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tonyspep · 5 years

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and possibly i like the thrill (of under me you quite so new)

a/n: friends to lovers is my favorite thing in the whole world, give me a girl seeing a boy in a new way or vice versa and i will die every time like i've never seen it lol. this was inspired by the poem i like my body when it's with your body by ee cummings. i imagined richard's friend who is a writer to be naomi scott who was in the remake of aladdin and will be in the new charlie's angels. also richard's sisters are mentioned throughout the fic, i don't know their names so i made them up; they are beth and evie.

~*~and possibly i like the thrill~*~

(of under me you quite so new)

pairing: richard madden/you

summary: it is so quite new a thing/or they've been friends for as long as they can remember, now – over the course of three days – they take the leap and become something more

rating: m

well, it seems to me that the best relationships – the ones that last – are frequently the ones rooted in friendship. you know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. like a switch has been flicked somewhere. and the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with.

gillian anderson -

part one of three

[day one]

You couldn't understand why you were nervous, so nervous that you had gone through two bags of crisps and were currently working through a third as you waited for Richard to pick you up at the airport. There was absolutely no reason for you to be nervous, it's not as if you were some starstruck fangirl who waxed rhapsodic about his bluer than blue eyes or the cut of his jawline. You were his – literally – oldest friend. The two of you having been joined at the hip – basically – since you were born, just a few hours apart in the very same hospital in Renfrewshire and then just two houses down from each other until you both moved away – him to London to pursue acting – and you to Paris for writing.

Now he was Mr. Mega Famous Superstar, everyone in your little town crowing on and on about Robb Stark had a pint at the pub and sat in this very chair.

And you had done well for yourself, also. Starting out low on the totem pole at French Vogue to writing a weekly thing and celebrity profiles before deciding to go free lance and compose a book of observational essays, which – somehow – made the New York Times bestseller list. But that was nothing compared to being recognized all over the world by millions of people.

You couldn't help but shake your head from the stray thought.

While you were far from blind – his puppy fat had long since melted away, revealing the handsome face the public had come to know – he was still just Dickie, your oldest friend who you took baths with, who devoured your mother's chicken korma with gusto you couldn't even manage and your first kiss behind the swings of your primary school when you were five.

Or at least that's what you had to keep reminding yourself of more and more every time you saw him again.

Because the last few years, what was so obvious to the world at large, was getting harder and harder for you to ignore.

The broadness of his shoulders, the obvious strength in his lean but toned arms, how he had a bum a quarter could bounce off of. That streak of pure silver among his tight auburn curls, the way his eyes crinkled as he laughed, his lush lips forming that oh so charming grin with ease.

oh, god you thought, panic setting it. You were basically on the verge of being like one of those people who typed those thirst tweets that Buzzfeed made him read. Richard Madden could run me over with a bus and I'd still suck that dick or whatever and now you were going to spend the next three days in Cannes with him... alone.

fuck you cursed just as your senses were suddenly assaulted by a warm crisp scent of pine and spice and man, making your thighs involuntarily clench underneath you as you prepared for the deep rasp you knew was coming.

“Surrender that extra bag of crisps I know you have and I won't cause a scene, little miss,”

little miss, little miss, little miss...

It shouldn't have – it's something he's called you for so long now, something playful and affectionate because though he isn't tall by the standard of most men, he towers over your tiny barely five foot frame – but your wayward imagination takes over before you can stop it.

The two words – in your head – are rougher, deeper – like a growl from the deepest part of his chest that you definitely haven't thought of and when the bristles of his beard brush against the smooth skin of your cheek, you suck in a deep breath reminding yourself that this was the same man who at age thirteen ran to the corner store for a hot water bottle and emergency tampons for you, that he was your oldest and most dearest friend and you shouldn't be thinking about him pounding you – your legs wrapped around that criminally narrow waist – as he called you little miss.

You turn, expected to be confronted by his ridiculously blue eyes, and your more than thankful that they're hidden by stylish aviators. You laugh at the cap on his head, plucking it off and setting it on your own head as you stick out your tongue, falling easily into the familiar routine of best friend.

“Put that back where it belongs, miss or I'll have to tell the lovely Dr. Chokalingam how the polite, lovely girl she raised is now a little hellion with no regard for manners,” He threatened, flashing those perfectly white teeth as his lush lips twisted into a smile that was too charming for your own good.

You were about to retort – something tart on the tip of your tongue – when suddenly you found yourself swept into his arms. Your face fell into the crook of his neck and you couldn't resist breathing him in, that familiar smell of spice (cinnamon) and pine with that burst of citrus (orange) underneath and something completely Richard engulfed you, and when he pulled back – lifting his aviators – and there were his stupidly blue eyes staring at you, your stomach swooped and it was suddenly filled with butterflies.

“I've missed you,” So honest, so sincere like only he can be and you can't stop the shudder that rolls through your lithe frame.

As he watched you bound into the lavish hotel lobby, your fingers slipping from his as your wide coffee colored eyes took in every inch, Richard didn't know how he was going to survive these next three days.

You were even more beautiful than he remembered, the warmth of the Southern French sunlight bathing you in a glow that had his heart tripping in his chest. You were dressed more than appropriately for the heat the island was known for, the denim cut offs revealing the length of your shapely legs. Though, small in stature, your legs – somehow – seemed to go for miles finally ending in dainty feet that were slid into worn flip flops revealing your gold painted toes that sparkled.

