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cheekygreenty · 3 years

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Little Witch - Part 15

The Darkling x reader

Time was in fact ticking and as minutes went on, your palms got sweatier and your heart never stopped thumping in your chest. Any minute now Aleksander could stroll into your chambers flanked by oprichniki and have you arrested. You had crossed the line and you acknowledged that but there was no other way to do it with him. He was never going to sit down and have a regular conversation with you where he detailed his plans out step by step, even if you said please and begged on your knees.

It was morning now and still no word from Aleksander. You had to return to your boring duties of reading trade agreements and approving Grisha posts at the war fronts, none of which passed the time any quicker. You skipped breakfast and threw on the first kefta that caught your eye, only making sure it wasn't black. A simple summoner blue, to reflect your sullen mood.

A knock on your door caught you by surprise but you opened it anyway to reveal your least favorite Heartrenderer sulking at your doorstep.

'Ivan'

'The General requests to see you'

'He sent his puppy to fetch me, how cute' You open the door wider to let yourself through letting a deep breath go in preparation. Ivan sent you a glare worth a thousand words, something along the lines of I hate you.

'Relax, I'm only jesting'

The walk to Aleksander's quarters was silent. Ivan wasn't the chatty type and even if he was, he probably wouldn't have much to say to you.

As you went to open the grand double doors, he caught your wrist tightly

'Don't lay a finger on him again, or I'll rip your heart from your chest' He warned. Either Aleksander tattled the events that took place yesterday or Ivan was eavesdropping, your gut told you it was the latter.

'I didn't take you as the type to disrespect your elders Ivan' You didn't care to return his tone of voice. He was simply Aleksander's lapdog, not somebody to be scared of or feared.

'Run along now' You dismissed him, watching as he huffed and turned down the hallway.

Aleksander sat at the same desk as yesterday except now he faced you. He was back to his normal self, void of emotion and collected in his embroidered black kefta. You sat down on a random chair, clearing your throat.

'Did you finally come to your senses?' You weren't here for pleasantries or to dance around the subject, you needed answers.

'Of sorts. Yes'

'Get to it then, you have a lot of explaining to do. And remember, I know when you're lying' You tapped the skin above your heart, indicating that he had no way out but to tell truth.

'Ask away.'

'How are you going to weaponize the Fold?'

'Alina. She can let us get through it, I can expand it into the borders.'

'How?'

'The stag. I'll use it to control her powers as well as amplify my own. She won't comply otherwise. ' He's going to use Merzost to control the Sun-Summoner.

'The King?'

'Gradually being poisoned by Ms.Safin. He'll take to being ill when the time comes.'

'You're not going to kill him?' To ascend the throne, the King needs to die.

'In time' You took a quick pause and let the information settle. You still needed to ask the most important question and you feared once he answered it, your heart would break in two.

'Alina.'

'Yes. Alina'

'Is it real?'

He took a sharp inhale and pondered for a quick second while you held yours.

'Not anymore.'

'Anymore?'

'Before you got here, perhaps there was something, But not now. I swear on the Saints. All she is is a key to more power. Everything we've ever wanted lies in our future if we play our cards right Y/N' You were sitting too far away from him, but his hands still itched to reach for yours.

'I'm suspecting there is a downside to all of this'

'I need her to trust me.'

'And the only way to do that is by loving her I assume' You hung your head low when he gave a small nod.

'I wish there was another way. She's young and blinded by her friend Mal to see what's truly happening'

'What if she finds out?'

'We'll cross that bridge when we get to it' He stood up from his seat and kneeled beside you, firmly holding your knees.

'You're not a loose cannon Y/N. I didn't want to tell you because if I told you about Alina, you would seek us out and watch. I don't want you to see me with her' You recognized that everything he said was true, his heart hadn't skipped a beat since you got here.

'I'm sorry for the other night, for what I said. I didn't mean it' Throughout your years with Aleksander, you had witnessed him apologize to you and every time he did, his eyes were the true apology. They reflected his whole soul, bared his deepest emotions to you, and begged for forgiveness with immense desperation in ways that his words couldn't. This was no exception.

'We all say things we don't mean in the heat of the moment' All it took was those simple words for his eyes to wash away the guilt and reappear filled with affection.

'Why didn't you tell me about Zoya?'

He sighed again, resting his forehead against your arm 'I don't know'

'Are you done with her?'

'She was just an outlet Y/N, I truly haven't loved anybody since you. You crowded my dreams and my daily thoughts, do you really think I could move on?' He gave a gentle laugh with an undertone of embarrassment at his inability to get over you.

'I'm flattered'

Although the areas of the future that involved Alina rubbed you the wrong way for many reasons, you were glad to finally know the things Aleksander kept from you. No doubt there were things you omitted that would come up in due time, but you had gone what caused you the most stress.

'Will you finally stop running away from me? I've barely had any time to enjoy your presence' His hand came up to your face, nudging a thin piece of hair away. You melted into his touch, grabbing him by the shoulders and embracing him tightly, forcing both of you to stand. He held you as close, if not tighter.

'I'll do anything you want me to if it means you trust me again' His words stuck in your mind as he spoke against your hair. Your statement must have cut him deep. It hurt you too, you loved this man, you've loved him for more than a century, and being scared to trust him dwindled your memory of him.

You were the first to pull away but only for a second as your lips crashed onto his. It wasn't rough or needy, it was sweet and reflected your love for him. It was the kind of kiss you imagined when you dreamed of him at your weakest; when your dreams were vivid and lucid in comparison to your feverish body as it lay on the brink of death.

'Have you eaten?' He asked as you wrapped your arms around him yet again, not ready to let go.

'Not yet, but give me a minute' You closed your eyes, reveling in his scent and warm touch.

At last, I finally got my hug.

***

It was later on in the day now, you had forced yourself away from Aleksander after breakfast and retreated into your chambers, sifting through documents and pointless papers. You barely read them as you signed away, doing the tedious work Aleksander passed onto you as he focused on the stag. You didn't know much about the animal and willingly chose to stay out of the affair, never really caring for the amplifier. For now, all that it entailed was chasing false leads and ending up at dead-ends. Not your cup of tea.

The Winter fete was coming up and much to your displeasure, you were asked to make sure the Sun-Summoner was up to scratch for her showcase. It was important she makes a good impression on the foreign ambassadors, Ravka needed stronger alliances now that Zlatan was claiming the West needed to break away. He was colluding with the druskelle to capture Grisha, and wherever your Grisha were concerned, you had to get involved.

You realized the measly reports of Alina's progress weren't enough and you had to go right to the source. There wasn't a single part of you that looked forward to stepping into that boiling hut and conversing with the rude woman, but work had to be done.

You took your time walking down, chatting to bystanding Grisha and trying to stall, you really weren't in the mood to be bullied. You didn't bother to knock, you just waltzed in and searched the dark for her hunched figure.

'You again' You could've sworn she appeared out of thin air as her voice carried disgust along the room, it usually did when it came to speaking to you but you stopped caring a long time ago.

'Why are you back, Witch'

With the track record Baghra had with you, the nickname never failed to fuel your temptation to throttle her.

