too-beautiful-to-be-real

2

A/N: Request from anon. Something like this was going through my head for a while now. I love how readers just read my mind sometimes. Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 1984
Warnings: mental breakdown, mentions of parent death

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— salt + shadow | (m)

pairing— kim taehyung x reader x kim seokjin  
genre/warnings— smuuut, language, threesome, exhibitionist themes, three-way kissing, fingering, oral sex, breath play, cum play, dom themes, dirty talk, pet names, incubus! Taehyung, human! Seokjin + reader
words— 10,248

:: summary— your life was lacklustre before Taehyung. The demon who came into your life and turned it upside down, making you question everything you knew about this world. Now, he has yet another idea up his sleeve and it involves a certain stranger you meet at a bar – Seokjin…

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  •    I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.  
  •   You weren’t wanted!  
  •   Oh dear, what an awkward situation.  
  •   And you’re not offended?  
  •   Just do your best.  
  •   True love conquers all.  
  •   I’m sure it’ll work out somehow.  
  •   … Shh, shh, shh! Even walls have ears.  
  •   You know, sometimes I don’t think _______ really very happy.  
  •   Are you sure you searched everywhere?  
  •   Oh, (they’re/you’re) hopeless. A disgrace to the forces of evil.   
  •   But, I never baked a fancy cake.  
  •   All you do is follow the book…  
  •   You can be the dummy.  
  •   I can’t breathe!  
  •   We all knew this day had to come.  
  •   Well, he’s tall and handsome and … and so romantic.  
  •   Yes, it’s only in my dreams.   
  •   But they say if you dream a thing more than once, It’s sure to come true.   
  •   You know, there was something strange about ______. Too beautiful to be real.  
  •    I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.  
  •   But don’t you remember? We’ve met before!  
  •   But when will I see you again?  
  •   We can’t take any chances!   
  •   Look what you’ve done!  
  •   This is the happiest day of my life.  
  •   _______ in love? This is terrible?  
  •   You’ve met some stranger?  
  •   And ______ thought ______ would be so happy.  
  •   The past, all in the past. Tonight, we toast to the future!  
  •   Let me fill up your glass, that glass was all foam!  
  •   You unreasonable, pompous, blustering, old windbag!  
  •   I warn you, this means war!  
  •   Hurry, hurry, and change in something suitable!  
  •   You can’t do this to me! Give up everything, for some, some nobody?  
  •   I command you to come to your senses.  
  •   I’ll marry the _____ I love.  
  •   Now, that’s not for ______ to decide.  
  •   Don’t touch anything!  
  •   There’s something important I have to tell you.  
  •   They’ll be heartbroken when they find out.  
  •   Oh come now. Why so melancholy?  
  •   Yes, you … said that. A moment ago.  
  •   I just love happy endings!  
Blue Scarf

Summary: Her scarf flies into Tom’s face and as if the awkwardness that followed wasn’t bad enough, he walks into her work too.

Pairings: Reader(?) x Tom Holland

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Some swearing.

A/n: Roses are really expensive, you guys. Who knew? But yeah, I don’t know how I feel about this piece tbh. Let me know what you think so I can make up my mind about whether I like it or not lol. And I know this one isn’t very Tom heavy but I promise my next one will be :D


The wind blew furiously today. She tugged her coat tighter around her and hunched her shoulders to protect her exposed ears from the chilly assault. Her face was numb; she couldn’t even feel the pain of the wind whipping her cheeks anymore. As she reached to grab the purse swinging wildly at her hip, a gust of wind caught the end of her scarf, blowing it behind her. Because it wasn’t wrapped around her neck, the force of the wind simply yanked it free, and suddenly her scarf was flying through the air.

She gasped and spun around trying to locate her neckwear. She caught sight of it zigzagging through imaginary obstacles. Its bright blue allowed her to track its path as she gave chase. She ducked and weaved past the people, finally coming to a halt as she witnessed her scarf get blown right around some poor, unsuspecting pedestrian’s face. She watched as they stopped mid-step, frozen for a millisecond but clambering to free themselves immediately. She rushed up to them, apologies on the tip of her tongue.