His cap was back on his head – after a bit of a playful wrestling match the two of you had – and now your hair was twisted into a messy top knot, several of the inky black strands framing your face, and he could feel his fingers flex by his side, the want to brush them away and then seal his lips across your pert raspberry pout growing stronger by the second. His feet easily separated the small distance between you, his hand reaching for your wrist and as soon as his fingers closed over your skin, he twirled you, unable to stop himself.

It was so hard to ignore your body pressed against his, your pert breasts pillowed against his chest, the flare of your hips aligned with his waist and your head tucked perfectly under his chin.

“I missed you too,” And it was clearly his imagination because why would you sound breathless around him? He was your oldest mate; the chubby boy who did things like get you emergency tampons and hot water bottles from the corner store, not someone you would ever think of as a viable romantic partner.

Little did he know as he bent his head forward, nose nuzzling the appealing curve of your slim shoulder, you were thinking the same thing. That he would never see you as a viable romantic partner.

In the suite, the studio had booked there were two queen sized beds, but by the end of the holiday the two beds would be pushed together, neither of you knew that yet, though.

“Do you ever get used to it,” You asked softly after you and Richard slipped out of the hotel's back entrance through it's enormous kitchen. “Having to do this? Sneak about? How if a pap snapped away, I'd be called the latest flavor of heartthrob Richard Madden's month?” You tease, nudging his hip with yours, purposefully keeping your voice light, even though your stomach drops.

You can't help but think how lonely it must be for him, now that he's – you can't stop your cheeks from warming – some kind of sex symbol. Which leads you to thinking about the revolving door of women that have come in and out of his life since he and Jenna finally split. All of them tall, all of them drop dead gorgeous with bodies you could never compete with no matter how many spin classes you took or how many miles you ran.

You bite your lip, casting a look at him from underneath your lashes and your heart aches as you watch sadness creep into his chiseled features. His blue eyes go dull, turning a subtle grey and he shakes his head, carding his fingers through his curls.

“Not really,” He answers, faint blush creeping into his perfect cheekbones. “I don't see myself the way everyone else seems to,” A dry chuckle. “Though, if a pap snapped away at you and I,” There's that charming grin again and his eyes have returned to their usual bright state. That happy blue you could drown in. “I can't say,” He's doing that thing where he stares straight into your eyes and your whole world melts away, leaving only the two of you and your stomach goes swoopy and there are the butterflies and you don't know how you're standing. “I'd be the least bit miffed to be listed as one of the flavors of the month for New York Times best-selling author Ariana Chokalingam.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, that wonderful brogue full of such sincerity, you don't know how you're breathing. Under the faint glow of the lights from the hotel, he looks very much like the young prince he claims he's happy not to be cast as anymore. He's so handsome, you feel as though the French Police should be called and he should be towed away because his looks make him as dangerous as any criminal roaming about.

You stop your wayward thoughts and jab him square in the ribs, breaking yourself out of your little fantasy. “Come off it,” You chide. “I don't have flavors of the month. The paps would just tag me as a mystery brunette on your arm. It was just a book of essays, Dickie,” You roll your eyes and give him another jab. “The cover was mostly pink.”

“Don't,” His tone is fierce and the muscle in the cut of his jaw twitches and clenches as if he's back on the set of Bodyguard playing David Budd. “Don't do that,” His voice changes going gentle, almost pleading as you feel his large palm cup the right side of your face, forcing you to look into his too-captivating eyes. “Ana,” Something only he calls you, everyone else around you defaulting to Ari or your full name. “If it was just a book of essays would so many people have bought it? First in hard cover and then in paper back. Vera and Roshi couldn't have bought every copy. If Beth hadn't told me I was ridiculous, I would have beat them to the punch, anyway,” He laughs and his eyes are sparkling, a boyish and bashful look crossing his handsome face. “Evie will be the first to tell you, I hadn't read a book cover to cover since secondary school when I was required to.”

“Stoooop,” You whine, shoving at him and before you can shove him again, he's caged you in his arms and nuzzles his face against your neck. “It's true. I'll call them right now and prove it,” He insists and you giggle as you squirm in his embrace. “C'mon, Romeo,” You sigh, finally managing to twist out of his hold. “Show me what mega stars do on holiday. Writers only get into the hottest parties and whatnot if they're on assignment y'know.”

Le Vogue was Taron's suggestion after Richard had sent his good friend a quick text. The music – electronica and house – reminded him of the music they used for Ibiza. The club itself was intimate with close quarters, at least from what he was able to gather as all too quickly the the two of you were whisked to the private era, a velvet rope separating you and the other VIPs from the public.

Under the strobe lights, you were even more beautiful to him, and he found himself slipping back into being almost cripplingly shy as if he were nothing more than a school boy.

The flimsy dress you had chosen to wear – after changing from your cutoffs and tee – wasn't helping at all, of course.

The fabric is satin, the straps thin and sitting high on your slim shoulders while the satin clings to your pert breasts emphasizing how they would fit perfectly in the heft of his palms and the ribbon wrapped around your waist shows off how tiny that part of your body is while its slit reaches the top of your thigh, teasing him to helplessness every time you so much as take a step let alone dance.