---

Part 16

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1

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bonny-kookoo · 4 years

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Shattering (KTH x Reader)☁️🔞💜🐾

🌹Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

🌹Genre: ANGST, romance, smut, god AU, Idk what to call this, hybrid AU

🌹Warnings: heavy angst, death is a major theme, mentions of suicide and death by freezing, listen there is smut but it’s not as kinky as it usual is, just sweet and heartbreaking lovemaking y’all, Wintergod!Taehyung, Winterspirit!Reader, Wolf hybrid!Taehyung, Bunny Hybrid!Reader, major character death, please love this okay I needed to get all that angst out of my system, somewhat of a happy ending? I don't know you tell me lol

🌹Summary: Every day he would warn you. He’d try and keep an eye on you, his favorite spirit, curious as ever- until one day, he looses sight. And you understand why you were warned. Oh dear rabbit, what did you do?

Humans are amazingly interesting to you.

Sometimes, they'd look at you in wonder, they would call out for you, bending down to seem less intimidating, or would try and beckon you with food- yet the voice of your master would always continue to remind you never to get too close to them.

'Humans and beings like us don't mix well, little rabbit.'

So you'd simply watch from afar, or play hide and seek with the children running around the snow covered meadows and in between the trees of the forest you lived in.

Taehyung was worried every time a new day would start. Even though he had a lot of spirits under his command, and other matters to keep watch over, he couldn't help but feel enchanted by you. His heart had you locked inside, never to open again and free your soul within- and you didn't seem to mind that at all, making matters just more complicated for him. He was no god- he was merely a hand of those who ruled over the times and seasons. He was just as much a puppet as you were, yet they prayed to him like he was in control of all live.

Humans would leave presents and wishes at his shrine, every year around the same time. He sometimes felt a bit of guilt seeing all those things delicately placed for him, while he had you at his side, innocently asking him what they brought him this time. It was another charming attitude of yours; you seemed to felt no jealousy at all. In hierarchy, you were low- so low in fact, that everything around you could easily become your end. While he was graced with with a presence so heavenly that he was invisible for the human eye, you were always seen as the snow white rabbit jumping around the white covered grounds. He saw your actual form instead; a young lady as if drawn by the hands of a painter in the 18th century, with pale skin and snowy white bunny ears- your tail just as expressive and adorable as in your animal form. Everything about you made him feel attached, and he didn't mind at all.

The only thing that did in fact bother him however, was your dangerous curiosity. He knew that one day his scolding voice he'd managed to place inside your head would not be enough anymore to hold yourself back from stepping over the line he'd once drawn in the snow- a line for you to never cross. He knew that one day you would, that one day your life would end, either way. Spirits were never intended to continue living for long, anyways. It was a fact he was very well aware of, yet somehow he couldn't bear the mere possibility of your death. Even if it was inevitable.

As he laid there with you, warm and cozy in your burrow underneath the largest tree of the forest you both called your home, he started to let his mind wander, while his fingers traced along your delicate spine. Your skin was so soft, he swore nothing could truly rival the feel of it under his hands. As his palm laid itself over your ribs, you sighed, moving a bit so snuggle closer to him.

He knew he had made a mistake, a heavy weighing one if he was being honest with himself. His life would continue centuries, while yours could very well be taken tomorrow, or today; yet when he'd seen you last night, skin seemingly glowing underneath the moonlight, as your hair shone like stars, he'd given into his deepest desire to claim you for himself.

It wasn't uncommon for small gods like him to feed on small spirits like you, but this was more than simple craving, this was more than pure need. What he felt for you was desire in its purest form, love in its painful ways, and a soft and warm song of happiness and fulfillment inside his head. You drowned out his thoughts and quenched his thirst for adoration; the way you had sighed so blissfully at his touch made him feel like he needed to relive the moment again already. You'd noticed this as well by now- his length rising in need as your eyes opened, sparkling orbs finding his gaze as he moved, tiny rays of the early sunlight peeking into the cave you'd made and shown him proudly the day you'd finished it. He remembers how uninterested he pretended to be, even though he had felt so proud of you that day.

And he notices how he's never voiced that out until now, as he moves to lean over you, his hands holding yours as he looks down on you. "I've never told you how well you did with this home, little rabbit." He humms, his lips finding yours as you can't seem to hide the grin growing on yours. "You did so good." He mumbles, as his kisses move from your lips to your ear, so they can make their way down your neck. "Yet my pride forbade me to voice my thoughts back then. I hope you forgive me." He speaks, and you smile at him, eyes filled with nothing but happiness as he copies your expression.

"I would forgive you anything." You say, and he feels his heart swell inside his chest.

He humms against your pulse point, before he chuckles. "Those are dangerous words, darling." He sighs against your skin, as you squirm underneath him. "What if I was to snap your neck, little rabbit?" He growls, his hybrid features moving as he grazes his sharp canines against your collarbone- a place he'd already bitten and marked the night before, purple bruises and other marks already blossoming beautifully on your skin. Yet you only mewl at him, eyes closing as you stay relaxed underneath him.

"I'd happily die under the hand belonging to the being that holds my heart." You say, and his eyes widen a bit at your statement. "What a way to go, knowing my last breath belongs to you." You say, and he stops a bit, before he snaps his mind out of your words.

"Foolish little rabbit." He mumbles, hands now more desperate, more aggressive, less careful as he seems to be frustrated. "You make it sound like you love me, darling." He chuckles, and you suddenly open your eyes, hands grasping his biceps as he halts his movements, gaze meeting yours.

"I do." You say, voice quiet and wavering, as if you're scared to say them too loud. "Please don't say that you don't, even if it's the truth." You suddenly seem sad, making him grow uneasy as he searches for any way inside his head to make it better. "Please lie to me. Please say that you do- just once." You whisper, and his large hands hold your face, his eyes wide open as he speaks his words.

"I cannot lie, and you know this." He answers, and you smile painfully, not meeting his eyes as you look to the side, nodding. "I don't love you, little rabbit." He speaks, making you choke up before he leans down, kissing your closed eyelid, before he moves to the other. "I adore you." He humms, as he kisses the bridge of your nose carefully. "I cherish every second with you." Another kiss, placed on your cheek. "I'll worship you like those humans worship me, little rabbit." And another kiss, placed upon your lips as your eyes open, watery and glistening as he smiles. "Love is nothing compared to what I feel for you, my dear." He humms, and carefully brushes the tears off of your face as they fall. He he doesn't think about the weight of his words in that moment, and simply lets himself be washed away by the waves of emotions drowning you both in this small space, hand underneath your thigh as he positions himself properly, to enter you smoothly, thoughts flying away like crows after a hunter's warning shot into the trees. It's not for pleasure, it's not to quench any thirst he has- its simply to feel close, to cherish your body, to make a memory he can remember once you're gone.

And as he listens to your blissful sounds, he fights his own tears, knowing deep down that your fate was already decided. This was no fight-

because the loosing part had already been decided. And he knew it would be him.

