they say you see whatever you are thinking of s xp

Familiar

Well and truly word vomit cause I was in a mood. Not proofread, not thought out, just… go with it. Sweet, short…. And, as I told @inkedferns, if there’s one lyric that could sum up this whole thing: “Lost my senses, I’m defenseless/Her perfume’s holding me ransom.” x

P. S. The ending is terrible.

You’re familiar.

He can’t figure it out when he first meets you, but he feels like he knows you. It’s only a quick, social kiss on the cheek, but he pauses for a fraction of a second and frowns in thought.

You’re familiar.

He doesn’t know your name, or where you’re from, or who you are, or what you do, but by the end of the night he does, and he’s discovered that your lips twitch if an innocuous word even suggests a double entendre. His own lips tremble when he watches you press yours together while you turn your head, compressing your snickers.

He’s got a suspicion and when he slides closer to impart a particularly filthy turn of phrase in your ear, on the verge of chuckling from his cleverness and anticipation at your response, fingers warm from the sangria he’s been sipping healthy amounts of all evening, he’s rewarded with a snort.

He catches a whiff of something familiar even as he laughs – that real laugh that reaches his belly and that makes his face split and his eyes crinkle and those dimples that make the girls scream dig into his cheeks – but he can’t be bothered to take the time to analyze what it is or where it’s come from. It doesn’t go away, though, with his nose all but pressed against your ear while he continues his monologue, always on the verge of laughter, and chuckling with delighted surprise when you chime in.

You’re familiar, and maybe that’s why although he’s only just met you, he feels like he can put his arm around you to keep you close to his side while the two of you continue to make jokes that wouldn’t be funny to any sober, sensible individual.

You’re the best company he’s found all night, and he’s concerned he’s lost you to the crowd at some point when the two of you get separated – he’s not got your name, or where you live, or anything about you other than the fact that you’d giggled into his shoulder like his shirt didn’t cost nearly six hundred dollars and he’s a popstar, or a rockstar, or actor, or whatever the hell he is now (he’s still figuring that out himself).

Thankfully, he finds you again – spies you passing by out of the corner of his eye – and he loops you into the conversation he’d found himself in and he listens to your animated chatter with that gleam in your eye and the faintest of change in pitch to your voice that would indicate you’re trying hard to ensure you’re speaking clearly despite imbibing.

Before the two of you separate again, he makes sure he learns your name (he likes the sound of it and the feel of it on his wide, clumsy tongue), where you’re going (you’ve got a taxi, thankfully), and he says he’ll see you around and he hopes he can mean it. He doesn’t know how good of a friend you are to whatever mutual one the two of you have, and he doesn’t know if you’ll be invited to the same type of event again – he’s always sort of dove headfirst into things without a guarantee – but he’s thrilled when the next month that’s just what happens and you’re familiar, again, for reasons he can’t quite put his finger on.

Two months later when he’s making out with you on your couch, two legs hitched up over his hips and two arms wrapped around his neck while he pins you against the couch with his pelvis and large, greedy hands, it’s almost overwhelming. He’s got to be positively insane when he thinks you smell like home… his home… him….

Two hours later when he’s lying in bed with you, muscles softer than warm butter and out of breath, face burrowed in your neck while he takes great, sucking gasps of air, he knows he’s going insane.

“What’re yeh wearing?” he rasps, demanding to know as he paws at your side.

“Nothing,” you giggle and he laughs helplessly at your stupid joke.

“Funny,” he says thickly, pinching you and squeezing you closer. “Know tha’?”

The subject drops but he spends the night breathing in your neck. You smell like him, and sex, and—

Him.

You smell like him.

He’s bleary eyed when he realizes it the next morning, the notes of your perfume still lingering under his nose. You smell exactly like him, and he confirms it by grabbing you at the bathroom sink and pressing his face into your neck.

“What’ve you got on?” he asks, ignoring your squeak of protest.

“What are you on about?” you ask him, squirming in the prison of his arms.

“Are you wearing my cologne?” he asks indignantly. It’s an illogical question – the both of you are at your place, not his, and strong as his cologne might be and as close as the two of you had been the night before, this is too strong.

“What? No,” you protest, finally freeing yourself from his hold.

“Smells like mine,” he accuses.

“It’s mine,” you snap at him, fixing your hair. “I’ve been wearing it for ages.”

