pastelgothiclesbian  asked:

Okay, so can you make a fic where dan is tied town and Phil has a vibrating wand on his cock and dan screaming and writhing around and he finally cums. BUT Phil does not let up and keeps the vibrator and the head of god cock until he is crying from the overstimulation.


Okay so gUYS I went to the potato bowl it was fuckin lit ++ dirty anons are back on @subbydan-answers for all you sinners ++ I’m doing OCs on my writing tumblr @somanydestiel

Tags: Overstim, Bondage, Edging, dom!Phil, top!Phil, Degradation, Daddy Kink, very rough rough rough play, cumplay if you squint really hard, Aftercare

- Looking back, Dan really shouldn’t have teased Phil and then gone off to touch himself without permission, because he’s now tied tightly to his bed, Phil staring at him with that smirk and his hands behind his back. “Do you know why I’m punishing you, slut?” He asks as he crosses the room and climbs onto the bed above Dan.

- “Yes, Daddy-” Dan’s voice is cut off when Phil slaps him across the face- not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to sting.

- “Naughty whores like you don’t get Daddies.”

- “Yessir, sorry sir,” Dan amends, eyes shut and trying not to focus on his hard on. Knowing Phil, he won’t be cumming for a while yet. Phil kisses Dan softly on the lips before moving to his neck, biting and sucking dark marks into the skin there. It makes Dan wiggle and his eyes glaze over, because his neck has always been pretty sensitive.

- Phil sits back on his haunches, admiring the mess he’s already made of Dan, and then reveals what’s behind his back- a hitachi wand. Just the sight of it makes Dan’s cock twitch because he loves it, loves how good it feels, how quickly it can make him cum. Tonight is going to be hard. “I’m going to edge you once for every hour your slutty little ass teased me today.”

-Nine. Phil is going to edge him nine times. Dan bites his lip when Phil turns on the wand, hips lifting off the bed just at the sound. He whines in the back of his throat when it does touch him, vibrating up and down his length, Phil moving it slowly with a dangerous look on his face. “Feel good?” Dan makes an affirmative humming sound, looking at Phil pleadingly. Already, he’s wrecked, needy, and close. Riling Phil up takes a toll on him too. Right as Dan’s about to come, the ask for permission on the tip of his tongue, Phil pulls the wand away, running it up and down Dan’s ribs instead, brushing it over his nipples once or twice as Dan calms down slightly. “One. Beg me to touch you again, bitch.”

- “Sir, please, please touch me. Please punish me an’ make me yours sir. ‘M sorry I was bad, just please touch me.” For a long moment, Phil keeps mindlessly moving the wand, dragging it over Dan’s inner thighs. Then, out of nowhere, it’s pressed against Dan’s taint and balls, just enough pressure that Dan squirms. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moves it up to the sensitive head of Dan’s cock, holding it there.

- “You’ve had worse,” Phil says with mild disinterest when Dan whimpers. “Be lucky I’m even bothering to touch a disgusting slut like you.” This time, Dan very nearly comes, but it’s taken away from him as the first spurt starts to dribble out of his cock. While Dan ‘cools down,’ if you can even call it that, Phil collects the cum with his fingers and presses them to Dan’s lips to clean. “Don’t get my toy dirty,” he chastises. Just like that, it’s back, and Dan nearly sobs with desperation. The amount of time is even shorter this time, and continues on in much the same pattern until Dan’s been edged eight times.

- Setting down the wand, Phil crawls on top of Dan and balances with his jean-covered thigh pressed between Dan’s legs, one hand balancing himself to the left of Dan’s head, and his right around Dan’s throat, pressing down so that Dan’s breathing gets shallow and his cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. “Rut against my thigh like the pathetic piece of shit you are,” he growls. That’s all Dan needed, and his hips rapidly drive his little cock forward for the painful friction and it feels so fucking good to be beneath Phil like this, surrounded by his scent, tears in the corners of his eyes. Precum smears onto the denim and Dan is about to come, a moan caught in his throat when Phil jumps off of him. No more weight against Dan’s body, no more hand on his throat, no more leg for him to get off on.

- “Sir, I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please let me cum, please! Please, sir, I’ll do anything, please! I’m sorry I won’t be bad ever again I’ll do anything sir please!”

- Instead of answering, he picks back up the vibrator and presses it to the head of Dan’s cock again. “You can cum,” Phil says casually, but what makes Dan hit his high is the way Phil reaches into his pants to start stroking himself, eyes never leaving Dan’s shaking form. But once Dan cums, Phil doesn’t move the vibrator, despite Dan’s protests and attempts to shift his hips away from it. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Phil mocks. “Thought the fucking whore wanted to cum.”

- “I did, I did, thank you so much Master but ‘s too much, stop, too much, no more,” Dan pleads, barely intelligible.

- Phil, the little shit, purposely misinterprets. “What’s that? You want me to make you cum over and over and then fuck you? Beg me.” No, that’s not what Dan wants, but he’s so far into subspace that he immediately starts begging, even though Phil’s already made up his mind. “You have permission to cum as much as you like.” He undresses then reaches for the lube, coats his fingers, and pushes two in at once. Dan’s used to it, and Phil knows how much Dan loves the burn of the sudden stretch. He seeks out Dan’s prostate quickly, and attacks it with his fingers, managing to get Dan to cum three more times (The last two dry) before he’s ready to fuck him, the wand still mercilessly against the head of Dan’s cock. He moves it when he pushes into Dan, and instead uses the hand to choke Dan again.

-”Sir, sir, Daddy, no, please, Daddy, Daddy, Phil too much, no!” Dan all but screams, sobbing, but Phil doesn’t- if Dan really wanted him to stop, he’d safeword. The fifth time Dan cums, he passes out. Phil. Doesn’t. Stop. He keeps fucking, and as he gets close, he takes Dan’s soft cock in his hand and jerks him off in time with it until Dan hits one last high, without even getting hard, moaning in his sleep and arching his back. Phil pulls out and looks at Dan, almost amazed. The boy’s neck is lined with hickeys and fingerprints, his cock and hole red and abused, come dripping out of him and drying on his chest. 