It's the music and the alcohol, he thinks as you drag him to the floor, grinding and sliding against him, head thrown back to the steady thump of the bass, exposing the wonderful length of your neck. He wants nothing more than for this to be real, for you to want him as he wants you. If not for the French beer giving you a buzz, no one knowing either of you and how it's typical for anyone to be loose with their inhibitions while on holiday, you wouldn't be doing this; touching him, your fingers carding through his hair, then sliding down the front of his body before swiveling your hips in such a way he's not sure he remembers his own name.

How early it is when you finally leave, Richard doesn't know all he knows is you're thoroughly smashed, like utterly blitzed and tanked up and because you're in such a state, you're clingier than you would be otherwise. You can't stop touching him; your hands blindly groping over and underneath his clothes, your roaming hands – at one point – actually grip his ass which makes you howl with laughter as you nearly topple over on your unsteady feet, the heels on your feet doing you no favors in keeping you upright.

Despite being wasted, you still smell of daisies and clementines and when you fall into bed, hiccuping and mumbling how your mother would be thoroughly disappointed in you, he laughs and sets about the task of getting you comfortable to sleep off your drunken stupor.

He's careful of not revealing more of your luscious mocha skin than he has to as he tries to slip your dress away and put on your pajamas. It doesn't help that he's replacing this devil of a dress with shorts that can't possibly cover your ass and a top that doesn't seem like it will cover your entire front, some of your stomach – flat and smooth – will surely be visible, and he curses his parents for raising him to be such a fucking gentleman.

“Nooooooooo,” You whine after he's finally gotten you changed. You're grabbing for him again and he bats your insistent hands away, bending and murmuring as he pushes back several strands of your hair, “Sleep mo leannan,” He urges, his voice soft and gentle.

“Staaaaaaaaay,” Another whine as your velvet lashes reveal unfocused and bleary coffee eyes. But they're soft and warm, somehow, as well and he's never been able to resist you. Going back to when you were children and you always got the last crisp in the bag or the last piece of his Gran's homemade shortbread from the tin. “If you insist, my lady,” Bowing gallantly and you laugh – loud and brash – your head thrown back as if it's the funniest thing you've heard and after stripping to his boxer briefs, he grabs an old tee shirt and slips it on before climbing into bed with you.

You cling to him like a limpet, your every inch pressed against his and just before he falls asleep you murmur, “Thanks for staying, Dickie.”

“Anything for you, Ana.”

a/n: mo leannan is scottish for my sweetheart

@bluesfortheredj @nishanki1

#richard madden #richard madden x reader #richard madden x you #richard madden fanfiction #fanfiction

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unassumingvenusaur · 7 years

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Hisame/Nina C-S and Hisame/Shiro C-S

Nina: Hey Hisame!

Hisame: Oh, hello Nina.

Nina: What’s that you’re reading?

Hisame: This? It’s just a novel I picked up at the last town we visited.

Nina: Ooh, what genre? Adventure? Romance?

Hisame: Mystery. It’s about a young man and his best friend trying to solve the case of a mysterious murder. The two of them are always escaping near-death situations and finding themselves wrapped up in political intrigue.

Nina: That sounds… interesting!

Hisame: Yes, well, the whole plot is a little contrived, but I suppose that’s what it takes to make a bestselling novel nowadays.

Nina: It’s about a young man and his best friend, you said?

Hisame: Yes. If anything, the friendship between the two of them is the story’s strong suit. The characters have been friends since childhood, and they’re close at each other’s side every step of the way.

Nina: Oooh.

Hisame: Are you okay, Nina? That was an awfully weird sound you just made.

Nina: Haha, no, it was nothing. Catch you later, Hisame!

Hisame: (Well, that was strange…)

Hisame: All of that training today was exhausting. Time to retire to my room and curl up with a good book… Gah! Nina, what are you doing in my room!

Nina: Hisame?! H-hey, I didn’t see you there! How’s it going?

Hisame: All of my drawers are wide open! My clothes are all over the floor! What’s the meaning of this?!

Nina: Um, about that… haha…

Hisame: Were you trying to look through my room for something?

Nina: I mean… yes. I wanted to find that book your were talking about earlier. The mystery novel about the two detectives and their long-unspoken feelings for each other…

Hisame: What?

Nina: Sorry, the mystery novel about the two detectives.

Hisame: And you decided it was a good idea to sneak into my room and root through all of my belongings to look for it?

Nina: Yes?

Hisame: Well, for what it’s worth, the book was right under my pillow.

Nina: Drat! That’s so obvious, why didn’t I look there first? Thanks, Hisame. I’ll be sure to give it back once I’m done.

Hisame: No way. I’m not giving you this book after you invaded my privacy like that! If you wanted to read it, you should have just asked. You can start reading the book once I’m done with it.

Nina: Hisame!

Hisame: Please, Nina. Get out of my room.

Nina: Hrrrm….

Hisame: Let’s see. Father says he left his sandals somewhere in a closet. It must be this one.

Nina: —!!!

Hisame: Nina?! What are you doing hiding in this closet?

Nina: Uhhh…

Hisame: And is that my book in your hands? Nina, did you steal my book and hide in this closet to read it?!

Nina: Guilty as charged…

Hisame: I told you that you could read the book once I was finished with it. And you still decided to go back into my room and steal it?

Nina: I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it! The synopsis you told me about those two young men, detectives by profession, but bound by something stronger than friendship… I couldn’t resist! I started to imagine potential scenarios: the two of them, lit by nothing more than candlelight, studying a crime scene… one of them looks into the other’s eyes and sees himself reflected there… they lean in and—

Hisame: Nina! What are you talking about?