The bottle on your dresser is small, but sure enough it’s the same as his. He picks it up and inhales, although he knows fine well what it smells like, and when he breathes in his shoulders relax as that same sense of familiarity settles in. It’s exactly what he’d smelled months ago when he’d met you and kissed you casually on the cheek. It’s what he’d smelled while he was wooing you with dirty jokes that he can hardly believe he’d told you, and what he’d smelled when you two had your first kiss.

He’d never been crazy at all (well, maybe, just a little, just a bit) – you do smell like home, his home, and him. You always have. A single whiff had been the line, he’d been hooked on curiosity, and he’d sunk when he found out that that your mind drifted to terribly filthy thoughts on perfectly innocent words. It’s like you were marked for him, he’ll think to himself hazily as he scribbles in his journal later that day. You are the fish he was meant to find in the sea – or maybe it’s the other way around, and if it is, he considers himself very lucky to have found your net.

Many years from now, he’ll admit that to you. Maybe not in so many words, and most often through song, but he thinks it was something that was a little like kismet that brought the two of you together. He smells like you, and you smell like him, and there’s a balance to the sentiment that reflects the equality of the handshake inked into the back of his arm. He’s no more of you than you are of him, and the horror that he might not have found out about you if you hadn’t smelled familiar is real in his mind – he’ll admit to having been incredibly stupid in his life, and he wouldn’t have put it past him to have missed out on you entirely without this red flag of that familiar scent.

For now, though, all he does is cock an eyebrow at you and tease you about how he wears it, too. You roll your eyes at him and murmur, “I thought it smelled familiar,” when you grant him his silent, puckered wish for a kiss.

icynights  asked:

The Generation of Miracles + Kagami and S/O plan their upcoming wedding

Oohh. The sequel to this request, if you’d like. I feel like since they’re going to be married then they should be using the boys’ first names xP Also, happy Chinese New Year! -Admin Fyre


Kuroko Tetsuya:

“Hey, Tetsuya, what about white roses?”

Next to you, Tetsuya smiled, his eyes gentle. “That’s a good idea. And, you don’t need to ask me every time. You can pick whatever type of flower you want and in what colour, and I’m sure it’ll still look amazing at the wedding.”

You pouted at his response. “You say that for every flower I’ve suggested! I want your real comments! We need flowers that stand out, that make you stand out too!”

“Bickering again?” The florist was back, smiling at you and Tetsuya; and carrying a pot of blue flowers, sky-blue like the colour of Tetsuya’s eyes, the pale colour contrasting with the green leaves. “Why don’t you tell me about your other preparations for your wedding—”

“What are those?” You interrupted, pointing eagerly at the blue flowers.

“Oh, these?” The florist slid the pot over. “Hydrangeas. We add aluminium sulphate when watering the flowers, which makes it blue.”

“We’ll have these then,” you decided. Tetsuya gave you a surprised look, and you told him, “It matches your eyes. If anything, this will definitely get everyone’s attention.”

Tetsuya blinked, and chuckled. “Of course. But as long as I have your attention, then that’s all that matters to me.”


Kise Ryouta:

“Ryou, wait up!” You cast an exasperated glance at the rest of the camera crew, trudging along the beach shoreline, who only gave you we’ve-seen-it-all looks.

Ryouta was running way ahead with his arms out at his sides like an airplane, whooping as he kicked off his shiny black shoes. “Man, I haven’t been in a beach in so long! It’s so nostalgic, right? I’m so glad we chose this place!”

The camerawoman smiled. “It’s okay, we need some time to set up the equipment and get a good angle. You two can have some fun, but be careful.”

Nodding, you hurried after the bubbly blond skipping stones across the rippling seawater. “Ryou, get back, you’ll get your trousers wet!”

“Stop being such a worrywart!” You yelped as Ryouta lifted you up, spinning you around and laughing. You felt a swooping feeling in your stomach as Ryouta tripped a little, and you cried, “Wait, put me down! We’re gonna fall!”

“No we’re not,” Ryouta laughed, but he lowered you anyway and you clutched him tightly, beating his chest. “You idiot, what if we fell into the sea?”

“Okay, don’t move!” The camerawoman’s voice interrupted Ryouta before he could answer, and after a moment she came over with a grin. “That was a good shot just now. We could wait till the water’s gone back a bit, though, so would you mind doing that again, Kise-san?”

“No problem!” Ryouta nodded enthusiastically, and you groaned, despite grinning from ear to ear.


Midorima Shintarou:

As Shintarou grew older, his obsession with Oha-Asa wavered, finally realising that the daily expenses for lucky items was hurting his wallet too much. Although he still watched the show every morning religiously, he only ever bought lucky items if Cancer was ranked low. It was a weird limit he’d set for himself, but one you welcomed nonetheless.

