the show, darling.”

“I needed a break.” You murmur as his stubble scratches your cheek and his chin digs into your shoulder.

“Your wardrobe team tore backstage apart looking for you. They want to get you ready.” He tugs you against his chest.

“They have plenty of time.”

“They need to start soon or you won’t look radiant tonight.”

The insult doesn’t upset you, not anymore. “What does it matter how I look if they’re here for my voice?”

His fingertips dig lightly into your stomach. “No one wants to listen to an ugly person sing. You need to shine, darling. We’ve been over this.”

The bile in your stomach simmers and you feel sick, but you nod at his words. “I’ll meet with wardrobe soon.”

He presses a rough kiss against your exposed neck. “Don’t be long. They need to get to work or we’re paying them for nothing.”

“I know, love.” You whisper as his arms unwrap from around you with one final squeeze.

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Headcanon: Otabek, like Victor, has a Thing for seeing his boyfriend in his clothes, and ever since Barcelona he has been quietly buying things with animal prints and cats on them and wearing them around just so that they’ll be soft and well-worn and full of his scent if he ever gets around to telling Yura how he feels. Said confession takes another two Grands Prix, impatient nudging from his fellow skaters, and a truly staggering amount of clear-in-hindsight flirting, but when they do start dating Yuri goes for those clothes first thing, unabashedly pulling them straight from Otabek’s closet into his suitcase (he doesn’t wear a single one of the shirts he brought that first visit). Otabek would congratulate himself on his foresight except that Yuri steals and wears the rest of Otabek’s clothes as well. Anything goes. Team Kazakhstan sweats, Otabek’s leather jacket, the suspenders from his last juniors free skate (“I thought we agreed those were a mistake,” Otabek says. “Nothing is a mistake on me,” Yuri replies, snapping a strap against his chest, and Otabek has to agree), pants from before Otabek’s growth spurt (so comically short on Yuri’s newly lengthened legs that they could pass for capris but so tight and form-fitting on Yuri’s ass that Beka can barely fucking breathe). Yuri would build a nest out of Beka’s clothes and sleep in it if he didn’t have the real thing to cuddle into every night; he does, sometimes, when they’re separated by competitions or obligations or training. He never apologizes for strewing the bed with half the contents of their wardrobes. Beka’s usually kissing him too hard to care.

Yuri ends up taller and thinner than Otabek, so Otabek usually doesn’t borrow things from Yuri. But he finds out that the clothes thing goes both ways when he’s picking up their bedroom and finds himself holding one of Yura’s leopard-print tops that’s always loose on him, sliding off his collarbones, exposing a pale shoulder. He rubs the silky fabric and considers. Something cotton or polyester would probably be better, have a little more give in its fabric. Or he could try one of the big, fluffy hoodies that Yuri is addicted to, curling up in them on rainy days. But he feels the sensual caress of the material and wonders…

Yuri comes home early to find Otabek in his shirt, stretched tight across his chest, shoulder muscles flexing as he pulls it down his body, a strip of tan skin flashing between the hem and the waistband of his pants. Beka freezes. 

“Um,” he says. Yuri drops his skate gear.

“I promise I didn’t tear it,” Otabek says, holding up his hands. The hemline inches back up his abdomen. “It’s just that there was just enough room to get it on and now I can’t get my arms to go back through and-”

“Shut up,” Yuri breathes and lunges

The shirt does not manage to survive. The pants do, but only just.

good things about episode 64:

- magnus learning woodcarving because you do it with weapons
- Professor Kristoff: “attack the wood”
- the first thing magnus carves is a DUCK
- merle learning interpretive jazz dancing
- him subsequently getting so good at it that he gets to be a professor
- just merle’s whole stepchart description
- “PAN- DEMONIUM” CLINT!!!! that’s such an amazing name for it!!!!
- taako “stealing” quotes and reattributing them to himself as his contribution to the “light of creation”
- taako about after every quote: “that used to be [insert fantasy celebrity], but now it’s taako”
- “taako time: a book of inspirational aphorisms for the independent soul”
- awwww poor magnus… being embarrassed of his duck:((( 
- “it’s not perfect, but it’s the best i can do” MAGNUUUUUUS:(
- PROFESSOR merle putting everything into his performance and making everyone horny
- the audience applauding hornily
-
davenport singing an 18 minute song
- lucretia submitting a painting of their original home (/the IPRE headquarters)
- taako’s presentation: dropping it off and just saying “you’re welcome” 
- lup and barry
- LUP AND BARRY
- L U P  A N D  B A R R Y
- them playing a duet together and being in love and being super cute
- griffin’s description of  love and lup and barry’s love and his whole “speech” is just really beautiful
- “lup grew furiously in arcane power” YEEES THAT’S MY GIRL!!!!
- “they take each others hand high in the air […]
and barry and lup laugh and they don’t let each others hands go
and then they stop laughing and they don’t let each others hands go
and they keep not letting go “ AWWWW  
- yes justin, you’re right, we’re all very sorry that we didn’t get to hear griffin’s romance scene with himself that would’ve been so hilarious omg
- clint losing his shit because of “that’d be the audio equivalent of wrapping your arms around yourself to make it look like you’re making out with someone” 
- lup: “ can i blow up the mountain? i mean YEAH” 
- magnus meeting the voidfish for the first time 
- MAGNUS RUSHES IN(to the cave)
- the baby voidfish being all cute and wanting more ducks from magnus
- “SEND MORE DUCKS”
- “hi i’m taako from tv-”  (hasn’t been on tv yet)  “- and you’re wanged. you’re all pretty much in a bad way pretty badly. and there’s good news and bad news: the bad news i’ve covered pretty exhaustively with the fuckedness that you are. the good news is that you have a shot, […] and normally we don’t enlist people but here’s something i know about you all: you currently have the most inspirational shit mankind, and by mankind i mean me, has ever written in your heads held simultaneously. you motherfuckers believe in yourselves probably more than any group that’s ever been assembled in all of human history. correct? “
(i had to include this whole thing bc if this is not the most inspirational shit idk what is) 
- the baby voidfish getting lucretia “too close to the edge in seaworld-” wet
- lucretia illustrates and tries to understand the voidfish while magnus is playing ducks with the baby
- MAGNUS MANAGING TO EVACUATE AND SAVE THE BABY VOIDFISH 
- magnus visiting it and bringing it new carvings even after it’s put in a tank in lucretia’s room

PSA: If you have had ANY contact with a bat or a bat has been in your house...

…if you have had ANY unprotected physical contact with a bat: You need to go get rabies shots or catch the bat (if you can safely do so) so it can be tested for rabies.

In the US bats are the most likely animal to give you rabies. A rabid bat will mindlessly bite anything it touches and their teeth are so small that many people will not notice the bites. Unless you have had a clear view of the bat the entire time and are 100000% sure it didn’t even nick you with its teeth then you should get the shots.

…if there is a bat in your house: If you did not see the bat enter and have not been observing it the entire time it was in your house you may have to go get rabies shots or catch the bat (again, only if you can do so without exposing yourself to further risk) so it can be tested.

This is especially true if you wake up and a bat is in your room (it could have bitten you while you were asleep) or if the bat has been in a room with a child or incapacitated adult (who may not be able to tell you they were bitten or notice it).

There was a tragic case of a boy who woke up with a bat in his room, shooed it out without touching it, and thought nothing of it. Later he died of rabies because the bat had bitten him in his sleep without him knowing.

RABIES IS INCURABLE ONCE YOU SHOW SYMPTOMS. If there is ever ANY question whether you may have been exposed to a rabid animal you need to go get the rabies vaccine IMMEDIATELY before the virus is able to spread inside your body.

The rabies vaccine is no longer painful stomach shots, it is now a series of normal shots in the arm over the course of several days. There is no reason to put this off if there is ANY chance you could have been exposed. Rabies is not something to mess around with. Once you show symptoms you are pretty much guaranteed an awful death within days.

andrew taking care of neil. wrappin him in a towel. washin his hair. givin him kisses. helping him get dressed. checkin his booboos. suckin his dick.

anonymous asked:

So, I keep thinking about how amajiki is a sucker for kisses, especially on the neck. He low key wants them all the time, but Is WAY too shy for any pda. Could you write a scenario where amajiki and his S/o sneak away from their friends for a while to just "innocently" kiss but it gets a litttttle heated 💗💜 thank you

OooOoOo I absolutely LOVE this boy. He’s as awkward and anti-social as me :’))

As usual, female reader since you didn’t state otherwise. I am very okay with writing other genders and types of readers, but if you don’t specify then this is my default :)

Secret Kisses//Amajiki Tamaki

Why did this always have to happen to him at the worst moments?