“I’m so sor– “

She cut herself off. Words simply left her brain as the stranger pulled the scarf down. Her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

Wow, you are gorgeous!

“Um… thank you?”

“Huh?”

“You, uh, you said I was gorgeous,” she heard him say, registering the eloquent British accent.

As if he wasn’t stunningly attractive, he had to sound like that?

How is that fair?

“How is what fair?”

The perplexed expression on his face pulled her out of her reverie.

“What?”

“You said ‘How is that fair?’ What were you referring to?” he repeated.

I said that out loud?

“Yeah, you did,” he said, puzzlement becoming bemusement.

Oh, shit.

“I – I was referring to… Um, see, what I meant was –,” she scrambled to come up with an excuse. Her mind failing her, she shifted her gaze to the floor, a blush creeping up her face.

An agonising, awkward silence followed.

“Uh, anyway…,” his smile faltered, the odd conversation losing its charm.

“Here’s your scarf,” he said as he looped it around her neck. “Now you won’t lose it, again.”

Pursing his lips together in a polite smile, he moved past her and continued on his way. She stood there, dumbstruck.

What just happened?

She turned around, catching a glimpse of his slicked-back curls.

“Thank you!” she called out. He kept walking though, not hearing her.

*

The bell on the corner of the door rang as she opened it.

“Morning,” her friend called, not looking up from her flower arrangement. “We got to get that Truscott Gala order done by four today. Are you okay to work register while I work on that?”

“Oh, morning, Stel,” she responded, coming out of her thoughts. She had been replaying her brief encounter with the pretty, British man in her head, feeling more and more stupid each time.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” she said, pulling off her coat and exchanging it for her apron. She kept the scarf on.

“What’s up with you?” her friend finally looked up, giving her a questioning look.

Crossing the too-long apron strings, she pulled them in front of her and tied a bow.

“You would not believe what an idiot I am, Stel,” she replied.

“I would, but go on,” her friend prompts.

“I was walking to work today and you know how it was really windy? Well, my scarf blew away and it landed on this guy’s face,” she recounted as she walked over to the window, flipping the ‘Closed’ sign to the ‘We’re Open’ side.

“And Stel, oh my god, this guy was so hot. Like, crazy, too-beautiful-to-be-real, smoking, kind of hot. And –,” she paused, “He was British!”

“Let me guess. You totally embarrassed yourself, right? Am I right?” her friend guessed.

Sighing in defeat, she looked at her friend. “Yes.”

“Oh, it was so bad. The first thing I said to him was ‘Wow, you’re gorgeous’. I mean, what kind of creep says that to a stranger they literally just met?”

“Uh, you?”

“I know,” she cried. “It just got more awkward from there, and I think he got a little freaked out because I was being so weird.”

“Well, duh.”

“But then he did the sweetest thing. He wrapped the scarf around my neck and goes ‘Here’s you scarf, now you won’t lose it again’,” she finished, imitating his accent. She snuggled into the scarf, recalling the way he had leaned in to place it around her. She could still vaguely remember his cologne, something classy and subtle.

“Okay, you weirdo, you can keep dreaming about all the different ways you should have handled that situation, later,” Stel pulled her back to the world. “Right now I need you on the register, paying attention. I’m going to the back to finish these flower arrangements. Call if you need anything.”

With that, Stel collected her tools and tulips and disappeared into the back room.

Smiling at her friend’s words, she went about preparing for the day ahead.

*

“Have a lovely afternoon,” she handed the bouquet of carnations to the man, just as the doorbell chimed again.

Her eyes scanned the small shop, looking to see who she would next offer her help to when she spotted the newcomer. His back was to her but she recognised his slicked-back brown curls. She froze.

“Oh no,” she whispered under her breath. She quickly ducked beneath the counter, trying to think of an escape route. She whipped her head left and right, racking her brain for a solution. Stel was in the back, if she could just get her attention, she could make her deal with him instead. He wouldn’t even have to know she was here.

