smokes like a dream

my favorite forgery is prokopenko.

beautiful surprises and realism

still going with my 500 celebrations… another from Perfect Enigma series on ff.net. Basically this is a composite to Admiration to Love [I couldn’t get the link b/c my computer was not cooperating but check the bughead tag or my page and it will there, was posted just before this one] and details Betty’s journey of falling in love with Jughead. Enjoy xx


At first falling for Jughead had taken Betty by surprise. The familiar butterflies catching her off guard as they erupted in her stomach for an unfamiliar reason- these butterflies were ebony, blacking out the usual red. He had strolled into her room with a typical sardonic comment on his lips and standard beanie. However, his jeans, boots and flannel shirt had been replaced with a well-fitting suit and tie, suspenders actually across his chest for once and not hanging by his legs. He had shied under her gaze, boyish smile gracing his face as she obviously appraised him with her eyes. She thinks part of her always registered that Jughead was attractive, but that afternoon her mind was cleared of the fog of childish fantasies and she was able to see him in all his gentlemanly glory. She was surprised by the urge to run her fingers through his hair, the urge to smooth down his shirt and fiddle with the spenders. She was definitely surprised, but certainly not perturbed.

And from that day forward, Betty felt like she was finally awake. It was as though she had been living in a dream, a glossy illusion that was obstructing her from seeing the big picture, from seeing the truth and most importantly from seeing him. Suddenly she was awake and alive and all the glorified, too bright colours from that dream were replaced with realistic shadows and sharp lines. She was no longer living in a fantasy of vivid rainbows, scorching red and white picket fences. Instead she was revelling in reality, accepting the darkness and allowing herself to become enthralled with details, discovering black was not a singular shade and that the moon could actually outshine the sun.

But the thing that surprised Betty the most about falling in love with Jughead Jones is that when she thought about it, it didn’t really surprise her at all. In fact once all the dream like smoke cleared and she was left with the mirrors, every little moment came rushing back and she was suddenly acutely aware that it had been him all this time. He had always been her rock, her constant, hers. He was always the one who noticed, who consoled, who took care of her just like she did him. And they fell together so naturally, so effortlessly, without expectation or pressure and it was so utterly, catastrophically perfect.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hello darling, how's about a little fic or headcannon for Pharah, 76, and Zarya. Where they come back from a morning workout (because let's face it, they probably all get up at dawn to workout) and find their s/o still in bed, but wearing an article of their clothing.

Gaahh, don’t call me darling, you’ll make me blush! /////// I’m supposed to call you darlin’ dammit! >:0

Anyway, since you requested three people at a time, I’ll do headcanons for now, just because that’s easier and, frankly, I always find writing headcanons more fun because I can do little stupid things in those. <D

~~~

Pharah

  • She and Zarya are long-distance work-out buds, I swear
  • Anyway she probably gets up at like four a.m.
