ringlet curls

3

After trying numerous styles she was no longer interested in the upkeep and decided to stop dying and straightening all together.

The result floored him—with its effects never lessening on him, even though he glanced at her on a daily basis. It was this rich darker color, and it coiled and curled into ringlets. They stuck out in all directions and doubled the volume of her hair.

 last minute doodle for fic appreciation week. Chatoyant (Reddish pt.½) by @marshmallohno. It cleansed my soul

i was thinking about amazonian telepathy and i don’t think i can use this anywhere so

There were responsible ways to deal with being bored during League debriefs. Rather than do any of them, Diana adjusted her legs so that her knee touched Batman’s. A ragged tear in his suit meant that it was skin-to-skin contact.

She reached out tentatively.

Black Canary’s hair looks cute today, she ventured, an idle thought to share. She was careful not to go searching for any answers he did not give. She expected him to say nothing, and break contact.

Doesn’t matter, came his answer, so terse a dismissal it almost startled her. He didn’t move his leg. It seemed unlike him, but this form of communication did tend to be more honest.

How unfortunate, to imagine this was what he thought of their occasional conversations.

I’m sure she put a lot of work into it, Diana tried again. The bright blonde locks had been curled into ringlets before being drawn up into a ponytail.

Not for me.

She frowned. That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate it.

Don’t need to.

You’re being awfully rude.

It’s fine.

If I’d gone through such trouble, I’d want you to notice.

Not for me.

It will be, Diana decided. I’ll do my hair just like that, to spite you, and it will be the cutest.

Batman said nothing. Then he leaned back just a little, only enough to see where their knees touched. He glanced at Diana, then away. Was that you? he asked finally.

Of course, she said.

How long have we been having a conversation? he asked.

Since I pointed out the cuteness of Black Canary’s coiffure? she said. Batman did not respond. What did you think was happening?

Intrusive thoughts.

She tried to look at his face sidelong, though she didn’t know why. Looking at him directly would make it no easier to decipher his minimal expressions. Do your intrusive thoughts often sound like me making observations about other women?

Sometimes.

Can you two keep it down? asked J'onn. Some of us are trying to pay attention.

No you’re not, Diana accused. You just heard gossip and wanted in.

We’re not gossiping, Batman said. Don’t make me break truce.

I had also noticed Black Canary’s hair, J'onn said, ignoring Batman.

Isn’t it cute? Diana asked.

Batman sighed.

Do you think I could pull it off? J'onn asked.

Batman had a sudden coughing fit.

A Warm Welcome [h.s.]

A/N: here’s some hades!harry! Sorry if it’s shitty I’m trying to get back in the game! And sorry for any typos and mistakes! Enjoy :-)

___________________________

Being a god comes with a large bundle of heightened emotions and Harry honestly wishes that they had an off switch. Celestial beings are called “celestial” for a reason, after all. They’re abnormally better than any human, and thus they must keep an attitude and air that enforces nothing less, but damn feelings for being able to get in the way so easily.

Gods must be calm and collected under the most extraneous situations, they must rule with an iron fist, and most importantly, they must forbid emotions from deterring them in any way. He’s not saying that he hates feeling emotions more intensely; some are worth the toil. Pleasure, for example, is felt tenfold what any human could handle and he can almost say that this alone makes the troubles worth it. But it’s moments such as now that bring forward overpowering feelings that he wishes he could cast aside: a dangerous mixture of excitement and anxiousness.

More specifically, the excitement and anxiousness that comes with the return of his beloved wife, Persephone (or as he calls her, Y/N), from being away for her given six months of the year.

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French - Spanish false friends

Note that some of these are false friends because of their similar phonetics, and not necessarily their orthography.

French                                            Spanish

manche: sleeve                               mancha: spot

roman*: novel                                  romano: Roman

gâteau: cake                                    gato: cat

ombre: shadow                               hombre: man

sable: sand                                      sable: saber

a: 3rd person singular, to have         a: preposition, to (among other meanings)

entendre: to hear                            entender: understand

riz : rice                                             rizo: curl, ringlet

bâtir: to build                                    batir: whip, beat (for example, eggs)

nombre: number                              nombre: name

carte: map                                        carta: letter


*roman also means Roman in French, meaning someone or something from Rome

anonymous asked:

Sorry if you have answered this before but, some positivity maybe? What are your favorite things about Dan?