Dropping to her hands and knees, she slowly crawled across the floor towards the doorway connecting the shopfront to the back room. It was situated several feet to the left. Keeping against the wall, she prayed he wouldn’t notice her when she was no longer hidden by the counter. As she reached the edge of her protective wall, she hesitated before taking a deep breath and continuing out into the open.

“Please don’t see me, please don’t see me,” she muttered. She was almost there, only a few more inches.

“Excuse me?”

Hearing the familiar voice behind her, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Shit.

She inhaled and stood. Her back straight and chin up, she pumped herself to turn around and face him. There was nothing else she could do at this point. This was it; she had to answer to the humiliation.

Oh, god.

But then at the last possible second, she squeaked, “Be right back,” and darted through the doorway.

Leaning against the wall, out of sight, she exhaled.

Phew, that was close.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped.

“Jesus, Stel! You scared me,” she whisper-yelled, hand over her heart.

Stel raised her eyebrow at her.

“Shit, Stel, it’s the guy! The British guy from this morning, he’s out there right now.”

She peeped around the doorframe. He was looking at the roses.

“What? Where? Let me see,” Stel exclaimed, scrambling to peer into the shop as well.

“Shh, he’ll hear you.”

“Oh man, you weren’t kidding. He is gorgeous.”

“Right?” she asked in agreement.

“Well get out there.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“No… now’s your chance to go show him you aren’t a total weirdo and get his number,” she stated, matter-of-factly. When she was met with an astonished expression, she nodded her head in encouragement.

“I don’t think –,” she began to protest but Stel shoved her out the door and into the shop. Her stumble caused him to turn towards her. She glared back at Stel before putting on her best customer service smile and walking behind the counter once more.

She could see the recognition dawning on his face and she cursed mentally. She was hoping he wouldn’t remember her but clearly he did. She could sense Stel in the other room, waiting to hear his reaction. She prepared herself for the worst.

“May I get a dozen red roses, please?”

“Huh?”

Wait, maybe he didn’t recognise her after all.

“A dozen red roses?” he repeated, “Please.”

Oh.

He really didn’t remember her.

She moved to where the roses were located, stepping past him. She caught a whiff of his cologne and was surprised to realise she was disappointed. He was probably buying the roses for his girlfriend. Why would he remember some random girl he met in the street when he already has a beautiful one to buy a dozen red roses for?

Picking out twelve of the best flowers, she returned to the counter. She bunched them into a bouquet, very aware of him watching her. She suddenly felt very warm, uncomfortably warm. Placing the roses down on the countertop, she unravelled her scarf. She put it by the register and continued the order.

Tying the bow, she looked up at him and plastered a smile on her face.

“That’ll be $38.95,” she said.

They completed the transaction and she handed him the bouquet.

“Have a lovely day!”

“Thanks, you too.”

He took the flowers and walked out the shop. She watched him go, sadness overcoming her. Stel came out and stood beside her.

“Man, I can’t believe he didn’t remember you.”

“Yeah.”

She began to clear away the scraps and cut-offs. Hearing the bell chime again, she looked up to greet the new customer. Her fake cheeriness dropped, replaced by shock, when she saw who it was.

“My mum won’t mind if I only give her eleven roses.”

He held out a single red rose, one she had wrapped into his bouquet, only moments ago. He also held the receipt, on it was scribbled some numbers.

She looked at him, bewildered. She tentatively reached out and took the rose and piece of paper.

“I – I thought you didn’t –,” she stammered.

“How many cute girls are there in this town who wear bright blue scarves?” he grinned.

“I…”

“Call me.”

Then he left. She was dumbfounded. She looked down at the receipt in her hand. There was a name alongside the number.

