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bluwails · 4 years

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Ive been real inspired by @chipper-smol 's au. I find myself snickering at Ghost/feral's antic mainly because I have young siblings and in my home there is never a dull moment. Child antics are literally my life rn and I cant help but relate.

So while on a nostalgic trip i was struck with this poorly written fic. And I hope you enjoy.

No edits because we die like men!

The time for rest had asserted its hold over Hallownest again as bugs wound down from the days toils. The servants and knights had quietly excused themselves to their personal quarters and the kingsmoulds that marched dutifully down each hall had slowed to a silent pace.

The white Lady had taken in the idea to walk the palace before retiring to her personal quarters for the evening. Dryya, her most respected and loyal guard, walked quietly behind her as she stiffled a yawn much to the white lady's amusement. She had dismissed her hours ago to rest but she stubbornly stuck to her and insisted on being around to protect her on her leisurely stroll.

" Your majesty, you need not worry for me. I will-" Dryya gaped stiffling another sign of encroaching sleepiness," -be with you until you retire to your bedroom."

She still felt fascination bubble under the surface as she observed her; a warm aura seeping off of her.

As a higher being they will never need these things like rest or daily meals. But they merely adopted the actions to blend more with the society around them. Just like her dear wyrm, Things like sleep were never on the forefront of their mind. They could spend decades awake and unbothered by the need. But they made resting a habit to demonstrate that one should rest after work.

Shuffling down the halls toward her favorite veranda befor she heard an unfamiliar scuffling. It was hurried but small. Most likely a small bug.

"Behind me your majesty." Dryya hissed pulling her nail from her side her alert instantly raised. As late as it was not many would be awake, much less in the halls working so fervently.

As they turned the corner they spotted two familiar horns working quickly with a brush and bottles of ink.

It was the feral vessel.

" You cheeky Sqwib! " she screamed shocking the little vessel. Their small hand dropping the brush they'd use to vandalize the walls. "You are at it again!" Dryya huffed indignant at the vessel as she marched over, sheathing her nail, and quickly bonking them between the horns.

" Do you know how you terrified the Queen?" She growled seizing their ink colored hands. " and to top that, you dare vandalize the white palace yet again!"

"Dear knight, there is no reason to be so harsh. " the white Lady softly appealed. "The walls can be cleaned and the ink replaced but the trust from a child cannot." She calmly lectured using a branch to pet the vessel.

"You are to lenient with them my lady." She huffed releasing them. Dryya was no fan of the feral vessel. Time and time again they'd watch and suffer their pranks. Many a time her nail was stolen only for it to be returned muddy or, miraculously, bent at the tip.

She was not the only one of the five knights to have their belongings weaseled from them and returned in less then favorable conditions.

"They are just being a child Dryya." WL cooed as she slowly squatted in front of them. "Soften your heart towards them. If only for me."

The knight reluctantly huffed again as she faced away. "Praise the Queen's endless patience, you little tyrant, you are saved for now. "

The white Lady smiled warmly as she looked the small vessel over. At this time they were meant to be tucked away in bed. The schedule their father made, though strict was optimize for their healthy growth. She suspected in full that the pure vessel had curled themselves into bed without a second thought, while their sibling ran through the halls causing their daily commotion.

In all honesty, she found their outbursts charming. Each trick, prank and shenanigan they pulled continuously showed her how lively they truly were. When they'd arrived from the abyss with their sibling, she lamented at their sight. Seeing them as nothing more than walking corpses until she heard of what would honestly sound like a farce. They'd barely stepped foot into the white palace before they entered a meeting between the dreamers, with no command or reason, and unleashed the most ungodly revolting smell. Shocking and disgusting the entire gathering forcing them to vacate the room entirely.

When her wyrm ranted about them that evening on how they indignantly, stomping their tiny grub feet and blantly ignoring him, forced them to clean the entire room alongside the retainers as punishment she could not help but laugh in an odd mix of relief and joy releasing a knot in her chest she did not know she held.

Looking again to the picture on the wall it was of clearly her dear wyrm. Her giggle chimming like bells as she observed it further. It was simple and childish as but it was an accurate representation of her wyrm. His elegant crown like horns now simple zigzags, their fangs drawn large and silly, with their tongue poked out in a not very gentlemen manner. (She suspects this is how they saw their father when they ranted at them.) It was crude, hurriedly painted, and was encompassed by tiny hand marks and had all the makings of a goofy Caricature and she wished she could save it.

"I see the throws of art beckoned you from your deep sleep small one." knowing full well they did it to mess with the king again. "maybe we should have Lurien tutor you to bring out your talents?" She questioned aloud watching the vessel furiously shake their head from the corner of their eye.

"Then what brings you from bed?"

The child twisted at their fingers looking down as they snuck peeks at her face.

They signed quickly keeping their ink covered hands slightly in sight. But It obvious it was something else. It was no news to her that they held many things back from them. And the curiosity of what it could be danced in the back of her mind, but she refused to force them anymore than they'd allow.

"You know you require rest in order to grow." She purred gently as she angled her small one's mask toward her.

Their mask tilted in a way that mimicked a pouty huff. Her heart swelling at how cute they were. She could not help but poke a small amount of fun.

"So you do not wish to grow anymore?" She questioned exaggeratedly tilting her head and placing a branch to her cheek.

They seemed to freeze at the and mull the thought around in their head. To her, this was the sweetest gesture. She'd remembered when the two vessels first molted and got their bearings. Though they thought no one was watching, she caught them do a small jig in celebration of their new body. Wiggling their newly formed fingers, touching their more angled faces and observing their budding wings.

" I'd say you'd want to." She whispered calmly retrieving her handkerchief to clean them.

"How can one so small hold such large secrets?" She hummed wiping the pink ink from them.

The vessel signed, a cheeky air to them as they flexed their arms nearly rupturing her heart from cuteness alone.

"Dryya please get someone to assist in cleaning up. " with a bow Dryya reluctantly left grumbling to herself.

"Now as much as I would love for you and to stay up and get into all kinds of mischief. I would say its time for bed. " She cooed admiring their clean face.

The vessel gestured again with more emphasis.

"I see." She hmmed making a show of thinking of what to do. In reality she had an idea of what to do. Somewhere deep in her memory was a song that. She could not remember the face that sang it to her but she remembers it working nearly every time. Ushering her to sleep. "Then would you care to accompany me on the veranda?" She asked pointing to the large glass door not far behind them.

Nodding they streched their arms up towards her. Obligating the gesture she swept them up in her branches as she walked slowly to the door.

she allowed small blooms to bloom on her creating a pleasant perfume before sitting on her stool already set up outside.

The vessel signed again gesturing at themselves.

Chuckling she squeezed them close to her. "Not essentially. You are of two pale beings and void." She murred quietly; her light warming them as they sunk into her lap. "You don't really need sleep. But its good because it helps you grow." She hummed wrapping her branches around them.

They gestured wildly again wiggling their fingers above their head causing her to erupted in laughter.

"Yes." She snickered "maybe if my wyrm slept and rested more they would grow as well I will be sure to suggest it to them later." Feeling the small ones shoulders shake in signs of laughter she hugged them.

" you remind me much of him in his younger years." She thought aloud as the vessel shook their head furiously. " well the both of you refuse to sleep on time so I imagine you two are similar in that sense." She mused as the small threw a small tantrum.

"Very well, shall I sing you something to assist you to sleep?" They nodded sinking back into her lap, placing their head on her chest.

As they sat, staring out into the lush garden and flickering lumaflies below she hummed a quiet tone shutting her eyes calling upon the memory.

Her branch rubbing small circles into their child's back as her voice trilled lyrics long thought lost to her:

Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby

Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay

And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow

Bless you with love for the road that you go

May you sail far to the far fields of fortune

With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet

And may you need never to banish misfortune

May you find kindness in all that you meet

May there always be angels to watch over you

To guide you each step of the way

To guard you and keep you safe from all harm

Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

May you bring love and may you bring happiness

Be loved in return to the end of your days

Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you

I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay

May there always be angels to watch over you

To guide you each step of the way

To guard you and keep you safe from all harm

Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay

Loo-li, lai-lay

Only the soft breathing and the feeling their body relax and their shoulders ease indicated they drifted off.

"Sweet dreams my small one."

Thanks so much for reading. In all honesty i have only played hollowknight for about a month and half and im already so invested in the fandom. (I'm still getting my butt handed to me by ogrim. Please dungy boi stop throwing sh!t at me long enough so i can hit you. You broke all my fragile charms alreday!-🥺😢) You guys are so creative and fluffy and have no problem hurting my tender sensibilities.

For those curious the song is called sleepsong by secret garden. I used to listen to it ages ago before bed.

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shatouto · 4 years

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YOUR BABY VADER IS SO GOOD I NEED TO GIVE HIM ALL THE HUGS. please tell me he gets like. a weighted blanket or soft clothes. or! or! or! anakin and obi-wan go to the market because nobody knows that anakin was vader, and anakin gets some nice clothes in pretty colors and theyre very soft and he gets some ingredients for cooking and droid parts to play with and everything is nice and good for him

GOSH thank you!!! aww i love that idea sO MUCH just reading your prompt makes me feel warm fuzzy inside. im not sure which baby vader you’re referring to (because there are so many of them in my wips and i love it) but i’ll assume this is the au ive been writing with @obiwanobi. so pls enjoy this near 2k of tooth-rotting fluff; i took some liberties

who likes sweet things

The clinic smells like bacta, as clinics do. But instead of sterile durasteel walls, the floors are carpeted and the walls are painted and the windows are curtained and everything is multicolored and joyful. Across from Anakin sits a healer - a kindly woman, very small in stature, with large, gentle eyes, wispy hair and pointed ears. She chats happily with Obi-Wan while working in tandem with the medical droid to secure the prosthetic to Anakin’s elbow.

“...disheartening, isn’t it?” She chirps, her three-fingered hands deftly fastening bolts around the cap and manipulating the droid to screw down the simple plating. “I can’t count the number of innocent civilians who have come here to fit a new limb. Just last week, I constructed an entire exoskeleton for this young lady. Poor girl, so young.”

“That is so good of you. I am glad for the young lady to find you. She came to the right place.” Obi-Wan smiles. “Those of us who have some sense all know Healer Saada’s prostheses are of the highest quality in all of Coruscant.”

“Ah, young man. Flattery gets you nowhere. Have you learned nothing as a youngling?” Saada shakes her head at the Jedi, then turns her great eyes to Anakin, ears perking. “And you. You’re a rather quiet boy, aren’t you?”

Anakin presses his lips into a tight, blanched line. This woman may not be a Jedi any longer, but she is not Force-blind. He glances to Obi-Wan, breaths bated.

Obi-Wan rests a hand on his shoulder. “He’s quite shy, Healer Saada. Please do not worry.”

“Oh, poor thing.” The healer hops onto a moving droid. It rolls towards the counter, where she sorts out some bottles while asking, seemingly in an absent-minded manner, “Where did he come from?”

Anakin catches his gaze the moment Obi-Wan looks at him. Obi-Wan parts his lips, as if ready to lie.

“Tatooine,” Anakin mutters.

Astonishment freezes across Obi-Wan’s face, and Anakin turns away. The admission isn’t for her, though he supposes he doesn’t mind her knowing. She’s just a person. She doesn’t even know his name, or what he has done, or what the dead Sith Lord has made Anakin do to earn his demise. Obi-Wan does.

“So far away!” the healer comments lightly, turning around with a soft smile. “What a great trip you must have made.”

“Indeed he did. He lives here now,” Obi-Wan clarifies. Anakin opens his hand, and the healer places a stretchy ball in it. She instructs him to practice squeezing it to get used to the new artificial limb, before sending them off.

They exit the clinic and out under a vast starlit sky. Gentle winds whirl overhead as they climb into their speeder, heading for the usual park where Anakin takes his walk. The night has gotten cold, yet the darkness is unusually diluted. As they pass by downtown, music wafts up alongside the scent of butter and frying oil. Anakin looks down to see a sea of lights over a town square, and colorful awnings draped over kiosks of all sorts. There seem to be many people there, eating, laughing, hand in hand. He eyes them closely, fingers tightening on the side door of the speeder.

“It’s a celebration, Anakin,” Obi-Wan supplies, as they come to a stoplight. Anakin turns around, and his heartbeat ratchets up when Obi-Wan reaches over to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

“What are they celebrating?”

“Harvest season. It’s an old tradition, I’ll give you that. Coruscant barely has a greenhouse on it, let alone agricultural land.” Obi-Wan chuckles, then quiets down into a thoughtful smile. “Though I suppose the election result is as good of an occasion to celebrate as any.”

“Election?” Anakin asks, just as they pass by a great billboard with the face of a brown-haired, brown-eyed woman in a night-purple cape. The speeder is going slow enough for him to decipher the words written beneath it. Obi-Wan keeps saying he’s a fast learner, so he tries to read at every turn. “Chancellor… A-Ame…” He frowns. “Amidala?”

“Very good, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle at him for a second before returning to the path ahead. “Padmé Amidala is the new Chancellor now. It was a rather close call. She is well-loved by many people, but not quite so in the Senate.”

Half of those words mean almost nothing to Anakin. “Why?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan hums. “One could say the Senate hasn’t been loving its people so much, in a while.”

Obi-Wan grows pensive, as he oft does. The faint, warm light from below and the cool starlight from beyond color him in an otherworldly tint. His profile is startlingly delicate, from the slope of his nose to the soft fluff of his whiskers and beard. Even the flutter of his lashes is graceful. Then Anakin remembers he shouldn’t stare. His eyes strays towards the bright lights and jovial music beneath.

“...But I am hardly brave enough for politics,” Obi-Wan muses, after a stretch of silence. When he looks Anakin’s way it is with some tiredness in his small smile. “Say, Anakin. How would you like to stop by the night market, for a change?”

They lower their altitude as soon as Anakin nods his agreement. Obi-Wan parks their speeder, draws up Anakin’s hood, and takes his right hand. Anakin’s synthetic nerves light up, even though it’s only enough transmission for him to feel touch and not warmth, it being a very standard model of prosthetic. His face warms up under the hood of his cloak. He’s glad Obi-Wan doesn’t notice.

They let themselves be carried by the stream of the crowd, of parents jogging after excitable children toddling about with sweetmeats in their hands, sugar on their cheeks; of young couples, one’s arm around the other’s waist, sharing bites of fluffy sweet bread or sips of mulled wine. Light shines golden and amber through bottles of syrup and jars of honey, glitters on the crystal sugar and drizzled glaze on heaps of candies in open boxes. The smell is divine whenever they pass by a warm stall with steam bannering overhead.

Anakin shivers lightly, even though the crowd blocks most of the winds. Obi-Wan tugs at his hand. “Let’s get you something warm.”

He follows Obi-Wan. A paper cup is pressed into his hand, ample and warm against his skin. The drink smells and tastes sweet with a note of toasted bitterness, the texture creamy and rich on his tongue. There are floating white chunks of some sort of confectionery in there.

“What’s this?”

“Hot chocolate.” Obi-Wan raises his identical cup and touches it to Anakin’s. “Do you like it?”

”Yes,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan’s smile warms his belly more than any hot drink.

They continue on their path, still a straight line from one end of the market to another. Anakin’s wide eyes travel from stand to stand: here a string of patchwork puppets, there a counter of carved wooden figures; and perfume vials, colorful figures (“It’s artisan soap, Anakin”), bouquets of everlasting tissue flowers tied in silk ribbons. There are clothes: soft robes in various colors, touted as “warm in winter and breezy in summer,” per the merchants; tunics with blossoming patterns embroidered at the collars or sleeve hems. There are kiosks of datatapes, illustrated by sparkling holograms of a High Republic castle, or a great speeder model, or even some holodrama character whose name Anakin can’t remember.

And then a booth takes his breath away. Glimmering under the light are shelves after shelves of mini household droids, custom-made transmitters, and a variety of artfully wired core processors. Replacement parts bathe in the blue glow of holograms depicting the corresponding droid models; and below all of this is a row of toolboxes of gleaming silver and shiny ivory, even iridescent inlays of mother-of-pearl. The booth seems to be one of a kind in the vast entirety of the market.

Anakin stands, transfixed. His fingers itch, and one of the tools begins to quiver and lift into the air, unbeknownst to the seller who has his back to it. He wants it. The thing will be his.

“Anakin? Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s hushed voice rustles by his ear, jolting him back to his senses.

The tool drops down with a small clang, barely audible in the noises of the festivity. Fear bursts coldly in Anakin’s chest - he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, his Master would be very unhappy if he found out his young foolish apprentice had tried to waste his time playing with droids again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, bowing his head, even as Obi-Wan squeezes his hand.

“Do you want that?” Obi-Wan asks, softly.