  • Eats something small, fills a giant-ass water bottle, then she’s on her way
  • Her work-out consists of a five-mile run before the gym, a hardcore almost-military workout at said gym that would make masculine bodybuilder seem like a fragile little flower, then a seven-mile run before heading home
  • Once she gets home, she’ll take a shower so she doesn’t reek, then starts breakfast for her and her s/o
  • After breakfast is a go, she’ll go to check on her s/o and wake them up to come sit
  • They’re still asleep splayed out haphazardly on the bed
  • Like one foot’s against the headboard, the other leg is off the opposite side of the bed, their head’s hanging off the bed and resting on the chest at the foot of it instead, the blankets are everywhere but on the bed
  • At least they got a good night’s sleep, as the position shows
  • They’ll be stiff as when when they wake up though
  • They’re also wearing one of Fareeha’s pairs of boxer shorts that she uses as pajamas
  • They’re so precious and pure and sweet
  • She’ll just stand and are marvel at the beauty of her s/o, despite how ugly of a sleeper they are <D
  • Then she briefly forgets about breakfast until she smells smoke
  • “OH SHIT!” -loud but light foot taps as she runs back to the kitchen-
  • S/O wakes up from her shout and flails the rest of the way off the bed
  • After gaining their senses, they get up and stiffly limp to the kitchen
  • There’s the bird-wife fanning the slightly charred bacon before the smoke detector goes off
  • Personally, I like burnt bacon so this’d be a morning dream-come-true
  • S/O ends up helping her finish breakfast
  • Her fingers will eventually end up rubbing the skin just under the waistband of her shorts that s/o’s wearing at some point
  • She’ll set up the table while they fix the bacon, then they’ll both sit down to eat and chat over eggs and pancakes and more or less decent bacon
  • Afterwards she’ll invite them to join her for yoga or stretching so they can work out their stiff bodies together
  • Also because it another excuse for getting touchy, which Pharah’s always a fan of

Zarya

  • Similar workout ethic as Pharah
  • Like I said, they’re long-distance workout buddies
  • Plus Zarya loves to show off
  • So she goes to one of those huge, hardcore public gyms that only seriously fit people go to use
  • Also you know that she made one of those huge, nasty-looking/tasting energy/protein smoothies before she went out too
  • And then she spends her morning putting them to shame in the best-humored way
  • She knows a lot of the people there
  • Gets into competitions with various bodybuilder one
  • One of these are probably Reinhardt
  • She usually wins, then proceeds to give whoever she won against tips
  • She indirectly becomes a personal trainer for some of those struggling there
  • When she comes home, the first thing she does is get a drink of water, then check in on her s/o
  • They’re curled up in her huge bed, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and wearing one of her tank tops that’s a literal dress on them
  • She’ll smile and quietly come in to change out of her workout gear
  • Then she’ll go over to her s/o and run her fingers through their hair or give their arm a little squeeze
  • Just something noticeable enough to wake their s/o up briefly so she can tell them that she’s home
  • She’ll kiss their forehead or temple and run her fingers lightly along their body where it’s clothed by her tank top
  • Might ride the tank top up a bit to massage the skin underneath a bit, just enough to help you relax back into sleep mode
  • It’s her favorite thing to see them wearing her stuff as sleepwear, tbh
  • Then she’ll leave them to sleep while she makes herself some breakfast
  • She’ll come back into the room with a cup of coffee and sit in bed with them until they finally wake up
  • Just tracing her fingers along their body or running a hand through their hair while listening to the quiet nature noises coming through the window
  • When they do wake up, she’ll ask what they want for breakfast
  • She’ll carry them out into the kitchen and have them sit on the counter while she makes what they want
  • If they really want to help, she’ll have them grab things that are nearby where they’re sitting for her
  • She’ll sit with you while you eat and talk about her workout and any dreams you had and plans for the day
  • Then you’ll both spend a couple hours in the shower together

Solder 76

  • He has a home gym or a private gym, or gets up earlier than everybody so he’s gone before more people show up
  • He’s just not a fan of working out in front of everyone else
  • He works out shirtless or in a tank top and either sweats or shorts and he just doesn’t want his scarred body to be looked on by loads of people
  • Not to mention the questions about working about blind he gets every once in while
  • He’s not blind, goddammit
  • He just has cloudy vision
  • The glasses Mercy had engineered for specifically for him helps a lot
  • His sight is almost back to normal now, if not a bit blurry still
  • Sometimes he loses track of time during workouts and his s/o will be up before he gets home
  • This happens frequently
  • So they’ll either make him breakfast or coffee or just go to the basement where the gym is to see him
  • Either way their wearing his shirt and his pajama pants, both of which are way too big on them
