unwritten lines

2

I was just doing some doodles but it end up being a scene of ‘Unwritten’.

This scene is so fucking cute <33 (I hate coloring so much lol No doubt why I prefer doing digital art)

@vixenfur I SAID TO YOU I WILL START DOING FANARTS

Unwritten Lines

Anonymous: Can you do an imagine where Harry is learning lines for Dunkirk and you try and help him and he makes up a line so he can kiss you?

I’ve had to make up lines for this imagine as I have no clue what type of character Harry is playing…

MASTERLIST

Harry had come home from several meetings at the studio where he collected his script. You stood in the kitchen with a glass of red wine in one hand and the other stirring home made bolognese you had made. 

“Honey?” Harry called out as he walked into the hall. You took a quick sip before responding. 

“Kitchen!” You could hear him hum a random tune before strolling into the big kitchen, script in his hand and a smile on his face. “So, it’s official then?” You signalled to the big script in his hand.

He nodded with a big, glowing smile on his face. You put your glass on the side and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him in pride. You were so proud of him. This was an amazing accomplishment. 

“You’re gonna look s’pretty at the premiere.” Harry murmured, kissing your temple. You scoffed and put a finger to his lips. 

“Let’s actually start filming first!” He frowned and kissed the tip of your finger. You went back to finishing dinner and Harry ran upstairs to take a quick shower and change into something a bit more comfier. 

Dinner went down an absolute treat. You had mastered Anne’s recipe for the ‘perfect spag bowl’ as Harry called it. He, of course, messily ate the spaghetti but you couldn’t help laugh when he had tomato sauce all over his cheeks. 

He offered to do the dishes whilst you took the bottle of red and your glasses into the living room. You situated yourself on one end of the couch where you lay a blanket over yourself, taking a sip of the deep red liquid. 

“That was lovely, thank you, baby.” Harry kissed your head and took a seat on the other end of the couch, laying the other end of the blanket over him. 

“Was wonderin’ if you would want to run through lines with me?” Harry asked you. You reached for his script and saw printed on the front:

DUNKIRK

Harry Styles

You felt your heart warm with admiration at how far he had come. 

“Of course, except I don’t have a script.” You shrugged. He smirked before reaching behind the sofa and pulling out a script for you. “How did you get that?” You laughed, taking the script. He shrugged cockily and leaned back. 

“Have my ways…”

You rolled your eyes and handed his script back to him. 

He flipped the booklet open and cleared his throat before reading out a line. Harry was playing a soldier who was leaving his newly married wife at home. 

“I’ll be back right before you know it.” Harry spoke out, compassion laced in his voice. You read out the next line. 

“But we only just got married.” You acted out, trying your best to act emotional and heartbroken. In reality, you sounded like an overreacting little girl.

“And we will still be married when I return. My darling, you will be the only thing on my mind when I’m gone. But I have to do this. I must fight for my country.” Harry read his line. 

“(Harry’s/character) passionately kisses his beautiful wife.” 

You frowned when you couldn’t see where he was reading from. You turned the page and looked up at him. “Where are you reading this from?”

“I’m not. Improvisation.” He winked and chucked the script onto the coffee table. He shuffled his body over to yours until he was lying on top of you.

“What are you doing, silly man?”

“Kissing my wife. Just like the script said.”Have to learn these lines over and over.” He smugly grinned, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. 

“How on earth did you get this part, hey? Way too cheeky to act such a serious role.” You wiggled your eyebrows. He mocked offence before pecking your lips. 

“But seriously, I am so proud of you. Like beyond belief.” You seriously spoke, running your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.  

“That means a lot, thank you.”“But one thing I’m not happy about is my beautiful curls are getting chopped off.” You pouted. He chuckled.

“Your curls?”

“Yes, they’re mine.” You whined, kissing his forehead. “But I’m so glad they’re going to a good cause.”

“Me too. Makes me feel like I’m doing some good.” He proudly spoke. Donating his hair to help others only made you love him even more. It was at the top of the list currently. 

“Now, let me follow my script.” He spoke before kissing you passionately. His tongue ran along your bottom lip and you granted him access, lightly moaning into his mouth. He smirked against your lips before pulling away, lightly kissing your lips.  

“What?”

He shook his head, his eyes scanning your face with a lazy smile.“You’re just beautiful.” You felt the heat raise to your cheeks as you blushed.

“As are you, my little soldier.”

smol masterpost

So I’ve been answering these AU meme prompts a lot and wanted to make a neat little list :3 on we go!
(if you want to write any of these, please ask for permission first! i might be willing to part with some)

(i still have 10 more in my ask so i will update this list as i post them)

nalu

Royalty AU

Kindergarten AU

Lych AU

Western AU ** (will be written by me @mslead and @toxineena)

Coffee Shop AU

Mixed Up Luggage AU

Avatar AU

Singer AU

God of Life/Death AU

WW2 AU

Drug Cartel AU

Assassin AU

Werewolf AU

Game Of Thrones AU

gajeevy

Bartender AU

jerza

Titanic AU

gruvia

Hogwarts AU

Rockstar AU

Take Me To Church [5/?]