Anakin peeks up. The empty paper cup is still slightly warm in his hand, and he crushes it absentmindedly, tightening and loosening his fingers just to have something to do. “I, uh…”

Obi-Wan’s hand covers his own, gently prying the crushed paper cup out from the curl of his fingers. “I would love to get it for you, if you want it. It’s the toolbox on the bottom shelf, second from the left, isn’t it?”

The light on Obi-Wan’s smile is a honeyed gold, pooling stars into his eyes, and Anakin is transfixed again, not quite by the tinkering booth this time. He looks down as his face warms and his heart still pounds hard, and slowly he nods.

—

They come back to Obi-Wan’s quarters with a small armful: a new set of robes in muted, ashen pink; a box of tools with carved handles that are probably more fancy than they need to be, but still practical enough; a new array of spices and condiments; and a great tin of “absolutely decadent powder for drinking chocolate, Anakin, I can’t believe I let you persuade me into buying this.”

“You are the one who likes sweet things,” Anakin counters, arranging the new addition into their pantry. Obi-Wan laughs aloud by his side.

“Now how could you possibly know that?”

“I cook. I know that.” Anakin shrugs, and admits, “...and Ahsoka said so.”

Obi-Wan’s brows shoot up. He’s quiet for a few seconds, but the wide smile that follows only seems all the more brighter for it. “Best friends now, aren’t you?”

“No,” Anakin huffs and closes the pantry door. He doesn’t say more. Ahsoka gave him her old voicebook plug-in and lent him her comics; in exchange, he would pack her this spicy meat stew whenever she needed to leave for some time. They struck a fair deal, is all.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say more, either. They settle on the couch, Anakin almost rushing to fish out the toolbox from its paper bag. Finally having two hands to work with again, he examines it with zeal. It’s a good set of tools, he knows it; he hasn’t been allowed to touch these things for years, but he still knows. It’s in his blood. He can still wire standard circuit boards for protocol droids (the slightly outdated type) with his eyes closed; can definitely assemble a cleaning-type mouse droid from scratch if he’s allowed to scavenge for parts. He smiles down at the lacquered handles and the durasteel glint, picking up and balancing each microscrew, each hexagonal wrench, each tiny plier.

“...I hope it was enjoyable for you,” Obi-Wan speaks up, all of a sudden.

Anakin turns to him, not bothering to wipe off his smile. “It was.” He chews on the inside of his cheeks. “I’ve never had so many things. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan studies him for a long moment, more intent than he ever did. By the look on his face, Anakin expects him to say many things, but he doesn’t. He just pats Anakin’s elbow, where the prosthetic is joined, and murmurs, “You’re welcome.” His eyes have a moist sheen to them, smiling though he is.

#raised as sith anakin #always a sith anakin #obikin #shatou writes #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #it was fun writing this #i cant believe i wrote this in one go

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shattersstar · 4 years

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bluebelle

and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent (part one)

pairing: alucard x reader

excerpt: it seemed as if each corner of the castle held something of you; a bouquet of flowers you had picked for one of the halls in the east wing, a book you half read discarded in a barely used study, the faint flour fingerprints on the railing from when you made banana bread and had gotten so excited it turned out well you dragged Adrian into the kitchen despite the mess on your hands. The brush of your lips even lingered on his skin, the softness revered and remembered. It was warming to find all the parts of you in the tomb that had become his home yet again. (title comes from bluebelle by frank carter and the rattle snakes)

warnings: alucard being loved and appreciated, fluff, minimal angst

a/n: well I couldn’t work on requests till i got this out of my system. kinda stressed abt posting for castlevania bc i dont think? ive talked about it on here before? buuut i can’t stop thinking abt alucard after rewatching season two so here we are. anyways feedback is appreciated.

—

You weren’t by his side in the morning, the sun slotting from the vaulted windows cascaded a stream of warmth that didn’t touch your skin. He startled, fingers curling into the cool sheets. You’d been gone for a while and he hadn’t heard you leave, he—

Adrian had slept. Through the night.

That thought was almost as jarring as your lack of presence. He let his palms dig into his eyes, sliding out from under the covers and dressing quickly. His steps were always light, even against the old floors of the castle. You once mentioned you didn’t think he walked around the castle, merely hovered when you first moved in. Mostly because it was easy to find you, your step not nearly as cautious as his, your scent always lingering through the air, like a trail of crumbs.

Although now, it had become harder to find you because of it, it seemed as if each corner of the castle held something of you; a bouquet of flowers you had picked for one of the halls in the east wing, a book you half read discarded in a barely used study, the faint flour fingerprints on the railing from when you made banana bread and had gotten so excited it turned out well you dragged Adrian into the kitchen despite the mess on your hands.

The brush of your lips even lingered on his skin, the softness revered and remembered. It was warming to find all the parts of you in the tomb that had become his home yet again–but still, it made finding you down a bit more difficult.

He’d begun to rely on sound more, listening from the dragging of ladders around one of the many libraries, the boiling of the kettle or even your voice muttering nonsense to yourself. Sometimes singing, but once you realized he could hear it at great distances, your face burned hot and you only hummed absentmindedly these days.

Your love also reached great distances, bounding higher then the gothic walls you two dwelled in, tendrils of your affection brushing over him like calming waves, as if you somehow purposely emitted your feelings. A secret empath perhaps, humming with love and nudging at his scarred chest until he let you in.

He knew all of that was facetious, nearly musings to keep his thoughts on you as he made his way calmly through the labyrinth castle. You had called it that, still getting lost in it to this day and shouting for him when you’d get frustrated enough. You’d pout when Adrian would casually walk over to where you found yourself, nonchalant and even a little amused. Though, the spike in adrenaline that flowed through his system each time that happened contradicted his calm demeanour each time he approached. He always moved in a flurry, zigzagging and hunting through the daunting walls till he could locate you. He didn’t want you to worry, to see his first thoughts went to danger, he knew you wouldn’t be happy with that. He knew you’d stop calling for him if it meant his fear would take over, that you’d likely stay lost for a lot longer all for him.

It was a dangerous thing, the way you loved him.

He sometimes wished you had been together before his mother died, so that his love wasn’t weaponized against him. There was always going to be a fear attached to his love, everyone waiting for the day he’d break like his father, that his love for you would drive him mad and the cycle of destruction would repeat. It was destined to happen in so many minds, cycles were tricky like that, promoted to be broken, but never as easily as suggested.

That was until you made it easy. You pulled him to your chest and toyed with his hair, skin drying from the bath and voice speaking all the truths he needed to hear into existence. It seemed as if the path he was supposedly destined to be on crumbled before him. He didn’t actively choose to be different, be good, be better, there simply was never the option to be bad once he realized he loved you.

Even now, unable to find you, fear trickling into his stilled heart, there was no anger bruising his soul. The thought of losing you hurt, more than any adjective could place, but it’s a wallowing kind of hurt, the cold grief stricken kind that doesn’t ignite hellfire, but tears. Adrian hadn’t even realized his eyes were brimming with them until your voice carried, a small shout followed by a laugh. His head all, but snapped up, focusing on it and soon he was in the doorway, a sense of calm replacing the creeping anxiety as he found you atop a desk, trying to place a box onto one of the many shelves in this study. The study you had claimed as your own, in love with the large circular window that overlooked the forest instead of the crumbling estate. You didn’t fear the Belmont’s as many had, but rather didn’t find the appeal in staring at a pile of wreckage.

A huff of amusement echoed in the back of his throat when you’d said that casually over dinner, coming to regret the statement when it was passed onto Trevor the next time he visited. Amusement almost laced his mind now as he watched you for a moment, you shoved the box a few times, its contents rattling as you were just a bit too short to rest it securely. He contemplated offering his help, but sure calling attention to himself would startle you, the box likely to fall.

Instead he moved swiftly, behind you in a half a breath and reaching over your shoulders to push the box the rest of the way. You still startled, jumping with a small gasp, your arms dropping back down. You both stood there for a moment, your back rising and falling against his lean chest, his arm slipped to his side, fingers brushing yours as he did. You glanced over your shoulder at him as he climbed down from atop the desks surface. You smiled as he extended a hand to help you, palm face up. He guided you to step onto the chair before settling on the floor, fingers shifting to interlace with his as you pulled him close, chests bumping. “Good morning beloved.” You hummed.

“I believe it’s past noon.” He commented, earning an eye roll.

“Well then good afternoon.”

“No beloved?”

“You’re being quite the tease for someone who’s slept in—leaving me to my own devices this morning.”

“I can see that didn’t go too well.”

You feigned offence, both hands now in Adrian’s as you stepped back, a mix of a gasp and scoff falling from your lips.

“Someone’s in a mood.” He contemplated the statement, drawing you back in with a light pull in his direction. It used to be alarming how easy it was to get you close, how you didn’t shy away, how you were ready to feel him as long as he’d let you. Your chests bumped again, your hands sliding up his arms and around his neck. “And don’t say its because you woke up alone.”

“Hm.”

“Ah, I know you too well. That means you owe me a kiss.”

“It does?”

“Of course, my intelligence deserves a reward, no?” A grin flickered over his face, fangs flashing as he let his slender arms wrap around your frame, one hand resting between your shoulders blades—urging you even closer, your head tilted and lips meeting his slowly.

“Everything you do deserves a kiss.” He sighed, breath fanning over your face.

“Maybe I’ll hold you to that.”

“I don’t object.”

“Good.” You kissed him again, this time a little harder, a bit more than a greeting. Your fingers curled minimally in his hair, tongue swiping against his bottom lip, a silent ask of permission. He granted it with ease, tasting the berries on your tongue and inhaling the warmth of cinnamon radiating from you. Maybe you had been baking again, he wondered momentarily, lips still moving against yours. You pulled away first, chest rising and falling visibly as you let another smile warm over your features. He was almost a little dazed looking at you, barely noting the strands of hair that fell over his face, your fingers quick to tuck them back behind his ear. “Your hairs messy.” You commented, holding his face in your hands as you leaned back, taking him in. Your smile shifted into something curious, brows pulled inward as your gaze flickered across his face. You studied him, the gears in your brain churning out questions you already had the answer too. “Did you think I’d gone? When you woke up?”

You did know him, far too well.

“For a moment, yes.” He had learned it was better not to lie to you, to hide things at times, yes, but to outright lie left a bitter taste in his mouth (and you’d always figure it out anyways).

“Well I’m sorry for worrying you my love, if I had left the grounds I would’ve written a note, or woken you up even, but I didn’t think about doing that if I wasn’t far.” You explained, eyes full of sincerity. It was so human, something he mimicked, but never obtained in the same way you did.

He nodded at your words, forehead resting on yours.

“But is that not it?”

“What?” He recoiled slightly, unable to hide the surprise that found its way onto his face.

You did know him far too well that this had to be magic, you had to have read his mind and understood something deeper. He still found himself alarmed at this moment, your ability to read him surpassed even that of his mother.

“There’s something else isn’t there? You’re upset about something else.”

“I’m not upset—“

“Adrian,” You warned, his mouth snapped shut, “Please don’t lie to me.” He relented, his shoulders tight with defence dropped as your thumb brushed over the porcelain of his cheek. “But we can talk about this later. Okay?” You knew when to push and when to pull and when to give in to him just as he needed. You smiled up at him, nose nudging his affectionately. Love dripped through your words and danced in the corners of your eyes

Yes, later is fine. Right now he needed to be held.

You let your fingers slip into his hair, toying with it, nails kindly swirling against his skull. You were good at soothing him, words, actions, everything. It all calmed the choppy waters that stirred beneath his rib cage and he melted into you. Adrian let his eyes fall closed as you pulled him into a hug, one hand still tangled in his hair while the other wrapped as best it could almost the expanse of his shoulders. He let his arms hang limp, nose pressing into the side of your neck as he breathed you in. Taking in your scent, not where it hung in the stale castle air, how it lingered on door knobs to forgotten rooms you likely tried to open or dwelled on the various pots and pans.

He took you in from the source, your perfume and rainwater from the previous night washed over his senses, along with that still confusing note of cinnamon. Maybe he’d bring it up later, but for now he wanted to love in the safety of your arms.

#i just wanna hold this half vampire for..hours #alucard x reader #alucard imagine #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes imagine #castlevania x reader #castlevania imagine #castlevania #writing

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sub-hoshi-enthusiast · 4 years

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Hii!! ive seen alot of you're good sub stories, and i reaaly enjoyed it alot since you're the first one to ever done that, i was thinking maybe could you do a hoshi one, thinking that he's been replaced bcs he was jealous of minghao taking over his place?? and maybe some mommy kink play of him?? thanks alot!

Here you go!

⚠️Warnings⚠️: sub!Hoshi, fem!dom!reader, overstimulation, bondage, pegging, mommy kink.

Your Muse

There weren't enough words on the planet to describe how much you loved your boyfriend. Hoshi was the sweetest and cutest boyfriend that you had ever had. You were surprised when you had found out that he felt the same way, thinking it was a dream. While most people thought it would be tiring to date an idol but you had been working with idols for quite a few years. You worked as a photographer, and you had been lucky enough to spot Hoshi one day when you were taking a walk, finding him so beautiful that you just had to ask if you could take a picture. You had happened to run into him a few days later, and then the day after that one as well. You eventually decided to start talking to each other, leading to your perfect relationship.

Hoshi had never really been one for photography or anything like that, often opting to sit and wait for everyone else to finish and continue with his day. After he had met you, however, you always took at least one picture of him every time you went out together. You had always told him that he just looked so beautiful everywhere he went, so somebody had to capture the moment. Hoshi was the perfect model, you had told him at least a million times, always leaving him a giggly, flustered mess. You had even started calling him your muse, a nickname that he loved dearly knowing that out of the countless attractive idols you took pictures of, you had chosen him.

While you had taken pictures of many different kpop idols and bands, you had never taken photos of Seventeen and Hoshi was determined to change that. Ever since he found out that their usual photographer couldn't make it to their next photoshoot, he had been dropping not so subtle hints to hire you. They eventually gave in and called to ask if you were free. You excitedly agreed, and decided not to tell Hoshi so you could surprise him. The morning of the photoshoot, you couldn't stop smiling as you were reminded that you would be working with your boyfriend. You quickly got dressed and you were pretty sure you might've broken a few laws to drive there as fast as you could. You had gotten there before the boys did so you could help with setting everything up.

The first thing you heard when the boys showed up was BooSeokSoon screaming about something, though it was cut off by a squeal as Hoshi locked eyes with you. He practically threw himself into your arms, almost making you fall over. The rest of the boys had been confused for a second, until they had finally put the pieces together when he began peppering your face with kisses. They had known that he had a girlfriend but they hadn't met you before. They had quickly introduced themselves and began the photoshoot after basically prying Hoshi off of you.

The photoshoot ran smoothly, and you had already taken pictures for the majority of them. Hoshi decided that he wanted his pictures done last, knowing that you would take a million more than you needed to. The next person you had to take pictures of was Minghao, which you had known was one of the members from China. He had seemed a bit confused at first when you began telling him what to do, seeing as you talked very quickly most of the time. Luckily, you had studied abroad in China for about three years so you were pretty fluent in the language. He seemed thankful upon hearing his native language and the photoshoot continued. You had accidentally taken more time taking pictures of Minghao than you thought you would. He looked absolutely stunning and almost any pose he did looked amazing. Seokmin was waiting patiently to get his pictures taken as he sat next to the others. He rested his cheek in his palm, letting out an exasperated sigh as he watched you.

"How long has it been since Minghao stepped up? It feels like it's been hours." Seokmin said, turning to look at the clock. Hoshi turned to look as well furrowing his eyebrows as he realized how long it had been.

"I'll go see if somethings wrong, though there really shouldn't be." He said as he stood up and began walking over to you. He lightly tapped your shoulder to get your attention. You smiled once you had turned around and saw him.

"Hey baby, what's up?"

"Nothing, nothing. We just wanted to know if there was a problem with anything because you've been working with Minghao for a while." You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the clock, becoming surprised as you saw the time.

"Is it that late already? I must've gotten carried away then. Minghao, I think you're good for the day so you can go sit down now." He nodded and smiled at you and moved to sit with the others as Seokmin moved to get his pictures taken.

"So was there a problem with the camera or the lighting or something?" Hoshi asked, tilting his head adorably at you.

"Oh no, Minghao was just a perfect model and I got carried away. He somehow managed to look good at every angle." Hoshi deflated slightly, feeling like something shot him through the heart. He had always prided himself on being your perfect model and hearing you call someone else that hurt. He pouted on his way back to his seat, resting his head on the table once he had sat down. After Seokmin and Woozi's pictures were done, they were allowed to take a break.