He watches you from afar as you play with the children of a wandering couple, who seem just as enchanted by your form as he is. In these moments, he can't help but think what would've been if you were both born human- fighting problems so wonderfully mundane and normal, working and coming home to find you smiling at him, asking him what he'd done during the day. He wished your fate would've been reversed- but then again, he's glad that it is how it is. He's happy that you're going to spend your time happy, at his side, with love never fading away. He's feeling comforted by the fact that it's going to be him carrying the burden of living on without your presence at his side. He's sure he can take the pain- he would never want you to carry those bone crushing feelings on your shoulders. He's happy.

It feels strange, the way you suddenly stop in your tracks as you try to run after the kids, turning around to spot him, as you run towards his opening arms; a gesture he hadn't even noticed doing. It was beginning to become normal to him, as you fall into his arms, body fondly buried into his robes, as he places a kiss onto your head, right between where your ears sit. He feels like you're soulmates never meant to be, and he knows that this is only temporary. Yet he's feeling the need to be selfish, as he looks down on you.

You smile at him, unknowing how it makes his heart race and pulse quicken.

Oh how he loves you.

It's not the sound of it that makes him worried.

It's the lack of your body at his side, that instantly has him worried.

He walks around the forest, asking every spirit around him if they have seen you; but no one can quite answer him, as he grows frustrated. His steps quicken as he searches for you, unknowing if the sound he'd heard had just been a warning shot as usual. He can't help but feel as if today was different.

He asks Hoseok, a fellow spirit of yours, but the bear hybrid can only shake his head, as he tells him he has not seen you today either. It's when he hears the soft weeping of the sparrows that he becomes scared to look around the tree he is standing behind. But his legs lead him forward, as he spots your form, the sparrows tearfully placing flowers around you; and he knows that you have been taken away.

They look at him, their child-like forms noticing him, but for a change none of them decide to put their attention on the small god. He knows why it is, knows that your place in hierarchy had maybe been as low as they can be, but your kind heart and soft character made you be loved by almost everyone around you.

He swallowed hard as he felt his eyes sting, slowly walking towards your form, snow softly falling onto your now unmoving limbs, your skin as pale as it can be. Snowdrops grow around you as he kneels down at your side, the sparrow's bodies still getting shaken by their hiccups as they hold each other, mourning your passing. He can't look down yet, chooses to look into the sky as he tries to keep his composure. He's not supposed to cry, he's not even supposed to kneel at your side like this, cold and wetness from the ground seeping into his knees as they begin to sting from the bite of temperature. But it only helps him, in away, gives him a bit of a distraction before he looks downwards.

But he's unprepared for what he sees on your face; the serene smile, a look that tells him you had not been scared in your last moments of life. You had accepted death, and for some reason, this just pains him even more. He doesn't know why this feels so much worse now. If he could only spot a tiny speck of pain or regret, a bit of fear or a hint of regret, he could channel all his emotions into anger and make it storm so harshly everyone would never return into those woods ever again. But knowing that you were happy and content with your end gives him nothing instead.

His eyes widen once he feels the sparrows on either of his side, carefully hugging his body as he does not understand what is happening. They swallow tearfully, needing to calm down for a moment until one of them looks up at him.

"She said even if you decline and fight it, we should comfort you." One of them whispers.

The other nods. "She said even gods need a hug sometimes."

And as a sob escapes him, he can't do nothing more than pull your body onto his lap, holding your head to his shoulder, as if to warm you up in his embrace. He knows he has to let go, but he wants to be selfish for a moment. He wants to keep you just a bit longer, before he has to move on.

He doesn't know if he can.

"I never said it back." Is what he presses out between gritted teeth, tears blurring his vision. "But I love you."

He watches the kids play with the sparrows, as he passes them, their smiling faces greeting him.

He smiles too.

He walks around aimlessly, never straying too far away from the cave you'd build years ago. He doesn't need to sleep, but he still keeps it cozy and clean. He feels like he needs to prepare it for you if you were to miraculously return to him, even though he knows its just a wish he makes every day to keep his mind relaxed.

He spots a body not too far away from him, as he kneels down. Its a young man, never passed his early twenties, as he spots the blue lips and pale skin. His soul is long gone, and he usually does not feel anything towards these people. But maybe you had colored his soul differently, because slight sadness creeps over him as he starts to silently place his hand onto the young man's head, brushing away his hair in a soft breeze of wind. He had probably underestimated the stormy night, since it was early morning right now. What a sad way to go, he thinks.

The sparrows and a fox spirit look over his shoulders, as he begins to mumble. "Make it pretty, yeah? Give him a good end." He speaks, as he looks across the body, the almost see through soul of the young man watching him as he smiles, nodding, as if to thank him. Taehyung simply nods back, as he stands up, walking away from the scene, as he tells the crows on the trees to help the villagers find the boy.

Something in the air is shifting as he feels his skin tingle. He watches from the cave as the moon glows onto a figure emerging from the frozen lake, a new wintergod being born as he leans against the tree, a smile gracing his lips as the new god greets him. It's the young man who'd frozen to death all those years ago. He walks towards taehyung as he kneels down, bowing respectfully. "Does it.. does it need to happen?" He asks, and The older god smiles, chuckling as he immediately thinks that this would be something you'd say as well. He got his hybrid features, the young man in front of him- those soft bunny ears bringing back memories that no longer pain him. He nods.

"It's how the world works, friend." He says, and the rabbit in front of him looks saddened by his words. He places a hand ontop of his head, as he looks up at him. "Don't feel sad- there's nothing to be sad about." He explains. "I'm ready." He speaks, and the young god in front if him nods, though he bites his lip, as if to keep his emotions at bay. Taehyung knows that he's going to be a good hearted god. The upcoming winters will lack moody storms and heavy snowfalls for the next years without his own swings of emotions every now and then.

He smiles brightly suddenly, as another figure emerges from the lake behind the new god, who turns around as well. Taehyung heavily gets up, bones heavy as he stumbles on weak legs, chuckling as your arms catch him. He chuckles, head burying into your chest before he laughs out, smile genuine and young as he starts to crumble. His skin breaks off, falling down like fresh snow as the sparrows, the spirits, and the new god watch him embrace you closely, his last strength fading as he looks up at you.

"I love you." He mumbles, before he kisses you tearfully, making you chuckle. "I love you, I love you-" He repeats between every peck, as you laugh, fading together with him.

"I know." You say.

And together, you leave nothing behind but fresh snow, a new generation, and a field full of snowdrops.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung smut #taehyung x you #kim taehyung imagine #hybrid imagine #hybrid kim taehyung

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bloodyblade · 4 years

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Tremble For My Beloved [1]

Pairing: Thorin x Fem!Reader Summary: AU in which the daughter of a nobleman was running for her life after an orc attack, and after being welcomed under Gandalf's wings, joins the quest to reconquer Erebor. Sort of. Warnings: Mentions of violence and gore, a tiny bit sad. Word Count: 2.353 words.

[Ao3]

Chapter One.

The earth beneath your feet was shaking and trembling, or perhaps it was your legs that were too spent from running in a desperate and unprepared sprint. Entering a crumbling house, you hide behind a wall, standing on a crouch to be able to take a peek on the outside from the window. Holding the machete tightly to your chest, your eyes sweeped the hiding place you chose looking for possible exits.

