the photo was so dark what made it really difficult to get the features of the face right

anonymous asked:

hey do you have any fics like tif? love u

hi anon !!! sorry this literally took me a week i’ve been super busy but anyways, here are some fics that are similar to TIF in the sense that some of them follow the formula of TIF as in the whole miscommunication, pining, not admitting their feelings, someone leaves etc, and some are fwb fics, and some both. obviously TIF is rly unique so these aren’t gonna be exactly similar, so these are some fics that in some way remind me of TIF but anyways, hope u enjoy !!!

Fics like TIF 

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by @gloriaandrews and @100percentsassy

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who “has made Mozart cool again” according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don’t hum Bolero.

Into The Blue by zarah5

AU. In which Louis is Harry’s scuba instructor and quite happy to provide the requested special treatment, pun fully intended. It can’t be all that difficult to convince Harry that they’re on the same page, right? Also, Niall and Liam may or may not be dating, and Zayn is surrounded by emotionally stunted idiots. He bears it with dignity.

Fall At My Door by @fullonlarrie

A-list actor Harry Styles and award-winning musician Louis Tomlinson have an acquaintances-with-benefits relationship, so whenever their busy professional lives happen to land them in the same city, they meet up. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.

And that’s all it is. Until it isn’t.

A Little Love (is better than none) by @horsegirlharry

It’s supposed to be no strings attached sex, but Harry’s in love with beauty and tragedy and Louis Tomlinson so there might actually a few strings they’re not talking about.Or, alternately, the four times they fuck and don’t kiss, and one time they fuck and do (with a few more times thrown in because I’m a mess and know how to write short fics).

more under the cut!

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One Step Closer

Chapter-1: Next To You.

Chapter- 2 Chapter-3

Rating: K

Summary: And with each passing day, they took one step closer/ Sasusaku.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Romance.

A/N: Its been a long time since I last wrote something. Feels good.

So this story happens after Sasuke returns to Konoha at the end of Sasuke Shinden, Naruto and Hinata are married and Sai and Ino are engaged/ about to be engaged. Slight SaiIno is also mentioned in this fanfic. It’ll have about 5 or 6 chapters, I hope you guys enjoy it!


“Next To You.’‘ 

The atmosphere was comforting, the relatively cool wind was a proof of winter being on its way. The citizens were cheery and optimistic, probably due to the recent change in the temperature. Another peaceful night in a peaceful village. Majority of the population could be seen on the roads, in the warm coffee shops or at the dango outlets and the all time famous ichiraku ramen, too was surrounded by a bunch of inhabitants for the hero of the village was treating his rival after his return from his journey.

A mob of young girls was circling the place where the two best friends were sitting and enjoying their meals. One was the ever popular blonde, the student of the current hokage and the other was a previous S-class rouge with some rare stunning features. His long bangs were covering his left eye and his form was covered with a brown cloak.

The Squeaks made by the teenage girls could be heard loud and clear and without a doubt, it was annoying the last Uchiha.

For a moment, he regreted coming back to his village but at the same, felt happy that the villagers were ready to accept him again. They were not despising him, they were not loathing him. Deep down, he felt satisfied and for a second, he was proud of helping the helpless during the war.

He twirled some of the ramen in his chopsticks and looked over at the blonde, who seemed to have finished yet another bowl. A smile appeared on his face while recalling their memories as genin.

Had they always been this way?

’'You didn’t change, did you.” A sigh escaped his lips as he stated his comment.

“One can’t just forget the delicious taste of ramen.” Naruto grinned.

“You sure are popular now.” he said, looking over at the crowd surrounding them.

“Someone has to compete you.” he shrugged his shoulders, smiling.

“Hn.”

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Nature Boy

Part 1 of the Come Attrition, Come Hell ficlet requested by @randombiochemist… This is only a sequel insofar as it’s my headcanon of what I think happened after that story. I still want people to be able to decide for themselves. 🙂

It was weird jumping back in to this story, but very fun. I hope you like it!

——

221B Baker Street
Now

The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.”

Sherlock almost smiled to himself as he ascended the 17 steps to his flat, the wood creaking beneath him as it always had done.

Well, not always, he supposed. There was the incident with jumping off the roof of a hospital and the subsequent pretending to be dead for 2 years while he tracked down the last of Moriarty’s Network. The wood hadn’t creaked then. Not for him, anyway. And then there was that whole “solitary confinement for 2 weeks” thing that he had to deal with that one time. He had to concede that the wood hadn’t creaked for him during that time either. Not to mention this whole more recent business with his sister blowing up and nearly completely obliterating the 1st floor of Mrs. Hudson’s house. And though, miraculously, his bedroom and the flight of 17 steps had managed to escape the ordeal little worse for the wear (and somehow the floor on which the bomb had actually landed, oddly), he’d still stayed away during the beginning of the reconstruction.

