#but the lash back is every square is a rectangle not every rectangle is a square

[viviae]

Just learned shitting and farting is a sign of autism/adhd/depression/ocd/trauma/ptsd/narcissism/whatever is the new hot topic buzz word for a form of self actualization and neurotypical people just absorb it wow

[n0wornever]

First Touch - Luke Patterson x Reader

Luke x reader - it’s the scene where Julie talks to Luke before the Orpheum show but instead it’s the reader planning to tell Luke how she feels before he “passes over”

(gif is not mine)

She knew she’d regret the decision as soon as she made it. 

But as she paced back in forth in my room, hands tingling, she knew that there was no way that I could see his face again that night. After Luke had lied to her face for weeks about their fate, Julie was the one who had to come into her room last night and tell her exactly what would happen. The words clung onto her chest, making it hard to breathe as they nibbled at the surface. What really hurt was the fact that the boys didn't have the guts to tell her themselves.

“So you’re telling me that they have to leave no matter what?” 

Julie nodded, placing her hand on the girl’s thigh. She could feel that there were tears already brimming in her eyes, but when she looked over to Julie’s glossy reflection, she completely lost control. 

“Why didn’t they tell me? Why did you all keep this a secret?” 

She could feel her voice raise in intensity as her mouth spat the question, causing Julie’s shoulders to tense. She grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently to soothe the aggression she just caused. This was not her fault Y/N, remember that. Julie’s shoulders fell back down as she began to to speak again.

“Luke told them not to. He said you’d be better off finding out later,” Julie’s thumb rubbed against the skin by my knee, a calming technique she’d picked up from our mother. “But I couldn’t hold it in anymore, you deserve to know.” 

I pointed her face to the ceiling, hoping that the ceiling fan above me could do its best to dry the tears flattened against the surface of my face. I had always thought that Luke had cared about me, maybe not to the level that I cared about him, but enough to be let in on his disappearing act. Luke had no reason to hide this from her. 

“Why would he want to keep this from me?” she finally asked, wiping a fresh tear from my face. “Wouldn’t he want me to say goodbye?”

Julie sighed, rocking their hands back and forth. Y/N had always told her that her silence was wide enough to draw fear from even the strongest person. It swelled with intention, and hesitation. The girl cleared her throat before repeating the question. Julie chewed on her bottom lip before finally speaking up.

“It’s complicated Y/N, you should ask him yourself.” 

Of course she’d encourage healthy conversation. She groaned as she fell onto her back on the bed below her. Julie followed suit, nestling her head in the crook of her sister’s neck, snuggling to her side. 

Now it was the night of The Orpheum show and she still hadn’t tried to find Luke throughout the week. In fact, she instead avoided rehearsals all together. Every afternoon Julie would knock on the door and ask her the same question. 

“Are you doing it today?” 

She’d shake my head, pushing my glasses back onto the bridge of her nose with a sigh. Julie would lean in the doorway with wide eyes, but Y/N would just shake my head before returning back to her notebook. As the door closed, she’d finally let herself breath evenly again.

She was writing to him. 

Two people can play this avoidance game, so she decided that she was going to stoop as low as he did and avoid confronting him in person. Instead, she hatched a plan to leave him a note in the pocket of his flannel before he left for him to read wherever he was. There was so much that she had to say, she just wanted to make sure she got it right. More importantly, she wanted to wait until the last moment so that he had to sit with it.

Yes. It was harsh, but as she sat there with boiling tears streaming down her cheeks she couldn’t just sulk with the feeling any longer. She had been the vulnerable one this whole time. Never pushing him when it came to talking about his parents, but opening up to him about her mother. Not forcing him to give her hints about new music, but brushing away his constant need to climb into her room weekly to peek into her lyric notebook. 

She understood why his walls were up, and he understood that he did the stupid things he did because he cared about her. But this, this was the last straw. She could not simply let him walk away from her forever without letting him know that his actions caused her pain. 

The idea of explaining the connection of what she felt when she was with him seemed exhaustive. It was months and months of moments that had spiraled out of my control until I had fallen completely into him. So I decided to start from the beginning, but to keep it short. The letter began with the moment that I had stumbled on Julie talking to herself in the garage. 

Her pen hovered over her own name at the bottom of the page for a moment. She moved the utensil up to the top of the the scribbled handwriting with clear purpose. She began to scratch out the first line of text but paused again as the ink hit the paper. Dropping the grey tube onto the surface below, she brought her hand up to the top of the crease and tore out the page. She folded into a perfect square before taking a deep breath. 

As the pressed the seam one last time, she heard her father call her down the stairs for dinner. She leaned back to lift the pillow up off of the top of her bed, placing the piece of paper on the pastel yellow sheets below before setting the it back down. She sighed once more before lifting herself off the best and making her way to the door. 

As soon as the girl turned the corner, Luke poofed into the room. He looked around for any sign of her, but the girl was nowhere to be found. Giving up, he fell onto her bed, bouncing everything in around in his vicinity. The pillow below his head was obviously one that Y/N used regularly, his head falling closer to the surface of the mattress than he’d like. 

Lifting his head off of the feathered material, moving to a seated position. He leaned backward, grabbing the square with both hands and raising it up. His eyes fell from the mint cover to a small square back on the bed. Luke threw the pillow to the left, hands reaching for his new object of interest. He looked to the left and right before unraveling the note. 

His eyes soared across each line with ease. The skin on his bottom lip tearing away from his mouth as he dug into it. His gaze lingered on a particular word at the end. 

Loving.

His first thought was to lash out at Julie for betraying their promise, but it was shortly replaced by his need to get to Y/N. His fingers gripped the paper tightly at his chest as he took a deep breath. As he sat still, he began to hear footsteps in the distance. Jumping in place, Luke frantically worked to get the paper folded back down to its original square shape. He replaced the pillow and then rose to a standing position. With a snap of his fingers, Luke was out of the room without a word. 

Julie spun into the room, humming to herself as she walked toward the bed. Scrunching her brow in confusion, she leaned her head out the door.  

“Where did you say your glasses went?” She yelled loudly down to her sister.

“They should be on my bed!” Y/N yelled back in annoyance.

Julie rolled her eyes as she turned onto her heels and re-entered the room. She couldn’t see the clear frames anywhere on the soft comforter. As she inched closer, she began to lift things out of the way to make her search easier. As she lifted the pillow on the righthand side, a small piece of paper flew at her chest. Dropping the soft rectangle onto the bed, she leaned down to the floor to pick it up.

She unfolded it slowly and carefully. As it unraveled, she began to read the words on the page. Her eyes fell left to right hastily as she got increasingly angry. She locked her jaw as her gaze fell onto the line that said ‘you are a coward, Lucas Patterson.’ She had to admit, her sister had a talent for writing something brash and harsh in the most poetic way imaginable. 

“Hey did you find,” Julie’s hands collapsed around the paper at the sound of the voice. “What are you doing.” 

Turning to face her awaiting punishment, she saw that her sister’s face was already redder than the fireplace in their living room. Her hands were balled at her hips as she began to march toward the younger girl loudly. Julie arm swung around her back to hold the paper out of reach as her sister entered her personal bubble.

“I asked you to find my glasses, not to snoop through my things.”

Julie straightened her torso, raising an eyebrow as she looked at the older girl with shaking shoulders. She knew her sister could knock her flat out in a minute, but she had to speak her mind before it was trampled to the ground. 

“And I asked you to talk to Luke in person,” She brought the paper back out to her chest. “This, this is cowardly Y/N.” 

Her sister was visible vibrating with anger at this point. Y/N let out an anguished grunt, squeezing her fingers against her palm. But within a second, Julie heard the sound of crying come from the other side of the room. She rushed over to her sister’s side, catching her falling shoulders in her arms. She walked the girl over to the bed, sitting next to her on the edge. 

Julie rubbed her hand against Y/N’s knee, soothing her with light singing as she settled her tears. Finally raising her eyes back up to meet Julie’s, Y/N chewed helplessly at her bottom lip. 

“This whole time Jules, this whole time I’ve waited for him to be honest and truthful with me.” She sighed as a hand grazed against her raw cheek. “And he couldn’t even do it to say goodbye. I don’t even know what the point there is in talking to him. I know I’ll never get the truth.”

Julie stayed silent for a moment, listening to her sister’s sharp breaths. Her hand tapped against her skin a few times to gain her attention. Y/N’s bloodshot eyes met hers again.

“I know. I know that it’s been difficult,” Julie said looking right into her eyes. “Luke isn’t an easy person to talk to. But I cannot stand here and let you wallow forever without the possibility of speaking your mind. I know how heavily that weighs on you. Sure, you cannot control what he says, but I feel like you DESERVE to speak your mind to his face and breath easier at night.”

Y/N nodded, but she didn’t speak. What could she possibly say at this point. She knew Julie was right, but her anxiety weighed her body down like a cinderblock sat straight on her chest. The racing thoughts were cut off by her father yelling for Julie from the first floor. 

“It’s not too late for you to come to the show tonight,” Julie reminded her. 

“Maybe,” Y/N replied softly, keeping her eyes toward the window.

She heard the boxspring creak as Julie got up from the bed, and the door swing shut as she walked out of the room before she looked to her right. She couldn’t cry again. There’d been too many tears that night already. Instead, she rolled onto her bed, staring at the ceiling with the note to her chest. 

****

She woke up in a cold sweat. Leaning over to her left she saw that the clock said 8:30 p.m. She was too late. She couldn’t put the note in his pocket before he left, and she couldn’t say the words to his face either. 

He was gone. 