Tom.

anonymous asked:

Could you do a post about key's monolids too?<3

okay OKAY BUT KEY’S EYES

you ever like. look at someone you know in physique and personality and think, that’s exactly how they should be like because everything about them kinda just? fits? they are characteristically them and with key it’s just like that

he’s all sharp angles and his eyes have that unique and just as sharp shape - you can’t blame people for using ‘cat-like’ to describe them I mean

AND CHECK THIS OUT his eyelashes might not be that long but he’ll tilt his head to the side just the slightest in pics and they’ll be there. they’ll be there all pretty framing the corner of his eyes and doing that lil elegant curve

I’d like to avoid talk about his eyes when he has makeup on because it’s Too Much

you know how I was talking about how some folks’ appearance just fits them - key has that whole ‘I look intimidating but I’m the softest when you first talk to me’ thing going on and he knows how to use his eyes to look either ‘uninterested intimidating’ 

‘too beautiful to be real intimidating’

or ‘fear for your fcukign life intimidating’. listen. he knows. exactly what he’s doing. 

but then he’ll be smiling or laughing and they’ll go all soft oh my god

wHEN HE WIDENS THEM & THEY TAKE ON THAT CUTE ALMOND SHAPE

HAIR! OVER!! THE EYES!!!!!!!!!!!

and before this gets (even more) out of hand: I know key’s a big fan of lenses but holy have u seen those natural dark gems they’re deserving of all praise

French Toast and Families

Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil

Pairings: Prinxiety (can be read as platonic) and Logicality (can also be read as platonic, idk there might be others but that’s the only subtext I intentionally put in

Word Count: 1710

Summary: A few weeks after the ‘Fitting In’ video. Virgil is becoming more comfortable with his identity as part of the group, but still has some lingering doubts. Lots of fluff.

Warnings: negative self-talk, angst; I think that’s it, but please correct me if i’m wrong

A/N: This is my first fic, so feedback would be appreciated. I’m sorry for any typos or ooc behavior. So anyway, here goes… (I am afraid.)

     Virgil awoke to the noise of the other sides clattering in the kitchen. “Oh crap I overslept I was supposed to help with breakfast and- Hey. It’s okay. Deep breaths.” As he practiced his usual 7-4-8 rhythm he focused on the sounds of the others from down below his room. It had been a few weeks since that whole Harry Potter incident, and he was still trying to get used to the idea that Thomas, Patton, Logan, and Roman all needed- no, wanted him around, that he belonged with them, that they were his friends, his- family. The word tasted so sweet and strange on his tongue, almost too beautiful to be real. More often than not he woke up convinced it was all a dream.
    “Speaking of waking up, I should get downstairs before they somehow manage to burn down the mind palace…” He quickly changed into his new attire and went downstairs.  

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Do You Want To Grab A Coffee?

Carry On Countdown Day 1! For @carryon-countdown!

Prompt: Coffeeshop AU (AKA the Soulmates!coffeeshop!AU that no one asked for)


Baz hated soulmates.

You could always spot them when they came in for coffee. Giggling over nothing, one of them ordering both drinks because they just instinctually knew exactly what the other wanted. Their soulmarks proudly on display.

Girls coming in wearing a hoodie too big to be hers, boys reeking of bubblegum perfume. Girls with lipstick smudged on their necks that didn’t match the shade on their lips, boys with matching ‘I’m His’ sweaters.

Soulmate pairs were always filtering in and out, making the whole damn coffeeshop smell like sickly sweet hope, and Baz hated it.

The tiny girl he was serving at the counter wrinkled up her nose, cocking her head side to side.

She finally turned to him. “Okay! So, I’ll have a small butterscotch latte, and she,” she jerked her thumb to a Gigi Hadid doppelgänger leaning against the wall, “will have a mocha cappuccino.”

Baz just jerked his head once. “I’ll have it right out, Trixie.”

“Thanks, Baz,” Trixie chirped in that grating, horrifically squeaky voice she had.

Baz busied himself with their drinks, but he could still overhear Trixie tittering to her soulmate, the one that was far too beautiful to be real. They always came in during the lunch lull, so he was forced to hear them being gross to each other with painful clarity.

God, he hated soulmates.

As he placed the drinks on the counter, and Trixie’s girlfriend glided over to pick them up, his sleeve inched up.

Baz cursed, quickly yanking his black sweater in place. Luckily, the only one that had seen had been Baz himself, but he hated the reminder.

He hated what he saw when his sleeve rode up.