-While Dan’s still out, Phil starts a bath, brings in the wand and some water, and gently wipes the cum off of Dan with a damp warm washcloth. “Dan, sweetheart,” he whispers, shaking Dan’s shoulder. “Wake up, baby. Let Daddy take care of you.” Dan’s eyes blink open, unfocused, and his swollen lips are slightly parted. “Deep breath for me, Dan. Look at me.” It takes a minute, but Dan eventually does. “There you are. You did such a good job for me, baby. My beautiful little boy, doing so well for his Daddy.”

- “’M not pathetic?” Dan asks blearily.

- “Of course not, I love you so much, Dan. Can I pick you up and carry you to the bath?” Dan nods and winds his arms around Phil’s neck, allowing himself to be bridal carried to the bathroom. “What bath bomb, baby?” Dan looks over the basket of them and points to a dark midnight one with gold sparkles in it, marketed as being a lavender scent. Of course he picks the darkest one in there- even as out of it as he is, Dan has standards. Phil sets Dan on the toilet seat and drops in the bomb, waiting for it to fizzle all the way before lifting Dan up again and setting him in the hot water. While Dan relaxes, Phil wipes down the wand, brushes his teeth, and puts on his glasses in lieu of his contacts, occasionally glancing at Dan in the mirror to make sure he’s alright.

- As soon as he’s done, Phil whispers “lean forward” and climbs into the bath behind Dan, so that the younger is between his legs and leaning back against his chest. “Open your mouth.” Dan does, and Phil uncaps the water bottle to hold it to Dan’s lips, slowly getting him to drink the whole bottle. When it’s done and the bath is getting cold, Phil unplugs the drain and gets the warm water running again while he washes Dan’s hair. As he moves on to wash Dan’s body, he accidentally brushes Dan’s sensitive cock, earning the softest mewl of protest Phil’s ever heard, which makes his heart absolutely melt. “Don’t worry, we’re all done. After the bath, let’s go to bed, beautiful.”

- He carefully dries Dan off with a fluffy towel, and carries him back to Phil’s room. Dan’s room is where they scene, and then they sleep in Phil’s clean bed. “I know, I’ll be right back,” Phil says as he puts Dan down, since the boy made a soft sound of dissent. He pulls on a pair of boxers and grabs some clothes for Dan. “Arms up.” The green uni hoodie comes over Dan’s head. “Up for me real quick, baby.” Dan stands up long enough for a pair of boxers and soft pajama pants to be pulled onto him. “There you go. I love you so much, Dan. You did such a good job for me and I’m so proud of you,” Phil assures, kneeling and putting one hand on Dan’s face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. “My good little boy.”

- Dan throws his arms around Phil’s neck and cries, while Phil just holds him until it’s out of his system. “My good boy, Dan. You’re so amazing, I love you, you’re my perfect baby.” At that point, Dan pulls away and lets Phil kiss his forehead, then lies back on the bed with a slight shiver. Phil pulls the duvet back and gets both of them under it, then throws an arm over Dan’s waist, holding him close while they fall asleep.

This is 1.7k and thus a fic


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The Space-Time Continuum in BBC’s Sherlock Part II: Reflection and Reproduction

So, @tjlcisthenewsexy made some great comments on the original The Space-Time Continnum in BBC’s Sherlock meta and I started to reply, but then I had a big breakthrough and I feel it needs its own post.

The amount of parallels and direct homages to previous episodes in Series Four are more than numerous at this point. There are so many that its almost like they are re-doing entire episodes. Well, they are. The reason and method of which was confounding me for awhile, but I figured out the reason with my original Space-Time meta, and the method I just discovered this morning.

Here is a basic timeline of episodes in BBC’s Sherlock

Now, accounting for what we learned in The Space-Time Continuum Part I meta, here is some additional information:

The glass in TAB serves as a reflection or mirror between Series three and Series Four, which is why the Series MIRROR each other, as in literally mirror. 

EDIT TO ADD: @tjlcisthenewsexy pointed out the awesome phrasing that Molly gives us in HLV during Sherlock’s MP fall after being shot. She wonders if he should go forwards or backwards. This moment could easily be considered a second zero null vector because it is at this point Sherlock decides to start going backwards-towards TRF. Didn’t it seem odd how quickly he forgave Mary and how quickly The Watson’s marriage was back on track? That’s because he started rewinding the state of their relationship to the beginning of that episode!!!

(Interesting Side Note about Peppers Ghost, the parlor trick used in TAB. (Taken from Wikipedia)

The basic trick involves a stage that is specially arranged into two rooms, one that people can see into or the stage as a whole, and a second that is hidden to the side, the “blue room”. A plate of glass (or Plexiglas or plastic film) is placed somewhere in the main room at an angle that reflects the view of the blue room towards the audience. Generally this is arranged with the blue room to one side of the stage, and the plate on the stage rotated around its vertical axis at 45 degrees.[2] Care must be taken to make the glass as invisible as possible, normally hiding the lower edge in patterning on the floor and ensuring lights do not reflect off it.

When the lights are bright in the main room and dark in the blue room, the reflected image cannot be seen. When the lighting in the blue room is increased, often with the main room lights dimming to make the effect more pronounced, the reflection becomes visible and the objects within the blue room seem to appear in thin air. A common variation uses two blue rooms, one behind the glass and one to the side, which can be switched visible or invisible by alternating the lighting. (x)

This would explain Blue light hell @skulls-and-tea!! Every time we see a blue light, what we are witnessing is a reflection of something else from the series!)