His laughter:
-His giggles when they squeak at the end because he can’t breathe
-His giggles when they pitch up to that literal ‘hee hee hee!’
-His giggles when they start with that literal ‘ah-hah-hah-hah!’
-His giggles when he ends up snorting
-How he snaps or claps while laughing really hard

His voice:
-When it’s normal and gentle and sweet and soft
-When he brings it lower into that sensual rumbly goodness

His long baby deer legs:
-So graceful
-So dangerous
-Has been described as gliding when he walks
-Has also been described as purposeful in his strides
-Also falls over a lot

When he sings:
-When he makes up a song based on what’s going on
-When he sings something relevant to what’s going on
-When he just sings because he has a song stuck in his head
-When he just sings because he thought of a song just then
-Voice of an angel

His eyes:
-So pretty
-The little crinkles in the corners when he laughs
-When he drifts he just gets that faraway look in them that you can get lost in
-So warm
-So full of love
-Probably when he looks at you you feel like the only person on the planet

His smile:
-That cute puppy dog sweet childlike smile
-The smirk
-The dopey grin
-The lopsided grin
-When there’s a video and we get to see him smile while laughing
-When he sticks his tongue out and bites on the tip while smiling

His hugs:
-Self described “Huggin’ machine”
-Arms “made for huggin”“
-Best hugs on the planet
-His arms are long and really wind around you
-Perfect amount of squeezing
-No matter who you are or what shape you are you just fit against him
-Because he was made for hugging

His dancing:
-The side to side headbop
-Hands up for a snap
-Hand up for a little fly-away-wave
-The side to side full body shuffle
-The hip swing
-The full head bang sending hair everywhere

His lips:
-So soft
-Great shape
-When he bites the lower one when he’s thinking about something
-When he also licks the lower one when thinking about something (though rarer than biting)

His realness:
-When he talks about going through a tough time
-When he sends out genuine love to his fans whether they’re having a tough time themselves and he’s offering advice or when he’s humbled by the response to something he did
-When he tells a story of a time in his life
-When he’s expressing love for one of his friends

His sweetness:
-“Hi babies”
-“Hello lovelies”
-“I missed you guys”
-“Bye sweet treasures”
-“Hi ladies”
-“Bye, I love you!”
-“Can we do Grumps forever?”

How he tries to use his platform for good:
-Is always trying to learn and better himself through feedback
-Always tries to better everyone else by telling people to love one another
-Talks fans through anxiety and panic when they’re meeting and is always patient and understanding about it
-Knowing he provides an escape and has helped people through difficult times just by doing Grumps or NSP and talks about getting fan letters saying exactly that and is always blown away and always tells everyone 'thank you’ for getting the opportunity to help them

His hair:
-Wild curls
-Wonderful ringlets
-Frizzy
-Droopy
-How he plays with it when he’s thinking about something
-How it is a mystery
-Sweet fluffy cloud of curly goodness
-How it is always described as soft

All of his music.
-All of it
-The deep, serene, drifting poignancy of The Northern Hues that followed struggles, but he didn’t give up, he took lessons and tried again and produced beautiful, driven, powerful but soft messages in Skyhill, falling again but only shelving his music for a while and finally catching his break with NSP when he found a musical partner in Brian

His gentleness:
-Either with real world animals (letting birds perch on his knees, petting sheep that previously shunned everyone else, being sweet with all manner of doggos and puppers, carefully holding and wistfully looking at a snake, enjoying aquariums on multiple occasions, more more more)
-Anything that is cute or a little silly looking in a game “Oohh I love it immediately!”

All of his lingo:
-Jams
-Jimmy jams
-Tasty
-Totally
-The use of um and like a lot (which denotes intelligence, by the way, look it up)
-Oo-OO!
-Keyop!
-Moremoremore

His genuineness with others, he never hides who he is.
His trusting nature, willing to put his faith in the people he loves.
Loving everyone.
Being a 'bad judge of character’ because he believes in the good in everyone.
Overcoming his struggles to become the musician he knew he was always meant to be.

His proud nerdiness:
-Loves Magic the Gathering (still owns his old decks)
-Loves DnD
-LotR
-Harry Potter
-Game of Thrones
-Vidya games
-Comics
-MUSIC he is SUCH a music nerd! Speaking of-

The incredible encyclopedia of music knowledge that he has.
-Can name millions of albums off the top of his head
-Can name all the songs of said albums
-Knows the names of all band members in any given band
-Knows trivia behind songs
-Has read just all the liner notes of every album he’s ever owned
-Can recall a tune rhythmically and melodically perfectly in a snap
-Has been to thousands of concerts
-Rush

He’s also such a SPORTS nerd:
-The Giants
-Podcast about football
-Loves basketball and hockey too
-Throw in some baseball
-And soccer as well
-Can recall players names and statistics and games from years and years ago in any one of these sportsball categories

His encouraging change in people, whether they’re trying to be more like him or just trying to change for the better because he is such a good example of happiness and love. How he genuinely wants everyone to be better and accepting of themselves and others. How he talks openly about mental illness and encourages people to get help if they need to get help because there’s nothing wrong with it and everyone needs help.
“Love everyone, forgive everyone. Especially yourself.”
Just.
Dan.

okay have we ever considered what would happen once ronan grew his dark curly hair back?? 

{be warned: long rambly hc ahead.}


  • 
Adam once casually mentioned that he liked Ronan’s hair. Gansey’s showed him pictures of what Ronan used to look like before he’d shaved his head and he’d commented that he’d barely been able to recognize him, but in like a good way. 

  • So Ronan decides he’s going to allow his hair to grow out again while Adam’s still off at college. 