But now everything, for the most part, was back in its place… including himself. Because he belonged here. He’d thought, once, years ago, on the night that The Woman had appeared in his room to challenge everything he knew about himself and his world, that she she was an invader, and he was under attack… because 221B was his castle. His fortress. A place where he could be alone, and where he was protected by impenetrable walls both inside and out. Now, however, he realized that his flat here on Baker street was something so much more than a castle or a battlefront: It was a home. It was his home. A home complete with hearth and warmth that always accompanied regular appearances by friends and family, people who loved him and whom he was now more than comfortable loving back. Because love wasn’t a weakness, oh no. Love, sentiment, bonds; they were an advantage. Caring was an advantage. People caring in return was an advantage. He’d heard over an over that there was strength in numbers, and always chalked it up to another of many useless platitudes he’d heard over the course of his 4 decades long life… But John and Rosie Watson, Molly Hooper, Mrs. Hudson, and even Eurus and Mycroft Holmes: their love was his strength, and it gave his life a meaning, a context, he’d never known he’d needed. He was better for it, wiser for it.

Though, he knew, all of his thoughts and emotions would forever be subject to the inner processes of his mind and the deeper seated levels of who he was – and who he was, for better or worse, would always be Sherlock Holmes – he also understood now one of the most important things about himself and, indeed, everyone around him…

That he was human, and that it was okay.

Sherlock stepped through the parlor door and began untying his scarf, before unconsciously turning to look toward his bedroom on the other end of the corridor. He began slowly toward the room, pulling his scarf off as he walked. Once there, he threw the garment on his bed, followed shortly after by his coat. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite place exactly what it was right away. His eyes traveled across the space from his bed, to his drawers, to his armoire, to his nightstand. Nothing was out of place, but…

He closed his eyes just for a few moments, but then snapped them open.

She’d been here.

And then her text alert emitted from his pocket.

He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and read the message.

The mantel.

He was off toward the parlor and standing at the mantle in a matter of moments – a wide, flat, black box staring him in the face.

Another text alert.

A housewarming gift.

Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and took the box from the mantle. He pulled the lid off, and smiled a small, likely imperceptible to anyone who may have happened to be watching him, smile at the contents: a simple, though clearly well made, black frame – and behind the glass, a note:

To remember what matters most.

She’d known of the photo that Sherlock had kept of himself and his brother on his chest of drawers for years. He’d admitted to her finally that it had served as a reminder that he could always count on Mycroft when he really needed him… And after everything, he knew that to be more true now than he’d ever realized in the past. So this gift, this frame, if he understood correctly, was to house a new reminder.

He immediately thought of his family. His real family which would now forever include his friends as well as his blood… And he knew, too, that it included The Woman. And her daughter.

Well, their daughter.

Sherlock looked up suddenly as though startled, nearly dropping the frame in his hand. No, wait. She’d never said that. She’d never even hinted at it… but… yes. It made sense. He knew it made sense, and he knew he was right. He knew it, just the way that he sometimes knew anything, or the way he could predict someone’s moves weeks in advance. He didn’t always understand it, as even he couldn’t always keep up with the way his mind worked, but he’d made the deduction somehow, and there was no doubt in his mind. The child was his. Irene Adler’s little girl was his daughter. His family.

She had to be. He wouldn’t accept anything different.

He set the frame back down on the mantel and pulled his phone from his pocket. Having recently only begun to understand the importance of family, he still understood how important, how… fundamentally monumental this was. It was time to stop repressing. Time to stop hiding. Time to stop holding it all back, or holding it all in. He hadn’t seen it before, because he hadn’t want to see it before – but he saw it now, and even the racing of his heart and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the apprehension, the anger, and even the fear – none of it could deter him.

Why didn’t you tell me?
SH

His text was simple, and most might even say “cryptic”, but not Irene Adler. She’d understand immediately.

A few moments later, her text tone broke the silence yet again.

I knew you’d figure it out when you were ready.

He didn’t hesitate before replying.

I’m ready.
SH

1 Month Earlier

Sherlock stood behind Mycroft’s desk where he sat, his hands folded in front of his face.

“And what do you get from these meetings with our dear sister, Brother Mine?”

“I get to know my sister.”

Mycroft smiled ironically.

“Ah, the power of music.” Mycroft sat up. “Tell me, aren’t you frightened of a repeat of, shall we call it… her idea of fun and games?”

Sherlock laughed shortly, though his face barely registered it at all.

“Do I underestimate her? No. Do I fear her?” Sherlock shook his head once, slightly. “No.”

“You care for her.”

“Of course I care for her.”

Mycroft raised his forehead.