Tamaki thought this bitterly to himself, not taking his eyes off of his wonderful partner as she chatted up a storm with Mirio about their last lesson. It was so nice how she got along well with everyone and it warmed his heart to see her in action. Unfortunately for him, however, this also warmed something else….

Maybe it was because of how she licked her lips from talking so much or perhaps just due to the fact that Tamaki found her so irresistible but, for whatever reason, he really wanted to kiss her. He’d love nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and cling to her as he placed loving kisses all over her. His reserved and shy nature was a curse. He didn’t even have the guts to take hold of her hand in times like these.

Once more he saw her tongue dart across those perfect lips and he’d had enough. It was too much.

He cleared his throat, gaining the attention of Mirio and his beloved (Y/N). He gulped. “(Y/N), c-can I talk to you about that thing from earlier?” He asked, using his eyes to silently beg the words that he couldn’t say.

It was as if she read his thoughts because, without any questioning, she instantly agreed. She bid a farewell to Mirio, following after her boyfriend Tamaki. He led her to an old supply room, away from all the peering eyes and judging glances.

Once they were out of earshot, she smirked. “So, whats up?”

His face flushed to a dark red. How could he phrase this without sounding like a complete tool? They’d been together for months and still he didn’t know hwo to initiate their kisses.

“Well I, uh, just was wondering, y’know,” he stuttered, fumbling to find the right words. “Could we maybe kiss?” He blurted out, almost tripping over his words from how fast he had spoke.

Her face softened even though a ghost of a smile was there. She knew how much it took for him to say stuff like this so, no matter how amusing it seemed, she refused to laugh at him. 

With one quick step, she had wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled the slightly taller boy down for a kiss. He was quick to recover from his blissful shock and allowed his hands to rest in their usual spot on either side of her hips. This. This was perfect. It was moments like these, where it was just him and her, all alone with no worries or responsibilities, that he truly appreciated.

Tamaki let his tongue glide across her perfect cherry lips, so warm and smooth to the touch. He felt her lips leave his and was about to protest when he suddenly felt those lips travelling down to his favourite place. As her lips finally reached his neck, he threw his head back. 

“(Y/N),” he moaned softly, feeling himself become even hotter in the enclosed space. She knew that was where he was most sensitive and boy, did she know how to exploit that. 

He felt a smile tug at his lips. If that was how they were playing, then so be it. After all, it wasn’t like she was the only one who knew of sensitive spots…

There are so many amazing things going on in this menu, you guys.

“American Plate”
*throws some shit on a plate* “This is what Americans eat, right?”
I don’t know what I love more, the single piece of broccoli (well, this is an accurate depiction of the amount of vegetables Americans eat, I guess) or the THREE tortilla chips for eating your “avocado dip.” 

“Of course those two make the perfect decisive end of your meal!”
Awww, okay, that’s cute. Though…it’s “light and shadow vanilla and chocolate,” so I guess Kuroko is the chocolate, not the vanilla?? I’m all confused now.

(I SAVED THE BEST FOR LAST)

“Super Long Range Toast”
“This super long shot can reach its target from the far end of the court (plate). It’s so long, your heartbreak is inevitable!?”

Hips - part 1 (A Jongin Two-Shot)

This wasn’t quite what you had envisioned for your life. The laundry basket was heavy and balanced just on your hip and you gripped the tiny hand of your 6 year old daughter tightly with your other hand. You had only been living here for a week and a half, and the one thing you hadn’t quite taken into account was managing the four flights of stairs with a clean load of laundry fresh from the first floor dryers.

The place was cheap enough for you to afford the two bedroom unit in a safe part of town and still be able to afford certain things like food and electricity on your income. Nari’s dance lessons came out of the support you received from your ex. You swore to yourself that no matter how tough things got, you would let her stay in the class she loved so much.

“Nari, stop jumping up the stairs, just walk normally.” You could feel your palm getting sweaty and you wanted to switch sides, but the girl was selective in her hearing. If you didn’t use your ‘mom voice’, she usually just did what she wanted.

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I AM AT WORK but started thinking about what it would be like for Alex to go to a club now and remember who she was when she was Party Girl Alex.


It’s really weird.

She didn’t think it would be weird, hadn’t seen it coming, but it’s really weird.