  • He hears them before he sees them and stops his workout to apologize for waking them up if he did so
  • When he turns around and sees them decked out in his sleep attire, he gets bit flustered though
  • Either stops talking mid-sentence to marvel at them or looks away and stumbles over the rest of his words
  • When they say he didn’t wake them up but he did lose track of his workout time, he gets all huffy and glares at the clock before walking over to give his s/o a hug and a kiss
  • If they’re okay with him touching them while he’s all sweaty, that is
  • They are; it takes a lot for him to get really sweaty gross
  • If they hadn’t made him breakfast and/or coffee, he asks them to stay while he does his last couple of sets
  • He offers to let them sit on his back while he does one-handed push-ups
  • Or hold down his feet while he does sit-ups (and give him kisses when he reaches his knees)
  • Or spot him while he does his weights
  • High-key trying to impress his s/o, even though he really doesn’t need to
  • At some point, he’ll just randomly comment something about them wearing his clothes
  • Something like “You look good in those” or “You can have those if you want”
  • Low-key telling them to keep wearing his clothes
  • After he finishes his workout, he’ll take them upstairs and he’ll go take a shower
  • He’ll probably ask them to sit in the bathroom with him to chat while he does so
  • Then they’ll both make breakfast after he’s done
  • They make the best coffee
  • His always tastes like dirty water
  • When they eat, he’ll have them sit on his lap on the living room couch and they’ll share breakfast together while watching cartoons or some random old movie that’s on
  • He’ll play with their clothes throughout breakfast
  • After the food’s and coffee’s all gone, the TV tray will be set aside while y’all cuddle for a while
  • He’ll continue to play with the clothes they’re wearing
  • Plus kisses
  • Ending up pinned down under him on the couch with his mouth on their neck his hands in their pants and up their shirt is a total possibility here
  • Keep wearing his clothes
In Dreams 18

Chapter 1...Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9...Chapter10… Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17


There are times when things are crystal clear, when everything makes perfect sense. He can distinctly remember feeling like he understood his place in the world, but that was a long time ago. Now, he feels like he’s on the road not taken in some strange way, lost in Frost’s yellow wood, meandering about, distracted by sounds, by the beauty and the dark places. Sometimes she’s right there next to him and others, he’s certain he’s lost her.

These last few months, he’s been wandering. Lost as he can be, distracted by Diana, by little white pills, by memories and nightmares when all along, the thing he needed to pay attention to, to keep his eyes wide open for, was her. Always her.

She’s asleep on the couch, she was so drained by the time she checked her apartment and got back to his place that she curled up and drifted off in the space of just a few minutes. He’d read in one of the books that the overwhelming exhaustion is normal, that he shouldn’t worry. But he still does. It can’t be helped.

He’s spent the last couple hours cleaning up the bedroom, making space for her. It dawns on him as he hauls out boxes of magazines and clippings that it’s the first time he’s done something like this for her. It wasn’t so long ago that they were discussing why she didn’t have a desk. She still doesn’t have a desk. She takes up so much of his heart, so many of his thoughts, but she can’t live in either of those places. He’s determined to change that, starting right now.

He may be a lost man, but one thing he’s sees clearly is her and if he can see her, he can find his way.

Keep reading

It hurts. It always hurts. In their relationship there is no such thing as soft touches or sweet kisses. It’s rough and painful. There’s always crescent shaped cuts in his wrist and fingertip bruises on his hips. Blood coats his lips from teeth.

It’s always the same. Every time. Dean fingers him open, hard and rough, spit coating his hand instead of lube. He pins Sam to the mattress as he fucks him from behind, animalistic sounds spilling past his lips because it hurts him as much as it hurts Sam but they wouldn’t have it any other way. Dean thinks, he hopes, he prays that if it hurts when they do this, that they’ll stop. That they’ll realize that a sin as dark as this isn’t supposed to feel good and they’ll finally stop.

Sam cried through it. His face pressed down into the pillow, his tears staining the fabric but Dean never sees it, never hears it because Sam knows that if he does then it will stop. And Sam doesn’t want that because he loves this too much.

It’s the only way he can have Dean and he will take it.

But still, at night when Dean is snoring loudly beside him, his face twisted in a picture of torment, Sam will dream of a place, of a time, of a universe where he can have this where it doesn’t hurt. He dreams of adoring smiles and tender touches. He dreams of a home that is permanent and doesn’t smell like mold. He dreams of a place where Dean smells like fire and wood and not like cheap beer and stale cigarette smoke. He dreams of a place where one day we will walk down the aisle to the man that he loves, a perfect bride for the perfect man.