“Well, that’s certainly new.”

“It’s not new. It’s been held at bay by years of repressed psychological torment, or did you forget the part where you lied to me my whole life while terrifying me with stories of east winds and dogs?”

“To be quite fair, the dog was completely your fabrication.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a step toward his brother’s desk.

“She’s brilliant. She’s a genius beyond what you and I can even comprehend, and you locked her away in a cell with a bed and a table…” he slammed his fist on the desk, before leaning over it with both hands, but his brother only looked slightly startled by these actions. “I was alone for two weeks, Mycroft. Two weeks.” he stood straight, and began half pacing. “With nothing to preoccupy my time with but the thoughts inside my own mind.” he finished this sentence by making an agitated twirling motion near the back of his head.

Sherlock stopped, biting his lip and placing his hands on his hips, before turning back to his brother.

“It was hell.” he continued, and then shook his head. “And I can’t even begin to imagine what nearly a lifetime of solitude could have been like for a Holmes.”

Mycroft swallowed and sat back in his chair.

“She’s a murderer, Sherlock.” he started. “What would you suggest I had done?”

“Nothing different from what you did.” Sherlock answered honestly. “But now I can help her. I’m her brother, and I promised to bring her home.”

“I’m assuming in a figurative sense.”

“Real enough for her. Home doesn’t have to be a place, Mycroft.”

“I’ve seen redemption take a lot of forms, but never the form of a violin.”

Sherlock walked to the corner of the room and grabbed his coat from the stand.

“There’s no such thing as redemption.” He said, pulling the Belstaff over his shoulders. “We will always have always done what we’ve done, and will always be what we have been. Life isn’t a balance sheet.”

“And what is it?”

Sherlock put his hand on the door handle and turned to Mycroft.

“Life.” he responded, before pulling the door open and leaving his brother alone in his office.

221B Baker Street
Now

Sherlock had never noticed how similar in appearance he and The Woman were… not until this moment when he looked over the results of the melding of those features on one face. Deep blue eyes set in to a background of sharp angles, dark, curly brown hair… Pale skin flushed with just enough color on the cheeks.

He sat back from his computer screen, a tightening in his chest beginning to make it difficult for him to breath.

This face was Irene, and this face was him… and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He felt an odd and, he thought, unearned sense of pride as he examined the expression of curiosity on her perfect young face, because he’d done little to contribute to her life other than some genetic coding… But he loved her. Easily and without expectation; loved her more than he would have given himself credit for being capable of, even now.

But as his thoughts turned to Irene’s husband, and his daughter being raised by another man, his hands balled to fists on either side of the computer.

He closed his computer, rotating his jaw before standing and buttoning his jacket button. He ruffled his hand through his hair, feeling the anger mount, feeling the helplessness pool, feeling the hatred and bile rise from the pit of his stomach…

I knew you’d figure it out when you were ready.

Sherlock picked up a mug from the table and, with a sound of anguished fury escaping his chest, hurled it across the room and against the wall. The ceramic shattered loudly, and cold tea dripped down the wall paper as though the yellow happy face were crying.

Sherlock swallowed, his breathing ragged.

Irene Adler. The Woman. He’d never forgive her for this.


TBC

After All (Jungkook, OC) Part 2
External image

Part 1

OC- Sera

The thing with life is that you never know what’s going to happen next. It’s a never-ending roller coaster ride of surprises; catching you at the least expected moments.


For Sera, this was one of those moments. 

“Is that—?” Sera stared at the boy from across the room, looking through some papers, recognizing his familiar dark hair and pale skin. As if her stare was a magnet, he looked up and their eyes met. He tilted his head before a smile slowly crept to his lips as recognition dawned on him.

“Oh that's—“

"Sera?” he asked when he was in hearing range. “Sera from high school?”

"Park Jimin.” She smiled, before giving him a hug. “It’s great to see you!”

“How long has it been?" 

"A while.” She chuckled, thinking of how handsome he looked. It’s like he didn’t age at all! Jimin moved his eyes to her left and Sera suddenly remembered Hoseok, who was watching them with curious eyes. “Oh, this Hoseok, my fiancé.”

Wae?!” He grinned as he reached out his hand. “Park Jimin." 

"Jung Hoseok.” he smiled as he took his hand. “Nice to meet you." 

"When’s the big day?”

“In two weeks.” She answered and Jimin’s smile widened, “Whoa! Congratulations! Am I invi—“

Hyung! I need those sketches!“ 

"Alright! I’m coming!” Jimin yelled as he rolled his eyes, excusing himself before walking off to the other side of the room, covered by a screen cover. He returned a second later, his head peeking to look at Sera with a questioning gaze. “You coming? He’d be so happy to see you, I bet.” Jimin said and Sera was frozen in place, unable to react. 