So, the three episodes of each series literally reflect each other like this:

So the episode breakdown would look like this:

Do you see how the series are literal reflections of each other? There is of course still parallels to each of the episodes outside of this flow chart (like illusions to Sumatra in TEH and TST), but that can be accounted for by the fact that time isn’t actually linear. While these series reflect eachother as a basic method of understanding, the space of each episode still exists all in one time, so there will still be homages to “other” space-times.

The reflection of the two series explains why The Six thatchers is so similar to His Last Vow, with the guns and the slo-mo gunshot and Mary’s secret assassin storyline and would help a lot of us EMPers who are so attached to HLV being the beginning of EMP realize why we thought this so vehemently after TST. TLD and TSoT are connected by their emotional focus and their progression of John and Sherlock’s relationship. They are also linked by the only two JohnLock hugs in existence. TEH and TFP are very similar in the countdown/bomb motifs, bond-esque baddie plots, A focus on Mycroft and Sherlock’s relationship, and the inclusion of The Holmes parents. 

Now, if you notice, Series Three and Four also has A LOT of parallels to Series Two, but they don’t work as a mirror! Series 3 & 4 are not a reflection of Series 2, but a reproduction of it! If Sherlock is working is way through how to defeat Moriarty at point zero, then he will need to work through all the steps (Absolute Past) that led him to that point- (i.e Series 1 and more specifically, Series 2). So the entirety of Series 3 & 4 is a retelling of Series 2, folded in on itself. Why? Because TIME IS NOT LINEAR! For the visual learners (that’s me) this explanation would look something like this:

Its a circle, folded in on itself. Its literally the space-time continuum come to life!! If we want to break it down episode by episode I made table for that! (I’m really getting a lot of use out of Word today)

This is just a short list off the top of my head, so Im sure there is more- feel free to add on! Like John being kidnapped ASiB, TEH, and TFP!  

As I stated before, there will definitely be parallels within every episode to every other episode because time has folded and twisted in on itself in Sherlock’s mind. Its all existing at once. So the parallels in ASiB to TST or in TRF to TFP, are purposeful and a reminder that time is not linear. 

I hope these charts helped explain the theory a little more!

Tagging some people that I think might enjoy it based on their comments on the first part!

@ebaeschnbliah @isitandwonder @longsnowsmoon5 @loveismyrevolution 


The voice of Lynda Healy was well-known to thousands of Washington radio listeners. Every morning, her pleasant tone transmitted through the airwaves and delivered the morning forecast for Northwest Ski Reports. On January 31, 1974, the sound of Lynda’s alarm woke her up at 5:30 AM and she rode her bicycle to work. That morning, Lynda Ann Healy recorded her final broadcast. After work, the remainder of Healy’s day was spent according to routine. She attended classes, went out for beer with friends, then went down to her basement bedroom (pictured above) and spoke to her boyfriend before turning in for the night.

The next morning, Lynda’s 5:30 alarm went off. Unlike the previous morning, Lynda did not shut off her alarm. She didn’t go to work that morning, either. In fact, Lynda’s bicycle was still in the basement. These were abnormal findings, but her roommates began to worry when they found the side door unlocked. Worry soon gave away to panic once Lynda’s parents arrived to have dinner with their daughter, who was still nowhere to be found.

Lynda Ann Healy was reported as missing and detectives from the Homocide Unit came to investigate. The following evidence was collected by the Seattle Police:

One white sheet (bloodstained—type A positive)
One yellow pillow (bloodstained—type A positive)
One short cream-colored nightgown with brown and blue flowered trim (bloodstained—type A positive)
Area of bloodstain on white sheet shows distinct ‘ribbed’ pattern at edges

Detective Bob Keppel led an 8-day search on Taylor Mountain in March, 1975. Various human remains were recovered and later identified as belonging to Brenda Ball, Kathy Parks, Susan Rancourt and finally, Lynda Healy. According to Lynda’s parents, their daughter was identified by a single tooth.

rainbow valley

Summary: “As I’ve made very clear, Detective,” says Treville, strained, “I don’t make it a habit of getting involved in my employees’ love lives. But considering this precinct’s utterly abysmal and somewhat dangerous track record, you really cannot fault me for being concerned when you walk into work with a split lip that was not present the night prior.”

“Track record?” asks Constance weakly, and God, this really has just been the weirdest conversation.

“Athos’s wife is a wanted criminal in twenty-two states who only last week evaded arrest yet again, d’Artagnan’s spent the better part of the past year pining after you, and Aramis has gone and fallen in love with the very married wife of a European nobleman who has somehow gotten himself accidentally involved with the Spanish mob!” 

“At least Porthos is doing alright,” offers Constance lamely. 

“Yes,” says Treville, looking harried. “There is that.”

I wrote a shameless fic for @hansolosbutt‘s modern detective b99 au about the circumstances surrounding the day after constance leaves bonaciuex, which we decided were basically exactly like that one post where that personal trainer’s students all commiserated and went together without telling her to retrieve her things from her asshole ex boyfriends house. a good post, friends. a very good post. also, constance’s last name is baudin bc fleur, her niece (?) had that last name and i needed a maiden name for her. also also, trigger warnings for very brief mention of domestic violence. anyways, here’s this thing. this truly is like … my favorite au on the planet, right now,

Constance has always thought that Captain Treville’s office is somewhat spartan in decor. The desk is almost always immaculately clean, the commendations on the wall completely aligned and straight in their frames, and the clock above the doorway minimalist on charitable days. Aside from the small rainbow flag sitting among his pencils (all perfectly sharpened, all neatly arranged), fitted into his favorite fleur-de-lis-patterned mug at the edge of the desk, there really isn’t anything in the office that makes it particularly warm or welcoming or personable. Constance remembers only a few months before when the poor guy Deputy Commissioner Richelieu had sent down from human resources came to discuss Porthos and Aramis’s (convoluted, nonsensical, wildly work-inappropriate) email chain; he had entered Treville’s office looking apprehensive and left looking somewhat concerned. Constance, who had been privy to The Email Chain only once over Aramis’s shoulder, knew that it had somehow devolved from its benign origins of subject line: check out this guy’s suspicious-looking mustache to classic French literature-related memes. Quite frankly, unless one was particularly well-versed in the minds of Detectives d’Herblay and du Vallon, any poor fool tasked with reading through such an atrocity would likely as not emerge somewhat traumatized.