That is, until the two of you started planning your wedding.

“Shintarou, it’s in the middle of July. Why do you have earmuffs on?”

“It’s my lucky item of the day, of course.” He was averting your gaze as he glanced down at the various wedding invitations. “Shall we go with the red?”

Rolling your eyes, you plucked the earmuffs from your fiancé’s head, and he turned to look at you accusingly. “What are you doing? Give it back.”

“Cancer’s ranked second today,” you informed him. “You promised you wouldn’t buy lucky items on days that Cancer is ranked high enough. Why buy them every day again? We’re spending a lot on this wedding already.”

Shintarou sighed. “The other day Takao offered to fill in as the main singer for the band we’re hiring. The band’s official singer got offended and is refusing to work with us, so from now on until the wedding day, I need my lucky items to avoid any more mishaps. Or any of Takao’s antics, to be honest.”

“Offended…by Takao-kun’s singing? But he sings great.”

“Exactly.”


Aomine Daiki:

“Daiki? Are you all done yet?”

“Gimme a sec!” came the reply, and you rolled your eyes. You had been waiting for well over 35 minutes now, feeling like your fiancé was planning to bore you to death.

You started at the sound of a curtain being flung open. “Well? Does this make me look sexy as hell and scream back off, I’m getting married?”

Smiling despite yourself, you stepped forward to adjust the tie around Aomine’s neck, giving up halfway to simply remove it. “Ditch this,” you murmured, and then looked him up and down. “Now you look perfect.”

Aomine smirked, undoing the first button of his dress shirt. “You sure this doesn’t look too informal? I mean-”

“Who cares, it’s me you’re getting married to,” you pouted, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “If I think it’s great, then it’s alright.”

Your wedding planner opened the door slightly and poked her head in, clipboard in hand, “The driver’s getting impatient,” she tutted. “Says it doesn’t matter if you’re a young couple getting married, he wants to “pop to the bar and grab a pint”, to put it mildly.”

“Ooh, can I join him?” Aomine grinned, and you turned to look at him in horror. “Daiki, no! At least get changed first!”


Murasakibara Atsushi:

“Are you still up, Atsushi?” You rubbed at your eyes, yawning, as you made your way out to the dimly-lit kitchen, seeing him seated at the table surrounded by bowls of batter and the faint smell of melting chocolate. “It’s…what, 2am? You need to rest.”

Atsushi gave a grunt. “Mm. Ne, do you think matcha cake is better or chocolate cake is better? Some kids don’t like matcha but some people are allergic to chocolate…but making double of everything is too much—” He broke off in a yawn, sitting up to stretch.

You peered over his shoulder (with some difficulty) to see that he had several notebooks spread out in front of him, with various different recipes crossed out or with new notes made on them. Some of the entries were several weeks old, while some still had wet ink.

Feeling a pang of sympathy, you reached over to take Atsushi’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I know you offered to design the entire menu on your own, Atsushi, but you shouldn’t overwork yourself like this.”

“But it’s our wedding,” Atsushi protested.

“I know,” you repeated. “But you’ll tire yourself out and it won’t benefit anybody if you come up with a bad menu. Come back to bed. Get some sleep and I’ll help you out tomorrow, okay? We’ll do this together.”

Atsushi’s response was another yawn, his eyelids already drooping, and a sleepy smile on his face. “Eh…okay. Since you said so.”


Akashi Seijuurou:

“Is this the finalised guest list?”

“Yeah, I went over it with your secretary. Something wrong?” You glanced at Seijuurou, who was sitting at the bed peering at his tablet. You laughed at the intense expression on his face. “Been a while since I saw you put reading glasses on. I’d forgotten how cute you look in them.”

Seijuurou acknowledged your comment with a slight smile, and turned the tablet towards you. “This is an awfully extensive list. I don’t remember much of these people, either.”

“Well…” Now it was your turn to look thrown. “When your secretary and I went over it, I was just adding your family, close friends, teammates…and he insisted that your stakeholders needed to come too? Company people, businessmen and everything…what are you doing?”

Seijuurou was swiftly deleting rows upon rows of names. “This is our wedding. We get to decide who comes to witness the event, and certainly not nobodies who will try to gain my favour and a share of the corporation. I’ll speak to my secretary.” He handed the tablet back to you, and you glanced over it with a raised eyebrow.

“…This isn’t a lot of people left.”

“I don’t have a lot of friends.” Seijuurou shrugged, without an ounce of embarrassment. “That just means the ones I do have mean a lot to me.”