Nina: I’m sorry, Hisame! But I’ve been reading this book and I have to know: when does the young detective’s male friend come in? So far all he has is this annoying female sidekick.

Hisame: Nina. That “annoying female sidekick” is the friend I was talking about. She’s the young detective’s best friend.

Nina: Wha—? But I thought—

Hisame: You thought the best friend was another boy? Please.

Nina: You mean I snuck into your room and stole this book for nothing?

Hisame: Hah! When you put it that way, it’s actually quite amusing.

Nina: Hisame, this isn’t funny!

Hisame: You know, I do have another book about two male bandits who fight alongside each other. And if I recall correctly, there is a sauna scene…

Nina: Really?!

Hisame: I can lend it to you—

Nina: Oh, thank you Hisame!

Hisame: —if you clean up the mess you made in my room earlier.

Nina: Fine.

Hisame: And once you’re done, we can discuss it together. I’d love to see your take on the ending.

Nina: Sure! Thanks, Hisame!

Hisame: No problem. Just stay out of my room from now on.

Nina: Can do!

Nina: So I finished reading the book you gave me about the male bandits…

Hisame: Oh, right! How did you like it?

Nina: I loved it! But I thought the ending was so tragic; how they had to leave their separate ways, never to see each other again…

Hisame: I agree, that was heartbreaking. There was definitely something more than friendship there between the two of them.

Nina: You really think so? I knew I wasn’t the only one!

Hisame: Of course. That’s how I knew you’d like the book.

Nina: Oh, Hisame. Thank you so much for lending it to me.

Hisame: Not a problem.

Nina: Actually, I hear the next town over is doing a play adaptation of the book! I’d love for you to come watch it with me. I was thinking we could… uh… go get lunch before the show. There’s a great little pastry place right by the theater! Oh gods, I’m screwing this up so terribly…

Hisame: Nina, are you asking me out on a date?

Nina: What?! No! Yes? Maybe?

Hisame: I’m sorry, but nobody’s ever asked me out on a date before. I’m not used to… romantic situations.

Nina: Me neither! I’ve always been more comfortable spying on boys than going out with them!

Hisame: This is all so new to me… but now that I think about it, maybe that’s a good thing. We’ve already got one thing in common: a crippling awkwardness around the opposite sex.

Nina: Heh heh, what a nice way to put it!

Hisame: In that case, I accept your request for a date, Nina. I’d… erm… sorry, this is still so new for me… I’d love to go watch the show with you.

Nina: Perfect! Oh gods, I’m blushing too much right now.

Hisame: In that case, I’ll be sure to pack some pickles when we go out together. They’re great at calming one’s nerves.

Nina: Thanks, Hisame.

Hisame: Not a problem, Nina. I can’t wait to spend more time with you.

——————————————————————————————-

Hisame: *Hggh*… *Huff* … Drat. no use. Maybe if I push from this side? Hm…

Hisame: Wait-? What was that noise? It sounded like something rustling in the underbrush…

Shiro: Hey Hisame!

Hisame: Lord Shiro! Gods, you nearly scared me out of my wits! I thought you were a Faceless!

Shiro: Ah, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was just getting ready for my morning workout when I saw you heading into the woods with that big old sack over your shoulder. I wondered why you were up so early, so I tried to catch up with you. Got a little lost though.

Hisame: I see. No need to worry, your highness.

Shiro: So, what brings you to these woods at the crack of dawn?

Hisame: Well, you’ll recall that last evening I served up a large dish of pickles for the whole camp to commemorate our latest victory.

Shiro: Right! They were delicious.

Hisame: Thank you! Unfortunately, that celebratory dish cleaned me out of the last of my pickle supply. So here I am, in pursuit of a pickle patch, if you will.

Shiro: Any luck?

Hisame: It looks like there’s a perfect patch right in this ravine. I was able to collect some of them, but the rest are trapped underneath this fallen oak tree.

Shiro: Sounds like you’re in quite a pickle!

Hisame: Very original of you, Lord Shiro.

Shiro: Haha, sorry, you must hear that a lot. Let’s see. Have you tried rolling the fallen tree up and out of the ravine?

Hisame: Yes, but it won’t even budge. It’s much too heavy for anyone to move. I’ll have to come up with some other idea-

Shiro: Hold on a sec. *Hhhgggh*… haaah!

Hisame: …You rolled the oak tree up the side of the ravine like it was nothing! And then tossed it aside!

Shiro: Hey, I don’t do all those morning workouts for nothing!

Hisame: I… I see. Well, at any rate, thank you for clearing the ravine. You’re welcome to help me boil some of these pickles tomorrow if you’d like.

Shiro: Sounds like a blast. See you there!

Hisame: …

Shiro: Hisame? Hello. I’m here to boil some pickles, like you said!

Hisame: Oh, hello Lord Shiro.

Shiro: If there’s any chopping involved, I may have to sit that part out. I just got back from an impromptu arm-wrestling match.

Hisame: Again? Was my father there, like last time?

Shiro: Yeah. Your dad actually put up a good opposition! Reminded me of the time he and I sparred together.

Hisame: I see. Please hand me that pickle.

Shiro: Is something wrong? You’ve been looking kind of down since I last saw you back in the woods.

Hisame: It’s nothing. Come, I’ll show you how to salt the pickle.

Shiro: No, I’m serious. What is it?

Hisame: It’s nothing.