Y/N sighed to herself as she got up out of bed and leaned forward to turn on the lamp. Looking out the window, she stared at the garage with wide eyes. If she couldn’t say goodbye to him in person, she’d at least say it out loud, hoping, praying that maybe he’d hear it out there somewhere. 

She threw on her jean jacket before walking toward the door. Closing it behind her carefully, she raced down the stairs and out the back door. The sound of crickets and nearby sprinklers were the only noise to fill the air as she walked the short distance to the practice space.

As she entered the dingy, dark space she flipped on the lightswitch. As the soft yellow hue filled the room, she brought her hand out to her back pocket. Bringing the now deformed note into her hands, she quickly untangled it. She cleared her throat before beginning to speak. The shake in her throat note waiting long to appear.

“Luke,

The moment I met you, I thought that I’d absolutely hate you. My sister made me sit on the couch as called all three of you to appear. I remember meeting those bright green eyes and knowing exactly what they were capable of. But as the smile grew across your face, I knew I was a wasn’t a match for them.

You could have made it easy for me. Left it as a simply, fleeting crush entirely based on looks. However, you had to go and make me feel your presence. After the performance, Julie expected you all to disappear out of sight for me, but after the last note fell from my sister’s lips....you stayed.

I knew at that moment that we’d have a problem. You had the ability to be there at a moment’s notice. You, being as inquisitive as always, found your way up to my room every night. You, lacking the ability to be subtle, would spend that time drilling me with questions. You forced me to know you.

You were no longer a figment of my sister’s grief, you were a permanent structure in mine.

I didn’t ask you to listen to the lyrics I’d written the last time I had to say goodbye. I didn’t ask you to run to my side before my tears had dried over some stupid test or audition. You brought yourself there every single time.

I cannot believe that you would leave without telling me. I cannot believe that you’d choose to never see me again instead. You’re a coward, Lucas Patterson. A spineless coward.

I’ll never forgive you for making me feel. I’ll never forgive you for making me dream again. I’ll never forgive you for ripping that all away from me at a moment’s notice.

But I’ll never regret loving you.

- Y/N”

The sound of her name on her own tongue felt almost as painful as the knot lodged in her throat to hold back her tears. She refolded the paper, eyes staying forward, set on the darkness that surrounded her. She waited another moment before turning around. 

Her walk back to the house was cut short by a hoarse voice exposing itself to the light.

“Y/N?”

She stopped cold in her tracks, turning around on her tiptoes. There he stood in front of her, swollen and pale as ever. Her anger turned right to worry as she took several steps toward him with wide eyes. She leaned her head to the side, shaking it back and forth.

“What- how are you,” She scrunched her nose in confusion. “How are you here?”

“The Orpheum,” He began, already losing the race with his breath. “Wasn’t our unfinished business. So we came here to wait it out until sunrise. We didn’t want to worry Julie.” 

“Should I even be surprised that you’re side-stepping yet another conversation?” 

Luke bit down on his bottom lip, arm reaching out to touch her for a moment before his brain reminded him that he couldn’t reach her even if he wanted to. She took a step back, crossing her arms at her chest.

“The nerve you have, Luke Patterson,” She rolled her eyes at him. “To not even have the guts to properly say goodbye to Julie. She’s the one who brought back your love for music. She’s the one who put herself on the line for you with out dad, our friends and everyone else. And you repay her by LYING TO HER? I’m not even upset about what you did to me anymore.”

“Y/N,” His voice strained, his eyes boring into her. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Well you did.” 

Luke ran his hands through his hair, sighing. As his head rose back up, he held his stomach in his hand as he made his way toward her. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’ve never had anyone who’s put me first. I’ve always forced their in front of my own,” He started, a small smile on my face. “What was I supposed to do with a stubbornly perfect girl who forced me to give in?” 

Y/N held her gaze to the sky, tightening her hands around herself. His eyes stayed on her as he took a few small steps forward, standing right in front of her. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I was leaving,” His words bringing her watering eyes back to his face. “I just knew I couldn’t take staring at that exact look in your eyes.” 

He shook his head at her, tears streaming from his face now. “I love you, so much, Y/N. I never want you to hurt because of me. I was selfish and cruel, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t even think of the consequences. Again. I’m an idiot and I’m selfish but I am, so in love with you and I can’t think straight.”

Y/N’s lips parted as she gasped at those last words. Y/N fell back a bit in shock, tripping over her own feet. Luke rushed toward her, arms wrapping around her waist before she could hit the ground. Silence filled her air as she tried to understand what was happening.

Her brought her back up to a standing position, bringing one hand up to her face. His fingers grazed harshly against her cheek as he pulled her into him. He heard her open her mouth to speak, but crashed his lips against hers before she could get a word out. 

The room filled with color as their lips moved together harmoniously. Y/N was the first to pull back first, eyes falling around his features for a moment before her hand reached out to touch his face.

“I feel stronger,” Luke said in a gruff voice. 

“What just happened?” Y/N asked just above a whisper. 

Luke tightened his grip around her hips, pulling her closer to him. He shook his head rapidly before letting out a giggle. 

“I don’t know, but I just want to do that again.

His lips fell onto hers at once, Y/N melting into his touch instantly. They moved in sync for a moment before pulling away. Luke leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. 

Y/N heard grumbling coming from the corner of the room. Turning to her left, she saw Alex and Reggie stumbling toward them. Alex held a pinched expression as he leaned against the piano.

“We don’t have to make out with her too, do we?” 

Y/N leaned against Luke’s chest in a fit of laughter, feeling him join her as his chin rested on her head. 

.

.

.

Tag list: @xplrreylo @lovesanimals , @anythingandeverythingfandom , @crybabyddl  @themaddies-obx , @lukeys-giggle , @bumbleberry-pie @kiss-themoongoodbye  @marinettepotterandplagg , @lolychu , @bathtimejish , @dasexydevitt13 @musicconversedance​ , @txrii  @bestdressedandstressed @daisiesforlacey  @epikskool​  @bookfrog247​ @carleywhittaker​ @princessvader15​ @charliesmountains​ @spooky-season-bitch​  @kcd15​  @meangirlsx​ @itz-jas​ @parkeret​ @writerinlearning​ @calamitykaty​ @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall​ @teenwaywardasgardian​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @thesweetestsinner​  @kinda-really-lost​

[choccy-zefirka]

It has already been a few days, but there are still sprawling, bristling vines plastered against the outer wall of the Chantry. In that corner where Lavellan had his confrontation with the men of a visiting bann. The very first, tiniest sprouts appeared with a slithering rustle, faint like the flap of a butterfly’s wings. This happened just as the elf — who must have been on his way to the war room to see if the first reports on the Inquisition making coin had come in — was grabbed forcefully by the shoulder and pulled to the side by the leader of a little crowd of humans in chainmail.

A ruddy, unshaven man, pieced together from squares and rectangles: square torso, rectangular arms, rugged diamond-shaped face with broad cheekbones, a narrow forehead, and pointy chin. ‘Oi knife-ear!’ he boomed. ‘Our lord wants to have a word with your Herald! You know where he’s at?’ 'You are looking at him,’ Lavellan responded, inhaling steadily through his long, oddly shaped nose.

His fingers flexed, ever so slightly. A green light pulsed within his half-clenched grasp (little to do with the Mark, it seemed, for it had sparked in both of his fists). Meanwhile, the little vines on the wall grew a fraction of an inch thicker, spreading in bouts that coincided with the pulses of light. The human grunted derisively. 'Yeah, like Andraste would pull a crusty old rabbit like you out of the Fade! She may have been stupid enough to let Vints capture her and all, but she ain’t that stupid! You’re pranking us, right? Messing with us? That’s what your kind do, innit? 'Specially the ones with the weird ink shit on your faces…’ He nodded at the half-faded white lines of vallaslin branching across the lined, sun-bronzed skin underneath Lavellan’s eyes.

The elf inhaled again, and the vines grew thicker still. But it was not after the human nodded to one of his fellows (made out of pudgy circles rather than squares), and the latter stuck out his foot to trip up a passing servant girl, that the first thorns sprang up.

'Ey you, flat little whimp,’ the square one laughed unkindly — hinting at the girl’s bony, narrow-chested built — as she froze on all fours in the mud at his feet, sniffling squeakily at the pain in her grazed palms and knees.

'Tell your shrivelled friend over here that the joke ain’t funny! Whoever put you lot up to it, it won’t work on us! Or on our lord!’ 'Your lord may be in need of new… henchmen soon,’ Lavellan hissed under his breath.

Just as the human raised his foot to give the servant an 'encouraging’ kick, a few of the vines detached themselves from the wall with a head-splitting crunch, and lashed forward, swaying like serpents, their thorns growing and hardening right before the little band’s widened, glassy eyes.

One such thorn was aimed strategically at the square human’s throat, another one at his crotch. And they would have punctured their meaty targets, sooner or later, had a group of Inquisition agents not intervened.

Lavellan helped the breathless, shaken girl to her feet and answered all of the agents’ confused questions with the same brusque phrase, 'They were harassing your servants and insulting your goddess’. With that done, he allowed the swaying vines to be chopped down. But those of them that clung closest to the wall still remain.

He has been stopping in front of them time and again, just as he has stopped now, resting his hands on his hips and chewing absently at the long curved stem of his constant companion: a smoking pipe.

Whatever magic his anger powered up, it has long since faded (especially since all the bug-eyed, cursing members of warrior band were promptly ushered out of Haven, and a stern letter on their behaviour sent off to their master). The vines no longer appear alive... Well, no more alive than any regular, unconjured creeping plant. And yet, every time Lavellan lingers in front of them, he can feel the apprehensive stares of the Inquisition’s Templars eat through the back of his head. They are perfectly in the right, of course. He has seen full well what magic can do if it spins out of control, and he knows he shouldn’t have summoned these thorny things in the first place.