She’d spent what feels like years of her life in clubs like this one, moving her body to the thudding beats and pulsing lights. Throwing back shots and throwing her arms in the air and throwing her arms around someone, desperate, for just a couple of hours, to stop feeling.

To stop feeling so much – for Kara, for her mom, for her fucking dead dad, for her academics, for her future, for approval.

To stop feeling so little – for the cute guy in her lab who keeps asking her out, for the cute guy buying her drinks tonight, for the cute guy she’ll find later to dance on her and take her back to his place, for the sex they’ll invariably have that will invariably leave her cold and wanting and lonely.

She’d spent years of her life wearing slinky shirts and short skirts and skintight pants and fuck-me heels, with her face plastered in makeup and her hair plastered with gel and spray, her skin coated in perfume – all carefully chosen to look good under lights like these, to hold up under humidity like this, under hours of ceaseless movement like this.

Just like all of the girls around her.

She leans against the bar and looks at all the girls, in their slinky tops and short skirts and skintight pants and tiny shorts and fuck-me heels, with their made-up faces and sprayed hair and perfumed skin, moving their bodies to the pulsing beats and thudding lights, throwing their arms around some guy, any guy, desperate to find someone to take them home, to pull them close, to buy them a drink and call them sexy.

All these girls, some of them are just like she used to be. Some of them are probably happy, here to dance and blow off steam with their friends on a rare night off. Others are like she used to be, desperate and sad and lonely. Some are probably here for the foreplay with their boyfriends. And some may be pining for their best friends, yearning – like she yearned at every party in high school – to get drunk enough to be able to dance with her best friend, to put her arms around her best friend, to lean in and kiss her sloppily on the cheek and tell her that she loves her.

They all just seem so young, really. And she’d felt ancient when she was Party Girl Alex, but this must have been what she looked like. Young and desperate and alone – and a little gay. She looks around at all of them, and wonders if she was this transparent. If someone in her position now, sober and thoughtful, could have seen right through her.

She looks at them and she sees them and she sees her past, and it’s really weird.

Because, yes, she’s wearing a slinky top and a tiny skirt and fuck-me heels tonight, and she’s got make-up on and her hair is styled, but she’s drinking club soda with lime.

And she isn’t wearing perfume because some aliens have great senses of smell and it would be really embarrassing if she were stalking one and they got tipped off by her smell.

And she’s turning down free drinks right and left because she’s on the job and, yes, she loves her whiskey, but she’d never drink on the job.

And she isn’t dancing because she doesn’t have to yet, and she doesn’t want to, because she doesn’t want to put her arms around anyone and let them dance on her and touch her body. She will, if she has to, but she’s not looking forward to it.

And she isn’t trying to find someone to take her home, to pull her close, to fuck her and leave her wanting. Because she has what is possibly the most perfect and beautiful woman waiting for her at home, keeping her bed warm. Because when she’s done with this bullshit assignment she’ll get to go home, and shower the smell of this club off of herself, and climb into bed and curl up next to the softest, warmest, sweetest, most badass creature there ever was, and, if she’s lucky, she’ll get to see some sleepy dimples and hear a whispered “hey babe,” and feel the softest and gentlest hands reach for her and pull her in and shamelessly use her as a pillow.

So yeah, it’s weird to be here.

It’s weird to be here and be happy. Not to be happy to be in this club, because she isn’t (because, hello, woman in her bed) – but to be happy in her life. To have Kara. To have J’onn. To have a much better relationship with her mother than at any time since Kara landed on their porch. To have friends she can rely on.

To have Maggie. To be in love. To be loved the way Maggie loves her.

She’s never gone clubbing with Maggie. Her Party Girl phase was all about isolation and self-loathing and probably internalized homophobia, and, yeah, she was a hot dancer, and yeah it made her feel powerful to be able to pick up any guy she wanted, and yeah, there was something freeing about using her body like that, but there isn’t really anything she wants from that life in this new one she has.

She doesn’t need to dance anymore to feel pride in her body. She’s proud of what her body can do every day in the gym, or on the sparring floor, or in battle. She’s proud when she can best Kara (with the emitters on, sure, but whatever the girl is an alien), and when she can beat James in a push-up contest, and when she routinely beats J’onn in his human form. She’s proud of what her body can do when she’s around Maggie; not just in bed, but when she knows that she can, without a doubt, protect Maggie from anyone who would want to cause her harm (not that Maggie needs protecting, but still, it’s nice to know), or can lift her up and carry her all the way home from the bar on her back – or from the kitchen to the bed on her front while attached at the lips – or lift her from the waist to reach something on the top shelf at the grocery store.