Sweat was running down your face, lingering at the eyebrows and making their way down. Your heart was beating as strong and fast as a drum, you could feel it in your chest, throat and the sound in your ears. Harsh breaths were coming out silently as you could manage. You were trembling. Exhausted, scared and hurt. Dirt was accumulating under your fingernails along with specs of blood that also tainted the green dress you wore, shoes and thighs, finer than many could ever wish for, had its beauty and delicacy ruined. You looked ruined.

Your hair, that before was put in an intricate updo, was now almost completely loose and caked with sweat and blood that wasn’t yours. Askell, who you grew up having him as your shadow, died for you. He was your protector, always have been. A knight dedicated to you, before you could even walk and always accompanied you through your most important feats -learning how to walk, riding a horse for the first time and then falling epically on your ass, watching you from afar on your every name day. God, it was his blood on your hair, face, chest, dress. The blow was so hard on his head that he fell over you, who were behind him just like he demanded you should be. You scrambled back but part of his body landed on you, knocking you to the ground with him before you could push his body off, Askell’s heavy armour making everything even more difficult. Just as the enemy turned around, you finally managed to get free and balance your protector’s weapon by your side. It was pointy and shone under the candle lights, as if it had never been used before. Because it hasn’t, Askell never needed to. No one in your father’s state ever needed too.

But looking up and coming face to face to this… creature’s face, your blood ran cold. It was pale and ugly, uglier than any story could ever make up. So you got up at your fastest pace and with as much strength you could gather, took the knight’s weapon and ran. Ran until your lungs were on fire and felt like your deep, uneven breaths weren’t enough to keep your body going. Everything passed in a blur, as if your body alone knew what it was doing and so you dodge the fights and screaming and crying people, successfully making your way out of your forever home and the whole manor and what else it consisted of. As you slowed down, you ventured into a small city, knowing you must have ran a lot, for the city your caregivers always spoke of was certainly a few miles away.

And that’s how you found yourself where you are now. You didn’t look back in fear of what you could see and in fear of your enemies, which was most definitely a stupid decision but you couldn’t go back now. You knew your father had enemies, but never thought anyone would be so cruel to try and murder not just your family line but other nobles that were present at the feast your father was giving. Did someone hire them? Did your father somehow get on these creature’s bad side and leave them seeking revenge? How would dad even get in their way?

Don’t think about it. Those things didn’t matter, not anymore at least. Askell was dead, your father was most certainly dead right now and your mother died the moment you took your first breath. You heard how people would whisper that when you came out of your mother’s womb, you stole her breath and ultimately caused her death, and that it was a sign of a curse they were certain you carried: anyone to ever love you would most likely face an awful and painful death. So far, they weren’t wrong. Perhaps you were cursed.

You stayed alert for a while, besides the sounds of your now normalizing breaths, all you could hear were the sounds of nature that surrounded the place. Overgrown grass surrounded the house, allowing for all kinds of bugs to make home there. She could see the flickering soft light of the fireflies, hear the cicadas and buzz of wings that flew past your face, way too close for your liking. And you started to lose track of time, your legs growing tired from carrying your weight in the same position for too long. Slipping slowly towards the ground, you let yourself rest for a moment, closing your eyes and puffing a shaky breath past your lips. You were so tired. It felt like a fever dream, the people chatting and laughing and eating and mingling around. The sound of your father’s boisterous laughter ringing loud and accompanied by many others. A song played on the background softly, a few people fluttering on the ground with grace and kids running around, being chased and chatiest by their caretakers. Braids more intricate than others, some showing off and proudly stating their status, either as rich as piss or happily married, courting. Beads as beautiful and delicate than many could ever wish for. Gosh, you did wish to have one on her hair at some point in life. But now all that seemed so… shallow and unimportant.

How could such futile happiness become a bloodbath so quickly? Thankfully you didn’t see any children hurt and held ignorant hope that they managed to flee to somewhere safe. Gosh, you could hardly believe that, on her way there, she slashed one of the monsters, the hard blade buried itself on his shoulder as he screamed in rage and pain, blood trickling down it’s bare chest and after tugging once, twice to get it out of him, it’s blood rushed out like a horror story would detail, making him stumble and set its eyes on you form, but before he could do anything, you hit it with the machete hard on the knee, making him fall on his face. Although the goal was to kill it with a hard strike to his chest, the weight of the weapon didn’t allow you to do so. But this creature was the same that killed Askell, so you felt a hint of satisfaction to cause it enough damage to somehow avenge him.

But it’s not like you didn’t get hurt at all, you were no fighter, even if Askell did try to give you self defense classes with a smaller sword. Main word being try. You could manage, but doubted you could handle yourself in battle, but he assured you that you would never need to go into battle as long as you had him. Your hairline was definitely sore and the skin open, allowing a little blood to pool around and dirty your face worse than it already was. On your run, you tripped and fell on your hands and knees, getting your palms scrapped and pulsing with pain from the fall and having to carry a heavy weapon your unprepared hands were unused to.

And you waited for something, anything. But nothing came. Were they waiting for you to leave the place or go back to the manor? It was better to stay here until morning, wasn’t it? Probably, yes. So, with your knees to your chest, you put your head between them, allowing your body to relax a little and feeling yourself going a tiny bit slack, your machete close by your side.

If it weren’t from the footsteps on the house terrain, you would’ve fallen asleep for your eyes were heavy and mind fatigued. Standing up slowly and carefully, trying to step as lightly as elves would, you picked up your weapon and walked towards the front door. Whoever was outside, their steps were light, but not light enough that you couldn’t hear them. You could also notice how confidently they were walking, so it couldn’t be children either, and by the sounds of it, they were alone.

Your head was pounding and your hands were shaking again, you were reaching the peak of exhaustion. You held your breath as three knocks sounded one after the other on the door. After not giving any kind of response, the door opened slowly and creaked loudly and a tall, slim robbed figure stood at the door, against the moonlight only their silhouette can be seen.Holding the weapon in front of you with both hands, you took a fighting instance, or what you thought could be described as it.

“Reveal yourself.” You demanded with a slight tremble and agitation to your voice, only to have the figure step forward with a chuckle. It was a man, with a long staff and grey robes that reached the ground and covered the length of his body. And he was old, a long beard adorning his face. A pointed blue hat complemented his appearance, making him look like… like he wanted to seem like a wizard.

“Ah, I figured you would be here, Y/N daughter of Sindel, son of Serill.” The senile man began, walking closer so you make out his features. His beard was as long as she initially made out, and as white as his long hair, just like the scarf he wore. His bushy eyebrows framed his eyes, wrinkled due to the warm smile he was trying to convey.

“Who are you and how do you know my name? How do you know my father?” You asked, keeping yourself unmoving where you stood. He sighed deeply but didn’t let his lips turn any other way.