Except Sam knows that he’s never going to be able to wear white for Dean. He’s worn white, covered the insides of him from Dean too many times.

In the morning, when the sunlight filters in through the window and washes away the sin that comes out in the night, Sam will place his own fingers over the imprints that mark his skin and he’ll hiss when he presses in on them and Dean won’t touch him again until it’s dark and the shadows come out to play.

And while Sam dreams of a place where everything is soft and he can make sweet sounds for Dean instead of choked sobs and sharp intakes of breath, he will still say please.

He will still beg for more because it’s the only thing he can do.

42/365

10

Jongdae + Love Me Right MV  (1)

Mass Effect Relationships Week: Day 2: Pictures of You

On the dresser sits a photo. The photo is of a handsome man, staring straight at the camera and wearing a small smile. His shoulders are square; he sits with the natural profile of an old soldier, and his hair is worn close to the scalp. The light blue button-up accents his same-colored eyes, so sharp and clear but not cold like the sea. No ice in these eyes, only warmth.

On the dresser sits a photo of a man who hung the sun and the moon and the stars. Now it’s like the stars have taken that bright light the man was once made of and spread it amongst themselves, to hold tight until they burn out and all this is long gone. And supposedly, that is what happened. The Reapers that hang out in the sky late at night, uneasy shadows, say so.

Why Kaidan would believe that, he’s not sure. He’s not sure what to think about any of it, really. One day, he had everything he needed in this lifetime and then some, despite the ugliness of the war and the fight for survival. But all too soon there was a hurried kiss, a race for the beam, and radio silence.

Then his world fell apart.

Kaidan sighs, preparing himself for a long day. The new Council swear-in is today, which will be nothing more than a load of posturing and politics, something Kaidan was once good at, and even enjoyed in some respects, but now has no patience for. Then comes the next human Spectre induction, so at least he won’t be alone in that sense anymore. It’s a small thing, but the small things in life are what keep him going these days.

But the itinerary gets much worse. At the end of a long day, far after exhaustion sets in, there’s a meeting with the Reapers, and these are his worst missions, if they can even be called that. He will have to face Harbinger, their old enemy-turned-cautious-ally. Kaidan hates Harbinger with an undying passion, but there isn’t anything that can be done about it. Seeing as how Ghost has requested him in particular to be humanity’s ambassador to the Reapers, he doesn’t have much choice.

And Ghost will be there, too. Ghost, who has an uncanny and frankly quite creepy habit of reading Kaidan’s mind sometimes.

He shudders and runs his fingers over the photo. “I suppose we did know the score, huh,” he murmurs to the handsome man framed there. “But this is even harder than I thought it would be. I miss you every day, John. Please give me strength.”

As usual, there’s no answer, so he squares his shoulders and walks into the bright morning. It’s warm, but that warmth doesn’t spread to the ice in his heart. Not even close.


On the dresser sits a photo of the only man Kaidan Alenko has ever loved, but he’s not there anymore and Kaidan has work to do.

More specifically, Kaidan has to make nice and put up with this goddamned black spider-looking motherfucker while his heart is screaming and cursing and bawling in the corner.

“We are almost finished with the repairs. Soon the Citadel can go back to the Serpent Nebula.”

Well, something nice for a change- nice being, of course, a relative thing. At least the Citadel won’t be a danger to Earth anymore.

“That’s great news, Harbinger. Thank you for your hard work.”

And don’t those words just leave his mouth tasting like ash.

“We have mined 11 tons of palladium at the edge of the Far Rim that will soon arrive via the fourth fleet. Our understanding is the salarians are requesting a shipment of approximately half that. Will this request be filled? We can begin preparations if you like.”

“I don’t know, I will have to discuss it with the Council.” He makes a note on the datapad. “Next order of business?”

Harbinger drones on, emotionless. It’s all Kaidan can do to avoid using his biotics against it. Even though it’d probably swat him away like a fly. Even though it’d be pointless.

On the dresser in his bedroom sits a photo of a distant memory. Everything is pointless now.