Hoshi had decided to stop moping, reminding himself that you still loved him more than Minghao. After he had a few small snacks and sat with his bandmates for a while, he decided to go and talk to you. He felt that same pain in his heart as he saw you laughing with Minghao about something. He felt even worse as he saw you tell Minghao something that made him blush. He had tried to eavesdrop, but was disappointed as he heard you speaking in Chinese. He was about to ask Jun if he could come and translate for him, but was cut off as the director said that the break was over. You quickly finished up with everyone else and decided to stay a little while longer to take a few more pictures of your boyfriend, just for fun. The boys understood and left, bidding a quick goodbye, though Minghao said goodbye again as he passed by you with a bright smile that made Hoshi glare daggers into the back of his skull. You saw the sour expression on your boyfriend's face and furrowed your eyebrows.

"Is something wrong baby?" Hoshi huffed and turned away from you.

"Why do you care? Just go back to drooling over Minghao since he's just the perfect model." You stood confused for a second as Hoshi began to pack up both of your things, just wanting to get back home. You finally realized what he was pouting about and giggled.

"Aww, is that what this is about?" He didn't answer, continuing to pack up his things. "I'm sorry baby, I didn't realize that it meant that much to you." You told him as you turned him around, forcing him to look at you and holding his face in your hands. "I really didn't mean it like that. Sure, Minghao's attractive and all but you're my baby, my muse, and I would never even think about choosing anyone else." He let out a quiet sigh.

"I know, I know, it's just that you and Minghao seemed to get along so well. You didn't even talk to me during the break because you were too busy talking to him. I just- I don't like the fact that you two are bonding even faster than we did…" He trailed off, the floor looking much more interesting. You felt your heart crack slightly. How could he think you loved someone more than him?

"No no no sweetheart, you have it all wrong. I was talking to him during the break because he was asking about the pictures. He's into photography so we talked about it for a little longer than I thought we would so I didn't get the chance to talk to you. I'm sorry if you thought I wasn't thinking of you baby." Hoshi looked up from the floor to look into your eyes, a small smile spreading on his face. He leaned forward to bury his face into your neck and wrapped his arms around your waist. You both just stood like that for a minute, content in each other's arms. Eventually he pulled back to press a loving kiss to your lips.

"I'm sorry, I guess I was just overthinking things." Hoshi said as he played with the hem of your shirt, a slight pout on his lips. You held his face in your hands again.

"It's alright baby. I love you, more than anyone else in the world. Don't ever forget that." He smiled at your words, pulling you closer to rest his forehead on yours.

"I know, I love you too." He seemed to think for a second before a small smirk slowly spread across his face. "Y'know, maybe you need to remind me how much you love me…" He said slowly, gently grabbing your hands and bringing them to rest on his ass, "mommy." A shiver shot down your spine at the breathless way he had whispered in your ear. You let out a quiet growl and squeezed his ass, making him bite his lip.

"Maybe I should." You both hurriedly shoved your things into the car and hurried home. As soon as you had arrived you pushed him against the nearest wall, pressing your lips to his in a heated kiss. There was no fight for dominance as your tongue pushed its way into his mouth, claiming it's territory. Hoshi brought his hands up to tug and pull at your hair and he whimpered into your mouth. You pulled away for a second with your hands gripping his waist.

"C'mon baby, tell mommy what you want." You growled in his ear before leaning down to leave some marks on his neck. He whimpered, squirming in your grip.

"W-want mommy to fuck me, please!" He whined, trying to grind his hips up into yours.

"You have to be more specific than that baby." You muttered between kisses, moving lower and lower on his neck. You felt his adam's apple bob beneath the touch of your lips.

"W-want mommy to tie me up and r-ruin me! Please mommy! N-need to feel mommy cock pounding into me!" You groaned against his skin before pulling away from him to drag him to the bedroom. Once you had reached your destination, you pushed him onto the bed, pinning him beneath you. Your hands were roaming all over his body, tearing his clothes off quickly to leave him bare beneath you. His delicious sounds spurred you on as you left a light trail of kisses down his chest, making him whine in aggravation as you skipped over where he needed you most to leave hickeys on his inner thighs. You bit down hard on one spot that made him whimper loudly before you pulled away. He whined and bucked his hips up, trying to get you to touch him. You merely chuckled and pecked his lips.

"Hands above your head baby." His eyes lit up as he did what he was told. You reached into your bedside drawer to pull out a black, silk ribbon to tie his hands to the headboard. You also pulled out a bottle of lube and your strap-on before putting the box back. He bit his lip and started squirming around as you squirted some lube onto your fingers. You chuckled at him before leaning down to pepper kisses on his face, trailing down his neck as you pushed one finger inside him. He moaned quietly, his eyes closing in bliss as you thrusted your finger into him. His noises got increasingly louder as you picked up the pace, soon adding a second finger. He threw his head back with a guttural moan as you added a third finger, spreading your fingers out to stretch him open. You saw his leaking dick twitch against his stomach, telling you he was going to cum soon. On any other day, you would have pulled out or teased him more, but Hoshi was surprised as you continued to finger him, working him through his first orgasm of the night. You slowly pulled your fingers out, leaning up to kiss him again.

"You look so pretty when you cum babyboy." Hoshi whimpered before gasping as he felt the tip of the strap-on slowly push into him. "Do you think you could do it again for mommy?" He whined needily, struggling against his restraints as you thrusted the rest of the fake cock into him. You grabbed the backs of his thighs, pushing his knees to his chest as you continued to pound into him. He practically screamed as the new angle allowed you to hit his prostate with every thrust. It didn't take long for him to feel another orgasm building up.

"O-oh fuck! M-mommy! C-cum! G-gon- fuck - gonna c-cum!! Please l-let me cum mommy! A-AH!" You smirked, lightly running your nails over the backs of his thighs.

"Go ahead baby." He threw his head back with his mouth hung open in a silent moan as he came again. Tears started to well up in his eyes as you didn't slow the pace of your hips, making him pull against his restraints harder. You leaned forward to leave kisses and marks on his neck, making him sob in pleasure. About two more minutes passed before he was begging to cum again, with tears running down his cheeks and drool seeping out the corner of his mouth. You smirked as you saw his dick twitch against his stomach.

"C'mon babyboy, you can cum for mommy one more time can't you?" Hoshi sobbed, more tears streaming down his cheeks but nodded anyways. "Use your words baby." He whined, thrashing against the restraints.

"Y-yes!! F-fuck- y-yes m-mommy!" You hummed in response and grabbed his dick, pumping it to match the pace you were thrusting into him. His back arched off the mattress as he came one last time with a loud cry. You slowed your thrusts, stopping once he had somewhat calmed down.

You had to admit that this was always one of your favorite sights. Hoshi tied to the bed with cum covering his stomach and a gorgeous fucked out expression on his face. The tears and drool just seemed to make him look even more beautiful. You carefully pulled out of him before reaching over to grab your phone and snapped a picture, smirking as you set it as your home screen. You carefully untied Hoshi's wrists, giving light kisses to the red marks from how hard he had been pulling. You moved to the bathroom, leaving your strap-on in the tub to clean it and grabbed a wet rag to clean up your boyfriend. You cleaned the cum off his stomach and threw the rag to your laundry basket. You leaned forward to give Hoshi a loving kiss, brushing the hair that had clung to his forehead off once you had pulled away.

"Are you alright baby?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. He weakly nodded with a small smile, turning to cuddle into you. You smiled softly at him, running your fingers through his hair. You pressed a light kiss to the top of his head as he started to fall asleep. " I love you, you know that right?" You felt Hoshi smile and press a light kiss to your skin before weakly muttering.

"I know, I love you too."

#dom!reader #dom reader #sub!svt #sub!seventeen #svt hoshi #hoshi smut #svt smut #seventeen reactions #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #sub kpop #sub!kpop

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teletapedarc · 4 years

Text

aesthetics for the entities, all of them. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. repost. do not reblog. from @sagamemes. under the cut bc it’s long as hell. TAGGED BY: no one TAGGING: you.

i. the buried. weighed blankets. drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil and sand piling on top of you. hugging so hard it hurts a little. cramped hiding spots. letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool. walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale. lonely subways. feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you. looking for something below. cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts. hands calloused from digging. knowing that your purpose is just below the surface. entering your final resting place before it kills you. a storm drowning you out. dust and sand speaking to you.

ii. the corruption. insects. a close imitation of the natural course of life. an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans. an untreated wound. containment. breaching containment. unbreathable air. fungi. one with that you love. one with what loves you. a corpse unfit for a glass case. hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs. honeycomb patterns. an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist. an ugly death where a glorious one is owed. blood on a handkerchief. parasites. something pushing up the sewer. a mask to keep something out. trypophobia. knowing you belong. death weeks after impact. fever. food that’s gone off. pandora’s box. death behind a glass.

iii. the dark. shadows. lights that turn off by themselves. the feel of cold marble. a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see. hiding under a blanket. white, clouded eyes. months without going outside during sunlight. pouring dark. unscrewing lightbulbs. black matter. light sensitivity. a starless night. time before light was created. a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to. withering plants. a world without a sun. footfalls in an empty house in the night. a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should. desperate reach for a flashlight. clothes that hide your shape. staying unperceivable. winter months in the north. an empty church.

iv. the desolation. senseless pain. warmth of faith. wax where skin should be. a blazing fire. heat without a source. the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon. the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood. inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one. a candle without a flame. an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur. plastic explosives. burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room. never touching a loved one. disfigurement. a kiss that ruins you. the scent of burning fat. a tattoo that terrifies its viewer. the agony of hellfire displayed as art. auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather. a ripple in the air. trying to cool down in vain.

v. the flesh. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling. never quite happy with how you look. the terror of an animal waiitng for slaughter. a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts. a twisted bone. long nights working out. more than one heart. appearance that shapes like clay. a bag of bones. bone broth in a pot. knowing to fear pigs. the butcher’s shop. plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance and appearance only. teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity. fenced in with one way to go.

vi. the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambiling with death. as old as the universe. soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii. the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t watch away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyerism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.

viii. the hunt. sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstorous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

ix. the lonely. an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets. waking up to see everyone gone. fog. point nemo. a house too big to hear your family members in. alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it. separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be. a blinding spotlight. the least missed in your friend group. streets without lights in the windows. isolation. not truly knowing your friends. your friends not truly knowing you. need for silence. fear of crowds. staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you. a ship alone at sea. depression. knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realise they’re gone. a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x. the slaughter. a game of tag. senseless violence. a true crime hobby. improvised weapons. blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger. history books that spare no details. an injury you want revenge for. war. counting kills. songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock. unspeakable horrors. anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming. a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs. a weapons collection. not knowing the names of who you kill. too many to remember. loss of hope. there’s no heroes in war.

xi. the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xii. the stranger. wax figures. a close approximation of a human face. a borrowed appearance. a strange smell. glass eyes. furs and pelts. a dance. a song of a choir. the uncanny valley. stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus. a puppet with no strings. mannequins. glitter and sequin. a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew. stolen identities. stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker. hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at. a faked accent. concealing. forgetting who you are. forgetting who others are. a replacement no one notices. images that look posed. the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii. the vast. open spaces. carnival rides going up and down. fear of heights. endless infinity around you. your insignificance in an universe. stomach turning at a drop. fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip. the sway of a cable car. an adventure holiday. losing track of where the surface is. miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it. loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears. a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith. motion sickness.

xiv. the web. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realizing it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

+ the extinction. the end of an era. apocalypse movies. the alarms of warning systems. a desolate landscape. end of the world cults. nihilism. the last written history. a changed world. no survivours. old prophecies. a thousand predicted ends. a new chapter. an end with no escape. catastrophes. a calendar counting down. breaking point. overindulgence.

#💧 》 ⤻ BRIDGETTE ◞ aesthetics !

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derireo · 5 years

Text

sylvain - a little help

im being pressured to apply for scholarships ,,, didn’t want to go to post secondary in the first place .. + ive been napping a lot during the day. not good.

sylvain x f!byleth

“ it was difficult. even though her heart didn't beat, it was still heavy with grief and loss. she couldn't bear to remember the people she had killed to get to this point with her comrades, but images of caspar's face as he accepted the fatal strike of her sword and the tears that fell from dorothea's eyes as she thanked byleth for being the last person she saw – it was all too much. it wasn't supposed to be like this. “

It was a rainy day in Garreg Mach as fat water droplets pounded against the windows of the dorms and the monastery. The sky was gloomy with splotches of black and grey, and the angry pitter patter of rain against the pavement was deafening to the ears.

As much as Byleth loved the rain, her mood tonight definitely matched the weather.

There was a storm brewing in her head. From her father dying and fighting in a war against her former students, only to wake up 5 years later, frozen cold from the river she was pulled out of, it was difficult for Byleth to cope with all the things that had happened when almost everybody already found the strength to move on.

She willingly became the commander for the Church of Seiros, to fight for the liberation of the people who were caught in the tyranny of Edelgard; a former student that Byleth was fond of back then. Byleth found herself re-thinking her choices up until now, as the Church of Seiros neared the end of this war.

It was difficult. even though her heart didn't beat, it was still heavy with grief and loss. She couldn't bear to remember the people she had killed to get to this point with her comrades, but images of Caspar's face as he accepted the fatal strike of her sword and the tears that fell from Dorothea's eyes as she thanked Byleth for being the last person she saw – it was all too much. it wasn't supposed to be like this.

And Byleth loathed the thought of having to face Edelgard; hated the thought that her former student wouldn't accept the compromise of ending this war peacefully as Dimitri had suggested. Byleth didn't want to kill another one of her friends.

But it's impossible to change fate, just as it is impossible to create a new path that lets everyone live.

Byleth was sitting outside on the pavement, under the roof truss. She was wrapped in the duvet that used to lay on her bed and she had her knees hugged to her chest as she stared at the rain drops that splattered into puddles.

Looking at the weather, everyone unanimously decided to use this day as a break from preparing for battle, so many people were gathered in the dining hall or were cooped up in another warm area, so it was understandable why Byleth wasn't seen roaming around the monastery grounds.

Byleth didn't feel like doing anything anyways.

She let out a deep breath of air from her lungs and rested her chin on her knees, her mouth formed into a lazy pout as she stared into nothing, the loud crashing of rain becoming white noise to her.

She didn't notice the few people who were quietly approaching her while she let the soft duvet fall from her shoulders. She then stood up from her sitting position, and as if on autopilot, walked out from under the truss and into the pelting rain that immediately left her body and clothes soaking wet.

She sighed again and closed her eyes, tilting her head back to bask in the rainstorm that fell from the heavens. Byleth couldn't remember clearly, but remembered that on the day of Jeralt's passing, it was raining like this as well.

But then again, she couldn't remember many things.

It could be her imagination, but the sight of dark crimson flowing through the cracks of her fingers and staining her clothes was much too vivid for her to forget.

The growing stain of blood that dirtied her father's coat was something she could never remove from her memory.

She would never be able to forget having to watch her father be stabbed through the back twice. Once when it initially happened, and twice when she turned back time with the divine pulse Sothis had gifted her

How could she forget anyways?

The rain continued to beat down on Byleth, but the pain wasn't enough to distract her from her thoughts. Her bare feet was wet with mud, thin clothes clinging to scarred skin, and mint green hair stuck to her forehead.

"You're going to get sick if you stay like that." someone called out from the walkway of the dorms with a voice so soft that Byleth couldn't help but turn her head in their direction. Her nose twitched when she noticed that it was Sylvain speaking to her. The man was leaning against the pillar nearest to her room door with his arms crossed, and the clothes he was wearing was suited for the winter in Faerghus.

Good enough for Garreg Mach weather, Byleth mused to herself and ignored the way the redhead looked at her expectantly; waiting for her to come back and stand under the shelter with him.

Sylvain sighed, "It wouldn't do you any good if you caught the flu." he tried once more, and held his hand out with the palm facing up as he patiently waited for Byleth to make a move. as much as he hated to force people to do things they didn't want to, he couldn't bear to let his friend stay miserable in the rain like that.

But Byleth didn't look miserable. She seemed the slightest bit distraught, but she looked so comfortable in the rain. Her clothes were now heavy with water, and her hair clung to her face and neck, and although it should've been uncomfortable for her to be in this state, she was receiving the rain with open arms.

Before Byleth could even realize it, Sylvain was already in her personal space, out with her in the pouring rain as he smiled down at her. "Gonna have to tell Seteth to scold you for still being a terrible listener." Sylvain joked as the rain began to beat down on him as well, but paid it no mind, and removed his warm Faerghus coat to put over Byleth's head. The rain only seemed to worsen, not that either person minded, but quietly, Byleth fretted for Sylvain's own health.

His teal button up was already clinging onto him like a second skin while his slicked back hair was a sad, flat mess atop his head. That stupidly kind smile was still on his face too and Byleth couldn't help but feel sorry for making him reach out to her like this in the rain.

Silently, her frigid hand went out to reach for his own, and she dragged the both of them out of the squelching mud and rain to under the roof. Her unoccupied hand still held onto the coat that was laid atop her head, and she decided to keep it there while she watched Sylvain shake the water from his hair.