“I’m Gandalf, the grey.” He brought his unoccupied hand to his chest, introducing himself kindly, before letting it fall along with a sorrowful expression on his face. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but I vowed your father to take care of you should… the unexpected turn of events happened before time was right.” He motioned for you to lower your hands, and you did it hesitantly. If he wanted, he could’ve hit you that staff he was holding, but he probably needed aid to keep standing. He looked very old. “In fact, you’re not safe at all while you’re here, come.” He motioned for you to follow him as he turned around but you didn’t move an inch. How did he know your father and did this man owe him anything? Did you even know your father at all? He looked back at you, taking carefully your fear struck features and ratted clothes and understood. Of course he knew there was a slight possibility you didn’t know anything at all about who your father truly was but more importantly, who you truly were and just how important you are.

“How do you know you’re not one of them?” You finally voiced your main concern at the moment, Gandalf cocked his head to the side. “My… My family was murdered. How do I know you’re just trying to lure me out here so they can finish what they began?” You took another step back, waiting for an answer. He didn’t look exactly threatening but you couldn’t afford to trust anyone, not right now.

“Would that answer your question?” He asked as he handed you the object that was in his possession. Where did he get this? It was a dagger. Your mother’s dagger. One of the belongings she left for you, passed from mother to daughter in your family’s lineage. The design on the hilt was intricate and beautiful. It was rather dusty and had a few marks of use, but you were sure it would’ve been from her. Your father often told you how skilled she was, but never allowed you to use it. It was merely something decorative laying proudly on your nightstand. Until you lost it. You cried for days and dared not to tell your father, he would most likely be furious. Askell told you once how your parents knew your mother could possibly not survive after birth and how she separated and dedicated something for you, her first and only child. Your dad did ask you once about it, he probably already knew by them, but you decided to pretend everything was where it was supposed to be. Which was wherever you wanted it. That earned you a pointed and warning glare for him but you only smiled sweetly back then. Now you had a slight idea where it went.

And it could be a copy, a very good one, for there were several skilled blacksmiths your father knew about. If it weren’t for one detail, you would not have believed him: two designs on the blade. The vessels of the sun and moon. Your mother has always been so devoted to Mahal. Your eyes glazed over, but you didn’t allow yourself to cry. Straightening yourself, you looked at the man that was waiting patiently for you to analyze what was yours by right. You looked at him with determination and a chuckle left his lips as he smiled again.

“Come, let’s get you somewhere safe for the time being.” He beckoned you closer again and this time you obeyed.

“Where are you taking me?” You questioned as you looked around warily, searching silently with a calculated gaze for any threats. Night time was never kind for those endangered and that’s exactly what you were. You could trust him, maybe. But you didn’t know if you could protect yourself and the old man as well. What’s with the pointy hat anyway?

“Well, my dear,” he began, waiting for you to fall into step besides him “You most definitely are in desperate need of a shower.”

#bb writes #thorin x reader #thorin x you #the hobbit imagine #thorin oakenshield x reader

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thottyimagines · 5 years

Note

I really love your ideas haha! Have drunk konoha 11 + sasuke been requested yet? If not I'd love to read that

thank you!! I feel like it has been but I can’t find it and have no desire to go digging for it so I’m gonna do it again

Naruto

Gets all red when he drinks at all, let alone when he’s actually drunk. It’s so cute.

He’s also one of those people who thinks he is even more invincible than usual when drunk. He’s off trying to challenge a sober Rock Lee to insane physical challenges if no one stops him.

Talks a biiiig game shooting his shot and is super affectionate when drunk, but would chicken out if someone actually wanted to hook up.

Occasionally tears up about friendship. Super embarrassing. Super cliche.

Sakura

Is soooo aggressive lmao she’s so fucking mean I love it. The only people who can match this level of rude are Neji and Sasuke. If the three ever banded together (which they won’t, because Neji and Sasuke would fight), their target would be done for.

Desperately wants to arm wrestle.

Loves taking drunk showers. It’s just a fun time for her.

Gets kind of annoyed when people get weepy with her. She’s drunk to have fun, not to cry. If she wanted to get drunk and cry, she’d do it in her own home, by herself, as god intended.

Sasuke

Is such a wanderer. Every now and then team 8 will have to go track him down because he’s basically playing hide and seek without telling anyone.

Always tries to smoke a cigarette when he’s drunk. Always coughs super embarrassingly and painfully.

Again, Sasuke is sooo mean lmao he just sits there, wine glass in hand, critiquing everyone aloud! Drunk Sasuke immediately senses the thing you are sensitive about and comments on it.

Let Ino pierce his ear once when they were all drunk. Actually kind of liked it, but he eventually took it out because it got infected and he didn’t know how to take care of it (and was too embarrassed to ask).

Kiba

Horny drunk for sure. Unlike Naruto, he’s down to hook up with whoever happens to returning his affections that night. Claims they actually fuck, but usually they just sloppy, ugly make out and then Kiba falls asleep and is ditched.

If he drinks enough, Kiba is convinced he can communicate telepathically with Akamaru. No one can really disprove him.

Frickin loves to booty-pop to anything. My mans drops it low.

Gets angry when people try to make him drink water. He’s literally like this vid of the dude spitting his drink at his friend like one of those bath toys.

Hinata

Level 1 Drunk consists of her getting even quieter and even redder than usual. She’s embarrassed to be drunk and thinks she’s being judged. Kiba and Shino know this, so they get her to Level 2 Drunk, which is when she’s too fucked up to care and can finally let loose a little.

She’s kind of a wild card when she’s drunk enough to do abnormal things. Sometimes she confesses her weird secrets (such as definitely training herself to love ramen, even though her baseline is just that it’s ok, but a little salty); sometimes she gets uncomfortably deep; sometimes she just sits there with her Byakugan activated.

Legit will sit with her eyes clothes, in her own world, swaying to music that may or may not be playing.

Throws up often, but quietly and without drawing attention.

Shino

Hates being drunk in big groups. He really won’t do it unless he’s at home or somewhere safe with Hinata and Kiba. Otherwise he gets all weird and twitchy.

Shino is the kind of drunk who is very, very good at hiding the fact that he’s fucked up. Like, he’ll go all night with his team and the next day Kiba will bring up something Shino said and he’ll have zero recollection of that happening.

Lowkey is a huge savage when he’s drunk. He voices all of those mean inner thoughts that he definitely (and, tbh, rightfully) has.

Spills everywhere!! Mess!

Shikamaru

Has a strong preference for whiskey. He drinks it on the rocks, and has always done this. It’s what his mom drinks, so he just copied her because it looked cool and now he has a taste for it.

He’s relaxed enough to drop the totally disinterested facade. This sounds like an oxymoron, but he’s just comfortable enough to show that he gives a damn about whatever he’s talking about.

I say whatever he’s talking about because drunk Shikamaru dominates conversations. Kiba, who never really inspected him closely enough to recognize he has brain cells, was genuinely surprised that Shikamaru knew so many words the first time they were drunk together.

Doesn’t like to get deep when he’s drunk unless he’s with his team or with an s/o.

Ino

Ugh little lush. I love her. And Ino loves to be drunk.

I think she likes white wine the best and chooses to stick to it once she gets old enough to decide hard liquor just is not it for her.