Shiro: I’m not handing you this pickle until you tell me what’s up.

Hisame: (Sigh)… It’s nothing, really. My father and I are polar opposites, and I’ve always been content to keep it that way. I simply figured that once I left the Deeprealms I would be spending more time with him.

Shiro: Hm.

Hisame: I’ve never been good at the physical activities he enjoys. While the other kids played on the playground, I was studying. I was terrible at “catch” when we would play in my youth. My sparring style is nowhere near as vigorous as his. We arm-wrestled once, and it lasted all of 2 seconds.

Shiro: So? None of that matters.

Hisame: But Father doesn’t have that problem with you at all. He spars with you, he arm-wrestles with you… and the way you lifted that tree yesterday, it seems you’re naturally inclined towards feats of athleticism. You have much more in common with Father than I do.

Shiro: For what it’s worth, I always beat Hinata when we arm wrestle. He’s got definition, sure, but he’s missing bulk.

Hisame: That’s not the point! …Never mind. Keep the pickle. I’ll postpone this activity for another day.

Shiro: Hisame, wait! Gah…

Shiro: Hisame, I’m glad I found you.

Hisame: Hello, Shiro. I’m sorry for spilling all of my problems during our pickle-prep session. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.

Shiro: No, I’m glad you told me. Because I feel the same way sometimes.

Hisame: What? What are you talking about?

Shiro: Dad and I have so little in common. He’s over here ruling a kingdom, while I’m barely organized enough to figure out what to do with my own time. He’s always so regal, stately, and logical, while I always just barge headfirst into whatever plan of action pops into my head. You might feel like Hinata would prefer having me as a son, but I know for a fact that Ryoma would prefer having you as a son.

Hisame: Shiro! Don’t say that! You know Ryoma is proud to be your father.

Shiro: Not as proud as Hinata is to be yours. He saved you from the Faceless that were attacking your Deeprealm!

Hisame: And Ryoma saved you from those highwaymen who ambushed you once you left your Deeprealm!

Shiro: I’ve heard Hinata say he wishes he could be as culinarily gifted as you.

Hisame: And I’ve heard Ryoma say he admires the way you stay positive in the face of adversity.

Shiro: …

Hisame: …

Shiro: I suppose both of our fathers do love us.

Hisame: …Perhaps sons don’t necessarily need to be carbon copies of their parents to be worthy of their affections.

Shiro: And hey, if you ever want to work out with me you’re always welcome. With enough training, you could enter the next camp arm-wrestling tournament!

Hisame: Ha! That’s an amusing thought. Thanks for the offer. If you’d ever like to prepare pickles with me again, you’re always welcome as well.

Shiro: How about right now?

Hisame: That’s right, we never did finish up earlier, did we?

Shiro: Nope. But it’s not too late! Race you to the kitchen, Hisame!

Hisame: Wait up, you got a headstart!

Hisame: Can I take this blindfold off yet, Shiro? Where are you taking me?

Shiro: I promise, we’re almost there!

Hisame: Okay. You know I love spending time with you, but my legs are already so sore from that morning jog we went on earlier today-

Shiro: That’s good! The soreness means you’re getting stronger.

Hisame: I still have no idea how you get up and do those exercises every day.

Shiro: You can take off the blindfold now!

Hisame: Oh, Shiro! We’re in the woods. There’s the old ravine and the pickle patch. And what is that? A picnic blanket?

Shiro: Yep. Go check out the jars on the blanket.

Hisame: …they’re filled with pickles! Shiro, did you prepare these yourself?

Shiro: You bet. After we made that one batch together, I practiced the recipe so I could surprise you. It seemed only fair, since you’ve been doing morning workouts with me.

Hisame: Shiro, this is amazing.

Shiro: And listen to that!

Hisame: What?

Shiro: You called me Shiro. Not “Lord Shiro,” like you used to. Why is that?

Hisame: W-well, I mean-

Shiro: Because you see us as equals now. I see us that way, too. I’ve always seen us that way. That’s why I was wondering…

Hisame: Wondering what?

Shiro: I was wondering if you’d be my boyfriend.

Hisame: Your boyfriend!

Shiro: I love how I can connect with you better than anyone else. What I shared with you about my dad, I’ve only ever shared with a few other people before. I feel safe with you, Hisame.

Hisame: Shiro… I could say the same for you. The reason I opened up to you about my self-doubt was because I knew I could trust you. Shiro, I would love to be your boyfriend.

Shiro: Really?

Hisame: Absolutely.

Shiro: Woohoo! Let’s have a pickle to celebrate. Here, what do you think?

Hisame: Let me take a bite… yikes! It’s a little sour… but don’t worry! We can work on that later. Together.

#submission #Awwww #These were very cute!#They'll need a few edits here and there but the stories are good!#And I actually laughed at Hisame/Nina #Thank you!#Mod GF

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amyddaniels · 4 years

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On Being Badass—with Elizabeth Gilbert and Jen Pastiloff

Bestselling authors Elizabeth Gilbert and Jennifer Pastiloff have joined forces to bring enchantment and serious self-care to the women who need it most. Here, they teach us what it means to embrace creativity for embodied living beyond fear.

There’s a secret to making friends in adulthood, says author Elizabeth Gilbert—yes, of Eat Pray Love fame—and it doesn’t have to involve cocktails. The trick? Create something together. And bonus points if that something is also good for humanity or the planet. After all, it’s how her friendship with author Jennifer Pastiloff went from online to IRL.