As always, her eyes held no hint of emotion while owlishly blinking at the man before turning around, heading down the hallway. Sylvain had slicked his hair back while she turned, and with a hop to his step, followed after her when his hand fell from her grip.

"As much as I love the rain," she started when they continued to walk towards the dining hall, the roof above them ending and the raindrops replacing them again, "I can't let you guys get sick. It's hard for me to take care of the Knights of Seiros as it is." she mused, Sylvain striding beside her casually with his hands in his pockets, the rain dampening his hair again.

They walked up the cobblestone steps that led up to the dining hall and quietly shuffled in, the sound of Byleth's wet footsteps apparent in the warm room while the squelching of Sylvain's boots had people turning their heads.

"Oh dear." Mercedes gasped when she saw the pair, "Byleth! Sylvain! What were you two doing out in the rain?" she scolded halfheartedly and stood up from her seat beside Annette who was busy slurping at her soup.

Byleth was sheepish when the gremory walked up to her and wiped away the water that was dripping from her face, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. A few of the others took a quick glance at the small commotion while some had taken the initiative and handed dinner towels to both Byleth and Sylvain for them to dry off. Not the most ideal fabric, but it was definitely better than nothing.

"Just chilling." Byleth answered casually while struggling to shove her hands into wet pockets.

Sylvain couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Yeah. Literally just chilling." he mused and grabbed the dinner towel that lay neglected in Byleth's hands, immediately plopping it on the top of her head to manually dry her hair. Although it was a casual thing for Sylvain to do for his friends; taking care of them even when they don't think much of it, the red head couldn't help but stare down at Byleth with a loving fondness in his eyes. With the way she looked up at him with her own curious gaze from below the towel and the hair that stay stuck to her face; he couldn't prevent the erratic beating of his heart.

Mercedes sighed as Byleth and Sylvain continued to drip rain water onto the floorboards, and kindly asked a passing soldier to go fetch some more towels along with Annette.

"I'll go and get her some Onion Gratin Soup," the pale haired woman offered to the dark knight who was still messing around with Byleth's hair, "It'll warm her up, no doubt. Would you like anything, Sylvain?" Mercedes smiled kindly when the man averted his gaze from the former mercenary to her, his hands moving around to lift the soaked mint hair from Byleth's neck to dry the wet strands at her nape.

"Cheesy Verona Stew. Thanks, Mercie." he winked out of habit, causing Mercedes to let out an uncharacteristic gag from the back of her throat before briefly turning around to fetch the food that would help Byleth and Sylvain to warm up.

"Hey, hey!" Annette bounced into the dining hall with towels in her arms and headed straight for the pair. "I've got towels and clothes for you guys! One of the students told me you two came in soaking wet and so I took it upon myself to help out." she declared and happily handed Sylvain and Byleth a fluffier, much larger towel as well as some warm clothes for them to change into.

Byleth pursed her lips once the folded clothes were set in her arms, and she looked under the mock turtleneck to see that Annette had done a little snooping in her room. A fresh pair of underwear was hiding underneath the shirt she was given.

She raised her eyebrows at Annette, silently asking for the explanation.

The little gremory trembled at the blank stare, but she still answered, "Well, the soldier was male and.. well – ugh! look, it's important that it was me who decided to help." she grumbled childishly, "Can't really up and ask Dedue to go and retrieve those scandalous things you call underwear, Byleth!" Annette whispered with wide eyes.

Sylvain whistled to himself, earning an elbow to the gut by Byleth.

Annette wasn't a very good whisperer.

"And how did you go there and back without getting wet?" Byleth inquired, already knowing the answer when she saw Lysithea at a nearby table, eyeing the three curiously. "Nevermind."

"Ferdinand helped with getting Sylvain's clothing " Annette added on hastily when she noticed the redhead check his own folded clothes.

"Carrot Top, huh?" Sylvain chuckled to himself, to which Byleth snickered and smacked the back of his head. "You don't get to say that."

"Aw," Sylvain pouted, rubbing the spot where he got hit. "You can't be saying that I am also a carrot top?"

"I am." she smiled slightly and tilted her head to the side as Sylvain began to dry his own wet hair with the new towel he just received, his skin clinging button up making it difficult for him to raise his arms comfortably.

Silently, Byleth let her gaze roam over the length of Sylvain's rain drenched body before consciously hugging her clothes and towel to her chest to help her snap out of it. "I'm going to go change." she announced and started to head towards the exit of the dinner hall, with Sylvain immediately trailing behind her after he said his thank yous and goodbyes to Annette.

Sylvain peeked over Byleth's shoulder to take a look at what clothes Annette picked for her and hummed, prying apart a few buttons from his shirt in an attempt to get the fabric to stop sticking to his skin. "Wanna show me the scandalous things Annette was talking about earlier?" he offered playfully and bumped his arm into Byleth's to tease her, his grin lazy when the mint haired woman only scoffed and shook her head.

"In your dreams, kiddo." she fired back and pushed Sylvain away from her with a powerful hand before slipping into one of the washrooms that was near the mess hall.

Sylvain could only bite his lip in bashfulness as he stumbled backwards over his feet, the corners of his mouth quirking into a little smile. She's not wrong. He thought to himself and sighed, bumbling around to get into a separate washroom to change into his new clothes.

As much as Sylvain loved the moment where he stood under the rain with Byleth, he hated how his clothes felt against his skin, and the cold air in the washroom only made his body spasm as a reaction. He wrinkled his nose when he shed the articles of clothing and immediately wiped at his bare chest and arms with his new towel to dry off.

"Gross." the man had groaned in annoyance once he had to peel off his pants. The sound of wet clothing thumped against the floor along with the clatter of his belt, and he sighed, rubbing his forehead as he put the towel back to use.

Once he was finished putting on the pieces of clothing Dedue and Annette had retrieved for him, Sylvain threw his large towel into a nearby hamper and kept the dinner towel on his head to help his hair dry.

The air in the dinner hall was pleasantly warm, and it definitely helped bring back the feeling of his fingers. The room was less packed than it was before, save for Mercedes, Byleth, and a few soldiers spread out here and there.

Mercedes perked up when she saw Sylvain enter in with a teal, long sleeved turtleneck, a mahogany long coat, and charcoal sweatpants. "A bit dolled up, aren't you, Sylvie?" she teased the redhead with the nickname and shot an expectant glance towards Byleth who was still sipping at her soup.

Sylvain didn't seem to bristle at the comment, but he looked at his own clothes with a pleased quirk to his lips then looked back up at the two women seated at the table. "Annette did say that Ferdinand picked the clothes for me." he shrugged his shoulders lazily then jutted his chin in Byleth's direction, his mouth slowly curving into a smile when said woman looked up from her soup to look back at him.

"Don't you think our Darling Byleth is dressed up a bit too pretty for such a casual occasion?" he drawled while sitting across from Byleth and welcoming the stew that Mercedes was pushing towards him.

Byleth was dressed in a fitted black mock turtleneck and an open, light grey cardigan that was falling down her shoulders as she ate, exposing that the shirt she was wearing was also a short sleeve. Despite the calm look on his face, his heart was racing at how the clothes accentuated her shape, but also softened her look.

Sylvain broke through the cheese on his soup with his spoon to keep him from staring.

"Hm." Byleth hummed into her spoon of soup with a hint of mirth flashing in her eyes, "I don't know." she mocked him while cleaning up her spoon with her tongue, her eyes showing off an uncharacteristic smile. "What do you think, Sylvie?" she batted her eyelashes prettily at her target and tapped her spoon against her tongue.

The nickname coming out from Byleth's mouth left him a sputtering mess, and he winced when a hot splash of his soup landed on his thigh. He grumbled childishly as he wiped at the wet spot on his sweatpants with a separate dinner towel, and Mercedes and Byleth giggled to each other when they noticed how red his ears were when they poked out from under the towel on his head.

Mercedes smiled knowingly at Sylvain when he finished cleaning up the small mess on his pants, and gave a motherly kiss to Byleth's wet hair as she stood up from the bench, "I'll be going now. Don't go out into the rain until it settles." she reprimanded the both of them as she squeezed Byleth's hand before putting it back on the table.

When the gremory walked out of ear shot, Sylvain cupped a hand around his mouth with a sparkle in his eyes and a grin playing on his lips, "I think Mercie's got a crush on ya." he winked suggestively at the mint haired woman across from him then shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth, visibly slouching as the salty sweet warmth coursed throughout his body.

Byleth scoffed playfully and dropped her spoon into her now empty bowl, crossing her arms over her chest to challenge Sylvain with a raise of her eyebrows. "Mercie is too preoccupied with Lil' Annette, Sylvain." she laughed and subconsciously played with the hair that Mercedes had kissed a little while ago, smiling fondly at how motherly Mercedes has become over the few years she's known her for.

And then her face turned serious, and something in Sylvain's stomach didn't sit right with him when he watched her fold her hands on the table.

"I just wanted to thank you." she whispered between them with a crooked smile, her doe eyes slightly sad as she looked at Sylvain, "You didn't have to reach out for me today, but you did, and I think it's going to help me get through this week." she admitted shyly, and a small twinge of pink dusted her cheeks as she glanced up at the man who had pushed his bowl of soup to the side, all of his attention now concentrated on her. The silence that fell between them was comfortable, and Sylvain took it as the chance to reach across the table for Byleth's hand, gently prying it from the other one she was clutching onto so that he could hold her hand in his palm.

"I'm -- we're.. All of us are here for you." Sylvain stumbled over his words when Byleth curled her fingers in his palm, her fingertips tickling his skin as he spoke to her with genuine concern. His smile was kind while he waited for Byleth's answer, and she only nodded, with a private smile shared only between him and her.

"I am so grateful." she sighed wistfully as she began to stand up from her bench. Sylvain could only watch and follow her movement curiously as she walked around the end of the bench with her hand still held in his, pleasantly surprised when she stopped to stand in front of him. His legs were spread on either side of the bench and she had coincidentally stepped between them. Despite her not stepping any closer, Sylvain was getting nervous at the barely close proximity.

His heart was racing again.

His throat bobbed nervously as he tilted his head up to look at Byleth who was snickering at him in amusement, knowing all too well that he was getting nervous for a silly reason.

"Calm down," she laughed happily and squeezed his hand before using the same hand to wrap his arm around her hips, shuffling closer until she was able to wrap her own arms around his neck to pull him into a cosy hug, her body a snug fit against him as he let himself hug her back in earnest, his arms a tight chain above her hips.

"Thank you, Sylvie." she murmured sweetly into his ear once she noticed he was getting comfortable with her in his arms, and let out a gentle laugh when she felt his face heat up, one of her hands coming up to curl around his strong jaw. She brushed the pad of her thumb against the sharp bone and hummed a small melody that Jeralt used to murmur to her when he tried to coaxed her to sleep, sighing softly at how perfect his arms felt around her body

"And stop trying to hide your feelings. I'm not as dense you guys make me out to be." she admonished him with a smile on her face, grinning when Sylvain's arms loosened in shock. Quickly, she pulled the towel from his head off and printed a gentle kiss to his temple where the hair was almost dry before stepping out from between his legs, but before she could move far enough, Sylvain curled his hand around her wrist and pulled her back in between his legs, his lips already grazing along her forearm.

His arm wrapped around her waist once more, and with how tightly he coiled around her, Byleth's cardigan had slipped down her arms. "Okay, By." he mumbled sweetly into her pale skin, his soft lips trailing up her arm until they brushed over the dip between her collarbones. Happily, he nuzzled his nose into the centre of her throat when she didn't push him away, and planted a small butterfly kiss onto her neck.

The scent of her skin smelled so sweet to Sylvain, and when he inhaled, his mind nearly went dizzy with pleasure. Silently, as his body buzzed with excitement, he bared his teeth and grazed the sharp tips along her unmarked skin, and just as he was about to sink his teeth into the sweet flesh, Byleth had tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and tugged him back with a teasing smile on her face.

"But at least show some restraint." she scolded him then proceeded to kiss his forehead, her hand still buried in his hair. "Okay?"

Sylvain's throat bobbed, his gaze filtered through thick eyelashes.

"Okay."

Byleth then let out a playful coo and pat his cheek with her free hand, "Good boy." she praised, combing her fingers through his messy hair one last time before reaching back to pry his clingy arms from her waist. "Thank you for today." she smiled again, and left Sylvain on the bench with his cold bowl of stew to head for the mess hall where Mercedes and Annette probably are.

"I'll see you tomorrow." the redhead had called out breathlessly, and watched at how her lovely figure walked away with a slight skip to her step.

When she was out of sight, Sylvain turned back to the table and held his head in his hands, his body straining with how much adrenaline was running through his body. He reminded himself of how her fingers tangled themselves in his hair and how her body felt so warm against his chest when he held her for a brief minutes and groaned into the wood that trembled beneath his elbows.

"She is so hot." he sobbed into his hands.

#sylvain jose gautier #sylvain x byleth #fire emblem byleth #byleth eisner #fire emlem three houses #fire emblem imagines #fe3h #fe3h imagines

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hazzabeeforlou · 5 years

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On the eve of HS2, I felt I needed to reflect and write a diary entry of sorts, an ode to where I was and where I am now, a musing on how HS1 ushered in a whole new world for me. This is long and more personal than anything I’ve previously shared, but in honor of vulnerability and maybe helping someone else who’s struggling... here it is.

The most exposure 2015 me had to pop music was occasionally listening to ‘hits’ radio. My old art teacher in high school had blasted the classics of the 60s and 70s daily, so I knew those, albeit not the names, but the music, the style, the melodic tropes and such. 2015 me didn’t have much time for pop music. I was getting a fancy degree in classical music from one of the best conservatories in the world, and I’d made it there after four years with a highly abusive teacher in undergrad who gave me horrible anxiety; by the end, whenever she would walk into a room, I would get chills and start shaking. She delighted in lying to me, in calling me out in front of my peers. Worse, I was arguably her highest-achieving student. The day I got into Juilliard she took me for “tea” to celebrate, where she proceeded to spend the whole time telling me how she had made this happen, how her connections got me to NY, how I should be grateful.

Entering the world of NYC and Juilliard I was an awestruck, anxious mess. Everything moved too fast, the school was overwhelming, my studio mates were famous already, some of them having won world-famous competitions and been on the cover of magazines. I was in the elite place, a place my working class roots had never prepared me for. My dad was a millwright. He went to work every day in steel-toed boots and overalls and often returned so filthy mom wouldn’t let him wash his clothes in the household washing machine. But I was nothing if not adaptable, and grateful, and charming, and I did my best. I worked hard. But my health kept deteriorating.

All through undergrad I’d been feeling progressively worse. I had horrible acne that I presumed was caused by stress, as I’d never suffered with it in high school. I was already an introvert, but body insecurity led me to hardly ever socialize. I would spent hours getting ready for things, never willing to show my bare face. But that wasn’t the worst; I’d developed what I now understand was an eating disorder, because no matter how much I exercised or dieted, I kept gaining weight, or rather, I lost all my baby fat but remained the same scale number. I kept telling my mother I was fat. I didn’t tell her that I hated the wind, that I hated running, because it made my stomach protrude and the whole world could see the extra pounds I carried. I never made an appointment with an OBGYN because I didn’t date much less have sex, and my mother had told me, well you don’t ever need to be seen until you do. I came to NYC well versed in wearing baggy sweaters and scarfs that hid my form. And for two years, as my breathing got worse and worse, as my energy levels dropped, as my skin hurt and itched, I pushed forwards. I remember practicing one day and my eyes going black. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe.

It was getting into an international competition that saved me. I got the news in early May of 2016; I jumped around my room and I started coughing, and the next day a hernia appeared above my belly button. I was only slightly worried, but I went to see the Juilliard doctor. She asked if I’d gained weight, she said even a couple pounds could do it. I was, as always, ashamed, red faced, embarrassed as she prodded around on my torso.

She said I’d need surgery. So I scheduled it in NYC for two days after my graduation. I played my recital, but with a binder around my abdomen. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t remember my memorized music. I nearly passed out. I stumbled on the sidewalk afterwards.

When I woke from the surgery I was in blinding pain, teeth chattering uncontrollably, in shock. I couldn't open my eyes, and every breath felt like knives slicing into my chest. I heard the nurses say, “We’ve given you three IVs of Percocet, do you want us to give you a forth?” I said no, thinking, ‘what if I die from an overdose?’ After two hours my mother came in search of me. It was supposed to be a day surgery. She demanded morphine. They sent me home on it, but two days later I’d thrown up twice and was back in the ER. A CT showed I had an ovarian cyst. The doctor said to me, “It’s 28 inches. It’s the size of a dinner plate.” I didn’t understand. They rushed me back for another surgery, and asked me to sign a paper saying I wouldn’t hold them responsible if I ended up paralyzed. I signed it. I joked with the nurses before they put me under. I was shaking with pain. I thought, if this is the end, I’ve had a good life. I’ll be with my doggy, my baby puppy. I’ve graduated from my dream school. I’ve gotten into an elite international competition. I’ll go out at the top of my game. It’s okay.