Ino thinks she’s the funniest person in the world when she’s drunk. She will frequently ask, “Why don’t we have a show, you guys?”

She can also just flip a switch and go total mom friend, though. If someone seems to not be doing so well, she can suddenly function at a much higher level. Ino is always the one to notice if Hinata needs to have a nice little vomit.

Choji

Gets sooo giggly. It’s adorable. He’s just happy to be here, coach, and happy to be drinking with his friends.

He’s kind of a lightweight for his size lmao. Also, baby boy loves the fruity drinks. He’s very confident in himself and his masculinity; why would he drink something that tastes bad to prove something to Shikamaru, who was born liking straight whiskey? No, thanks.

Drunk Choji agrees with Ino in that they should absolutely have a tv show. They’re obviously comedy gold.

Volunteers waaaay too much information. He’s just…so, so honest…as soon as a drop of alcohol enters his system. That’s why all of the Konoha kids know how long he is a virgin; he informs them monthly on the status.

Neji

The third and final true savage of the pack. He’s a straight-up animal. Remember the chunin exams? Thirteen-year-old, sober, angry Neji came up with all of that very accurate and somewhat hurtful shit. Drunk, jaded, older Neji can come up with much worse, especially because he’s gotten some more humor injected in there as well. It’s horribly accurate and then everyone will laugh at what he said.

Picks fights with Sasuke sometimes. He’s just so fucking annoying, man. If Neji can be normal in mixed company, so can he, god damn it.

Gets really, really competitive. Sometimes he’ll take Naruto up on challenges on behalf of Lee.

Neji only eats junk food when he’s drunk. It is always a night of indulgence, meaning he doesn’t do it super often. Tenten usually has to bully him into joining her (and then she has to bully Lee).

Tenten

Just bodies shots like it’s nothing. She takes shots of the nastiest shit and her face doesn’t change. She started out like that in her quest to emulate Tsunade, then she just got a taste for it.

Usually tries to do damage control with the dumbass “challenges” Naruto gets up to with her teammates. Sometimes, though, she’ll just join in herself to prove she can beat them all. And she can.

Sings her fucking heart out. Take her to a karaoke bar. Please.

Suuuuper supportive. If someone gets in their feelings too much, she’s there to help them out and bring the mood back up. She’s here for a good time!

Rock Lee

Rarely, rarely drinks. His body is a temple, for one thing. And for another thing, he can’t finish a whole drink and everyone roasts the shit out of him.

Genuinely tries to hold back with the drunken fist stuff, but Naruto won’t stop challenging him! He turns into an agent of chaos.

Has written so, so many apology letters to different establishments and friends for destroying property. They are often tearstained and so sincere that he has never been asked to pay for damages.

Makes a lot of drunk impulse purchases. And if all the stores are closed, he’ll end up just picking flowers from yards as he walks by. He never goes home empty-handed.

#naruto #naruto headcanons #drunk headcanons #naruto uzumaki #sakura #sasuke #kiba #hinata #shino #shikamaru #ino #choji #neji #tenten #rock lee #konoha 11 #konoha 12

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long-cosmos-overhead · 5 years

Text

Prompt: And since I saw you write for Barty Crouch Jr too (and I have a soft spot for him because.. David Tennant) could you write something with him in which he falls for Reader whos kind, gentle and affectionate towards him even though they barely know each other bcs shes part of a death eater family and he tries to protect her? And I would be eternally grateful for a kissing scene :3

Ugh David Tennant I love that man 👌

(I do not own Harry Potter or its characters/ gif not mine)

Sorry for the time this took

I promise those who have requested I haven’t forgotten about you I’m on it xx

Y/n. Such a simple thing was a name yet it made his stomach turn and his heart quench in desire. Barty had undoubtedly fallen for you he didn’t know when or even how all his life he never cared much for anyone yet here he was pawning after you. Each day he would become more and more consumed in his desire his mind always racing full of scenarios about you, having you, holding you, sometimes even simple things like talking to you. He wondered how your hand would feel in his, how your lips would feel upon his he was mad for you.

In truth he barely knew you but you were different anyone could see that. Unlike the savage Greyback, the twisted Bellatrix, the narcissistic Lucius you were kind and gentle you knew of the horrible things people had done yet you treated them as if they were normal. In fact Barty had never seen you treat anyone wrong. It was also well known that everyone liked you they trusted you even seeking comfort in you and you never faltered in your ways.

However what made Barty grind his teeth and growl in frustration was how you treated everyone equally. He was madly in love with you so much that he was loosing his mind. He did everything he could to go out of his way to be kind scrambling for your favouritism yet you flashed him a charming genuine smile that made his knees weak and thanked him sincerely. He loved it so much that he even put you in a position where he could assist you just to see you smile at him and him alone but he wanted more. Barty craved for you to see him as more than just a death eater.

You were scared to the point of salty tears sliding down your face and dripping off your chin. You barely made a sound aside from a few stray sobs, staring from your position on the bed at the shelf in front of you. The cracked spines of the books that lay heavy on the shelf stared back at your shaking body. Most had gone unread for years some even pushing far past decades. They weren’t anything special, an assortment of greys and browns. Once they had been someone’s treasure their pages turned eagerly, their spines cracked with use until they had nothing left to give. Stored away never looked at the same again just gathering dust and withering in age.

You glanced away squeezing your eyes shut feeling the moisture welling up in your eyes run down your cheeks. You felt completely helpless waves carrying huge quantities of insecurities crashed into your body seeping into any corner it could probe into. You were scared not of any monster but the world. It seemed so surprising, you served directly under the most feared wizard since Grindelwald and with that came dangerous people but God forbid anyone know you’d be mocked, ridiculed, humiliated and dropped from your services.

That’s when you thought of him. The man that captivated you trapping you in a steel grip that you yourself held but by god he was perfect. His brown eyes practically tormenting you. They held such unfathomable depth seeping with underlying torment and wrath yet they were the most perfect thing you’d ever seen. They drew you in like a drug making your heart flutter wildly at the simplest glance and your mind stray ever so far from reality. It may be covered up under layers upon layers but he had a heart.

Barty wanted love, he wanted praise, he wanted someone to love him to feel the world stop and melt away, stripped of sin. For breathless moments of otherworldly affections, to feel continents collide within the very essence of life, to watch the colours explode yet it all happen within one human body at the very look of another. He wanted you.

You needed his comfort so desperately. You only knew him a little, before your heart fell for another you’d have thought it an impossibility to desire someone you knew little about so much but here you were running through the empty halls towards that very man. You noticed almost nothing. Not the clothes creasing and moulding around your skin at every step you took, not the stray portion of the hallway that illuminated like stardust under the moonlight split by the window, you barely noticed you were running at all. Your heart carrying your body blinded by love.

Silver tear tracks were still evident on your cheeks as you came to a halt at his door. Your breath slightly quickened from running and your chest visibly rising and falling. Your mind barely processed knocking on the wooden door that stood a few inches from your face. For a short amount of time you understood none of your actions - some state of ignorant bliss heightened on the thought of love but that high had since dimmed and you were suddenly aware. All too aware. You noticed that what you could not moments previous. Everything.