Perhaps, he muses to himself as he prepares to light his pipe — with a tinder box, not magic, for the sake of everyone’s peace of mind — he should just ask a shem to grab a torch and burn them all down… 'Milord Lavellan?’ a soft voice calls from behind his back.

He recognizes it, and his breath stops momentarily, his chest clenching with an aching sweetness that fills him in a wine-like buzz. 'Are you busy?’ 'No, of course not,’ he splutters, his heart beginning to pound with the fear that he must not be coming off as friendly enough. Again.

It is not something that he is very practiced at. Uusually, it does not bother him, but… Ambassador Montilyet is not someone whom he wants to 'Uh’ and 'Hm’ at with his eyebrows knitted. As he turns around, fumbling to put his pipe away, he sees that the Ambassador is holding a tray, lined with a row of small, chubby, dainty pastries. Soft at the top; crowned by berries and chocolate crumbs.

Cupcakes, he thinks they are called. He vaguely remembers trying them a few times, including that dazed morning when he was almost force-fed them by a chattering, gasping throng of Orlesian city elves whom he had protected the night before: at the dreaded time of the chevaliers’ gruesome initiation ritual.

Sweet, melting, frilly trifles. A guilty indulgence that he has not even realized he was missing… until now. 'I know I apologized to you on the Inquisition’s behalf for the disgraceful scene you witnessed, milord,’ the Ambassador says, twirling her foot in a half-curtsey in front of her.

This motion brings a slow, dreamy smile to Lavellan’s lips. 'Repeatedly. But it still felt like it was not enough. So… please accept these as a token of appreciation. Lenora, the servant who suffered before your eyes, has also received her share of cupcakes. As well as a pouch of coins. And poultices for her knees and palms. And what little variety of flowers I could obtain at such short notice’. Much to Lavellan’s own confusion, his smile broadens into a full-blown grin that feels alien on his face, but not unwelcome. 'You… You are too kind, milady… You were not the one who wronged us’. 'But I am the one with the power to make you feel welcome,’ the Ambassador says with conviction.

Not a moment afterwards, she glances up past his shoulder and exclaims, 'Oh, milord! The vines are blossoming! Look! There are tiny purple blooms among the thorns! Like stars!’ Her excited voice is loud enough to carry across to the Spymaster’s tent. And, unbeknownst to Lavellan, who is too busy gaping in hushed awe at the specks of tender colour peppering the tangled mass of wiry, dry tendrils on the wall, the dreaded Nightingale also looks up. And furrows her forehead.

Wondering.

[katymacsupernatural]

The Lies of Men Chapter 1

Dean x Reader

1800 Words

Written For: @spngenrebingo, @spnaubingo

Squares Filled: 1940′s (Genre) Police Officer Dean (AU)

Summary: Y/N is married to a very wealthy bank owner. After his true colors show through, Y/N runs to her police officer brother for help. Instead, she finds his friend Dean, who offers his support. 

Warnings: abusive relationship, mentions of assault, etc...

Tears streaked down your face as you struggled to control your breathing. Every breath hurt, bringing a fresh wave of tears that you desperately wished would stop.

Every part of your body ached, from your toes all the way to the strands of your hair. You were sure at least one of your ribs were broken, along with a possible concussion and heaven knows what else.

Your only possession at the moment was the fur-trimmed wool coat you were bundled up in, your beaded purse, and the diamonds wrapped around your neck like a collar. Everything else was back at your house. With him. And you couldn't go back there.

Standing at the entrance to Rittenhouse Square, you were left at a crossroads. Do you enter the park where none of your high-class friends would be at this late at night? Do you return home and hope that Lawrence's temper had cooled off?

But you knew it would never cool off. Sure, during the day he was the proper gentlemen and the proper husband. Going to work at his Fathers Bank. That he ran now. Spending the evening at your side at all the high-class parties. But once the two of you were alone in that massive house...you just shuddered at the memories.

You only had one other place to turn to. Lawrence would blow his top, but you didn't know what else to do. With nothing more than spare change in your purse, you began the long trek across the city to the police station, and the safety your brother might offer you.

Almost an hour later, you limped up to the large brick building. Your lungs burnt with exhaustion, your side screaming in agony at every painful drag of breath. Your ankle was swollen, one heel of your shoes laying forgotten about a mile back. Your eye had long since swelled shut, and you knew you must look a sight. But all that mattered was finding your brother Jimmy and the shelter he might offer you.

At this late hour, the front office was bare. The secretaries desk was empty, as was the guard who usually sat up front. You quietly made your way down the hallway to the large room towards the back. There the main officers had their desks. Jimmy was usually on the night shift, a fact you were grateful for now.

But as soon as you pushed the door open, all sense of hope vanished. The room was empty. Papers were strewn everywhere, half full coffee cups forgotten on their desks.

You were at a loss. You refused to go back, even though you knew you might have to eventually. You could wait for Jimmy, but who knew how long that could be.

Fresh tears began trickling down your cheeks, cool against the flushed skin. Crumpling down in a chair, you tried to think of your next move. But all you could think of was how wrong your life had turned.

Lawrence had swept into your life, making you feel like a princess in one of those fairy tale stories. He was handsome, so handsome. He had this inky black hair that no matter how hard he tried would always end up curly by the end of the day. His eyes were a rich blue, brighter than the sapphire he had gifted you for Christmas. He had been funny and sweet, managing to sweep you off your feet before you could so much as blink. He was rich and influential, and your family? It was just you and your brother. He hadn't seemed happy about your choice, but Lawrence had been so sweet, and you had been adamant. 

The creak of the door opening pulled you out of your memories, and you turned to the door in alarm. Hoping that Jimmy was returning, you couldn’t help but worry that Lawerence had figured out where you had taken off.

"Y/N?" A familiar voice called out, but it wasn't the voice or your brother. You kept your head tilted down, peering up at the man through your lashes. It was Dean, your brother's partner, and friend. He was tall, even taller than Lawrence, his uniform straining at his shoulders. His dark blonde hair was slicked back, his green eyes staring at you in concern. "Is everything okay?"

Sniffling, you shook your head. "Is Jimmy with you?"

He shook his head, squatting down in front of you, his eyes wide as he took in your disheveled state. "Who did this?"

You shook your head, not wanting to say the words. That your marriage was a sham and the man you thought you had loved was a monster.

"Was it Lawrence?" He asked his words nothing more than a growl. His hands were curled into fists, his jaw clenched and ticking. Your heart sped up and you sank deeper into your seat. He noticed immediately, forcing himself to relax. "Listen, sweetheart, Jimmy is out on a case and I have no idea when he'll be back. Can I take you home, or…"

"No!" You exclaimed, the words coming out hoarse. Reaching up you touched the diamond necklace, knowing there had to be deep bruises underneath. "Please, anywhere but there."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Let's take you to my home."

Dean took you out through the back door, where his personal car was parked. A cream colored two-door Pontiac. He opened the door for you, his hand clenched tight on the metal when he noticed your whimper as he slid in. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital instead."

"No, no hospital," you argued. "He might look for me there."

"You need to fill out a report," Dean started to say as he slid in the driver's seat. "He can't get away with this."

You turned to face him, tears slipping down your cheek. You were sore and exhausted. Not to mention terrified and you wanted nothing more than to get a good nights sleep before you figured out your next step. "Fine, we'll get you settled for the night, and then we'll go from there."

You had never been to Dean's house before, and you were surprised when he turned his car back the direction you had come. You glanced at him in surprise, but his attention was on the road. With your hands clenched tightly in your lap, you watched as acquaintances houses flew by. Lights were on in a couple of houses, cars parked on both sides of the street as the rich, upper class partied the night away. Something you were supposed to be doing tonight as well. But the thought of sitting through another, stuffy party was not something you could even stomach.

Dean glanced at you before turning down your street, his mouth drawn in a tight line. You could feel your body start to tremble as you glanced over at him in dismay. “Dean, what is going on? Please, you aren’t sending me back, are you?”

You knew he had every right. Sure, it was 1946 and women’s rights was stronger than ever. But most men considered women nothing more than a possession, and Dean could legally drop you back off at home.

He shook his head. “Of course not. There is no way in hell that man is ever getting his hands on you again. But this is the easiest way to my house.”

Your heart still raced, but you remained quiet as your house came closer and closer to view. The prominent park was off to your left, the entrance back about a hundred feet or so. Lawerence’s family had lived in this house since the early 1800s, and it was passed down to him after his parents retired to the countryside. It was tall, three stories high. The lot it sat on filled the entire block, wrought iron fence closing it off to the public. You had loved the place, with its old stone walls, the towering turret off to one side. There were a gazebo and pond off to the right, where you had often spent your summer afternoons feeding the ducks.

Inside the place had always been spotless. From the marble floors to the very detailed plaster. Only the best furniture had been placed in every room, some of it was older than the house themselves.

The lights were on in the house, in almost every single room as Dean drove by. You could see a silhouette in the balcony windows that bordered one wall of your shared bedroom. It had to be Lawrence. He was probably beside himself with anger, and you feared for the safety of the servants.

"He will pay," Dean assured you, following your gaze past the gate up to the second-floor balcony. "Y/N, we have to tell someone. To keep you safe, but it's also my job."

You smiled weakly at him. "Can we talk about it later?"

He nodded stiffly before turning down another street, pulling up to another ornate wrought iron fence. But this one was already open and Dean drove through. "I never knew you were my neighbor," you whispered, wondering how a simple police officer could afford such an expensive place.

He chuckled, but it was sarcastic. "A police officer can't own a nice house?