But then I woke up. Over the next year, I would wish countless times that I hadn’t. I could barely walk. I couldn’t lift things like a fork, or my computer. I couldn’t shower or cough or even shit. I couldn’t practice or sit upright for more than fifteen minutes. Pain became a constant. I started to wake up with night sweats, my forehead creased in subconscious pain. I would jump at every loud noise, my heart lurching like a ruined engine, and I couldn’t remember names of flowers. I fell into a massive depression over the next few months, made worse by the 2016 election; because of my infirmity I had moved back home with my Trump-voting parents. The bravest thing I did that fall was ‘come out’ as a liberal on Facebook. My parents pretended not to notice when I stayed up late that cold November night, huddled with a blanket on the couch, crying my eyes out.

The Christmas 2016 season is a blur. I know I half lived in memories, half in grief, but all in self-pitying misery. I remember reading a passing article about Jay, not knowing who it was, and I remember adding a lost mother to the list of things I cried about. How could the world be so cruel, so unfair? My days were filled with PT and sleep, immobility and exhaustion, and questions, questions like if I can’t do what I love, what I’ve spent years training for, what’s the point? What does it mean to be an artist when you can’t do your art? What is left of me that matters? Is the future only more pain? It would have been better to have died. It would have been better to have died.

Up until this point I had been unlucky in love. I could never find men attractive, though many friends pressured me to try, which of course had led to not good things. I’d been confronted a couple times about maybe being gay, but I’d shot this down immediately, my face bright red, my heart pounding. No, that’s not it, I’m just picky. Two girls in grad school had flirted with me; I’d accidentally gone on a date with one. I’d felt deeply, gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable about her. But how could I ever unpack all of that when just coming out as a liberal had given me anxiety for days...

The new year came and I had nothing to look forward to. I could see no happy future. I wasn’t really in my right mind. I would escape as best I could, perhaps in masochistic ways; I’d watch SNL for humorous liberal comfort, and Colbert to feel some spark of angry solidarity. And that’s how I stumbled on Harry. He got me with his puns, because I love those. For the first time in months, I was giggling about something, this charming boy with curls and dimples who had replaced the scream-speech of James Cordon. For once I didn’t turn the tv off after Colbert.

I began listening to Harry’s songs. As I had no reference for contemporary pop music, his old school rock album was familiar to me in a comforting way. I knew these sounds, these tropes, and yet they didn’t feel stale to me, they spoke to something I was feeling in the present. Because the album, in essence, was about pain, wasn’t it? Pain and escaping it. The lies we tell to survive, the dreams we cling to for hope, the drugs we use to forget. I’d never bought a pop album before, Harry was my first, and I listened to it for hours every day.

HS1 seeped into my blood, but I’d been on a hopeless, aimless track for so long that the railway tie hadn’t yet switched. One warm, sunny spring day I wrote a note, filled a bag with rocks, and walked to the old bike trail, out past the freeway, into the marshes and pools of abandoned swampy wasteland. FTDT played in my head on a loop as I walked, as my brain hummed with the equation of worth. Was it worth it to stay alive?

Yes. I threw the rocks. I threw them as far as my fragile arms would allow, and they splashed into the murky water. And I turned around and called my mom to come get me. Harry had made something that was beautiful, that was touching, that was real. And if he could... then maybe I could too. Maybe I didn’t have to be just what I’d been before. Maybe I could try creating other things; maybe I could make art that, like Harry’s music, made other people feel less alone.

There was something magical about that album. Not freedom, per se, but the promise of it, a glimpse of truth that kept me hanging on.

I began writing poems again, songs. I got into an orchestra program, I healed month by month, I started carrying crystals, I found this crazy fandom and, little by little, grew to understand that my yearning upon looking at baby larry videos was really a cry of sameness that I had never before understood. After the Pulse shooting, during my horrible homebound year, I’d watched Lin-Manuel Miranda give his love is love is love speech, and I’d burst into tears. And I’d not known why. Now I began to realize. I remember the first tentative anon I sent to Phoenix @alienfuckeronmain asking if maybe I was... bi? I remember anxiously awaiting her answer, as if I needed an invitation to join the community, to be valid, to have this not just be a crazy swelling of hope in my chest. She replied while I was wandering through a corn maze in the frigidness of October. The next day I walked into rehearsal and I felt free, free of the way boys looked at me, free of being FOR them, and I’d never felt so... alive. Coincidentally I met my ex girlfriend that day too.

Through Harry I found this fandom, and Louis. Louis, who has spoken to me on levels I cannot even express, whose class and political and emotional intelligence have challenged me to stand up for things I never thought I could. For me these last few years have felt like a journey WITH Harry. As he started waving them, I started wearing rainbows, just subtly. A knit scarf, a postcard, a bag. I started writing fic, the most healing thing I’ve ever done. I learned to create art away from the singular thing I’d been trained to dump my all into, and I learned that I have so much more to offer, even if chronic pain will follow me in some way or another for the rest of my life.

I’m so thankful to Harry for taking me on this adventure with him; I don’t know if I’d have ever taken that first step by myself. It was like he held my hand through it all, like this fandom held my hand through it all. Like by being himself, Harry helped me be brave enough to evolve too.

Through the catalyst of Harry’s art I’ve experienced more happiness than I’d have ever imagined. I cannot wait to go on this next journey, a second album, and reflect on just how far we’ve both come.

#mine #personal #tw suicide #tw disordered eating

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lorencourtier · 4 years

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Discord Thread || Loren and Jace

Discord thread featuring: Loren Courtier & Jace Matthews ( @jace-matthews )

When: July 19th

Description: Loren and Jace go dancing at club Echo.

Trigger Warnings SMUT!!!

Jace Jace pulled up in his silver Jeep Wrangler, honking his horn right outside Loren’s place. He wasn’t used to dancing on a Sunday night but he was excited for this one, shooting Loren a text as he waited outside

Loren. Loren came out as soon as he heard the honk. Getting into jaces car with a smile. Sunday was the best day to go dancing in lorens opinion. There wasn’t too many people out and he could really let loose. “Hey beautiful”’he said leaning over to kiss his cheek.

Jace Jace smirked looking at Loren up and down. Aw he really did dress for the occasion. It was adorable. “Hey cutie.”’he hummed, leaning into the kiss and starting to drive up. “You look good!”

Loren. “Thank you babe” he blushed. Taking jaces hand into his own as their drove. “You look amazing as always yourself beautiful”

Jace “I aim to please.” He smirked, kissing the back of Loren’s hand and going through the streets. “So where exactly are we headed? I don’t usually dance out here!” He smiled. “Unless it’s classes.”

Loren. He hummed feeling the kiss on his hand and looked over to jace. “You always do” he nodded. Licking his lips as he checked the other male out. “Echo? Or... throuple?”

Jace he shook his head laughing about the choices. “I’ve been to throuple one too many times.” He laughed, turning towards echo. “Let’s try our echo only because ive never been and i really want to go.”

Loren. “Okay, sounds good to me” he nodded. Aaron owner both places so he knew either way if he was spotted it would cause shit. It didn’t matter though, he wanted to dance

Jace Jace pulled in and parked the car, leaning over and pulling Loren towards him. He kissed him soundly and then smiled before getting out of the car and walking over to his side, opening his door and offering his hand as he hopped out of the car. “Stay close.” He said, intertwining their fingers and walking up to the entrance. “You want drinks?”

Loren. Loren kisses him back and hummed softly. Following him out of the car and lacing their fingers together. “Always” he nodded. Walking along side the other male as he nodded again. “Sure, I could use a drink” He smiled

Jace He Walked them right up to the bar and ordered them both a signature cocktail. “Gotta get ourselves a little liquid courage.” He laughed, taking a sip.

Loren. “Yes we do” he smiled. Rubbing Jaces back as he ordered the drinks. “You look so good in this lighting you know that?”

Jace he turned to Loren, smiled and leaned in to kiss him lightly. “You look pretty good yourself baby!” He said to him, sipping again and sitting down, pulling Loren between his legs. “Better than me I’d say.”

Loren. He kissed him back and hummed. Letting Jace pull him between his legs as he sipped on his drinks. “Thank you baby, but that is so not true”

Jace “Everything I say is true when it comes to you. You should not argue with me on that.” He smirked, running his hand lightly over Loren’s ass, squeezing lightly. “I think you’re sexy.”

Loren. “You better behave yourself or we’re gonna be making love in this club”’he mused. Grunting softly as his ass was squeezed. He leaned down and kissed the side of his neck. Licking up to his earlobe before biting softly and whispering in jaces ear. “I love you”

Jace godddd Jace was asking for it. This was a lot for him. He had never been this big on PDA in a club but he was tonight. He groped his ass again and he shrugged. “There’s enough people around, i could probably fuck you at this bar and no one would notice.” He smirked to him, kissing at his neck.

Loren. Jesus Christ, what was Jace trying to do to him? “I dare you” he breathed out. Kissing across his lovers jawline before connecting their lips. Loren climbed into jaces lap and straddled over him. Kissing him deeper and humming against his lips

Jace he was smiling into the kiss and smirked. A dare. He was never one to fail that. He was always a man of his word and he was gonna prove it. “Stand up.” He told him, pointing towards the wall. “And face this way. We gotta make it look like I’m just behind you.”

Loren. Loren was getting lost in the kisses. His arousal pushing against his jeans as he hummed. When Jace told him to stand up and face the wall through, his eyes widened. Was he gonna fuck him now? Right here? Jesus that him grow even harder just thinking about it. Not to mention the added tone of Jaces voice. He got up and stood against the wall. Looking back over his shoulder at his lover. “Be gentle with me” he said just loud enough for Jace to hear. His hand reaching back to pull Jace closer

Jace one thing was for certain. Jace would never hurt Loren at all. He wanted to be gentle with him but also less oblivious. He pinned him to the bar, looking around before kissing his cheek. “Just stay calm.” He said right in his ear. “I promise I’ll be gentle.” He told him, pulling Loren’s pants down only in the back before starting to undo his own pants.

Loren. Lorens heart was beating so fast. It was a miracle he was staying calm already. He nodded his head and brought his arm around to hold the back of Jaces head. “I’ll try” he said honestly. Breathing deeply as Jace started to get his pants undone

Jace he only pushed his pants low enough to pull his own hard out, stroking his cock before discreetly spitting into his hand and getting himself ready. Kissing Loren’s neck, he pulled the boy’s underwear down just enough before spitting into his hand again and slowly reaching down to rub just up against Loren’s entrance. “You sure? You really sure you want me to do this?”

Loren. There was nothing sexier or more exhilarating than standing there waiting for Jace to fuck him. Right out in the open and giving him such a rush. He watched Jace over his shoulder and nodded his head. “Fuck yes, do it baby” he whined. Practically begging to be invaded

Jace that was all he needed. Just the okay and he was gonna try. He didn’t hesitate at all before pushing his cock right into Loren very slowly so he felt every inch, keeping his strokes steady as he kissed Loren’s lips, humming into the kiss.

Loren. Lorens mouth dropped open as Jace pushed slowly into him. A breathy soft moan passing his lips onto his lovers as he kissed him. “Fuck... god... yes” he pushed back on Jace. “More baby”

Jace he kept his pace slow at first, trying to allow Loren to adjust to him before picking up his pace a little, pushing Loren a little more into the bad, Jace’s hands pinned on either side of his body. “You gonna ride that cock, baby?” He asked as Loren started pushing back on him, meeting his hips with his thrust over and over again, their skin making contact just loud enough for them them to hear.

Loren. “Oh shiiiit” he hissed through clenched teeth. His hand gripping at the back of Jaces head as he nodded again. He pushed back on Jace over and over as his free hand moved to his own cock. Stroking himself to the rhythm that Jace was fucking him. “God your so big” he whispered. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he leaned his head against the wall

Jace “Shhhhh.” Jace smirked, keeping himself close as he rolled his hips into Loren. He smacked his free hand away, replacing it with his own as he began stroking him at the speed of his thrusts. “You Like that baby?” He asked him, biting his own lip, feeling a little more confident than before.

Loren. Loren was trying so hard to stay quiet. But it was almost impossible as Jace started stroking him. “Fuck baby” he moaned. “I love it. Don’t stop!” he moaned again. His ass pushing back on Jace harder to get him even deeper into his anus.

Jace Jace backed up a little to give Loren more access. “Ride that cock baby!” He said, pulling his hand back and smacking Loren’s ass, digging his fingers into his skin as he helped motion his ass over his length. He kept him pinned up against the wall, bringing his arms back as Jace used them as leverage to thrust into him a little deeper, grunting in his ear.

Loren. Loren grinned deeply as Jace slapped his ass again. The vibration causing him to clench his cheeks around him. “Fuck daddy” he moaned. Pressing his forehead into the wall and he continued to push back on Jaces deep thrusts. “Fuck.. fuck.. I’m gonna cum” he said a bit loudly not meaning to. “Don’t stop” he moaned. Biting his lip hard to hold back his sounds as he came hard into jaces hand

Jace Jace released right with him, with just a. Few more deep thrusts and his cum was shooting deep into Loren’s ass, making him moan right into his ear. “Fuck...” he said softly, riding out his own orgasm before pulling out and trying to zip up his pants quickly and then bringing his hand to his mouth, sucking off every last drop of Loren. “How was that?”

Loren. Lorens hands were flat against the wall as he fought to catch his breath. “God that was amazing” he moaned through his hard breaths. He pulled his pants up and turned around leaning his back to the wall. Grabbing Jaces pants at the waist line and pulling him close. “I love you” he smiled. Kissing him hard and tasting himself on the others lips

Jace Jace snickered, cupping the boy’s face and kissing him back soundly. “I love you too, baby!” He smirked, taking his hand and giving him a twirl. “If youre not too weak, show me those moves on the floor.”

Loren. Loren laughed as Jace twirled him around. His movements slow as he pulled Jace closer to the dance floor. “Come baby... I’ll show you” he purred. Starting to move his body slowly against Jaces as he danced with him

Jace Jace looooooved to dance. It was one of the things he loved about being a show boy. He got to dance sing and act, 3 of his favorite things. He held Loren close, matching his movements and dancing with him as he held him close. “Okay! I see you!” He smirked, watching his lover move.

Loren. Loren continued to dance with Jace smiling over at him. He loved dancing and Jace was the perfect dance partner. “I see you too baby. You got some sexy moves”

Jace Jace shook his head. “No where near as good as you handsome. Where’d you learn to dance? Let me get to know you. Talk to me.” It was kinda like their second date so he was gonna treat it as such, keeping up with Loren.

Loren. Loren smiled at the compliment and shook his head. There was no way he was better than Jace but he would take it. “My mom was a dancer. Well, an actress slash model. But she did a lot of Broadway stuff. She taught me and my sister for a while before I was sent to boarding school.”

Jace “That’s so cool!” Jace said to him as he kept moving. “So did she do like jazz and ballet? Tap dancing?” He asked him, nodding as he listened. “I was just a gymnast who wanted to do it all. So I quit and started taking classes.”

Loren. “Yeah, I guess” he shrugged. Loren didn’t have a good relationship with either of his parents but he liked that Jace was impressed. “She did it all. She was a regular grace kelly if you will.” He smiled at Jace again and nodded. “You’re amazing. Really talented. I think you should teach me@some of those moves”

Jace “oh god. You know, That would be ideal if I could figure out how to do so.” He laughed. “I’ve tried teaching sooooo many dance classes, right? And it’s a mess every time.” He chuckled. “Like i just want to at least teach someone willing to actually listen.” He shrugged. “So if you’re down, hell yeah I’ll teach you!”