The bare, blank skin where a soul mark should be.

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Taste

In bringing this collection to a close, I decided to take it back to the start.

You can also find this fic here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12286317/5/Sense-ational

Enjoy.

The first time she kissed him, he tasted like butterbeer and something distinctly James. The combination made her head swim, her heart pound, and her body crave him, his mouth, his body, his skin against hers.

It was a crisp October afternoon, the first Hogsmeade weekend of their seventh year, and Lily had finally said yes, enthusiastically yes, to James’ Hogsmeade proposal. He’d been stunned at first, thought she was having him on, made worse by the fact that instead of answering his desperate enquiry of “Are you serious?!” she’d said, “No, but your brother is,” winked at the tall, wavy haired man next to him, and walked off. She never could resist a Sirius joke. Neither, she knew, could Sirius, and his barking laughter followed her down the corridor. James, unwilling to leave things on such unsure footing, chased her down the corridor and took her hand. “You’re actually saying yes?” He’d said, the words quiet and deep and fast, his eyes searching her face and when Lily broke into a smile he looked like he’d been stunned. “Yes, James. I’m actually saying yes.”

He’d dragged her down to Hogsmeade as soon as they’d finished breakfast that morning, though ‘finished’ is perhaps not quite the right word. James had practically inhaled an entire bowl of porridge, his knee bouncing incessantly under the table, and Lily had barely had time to grab a few pieces of toast before his hand was in hers and he was hauling her away from the table.

She was shouting indignantly and shoving bites of toast into her mouth as he pulled her into the brisk morning air, but his hand was warm in hers and the electricity shooting through her veins kept her from protesting too fiercely against the disruption of her breakfast. Instead, she gripped his hand more firmly in her own, bumped her hip against his playfully - “You better feed me today, Potter, or you’re dead.” His eyes were sparkling with amusement when he smiled back at her, “On my honour, Evans.”

When they got to the gates, James had stopped them, moving to stand in front of her, his eyes moving over her face, and Lily’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at him because he was just too damn beautiful to be real and how had she never realised it before? She wanted to grab him right there and kiss him, but they hadn’t even had their date yet and she knew how long he’d been waiting for this, so she ran her tongue along the back of her teeth and bit the corner of her lip in an attempt to control herself. But he was still looking at her like that, like she was everything, the only thing in the world, and the air was crackling with so much electricity that she could taste it on her tongue when she pulled in a deep breath. He blinked and smiled an embarrassed smile before reaching up and taking his scarf from around his neck. “Here,” he said, grinning at her, “You look cold.”

His fingers burned trails across her skin as he tied the scarf securely around her, and she swallowed the desperate reply that was bubbling up in her, opting to thank him quietly instead. It was the exact opposite of everything she normally would have done and she knew James had noticed because he’d cocked an amused eyebrow at her as they began walking again, but she couldn’t trust her mouth because it was begging her to either taste every centimetre of his skin or tell him how she thought she might actually, desperately, be falling in love with him and neither of those were options while they were making their way to the high street on their first official date.

The morning was a whirlwind of sound and colour - they went into all her favourite shops, he detailed everything he’d ever planned for all those rejected dates, her cheeks flushed with a bit more than the cold when she told him that she was glad he’d finally earned her attention. She tried to remember all the details, commit it all to memory, because she knew this was something she’d want to remember, that it was one of those rare moments you realise, as it’s happening, that you need to set it down, to carve it into your memory, because this moment, this day is going to be one that changes the rest of your life. But no matter how hard she tried to step back, to catalogue the details, she couldn’t. He was overwhelming, he was, and she couldn’t focus on anything but the rush in her stomach that was slowly burning a hole through her when she looked at him.

They ducked into The Three Broomsticks for lunch, he cracked jokes and she tossed chips at his head. They drank bottles of butterbeer and she pretended not to notice the stunned look on his face when she brushed her foot against his calf under the table. His eyes welled up when he talked about his parents, she took his hand and talked about her sister, they talked about the future. It was easy to talk to him and they talked about everything.