Joubert’s apprehension, however, had been surprisingly directed towards Treville himself; he had meekly suggested on his way out of the captain’s office, fiddling nervously with the bottom of his tie, that maybe he might consider putting a couch with earth-toned upholstery in the corner, just to make the place feel more welcoming?

Trevill had blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Aramis, who’d been trying to distract Athos from where he had his nose buried in case files by flinging paperclips at him across the room, had said, “Flower-patterned would make it even more welcoming, don’t you think Captain?”

Porthos had choked on his own laugh. Athos, engrossed in his case files, had tried to drink out of the communal bullpen pushpin mug and started spluttering in a most undignified manner.

D’Artagnan, bless him, had been the one to finally take pity on the aggrieved Joubert, leading him out of the bullpen and straight into the elevator with a comforting pat on his shoulder and a cheerful, “Come again soon!”

Constance remains standing in front of Treville’s desk, now, noticing that he never did take Joubert’s advice into consideration and get an earth-toned couch installed in the corner.

(There is, however, a small framed photo of the squad from last year’s Christmas party, the lot of them grinning like doofuses at the camera and more than one of them with their eyes half closed, perched neatly on the far right of Treville’s computer, and Constance feels a trickle of warmth expand in her chest despite everything.)

The door to the office clicks shut behind them and Treville comes to stand behind his desk in front of Constance, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive.

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So, there is a lot going on in this painting, so if you’re not interested in the symbolism and stuff then feel free to scroll right past this, because I’m about to talk a lot about the imagery and the decision process that went into it.

Let’s start with Zeus Himself. A lot of people portray Zeus as almost elderly, and I didn’t want to do that for a couple reasons. Firstly, He’s a father figure, and so when I envision Him I tend to see someone who’s about in his forties–not old enough that you see him and think of a grandfather, but not so young that you would be surprised to learn he has grown children. Secondly, the Theoi are ageless and powerful, so I wanted to paint a man who looked that way to me. Finally, Zeus is the youngest of His siblings, and the idea of painting Him as a grey haired, wrinkled man just didn’t seem appropriate to me here.

Now, let’s talk about the half-wreath below Zeus’ portrait. The wreath is made of olive branches, olives, and oak leaves. Olives and oaks are both sacred to Zeus, and I wanted to include them in the image. In classical art He would typically be crowned in olive leaves, but I opted away from including a crown. I still had wanted to make a reference back to His crown though by including the olive plant in the painting. The oak leaves are a direct reference to His oracles at Dodona, who interpreted Zeus’ will through the rustling of oak leaves.

The pillars are there to represent gateways. The gateway to Olympus, the entry way into temples, and metaphorical gateways as well. Specifically in this image, I was using the two columns to represent the personal gateway for me when I fully embraced my worship of the the Theoi.

The eagle is a pretty standard attribute of Zeus. In classical art He’s often shown with an eagle, and His temples and statues would sometimes be adorned with images of eagles. I wanted to include the eagle as a simple nod to His classical imagery, and as a nice visual way of reflecting the wreath below.

The storm behind Zeus was done to include His lightening bolt.

The lit brazier is in reference to an offering fire.

And fun fact, the pattern on the edge of His chiton is patterned after a border pattern from an ancient Greek mosaic.

Tea Time

Sherlock’s busy. Sitting in his leather chair near the fireplace, he’s texting furiously with Lestrade (Will the idiots on that forensic team ever learn? Nope. Apparently not today.). 

Rosie sits to his left at a tiny toddler-size table on a little matching stool. It’s round and painted lavender, a delicate hand drawn vine pattern circling the edge and trailing down the table’s legs. She’s playing with a miniature tea set- a gift from Mrs. Hudson- pretending to pour out tea and stir in sugar and milk with a silver baby spoon.

“Tea, Papa?” Rosie’s chubby hand offers a small porcelain cup of imaginary Earl Grey to Sherlock. 

He doesn’t stop texting, never looks away from the screen, simply shifts to using his right hand only and allows his left arm to fall to the side, low enough for her to place the petite teacup into his large hand. It moves automatically to his lips and he takes a sip before he fully realizes it’s only filled with make-believe tea. His eyes widen in surprise. (Sherlock’s body is, after all, hard-wired to accept tea from a Watson at this point.)

He looks down at Rosie, who meets his gaze expectantly, eyebrows raised. “Papa like tea?” she asks. 

Sherlock only hesitates for a moment before saying, “Mmm. Yes, love. I think your tea may be the best I’ve had.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “But don’t tell Daddy.”

Rosie nods solemnly, her daddy’s tea making prowess already well known. She goes back to filling and refilling cups with the play teapot, babbling “tea, tea, tea” happily.

Sherlock “drinks” cup after cup, eventually solving Lestrade’s case after a couple of shoddy screen-caps make it clear it wasn’t even a murder in the first place. Dull. 

It was a normal afternoon for Rosie in 221B. A perfect day for tea time with her Papa.

{ fluffmas prompts //#24 with poly!hamilsquad x reader }

{ requested by a sweet anon. hope you like it! <3 xx there was a separate request for a nsfw version that i’ll try to have up soon as well. }

24 - wearing stockings

slightly nsfw?? more suggestive. the boys get a little handsy,,,but you look so good in your little outfit! they really can’t help it…

You had a Christmas party starting any minute now. You’d been planning this for a while with your boys. Christmas parties always made you so excited for the upcoming season. You had all of your gifts ready to present, an outfit picked out, and were practically counting down the days. It was at your brand new place that you had gotten with your boyfriends. You and Laf decorated the house this morning while Herc got Alex and John to help him bake and prepare the food. 