"That's not what I meant!" You exclaimed, your eyes widening at the sight of the house in front of you. It was just as big as your house. A little newer, this one was made of bright red bricks. It was of the more modern style, a large rectangle with porches on both sides. A circle driveway was right in front of the door, an extensive garden on the left. "You've just never said anything."

Dean shut off his car, quickly coming around the side. "Well, we've never really had much of a chance to talk," he said before reaching down to help you to your feet. Ignoring his hand, you slid out, gasping in pain and almost falling to the gravel as pain swarmed through your body.

"Damn it, let me help you," he ordered, gently reaching down to pick you up in his arms. Quickly climbing the small set of stairs, the doors opened, a butler standing off to the side. "Mr. Winchester?" He asked, staring at you quizzically.

"Franklin, can you call Dr. Neills? See if he can drop by tonight?"

Franklin didn't even bat an eye. "Of course sir. Right away."

You tried to get a good look at Dean's house, but the grasp he had on you had you swimming in and out of consciousness. Your head rolled to the side, landing against Dean's firm chest as he took the stairs up to the second floor.

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!! If you did, a reblog/comment would help a writer out!!! 

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[wildefiction]

Hot Highs

PAIRING: Rob x Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,049

SUMMARY: Reader is on vacation with friends in Hawaii when a rousing game of truth or dare presents the most interesting opportunity

WARNINGS: Swears, Anxiety, Drinking, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Unprotected Sex 

A/N: This was created for @spnkinkbingo. Check out my 2019 Bingo Card.

SQUARE FILLED: Public Sex

Smooth black vodka spilled over the lip of the bottle clutched in one hand, mixing with the pomegranate juice and Chambord already in the shaker. Sprinkling a pinch of edible glitter atop the other ingredients, you fit the top to the device, gripping tightly as you began to shake the drink in your hand.

Pouring the concoction into a chilled tumbler, the only step remaining was to add a twist of citrus. Slicing fresh lemon to accompany the signature drink, these glasses were added to the wooden serving tray already holding bowls of fruit, meats, cheeses and crackers. 

Laughter could be heard from the next room over, the suite you and a few friends had rented for the Hawaii Supernatural Convention had been larger than even the pictures had shown. 

The corner room overlooked the ocean, two of the walls constructed of floor-to-ceiling windows. Backing through the gauzy curtains framing the balcony doors, you set the tray down, joining the others at the patio table.

Several hours passed where your only concern was relaxing and having an amazing time with people you didn’t often get to spend time with. 

Cards Against Humanity soon made way for a rousing game of Truth or Dare. Posting embarrassing videos to social media and screaming their love of Supernatural from the balcony were among some of the light-hearted tests that night. Flopping back into an empty chair, you turned to see your friend Violet’s cheeks flushed with the evidence of perhaps one too many drinks. Sitting forward, her eyes glittered with a fierce clarity as she set her sights on you. 

“So, [Y/F/N], truth or dare?” The challenge in her expression suddenly made you nervous. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, uttering a meager “truth” under your breath. 

“Ahh, yeah...no that’s enough of that.” Laughing to herself, your friend only grinned.

Eyes flicking to the other three people surrounding the table, you tilted your head in confusion.       

“See, the point of the game is to have fun and make total fools of ourselves. Can’t very well do that if you pick ‘truth’ every time.” The exasperated look on Violet’s face finally broke your stubborn resolve. 

“Fine, fine..dare.” Squinting at your friends, you braced yourself for whatever they were going to come up with. 

Looking to the others, who merely nodded encouragingly, Violet turned to face you - a wide smile spreading over her features.

“Okay, so, tomorrow - during autographs, you’re going to give Rob your phone number.”

The patio was silent as you sat staring at your friends. A full minute passed while you waited for them to laugh or something - anything, to indicate they were joking. It never came, their raised eyebrows a clear sign that they were expecting some sort of an answer. 

“You..you’re kidding, right?” “What kind of a dare is that?” 

While you scoffed at the idea on the outside, the heavy thudding in your chest as your pulsed began to race gave way to how you had really reacted to their words. 

“I’m not doing it, pick something else.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you rolled your eyes while you waited on them to reconsider.

“What’s the big deal [Y/F/N]? You’re single, he’s single...and you have a mad crush on the guy.” Lena, who sat to your right, spread her hands out, shrugging as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah, you’re right, he is single - but he’s also a successful actor, a prolific musician and a gorgeous, kind human.” Ticking off your counter-arguments on each finger, it was still incredulous to think that they might be serious.

“Besides, people like Rob don’t date fans, it’s just not how things go.”

“--but..” Violet opened her mouth, ready to defend her argument - only to be cut-off.

“Fine, I’ll do it. It’ll just prove my point.” 

Equal parts annoyed at their insistence and determined to squash the hope stirring in your gut, you pushed back from the table and went inside. 

Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful, rays of light streaming through the drawn curtains. Rolling to your back, you were in the midst of rubbing the sleep from your eyes when you were reminded of the promise you’d made the night before, the thoughts filtering through to the front of your mind.

Pulling jeans up over your thighs after showering, you could think of nothing but how you were supposed to pull this off. 

Grabbing the paper schedule from the bedside table, you scanned the document, searching for your options. The biggest obstacle was going to be getting the note to him without being intercepted by his handler. While you’d decided that simply handing him a scrap of paper with your number on it was the best way to go, you’d still yet to figure out how to actually get it in his hand. 

The choices were limited, two opportunities presenting themselves to you: Swain had autographs early that afternoon, and you knew from previous experiences that they usually held their signing right after playing the acoustic jam in the vendor room. The alternative would be when Rob had his solo autograph session - almost directly before the concert was due to start. 

Struggling with the decision, you finished getting ready and headed downstairs; the first panels due to start in half an hour. 

Sitting in your assigned copper seat, your heart began to race as Billy stepped on-stage. Norton and Mike followed, busying themselves with checking their instruments and getting into position. The anticipation of seeing Rob had you holding your breath and you didn’t know why - you’d been just fine around him yesterday. You’d yet to follow through on the dare, there was no reason why you should be this anxious. Willing yourself to calm down, you took a deep breath just before Rich’s heavy voice echoed through the ballroom, a wide smile plastered across his face as he flew up the stairs to start the day’s programming.

Autographs with Swain came sooner than you anticipated, the schedule running behind had the boys pushing the acoustic jam to after their autograph session rather than before. Having lined up for their performance early, you were among the first in line for autographs. 

Approaching the table, the knot in your stomach tightened - a fresh dose of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you placed the black 5x7 photo mat on the banner in front of the handler. Passing it to Mike, who sat directly to her left, you held your breath, fingering the note clutched in your tense grip. The man’s reassuring smile and heartfelt thanks as he passed the mat to Norton made you a bit less nervous, and inwardly you breathed a sigh of relief. By some stroke of luck, the boys were arranged differently today, Rob being last at the table. As their signatures filled the black rectangle in silver sharpie, you began to breathe easier. Billy, who’d just removed the cap from his pen, greeted you; “What picture are you gonna put this with?” 

Scribbling his name in the bottom right corner, he looked up in time to see you blush. 

A nervous laugh spilled from your lips as you tried to think of an elegant way to describe the photo in question. 

“Suffice it to say that had I put the picture with the mat, it probably would’ve been confiscated for being inappropriate.”

Billy laughed at that, and passed it on to Rob. Meeting his clear blue eyes was easy enough for you, but a flush colored your cheeks as he lifted one eyebrow in interest. 

“Oh? Well, you should’ve brought it anyway.” 

The smile was probably supposed to be encouraging, but you read it as lascivious. Flicking his gaze to the paper clutched in your hand, he looked back up at you from beneath thick, dark lashes. Finishing his signature, you watched as the gold ink he’d chosen began to dry in the center of the frame.

“Is that for me?” 

Your eyes followed his movements as he extended a hand towards you; long, artistic fingers brushing against the folded paper still clutched in your own trembling hands. You must’ve made some noise that affirmed his question, and you watched, terrified, as he took the note from you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the person behind you in line inching closer, her glossy photo sliding into place in front of Rob. 

The fear in your expression must’ve been obvious, and you watched as the man before you narrowed his eyes. Picking up on your anxiety, he smiled - placing the folded paper in the front pocket of his white button-up shirt. Sighing in relief, you thanked him again and hurried from the table, equal parts relieved that you’d gone through with it, and terrified of what the outcome would be. 

Afraid of that outcome, you really considered skipping both the vendor jam and the concert. You’d be mortified if people found out you were delusional enough to think he’d react favorably to being so forward. In the end though, it was the reassurance from your friends who’d dared you to go through with it in the first place, that put your mind at ease. 

“There’s no point in staying in the hotel room, all miserable while the rest of us are having fun. He won’t have had time to read it before jam, which starts in--” looking at her phone, Lena grabbed you by the arm, pulling you down the hall at a brisk walk “--now!” 

The thoughts were momentarily chased from your mind as the beginning riffs of Poptart Heart echoed through the room. By the time you reached the crowd, there was no space left at the front, and, seeing Rob immersed in his singing, your anxiety quieted a little. Maybe your friends were right, besides, what’s the worst that could happen? 

Settling in to enjoy the rest of the short set, you fished the kazoo from your jeans pocket as the band shifted into Medicated; the cheap plastic instrument ready for the resounding solo that always came towards the end of the song.

“I knew you could be the kind of girl, that I could talk to..”    

Changing into the long bohemian skirt you’d made specifically for the luau and concert, you took the time to comb through your hair, pinning an orange and magenta plumeria flower behind your right ear and sliding bangles around your wrists. The cropped tank top you’d paired with the outfit showed just a sliver of skin as you reached for your phone. Deciding to forego shoes with the weather being so nice, you took the elevator to the bottom floor, chatting with your friends about your excitement for the show; the embarrassment of earlier now completely forgotten.   