You saw the dents and scratches that forever marred the door, the long looming corridor that seemed a lot more imposing than when you had been gliding though it freely. A heavy weight lay upon your shoulders, an overwhelming sense of dread and helplessness. What had you done? You were too scared to think of any outcome your head dipping to stare at your feet as you were seemingly paralysed, even your clothes felt heavy.

You flinched as you heard the the latch click. The door swung open yet you could not find the power in any quantity to face the man that made your heart flutter. The silence that followed was filled with anxiety and dread. A deafening abstract concept.

“Y/n?” To any other his voice would inflict terror or authority but standing in front of him at night in baggy clothes cheeks covered by tear tracks he was gentle, soothing almost. Still you couldn’t face him.

“Barty I-,”

The words you tried to speak held less confidence than you quickly disappearing as though they wanted no part in your humiliation.

Two fingers slipped beneath your chin gently pressing your head up allowing your eyes to meet with his. Gentleness did not come easy to Barty but he’d rather cut off his hand before hurting you in any way. His eyes shifted from confusion to shock almost sympathy when he saw the silver lines down your cheeks.

“You’re upset.”

He said it as more of a statement than a question. Truely Barty had never seen you upset. The words he said were useless you and him both knew you were upset and his mind skipped to an answer as to why he stated such an obvious deduction perhaps to solidify the fact that you weren’t bulletproof. To realise you broke and needed fixing.

The words were so simple, so hideously obvious yet they reduced you to tears in front of him. You were expecting Barty to discard you, send you away after all what deatheater cried at two simple words yet you were quickly wrapped into his arms and pulled into his room. His hold was exhilarating your heart pounded inside your chest. He was clearly foreign to affection yet he was trying for you. He didn’t know what came over him when he held you in his arms but it felt right.

The fact you were sobbing into his chest shifted his mood considerably yet being able to finally hold you in his arms was the most complex feeling he’d ever been riddled with. It was a prefect feeling having your body pressed tightly up to his, you fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Your height made it so you were slotted up to him just tall enough for his chin to rest against your head and for his hands to weave through your hair. You allowed naturally for your body to be encased in his easily allowing him to curl around you and protect you from the world. A feeling he’d lusted and longed for for the moment he laid eyes on you.

You began to shift slowly removing yourself from his embrace. You didn’t want to by any means but you felt as if you’d overstayed your welcome the moment he opened the door. Barty had finally had you in his arms right where he wanted you he wasn’t willing to let you go anytime soon. He almost feared the loss of contact would destroy his very being. His hands tightened round your waist forbidding you leave his embrace.

“No, let me hold you.”

Your heart flipped quenching with love. Your body tingled in euphoria and you obeyed sinking into his chest once more. A few minutes passed yet they felt like a blissful eternity. You were still partially in shock that he even let you in and he was drunk on happiness of having finally got you.

He couldn’t hold back he wanted, needed you to be his. He didn’t know much of love but nothing in his life had felt more right. He twisted his neck a few inches to the side and pressed his lips to yours. It was exactly how he thought it would be and more. Like all the worlds colliding and time stopping a breathless exchange of pure love, no feeling in the world brought him closer to immortality than this. He was needy and rough expressing each desire within an exchange he hoped he’d have far many more times.

“I’ll protect you.”

@softheartedsnake

#barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr imagine #harry potter imagine #barty crouch jr x reader fluff #fluff #angst #ask #request #harry potter #barty crouch jr

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marewriteblr · 5 years

Text

Traits And Quirks For Characters In Fantasy (list)

idk if I’m the only one, but when creating characters for my wips, I like to google lists of traits and quirks to give a bit more depth to them. and since I mostly write fantasy, I thought my characters deserved some more fantasy-related traits and quirks, so here’s a list of 150+ traits and quirks for characters in a fantasy setting!! hope it helps some of you too

has tattoos that keep changing

bad vision—takes magical potion to see clearly

addicted to magical food or drink

weird things happen when they laugh, sneeze, cough…

sees things that aren‘t there—or are they?

speaks in rhymes

has a wandering scar

has a wound that never stops bleeding

shows symptoms of a curse but pretends to not know how they got it

physical signs when lying, eg hair growing unnaturally fast

can summon any mythical creature easily

has a mythical creature for a pet

brings a slight breeze with them whenever they enter a room

was dead once

refuses to eat certain type of food for no specific reason as though it were amoral or inethical

obsession with a particular period in history

obsession with a magical creature/species

doesn‘t dance or make music because weird things happen

haunted by a ghost, their best companion

always has a candle lit (eg for their ghost companion)

can speak a mystery language only very few people understand

can turn the light of single stars on and off as they please

used to be part of a secret society

wears shoes with wings, no one knows if they actually work

can predict the future correctly for a ridiculous/bizarre reason

lives at court, no one knows why or where they came from but they let them stay

can only talk in questions or riddles

always seen reading spell books though they can‘t do magic

always seen reading books though they can‘t read. bonus if the reason for this is magical

tells everyone about the time they did something they‘ve certainly never done

tells everyone they used to be a dragon, is obviously lying

is actually blind, no one has noticed

never speaks, only talks to people telepathically, they’re used to it by now

has blood of unnatural colour, tells the weirdest stories of why that is—story changes every time

sacrificed 7 years of their life to magical creature who might claim them any minute

sacrificed a body part, determined to get it back

sacrificed their good looks

always learning spells by heart and seen using them the next day as though they’d prepared it for the occasion

has a secret identity, eg can do a certain type of magic and sneaks out to commit crimes/perform on stage/meet their companions…

keeps getting into trouble because people are convinced they have magic, but they don’t

belongs to a human/non-magical species but was kidnapped years ago and never went back

is actually a ghost

is immortal but doesn‘t know anything about history—can tell you all about the migration of dwarf antelopes on their continent throughout the centuries though

always corrects people on history/mythology facts with things they can‘t possibly know if they weren‘t there themselves

allergic to magic. bonus if they‘re a powerful wizard or deity

obsessed with knives and swords. you can fight them but they‘re more interested in the crafting of your blade

allergic to a certain spell and only that spell for no apparent reason

always has a certain item or food in their pocket in case they need to bribe a magical creature today

miscorrects others‘ pronunciation of spells and pronounces them wrong themselves (eg emphasis on wrong syllable)

talks in a fake elf accent to piss off elves

pretends to be a species they clearly aren’t judging by their appearance, and gets defensive when told so, calling people racist

gets themselves into trouble by trying to seduce nymphs when drunk. also an alcoholic

is cursed to never remember any names—has forgotten their real name a long time ago so no one can ever have that power over them

introduces themselves with a different name every time they meet someone

heavily worships an evil trickster god

ominously refers to themselves in third person

doesn‘t walk but jumps from roof to roof instead

predicts the future but is always horribly wrong

challenges people to a quest all the time

seems to know every person in the entire kingdom

seems to be enemies with every person in the entire kingdom

spends a lot of time in dimly-lit taverns seeking opponents for a strange board game