Gilbert and Pastiloff have plenty of practice in this realm: Gilbert’s creativity bible Big Magic (2015) has made her something of an authority in the sphere, spawning speaking engagements and workshops in which the curious flock to find a little magic of their own. Pastiloff, meanwhile, has long been leading retreats and workshops to get people to lighten up and love themselves—a theme that culminated with the release of her memoir, On Being Human, last year.

See also The Unexpected Ways Yoga Stimulates Creative Thinking

After Gilbert and Pastiloff met online, following each other and messaging over Instagram, the women bonded over their “passion to be of service and being really big dorks,” Pastiloff says. Out of those conversations, their workshop series On Being Magic was born. These one-day creativity and personal development sessions for women bring to life the wisdom inside each of their books—and are completely free of charge. With just one On Being Magic workshop under their belt (the second, scheduled for April, was canceled due to COVID-19 at press time), the project is still in its infancy, ever-evolving—and best put into words by the makers in chief themselves.

How did the idea to combine your superpowers come up?

Elizabeth Gilbert: It came from Jen and I becoming friends and wanting to make something together. When we started having the conversation about it, I said, “I want to do something, but I want it to be free. I want the people who come to this to be the kinds of people who don’t typically get to go to yoga or art retreats.” We really wanted to take care of women who are struggling, or take care of the women who take care of women who are struggling—people at organizations doing work for women’s issues. Our goal is to give people a day where they are pampered and loved and seen. We tell them at the beginning, “You don’t even have to do anything. If you don’t want to do any yoga or introspective work, you can just take one of these yoga mats and lie in the corner and sleep for the entire day. We’ll bring your lunch at noon. You’re tired. You’re tired, and we want to help you, and we want to love you up.”

See also Meditation to Boost Creativity

JP: I was leading a workshop in South Dakota with 60 people in 2013. I was talking about what we are afraid of. This woman closed her book and stood up, and she said, “I could do what you do.” And she started making fun of me around the room. “I could speak in your cadence.” It was awful. And you know what? I didn’t die. Here I am sitting here. The interesting thing is right after that happened, someone said, “So fear looks many ways.” Her fear was mean. Of course that triggered every ounce of my imposter syndrome until I realized that was just that person’s fear. Then I got up, and I was afraid, and I did it anyway—the next time and the next time and the next time.

EG: I think that you nailed it, Jen. With imposter syndrome, a voice in your head says, “Who do you think you are?” It’s amazing how powerful that voice is, because for many of us, all it has to do is ask that and you will crawl backward into your hole. You pull that filthy piece of moldy canvas over your head again and you hide in your dirty hole where you think you belong. And you always hear that question in a certain tone. It’s the sinister, demonic, “Who do you think you are?” It’s amazing how questions lose their fangs if you take away tone. Remove the sinister sound of that voice and just write it down on a piece of paper in a neutral, curious way: “Who do you think you are?”

So then I say to it, “Thank you. That is a great question. Who do I think I am? I think I’m a child of God. Not sure, but I’m pretty sure. What do you think you’re doing? I think I'm trying to write a book.”

Answer it. We never answer it. We just wither. They ask the question, and we collapse. Take the question seriously. Who do you think you are? There’s a story my friend Rob Bell loves to tell from the Talmud. There was some great, wise, ancient rabbi who was wandering around the desert one night, just in contemplation. He came upon a fortress. A soldier at the top of the fortress saw him below and said, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The rabbi called up to the soldier and said, “How much money do they pay you to ask those two questions of people?” The soldier said what his salary was, and the rabbi said, “I will pay you double that to follow me around for the rest of my life and ask me those two questions every day.” Who are you, and what are you doing here? Those are really good questions. You should be asking yourself those questions all the time. So when the imposter syndrome demon comes to you and says, “Who do you think you are, and what do you think you’re doing?” be like, “Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to contemplate that. Who do I think I am? What do I think I’m doing?” And answer.

See also 11 Poses to Ignite Your Second Chakra and Spark Creativity

Join the conversation

Listen to Elizabeth and Jennifer talk about accessing the muse, healing from grief, and more, with Executive Editor Lindsay Tucker on YJ’s new podcast, The Yoga Show: yogajournal.com/podcasts.

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fangirlmomentsandmytwocents · 7 years

Text

TOTALLY HIS by Erin Nicholas Release Blitz

TOTALLY HIS by Erin Nicholas

Part of the Opposites Attract series

will be published on October 31, 2017 from Forever.

Goodreads | Mass Market Paperback: $7.99 | eBook: $3.99 | ISBN: 9781455539727

_________________________________________________________________________

“Moving and inspiring.” -- Publishers Weekly

About the book: Sophia Birch loves nothing more than the spotlight--as long as she's playing a part. A theater geek from an early age, Sophia now runs a little hole-in-the-wall playhouse that feeds her passion... even if it sometimes makes it hard to feed herself! And then one night it all nearly goes up in smoke. Desperate to save the only copy of an irreplaceable script, Sophia rushes back into the burning building.

Police officer Finn Kelly knows crazy when he sees it. And a woman running back into a burning building definitely qualifies as crazy. She also happens to be incredibly sexy. But when he finally finds her ruffling through drawers and refusing to leave, his only option is to carry her out over his shoulder....and then decide whether to arrest her.

EXCERPT

Finn would have noticed her even if she hadn’t been wearing hot-pink lingerie. And nothing else.