And she doesn’t need to dance anymore to entice someone to touch her, to pull her close, to fuck her. Because Maggie does that on the regular, and seems to do it even more when Alex is at her shlubbiest – glasses and sweats and coffee on her breath and science on her mind honestly seems to do it the most for her girlfriend.

And she doesn’t need to dance to stop feeling so much, because Maggie told her that the time for pushing her feelings down is over, and it’s terrifying but also kind of wonderful to let them bubble up and to let herself feel them.

And she doesn’t need the shots to get her to a point where she’s willing to be fucked, or to get on her knees for someone, because she’s learned a lot of things about herself in the last year.

She thinks, as she nurses another club soda masquerading as a gin and tonic, that if she’d asked herself five years ago if she’d be more likely to (A) love girls, or (B) love sober sex, that she’d probably have leaned towards A. Sex was just so…blah. Option B was unimaginable. She wanted to want it, she wanted to want them, but she never did. So she drank and she danced and she tried and she tried and she tried and she failed.

And, looking back, she wishes she could just give herself a hug (and point her head in the direction of the hot girls gyrating all around her) and tell her to wait for it, because sex was going to become the most amazing thing ever.

So no, she and Maggie haven’t gone clubbing. Because she’s a trained operative and it’s hard to keep her eyes on all the entrances and exits, and there are too many people so she can’t track threats well. And it’s too loud for her comm or to communicate with a team, and the lights make surveillance hard, and all of her senses are overwhelmed in a way that makes her feel powerless.

And being in the middle of that crush of bodies would make her claustrophobic now – so far from an exit – and she’s not armed in the way she’d like to be because she’s wearing so fucking little, so she’s on edge.

So no, she and Maggie haven’t gone clubbing. They like bars, they like being able to see and hear each other. They like beer and whiskey, not so much tequila shots and vodka spritzes. And there are a couple of bars where they can dance, which is mostly about foreplay and less about the music or the movements, but she loves it and it’s about as close to dancing as Maggie’s willing to get.

So this is her first time in a club since J’onn plucked her out of that jail cell.

And it’s weird.

It’s like looking at her past self in the mirror. It’s weird because she’s wearing the exact same clothes she used to (because she’s a terrible pack rat and is one of those people that still keeps clothes from high school) and she’s standing in the exact same shoes in a club she’d actually liked back in the day, but she couldn’t feel more different.

And then she sees her target, and it gets weirder because she gets a refill of her drink and moves in, moving her body to the beat, making her way towards where he is on the floor, holding her drink up over her head, letting her steps sway and verve just a little. And it gets weirder when she lets herself lock eyes with him and her body remembers what to do to keep his eyes on her. And it gets really weird when he moves into her and puts his hands on her waist. She dances a song with him, finishing it by turning to face him and dropping low to the floor, bringing herself back up as slowly as she can. And it’s weird to make eye contact with him during that long moment, running her hands up his body before tangling them in his hair.

And it’s not weird to slip the tracking device into his pocket and or to rub the tracking gel from her fingers into his hair – it’s just weird to do it dressed like this, here. To do so dressed as her own past life. To do something so completely Present-Day-Dr-Dr-Special-Agent-Danvers when she’s been pretending all night to be Academic-Probation-Fuck-It-All-Party-Girl-Alex.

She sends him a wink over her shoulder and she disappears into the crowd and slips out the back door and is on her bike and blocks away before he can realize she’s not coming back.

And she goes home, and she showers the smell of the club off her skin and washes the make-up off her face and cleans the spray from her hair, and then she pads over to her bed where the most beautiful woman in the world is sleeping. And she pulls back the covers and she slides in, and god, it’s warm in there, and small hands reach for her immediately, and a soft voice makes a happy little sound, and she’s pulled down and a warm (naked!) body shamelessly pulls itself entirely on top of her, and she looks down a sees a sleepy dimple, and a soft pair of lips try their sleepy best to kiss her chest.

And this part, this last part, this isn’t weird. Being in bed with a woman, being in love with a woman, being happy with a woman, being a lesbian, it isn’t weird at all.

But clubbing, yeah. That was weird.

8

Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!