  • They make time for each other while maneuvering around Adam’s schooling of course, some weekends Ronan will drive up to Adam’s campus or Adam will take a few days off to return to Henrietta to meet Ronan, Opal and the rest of the group. 
  • Gansey’s stunned and silently relieved, feeling like a proud father. He’d never thought he’d encounter the old Ronan again, and this was better than the old Ronan, this was a new and improved Ronan, who’d wrestled tragedy after tragedy and stood triumphant in the wake of each one, not letting it get the best of him. Blue marks it as an improvement and proceeds to nickname him Rapenzul, “Shut the fuck up, Maggot.” “Are you going to let down your hair, princess?” Noah likes to pet his hair just the way he likes to pet Blue’s hair. “So soft,” he’ll say. Ronan only lets him because it’s Noah, although he may or may not threaten to throw him out of more windows. (Yes, I don’t care what happened in TRK, Noah is undead and well, let this boy live okay!!!) 
  • When Adam first sees Ronan with his hair all grown back he actually physically falters bc goddamn does this boy have any idea how crushingly good he looks? ?? 
  • “You… You’re…” Adam doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to muster a cohesive sentence ever again. Adam was used to the Ronan who was all sharpened edges and split knuckles, but the curving ringlets that curled around his ears now and fell over his forehead in drunken midnight tufts made him appear softer, warmer, kinder. It was like seeing the before-image of a burnt photograph. It was like a fairytale filter version of him. Adam can’t help but see an uncanny resemblance between Ronan and those effortlessly handsome young war hero portraits. 
  • “Stop staring, Shithead. It’s a fucking wig.” Ronan says, because that starstruck look in Adam’s eyes is doing things to him. 
  • Adam is suddenly overcome with the sweeping urge to run his hands through it. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate running his hands over Ronan’s buzzed head or the Ronan that he’d known before. He’d loved Ronan just like he loved Gansey, Blue and Noah even back when he carried himself like a vicious python, all spitfires and bloodied lips, even when he was getting drunk every single night and trying to fight the moon. Adam wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but there’d been something ethereally enticing about him even when he was this self-destructive drag racer that Adam had been so afraid to fall and cut himself on. 
  • But the Ronan Lynch that Adam fell in love with was another boy completely. He was the dreamer who dreamed up EpiPens for his friend and hand cream for Adam’s chapped hands and performed secret handshakes with his little brother and wanted to spend the rest of his life at his family farm and who pressed his lips ever-so-gently to each one of Adam’s fingers like they were dandelion stems. 
  • All his life, Adam had felt broken and delicate, but for the first time, he felt glad for his nimble fingers, his turbulent history, to be Adam Parrish, the chipped teacup boy, because Ronan made him feel loved and wanted and appreciated, because Ronan felt everything so strongly, and there were still nights Adam was filled with gratitude for being the brunt of Ronan’s desire. 
  • So they make the drive up to the Barns in silence, Ronan asks him about how college’s been and Adam tells him all about the university Ronan wouldn’t be caught dead in and catches that proud glint in his eyes when he admits he recently got offered a TA position. “So now you’re nerding your way up to the nerdom throne. Good for you, Parrish.” They talk about Gansey, Blue and Henry’s trip to Venezuela and how Opal’s been helping Ronan build his dream ramp and chewing on all the curtains. The minute they step out of the car and into the house however, Adam can’t help himself anymore, he pins Ronan against a wall and regales him with firm, heated kisses before dipping his hands into Ronan’s hair. It’s even softer than he’d imagined, and he’d been tugging distractedly at his lip and staring out the window the entire ride, imagining a lot. 
  • Ronan’s overwhelmed but they’ve been apart for weeks and feeling the hot, reassuring weight of Adam’s lips and hips against his again, and with his long, pianist’s fingers gruffly tugging at Ronan’s hair, his thoughts upend and bottom out and all he can think is let’s never fucking stop kissing. yeah. let’s kiss until we fucking die.
  • Later when they’re laying down in bed, Adam loops his fingers in Ronan’s hair again, raking through it delightedly, and Ronan lets out a quiet sigh. 
  • “It feels weird,” Ronan then admits. “I’m not that person anymore.” Adam wanted to tell Ronan that no, he wasn’t that person anymore, but he was more whole than he’d been in a long time. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to fool people into thinking he was this awful, intimidating presence anymore. He wanted to tell him that it would be okay if he just let the world see him for what he really was. That he wasn’t the wolf in the henhouse, but neither of them were ever very good at words, so he just pushes a little bit of his hair back and presses a kiss to Ronan’s temple instead. “Well, I like the person you are now.”
  • “Do you think it kills my badass edge?” 
  • “What badass edge?”
  • Ronan presses a hand into Adam’s chest and playfully shoves him backwards at that, before helping him out of his t-shirt and biting into his shoulder.
  • Ronan’s thinking he might never shave his head ever again.

anonymous asked:

Can you do something where the bros have an so with super curly hair, and they're self conscious about it?