The concert had been amazing, a full luau and the Saturday Night Special taking place right on the beach? It was easily the best performance you’d been to. Strings of hanging lights guiding you back to the hotel, you were surprised when your phone vibrated. The number wasn’t one you recognized, so you sent the call to voicemail and tucked the device back into the pocket of your waistband. 

Back in the hotel room, you were just getting ready to change into something more worthy of lounging around the room in, when your phone vibrated again. 

It was the same number as earlier. 

Glancing at the time in the top right corner of the screen, and, seeing it was nearing eleven-thirty - you sent the call to voicemail once again. The device had just hit the bedspread when it went off for a third time. 

This time, it was a text:

UNK: "Why aren't you answering your phone?"

Quickly typing out a reply, you were stepping out of your skirt and trying to juggle your phone in the other hand. Knowing if you tried to set it down, it'd be only to pick it up again moments later.

[Y/F/N]: Maybe because I don't know who this is and it's almost midnight? I think you have the wrong number…

Almost instantly, the person responded:

Unk: Do you make it a habit of handing out your number to strange men?

[Y/F/N]: I'm almost positive you've got the wrong number, because, no, I don't give my number to jus-- 

A cold prickle blossomed out over the back of your neck, your fingers suddenly still -  mid-sentence.

[Y/F/N]: ...wait…how did you get this number?

Somewhere in the background, the door to the room opened, the scrape of the metal latch distracting you momentarily. 

Your friends, brazenly stumbling into each other amid peals of laughter saw you then, sitting on the floor - one leg still stuck in your skirt.

Perspiration dotted your temples; where moments before you'd been perfectly comfortable. Not wanting to believe who you were talking to, the events of earlier that day came crashing into you all at once. 

You'd only given your phone number to one person today…

Another alert came through. Startled you dropped the phone to land with a quiet thud on the plush grey carpet.

Tentatively, you reached out - one finger tracing your lock screen pattern, the new message filling the available space.

Unk: Pretty sure I pried it from your vice-like grip right around lunchtime today...

"Bullshit! You see?! I TOLD you!" 

Violet had glanced down to read the words about the same time you had, a wide grin lighting up her face. Meanwhile, you were too stunned to say anything, much less respond.

After several minutes, the screen lit up once more - the vibration muffled by the carpet on which it still sat.

Unk: Did you turn into a pumpkin? 

Unk: Oh. It's after midnight…

Unk: Guess I'll leave you alone now. Sleep well, uh...huh - don't know your name either..

Gingerly, you lifted the phone and began to write:

[Y/F/N]: Not a pumpkin, just in shock. 

Apparently Rob had no interest in letting you sleep though, as a new barrage of messages came through.

Unk: Why are you in shock? 

You went on to explain it was all his fault. You hadn't expected him to actually call you.

Unk: Well...I mean, wasn't that your intention? Why else would you give someone your number?

Unk: My thumbs are tired. Wanna get a drink or something? 

A small, helpless noise fell from your lips as the last text came through. Wide-eyed, you looked up at Violet and the others, as if questioning what you should do; knowing full well what they were going to say.

"If you don't accept his offer - right now - I'm gonna do it for you." 

Olivia, the quietest of the trio, fixed you with a stare - her intense blue eyes fixated on yours.

Reluctantly, if only because you were still in complete disbelief, you accepted his offer.

Fixing your skirt as you stood, you weren't completely sure what to do next. Was the bar still open this late?

"Breathe [Y/F/N], you've got this, this is fine.."

Muttering to yourself, you checked your appearance in the mirror. With a final deep breath, you pulled the door to the room open, glancing back over your shoulder at the three people who'd gotten you into this mess to begin with.

One last text came through just then. A simple number the only contents: "2516"

Realizing the man had just given you his room number without so much as a second thought, you began to wonder if this was a regular thing for him. As giddy as you were to be receiving the attention you so desperately craved, it was still a sobering thought.

Rob's room was ten floors above your own, and the higher the elevator climbed, the more anxious you were becoming. Being stuck in your own head likely wouldn't make for a very good time, and you did your best to focus on the present.

The quiet hush of the doors as they slid shut behind you was the only sound on the seemingly abandoned floor.

Straight ahead, a gleaming plaque attached to the wall directed you to the left. As welcoming and well-lit as the entryway had been, the corridors stretching in both directions were lit only with the soft glow of wall sconces. Spaced approximately ten feet from each other, you were lost in their illumination until a quiet voice grabbed your attention. 

"Hey [Y/F/N].."

The way your name sounded on his lips had you stopping short. Barefoot, Rob stepped from his room to greet you. 

"C'mon in for a sec, I've just gotta grab a couple things." 

Holding the door open, you squeezed by him, the space between the two of you a lot less than you'd have imagined. For being a smaller person, his body still framed the doorway almost completely.

Curious as to what the plan was with it being well-past midnight, you hovered quietly just inside the door, watching as the man grabbed his phone and wallet from the dresser, crossing the floor to shut off the light in the bathroom.

The lamps to either side of the king-sized bed were dimmed, throwing heavy shadows around the room as he approached. Smiling, he reached towards you. Bypassing your waist, his fingers closed around the door handle and he pulled it open, gesturing for you to go ahead. Suddenly thankful for the dim lighting, you slunk into the hallway - silently berating yourself for thinking he had ulterior motives. 

"So, [Y/F/N], I figured we'd head up to the roof - have a couple drinks? Should be pretty quiet, does that sound okay?"

"Uh, yeah. That-that sounds great." 

The two of you walked down the hall together in comfortable silence. Or maybe all the questions that swirled through your mind was enough of a distraction that you didn't think to speak.

At the end of the hallway, a stairwell waited behind a heavy, steel door. 

Leaning against the handle, you held the door for Rob and the two of you climbed the five flights to the top of the building; your weight on the cement stairs echoing throughout the confined space. 

A tropical breeze greeted you upon reaching the top and wandering out onto the roof. You'd expected it to be fairly bare, perhaps a couple of benches to sit on and some lanterns. Instead, you were pleasantly surprised. Long sofas were gathered together with chairs and large tables, soft strings of lights hanging gracefully around the perimeter. One corner held a full bar, tall chairs arranged neatly in front of it.

Leading you over to one of the couches, Rob gestured for you to sit while he ambled toward the bar.

Reclining in the corner, you grabbed a pillow and put it in your lap - something you'd always done since you were a kid. Curling your legs up beneath you, you looked up at the canopy hanging overhead; huge swaths of tangerine, plum and sky blue fabric decorating the iron frame.

"So, [Y/F/N], what'll it be?" Rob still had his back turned, but called out over his shoulder as he perused the various bottles.

Shrugging and then realizing he couldn't see your reaction, you told him to surprise you.

Turning to face you with a bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand, he began to chat while pouring the dark liquid into short glasses. 

"This your first visit to Hawaii?" Extending one hand, Rob gave you a glass and sat next to you.

"Mhm. You?" Bringing your lips to the edge, you took a sip of the drink, closing your eyes in bliss as it warmed your insides.

Three drinks in, and you were no longer nervous. 

"So, how exactly did you find out my name?" 

Raising one eyebrow in interest, you stared at the man sprawled out next to you. At some point over the course of the last hour, Rob had reclined on the couch, his legs stretched out and tangled in yours.

Neither of you seemed to care, and it was comfortable enough of a position to be in.

Even at nearly two in the morning, the light breeze coming in off the ocean was warm; playing with tendrils of your hair as it danced around your face.

"I, uh, I might've asked around." "Seems like you frequent these events pretty often Ms. [Y/L/N]."

Shrugging nonchalantly, you went back to sipping your drink. 

"So, I do." "Who told you?" 

"Chris." Rob looked up to gauge your reaction.

Nodding, you made a mental note to thank your favorite photographer the next time you saw him.

Emptying the remainder of your glass, you set it on the table, gripping the edge of the couch to help steady your movements. 

Leaning back against the canvas cushions, you decided then to see if you could get Rob to give you a straight answer about your earlier question.

"And why did you decide to call me?" "And don't say 'because you gave me your number' - cause I can't be the only girl that's ever done such a thing."

Scrutinizing his half-lidded expression while you awaited his answer, you became lost in the color of his eyes and almost didn't hear his response. 

"Actually, pretty much for that very reason. You seemed terrified, and yet you still had the balls to hand me that slip of paper."

"I'd actually forgotten that I had it until just before I called. Everyone had decided to go out for a late dinner, but for some reason - I just wasn't feelin' it. I was clearing out my pockets and remembered it was there."

"Besides, I think you're cute."

Pretty sure you were hearing things, you shook off the small glimmer of hope that immediately sprang to life.

You'd been listening to him talk, just enjoying spending time with him, not expecting anything to come of it aside from some really great stories. 

Feeling a shift in Rob's movements, your eyes flicked to his when he clambered from the couch, stumbling only the slightest amount as he disentangled his legs from yours.

Reaching out to take your hand, he helped you into a standing position. Somehow, likely because you were naturally uncoordinated, you threw your other arm out to catch yourself when you tripped over your own feet. Catching you with one arm around your waist, the other still clutching your hand - Rob stilled, staring at you from the mere inches that separated your bodies.

Slowly releasing your hand, Rob brought his palm up to cup your cheek. 

"Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?"

His words were hushed, the grip around your waist pulling your body to align with his.

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded.

The kiss was the barest brush of his lips against yours, but as your fingers carded themselves into the fine hair at the base of his neck and moved up to twist in the dark curls, it quickly moved past chaste into something hungrier.