You had about 45 minutes until your guests started coming in. While you were excited for what was in store, you still felt like you were going to throw up. 

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He left. He cried. - Carl Grimes Imagine AU

The sun had fallen asleep. The last rays dissolved into a thick blanket of black, spreading from the skyline and making stars glint. It was a peaceful time in the small town, a calm and still night. Everyone waited with clenched hearts for the train to arrive at the station. A train which would take away loved ones, and make souls suffer with bitterness and smeared tears.

She stared intently as he was making his dell suitcase. Pairs of trousers, six clean T-shirts and a coat were crammed within the space of the gaping bag. He could feel her acid eyes, tearing the skin of his back apart as she looked with wonder. He said nothing. He pulled the zip of his suitcase, neatly closing the patterned edges. She could feel her eyes begging to ache and her nostrils flare. The clamp of her throat was evident, pushing out her nude collarbones and raising her back from the stained wallpaper. He really was leaving. But how could he? How could he leave and forget about her, as if nothing never happened? Indeed, he could.

“You really are leaving.” She voiced steadily, forcing down her shaky breaths. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the emotion trying to spill from within them. “I never thought you would.”

Carl turned his head, his rosy lips parted as he took in her form. He looked at her. She was standing right there, as brave and strong as ever. He tried to speak, words were not an option. He could hear her warm voice smoothly echo against his ears again.

“I understand. It is your dream, after all.” She forced a smile, devouring her distress. “That’s why I won’t stop you. If it means you are happy out there, then so be it. Even if it means I won’t see you again, I won’t keep you back.”

The young man gave a look, one of confused desperation. The corners of his lips descended, and so did his heart. Did she really not mind? I didn’t seem to be it at all. She was sad, there was no doubt. Carl could feel her heart, beating within his own veins.


“You want to leave,” She continued, passionlessly glaring at her shoes. “Then leave. I’m not gonna stop you. I’m not gonna hold you back from your dream. I’m not going to cling on you and cry for you to stay. I’m not going to call you selfish because you wish to go away. Nor am I going to call you ungrateful, because you’re just leaving, after all we’ve been through. After all we have seen together. I won’t. Because I am your friend.” Y/n gave a little smile, the water now quivering within her squinted eyes. She held herself back from lunging forward, and engulfing him in a shaky embrace. Her innards were contorting painfully, her body drowning within her feelings.

“Aren’t we supposed to let go of the things we love?” Her voice was a pained whisper, breaking just like her confident smile. Her heart feebly protested, hollering wildly, begging her to keep him close. Pleading to fold her arms around him and swathe him within her hold, until she gave her last breath. “And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Carl stared quietly, his brows furrowed over his intense gaze. He glanced down and hesitated. He wanted to hold her hands. Feel the rough skin of her digits, the gentle touch of the tips of her fingers. Feel her lips on his skin, guiding him, teaching him in the ways of love. Oh, how lovely would it be to graze every scar on her flesh. To kiss and fondle each and every one of them.

Y/n’s eyes flinched once they locked with the clock’s hands. He had to leave so soon. Would this be the last time she looked at him? The final time she would hear his voice and feel his presence beside here?

Carl was coming closer. His chest was tight against her own, his body hot and flustered before hers. His thin fingers cascaded up her forearm, his lips parted slightly with wonder. He was going in for a kiss. His heart fluttered like a feather in the wind once they almost touched lips, their love glowing and alight. Yet the sweet contact refused to come. The young man’s eye opened, his actions ceased by the hand pressed against his chest like steel. He gazed at iron eyes, a pair which was sad and melting with emotion.

“You will lose your train.” Were her final words.

And when he withdrew, he knew there was no turning back. His fist clenched around the handle of his suitcase, and so did the sensitive heart within his chest.


Carl gazed about at the train station, watching as people fumbled about, cried, hugged, kissed and said their goodbyes. His head lowered slightly once he realized he was all on his own. He felt cold once he realized, he had just lost a life-saving company, a good friend…and maybe something more than that. Hell, would he even seen her again in his life? But it was too late now.

The train’s arrival was grand. The enormous vehicle screeched as it stopped, opening its gates and welcoming people inside. It was dark and cold, and the light coming from within wasn’t at all comforting. It would take him away.

Carl glanced about with desperation written all over his glowing face. He hoped to see her, standing amongst the people around him. But she was now long gone, and had forgotten about him. She would never leave, now.

He got inside the train, with a low head and numb expression. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. They had made plans when they were younger, naive and at the verge of death. They would leave this place one day, and they would do so together, hand in hand. But Carl’s hand was cold as he sat. His tired gaze lazed outside of the window, his breathing coming in small breaths.

Out of nostalgia, he craned his neck and peered outside the window, sadly gazing at the small town which once was his home. His heart almost stopped when he saw the last thing he expected near the train station. There she was, her girlish silhouette standing droopily and looking longingly at the train. She did come.

Carl’s breath hitched at the back of his throat, his eye collecting tears once he saw it; she was waving at him, and was slightly shaking. She was crying.

Not thinking clearly he stuck his hand out and waved at her as well, a small cry escaping the back of his throat. It hurt as a tear rolled down his milky cheek, cutting his skin as sharp as a blazing razor.

I love you.


*cries* I am in love

250 unlined A4 with patterned page edges amazing cover two side clasps sown binding one red and one gold ribbon the cover feels amazing I can’t stop touching it and it was less than £30

Like not to sound like an actual infomercial but before I found paperblanks notebooks I didn’t know who I was

Still too in love with my scrappy repurposed junk book to make this one my main one atm tho which is such a weird feelings because I’m such a #DoItForTheAesthetics™ person with these things usually
Gold Flecks in Ink. - fearless_seas - 17th Century CE RPF [Archive of Our Own]
Alexander Hamilton found out why Benjamin Tallmadge couldn't look at the sky on a starry night.
By Organization for Transformative Works

17th Century CE RPF, American History RPF, American Revolution RPF

Relationships: Nathan Hale (1755-1776)/Benjamin Tallmadge, Alexander Hamilton/Benjamin Tallmadge, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens

Characters: Benjamin Tallmadge, John André, Alexander Hamilton, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Nathan Hale

Part 4 of the Early American History | Stories They Won’t Tell series

Word Count: 6,384


“Among the extra ordinary circumstances that attended him, in the midst of his enemies, he died universally esteemed and universally regretted.”

- Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, October 11th, 1780.


October 2nd, 1780.

        The sun rise just peeked over the tops of the mountains, scarcely brushing the leafless trees at the edge of the valley. Benjamin Tallmadge arched his shoulders stretched them back before raising a hand to rub his heavy eyelids. In the circular motion, he revolved his tongue in his throat, running it across his chapped lips, cracking from the cold in a seemingly endless winter. Every few minutes he’d shut his eye- just for a moment- his body would jolt just before he collapsed onto the floor- catching himself just on time and resuming his position. Ben shifted his weight and winced, a stiff and sore back from being seated for the entire night. He blinked his eyes, liquid registering to them as they watered from sleep deprivation.

        His vision was searching for something to keep him occupied in the prison cabin that was still exasperated in the darkness, for the moon had folded into the sun and sunk below the horizon. The bister of his watch caught on a spinning trail of crimson wax that had dried and turned cold as it hit the surface of the table. They followed it up to the candle holder and of course, to the candle- in the wick he could still see the ghost of the flame as it danced and nicitated across the wooden walls. It had been out for hours. Ben sat up straight and felt sleep stretching the corners of his eyes down to his cheeks. He revolved his neck finding the desk chair still occupied by John Andre’s seemingly life-filling form. Andre hadn’t shut himself all night- and Ben tell that the window was not yet tired from having the Englishman regard painting the glass with different shades of misery.

           Benjamin turned his neck, running a hand along the back of his skin and fluttered his glare over the corner where a cot was occupied. The man who took the spot was curled up against the wall, legs lounged out in front of him and his cocked hat drifting a shadow across the slant of his face. Ruby hair poking out and sticking to the man’s forehead. What a strange sight it was to see Alexander Hamilton in such a peaceful state. Even from across the room, it was unmistakable to trace the silhouettes that had shredded into his cheeks from last night. Perhaps he fell asleep in the arms of a dream so beautiful it caused tears to contaminate his bones on the surface of his ivory skin and in the flecks of flames scattered across the hues of his freckles.

          Ben almost contemplated waking him up but before he could there was a shudder and Hamilton spread his arms around him and sat up, tapping the brim of his cockade up out of his face, lids half drawn. The major didn’t fear sleepless nights; nobody knew how lengthy the dark lasts when you cannot close your eyes to it. Although he was clearly breathing, his chest felt hollow as a bird’s wings, only in contrast he could not fly- kept down on soil by the water swimming weight in his lungs. A sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, barely able to see through the mist of fog that was clouding his dreamless tinges of the leaves. The moon, vacant from the sky had retreated to solitude while the sun hadn’t risen yet to meet the day in celebrating illuminations.

         His eyes had just began to drift into slumber once again when the door to the cabin busted open. Hamilton’s boots sunk to the floor and he took off his hat setting it beside him, and Ben just adjacent, lifted his chin off the palm of his hand and stretched his eyelashes across his forehead in confusion. His vision cleared and Ben almost stood up- perhaps it was General Washington. The familiar tight set of the hips and a lean, childish figure stepped into the room. The visage, not cursed in an unparalleled wrinkle, or a minuscule marking or scar was pure as snow and they immediately spun their concentration towards the the prisoner who was seated at the desk.

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May 1, 2017


Natalie Lanese

Rosemary Clooney first started recording in 1946 and within a few years was a regular performer on radio and television. When Cincinnati non-profit ArtWorks partnered with the Cincinnati Enquirer asking its readers who should be the first female legend to be honored in its Cincinnati Legends mural series Clooney beat out the likes of Louise Beavers, Harriet Beecher-Stowe, Dorothy Kamenshek, and Mamie Smith for the honor, and it may well be her 1954 performance opposite Bing Crosby in White Christmas that made the difference. For this 2016 work at Liberty and Pleasant Streets in Cincinnati Lanese immortalizes a black velvet gowned Clooney singing “Love, You Didn’t Do Right By Me” for Bing late in the film. Natalie Lanese who now lives in Toledo, Ohio, is known for her experimentation with collage and painted elements, but as reflected in this work, she says her recent work abandons collage and focuses on repeated hard-edged patterns.  @nlanese  @artworkscincy  

Masquerade Ball

Characters: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff I guess lol?? It’s got a lil suggestive Tae but nothing serious he’s just a little tease

Word Count: 1593

You came to the Masquerade Ball in an attempt to have a thrilling night filled with hidden identities and mystery. What you got in return was no short of that, in fact it was much more than you expected. So what happens when a devilishly handsome young man sweeps you off your feet out of nowhere?

(A/N: Hey guys^^ just wanted to let you know that I’m currently working on some of the requests you guys have sent in I feel guilty bc im posting all this other stuff instead of working on those lol but especially to those who have asked for I’m Sorry Pt. 2 ;)… I just thought I should post some nice Taehyung for you guys since I haven’t posted any yet tae is my main man thank you and good night)

p.s. this gif is huge but im not sorry

Originally posted by mvssmedia

    The air felt significantly hazy, your mind beginning to fog up because of the atmosphere around you as you meandered your way through the mass of bodies swaying on the dance floor. Black, lacy material rested on your face, the intricate mask you adorned seeming to blend in with those surrounding you and keeping you somewhat hidden. The point of the masquerade ball you were attending was to remain anonymous, after all. Tonight was a night of discovering who you were, with the thrill of meeting someone once, only to part ways without so much as an indication of identity. It was the perfect concept, really. A night full of mystery that nobody could possibly reject.