Omg okay, so I know I don’t have SUPER curly hair, but I recall that when I was much younger (like 7-8 years old) I used to think I was weird got having hair that wasn’t straight, because my mum’s gorgeous and has this amazing straight silky hair and… ah anyways, this is such a great request- thank you for sending this in! <3333

Tagging some pals: @blindbae​, @itshaejinju​, @cupnoodle-queen​, @nifwrites​, @hypaalicious​, @louisvuittontrashbags​, @diabolik-trash-heap​, @rubyphilomela, @neko-otaku13, @stunninglyignis, @alicemoonwonderland and @lady-asuka <3 :D

PERMALINK: https://themissimmortal.tumblr.com/post/162035531435/can-you-do-something-where-the-bros-have-an-so


Noctis: Noctis peeped his head into the bathroom where you were busy straightening your unruly curly hair with a frown of concentration on your face. A sad smile appeared on his lips as he ambled into the bathroom and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. He cleared his throat awkwardly and shrugged his shoulders lightly as he stared at your reflection in the mirror. Looping one of your beautiful curls around his index finger, Noctis wiggled his finger at you playfully. “Look, y/n- a hair cocoon! Ha!” Noctis laughed at his own joke, grinning at his finger, and being the absolute dork he was, he continued to wiggle it as you straightened your hair. You gently pulled the curl Noctis was playing with off his finger, and her frowned in disappointment. “You’re gonna kill it?” He asked sadly, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning his chin onto your shoulder- on the side you had finished straightening.

You smiled and shook your head in amusement as you clamped your straightener onto your hair and ran it down you unruly strands. “No love, I’m going to straighten it.”

“I love your curly hair.” Noctis blurted out, pulling at your freshly straightened hair. You couldn’t help but smile at his sudden confession.

“Yeah, but it’s a nightmare to take care of when I’m out. It gets so messy!”

“I’ll take care of it,” Noctis said, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck for warmth and closeness, “like I take care of the rest of you.” Noctis mumbled. You smiled, leaning forward to turn off the straightener, your eyes appraising your straight hair. It looked nice, and was easier to manage but…

You glanced at Noctis and shook your head, love in your eyes. If he wanted to see you wear your hair curly, then you would. Occasionally. Just for your Noct.

Keep reading

Landslide: Part One

                                             SUMMARY:

Dayton White (Logan Lucky) x Reader

When a tragic accident happens in the heart of your hometown - you’re forced to go back to the countryside you’d sworn to forget. In the midst of your world turning upside down you find yourself in a state of panic when the familiar face returns in your life, Dayton White. From the time you were young he was labeled in your mind as the man who got under your skin, with the past brimming to the surface - will you be able to fight off the landslide of love?

Word count: 3,804

Notes: Cursing, Character Death, Funeral

Let me know what you think! :) if this gets to 100 I’ll maybe do a part two. :)

Keep reading

King of the Lost Boys - Anthony Ramos x Reader (Chapter 3)

Summary: There are some new encounters with the other members of the Lost Boys, as well as an introduction to the local villainous gang. Noses are broken. 

Warnings: Quite a bit of swearing, blood and bruising mention. 

Words: 7,176 (can you tell that i’ve just stopped trying)

A/N: It’s really late where I am but I’m so excited for this?? What the heck. Anyway, just a little reminder that @alexanderhamllton and I have made matching aesthetics and playlists for the Lost Boys…coming soon to a tumblr near you…anyway, enjoy. Tags: @daveedsbra @myself-and-the-madman @clamilton @robotic-space @attackonmikaelson @pearltheartist @itsjaynebird

askbox | masterlist


The Pirates were a venomous crew of reptilian proportions, who didn’t play by the rules. They were of the privileged class, people who didn’t bother to think about their repercussions or the damage caused. Boredom is their motivation. Lives where everything is given to you, where money is not an issue, are lives that are awfully mundane. With a craving for possibility and the fire of resources at their fingertips, the Pirates seem to think themselves wonderfully immortal. They are the good ones gone wrong, a budding flower bitten at the stem by a poison with no antidote. In their blind want for something of substance, they chose to take as a method of getting what they want, but do not need. The local gas station cowers after a history of hold-ups. The department stores have lists of clients who are not allowed in; the Pirates are at the top.

Keep reading

PART 3!!!

Surprise I wanted to put it up now. Sorry I know it’s late a pretty lame update and it hecka sucks but #4 is about to be great. Love you guys!

Rating: PG maybe

It was impossible to sleep that night. The reveal of my art piece was approaching quickly and my nerves were catching up to me.

I got a text from my mum first thing in the morning saying she was so proud and excited to see me. I had picked out what I was going to wear weeks ago.

The black dress hug my porcelain curves, the red lipstick I boldly chose matches my red shoes and hang back.

I felt like I was going to something as significant as the Grammys. My dark hair falling in perfect ringlets as I curl it.

I arrived at the studio early, much earlier than required. I observed the blank space on the wall that would soon hold my masterpiece.

Artwork that I’ve tried to express multiple times in my teenage years but just finally was able to do.

My parents are the first to show up. They race to hug me.

I introduce them to the owner of the art gallery who I met while sketching at a coffee shop. My artwork caught his eye and he said he wanted to see more. I want to say it is because he liked my work more than the fact I was drawing a nude woman.