They fought, of course, over who would pay the bill when it came and, though James won, she grumbled about it while they waited for Rosmerta to return with his change. James pocketed a handful of coins as he stood, laughing as Lily said, “I can pay for myself, James, bloody hell,” and took her hand. They walked out of the pub and the cold air was a shock after the warm, smoky air of the pub. “You can pay next time,” James said, grinning down at her and Lily cocked her eyebrow, “Who said there’s going to be a next time?”

He stopped in the middle of the high street, turning to face her and raising his eyebrows - he studied her before he smirked and moved his hands to her hips. “Now Evans,” he said, his fingers brushing along the hem of her jumper, “I know you don’t mean that.”

The retort was on the tip of her tongue, but, recognising the opportunity, she grinned instead. “No, I don’t,” and she reached up, wound her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers.

She would, over time, run her tongue along all the lines of his skin, tracing him, finding every sensitive part of his body and memorising it and the way it felt against her lips, the way the salt and spice of his skin lingered on her tongue. But now, right now, with his mouth on hers, his fingers sliding along the exposed skin at her waist, all she could think was more. She needed him, every part of him, and she knew then that she would never, ever get enough.

She didn’t care that people were probably gawking at them, that they could see just how desperately she was pressing her body against his. The taste of him was driving her mad and she shouldn’t be held responsible for any acts of public indecency she might be in the process of committing. She bit down lightly on his bottom lip, smiling at the groan that escaped him, before he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. His eyes were shining with want and mischief and she could tell just how much effort it was taking for him to control himself. It mirrored, but probably didn’t quite match, the restraint she was exercising over herself.

“You can’t be doing that to me in public, Evans. We’re supposed to be setting an example. What kind of Heads are we?” Lily grinned and pressed her hips against his, “Maybe we should go back up to the castle then, if you’re going to be such a stickler for the rules.”

He smiled so broadly she thought his face might crack with the effort and she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her when he was looking at her like that, grinning stupidly at her in the middle of the high street like he’d just won the bloody lottery. She knew how he felt though, her lips were still tingling, her skin still humming, and she completely understood, now, what it felt like to have your entire body come alive, burst into flame, when you’re with someone. She craved it, never wanted it to end - James had ignited a fire in her gut that she hoped, no, knew, would never burn out.

She stepped away from him, grabbed his hand firmly in her own, and turned towards the castle.

anonymous asked:

my most favorite frog is the glass frog, they're super cool frogs that live in Central America with completely clear skin, so you can see all of their organs!

glass frog are so amaze!!!! their belly like window

everyone love them belly so many

but i also love them from the above! 

personal theory: 

all glass frogs….. 

actually fairies

because!!!!

they too beautiful to be for real animal!!!

all their different type, all too beautoful!!!!

spotted glass frog

granular glass frog

reticulated glass frog

ghost glass frog  even has MAGIC EYES

my tiny heart is explode from too much beauty of from a glass frog

Sebastian Stan Edit - the more i see him, the more i think he is a figment of our collective imaginations. He can’t be real. It’s just not possible. 

@steverogersnotebook @onceuponardj@writersblockstanfever @marvel-at-stucky @lbarrsxs @sebastianstanchrisevansuniverses @f0r-the-l0ve-0f-marvel-men @marvelmistress2015 @stucky-romanova-stark @just-call-me-mrs-captain @captaincorruptor @love-buckybarnes @sosebastian @imsebastianstanobsessed @twhstuckylover @ilovewintersoldiersandsebastians @dwindlingdichotomy @theconstant1944 @stevetopsbuckysbottom @steeb-and-buckbuck @valerietodad @buckymychild @hipstersteve @lokilover14 @phdna @xdarkestdreamingx @misha-collins-angel-of-thursday @lovesmoakingarrow @bucky-buchananbarnes @dangerouslywingedphilosopher @prettylittlerose21 @buckys-not-a-villian @mandazord @always-an-evans-addict @the221buckyfangirl @sebbys-girl @unabashedlyfoggybanana @luzifersboyfriendthekingofsouls @whostheblondegirl