The meeting drags on. There are several items that are concerning, but overall there are many positives. The damage done by the Reapers is slowly being cleared up, and they will soon be able to dedicate more time to actually improving civilization. Everyone will cheer.

Kaidan won’t. Kaidan can no longer cheer about anything.

He turns around and hands over the datapad to an assistant, a man with caterpillar eyebrows and stars in his drab brown eyes every single time he sees Kaidan. Eyes that are the opposite of John’s baby blues. The opposite of life and love and happiness. It makes him sick to his stomach to look at them. That probably makes him a bad person, but he no longer cares.

Ghost, until now eerily silent, makes a noise before he can walk away. It sounds suspiciously like a throat clearing.

Kaidan turns back toward the Reapers paired side by side, Harbinger’s frame wide and imposing, Ghost much smaller and far more sleek.

Sexy, Kaidan’s mind supplies helpfully.

He takes a breath and thinks about that photo. There is nothing sexy left in the universe, especially not these vile things.

He clears his throat back at it, and hopes his disgust- not just with said thing, but himself for that thought as well- doesn’t come through. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“We are requesting your presence onboard, Major Alenko.”

Kaidan startles. What the hell?

“I, uh… I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” and here he rubs the back of his neck just like John used to do, goddammit, “I mean, how can I even do that?”

In response, a door appears as though by magic in the thing’s hull, and a walkway slides out and bangs up against the dock where Kaidan stands.

On the dresser in his bedroom sits a photo of a man, and he is walking into the waiting arms of that man’s mortal enemy.

He might as well. Not much else to do anyway, really.


The first thing Kaidan is aware of is a Presence, the kind with a capital P. Terror possesses him, but he forces himself to be calm. There are running lights that lead him to some chamber, a strange place with dimensions that hurt his brain to look at; this wasn’t meant to be seen by any mortal, and he knows that for certain. But any awareness of that falls to the wayside and his heart stops- quite literally- for a second or two when he glances in the far corner.

On the dresser in his bedroom sits a photo of a man, and that man sits in front of him now.

Impossible, it should be, and yet.

“How?”

It comes out as a breath, something no human ear would have heard. But the man, if he is indeed a man anymore, hears him.

“There are things in this universe we can never hope to understand. Do not ask the question, for the answer will grant you no solace. But before you ask, yes, I am real,” John Shepard says, and Kaidan sinks to his knees on the soft obsidian floor.

“John, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. We never needed words anyway. I loved you the moment I saw you, Kaidan. I know you like my own heart.”

“Are you… what are you?”

“I am me,” he shrugs. “I am both what you remember and yet more. And I can make you the same. You can be one with me, if you like.”

The ice blue eyes glitter, with something like mirth, something like awe. Kaidan knows it’s reflected in the hazel of his own.

“Like you have to ask?” he whispers, still barely able to speak in fear of the apparition vanishing like smoke in the breeze. Or maybe he’s dreaming.

You’re not dreaming, says a voice in his head.

John, this can’t be real. Can it? Can I be so lucky?

Kaidan, come here.

Kaidan had never been able to resist him, and so he does, and what he feels is flesh and warmth and true human contact.

And he is finally home.


On the dresser sits a photo gathering dust, of a man made of dust. Soon, it will go into a museum, next to a series of photos of the man and his husband, who disappeared into the jaws of a Reaper a few months after his death.

And all that will remain is a ghost.

Smoke and Mirrors (Song Fic)

My apology for “A Letter To My Loved Ones” (*cough* @thehoneybuddhadefender *cough*)

Guess the character :>


Your little brother never told you but he loves you so

He has been lonely ever since he was a kid. His family never liked him, and every time he faces them he was reminded of the amount of hate they had on him.

You said your mother only smiled on her TV show

His mother said he was a big disappointment to their family, and growing up he have been marked by those words. It stayed etched in his brain, and until now he can hear her voice say these words.

It rang loud in his head, haunting him every time he looks into the mirror.