“Who?” Hoseok asked curiously, just when a yell sounded. “That’s a wrap, guys! Great work!” Everyone applauded and soon they started packing up.

Sera was just about to excuse herself when a black-haired boy emerged from one of the screen covers, immersed with his camera which was hanging around his neck. Jimin had approached him and he switched his focus from his camera to the sketches Jimin was holding. Sera observed him, watching the way his eyes focused on the drawings, his forehead scrunching in concentration, and the way he bit his lower lip as he critiqued each paper. Sera’s mouth was slightly open, unable to believe the sight.

It couldn’t be…

“Oh!” Hana yelped when she noticed Sera staring at him. “That’s sir—“
Jimin had leaned over to him, whispering, and Sera felt like time slowed down as his eyes lifted up, his gaze searching. Sera tried to hide herself but it was a pretty difficult thing to do when there wasn’t anything to use as a barrier; and considering the fact that the studio was practically a wide open space, exposing everything no matter where you stood.

It’s been seven years since she last saw him in person. He didn’t change much. He still looked as handsome as he was seven years ago, but his features were more defined… more sophisticated. He was wearing a navy polo over a white V-neck shirt, paired with dark jeans and white sneaks. It was a simple get up and yet he pulled it off like it was made for him.

He always does, she thought. When his eyes met hers, Sera felt like time has stopped, her heart feeling like it was being squeezed out of her chest. Looking into his warm brown eyes, the same eyes she had known all her life, everything suddenly made sense…


J.J.

Life is definitely a never-ending roller coaster ride of surprises, she thought as she looked at the boy she never thought she would see again….

It’s him…

Jeon Jungkook. 

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Young Blood (Sam x Reader Oneshot)

Originally posted by yaelstiel

Notes~ I lied, I do have something to put out this weekend, so yay! Basically all you need to know is that the reader and Sam met and attended Stanford. You’ll figure out the rest as you go.

Word Count~ 1649

Song~ Young Blood by Bea Miller 

Warnings~ Language, angst.

Tags~ (sorry if any of you didn’t want to be tagged!) @raeganr99 @waywardsons-imagines @oriona75 @winchester-writes @destielwhotrash @latinenglishfandomblog @itsemmyb @thinkwritexpress @spnsimplemanwriter @balthazars-muse @winchesterenthusiast @bradburydiary @kittenofdoomage @letsgetoutalive @spnfanficpond

Your name: submit What is this?

My name is Y/N.



You and Sam were best friends ever since you both met. Your cousin Logan, who was also attending classes at Stanford, took Sam under his wing and introduced him to you. You and Sam hit it off right away, and were almost inseparable. Anytime you went to the cafe a few blocks down, Sam would come with to try helping in any way he could. Most of the time, he ended up distracting you and the two of you talked about random things, sharing laughter and stealing glances. The very few times you went out to parties, Sam was always by your side, refusing to leave because he knew how uncomfortable you got if you were left alone. You knew each other inside and out, despite only having known each other for less than two years. So naturally, your heart broke in half when he left without a trace.

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make a bet, keep a promise (oiiwa)

summary: Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

notes: Three months. Three months I’ve been working on this fic, and I can’t believe it’s finally done.

This fic, as tagged, is set in canon-verse, but somewhere along the lines I decided to fit every single one of my OiIwa headcanons into these fourteen thousands words, so if you don’t recall ever hearing about some of the nuances mentioned in here, it’s probably because I snuck them in hoping no one would notice.
Also, of course, I know Iwaizumi and Oikawa met in elementary school in canon, but I tweaked it just a little so they’ve know each as babies, their parents friends before they were born.

The song ‘I Choose You’ by Sara Bareilles is to blame for the main concept behind all of this, as well as this headcanon I made months ago. It’s totally reasonable to write an entire fic based off something you thought up at work and got a little too attached to, right? Right.

S/O to the wonderful Ui, who drew absolutely kickass art for this fic! Thanks for letting me send you scene after scene as they were completed, it was great being HQBB partners with you!

Also, thanks to all the memes on twitter who encouraged me and/or struggled with me in this endeavor.

And of course thanks to the people who run HQBB for all their hard work. I really really appreciate it!

Here goes nothing.

(words: 13,989)

[ao3 link]

Iwaizumi doesn’t actually remember his first encounter with Oikawa. 

He remembers a lot of early memories involving the other, but the first has always escaped him, lost within a conscious too underdeveloped at too young an age to really hold on to most of his ‘firsts’.

His parents have a collection of photo albums stacked precariously atop a rickety old shelf in the living area filled with pictures of Iwaizumi’s childhood, a childhood he never quite considered his own, but shared with one Oikawa Tooru. 

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