A/N: Just in time for Sin-Day!! I want to gift this chapter to my lovely enablers @xpumpkindumplingx @spartanguard @kat2609 @ive-always-been-a-pirate (thank you for giving it a glance over, love!) @fergus80 @jscoutfinch and @laschatzi - Happy Valentine’s Day my loves!! <3 Also tagging my other Priest Killian lovers @xerxesrises @mrskillianjones89 


Emma Swan returned to her southern hometown of Storybrooke to pick up the pieces of her last shattered relationship, determined to rebuild her life in the one place she swore she’d never return to. What she didn’t expect was the new priest and the journey of passion, love, and redemption he would take her on. [Priest!Killian Modern AU]


Rated: E
FFNET
| AO3
Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 -

Chapter 5: A Sinful Start

“Emma.”

Placing a soft kiss to the hairy chest beneath her, Emma looked up to see Father Jones’s eyes locked on her, their usual calm blue a dark shade of midnight as desire swirled within them. She could feel the tension radiating off him, a war raging between his moral beliefs and his basic instinct as a man as he tried to hold on to the vows he had made to God even though what he wanted was currently kneeling between his open thighs. This was no time for promises he had made to the priesthood, however, and she smirked at him.

“Relax, Father. Let me take care of you.”

At his hard swallow she resumed her exploration. Her hands wandered over the expanse of chest that his open shirt gave her, the feel of coarse chest hair causing wetness to pool between her own thighs. She had always loved hairy men but none of the guys she had been with over the years had Father Jones’s level of chest hair, and it awoke something primal in her. Moving her hands lower she let her lips follow their path, smiling as his stomach muscles trembled beneath her touch. Reaching the top of his dress pants she leaned back to take in the view.

God there was nothing sexier than a half dressed Father Jones.  

Keep reading

Between the Lines: The Unwritten Stories of Steven Moffat

Moffat writes some wonderful stories, but I’d like to take a moment to appreciate the stories he doesn’t write.  Or rather, the stories he allows to stay unwritten. Moffat is a master of the off-screen story.  With a few lines of dialogue or a few flashes of scenes, he can craft subplot after subplot, stories within stories, that enrich the worlds he writes. 

These off-screen stories have many uses.  They can be used for tragedy—the Doctor skips through Reinette’s entire life, and she dies off-screen. They can add humor—“The Impossible Astronaut” starts with wild flashes of the Doctor’s solo adventures, and allows us to imagine the circumstances that created them. They add romance—Rory waits for millennia outside the Pandorica, Mary and John Watson fall in love, and the Doctor and River have a time-twisted marriage.  They introduce characters and hint at adventures that give the characters lives beyond the moments on our television screens.   

Whatever their use, these unseen subplots expand the stories far beyond the limits of their running time.  Kazran Sardick took eight trips in the TARDIS, enough to qualify him as a companion by most standards, yet he existed in a single Christmas special.  “Blink” exists on the margins of four unwritten episodes—the Doctor’s adventures in 1969, Kathy’s life with Ben from Hull, the thwarted romance and long life of Billy Shipton, and of course, four things and a lizard.  River Song’s diary has enough adventures to fill her own television series—the picnic at Asgard, Easter Island, Jim the Fish.  Clara Oswald lives millions of lives.  We even received an entire new Doctor for a single anniversary special.  These stories, if told in full, would take up the BBC’s entire schedule, yet all fit into roughly thirteen 45-minute episodes a year.  

Some of these stories, like “Egyptian goddess loose on the Orient Express in space”, are told years later by the series itself.  Some, like River Song’s adventures and the War Doctor’s battles, are left for Big Finish.  But even if they’re never told in an official capacity, these stories are important, because these stories are ours.  

We’re meant to seize upon these prompts and turn them into stories, told just the way we like.  We can imagine how the Doctor infiltrated a Laurel and Hardy filming.  We can fill in the adventures of Melody Malone.  We can give Rory two-thousand years of adventures, and decide exactly how Sherlock really survived the fall from St. Bart’s   We’re invited in as co-authors, to not only consume the art, but to create it.

Moffat’s stories are not stagnant.  They’re infinite, ever-shifting, and alive, because they grow inside our imaginations.  There’s a universe of stories waiting to be built.  So go out and tell them.  

Light, or something like light, reflected off it onto Ronan’s chin and cheeks, rendering him stark and handsome and terrifying and someone else. Then he blew on it. His breath passed through the word, the mirror, the unwritten line.

Adam heard a whisper in his ear. Something moved and stirred inside him. Ronan’s eyelashes fluttered darkly.