Many strangers show up. Already with still a half hour left until we start, there is a much bigger turnout than I expected.

The art covered walls feeling much closer together as my nervousness increases.

Calum, Ashton and Michael all show up. Michel brings a girl who I do not recognize.

“Is my art reveal the place you bring a girl on a first date?” I question as the blond wanders away to look at the other art pieces.

“Well I get major props for knowing the artist.” Michael bumps me.

I grin and look at all of them. They are all dressed up, meaning they are wearing button ups. Sure michaels is only half tucked in and calum is wearing blue jeans but it’s really the effort that counts.

“It really means a lot that you guys are here.” I smile at them.

“Aww!” Ashton squeals like a girl before hugging me.

“Have you guys heard from Luke?” I ask nonchalantly.

They shake their heads. I brush it off, I’m sure he is on his way.

When the owner starts calling for everyone to gather together I glance at the door one more, waiting for Luke to make one of his last minute entrances.

I make my way up to the front, while I was chatting with people I didn’t notice them put up my painting. It is covered by a thin cloth so no one can see it.

I glance down at my phone. There is a text from Luke:

Finally couldn’t put off taking ‘A’ out to dinner any longer. Wanna hang after?

I swear I could literally feel my heart being smashed. All of the pieces tearing through my body, desperate to find their way back together. But they were too lost.

He had forgotten and her again Arzaylea got what she wanted. On the night that was supposed to be mine.

I know if he had remembered he would have been the first person here. He would have wanted to come out to dinner with my parent and I after and he would have calmed my nerves before the show.

He wasn’t here, instead he was with her probably fighting.

I feel as I am about to cry. In front of all of these people. Everyone is looking at me, am I crying and not noticing it.

The one say I do decide to wear make up of course I would ruin it.

The owner says my name and I realized he was speaking to me.

“I’m so sorry. what?” I ask.

“Nerves seem to get the best of these young people.” He makes a joke. Many people laugh and I pull together my best smile.

“Why don’t you uncover your piece when you are ready and tell us about it.” He says.

My eyes scan the faces of the room once more. Hoping Luke remembered and snuck in without me noticing. I’m yet again let down.

The thing is I’m not even mad. I’m just so incredibly hurt, this was one of the most important nights of my life and he promised.

I slowly remove the barrier and everyone claps before pulling out their cameras. My mother has been filming since she got here.

“I want to catch my baby girls big moment.” Her words ring through my head.

“It took me a really long time to think of a name for this piece. Eventually I just went with ‘Air’.” I say. “It is painted with oil based paints. To me it represents freedom and individuality.”

My painting has a silhouette girl who is off centered next to a house. It is a pallet of colors. She is holding on to a bunch of balloons that I like to are pulling her up, wherever she wants.

The small room that recently seemed so full suddenly seems so empty. One of the only people I wanted to be here celebrating wasn’t.

I try to swallow back the tears of sadness the blur my vision. One single drop wins the battle as it slides down my cheek, the rest of its arm fallows in its quick descent down my face.

“There is a reason I wants the girl to remain identity less. Because I do think of this as a self portrait but adding something like skin color or hair color could ruin the illusion that this could be any other woman out there. Those fighting for freedom, equality.” My voice cracks as I continue to cry.

My mothers eyes mirror mine, smiling as proud and happy emotions stroll from her eyes.

“Those fighting for love. I wanted this to be a painting that could be looked at and see from so many different perspectives and points of view. See yourself in my work. I do this for the world.” I finish my speech.

The audience stars applauding and as much as I feel it’s impossible I muster up a smile.

“Wow. It is very phenomenal that this piece means this much to you. And it is only through true emotion like this do we find success and beauty in one’s art.” The owner of the gallery starts another round of applause.

I think them all, excusing myself to get some air.

On a day that is suppose to be about me I would ruin it crying over some boy. I painted the girl to be me but I don’t feel half as strong or beautiful as I want people to feel when they look at it.

I’m joined outside by Calum. I wipe my eyes and smile at him.

At least people think I’m crying for a different reason.

He pulls me in for a hug, rubbing my back.

“I’m sorry he wasn’t here today.” He says.

The waterworks start all over again. We pull away from each other i try to conceal myself but I can’t.

He already knows anyways. Everyone knows that I’m so in love with Luke. Everyone but Luke.

“I don’t know why I’m letting him get to me like his.” I rub my face, a lot of my makeup coming off with it.

“He said he would be here. It’s not right and you have every right to be upset. It’s not fair. He is supposed to be here.” Calum says.

I wonder if he knows where Luke actually is.

“Yeah well he has other obligations. Like a girlfriend who he is with right now.” I say.

The surprise etched in his face shows me he didn’t.

“He is with Arzaylea? What? 10 times out of 10 he would rather be with you.” Calum says.

“That’s not true.” I shake my head. Luke and I do have the best fun together but there is something about being in a relationship with someone. You want to be with them all the time.

That’s how I’ve always felt about Luke except we aren’t in a relationship.