    Yearning for some fresh air, you searched for a way out of the dense crowd. Your eyes landed on an open space and you broke through the people into a hallway, the elegant light fixtures on the walls glowing dimly as they casted silhouettes and shadows across the polished floor. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, you closed your eyes and revelled in the small bit of relief that the moment of peace gave you.

    Suddenly, there was a gentle yank on your wrist, forcing you to jerk around, shrieking slightly in surprise as your face was met unusually close by a dashing young man. His eyes were wide and welcoming as they peered into yours. “What are you doing out here?” he murmured lowly, his face leaning ever so slightly inward as the words left his lips. Normally you would have felt a twinge of annoyance at having been pulled around, but the sight of the man’s face so close to yours slowly washed any of those feelings away. Shocked into silence, your eyes wandered his face.

    Around his eyes laid black upon black, the sharp edges of his mask carved around his eyes. A strip of dark lace lined the outer rim of the mask, with a small silver flare on the end of one side. In your peripheral vision, you noticed a subtle smirk curl on his lips as you continued to stare at his face, eyes trailing down as you studied his features.

    His eyes were kind, a deep brown which resembled rich chocolate. But they were also lined with a hint of mischievousness, glimmering slightly, and you could see how easily he was excited. His skin was smooth and slightly tan, you noticed as you took in the small freckle on the tip of his nose. Resting your eyes on his lips, you swallowed. The curve of his mouth was still pulled slightly into a smirk. He remained still, pleased that you were taking your precious time looking at every aspect of his face. Eyes watching every small movement his lips made, you couldn’t help but think about all of the things those lips could do. What his mouth was capable of. The smirk on his face faded slightly and he raised an eyebrow. “Done yet?” he teased, the deepness of his voice once again striking you, sending a jolt of something unfamiliar through you.

    You blinked up at him, eyes growing wide as you met his gaze. Glints of amusement danced in his dark eyes. They were crinkled softly at the edges, a small smile forming as he watched your cheeks flush with color. Stuttering, you took a quick step back. Your shoes sounded against the floor behind you as you took a few steps backwards, trying to move away from the man before you as fast as possible. “I-I…sorry.” you said, the blush still prominent on your face as your gaze flickered to the floor in front of your feet. A few footsteps toward you sounding on the hard floor caused you to snap your head up, only to see the devilishly handsome young man extend his hand in an unexpectedly gentleman-like manner. Bowing his head formally, the question left his perfect lips, “Would you care for a dance?”

    Slowly, you extended your hand and delicately placed it in his, taking note of the fact of how soft they were, and how his fingers curled perfectly, encompassing yours. He lifted his head up, brown locks softly falling against the dark material of his mask, a twinkle in his eye. His face broke into a smile, letting out a small laugh that you could only count as a giggle. The sound of it made you crack a grin, your hand in his as he gently led you down the hallway, back through the way you had come.

    The people around you seemed less difficult to pass through since you were with him, his aura acting like a sort of protective shield to those around him as the two of you made your way through the main ballroom and outside. A narrow brick-laid path lined its way to a small painted white gazebo, flowers curling up the sides and fairy lights adorning the structure. You made no effort to resist as the strong grip on your hand led you down the path, steps confident as he walked up to the gazebo, turning you around and bringing his arms gently around your waist. You exhaled, looking into his eyes before realizing something. Your voice left in a whisper as you breathed out, “There’s no music out her-” A soft finger pressed against your lips, stopping your words. The masked man in front of you lifted his gaze from your mouth to meet yours, his eyes smoldering. Softly, he whispered, “Who said we needed music?” His hand snaked its way back around your waist as you lifted your arms around his neck, the both of you watching each other as you began to sway to a rhythm of your own making.

    Eventually, he took your hand in his, holding it out to the side as the two of you waltzed across the wooden boards in silence. The low murmur and echo of the party in the distance was forgotten. He held up your hand slightly, indicating he was going to give you a twirl, and you realized there was something you wanted to do. He raised your hand above the both of your heads, and you turned beautifully, the skirt of your dress flowing in the air slightly before you turned back towards him. Without allowing yourself the time to rethink your decision, you took an extra step forward, landing your lips softly on his. The swaying and dancing halted, his arm falling gently back against his side. His eyes grew wide for a split second before easing closed, his lips molding against yours. Warmth blossomed through you as he returned your kiss, softly trailing a hand up your side. The slight pressure of his soft lips felt like heaven against yours, just like you knew they would.

    Eventually, you pulled away from each other, your heavy breaths intertwining in the air as you met each other’s heated gazes. The two of you stood in comfortable silence, studying the features of each other’s hidden faces under the black material. You followed the intricate woven pattern across the edge of his mask, eyeing the pleasant contrast of the black against his honey skintone. Carefully, his eyes casted downwards, you felt soft fingers intertwine with yours as he gently guided you out of the abandoned gazebo. The two of you lazily strided back down the narrow brick path, as if you were trying to savor the moment.

    Stepping back through the door to the party, the sounds inside were amplified. Some were peacefully swaying to the rhythm of the fading music, others shouting and yelling at each other in excitement, clearly having the time of their life. It was the perfect party atmosphere. And while you were taking it all back in, you almost didn’t notice the feeling of his hand leaving yours, his tall figure smoothly starting to make his way back into the crowd of people. Blinking out of your trance, you located the soft brown color of his hair and quickly moved forward, a hand wrapping around his forearm and pulling him around. He met your gaze with wide, surprised eyes. After a moment, the irony of the repeated situation sunk into you and a small smile grew on your face. You laughed breathily before letting go of his firm arm and looking up at him. Trying to be heard over the noise of the people, you projected, “You never told me your name.”