You’re only happy when you’re sorry, head is filled with dope

The time he was old enough to stay away from them filled him with thrill and excitement. He knew he should be sorry, but he felt so free, and it was nothing like before. He felt he can go places without even needing their help; he has talent, right? He thought it was good enough for him to start from the beginning.

I hope you make it to the day you’re 28 years old

He was so young back then to know how to properly deal with it; too young to know it was harder than it seems. But he kept pushing, kept dreaming, and kept going until he found a sense of direction after numerous turns at the crossroads.

And he did. He found what he have been looking for, until he fell victim to something else.

You’re dripping like a saturated sunrise

At first he had control, but then he slowly lost the upper hand as he continued to smoke. Then it turned to addiction; he literally never goes through the day without smoking at least thrice.

You’re spilling like an overflowing sink

He fell victim to nicotine and how addictive it is. He continued to grow and be successful in his work, but behind everyone’s eyes he was falling apart because of his addiction. He tried to lessen the amount of times he smoked, but give him at least a day and he’ll get back to it in no time.

He was losing in this battle, and was afraid he would end up risking the only work he wants and loves.

You’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece

But me? I see the beauty he still has. Whether he smokes or not, I can still see how beautiful he is. How perfect he is. I know it would take him a lot of time to ask for support in his addiction, and that he would try to stop it on his own, but I have faith in him. I know he will come to senses and realize he can’t do this alone.

I’ve always known he was better than this anyway. I just know it.

And now you’re tearing through the pages and the ink

I’ll help him to open up to us; to slowly let down his guard and let us in through his walls. It’s just a matter of time before he realizes it, and I’ll be the first one to comfort him when the time comes.

I just know it, I just do.

Everything is blue

“Just let me in, please,” I begged, knocking on his room’s door a lot while trying to hear him through the door. I heard nothing; it was so silent in his room. It scares me, even if a part of me knew it might just be my irrational fear.

I pulled a bobby pin from my hair and continued to use it to unlock his door, taking a few minutes before it finally did unlock.

His pills, his hands, his jeans

I saw him sitting there with his box of cigarettes in front of him, and he looked like he was about to cry. “Why can’t I stop smoking, MC? I’ve tried so hard and yet…” I hugged him instead, comforting him as he cry in frustration. It wasn’t like him to be like this, but I knew how hard he tries to not relapse and come back to it.

And now I’m covered in the colors pulled apart at the seams

I can feel all his frustration, sorrow, and helplessness in him, but I can see it. He finally realized he needed help from someone in this battle, and that help would come from me.

And it’s blue

“MC, please how do I stop this…” He whimpered against my shoulder, sounding very sad and hopeless.

And it’s blue

“I can’t do this alone…”

Everything is grey

I can feel the life draining from him, all because he relapsed. I knew he was disappointed, but I can’t let him give up. Not now, not when he finally let me in.

His hair, his smokes, his dreams

“I never liked to depend on anyone,” he whispered “but I don’t think I could handle this all by myself.” “I know, and I’m here for you.” I told him, letting him hug me tighter.

And now he’s so devoid of color he don’t know what it means

“Could I even stop immediately? I tried so many times but–” “I know, believe me. The only way to go is cutting it down for a bit until you get used to it, and we just keep cutting it until you can get through a day without smoking. It’ll take time, but it’ll be worth it,” I muttered, helping him to gain some hope.

“Don’t be afraid to finally depend on someone. We’ll figure this out.”

And he’s blue

He never thought he would have to depend on someone again, ever since he became free from his parents and lived his dreams.

But he knew he needed her. 

And he’s blue

“Okay,” Zen whispered.


This is kinda crappy but I just thought, what if Zen actually struggled about his smoking habit? Like what if at some point he got addicted because he was under so much stress, and MC noticed it but waited for him to open up?

Also, I just made this up on the spot. It took me a day (and a half?) to finish this. 

Okay, next time when I have nothing to do I swear I will do a proper fic just give me time XD

@rfaimagining Sorry if this is really crappy ugh ;A;