#chats:jace #chats:discord #ft.jace #tw::nsfw #{Jace Matthews;; Your pretty lips leave me so inspired}

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pendreams · 5 years

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five times kissed - hermes and astoria !!

send five times kissed for a drabble of five times our muses have kissed / @shexquisite !

i. — fingertips dance along the edges of her lips, glistening with the residue of glitter and sweet-flavoured gloss. he’s lost count of how many times his lips have met hers, but he wouldn’t soon forget how sweet she tasted and how sweetly she returned his kisses. again, he replaces his fingertips with his mouth against the corner of hers, brushing the tip of his nose against her cheek. in the silvery moonlight, she looked paler but more ethereal than when she did in the daylight hours. then, her features beheld a different charm like the first blossoming of spring tulips whereas now she was snow and icy dew drops on the edge of bright petals. when astoria stirred, the messenger god shushed gently, gathering her into the comfort of his arms; “i’ll still be here when you wake up tomorrow.”

ii. — her laughter is music to his ears, perhaps he could grow more fond of it than even the melodic music of his lyre. he twirls her once more before reeling her back in, hand settling against the small of her back. “ this turned out better than expected.” hermes murmured beneath his breath, referring to the gathering of the gods they were currently in the midst of. it was probably one of the most peaceful gatherings he’s attended— save for bursts of drunken laughter from the table dionysus occupied. but, that was far more acceptable and far less concerning than any bursts of angry arguments. “are you having a good time?” he leaned in closer, dipping his head to plant a kiss below her ear, lingering there for a few moments. “c’mon, i haven’t given you the grand tour. it’s about time.” sorry, hera— might as well burn the bed sheets.

iii. — “don’t be afraid.” he feels it beneath her skin– the urge to run. it’s a feeling he’s all too familiar with; it’s an energy that radiates, that rattles and rages just beneath one’s skin. but, he won’t let her go that easily; he couldn’t. “this is real, astoria. don’t you feel it?” her back is against him, tense and afraid to yield, but even without seeing her, he can feel the tiniest quiver between her shoulders. one of his hands raise, thumb gently swiping the tear that skirts down her cheek. with his other arm secured around her waist, the messenger god holds her, lips leaving a kiss on the top of her head. “ please, don’t leave me.” another kiss, then another— peppering them against her hair, breathing her in lest she choose to leave and it’s only her scent that he’s left to remember. “why are you afraid?”

iv. — soap suds float on the top of the water, petals of roses joining them as they circle around her form. he smiles at her; a small smile, a fond one. reaching beneath the surface of the water, he takes her hand and runs the cloth up her arm, scrubbing away the tiredness of the day. she melts beneath his touch, eyes half-lidded and breath let out in a drawn out sigh. hermes lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing slender lips against her knuckles with tenderness. it’s a quiet moment, uninterrupted by the constant buzzing notifications of his phone and their bustling lives. “i told you i would take care of you. tell me about your day.” strangely domestic, but not unpleasant--- for once, he’s content in staying put.

v. --- it’s a flurry of movement; she grabs at the collar of his jacket, pulling him through the door while his hands are busy untucking her blouse from her skirt, fingertips hungry to touch warm flesh. he guides her to the bed, nudging her backwards and suddenly, he’s on his knees. not only do his hands grasp at her with that hunger, but his gaze, golden and burning, consume her whole. “i’ll make it up to you. i didn’t know--- you’d been waiting so long.” instead of his usual teasing, his lips trail a hot path up her leg, starting at her knee then up the inside of her thighs, kissing and biting velvet skin. when her hands inevitably reach down to grasp at his hair, he pauses and grins--- “isn’t it a rush to have a god on his knees?”

#shexquisite #SOFT !!!#it's only a lil Nasty :'))#hermes x astoria.#answered.

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barpurplewrites · 6 years

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St Ives - Chapter 6

STORY SO FAR (HERE)

-x-x-x-

Belle had crawled after Minty without thinking of the sight she would be presenting to Mr Gold. It was habit to follow after her cat on all fours. Gaston had frequently said that her bum was to big, never stopped him slapping or groping it. Mr Gold struck her as having such good manners he wouldn’t even ogle her. She crawled further around the closet door and smiled at the sight of Minty settling the little grey kitten into the cat bed. Mr Gold had got all out, Belle had been eyeing that particular model for months, but the brand was very expensive.

“Oh fuck it!”

She jumped at the sudden shout, that was not the sort of language she’d expected from Mr Gold. As quickly as she could she crawled back into the closet to find Mr Gold pulling at his trouser leg and his tea cup on the floor. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out what had happened.

“We need to get you out of those trousers now!”

Mr Gold made the oddest choking noise. Belle winced at her clumsy wording, what a thing to say to a man she’d just met, while she was kneeling on his closet floor. She stood up taking the broken cup with her; “I’ll wait out here while you change.”

“Thank you.”

She backed out and felt Minty brush by her ankle. If Minty was intent on moving the kittens right now then Belle couldn’t close the closet door completely, she pushed it to, leaving a cat size gap and moved to sit by the cat bed. With her back to the wall she didn’t have a view of the closet, just in case Minty decided to push the door all the way open. Smokey was fussing about being left along.

“Oh hush, Mama will be right back.”

On cue Minty slipped out of the closet with one of the calico kittens. Belle tried to focus on their little mews, but she could still hear the soft rustle of fabric and the heavier breathing as Mr Gold changed his trousers. This is not how she had expected her day to turn out when she woke up this morning. She stroked Minty’s back as she padded by to get the last kitten, at least something had gone right today. There was so much she needed to do; organize a truck and collect her stuff from the apartment; call Mrs Legume an let her know the wedding was off, and probably get fired at the same time; find storage for her stuff; look for a new job, and apartment.

Belle groaned to herself. She’d need to break that list down into smaller tasks or she was going to curl up on the floor in a sobbing ball and never move. Maybe Mr Gold would buy her a cat bed as well. The ridiculousness of her thoughts at least brought a smile to her face as Minty settled the last kitten next to its siblings. Belle thought she’d snuggle in with the kittens, but she went back into the closet again.

“What are you after Minty?”

A soft chuckle came from the closet and Mr Gold appeared holding one of his sweaters. Minty was winding around his ankles meowing.

“She wants this.”

He’d changed his trousers for a pair that looked identical to Belle’s eye, but he’d not replaced his shoes. She couldn’t help but smile at the bright polka dots on his socks. She schooled her face into a mock-frown and wagged a finger at Minty.

“You’re being spoiled rotten and you’re still making demands.”

He limped over to the cat bed, slowly because Minty was still weaving around his feet. Belle caught herself tensing, waiting for him to nudge her out of the way with his foot. The nudge never came, he just avoided her as if he’d been dodging around cats forever. He dropped the sweater on the edge of the cat bed.

“I’ll let you arrange it Mama Minty.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned his cane against the wall. Belle noticed a small scuff on the wallpaper, as if the cane had leaned in that spot many, many times. She dragged her eyes away from the cane and her musings on how long he had used it.

“No damage done?”

Her nod towards his leg explained what she was asking about; “No burns, I’m fine.”

“That’s good. You faired better than your cup. It’s a little chipped.”

Rather than risk him leaning forward and maybe falling from his perch on the bed Belle rose up on her knees to close the distance between them. Their fingers brushed as she handed him the cup and a tiny spark of static leapt between them. Belle shifted back to lean against the wall again.

“Sorry, side effect of crawling around on the floor.”

Mr Gold waved her apology away; “Tis no matter. And if I can find the chip, this can be repaired.”

His whiskey eyes almost looked gold as he smiled at her. For the first time she noticed how tired he looked. She wondered what could be troubling his sleep. He appeared to be more than comfortable financially, but even money couldn’t but peace of mind, and restful nights.

“Are you going to be alright with Minty and the kittens sleeping in here?”

He smiled at the cats; “Oh I expect so. Would you mind having a look at the items I purchased for them? You know Mama, sorry Minty’s preferences. I’d hate to upset her by offering her the wrong type of food.”

Minty’s ears perked up at the mention of food. Belle stroked her head to let her know it wasn’t meal time just yet.

“Honestly, she’d not all that fussy, so if she tries to act like a prima donna let me know and I’ll have words with her.”

They sat in an easy silence for a while until Mr Gold sighed and grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed.

“I’m missing out on cat fuss up here. Do you mind if I join you?”

She gave him a nod. He carefully eased himself onto the floor so he could lean back against the bed. The pillow went under his right knee. Belle was curious as to what condition or injury caused him such pain, but she wasn’t going to ask. They were not friendly enough to ask such personal questions, he hadn’t even offered her his first name. Well, there was nothing to stop her getting the ball rolling on that one.

“Since we are cat-parents you can call me Belle, if you’d like.”

His hair fell into his face as he stretched to stroke one of the kittens; “Ah this is always awkward. I, erm, I can’t stand my given name, most people just call me Gold.”

She gave him a warm smile; “Gold it is then, if that’s okay?”

The smile he gave her was hesitant, as if he was expecting her to push more on his name. Many people probably had, but he’d said he didn’t like it and that was all she needed to know.

“That’s okay, Belle.”

“Speaking of names, have you any ideas what to call the kittens.”

Gold looked genuinely surprised to be asked; “To be honest I was planning on waiting until they were up and about, get a better idea of their personalities.”

He had no experience with cats at all. Belle had suspected as much considering the way he’d gone over the top with purchasing supplies. The way he’d managed to walk around Minty had thrown her off, but a man with a cane would be used to being careful where he placed his feet.

“We’ll be calling them ‘How did you get in there’, ‘Get down’ and ‘You’ve just been fed’ then.”

Gold gave her a look of mock horror; “Are you suggesting these wee balls of fluff are going to be troublemakers?”

“Oh yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His grin belied the serious tone of his words, and suddenly they were both giggling. A rap at the bedroom door interrupted them.

“Yes Mrs Potts?”

“Sorry to interrupt. Miss French your bag is ringing.”

She had brought Belle’s handbag up from the study. Belle scrambled to her feet and thanked her as she took her bag. While she was searching for her phone, she was aware of a silent communication going on between employer and housekeeper, which ended when Gold said; “Thank you Mrs Potts.”

The housekeeper huffed as she left. Belle frowned at her phone. Six missed calls, fourteen texts and three emails. She couldn’t avoid the fallout from her break-up anymore.

“Gold, I have to go, I’ve got,” – she held her phone up and shrugged, - “things to deal with.”

With practiced movements he rose from the floor and reached for his cane; “I understand.”

Minty mewled. Belle leaned down and stroked her ears; “Don’t worry Minty. I’ll see you…”

She trailed off, not wanting to invite herself back to visit her cat. Gold gave an easy shrug; “Tomorrow lunchtime? I have to work until one, but after that you are very welcome to join me for lunch and visit with Mama Minty.”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

Gold led her downstairs and asked her to wait a moment at the front door. He ducked into his study and came back with a business card.

“Just in case you need to contact me.”

As she took it from him her phone started ringing again; “I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow at one?”

“Take care Belle.”

“You too Gold.”

#rumbelle #st ives #cats #fluff

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wolvescried · 6 years

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☪ we goin SOFT!

☪ five times our muses almost hold hands, and the one time they do.

i. minki knox is not the first — and won’t be the last — person ezra park bothers for no reason. it’s crowded in the dining hall and from where he’s standing, there doesn’t seem to be any space.to him, standing alone in a crowded room is stifling. he won’t be able to breathe properly until he sits down, and then… there. he dashes towards the seat, all smiles and sparkling eyes when he sits down. “minki, my man!” he grins. “how are we this fine morning? i slept like shit, but what’s new, right?” the smile drops as he accidentally knocks his drink over, the torn opening dribbling milk towards minki. “oh, shit! sorry, sorry, sorry — ” he jumps up and grabs his napkins, stretching over to clean up the mess. for a split second, his fingers brush against his. it makes ezra stop for a second too long, head down and drawing his hand away. “sorry again,” he says, voice softer now.

ii. ezra likes to joke that minki has a radar made just for him. it makes him feel special, even if all he gets are constant eyerolls and a reluctance to say anything more than five words at a time. but that doesn’t stop him from sprinting towards him, huffing and puffing chubby cheeks out as he tries to catch up to him. “brooo! you heading to the convenience store too? cool, cool, cool, we should totally get stuff together.” technically ezra doesn’t need anything, but he’d regret not stocking the mini-fridge he so eagerly brought with him to the dorm. he heads straight to the drinks, where he grabs cans of red bull eagerly, stuffing all of them into his arms. but as if that’s not enough, he also decides to take a few cups of ramen, fingers reaching towards it. and then it happens again: they reach at the same time, and ezra’s fingers knock against minki’s. there’s a slight redness that colors his cheeks, and his hand drops so the other boy can take it. he takes the one behind it, and is the first one to step in front of the counter.

iii. it’s ezra’s decision, yet he’s the one to regret it immediately. they’re sitting next to each other at the top of the ride, and he finds himself letting out soft breaths. his legs are dangling high up in the air, and he’s muttering to himself, “i’m fine! seriously! i’m fi — ” his voice is cut off by a sudden drop, replaced with a shriek. he squeezes his eyes shut as the feeling of rising up and down unsettles his stomach, and he’s blindly flailing around, gripping on what seems to be minki’s wrist. “holyshitihatethissomuch — whenwillthisend?! when will this end?!” he screeches, and his hand immediately lets go at the final plummet.

he opens his eyes and wipes the tears that had mysteriously emerged from his eyes, zipping away from the ride as soon as possible. “huh? i’m fine. seriously,” he lies, sniffling. “i could do that again — just not right now. give me twenty.”

iv. “you know, i’ve never been here before.” the reality is he’s been here one too many times, but he’s always found the doe-eyed angel to work pretty well. “i hear lots of nice things about it.” truth be told, ezra’s excited to see the blood moon in all its glory, and what better way to see it than at the observatory? there’s a part of him that considered taking up astronomy as his major, but he’s not as smart as he needs to qualify for the program. (also, he’s just overall shitty at physics.) they’re standing outside, and he lets a soft gasp out. “oh my god, wow,” he whispers, unaware of how he steps closer to him. “it’s beautiful.” his fingers move slowly at his sides, knocking against minki’s from time to time. he glances at him, smiling softly. “isn’t it?”

v. ezra is drunk. but despite the smattering of red across his cheeks, he refuses to get out of the bar. “nahnahnah. i’m notdrunk.” he feels someone hoist him up and put his arm over their shoulders, and it isn’t until he nearly stumbles out the door that he sees who it is. “minki! my man! areyoutakingmehome? thassosweet, wow, thanks man.” before he can stumble again, he grips the other boy’s wrist, trying his hardest not to knock against him. he finally lets go when they make it safely inside, a childish grin on his face as he pats minki’s shoulder. “you’re so cool, you know that? so cool.” he’s about to continue his sentence, but something feels like it’s rising up from his stomach and — well. ezra isn’t going to ignore that.

vi. although he’s used to shedding crocodile tears, this isn’t an instance of that. everything seems to be crashing down on him, and really, ezra just wants to rest. he’s been crying on minki’s bed for what seems like forever, his milk tea lukewarm and watery. they were supposed to watch a horror movie tonight, but of course he had to ruin it with his spontaneous crying. “sorry,” he whispers. “can i just — ” his hands reach out for minki’s, large and warm. “i haven’t been okay lately. this paper’s been kicking my ass.” it’s a half-lie: the paper is only a part of the reason for his tears. “sorry for bothering you with my tears.” but ezra feels his fingers slot in between his, the grip firm. it’s enough to make him smile, at least. he can breathe.

#truthhcrts #( ✗ take off your armor and let your skin breathe / answered. )#too soft eye...

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merryminstrel · 6 years

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Lightbringer

Rating: E Relationships: Loki x Original Female Character Status: Updates Weekly AO3 Link: Click here

“The Midgardians believed that a giant dragon lived below Yggdrasil, the tree which encompasses all worlds. Nidhogg, they called him, the Malice Striker. He gnawed on Yggdrasil’s roots, feeding on its life-force. Another wonderful example how humans just catastrophize and butcher the truth at their whim. If they had ever set eyes on a true dragon, held council with them, shared a tiny bit of their wondrous magic, such childish legends would never have come to be. Then again, dragons can be quite petrifying.” – Odin

Summary:

In his youth, not yet consumed by jealousy and anger against his brother, Loki had a strange meeting with a seemingly reckless woman. Many years later, she returns and is introduced to him as a dragon - one of the ancient guardians of Yggdrasil - with the task of evaluating his former crimes, and Loki finds himself facing a whole different conflict. Can he overcome the poisonous inner demon that had driven him for so long? Or will he choose to walk in shadow once more, pulling the single light that remains with him into the darkness?

Excerpt (Chapter IV. Skirmish)

“Why do I even get an advocate? Lightbringers see truth in all things. Can you not easily see if I am guilty by looking at me? Not that it’s much of a question, anyway…”, Loki mused. Ljosira couldn’t help the twitch of her lips.

“If it isn’t a question, then why do you ask?”, she retorted. At her words, a look of surprise fleeted across his face, followed by something that looked like curiosity. She was bright, this one. Why are you even surprised?, an inner voice mocked. Torchbearer, living sun, the people called them. It had been a long time since he had talked to anyone remotely interesting. Had the chance to spar with words, engage in a duel of wits. And she would likely be a formidable opponent.

“No reason.”, he lied. This made her chime a laugh. A strange sensation fluttered and swooped in his chest at the sound, as though a little bird zoomed around there without rest. He dismissed it as part of the entertaining banter they were having. But he could not quite ignore the way her face lit up when she smiled, how her hair looked a little ruffled from sleep, how she had failed to put on her robe properly and it had slipped just a bit, revealing a perfect patch of snowy white skin on her shoulder.

“You get an advocate because the circumstances of your case are… unclear.”, she answered calmly, prowling the length of the barrier.