“They just fight a lot. I’m scared sometimes he is unhappy but then there is days like this where he forgets about me because he is with her.” I wipe the unders of my eyes.

“I don’t think he ever stops thinking about you.” Calum says quietly. “Do you ever think the reason Luke is so unhappy with Arzaylea is because she isn’t the one he wants to be with.”

Calum seems like he is almost trying to hint something.

“What? What are you saying?” I squint at him through my tears.

“Oh my gosh. You are both so blind. He likes you, as more than a friend.” Calum rolls his eyes.

I shake my head in disbelief “Luke doesn’t think of me that way. I’m nothing more than a friend to him.” My soul breaks as I say that.

More and more these days being with Luke seems to not even be possible. Like a dream I need to give up on.

“Drunk Luke can’t keep a secret from Calum.” Calum speaks of himself which makes me laugh.

I still don’t know if I believe what he is saying.

But what if he is right. All those times I’ve caught Luke staring at me isn’t because he is spacing out. When he tries to make me laugh with horrible jokes or pays attention to me over his girlfriend.

Maybe Calum is right.

I don’t know if I have enough willpower to find out though.

PART 4 COMING SOON

Imagine...

Tommy asking you to be a distraction for him in a meeting with an important client and you do an excellent job, making Tommy jealous.

Originally posted by imaginesparadise

“No, Tommy! I will not do that.” You crossed your arms across your chest, a stubborn stance that couldn’t even come close to the outrage that sparked in your eyes. 

“Y/N. Please. Do me this one little favor.” Tommy Shelby wasn’t one to beg, but this was the closest you’d heard him come. You wondered what made this client so important, and why he wanted you to be the one to accompany him to, as you imagined, sweeten the deal.  “He’s coming from London to Small Heath to talk business. He’s some rich bloke who wants my advice. If he bets how I tell him, well, the payout would be pretty significant.” He met your eyes and you saw what was, for Tommy Shelby, genuine excitement at the prospect of swindling the man out of his money. 

“Tommy, what’s so different about this one? You get clients asking you to tell them how to bet all the time, what d’ya need me for?” You were outraged, frankly, that he’d ask you to do this. As one of Tommy’s oldest friends, you worked for him as a trusted secretary for both the legal and illegal aspects of the Shelby business. While he mostly hired you to take notes of his transactions, handle phone calls, and deal with scheduling, you felt like whoring you out to some client was a bit out of your jurisdiction. 

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The Sweetest Melody

pairing: philip hamilton x reader
words: 2700
warnings: none i guess unless you count shY PHILIP and this one is just really crappy oh well
summary: reader takes piano lessons from eliza. philip is blown away by her music and the feeling is mutual. this summary explains nothing and i couldn’t find a good gif cri

It had been love at first sight.

From the moment you saw a piano at your church, you knew it was something you wanted to play, to learn, to master. You approached it in awe, your four-year-old eyes shining with childlike wonder. Looking around, you spotted your parents, who were deep in conversation with another couple towards the front door. No one else was around, or so you thought. Straining and reaching with all your might, you managed to get your little legs onto the bench. You looked around, quickly, and hesitantly tapped a key towards the center. A note sounded, abrupt, but it was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard, clear and unique. You pressed on the key again, longer, laughing quietly now.

You experimented with different keys, touching ones low down and high up, holding them for different lengths, even doing three at once, which was quite the task for your small little hands. Your parents’ attention had been attracted by now, and your mother came over quickly.

“(Y/N), dear, I don’t know if you should—”

“Mommy, did you hear? L​​​isten!” You tapped out a short melody that you had made up. Your father had come over at this time as well.

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” your father said. “Did you make that up yourself?” You nodded happily.

And that is why you started piano lessons two years later, as soon as your parents could afford to get you a piano and find you a teacher. It took them longer to do the latter, as you had specific standards that you delivered to them in a list. “She has to be kind and funny,” you said. “And she has to like me and want to help me get better.” Your parents could barely hide the twitching in the corners of their mouths as you gravely ticked off all the qualities your teacher needed to have. However, they looked around to see who was teaching locally, and they found you a perfect fit.

A Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton.

You were very excited for your first lesson. Your parents dropped you off at the door and you raced inside, Mrs. Hamilton greeting you. “(Y/N)! How are you, dear?” she cried, giving you a big hug. She smelled like cookies and the flowers in your front yard—peonies, weren’t they? As she led you into her living room, you stopped short in awe. A beautiful grand piano was sitting in the corner, glistening and sleek. It was huge, but you resolved not to let that get to you. She laughed, her bell-like voice sounding in your ears, and once you had recovered from your initial shock, she sat you down on the bench and pulled up a chair next to you.

“Now, (Y/N), this is what I do with everyone for their first lesson. We won’t be playing anything today, but we’re going to get to know each other.” Your face had dropped when you heard you wouldn’t be touching the beautiful keys, but you brightened when you heard the alternative. You loved Mrs. Hamilton already, and couldn’t wait to get to know her more.