Kagami Taiga: IN CASE ANYONE’S WONDERING, I DID CHECK.

“Taiga! The wedding planner’s on the phone!” You peered around the corridor, where he was hunched over a basketball magazine. “She wants to know if you’ve decided who your best man is going to be! They have to start ordering the clothes!”

At that, Taiga groaned and thumped his head on the table with a loud thunk. You winced and spoke into the phone, “Can I call you back? He hasn’t made up his mind yet.”

“I don’t know who to choose,” Taiga mumbled, without raising his head from the table as you rubbed his back reassuringly. “I’m stuck between picking Tatsuya or Kuroko. One is my brother and the other is my best friend. How am I supposed to choose? I don’t want to offend either of them.”

You sighed. “Don’t worry so much about it. If they both mean so much to you, then there’s nothing stopping you from, well, choosing both.”

Taiga looked up immediately, eyes wide and hopeful. “What? Really? I can have two best men?”

You chuckled and shoved the phone towards him. “Call the wedding planner and ask. It should be fine, there’s no rule saying you can only have one.”

Happily Taiga tugged you towards him and kissed you hard on the mouth. “God, I love you, that’s such a great idea, you’re the best!”

The Rabbit, The Moon, The Man

I heard one time that in Asia when people look up at the moon they commonly associate an animal with the satellite’s features, most notably the Rabbit. In the West it more referred to a man or a human face (Man in the moon).

The moon is also mostly referred to as a feminine aspect, gentle, shy, ever changing. Whereas the Sun is the masculine opposite, intense, bold, never changing.

When an old man begged for food, the monkey gathered fruits from the trees and the otter collected fish, while the jackal wrongfully pilfered a lizard and a pot of milk-curd. The rabbit, who knew only how to gather grass, instead offered its own body, throwing itself into a fire the man had built. The rabbit, however, was not burnt. The old man revealed himself to be Śakra and, touched by the rabbit’s virtue, drew the likeness of the rabbit on the Moon for all to see. It is said the lunar image is still draped in the smoke that rose when the rabbit cast itself into the fire.

A version of this story can be found in the Japanese anthology Konjaku Monogatarishū, where the rabbit’s companions are a fox and a monkey…

Oddly enough I feel that when Kaneki face Arima in the original, he basically cast himself into the fire as an offering to the “old man”.

During his time in Cochlea, Arima changed Kaneki into a completely different person “Haise”. But, at the same time, Kaneki started to change/effect Arima. (As you can see by this panel and Arima fighting with his inner sexuality… :P)

Haise also embodies many of the aspects Luna (the moon) has. Embracing even more feminine qualities then what Shironeki displayed. But, Haise also embraces more of the “maternal instinct” than Kuro, who was more a child/adolescent persona who was more dependent on others than Haise was. (Not denying Haise depends greatly on his “family”, but his way of thinking was more independent and adult than Kuro. As you can leave him in the house alone with an oven and not worry about that house burning down…)

And as we all know, Kaneki will not f#cking stop changing every few chapters. One moment he’s a loveable book dork, then a edgy hooligan, then a monstrous basket case, then a mother of 4, then a childish suicidal asshole, and whatever he decided he want to be now (hopefully “happy”).

There is more information on eclipses and a little Hidekane under the cut!

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Store Bound - Snowbound Part 011

It’s a little weak, but we get to see some muscles flexing, and it’s also definitely lighter than the last one. And it sets some stuff up quite nicely. You’ll see…. ;) x

P. S. The title was a devil. I just want a written record of that. 

Dad Masterlist

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?” Harry’s call back to you from his office is exasperated and you roll your eyes. 

“You’ve got nothing to eat, you know.”

You listen to the faint clatter of a pair of headphones being tossed down and you sigh under your breath and count to three before you hear the inevitable, “What?” 

“You have nothing to eat,” you repeat as he rounds the corner into the kitchen. 

“S’not true,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Juice in the fridge, pasta in the cupboard, and takeaway on the phone.” 

You balk at him. 

“Is that why we’ve not been home as much this week?” you ask him suspiciously. Harry has been shuffling over to your flat more since a week and a half ago, claiming you hardly ever saw it and that he’d left one thing or another there. You’d not taken issue at the time (although your bed in this flat is more comfortable), but now you wonder.

“It helped,” Harry admits sheepishly and you scowl. “Don’t be tha’ way, love!” he attempts to defend himself. “You know I wanted to see you both first and foremost!”

“Mmm,” you hum dryly while grabbing a notepad and pen from inside a drawer in the counter.

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