“There is nothing unclear about it. I joined forces with an army of aliens to rule Midgard as a benevolent god!”, he exclaimed, his temper close to the surface as so often these days. Ljosira kept something from him. She eluded, holding a crucial part of information out of his reach. Suddenly the playful air from before vanished and she spun around to glare at him with a ferocity that would have silenced braver men than him.

“Do not lie to me, trickster!”, her voice had dropped low. Deep and menacing now, almost a growl. A dragon’s voice. The aura in his cell changed within an instant. Lights started to flicker, the ground rumbled. Unrestrained magic pressed down on his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“Why did you make the deal with the Chitauri?”, she snarled at him. Loki had taken it a step too far with the dragon’s patience, and he knew. The next thing he’d say could very well be the last words of his life.

“Why do you keep avoiding every question I ask?!”, some foolhardy impulse drove him to counter nevertheless.

Now I am going to die, he thought. Pile of ash scattered to the wind. Loki saw a flash of unspeakable anger flicker in her eyes, and he recoiled, expecting the death-blow that was sure to come. Only it never did. Instead, her shoulders sagged and her divine fury vanished, replaced by something he couldn’t grasp: It looked like a sad kind of regret.

“Because you are not asking them right.”, Ljosira said quietly. This staggered him. She had just turned away and was about to leave, when Loki’s voice, bereft of its usual velvet arrogance, made her stop.

“Wait.” Not more than a whisper. She paused, but didn’t move otherwise, just kept standing there, looking sternly into the opposite direction. “I am still alive.”, he added, sounding incredulous.

“It would seem so.”, she sighed, a thread of defeat in her voice. Loki leaned against the wall above the barrier, trying hard to puzzle out what she might be thinking. Her demeanour did not lack for emotion, yet he was even further away from understanding her intentions than before.

“Do you wish that I was not?”, he asked in earnest, almost gently. Ljosira lifted her head as if the prison’s ceiling held the answer and gave it a slight shake, before her perceptive grey eyes found his.

“I wish you would stop looking at me like I’m your enemy.” The sincerity ringing in her words left him speechless.

And then she was gone before Loki could gather his wits. In the silence that followed, he sank back onto his cot, dropping his hands to his knees limply. Confusion and reason fought each other on the eternal battlefield of his mind.

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #loki x oc #loki #oc #writing #my writing #romance #fantasy #adventure #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #dragons

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1dreversebang · 7 years

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Thank you!

We’d like to take a minute to thank everyone who made our first 1D Reverse Bang such a wonderful success. We ended up with more than 40 fantastic fics and dozens of works of art, play lists, and mood boards. Thank you to all the authors and artists that participated, as well as all of you who read and recommended and reblogged posts. We couldn’t have done it without you.

In case you missed any of the fics that were posted, here’s a master post (in order of posting date) so you can catch up (most of it is under the cut)!

All I Want Is To Be Free by @lululawrence / prompt & art by @harrehleh

Uh, you saw photos? Of me wearing the shirt?”

The guy nodded eagerly while he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah! I took a picture of the photo I saw so I could remember to look it up. Hold on.”

The guy scrolled through his phone and made a happy sound when he found it. “Here!”

Louis grabbed his phone to look at the picture. Yep. That confirmed it. He was going crazy.

The photo he was looking at was definitely one of him wearing his beloved shirt, but there was a taller man standing beside him, looking at him and laughing as Louis had his hand resting possessively on the guy’s hip. Louis had absolutely no recollection of this ever happening.

Or the one where Louis keeps finding photos around campus of him with a man he's never met before, and the only logical explanation must be he's going crazy.

I Want To Write You A Song by pigslay / @anna-wa // prompt & art by @birdstattoo

Harry Styles is a time traveler who uses the guitar, the microphone, and photography to ignore the pull in his stomach. Zayn Malik is a professional nature photographer who never expected to fall in love with something other than his work, much less a time traveler with brown curly locks. Together they go on an adventure more magical than either of them ever expected.

Let’s Watch The Flowers Grow by shhhhharlotte / @thwrites // prompt & playlist by @polkadotsvstripes

After finishing med school, Dr. Louis Tomlinson returns to his small hometown to give back to the place where his mother spent her last days. Dealing with recent loss and heartbreak make loving and opening up to people difficult, but something about Harry Styles makes it possible.

Gem and The Hunters: The Treasure of Babylon by AsphodelKnox / @iamasphodelknox // prompt & art by @neon--diamonds

“Were you so sure I would say yes?” Louis asked, already knowing the answer. “You’re my best friend, Louis Tomlinson. I know you better than you know yourself.” Niall pointed at him. “You say losing Babylon was terrible and you’re right, it was. But you wouldn’t turn down a second chance.” Louis rolled his eyes at his friend. “What makes you say that?” Niall just grinned. “You’re too curious.” - Louis Tomlinson wished, for one thing, his whole life: to find the ancient city of Babylon. After one failed attempt, he swore to never again attempt a search for the city. His friend, Niall Horan never pushed the issue, but when his family finds themselves in trouble, Niall’s only option is to convince Louis to try and find Babylon again. Niall enlists the help of two famous treasure hunters: Harry and Gemma Styles and their friend Liam Payne. Harry and Gemma love ancient cultures as much as Louis and would give anything to find Babylon. Liam is just along for the ride, running from a shade in his past. The five embark on the adventure of a lifetime… and find much more than any of them bargained for.

No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow // prompt & art by @tomlinshires

Dear Niall,

I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.

Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.

Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.

Are you up for a trip to France?

Sincerely, Liam Payne

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

We’re What’s Right In This World by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite // prompt & mood board by @alivingfire

“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”

“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.

The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”

“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”

“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.” ---- Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

Too Much To Bare by soloistharold / @flickeralbum // prompt, art, & original song by @be-brave13

"From where Harry was sitting, Louis’ face looked more angular, more mature. He found himself studying Louis’ features, from the way his hair fell against his forehead, to the prominence of his cheekbones, to the dip of his cupid’s bow, and finally, to the subtle curve of his small lips.

He stared and stared and stared, noticing how his eyes crinkled every time he laughed at one of Chandler’s stupid jokes, watching the way his mouth moved when he smiled, feeling a slight yearning in his chest for more contact. He wanted to reach forward, maybe tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, press his lips against the warmth of Louis’ cheek… perhaps let them wander to the right a bit and capture Louis’ lips in a kiss.

He wondered what Louis would do if Harry kissed him. Would he get mad and push him away? Or would he welcome it? Maybe bring a hand up to cup Harry’s cheek and use the other to stroke his hair.”

Harry has been in love with Louis for as long as he can remember despite his many efforts to move on, until finally, in a last ditch attempt to put it all behind him, Harry pushes away everyone he loves.

I Ain’t Leaving Without Your Love by calmemal / @youngandmadeoflightning prompt & art by @harrehleh

Anne puts her hand on Harry’s bicep and looks at him, obviously concerned. “Are you alright, m’love? What is back there that’s had you distracted all night?”

There is no way Harry is getting into this discussion with his family, especially not in the middle of the dining room, so he just shrugs it off. “Nothing, mum,” he promises, “just thought I recognised someone. It’s nothing.”

Later that night, they have family game night in Anne and Robin’s room. Harry loves it, really; it’s a tradition that he cherishes, especially now that he sees his family so rarely. It’s just hard for him to focus. There’s a guy somewhere in this resort, a really, really handsome guy, and he may or may not be wearing Harry’s hoodie.

How is he going to find him? And more importantly, did that guy really take his clothes?

Or, a holiday AU in which Harry goes to St. Ives for Gemma’s wedding and his baggage gets lost at the airport, only for him to find a stranger at his resort who is definitely wearing his clothes and definitely won’t admit it. The little shit.

Sounds of you sounds like love by @sweariwouldnt / prompt & art by @curleduphl

Louis can’t sleep. Enter a very special YouTube channel.

A love story about how something ordinary can become very extraordinary, and how feeling rootless and like you’re drifting can - with a little bit of help from fate - turn out okay.

Sunrise on Your Sins by cuppalouie / @same-white-shirt // prompt, mood board, & play list by @dimpled-halo

Louis Tomlinson is at his wit’s end trying to keep up with all the responsibilities and demands that come along with being the Crown Prince of England. Exhausted and desperate for an escape, his life is suddenly derailed when in walks Harry Styles, renowned rentboy and expert on all things BDSM. Blessing or curse, Louis decides to see where this unlikely partnership will lead.

Or: Sometimes the things that aren’t meant to last end up being the only reason we keep holding on.

watch what happens by fakeheaux / @fourgoddesses // mood board by @jessimond

“Liam,” Louis says slowly, turning to him bodily. His hands are clasped together in front of him, as if in prayer. “I’m not the one who bit the bleedin’ prince!”

“You bit me?” Prince Harry cries, hands shooting, inexplicably, to his chest, hands covering where his nipples must be under his shirt. “Are you insane?”

or liam bites harry, the prince of england

Quite Unconventional by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird / prompt & art by @harrehleh

Louis Tomlinson's mother asked for one thing for her birthday, a murder mystery party. One of the families invited drops out last minute, and Louis absolutely needs to find replacements for their characters or the party will be ruined. A hero emerges in the form of the cute new guy at work that Louis has been crushing on from a far.

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy / @daisyharry / prompt, mood board, and interactive travel blog by @allwaswell16

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Boots & Boys by Ashtarok / prompt & mood board by @suddenclarityharry

Model Louis Tomlinson had a hard climb to the top, fraught with betrayal and lies. He’s been there long enough to be tired of the same old games. Could Harry Styles, up and coming, way too endearing for this kind of cutthroat industry photographer, be the one to pull him out of his funk?

Like One of Your French Girls by @elsi-bee / prompt & art by @curleduphl

Harry thumbs through his sketchpad before he stops on a blank page. He looks Louis over for a moment, seemingly studying him. It’s a odd feeling, even if it is what Louis signed up for, just sitting in a crowd in broad daylight while a stranger looks him up and down. Louis is the subject of Harry’s first year art project, and what starts as an assignment blossoms into a friendship. It’s unfortunate that only one of them wishes it could be more.

Yellow by 13ways / @13ways-of-looking // prompt & art by @twopoppies

The city of Gotham turns blood red with a new, mysterious criminal element, a beautiful woman named the Blind Cupid.

She threatens to tear the fabric of the city apart, aided by her deadly protégé, the Cat.

Can Batman stop them?

Will he resist the bewitching allures of the Cat?

A Batman/ Catwoman AU

Burn by @anchortied / prompt & art by @pupperlouis

Louis is plagued by nightmares of being burned at the stake. Every time he closes his eyes he can see the flames, smell the smoke, taste the acrid smell of his own death in his nostrils. There is nothing he fears more than this. Besides being something other than what he truly is. Which is, to say in the very least, a powerful witch. One of the most powerful in in the world, as far as he knows. His magic can't even be matched by Liam, who learned quicker than anyone he's ever met, or Niall, who's magic fire could burn through a whole village in a mere moment if he wanted to. When Louis meets Harry however, he realizes that his magic isn't as strong as he thought. And as he tries to navigate through this magic, and the trials of friendships and lost loves that come along with it, Louis finds that being powerful is more of a plague than he realized. A plague that infects more people than he is comfortable with. (A Witch AU based off of The Craft -a very loose interpretation)

Just Holding On For Something Great by DuchessKitty16 / @duchessknowseverything // prompt & art by @crurulbys

Steve and Louis have been best friends since they were kids. They’ve seen each other through good times, family dramas, bad haircuts, first loves, first heartbreaks, and all of the milestones that make up the bonds of friendship. The BFF roommates share a ramshackle cottage in Venice Beach, CA, and a large cat named Smoky. They also have a band with their friends Ed and Niall, and while they dream of making it big, the reality is that they’re just a semi-popular local band that plays gigs in the Santa Monica bar scene a few times a month. Steve is getting engaged, moving in with his girlfriend and moving on with his new life. Everything seems to be changing fast; Louis isn’t sure he’s ready to handle growing up and being the adult he’s been so good at avoiding becoming. Will Louis finally buckle down and finish his degree and get a job that doesn’t require waiting tables? Will he finally get up the nerve to ask the cute guy that comes to his coffee shop everyday and to all of their shows, out on a date? And when an unexpected opportunity lands in the band’s lap, will the 4 friends be able to capitalize on it and finally get the big break that they’ve wanted for so long?

Un Verso Que Hiciste De Mi by messofgorgeouschaos / @goldbootsandvans // prompt & art by @becomeawendybird

Harry froze as he looked up to his handler’s face. He found himself staring at the most beautiful twin pools of blue he’d ever see, and had to take a second to breathe before he remembered what to say.

“Please, don’t kill my friend,” he whispered.

Louis looked over at the red headed man. “You are to go back to your manor, and tell his family he will only be brought back if my ransom is met.”

or a Scottish Borderlands AU where Louis is a laird that kidnaps his rival’s betrothed, and Harry just happens to be that betrothed.

the stars look very different today by colourexolosion / @jessimond // prompt & mood board by @juliusschmidt

Harry's an alien who blogs about aliens. Liam's a human. Or is he?

an AU

In This Life I Shall Have Joy by polka_stripes / @polkadotsvstripes // prompt & art by @tomlinshires

Assigned to be Mormon missionary companions together in Cortez, Colorado, Elders Styles and Tomlinson find a little more joy in their service than they anticipated.

(we will be) as if chosen by @alivingfire // prompt & art by @harrehleh

There's not a royal in the world who doesn't carry some sort of secret, and Prince Louis has more than his fair share. To protect himself and his family, Louis withdrew from the public eye and tried to live a quiet life, biding his time until his sister Lottie could take the throne in his stead. Unfortunately for him, the national media and the worst person Louis has ever met team up to bring him kicking and screaming back into the spotlight.

Under the watchful eyes of millions, Louis has to figure out how to keep his carefully constructed house of cards from falling, and the first step to accomplishing that is to keep from falling in love with the irritatingly charming Prince Harry, who just won't stop showing up and trying to whisk Louis out of the constraints of his boring life.

Or: the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves.

Boiling Blood Will Circulate by whoknows / @crazyupsetter // prompt & mood board by @louehvolution

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

Let’s Move Into Our Old House by stylindad / @larrystylingsun // prompt & mood board by @juliusschmidt

“He’s your son now!” Harry said, clapping his hands together before he leaned over to give some butt scratches to the dor.

“What? Son?”

“Oh, that’s his name! Watson!” Harry insisted. He grabbed onto Zayn’s shoulders and shook him a bit. “You need to keep him, Z! He’s perfect.”

It did worry Zayn, the thought that something big was going to change in his life with the arrival of a new pet. He loved his job, loved his friends, didn’t think he was ready to start a relationship.

In the end the change was none of those things. It happened the day after getting Watson, and began with a knock on the door.

---

Zayn is a Uni dropout/inventor/pet dad who is suddenly surprised by the death of his great aunt, who left her entire house in his name. There is one catch, though (and no, it's not Liam the realtor).

Funny How The Stars Crossed Right by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove // prompt & art by @tamikare

Liam and Louis round the corner to see a horse trotting around the ring. She (or maybe he) is a beautiful animal, with a dark black coat and white socks. A tall man in riding clothes sits atop the horse, speaking softly. He’s completely focused on the horse, and doesn’t notice their entrance at all. Dark brown curls spill out from beneath his helmet, and his expression is one of total joy.

“Who’s that?” Louis asks, finding himself oddly breathless.

“That’s Chester,” Liam says. “He’s an angel.”

Louis is about to comment that he looks like an angel, but then pauses. “The human or the horse?”

~*~*~

Louis is a photography student, assigned to do a project at Greenfield Stables. Harry is a veterinary student, working part-time at Greenfield to gain experience and make a little money. They both have something to teach the other.

a hundred red balloons (a thousand sleepless nights) by neonmoonlight / @grapesodalou // prompt & art by @pattern-pals

The nights where they got to walk around were some of Louis’ favorite. The two of them would just walk in companionable silence for the most of it, Louis doling bits of his life back home before he moved out for university. Some of his favorite times to walk around the city were the hot and humid nights after a rainstorm when everything was soupy and kind of hazy around the edges. Those nights were soaked in the weird orange color of the streetlamps and tasted like milkshakes and salty fries Louis was fond of getting at the diner near his apartment building.

Louis felt as if Niall was a gift from the universe sometimes.

or the one with vague magic, lirry being meddling mom friends, a dog named Bob Ross the Second, binge watching questionable shows, sunrises and sunsets and nouis being soft with each other.

You Smiled by @taggiecb / prompt & art by @londonfoginacup

Just then, the man looks up, and catches Harry's eye. Harry freezes, feeling as though he's the one trapped. The man doesn't smile, just watches Harry watch him, until finally he lifts his eyebrows in question, and Harry somehow manages to release himself from the spell that he feels he's under.