She asked you things like how old you were (six), if you were excited to start lessons (yes!), what made you interested in piano (everything; she chuckled at that), and if you had any siblings (no, but your mother was pregnant and you hoped it was a girl). “Now it’s time for you to ask me things,” she said. Ask anything and I’ll most likely answer it.“ You thought hard for a second, then said,

"Do you have any kids?” She smiled.

“I have one right now. His name is Philip and he’s just your age.” You beamed.

“Is he here?”

Mrs. Hamilton frowned. “Yes, but he’s very shy. He’s most likely just in his room like he usually is during lessons. He only comes down when it’s time for him to practice, which is right after your lesson.” You responded with a rather disappointed oh and then asked her about her husband. He was a lawyer and worked for one of the most successful law firms in downtown New York City, which had a daily hour-and-a-half commute. Her father was an important politician as well. It seemed that your new piano teacher was not only sweet but successful.

Your parents heard glowing reviews of how your lesson went and how your teacher was. However, even through all your excitement, you still wanted to meet Philip Hamilton. Your childish desire to make friends your age burned brightly, and every time you went, you kept an eye on the doorway for a peek of him. However, he stayed hidden. The only trace of him you ever got was a small snatch of his voice. Humming. You were too young to question why he didn’t show up. You just figured that he was very shy and left it at that.

——

Nine years had passed, and you still went to Mrs. Hamilton every Monday, rain or shine. You were her favorite student, or so she said, and you had been going to her for lessons longer than anyone else she taught. Of course, having played for nearly your whole life, you were very advanced and were playing some of the most difficult classical pieces she had. This week, you were working on the third movement of the “Moonlight” Sonata by Beethoven. You were unbelievably excited because he was your favorite composer and you loved that particular work. It took some work, but you quickly caught on and could play it beautifully. You launched yourself into her house emphatically.

“Hi, Mrs. Hamilton!”

“Hi, Sunshine!” That quickly became her nickname for you as you were always happy and bright when you sat down at a piano. “You ready to go today?”

“Yes, ma'am!” you cried excitedly. “Wait ‘til you hear me play my Beethoven!”

“Warmups first,” she smiled, and you faked a sigh.

“If you insist.”

You stretched your fingers out, cracking your knuckles.

“Ready? Go!” she said, and the two of you began counting in French as you began to play scales. It was something unique that she did, that she’d always done. You thought it was incredibly cool and learned the numbers quickly.

“Sept, huit, neuf,” you finished, and Mrs. Hamilton applauded.

“Well done!” she cried. “Now, let’s see how your Beethoven is going.”

You smiled and picked up your sheet music. Taking a deep breath, you started playing, counting out the measures silently in your head.

She listened to you for a while, then stopped you. “Beautiful!” she said. “But go back to that measure. These notes are supposed to be legato.” She pointed to a group of notes and had you play it until you got it right. “Perfect! Keep going!” You played the rest with relatively small mistakes. But when you finished, Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t looking at you. She was looking at the doorway with a confused expression. She put her forefinger to her mouth and suddenly got up and tiptoed to the door.

“Aha!” she cried. “Found you!” You raised an eyebrow.

She came back into the room, this time with a boy in tow. “This,” she said, “is my oldest, Philip. Philip, say hello to (Y/N). It’s taken you long enough.”

Your eyes widened and you looked awkwardly down at your sheet music. Philip loosened himself from his mother’s grip, frowning slightly. “Hi, (Y/N),” he said to the floor, quietly. All you could see was a tall, strong frame and a face covered by chocolate ringlets.

“Hi, Philip.” He looked up at the sound of your voice and pushed his hair out of his face. You were awestruck for just a moment.

You had seen Mr. Hamilton before, and Philip seemed to have inherited the best traits of both his parents. He had big brown eyes, defined cheekbones, and, surprisingly, a face sprinkled with freckles. They reminded you of stars. And, of course, his hair framed his face in ringlets, a loose curl coming to a stop just above his left eyelid. He was the best-looking boy you’d ever seen.

“Philip, would you care to tell (Y/N) why you were listening to her every note?” His eyes widened as he looked at his mother and he bit his lip nervously.

“Um…well…” he seemed to be rendered speechless, and a bloom of red was spreading across his freckle-dusted cheeks. The reddish tint just served to define his already prominent cheekbones, and you had to breathe deeply to suppress yourself from blushing as well.

“You…uh…sounded really good. It was the best I’ve heard anyone play that song, actually. And Mom’s had a lot of people do it.” Now you really did blush.

“It wasn’t that good,” you said, then inwardly kicked yourself at the stupid response. Wow, I bet he hates me already, you thought. Your fingers began to tap out a scale on your leg, a nervous habit you had acquired.

“Yeah, it was,” he responded, with a shy grin. “You sounded better than I ever have.”

Mrs. Hamilton observed the exchange with a small grin on her face. “Well, dear, your lesson is over,” she told you. “Wonderful work!” She handed you the music for next time, and you went out into the foyer to put on your shoes. You intentionally spent a long time tying up your shoes. You wanted to hear Philip play.