Rob groaned, leaning into your touch - tightening his hold around your waist. 

Pulling back from the kiss, you turned, placing one hand in the center of Rob's chest to push him towards the couch.

Easily getting the hint, he flopped back against the cushions, drawing you down to sit in his lap as his lips found yours once again.

Struggling against the material of your skirt, you reluctantly broke from the kiss a second time, this time standing to adjust the strips of material clustered around your legs. Gripping a handful of fabric on each side, you stepped forward, straddling Rob's lap, the soft layers of material fanning out around you.

"God damn, [Y/F/N]. Are you sure you want to do this?" 

His breath heavy, Rob's hands tentatively rested at your waist, his pupils blown wide with lust.

In response, you rolled your hips into his, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Heat flooded your body when you felt him responding to your touch; his grip tightening to pull you harder against his growing erection.

Threading his fingers in your hair, he pulled your mouth to his. There was nothing gentle about this kiss - all teeth and tongue and biting, his fingers accidentally caught in your hair, pulling a sharp cry from your lips.

"Shit, I'm sor--" 

Rob's voice trailed off as he realized that the noises you'd made weren't from pain.

His eyes darkened then, a slow smile replacing his worry. 

"Ahh...it's like that is it?" An almost sinister grin spread out over Rob's features while his hand tangled itself back in your locks, the callused tips of his fingers trailing along your scalp.

A sharp intake of breath had your eyes fluttering shut in bliss with the sudden, sharp tug of your hair. Tilting your head to one side, his grip didn't loosen until his lips were moving along the curve of your neck.

Pants straining, Rob broke from your neck when your fingers closed around his thigh. Looking to him for permission, when his hand closed over your fingers and moved them up over his cock, you knew exactly where this night was going to lead.

Moving your other hand from where it rested against his chest, your eyes remained fixed on his while you moved to unbuckle the wide strip of leather encircling his waist. 

Fingers danced along his waistband for a moment, stroking along the sprinkling of hair that disappeared beneath the denim. 

Sliding your hand over his boxers, your fingers wrapping around his generous erection, you grinned to yourself as Rob sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back in pleasure at your touch.

Shifting down into the cushions a little more gave you easier access to pull Rob from the confines of his jeans, your mouth beginning to water at the thought of him sliding across your tongue. 

"[Y/F/N], you don't hav-- ooh fuucckkk…"

Your mouth closed over the thick head of his cock, humming in pleasure at the velvet texture of him. 

Concentrating on licking circles and careless patterns across his soft skin, you smoothed hands up his thighs, fingers running over the hip bones that had driven you crazy since day one.

"You are so fucking beautiful.."

Rolling your eyes up to stare at him from beneath your dark lashes, you continued to take him into your mouth. Backing off each time before taking him even further on the next pass, soon your nose nestled against the warm skin of his belly, his cock filling your throat. Robs hips rose and fell in time with your ministrations, his hands combing through your hair, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

As his thrusts began to lose their rhythm, his grip on your scalp tightened, you knew he was close. Humming in satisfaction, the vibrations coursing through your body was too much. Pulling you away, the saliva pooling beneath your tongue coated your lips, and a whine of discontent at the sudden interruption had you glancing up to see if something was wrong.

"You keep that up, I'm not gonna last much longer." "C'mere sweetheart."

Rob helped you sit up, his fingers laced in yours as you straddled his lap once again.

Fingers dancing across the thin panties beneath your skirt, he groaned at the dampness coating the lacy material. 

Wrapping his fists in either side, a sharp tug had the seams splitting and he threw them to the side; his hands moving to your hips, the grip bruising. 

Brushing fingers through your soaked folds, he made short work of lining himself up and pushing into your body, filling you perfectly in one long stroke.

Hesitating for only a moment, he immediately lifted and slammed your body back down onto his, your clit brushing against his pelvis as he did so. 

Digging nails into his shoulders, you lowered your mouth to his neck, testing the flesh with your teeth, a heavy groan of pleasure slipping from your lips.

His hands trailed along your ribs, running up over your breasts as he buried his face between them. Setting his teeth in the space of your cleavage, Rob bit down - hard - one hand traveling back down to rub over your clit. Small, sure circles across the sensitive bundle of nerves combined with the increasing pace of his thrusts had you panting with need. 

"Fuck Rob, just..I'm gonna…" rolling your hips against his palm, you could feel the flames in your belly fanning out to lick along the rest of your body, pleasure building in waves.

"What's that baby? Tell me what you want...what do you need?" "Fuck, you look god-damned gorgeous, taking my cock just like that..."

Rob's voice was a growl, the filthy words falling from his lips adding fuel to those flames. 

"That's it, you gonna come for me? Open those pretty eyes, I wanna watch you fall apart..."

Slowing his hips to an agonizingly slow pace, Rob shifted just enough to where you could see as he slid in and out of your body. Breathing ragged, his thrusts methodical, Rob's fingers began to move against your clit, the pressure and speed steadily increasing until you were squirming, right on the edge of falling over that cliff, on the edge but not quite there. 

"Please, Rob, fuck .." 

Leaning in you crushed your lips to his, moving to pepper his neck with open mouthed kisses. Moving from his pulse point up, along the curve of his neck, and around to his ear - a needy string of expletives and nails biting into the muscles of his back had him groaning under his breath. Redoubling his efforts, his thrusts turned aggressive once more, his fingers speeding up. As slick coated your thighs you finally fell over the edge with a shout - Rob following almost immediately afterwards, his warmth filling your belly. 

Collapsing against his chest, his fingers dancing in lazy circles over your back - you closed your eyes and sighed. 

Right now, you didn't need to think about what came next, or what any of this meant. Right now, you were content to just be, the warm ocean breeze bringing with it the smell of the tropics.

TAGS: @natasha-cole @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

[andveryginger]

Flashback Friday: “Between the Lines” (TNG)

Title: "Between the Lines"

Rating: G

Summary: Old family friend Malcolm Alexander has a graduation gift for Charlotte Matsumura.

Notes: Tropey McTroperson here, but still one of my fave little beats between Mal and Lottie. 

Also possibly the first time I used this as a title. I seem to have this habit of developing characters that can’t just come out and SAY what they mean. ::facepalm::

Charlotte Matsumura stood on the small teak footbridge overlooking a black-bottom koi pond. The sun reflected brightly off the calm surface, rippling occasionally with the gentle swish of a goldfish tail. Behind her, she could hear the soft trickle of water over the hand carved fountain. Elsewhere there was silence – the first she'd had all day.

It wasn't that her mother was annoying...okay, maybe it was. And, Charlotte supposed, she couldn't blame her. It wasn't everyday that your only daughter graduated from Starfleet Academy. But Elisabeth Blair, for all her stern reputation in the classroom, was acting every bit the mother hen. She hadn't stopped clucking all morning. "At this rate," she sighed, dropping her chin into her palm. "I'll be glad to get to graduation."

"You aren't looking forward to it?"

Charlotte straightened. "Mal – I didn't hear you --"

Malcolm Alexander gave a rueful smile, green eyes creasing at the corners. "I'm sorry, Charlotte," he replied. "Apparently old habits die hard."

The sparkle in his eyes started a too-familiar flutter in her stomach. Charlotte had known Malcolm Alexander her entire life. Capped with dark hair, his classic good looks were apparent to her, even early on. At the tender age of six, she had announced to her mother that she intended to marry the attractive, much-older man. Of course, with his easy smile and arresting green eyes, her mother agreed he would be a good match for any girl...any older girl. She made it very clear she expected the schoolgirl crush to fade with time.

But Mal, as he was known to family and friends, became something of a permanent fixture in their lives. A close friend of her father, Ronin Matsumura, Mal trained almost daily in the private family dojo. In some instances, he assisted the elder Matsumura as he instructed Charlotte in the martial arts as well; he was also a frequent guest at the family dinner table. There, he would entertain her, telling stories of his "troubled youth" and how he drove his parents to distraction. Charlotte sensed a kindred spirit beneath the stiff, British exterior. As a result, the schoolgirl crush hadn't faded; it had deepened into affection.

If the old family friend had noted the interest, he showed no signs. But then, he'd never really treated her like a child to begin with, something came to appreciate as a teen. She had made a vow long ago, however, to keep whatever feelings she had for him to herself.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Charlotte smirked up at him. "One of these days, I'm going to hear how you learned those old habits."

His smile wavered slightly. "Perhaps one day," he said. "But not, I think, today."

The smile returned full force. From behind his back, he produced a package, a few inches long from being a perfect square. "I know you said you didn't want anything but, well, I've never been very good at following the rules..."

Casting him a glare, Charlotte pulled back the paper to reveal a wooden box, capped with a glass side. Inside, stark against a watermarked version of the British naval ensign, were two black rectangles of fabric, each adorned with a single curl of gold bullion. Her eyes widened. "Mal, is this --"

"Shoulder boards from a twentieth-century ensign in Her Majesty's Navy." He nodded, pausing. "I thought they were appropriate, all things considered. Congratulations, Ensign Matsumura."

"I don't know what to say," Charlotte replied. She shook her head, looking up at him as tears threatened. "They're...incredible. Thank you."

Kindness touched the familiar green eyes and she gave a start as she felt his hand brush against her cheek. Gently, he wiped away the single tear that escaped her lashes. "You're – ah, quite welcome." She noted his voice was quiet, and strangely thick with emotion. "Just promise me one thing?"

Charlotte furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Be careful." His hand dropped to her upper arm, giving it a squeeze. "You'll understand more later, but please, just promise you'll be careful."

"O-of course I will."