What are we doing

— 

Blue Lily, Lily Blue, pg. 165

Is it just me, or does this part seem kind of suggestive? I don’t think it’s only Cabeswater/the ley line that is affecting Adam and making him question things.

anonymous asked:

Do you know when it is implied Adam is attracted to ronan in Blue Lily Lily Blue? Thanks

it’s pretty subtle but adam muses about ronan a lot and comments on his appearance and abilities: (these are all in adam’s pov btw)

“Light, or something like light, reflected off it onto Ronan’s chin and cheeks, rendering him stark and handsome and terrifying and someone else. Then he blew on it. His breath passed through the word, the mirror, the unwritten line.
Adam heard a whisper in his ear. Something moved and stirred inside him. Ronan’s eyelashes fluttered darkly.
What are we doing -”

he’s literally spent an entire paragraph describing how handsome ronan is

“How appropiate it was that Ronan, left to his own devices, manifested beautiful cars and beautiful birds and tenderhearted brothers …”

musing on how magnificent and magical ronan is

“… and he realized that while he’d been looking at Ronan, Ronan had been looking at him.”

they’re staring at eachother like they’re deeply in love (they r tho)

“It was possible that there were two gods in this church.”

adam compares ronan to a god literally ..,.

A midnight scribble,
   a morning sigh;
   you watch the words
   curl up and die.

Madness lives
   inside your head,
   of poems lost
   and pages dead.

A mind possessed
    by unmade books,
   unwritten lines
   on empty hooks.
—  Michael Faudet, Lost Words
There are millions of unwritten lines,

Stories that never happened,
Ideas formed
but never brought to light,
These are the words
that hold true power,
The ones we never share,
Or the ones
that never need sharing,
The understood
or the impossible to understand,
They form the humming
in our heads,
Spiraling constantly,
Aching to fly free,
Yet still they meet only silence.

- CarterThomasPoetry

anonymous asked:

Hey. I see people here talking a lot about subtext in the scene of this post, sarasarai[.]tumblr[.]com/post/100789181494/light-or-something-like-light-reflected-off-it, and I've already read the comments on this post BUT would it be possible for you to write a detailed analysis of that paragraph, if it's not too much of an inconvenience? i mean, only if it's not too much trouble... thanks a lot! if you don't want to/can't write an analysis of that scene, no problem! :)

Just that paragraph? Sure, but it’s worth pointing out again that part of the reason you can so safely pin down a meaning on it is because of the context of both the greater scene it belongs to and the book itself. Again, the entire scene is pretty consciously constructed to remind you of a date, the same way Blue and Gansey’s yogurt cup interactions sub in for a kiss. 

But then you have:

Ronan’s expression sharpened. He held the dream thing beside the cow’s face. Light, or something like light, reflected off it onto Ronan’s chin and cheeks, rendering him stark and handsome and terrifying and someone else. Then he blew on it. His breath passed through the word, the mirror, the unwritten line.

Adam heard a whisper in his ear. Something moved and stirred inside him. Ronan’s eyelashes fluttered darkly.

What are we doing— 

And everything kind of kicks into gear. By presenting the unspoken and half-seen word, allowing it to be fully examined and understood even if it remains unspoken (by Ronan) and half-seen (by Adam), we’re thrown into the subtle but still very textual consideration of their unspoken and half-seen relationship build; into the question of, as Adam articulates before the plot swoops in, what they are doing. Because just as with the maybe light, it seems clear, but could just be very close, to the point where it’s an argument of where you draw the line.

Which is why this light in particular, this new possible means of analyzing the situation, is what makes Ronan look different. Makes him look suddenly stark (or distinct), handsome, terrifying (or unsafe, playing at a constant idea in the books that something about the possibility of Ronan makes him feel like someone will one day cut themselves on him), and most importantly: someone else. Someone other than the person Adam has allowed himself to see.

Which is why the breath passes through the unwritten (or unspoken) thing and mirror (or reflection of their own issue), and becomes a whisper, right in his ear, as if trying to reveal itself to him in the most intimate way possible.

Which is why something inside him stirs, but Adam only half-sees it. Knows it’s there, but only sees the reflection of whatever that something is by looking in Ronan’s eyes, as his eyelashes flutter (a frankly suggestive and romantic act, as emphasized by the “darkly”),

I looked at her with a smile that wrapped itself in streams of starlight scattered on sleepless roads at 3 in the morning. “You know,” I said finally, “maybe the reason Romeo and Juliet’s story has lasted 400 years is because they didn’t. That sort of love - passionate, explosive, whispered-words-in-low-lit-rooms-with-weary-eyes - it never lasts. It burns away as fast as it comes. The kind of love that lasts is slow-burning, slow-catching. It’s grey hair and waiting rooms, fake orgasms and minivans. But, twenty years on, you remember the summer drives on country roads, holding her hand like you were holding the world. You brush your teeth to the echoes of sun-drenched laughter and cheap champagne. Her eyes haunt you like words written between anywhere and nowhere and everywhere but -here- and you find yourself bent-double, caught in trembling ripples of waves on distant shores - long lost, long gone, yet burned into the creases of your paper heart.”

She was crying, then. They weren’t sad tears. They were the sort of tears that stung with frustration. I handed her my key as she mouthed “I’m sorry.”

“Anyway,” I choked out. “That’s what you’ll always be to me.”
—  unused lines from unwritten novels 2, kent w.