It's 1758 and on the eve of a battle with the French, Captain Harry Styles of the British army has just begun his appointment as a prison warden in Louisbourgh, Nova Scotia. Harry prepares himself and his guards for their prisoners of war, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the most beautiful man he has ever seen- who is now his prisoner.

Hands Clasped Tight by @afirethatcannotdie / prompt & art by @harrehleh

“What am I looking at here?” Harry asks.

“This, my friends, is a ‘proof’ Instagram account, run by your students,” Liam announces.

“It’s got all this stuff about how the two of you are together,” Niall adds.

“I heard about that,” says one of the math teachers. “Confiscated a kid’s phone today when they were looking at it. I have to say, the evidence that you’re dating is pretty damning.”

“Really,” Louis says dryly. “Do you think being married for three years might have something to do with it?”

Or the one where Harry and Louis are high school teachers and their students have been playing matchmaker for over a year. Little do they know, Harry and Louis are already married.

Calling Out For Somebody by beautifully_cyan / @girlthatsnotafraid // prompt & mood boards by @pretty-pebbles

“Oh, Louis, hi. Do you need something?” Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Yes, I need something. What I need is my phone back,” Louis says slightly annoyed. How has he not realized that he doesn’t have the right phone yet? “Oh, well I don’t have it, sorry mate,” Harry sounds confused, and Louis is going to kill him. Louis lets out a steady breath to stay calm and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Harry, babe, do me a favor. Turn your phone over and see if there’s the initials 'LT' painted in white nail polish on the back of your case.” Louis takes another deep breath staring at Liam as he listens into the phone for Harry checking the phone. “There is,” Harry slowly admits. “Perfect. Now that we’re on the same page, when can we meet up and switch back?”

or the one where Harry and Louis accidentally switch phones the day before Harry leaves for his world tour

memories of light and green by @sitandadmire / prompt & art by @pattern-pals

“You have all of me,” Louis whispered softly, but clearly. His mouth was so close again that Harry could see his lips moving with each new word. “Please know this and remember it well every day that I’m away.”

Or: The year is 1880. After the sudden passing of his beloved uncle, 24 year old Harry Styles inherits the property left behind. Together with his mother Anne, sisters Gemma and Mabel, and their dog Rufus, he relocates from London’s dark and winding streets to the Cheshire countryside. It isn’t long before he falls in love with the fresh air, the horses, and wandering through the gardens. Anything that keeps his mind off of his own future.

Years later, with questions still left unanswered, Harry runs into Louis Tomlinson: the man and artist he’d only ever heard of through Gemma’s drawn out stories. From lazy afternoons to a dinner party at the infamous Malik estate and an end-of-summer ball by invitation of Lady Stewart, Harry soon finds himself on another journey - feeling confused and drawn to Louis’ presence more than he imagined possible. A Late Victorian AU about life and death, and all the days in between, featuring floral suits, moonlight kisses, and a puppy (or two).

Wanderlust by SexyAssWoman / @thesexyasswoman // prompt & art by @louistomlinsons

As he splashed some water on his face, his mind drifted back again towards the strange picture. Why was he so drawn towards it? It wasn’t even a nice picture. It was jittery and blurry on the edges and just overall not thoughtfully taken. No one looked prepared. But maybe that was the whole reason why it looked so alive. It wasn't fair either that the boy in the picture was utterly attractive. Harry was a mess of tired brain cells.

He wiped his face with a tissue as he dragged his feet out of the restroom, closing the door lightly behind him. The water did not help at all because he still felt sleepy as he sighed in defeat. He really needed some coffee.

It wasn't until a warm breeze hit his face that Harry was forced to open his eyes. Did they crank up the heater or something? Even if they did, it still wouldn't explain the sudden breeze he was hit with. He was inside a bloody building after all.

Except when he opened his eyes, he wasn't.

He was now stood on a sidewalk.

What the actual fuck?

or,

Harry wanted to sleep, not get lost in a city he never visited, nor in the boy with sparkling blue eyes.

We’ll Rise Up by FallingLikeThis / @suddenclarityharry // prompt & mood board by @dimpled-halo

“So,” Liam begins with a smile, “you were the associate pastor at your last church?”

“Yes,” Louis can already feel himself scrunching down in his seat, shrinking against even the reminder of the church he was forced from.

“Was that a good experience for you?” Liam steeples his hands in front of him as he leans his elbows on the desk in interest.

“It was for a while but, to be honest, things ended rather badly,” Louis leans forward too, he needs to get this out and he wants to tell Liam everything, have everything on the table.

Leaning forward even more, Liam seems to be looking for the same thing, “What happened?”

Louis can feel the trembles in his hands again, so he sits on them, biting his lip before admitting, “They found out I’m gay.”

In the hallway, there’s a terribly loud thump and then a grunt of pain and Louis twists around to see Harry, sprawled out on the ground just outside the doorway.

Louis is a Pastor with no church and a heart filled with uncertainty. Pastor Payne is more than willing to give Louis a new place to work, but it's Music Director Harry that helps him rebuild his faith.

Can I just be the same? by Star_Henderson / @tommosgun // prompt & mood board by @suddenclarityharry

“Are you skint?” Louis studied his face. “I can give you the bloody bus fare home, Harry. You don't have to walk.” His voice was soft. Caring.

Harry stopped, his body tingling. Fuck. He shouldn’t have crossed the road. Keep walking. Always keep walking.

“I’m not skint, but thanks for the offer. There’s not many kind people like you around. You’re lovely, you know that?” Harry reached his hand out tentatively, cupping Louis’ elbow and squeezing. “Thank you.” His voice hitched a little.

He’d roamed the country for centuries, coming in and out of people’s lives, never able to forge bonds. Or, if he did, breaking them and suffering the pain of lost love. That was his life forever. Stuck in this limbo with not one other person in the whole world who cared about him. So the kindness of a stranger really hit home, and this stranger with the bluest eyes and brightest smile was making Harry feel alive again. Reminding him of what he was missing

OR Harry is a two hundred year old Vampire with no one in the whole world and Louis is the kind hearted stranger who comes into Harry's life bringing something that Harry had missed. Love. But Harry is forever running, can Louis be the one to change all that?

nobody knows you baby the way I do by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou // prompt & video by @larrystylingsun

Harry meets Louis at university. Once he finally gets the nerve to take their friendship to the next level, Louis vanishes without a trace. Harry doesn’t see him again for four years. Only now he goes by Charlie, and pretends not to know who Harry is. Now Harry wants answers more than ever.

Running in the Shadows by rainbowninja167 / @rainbowninja // prompt & manip by @sparkling-larry

“Zayn was right,” Liam says. “Someone is searching for his asset, and they’ve got about a month’s head start on us.” “And I assume this is where I come in?” Louis asks wryly. “We don’t have a lot of information – Zayn did a very thorough job protecting him – but we think there are three strong contenders: a photographer, a baker, and a yoga instructor.” “Seriously? Do we even know this bloke’s real name?” Liam shoots Louis a small grin and shrugs. “Yeah, actually. The man you’re looking for? His name is Harry Styles.”

Louis is a MI6 agent, and Harry is...difficult to find.

Blacks Stars and Endless Seas by objectlesson / @horsegirlharry // prompt & art by @twopoppies

A Star Trek Original Series AU where Lt. Styles is a young science officer on his first away mission, and Louis is the headstrong ensign assigned to his security detail, and maybe they would be able to function together professionally in a normal setting, but not when their shuttlecraft crash-lands and they end up marooned together on an improbably and unfairly beautiful planet.

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites // prompt & art by @twopoppies

“Sir, I can help you. Just let me — “ He tried moving closer but the eldest child blocked his way. He backed off, putting his hands out in a passive gesture. “I’m a physician. I can help,” he tried again.

The man shook his head vehemently, passing the cup back to his grandchild. “Tol’ ya. Don’t need ya.” All of the fire had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a frail, sick old man with barely any breath to talk.

“I have medicines...I could make you comfortable…” Louis’ voice was still small, but pleading.

“Mountain Mama cares for wha’s ailin’ me. Don’t need no fancy city doctors.”

Louis blinked at the man, still shaking from the coughing spell. Mountain — well, fuck. That backwoods, uneducated scam artist…

“Of course he is,” Louis said curtly. ***** OR a Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

Sleep of the Sword by KelliDiane / @ladsnightout // art by @sleepymouses

The next morning sees Liam leaving the castle’s courtyard among cheers and a massive fanfare that only the King himself could have arranged. He bows once before the royal family, taking note of the pure anger upon the princess’ face, and mounts his horse to begin his quest. He is excited to finally have a proper quest to help him feel like he has earned his position in society. He loves that his father left him with such a title and wealth that would mean he could be barred from nowhere, but the thought of working for all of his wealth and glory was rather appealing as well. He would not fail.

Liam recites a lot of pretty poetry, Louis tries to get Liam to see what’s wrong with his love life, Harry hops along for the ride, Zayn has a fiery temper, and Niall just really like to rhyme.

For Reasons Wretched and Divine by @indiaalphawhiskey / prompt & mood board by @dimpled-halo

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

An AU in two parts. Two boys, two stories, and hopefully, two chances at love.

Underneath by secretswekeepxx / @theficwritersblock // prompt & mood board by @dimpled-halo

“And this is how fucking horror movies begin. I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere, taking a right onto ‘Payne Lane.” He mutters to himself as he flips his turn signal on and starts making his way slowly down the bumpy lane.

He’s surrounded on both sides by expansive, fenced fields with sparse trees, randomly placed sheds and lean-tos, and various breeds of livestock grazing about. The grass is long and rustles in waves with the dry, late August breeze. There’s a beauty to it, though Zayn’s momentarily unable to appreciate it because the further along he goes the stronger the urge to turn around becomes. It’s as the lane opens up and he can finally see a house materializing in front of him that he sees the sign for ‘Payne Farm’.

Tiny, Beautiful Unknowns by offwiththeirheads / @hazzabooween // prompt & art by @pattern-pals

“If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;”

Louis knows hard work and small dreams, empty pockets and debt. He perfects the art of obscurity, paints the human chaos, and will never wear his heart on his sleeve.

So when Harry Styles, seemingly pretentious art enthusiast crosses paths with him, Louis feels like he's being tested.

#1d reverse bang #1D reverse bang authors #1d reverse bang round 1

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liberace19 · 4 years

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LIBERACE’S CONSTANT COMPANION since boyhood has been his mother, Mrs. France Liberace. And like most other personal possessions in the Liberace home, his visitors’ book which they are looking over, is piano-shaped. The Liberace Story Lucrative And Glamorous Career Deliberately Planned By Liberace PART IV What is the background of this amazing piano jilayer? What happened to make hii the idol he ist In this, the closing story on the secrets of Liberace, you get the answers.) All of a sudden Liberace began thinking. He was taking a bath in the sunken tub dramatizing the bath room of his 5100,000 Sherman Oaks home and his thoughts dipped back to the past. He remembered his childhood in Milwaukee. He thought of the piano he started to love at the age of three how his dad Sam Liberace, withheld his lessons and his practice when Wladziu Valentino Liberace the current idol’s real name was a bad boy. “Unless you help your mother in the kitchen you can’t practice today,” father Liberace told the kid. And he remembered other things Hours of work play, really at the keyboard he loved …. Endless sessions with private tutors while other school boys played football …. Finally, his artistry already recognized, his piano debut with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra at the age of 16 … . Then “the road,” preparing his own food to cut down on expenses … , Billed as Walter Liberace, he thrilled cafe society in hotels and swank supper clubs from coast to coast. Even then, back in the late 30s, he planned a more lucrative and glamorous career. “I Wanted to reach peoplelots end lots of them,” Liberace whose nickname is Lee told friends recently. “I felt a kind of Skat, Gibby’s Tavern Every Saturday Afternoon N. 13th at Superior NORTH END SKAT CLUB Drawing 1:30 P.M. Pitying irti 2 frustration, an idea I had lots more to offer.” Joined by his fiddle-playing brother George, he began making concrete plans. They started a mailing list, informing his followers where they could expect to see him. It was in 1945 when Liberace saw the Chopin motion picture, “A Song to Remember” that he got the big idea. The candelabra on the piano, a Chopin character istic, impressed Liberace so much he started it himself. Years went by six of them before the Liberace hopes and dreams materialized into glittering actuality. . In the early months of 19ol, with his brother George and their attorney, John Ft. Jacobs Jr., he walked into the Hollywood Per sonal Management offices of Gabbe, Lutz and Heller a firm that already had zoomed Frankie Laine to fame. Familiar with the piano-antics of Liberace and realizing the pos sibilities, Sam Lutz and Seymore Heller signed him. Play At Ciro" Their first booking placed Liberace at Ciro’s on the Sunset Strip. Ciro’s management thought Liberace was terrific but they drew the line on one point. ,r “The guy would play forever if you’d let him,” complained Herman Plover, the owner. “He felt he owed his audience his all and he’d stay on as long as people applauded sometimes for longer than an hour. ’‘You can’t sell food or liquor while the show is on so we had to limit him to 30 minutes.” Right after the Ciro engage ment things started popping. Liberace was playing at the Hotel Del Coronado, across the bay from San Diego, when Don Fedderson, general manager of a Los Angeles television station, journeyed down to see the guy. fascinated with the way Liberace held his audience in the palm of his hand, Fedderson signed him to an exclusive TV conlract beginning in January, 1952. The rest is historybut before ;it happened there were many i problems. j Liberace’s sponsors soon ilearned a piano player and a vio- linist (George) made a limited show. They wondered: “Should we brjng in production numbers singers and maybe a ballroom dancing team to per form while Liberace plays in the background?” They argued pro and con. But Fedderson insisted the only way to present Liberace was to duplicate his nightclub act on television … ’. the same lighting effects, the same candelabra, the same Liberace pitch to introduce brother George, his “Mom,” and other members of the cast. Fedderson, as the nation now knows, won out. First Television Show The first show went on without sponsorship and with little rehearsal time. But before it was over the sta tion switchboard lit up like Holly wood Boulevard at Christmas time. Four weeks later Liberace’s sponsor was the Citizen’s National Bank an institution promptly deluged with new accounts start ed by people “just because we like Liberace.” One elderly woman with $100,- 000 in the old kick switched to Citizens “because any bank that puts Liberace in my home is a friend of mine.” As this new sensation of the entertainment world 'came into his own, other organizations were moaning in loud lamentation. One was the national radio network that used Liberace the year before as an eight-week summer replacement for Dinah Shore, only to drop him. Some reports, say a vice-president of the network resigned over the blunder. Liberace was making history in other ways. In his first Los Angeles con certin April of 1952 he netted $4400 at the Philharmonic Audi torium. That same summer he appeared in concert at Hollywood Bow,, netting $5,000 for the single ap pearance. For a Pasadena appearance he made $3,500 … in Long Beach he drew crowds that paid him $7,500 … But was it all smooth sailing for this smiling wizard of the keyboards? Was Liberace the lad who plays mostly from memory, the artist who must have a light shining on the keyboard at all times happy with his success. Some associates pointing to the record say he changed about this time. They remember his promise, in January of 1952, to sign a new, j iwo-year contract etrective tnat I Charlie’s Inn June with the managers vno made him a stay. And they remember Liberace’s change in plans … his sudden announcement he would sign for one year only. They remember Sam Lutz" re minder that he had made a star of this boy from Milwaukee, the phenomenon who hemstitched as kid while other Doys piajeu football. And they remember Liberace’s reply: “Whatever has happened to me would have happened anyway! There are those, too, who won der: Does Liberace use people lor his own personal gain, then drop them? Red Doff, the Hollywood publi cist who made music-lovers Liberace conscious, then got fired by the "Candelabra Casanova, is generous in his praise of the pianist. Yet he mused: "Many people believe Liberace thinks he and his brother George can handle the whole works. "George isn’t tagging along on any gravy train as so many critics believe. He would be the last one tn tie fired if the time comes He has contributed a lot to the art. "George is a few years older than Lee, perhaps a little more deliberate in his decisions but generally he goes along with Lee on all matters. Plans New Triumphs The curlv-coiffed Liberace Is only too conscious of these pro fessional Mews pro and con as he makes his elaborate plans for the future. Currently visiting in Mexico where his TV films soon will be dubbed in Spanish Liberace plans new triumphs. He has no fear of being seen too often on television while veterans like Bing Crosby andi Bob Hope shudder at the thought of a weekly show. He loves, rather than loathes, being satirized by comedians in ; the candelabra-kidding style that j Jack Benny recently used. He is undistressed over the rumor his popularity is waning. He has no regret over the fact he won no television Emmy awards this year while last year he was voted the most popular j Hollywood entertainer with the best show. Liberace jhst can’t be bothered, j Perhaps in the summing up of this strange man, Red Doff best; explains it : 'He wasn’t born with a gold spoon in his mouth nor did he inherit millions. "He set a goal, whether he believes it or not, to get to the top and there’s no stopping him. "No one will get in his way. "H works hard, March 18, 1954

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