He sang in French along with his mother, and your eyebrows shot up. His voice was—well, the only way you could describe it was pretty. It never wavered and was sure, confident. But if you were impressed by his voice, all thoughts of it were swept away when you heard him play. You recognized the song—Prelude No. 1 in C Major. A piece by Bach. Your jaw dropped and you were motionless for a moment. But you shook yourself a minute later. You couldn’t draw suspicion, and you reluctantly stepped onto the pretty, flowered porch, closing the door behind you.

Philip never hesitated to come in now. You had told him that you didn’t mind if he listened to you play. If it made him happy, he should do it.

When you came back a few weeks later, Philip was in the living room, engaged in a heated argument with his mother.

“But, Mom, that’s just creepy! Why would she do that? I don’t even know her!”

“Philip, you’ve been listening to her play for five years!”

You nearly dropped your music.

“Mom, that means nothing! I’ve just been listening to her because she’s the most talented person I’ve ever heard. Even if I tried not to listen, it wouldn’t work! Her playing just…draws me.”

You had to sit down at this point, your mind too numb to start untying your shoes.

“Then you shouldn’t have any problems with doing this. Just do it for me. Please? I might even have you two play at the next recital.”

A sigh. “Fine.”

You heard her coming and quickly ran to the door, pretending like you had just come in.

“Hi, Mrs. Hamilton!”

“Hello there! Have I got a surprise for you!” she exclaimed, excited.

“Really? What is it?”

“I was talking with Philip, and he’d be willing to play a duet with you for the next recital! Would that be okay?”

“Uh—sure! Yeah! That’d be great!”

“Oh, wonderful! Come in!”

You took off your shoes quickly and entered the living room. Philip was already sitting on the bench, looking worried. He looked up when he saw you, his face reddening again.

“Hey,” you said. He responded likewise. Mrs. Hamilton bustled around, gathering music and laying it in front of the two of you. After she was satisfied with the arrangement of everything, she clapped her hands.

“Go ahead!”

Philip looked at you and shrugged. You shrugged back and began to play.

The song was pretty, a piece by Strauss. It required yours and Philip’s hands to cross often, and you bit your lip in equal parts concentration and nervousness. Every time your wrists touched, sparks went up your arm and you had to work hard to keep yourself from falling behind. It seemed like forever, but you neared the end. Philip finished his part, and you played the last few chords. You looked up, breathless, and grinned at him. He smiled back, a crooked, laughing quirk that sent your heart racing and leaping into your throat, an expanding in your chest, a good hurt.

Mrs. Hamilton looked on. She saw the way Philip smiled at you, how he followed your every movement as you finished out the song. Something deep within her, something maternal, was grieving silently. Her son was growing up. He was already taller than his father and just as strong. She knew it would be a matter of time before he began to be interested in girls, and she was overjoyed that he seemed to have chosen you as the object of his affections, but that one part of her ached.

“That was beautiful,” she cried, blinking away a tear. “I’ll definitely have the two of you perform that at the next recital.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Hamilton,” you said.

“I have to find you some music,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” However, something in her eyes told you that she was leaving the two of you for a different reason. Her skirts disappeared from the doorway, and you and Philip were alone with your silence. You looked shyly up at him, but he was fiddling with his hands, weaving his fingers in and out of each other.

“You did really good,” you said, at the same time he blurted, “I have something to say.” You both were startled for a second, but then you laughed and he cracked a grin, which made your heart jump all over again.

“Go ahead,” you told him. He nodded and took a deep breath.

“All right. You’re probably going to think I’m strange, but please, just hear me out.” You watched him intently.

“I’ve always been shy. I’ve never liked meeting people because I’ve always thought they wouldn’t like me. But that changed when I first saw you come here for lessons, about five years ago. I was looking out the window of my bedroom and I saw a car pull up and you stepped out. I could see you well enough that I could form the opinion that you looked like such a friendly, approachable person. I just wanted to be your friend.

"Every week after that, I watched you come in and get picked up. You always had a huge grin on your face and greeted your parents with a wave and a lot of happiness. It wasn’t until five years ago that I realized I had fallen in love with your smile. That’s when I became interested in your music. When I heard you for the first time, I was blown away. It made sense that someone with such amazing energy and optimism could create equally wonderful music. I’d never talked to you; I was too shy, but just the same, I had the biggest crush on you.

"I knew you’d never even seen me, but I couldn’t help but fall in even more. I’m just grateful I got to meet you after all these years. You’re as wonderful a person as I’d imagined you’d be.” He fell quiet then, and you stared at him in shock.

“Oh my god.”

He looked devastated. “I’m so sorry! I just thought you would want to know. I’ve probably ruined everything now, haven’t I?” He put his head in his hands.

“Philip, no,” you told him, gently prying away his fingers. “It’s probably stupid since I haven’t known you for very long, but I feel the same way. Ever since I was six, I wanted to meet you. And you’re everything I thought you would be.” His eyes widened and he looked at you in disbelief.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Philip took your hand.

And outside the door, in the kitchen, Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton smiled through her tears.