    The devilish boy’s face only grew into a grin, the mischievous glint reappearing in his eyes as he leaned over, his body balancing on only one foot. Inclining his head, he replied significantly lower, “That would ruin the element of mystery, now wouldn’t it?” His dancing eyes peered into yours for a moment longer before he resteadied himself. His face spread into another blinding grin, showcasing his teeth as you watched, blinking at him in stunned silence. Beneath the dark black and lacy material of the masquerade mask framed around his eyes, he shot you a wink, turning on his heel and waltzing straight through the moving crowd of people like he owned the place. Within seconds, you had lost track of him. He had disappeared, almost as if he had never been real in the first place. It was expected, however. The thrill of a hidden identity, the ability to meet someone and decide to remain anonymous to one another forever. That was the whole point. After all, it was a Masquerade Ball. One that you could never forget.

50 Years Too Long

Legolas x reader. Based on ‘imagine seeing Legolas for the first time in a long time.’

It was after the Battle of Five Armies. I was in my quarters reading a book when I hear a soft knock on my door. I lift my head up.

“Come in.” I tell the person on the other side. The door opens and I see my father walk in.

“Father. What is it?” I ask, closing my book. I stand up, leaving my book on my desk.

“We’ll be having visitors soon. I want you to be in your best clothes.”

“Are they royals?” I ask slowly, hoping they’re not more suitors.

“No. They are not. I want you at my side at the meeting.” He nods.

“Of course.” I nod back. He turns and leaves my room.

Later, I had not my best dress on, but I didn’t have a simple day dress on. It was hunter green and silver, patterns on the edge of my sleeves. I spot my father at the meeting place.

“Have they arrived yet father?” I ask him. He turns to face me.

“No, they have not.” I simply nod and walk around the broad circle.

“My lord, they have arrived.” A guard tells my father.

“Good. I will greet them.” He tells the guard. He turns back to me.

“Come, I want you by my side when we greet them.” He tells me.

“Of course.”

I could not believe my eyes. I saw him. The blond headed elf with piercing blue eyes. Legolas. I swallow. I’ve always loved him, but I could see that he loved Tauriel. But that did not matter right now. She wasn’t here, and Legolas was my best friend.

“My lady.” He bows, and the rest of the group does as well.

“Prince Legolas.” I curtsy.

“Lord Elrond.” Aragorn says, Arwen’s love. The group follows my father as he leads them to the meeting place, but Legolas stays behind. When everyone is gone, he runs up to me and engulfs me in his arms. I hug him back, smiling.

“I have missed you dearly.” I told him.

“I have as well Y/N.” He smiled. We pulled apart.

“You look lovely.” He compliments.

“Thank you, Legolas.” I blush a deep red.

“Do not thank me, for you have always looked beautiful in my eyes.” He then pecks me on the cheek and walks to the meeting. I stand there, frozen in shock. I smile ear to ear. I turn around and walk to the meeting. I’m not going to stop blushing for a while.

Bonnie & Clyde: American (11, Fin)

Bucky x reader modern day AU

Notes: fluff, swearing, smut.

(Bonnie & Clyde inspired AU)

Lana del Rey - American

Summary: Your husband, James Buchanan Barnes, is trouble. Beautiful, dangerous trouble. After a prison sentence of 34 months, he is finally released and seems to have taken his time to think about what is truly the most important thing in his life. He makes you the very centre of his life, sharing everything he possibly can with you; whether it’s lust, love or business.

Another time jump, final chapter! Thanks for reading everyone :) 

Originally posted by enochianess

Originally posted by teapotsandroses

TAGS: @jjlevin @starstar1012 @stephvera @styleswift1989@amf71010@heismyhunter  @a-small-independent-princess @bxckytrxsh@incadinkadoo@buckyismybbz@seabastian-barnes@number1fantrash@verycoolveryunique@snowwhiteslays@tesseractbucky @popsxerox@the-one-and-only-vampcake@akiiiiiiiiiii@fallingpanickedkilljoys@moonraeblack @hip5t3r-m3rmaaidd-biitchhh @ikathy98 @themanwiththemetalarm@vickybhutcherson@lostinspace33 @pale-alien26@httpstainme@bellejeunefillesansmerci@italwaysendsinafightcap @tesseractbucky @lilacs-lavender @down-the-rabbit-hole-114 @nikkisprojectoflife @bloo-moon-freak @zxcorra @samarah32

Waking up like this was definitely something you could get used to. The shaded sun beamed down through the thin white curtains, illuminating the even thinner white sheets covering your bare body. A pair of heavy arms draped around you, holding you close to a broad, muscular chest. Soft snores sounded in your ear, his warm breath fanning over your neck. He was still sound asleep, and you weren’t planning on waking him up for a while. You closed your eyes and carefully snuggled closer to Bucky, but any slight waking movement you made would always wake him; okay, so maybe you did want him to wake up.

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anonymous asked:

Hooray for Ladynoir! ^^ Maybe something where Ladybug hurts her ankle on patrol and Chat carries her to safety? And maybe Adrien sees Marinette with the same injury at school and FINALLY starts to clue in? :p


i might make a part two if this gets a good response :)))

tagging @singinglikeapenguin because i love her <3

I never knew that it could happen (‘till it happened to me)

In front of you, cherished more than anyone 
is someone who cherishes you so that you won't get hurt, that's right, it's me 
Even if your words somehow become "goodbye" instead 
Everything will be as it is

-Kimi ni Todoke, Tanizawa Tomofumi

Adrien Agreste has never felt the sting of his bad luck curse so badly.

Sure, he can never get hot water when he really wants a hot shower, and most of his electronic (or electric) devices usually fail him when he needs them to complete even the simplest of tasks like, you know, toast. But it’s only the small things, and he takes it in stride with the serene resignation that other people usually mistake for the aloofness of a cool guy. If only they knew, Plagg says sometimes between bites of smelly cheese, that you’re the biggest, most socially awkward dork in all Paris.

But anyway, there’s a line between lowkey bad luck and accidentally finding out Ladybug’s identity without her consent. He’s thrilled despite himself, but also deeply worried about her reaction.

See, it happens kind of like this.

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