The smile on Mal's face was one of relief, though taut; Charlotte could still read the tension in his eyes. "Good." He drew a deep breath before offering her his arm. "Yes, well... Shall we get this show started, Ensign? If we make your mother wait any longer, I'm afraid she'll explode."

Still confused, Charlotte chose to file the events away for consideration. There would be plenty of time later to over analyze the past few moments. She forced a smile, eventually finding it felt genuine. "We can't have that now can we, Commander?"

Hooking her arm through his, she was led back to the house. By the time she returned, she would no longer be a cadet.

***

[cookinguptales]

queenofthefaces said: i saw a post related to the one anon is talking abt lmao someone was saying junkrat (25) and roadhog (40smth) was PEDOPHILIA LMAO like tumblr has basically thrown away real terms to just use them as buzzwords for things it doesnt like

I MEAN I know exactly nothing about that fandom so I can’t really give a detailed reply but like. Yes, tumblr is well known for a lot of people (particularly young teens) taking an important idea and completely misunderstanding it and running it into the damn ground in their efforts to attain moral purity. On one hand, that’s kind of what your teenage years are for. Getting your head around unfamiliar ideas and working them into your burgeoning worldview. Lord knows I believed some stupid shit when I was 15. But at the same time, you end up getting a mob mentality around concepts that just...aren’t accurate or well-thought through at all... (and lbr not everyone fighting is a kid, either...)

And honestly, a lot of the adults in fandom have lived enough life to know what a ship war looks like no matter what new words you’re using to tear each other apart, and we’ve been through enough shit to know which battles are the important ones to fight. So they just stay out of it and let the younger ones cannibalize each other until they’re basically this bacchanal of gore and buzzwords that’s taking on all comers. Womp womp. Then it spreads.

(more under a cut... this got pretty long because it’s the middle of the night, aka my rambly time...)

Like. Here’s the thing. You’re allowed to not like whatever you want. You’re allowed to find things totally gross! You can avoid someone like no one’s business bc you just don’t like the look of them! You don’t actually need to do much navel gazing to justify that. You’re allowed to just not like things. And you’re allowed to just like things. Sure, people sometimes have deeper patterns they should probably examine, but seriously. Sometimes you just like shit and it’s no deeper than that. Brains are weird.

We’re in a culture now that’s really scrutinizing inequality in politics, media, culture, etc, and I think that’s a good thing. A really good thing. I encourage people to become engaged with these ideas and apply them to their own lives. But I also think sometimes people lash out at others in fandom because they’re low-hanging fruit, so to speak. They can’t do much about directors in Hollywood mostly being straight white men who write movies about straight white men -- so they attack a fangirl for squeeing over the straight white men she’s been given to work with. It’s displacement and it’s to some degree understandable, but it’s still misplaced anger. And jesus christ is it disproportionate to whatever harms are actually being enacted. Like doxxing and death threats are thrown around astoundingly casually nowadays. Like please don’t spam someone with gore just because you don’t like their ship. Just. Please.

Anyway, because people are increasingly criticizing media because of its faults, and that form of media review is being increasingly accepted, there’s become a real problematic=terrible and no one should like it kind of vibe. Truthfully speaking, everything’s gonna have something to improve. And those necessary improvements could be a deal breaker for you, and that’s fine. But nothing is perfect. That’s okay. It can be good while still having necessary criticisms. And for some people (who aren’t you), those positives could be enough to make up for the rough areas. Looking at these things in black and white isn’t helpful. Because of this problematic=bad, pure=good dichotomy, I think people are applying those concepts to...well, everything else, too. They need to have a reason to dislike a person or a show or a ship. One related to Important Things -- which will make their opinion Important (and therefore Legit and Right) as well. They’re associating the rightness of their media preferences with the rightness of a cause. So they come up with a reason. Sometimes it’s legit, sometimes it’s something that doesn’t really make sense, like calling a 25/40 ship “pedophilia”. (Guys, words mean things. I’m not the kind to get precious over the difference between pedophilia and ephebophilia or something, but 25 is very solidly neither.) Either way, they end up fitting these quibbles of theirs into conversations about shit that is way, way more serious than which video game characters you want to see fucking. And y’know, sometimes people have a point, and media can be a reflection of reality. (STILL PLEASE NO DEATH THREATS.) And sometimes people are just hammering away at a puzzle piece that does not fit.

idk man, it’s 3 am. maybe I’m not super coherent anymore. I don’t necessarily want to go back to the total free-for-all that fandom used to be, especially because fandom could be a pretty rank place for marginalized people back then. But this thought process now like “this is something I don’t like” “we’re supposed to dislike things because they’re Evil” “this thing MUST be evil” “anyone who likes it is evil” “we must eradicate the evil” is...guys, it ain’t good.

Pedophilia has really become a rallying cry recently, which isn’t entirely shocking considering how young a lot of people on tumblr are, and I definitely understand the squick from sexualizing characters that actually are kids. But... Look, and I’m coming at this from someone who was literally supplied with underage ship squee as a form of grooming before things went... south... -- a lot of these conversations seem to have basic misunderstandings of the concept. It’s like, because a lot of these people are either kids or 100% wrapped up in mothering kids, they associate pedophilia with taking advantage of vulnerability. Because THEY feel vulnerable, or they worry about kids because they can see their vulnerability. And that’s definitely a large part of it! But it’s sort of like how every square is a rectangle but not every rectangle is a square. All pedophiles take advantage of vulnerability, but not everyone who takes advantage of vulnerability (and for that matter, not every relationship that just contains vulnerability) is a pedophile. So I think that’s sometimes why you see the concept of pedophilia overapplied... Not all predatory (or even just unhealthy) behavior is pedophilia. That word means something specific.

I had a lot more written here, especially about the way that years and years of media have trained people to see fictional children as totally divorced from actual IRL children, but I’m gonna be totally real with you, I can feel the uneasiness creeping up on me and I gotta say, this is a topic I generally avoid for a reason. Please forgive me for bowing out of this one. I need some hot cocoa or something. : /

[platforml]

What is repetition, pattern, and rhythm? How do they relate to each other?

Repetition refers to one object or shape repeated; pattern is a combination of elements or shapes repeated in a recurring and regular arrangement; rhythm--is a combination of elements repeated, but with variations.

Repetition, pattern, and rhythm in a Buddhist mandala

Taizokai (Womb World) mandala, second half of ninth century.

Hanging scroll, color on silk.The center square represents the young stage of Vairocana Buddha.

source http://www.mandala.hr

This scroll includes all three of these elements: repetition, rhythm, and pattern. Repetition is seen throughout the mandala in the repetition of figures. This is most evident in the center and the area immediately surrounding the center of the mandala. Pattern can be found in the areas where there are repeated figures that are different in size but follow a regular, ordered arrangement in their recurrence. Rhythm can be seen in the two outermost layers, especially the second one from the edge, with a black background. Differing sizes of similar figures are repeated, with variations in their order and grouping.

Repetition

Repetition is an object, form, or figure that is repeated.

To get an idea of the effect of repetition in an artwork, look at the illustration below. There appears to be two boxes. In the first box, there is one colored circle. The second box is overflowing with multicolored circles, so many that they cannot all be contained within the box. What words do you think of when you look at the two different boxes? You might think of spare, lone, almost empty, lonely...or you might think of abundant, innumerable, unmanageable, out of control.

Donald Judd: repetition as a minimalist

Donald Judd, untitled (1969/1982),

anodized aluminum each of 10 boxes 6 x 27 x 24 inches

Walker Art Center Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Edmond R. Ruben, 1981

From the Walker Art Center website: "One of the foremost practitioners of Minimal Art, Donald Judd is best known for his sleek, boxlike constructions made of industrial materials such as aluminum, plywood, sheet metal, and plexiglass. Through these works, he sought to create a depersonalized art in which the exploration of space, scale, and materials served as an end, rather than as a metaphor for human experience. Emphatically concerned with pure forms, Judd’s works become statements about proportion and rhythm as well as three-dimensional space. His stacked boxes seem to come directly out of the wall rather than projecting from a backing surface. This creates the impression that the artwork shares the observer’s space instead of being set apart like a sculpture on a pedestal".http://collections.walkerart.org/item/object/605

image from the curriculum guide for the exhibition So, Why Is This Art?, Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, 2002.

If Judd's concern is with pure forms, how does the repetition of a single form --shape, dimensions, spacing and color--affect your respsonse? Does it strengthen Judd's intent? Are you able to experience this work as pure form only, or do you look for metaphoric references that relate to hman experience?

Easter Island: Ahu Tongariki, repetition as intimidation

Ahu Tongariki on Easter Island. c 1250--1500 CE

Moai restored in the 1990's by a Japanese research team after a cyclone knocked them over in the 1960's.

Photo taken by Ian Sewell, July, 2006.

source IanAndWendy.com Photo gallery from Easter Island

Moai are monolithic human figures situated on platforms called ahu on Polynesian Easter Island. They were carved from rock and have overly large heads. They represent the faces of deified ancestors.(aringa ora ata tepuna).

Imagine encountering this row of 15 moai, overwhelming in size and able to be seen from a far distance. The height of the moai is more than twice the height of the average human. The largest one is 33 feet high. Imagine seeing one lone moai on the coast, compared to a row of 15 of them.

A close up of the moai at Ahu Tahai, restored with coral eyes by the American archaeologist William Mullo.