He really would have. She was totally his type—brunette and curvy and, apparently, a little crazy. As evidenced by the fact that she was trying to sneak into a burning building. He did seem to be attracted to crazy. No matter how hard he tried not to be.

He watched the woman stop at the east corner of the Birch Community Playhouse, the one farthest from where the firefighters were working. Then he frowned as she slipped into the shadows along the side of the theater and out of sight.

Dammit. He started after her.

As one of the cops on scene, he had to keep the area clear for the firefighters and keep the crowd of onlookers safe. If one of them happened to have a great body and be dressed in nothing but a pink bra-and-panty set, well, he’d just call that a perk. And as he jogged across the street, Finn couldn’t help but wonder if she was in costume or if the alarm had caught her in the midst of a wardrobe change. If that was her outfit for the show, he might need to buy a ticket.

He turned the corner to the back of the building and looked around. He didn’t see her. She’d gone inside. Dammit. He climbed up the four steps that led to the back door of the theater.

Finn touched the door and found it cool. It seemed that the flames were still contained to the wall on the other end of the theater, but it was a mistake to assume anything when fire was involved.

He stepped inside and pulled the flashlight from his belt, then shone it back and forth. He turned a full circle, not sure where to go next. Just then Finn heard a door slam somewhere behind him. He swung toward the sound just in time to see the woman step out from a room.

Her eyes went wide when she saw him.

“Boston PD! Stop!” Finn shouted.

She had covered up. Kind of. She now wore a robe, short, sheer, and unbelted. Which really did nothing to cover his view of her panties and bra. Or all that skin.

And maybe that was why she suddenly took off at a run.

Finn stared after her for a moment, a little stunned. She was actually running from him?

The woman made it to the other end of the lobby and through one of the doors leading into the main theater before Finn got to her. He grabbed the door as it was swinging shut, nearly smashing his fingers. The lights were off in the inner theater but, as he plunged into the darkness, he got a big whiff of whatever body spray or perfume she wore. He took a deep breath. It was nice. Lemony. Sweet and…

Jesus. Finn scowled and turned his flashlight back on. He was thinking about how she smelled? How about the smell of smoke that was going to be chasing them both pretty soon?

“Hey!” he called into the theater. You have to come out, ma’am. It’s not safe for you to stay in the building.”

“Just give me a damned minute!” she shouted.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t do that,” Finn said.

“I have to find something. Then I’m coming right out.”

“Ma’am, I will have to remove you myself if you don’t come out immediately.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he heard her exclaim.

“Ma’am, this is your last warning. Stop what you’re doing and come with me.”

Enough of this. Finn stalked over to her, put a hand around her upper arm, and turned to remove her from the building.

She dug her heels in, though, pulling against his hold. “Hey, you can’t—”

“Oh, yes I can,” he told her calmly, careful to keep his eyes off her body. The heat from her skin had immediately soaked through the thin robe, and Finn felt it traveling from his palm up his arm. “I’ve given you several opportunities to cooperate.”

“You’re arresting me?” she asked.

“Are you doing something that you need to be arrested for?” he asked, moving her toward the door, even with her resisting.

“No! I need to get something. It’s very important. It belongs to a friend of mine. It’s irreplaceable.”

“Ma’am,” he said calmly, “don’t make me carry you out of here.”

She pulled against his grip and leaned all her weight into fighting the forward motion across the room.

Well, shit. He’d kind of figured it would come to this, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to touch her more. Still, it didn’t look as if he had a lot of choice. Reminding himself that he was a professional, he bent and hooked an arm behind her knees, looped the other around her back, and lifted her.

She gasped, and for a moment she didn’t fight. And he thought maybe the hard part was over. But as he headed out the door, trying to ignore how warm and soft and fucking lemony she was, she started to wiggle.

BUY THE BOOK HERE

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2vpHQi1

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2vVOttR

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2vWL4dP

iBooks: http://apple.co/2uvJBvh

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2wBmYD1

Books-a-Million: http://bit.ly/2ifKov2

IndieBound: http://bit.ly/2fyHd0e

About the author: Erin Nicholas is the New York Times bestselling author of sexy contemporary romances. Her stories have been described as toe-curling, enchanting, steamy and fun. She loves to write about reluctant heroes, imperfect heroines and happily ever afters. She lives in the Midwest with her husband who only wants to read the sex scenes in her books, her kids who will never read the sex scenes in her books, and family and friends who say they're shocked by the sex scenes in her books (yeah, right!).

Follow Erin Nicholas:

Website: www.erinnicholas.com

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2ys6CA8

Twitter: @ErinNicholas

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2hPeCni

Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2vVyImO

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2vtoBTk

Giveaway | Win 1 of 10 copies of TOTALLY HIS.

Follow Forever Online

Website: http://bit.ly/1W6ZY8C

Facebook: http://bit.ly/1Zmyycz

Twitter: http://bit.ly/2aF6B0X

Instagram: http://bit.ly/1Xco7tE

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/23uLXQZ

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/foreverGR

#ReadForever

FGMAMTC

Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Google+ / Pinterest / Goodreads / Tumblr / Bloglovin' / Instagram

var addthis_config = {"data_track_addressbar":true};

#release blitz #Erin Nicholas

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fangirlmomentsandmytwocents · 7 years

Text

TOTALLY HIS by Erin Nicholas Release Blitz

TOTALLY HIS by Erin Nicholas

Part of the Opposites Attract series

will be published on October 31, 2017 from Forever.

Goodreads | Mass Market Paperback: $7.99 | eBook: $3.99 | ISBN: 9781455539727

_________________________________________________________________________

“Moving and inspiring.” -- Publishers Weekly

EXCERPT

Finn would have noticed her even if she hadn’t been wearing hot-pink lingerie. And nothing else.

Dammit. He started after her.

He turned the corner to the back of the building and looked around. He didn’t see her. She’d gone inside. Dammit. He climbed up the four steps that led to the back door of the theater.

Finn touched the door and found it cool. It seemed that the flames were still contained to the wall on the other end of the theater, but it was a mistake to assume anything when fire was involved.

Her eyes went wide when she saw him.

“Boston PD! Stop!” Finn shouted.

She had covered up. Kind of. She now wore a robe, short, sheer, and unbelted. Which really did nothing to cover his view of her panties and bra. Or all that skin.

And maybe that was why she suddenly took off at a run.

Finn stared after her for a moment, a little stunned. She was actually running from him?

Jesus. Finn scowled and turned his flashlight back on. He was thinking about how she smelled? How about the smell of smoke that was going to be chasing them both pretty soon?

“Hey!” he called into the theater. You have to come out, ma’am. It’s not safe for you to stay in the building.”

“Just give me a damned minute!” she shouted.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t do that,” Finn said.

“I have to find something. Then I’m coming right out.”

“Ma’am, I will have to remove you myself if you don’t come out immediately.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he heard her exclaim.

“Ma’am, this is your last warning. Stop what you’re doing and come with me.”

Enough of this. Finn stalked over to her, put a hand around her upper arm, and turned to remove her from the building.

She dug her heels in, though, pulling against his hold. “Hey, you can’t—”

“You’re arresting me?” she asked.

“Are you doing something that you need to be arrested for?” he asked, moving her toward the door, even with her resisting.

“No! I need to get something. It’s very important. It belongs to a friend of mine. It’s irreplaceable.”

“Ma’am,” he said calmly, “don’t make me carry you out of here.”

She pulled against his grip and leaned all her weight into fighting the forward motion across the room.

BUY THE BOOK HERE

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2vpHQi1

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2vVOttR

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2vWL4dP

iBooks: http://apple.co/2uvJBvh

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2wBmYD1

Books-a-Million: http://bit.ly/2ifKov2

IndieBound: http://bit.ly/2fyHd0e

Follow Erin Nicholas:

Website: www.erinnicholas.com

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2ys6CA8

Twitter: @ErinNicholas

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2hPeCni

Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2vVyImO

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2vtoBTk

Giveaway | Win 1 of 10 copies of TOTALLY HIS.

Follow Forever Online

Website: http://bit.ly/1W6ZY8C

Facebook: http://bit.ly/1Zmyycz

Twitter: http://bit.ly/2aF6B0X

Instagram: http://bit.ly/1Xco7tE

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/23uLXQZ

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/foreverGR

#ReadForever

FGMAMTC

Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Google+ / Pinterest / Goodreads / Tumblr / Bloglovin' / Instagram

var addthis_config = {"data_track_addressbar":true};

#release blitz #Erin Nicholas

0 notes

fangirlmomentsandmytwocents · 7 years

Text

TOTALLY HIS by Erin Nicholas Release Blitz

TOTALLY HIS by Erin Nicholas

Part of the Opposites Attract series

will be published on October 31, 2017 from Forever.

Goodreads | Mass Market Paperback: $7.99 | eBook: $3.99 | ISBN: 9781455539727

_________________________________________________________________________

“Moving and inspiring.” -- Publishers Weekly

EXCERPT

Finn would have noticed her even if she hadn’t been wearing hot-pink lingerie. And nothing else.

Dammit. He started after her.

He turned the corner to the back of the building and looked around. He didn’t see her. She’d gone inside. Dammit. He climbed up the four steps that led to the back door of the theater.

Finn touched the door and found it cool. It seemed that the flames were still contained to the wall on the other end of the theater, but it was a mistake to assume anything when fire was involved.

Her eyes went wide when she saw him.

“Boston PD! Stop!” Finn shouted.

She had covered up. Kind of. She now wore a robe, short, sheer, and unbelted. Which really did nothing to cover his view of her panties and bra. Or all that skin.

And maybe that was why she suddenly took off at a run.

Finn stared after her for a moment, a little stunned. She was actually running from him?

Jesus. Finn scowled and turned his flashlight back on. He was thinking about how she smelled? How about the smell of smoke that was going to be chasing them both pretty soon?

“Hey!” he called into the theater. You have to come out, ma’am. It’s not safe for you to stay in the building.”

“Just give me a damned minute!” she shouted.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t do that,” Finn said.

“I have to find something. Then I’m coming right out.”

“Ma’am, I will have to remove you myself if you don’t come out immediately.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he heard her exclaim.

“Ma’am, this is your last warning. Stop what you’re doing and come with me.”

Enough of this. Finn stalked over to her, put a hand around her upper arm, and turned to remove her from the building.

She dug her heels in, though, pulling against his hold. “Hey, you can’t—”

“You’re arresting me?” she asked.

“Are you doing something that you need to be arrested for?” he asked, moving her toward the door, even with her resisting.

“No! I need to get something. It’s very important. It belongs to a friend of mine. It’s irreplaceable.”