Photo by Bjarte Sorensen

source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ahu_Tahai.jpg

Christo and Jeanne-Claude: the Umbrella Project

Christo und Jeanne-Claude Umbrella Project(Japan) 1991

1,340 blue umbrellas in Ibaraki Japan, and 1,760 yellow umbrellas at the Tejon Ranch in southern California

Photo taken by Dddeco 27 December 1991, image under the GFDL

Another massive project by Christo and Jeanne-Claude was the installation of large scale blue and yellow umbrella sculptures, 1.340 blue ones in Japan, and 1,760 yellow ones in the U.S. Besides covering a large area geographically in each site, the sites also linked one country to another. Imagine a field with one large umbrella sculpture. Now imagine more than a thousand of them, in the same field. What is the effect of repetition in this project?

Do-Ho Suh: Public Figures--a monument to many

"Let’s say there’s one statue at the plaza of a hero who helped or protected our country—there are hundreds of thousands of individuals who helped him, and there’s no recognition for them." — Do-Ho Suh

The maquette (model) for the sculpture

Do-Ho Suh Maquette for Public Figures

mixed media MetroSpective January 29 - November 8, 2003 City Hall Park, Brooklyn

Do-Ho Suh Maquette for Public Figures

mixed media MetroSpective January 29 - November 8, 2003 City Hall Park, Brooklyn

source http://www.publicartfund.org/pafweb/projects/03/metrotech/metrospective_suh_s03.html

From the Public Art Fund website: "For the lobby of City Hall, Do-Ho Suh turns the traditional monument upside down with his small-scale maquette for Public Figures. Instead of a single figure perched on a pedestal, Suh creates a pedestal supported by myriad miniature anonymous male and female figures, refocusing the viewer's attention from the individual to the collective masses. Challenging the established notion of the common citizen revering a monument to an important figure, Suh emphasizes the power of the individual within public space."

http://www.publicartfund.org/pafweb/projects/03/metrotech/metrospective_suh_s03.html Public Art Fund is a non-profit arts organization supported by generous gifts from individuals, foundations, and corporations, and with public funds from The New York State Council on the Arts, a State Agency, and the City of New York Department of Cultural Affairs.

The completed work

Do-Ho Suh Public Figures 2001

stone and bronze 111.81 x 82.44 x 108.27 inches 284 x 209.4 x 275 cm Edition of 3

Lehmann Maupin Gallery New York

image source http://legacy.earlham.edu/~vanbma/20th%20century/images/1967daytwentyeight08.htm

Do-Ho Suh uses repetition in much of his work, as a profound statement about the value of each individual within a larger group. In this sculpture, each figure is different from the others although they appear as a single entity. As a group they carry the immense weight of history and the actions of every person, great or small. For more of his work: http://www.lehmannmaupin.com/#/artists/do-ho-suh/

Pattern

Pattern is a combination of elements or shapes repeated in a recurring and regular arrangement.

Symbolic uses of pattern

Pattern is often used symbolically to represent many things: people, beliefs, the natural world, history, tradition. Colors and shapes have specific meanings, and are passed down from generation to generation. The predictability of pattern is important in establishing a historical tradition and cultural practice.

Ghanaian kente cloth

Detail of hand-woven Asante (Ashante) ceremonial cloth featuring red and yellow (primary colors), green (secondary color, complementary to red), and black (neutral color and the darkest tone available).

source webexhibits.org http://www.webexhibits.org/colorart/african-kente.html

From Color interactions: simultaneous contrast, Kente cloth on webexhibits.org: "One of the most sumptuously colored textiles used for clothing is Ghanaian kente cloth, made by Asante and Ewe weavers using specially designed looms. Kente was probably introduced from the western Sudan during the 16th century, when heavy, elaborate, labor-intensive versions of this fabric were designed for wealthy tribal chiefs and simpler designs became available for the general citizenry. Kente is woven in four-inch (9.5 cm) narrow strips that are sewn together. A characteristic Asante kente has geometric shapes woven in bright colors along the entire length of the strip, while Ewe kente often displays a tweed effect by plying together different colored threads in many of the warps. Ewe kente may also incorporate pictorial symbols...Colors convey mood, dark shades being associated with grief and used for mourning ceremonies, while lighter shades are associated with happiness. The symbolic significance of kente is located in the motifs (the elephant signifies kingship, the scorpion bitterness). The colors of the Ghanaian national flag – red, yellow, green and black – are popular in modern cloths."

Maori Tukutuku panels

Pou Tangata represent the many people who have lived in Tamaki Makau Rau

The Purapura Whetu represents many stars in the sky, many people in the iwi

The Ngaru Nui represent the waves of the Ngatokimatawhaorua. The zig zag part are the waves. The rectangle part is the waka

image sources http://whakaahua.maori.org.nz/tukutuku.htm

From the Christchurch City Libraries website: "Tukutuku panels are a traditional Māori art form. They are decorative wall panels that were once part of the traditional wall construction used inside meeting houses. Originally tukutuku were made by creating a latticework of vertically and horizontally placed dried stalks of kākaho, the creamy-gold flower stalks of toetoe grass, and kākaka, long straight fern stalks, or wooden laths of rimu or tōtara, called variously kaho tara, kaho tarai or arapaki. These panels were lashed or stitched together. This was done by people working in pairs from either side, using the rich yellow strands of pīngao, white bleached or black-dyed kiekie, and sometimes harakeke, to create a range of intricate and artistic patterns. Stitches were combined to form a variety of patterns...The art of tukutuku weaving is still at risk. It is a time-consuming craft that demands patience and persistence. The panels pictured here were produced for the new Māori Resource space at the Central Library in a community funded project facilitated by members of Ngā Puna Waihanga Waitaha Tai Poutini. They represent about 900 hours work undertaken by more than 180 volunteers during the year 2001. In all their tukutuku wānanga."

P.W. Christchurch City Libraries http://christchurchcitylibraries.com/Maori/Puawaitanga/Tukutuku/

The Alhambra

photo by Lucy Lamp

Islamic spiritual art does not allow the incorporation of imagery, so pattern is used to convey spiritual principles. This is a detail of a wall from the Alhambra in Spain, one of many, each with complex mullltilayered patterns that appear to mimic aspects of the natural world.

Pattern as decoration

We are all familiar with the use of pattern as decoration, from clothing, to everyday objects, to home decorating . Below is an example of an elaborate use of pattern in home decoration.

Yinka Shonibare Victorian Philanthropist’s Parlour, 1996-1997.

from webexhibits: "Shonibare uses a batik fabric that has African characteristics. However, instead of originating in Africa, the fabric was invented in Indonesia, and the batik printing technique was industrialized by Dutch colonizers in the mid-19th century. Soon after, the British began to produce the fabric in Manchester for West African markets. Shonibare buys his batik from the Brixton market in London. Therefore, Shonibare addresses the (mis)perceptions and the questionable origins of art that is interpreted as “African.” In Shonibare’s work, the fabric comes to symbolize the complex history of Western colonialist exploitation in African countries." http://www.webexhibits.org/colorart/keita-shonibare.html

Rhythm

What is Rhythm?

Rhythm is like pattern, in that the same elements (i.e.shape, line) are repeated; however, with rhythm there are slight variations in the pattern. Rhythm is easily perceived but complex and subtle. Think of water on a beach; it continually breaks on the shore in lines that are repeated, yet each one is different.

photo by Lucy Lamp

In pattern, elements are repeated in the same way thoughout the whole composition, as in the example above. In the example of rhythm below, the same elements are used, but with variations. See if you can sense and understand the difference.

Rhythm is most easily understood within music. Rhythm represents our desire for order. Rhythm is like our own heartbest; it gives us a sense of the pulsing of life.

Examples of rhythm in art

Grant Wood: rolling fields and plains of the midwest

Grant Wood Young Corn 1931

image source http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ma98/haven/wood/home.html

"I realized that all the really good ideas I'd ever had came to me while I was milking a cow. So I went back to Iowa. " Grant Wood

as quoted in "Going Back to Iowa: The World of Grant Wood" web page created and designed by Janet Haven for the University of Virginia American Studies Program http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ma98/haven/wood/gallery4.html

Vincent Van Gogh: personal vision of the night sky

Vincent van Gogh The Starry Night Saint Rémy, June 1889.

Oil on canvas, 29 x 36 1/4" (73.7 x 92.1 cm).

Museum of Modern Art Acquired through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest 472.1941

“I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day”.Vincent Van Gogh

as quoted in a picture is worth a thousand words website by Juan Osborne http://www.juanosborne.com/2009/11/starry-night-quote/

Eugène Jansson: rhythm of a Nordic night

Eugène Jansson Riddarfjärden, Stockholm, 1898 Oil on canvas, 115 x 135 cm Nationalmuseum, Stockholm, NM 1699

from the exhibit A Mirror of Nature: Nordic Landscape Painting 1840-1910 June 24 - September 2, 2007 at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts

From the exhibition catalogue: "In a manner characteristic of Jansson, this view of the city is at once highly stylized, in its play of rhythmically billowing forms, and topographically correct. As in all his works, a reality that is familiar to us is refashioned into a new, soul-endowed world. The dream-like mood is evoked by the interplay of vigorous brushwork and thinly diluted paint, which causes the surface to vibrate with life in subtle modulations of colour." source http://artsmia.org/mirror-of-nature/nordic-art-detail.cfm?nor_art_cat=84&lng=0

Rhythm in an ancient Minoan fresco

Three women, fresco from Knossos palace, island of Crete Minoan civilization (27th c. BCE --15th c. BCE)

Wikimedia Commons. source cavorite 11 February 2006http://www.flickr.com/photos/cavorite/98591365/in/set-1011009/

The Minoan civilization was long and peaceful. The palace at Knossos was large, colorful, and advanced in its engineering. The walls were covered with frescoes of humans and animals in a vibrant enjoyable world. In this fresco, notice the varied repetition of the figures, the hair, hands. and clothes. The graceful variations in these elements impart a graceful rhythm to the fresco.