likes to look for bizarre monsters deep in the forest

talks to their dagger

talks too much during sword fights

gets involved in sword fights but only ever carries a paper sword with them

makes up crazy and hardly believable stories when asked about their past to hide their guilt

collects a particular type of item that can only be found on adventurous quests to dangerous places

has large horns on their head despite their species having no such thing, refuses to tell anyone why

never seen eating

never seen sleeping

takes every time anyone mentions something being hard or dangerous to do as a challenge to try it

wears an eyepatch solely for the looks of it

collects dangerous enchanted jewellery

random hissing

an excellent storyteller, like unnaturally excellent

politically involved and fights for giants‘ rights

has a finger that‘s mysteriously shorter than the others

is best friends with a demon

is nocturnal but loves sunlight

pretends to be completely resistant to pain

always sneaking around

has a tattoo that keeps dis- and reappearing

enchants people with their acting

has a wooden prosthesis

doesn‘t wear shoes

changes eye colour every day

wears gloves all the time and tells people it‘s for their safety

hears the trees talk to them

believes the apocalypse is near

pretends to be immortal

breaks into people‘s homes to steal food. no jewellery. only food

pins pressed flowers to their walls

believes that flowers grant wishes

has random visions of other people‘s pasts that aren‘t necessarily true but always get them into trouble

strongly believes in reincarnation

talks in a different accent every day

is convinced they are cursed

sees every minor conflict as a challenge to a sword fight

fights their battles using nothing but darts

is an archer and also blind or missing an arm

accidentally stabs themselves. a lot.

always carrying poison around „just in case“

is at fault for the fall of a mighty god

knows all about mythology

always up to date regarding drama and gossip between the gods

immediately scared they’re about to be cursed whenever someone raises their voice

still mourns over the death of a friend

whatever they touch breaks instantly

chews on their wand (definitely not a good idea)

always wears their hair tied up into a bun, is longer than rapunzel‘s when worn loose

brags they were good at picking locks but actually just hit it really hard until it breaks

accidental shapeshifting

still waiting for an ominous prophecy to foretell their destiny

makes weird/seemingly unnecessary bargains with strangers

has something slightly off about their appearance that makes people stop in their tracks to watch them

unhealthy obsession with cloaks

is a great fan of wizards. collects wands and hats like action figures

horses don‘t like them, they ride a wolf instead

sings the spells they use

constantly mumbling to themselves or someone others can‘t see

can duplicate themselves but can‘t do math so they‘re always a bit confused

has a leaf sticking to the back of their hand. don‘t ask them why

is a painter, travels very far to obtain a particular kind of paint

sketches their dreams in a book after they come to them at night

always seems to be charged with electricity

freckles on their cheeks dance when laughing or when light hits them

makes up prophecies and tells strangers about them

grows wings when high up due to fear of falling

gets arrested regularly for pranking nature spirits and deities

sneezes when using magic

insomniac, needs a particular spell or magical food/herb to fall asleep

magic makes them fall asleep (when they use it or when others use it nearby)

mixes the weirdest potions all day

can‘t eat spicy food, literally breathes fire

necromancy but only to revive their dead cat

turns the same colour of any food they eat

dreams of becoming a knight

horrible short term memory but can easily recite anything they read two centuries ago

makes their eye colour look white just to mess with people

can‘t remember spells for shit. says them incorrectly which always goes horribly wrong

terrible handwriting. bonus if they’re a messenger who has to send important letters on a daily, causing things to go very wrong

can correctly guess anyone‘s magical power on a scale from 1-10. is stupid enough to point it out aloud, too

wears cloaks that are way too long

carries a fake sword on their hip

carries way more weapons on them than necessary

uses their dagger as a toothpick

plays with dagger when thinking

supernaturally heavy sleeper

gets the different species mixed up a lot

tells everyone how many people they‘ve killed in their life

a die hard fan of a well-known assassin

a die hard fan of shakespeare‘s puck

desperately wants to be abducted by the fae

heavily affected by the phase of the moon

#this list will definitely be updated #but i thought i'd post it #since some might wanna use these #i certainly have already skskskk #writing resources #traits and quirks #characters #character development #worldbuilding #fantasy #top posts

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salamanderskin · 4 years

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Cold Hands, Warm Tea (Caduceus)

Cr//iti/cal R/o/le fanfiction m/m Fjord is becoming aware that his feelings for Caduceus are beyond ‘platonic healer friend who mentors him in a new faith’. It’s harder to hide it when Caduceus is sick and miserable. A fluffy getting-together sort of sickfic. This one got away from me into 4k of plotless snz and fever because I will go down with this fjucking ship. Someone please give this a title.

It’s still strange to have a home to call their own. Strange, but nice. Their own sitting room where they can drink as much as they want, as late as they want, without the intrusion of strangers. Caduceus’ cooking is better than their usual fare on the road. Fjord likes that he can take his boots off and armour off and feel as safe as he ever feels.

It’s late. The fire is low, the lamps are lit and the remains of dinner on the dining room table have been pushed aside for a game of cards. The only real early bird of the group is Caduceus, who has long since turned in. Caleb is in his room with a book, Jester is in her room with the Traveller. That leaves Beau, Yasha, Fjord and Nott around the table with some time on their hands, for once, and a lot of shit to talk. This suits Fjord just fine. He needs a distraction from the changes in his life, something to occupy his thoughts from the Wildmother, and from Caduceus. When he’s giving as good as he gets with Beau, he’s less likely to ask a stupid, revealing question like, “Have you ever been in love? How did you know?”

They glance up as one when they hear feet on the stairs- a distinctive tread that speaks of a heavy frame that moves lightly. Fjord knows it intimately and looks up with a smile as Beau calls “Caduceus, that you?”

“Yeah, it's me.” The firbolg’s voice is deeper than usual and soft. Fjord feels his heart warm at the sound of it. It is a voice that always brings kindness.

It is unusual to see Caduceus wearing more than a light jacket over his silk shirt. Right now he is wearing a blanket from his room around his shoulders like a shawl, gathered in one fist around him although it’s barely cold in the house. His long hair is loose and mussed, making an untidy, rose-coloured halo.

“I'm not disturbing anything, am I?” Caduceus asks, ever polite.

“Not at all. What are you doing up?” Yasha inquires.

The firbolg sighs and sits down on the remaining empty chair. “I'm having a hard time sleeping. I think I might be getting sick.”

Before Fjord can query, the firbolg draws a deep, unsteady breath and gifts them with an expression that is uncharacteristically uncertain- brows lifted, lips parted and gaze hovering near the ceiling- followed by a soft miserable,. “Uuh- ishhhoo!” of a sneeze. He directs it over his shoulder and returns his attention to them with a sheepish sniffle.

This earns a “Whoah, alright, we believed you already,” from Beau and a “gesundheit” from Nott.

Fjord rises and comes to look at him, arm on his shoulder. “What kind of sick, 'Duceus?”

“I don't know, it doesn't matter. I just thought some company would be better than lieing in bed awake.”

“Why don’t you ask Jester for some healing?”

Caduceus wrinkles his nose. “Oh, no need to interrupt her tonight. I’ll see if it develops into any-” His voice goes airy and a tone higher as he tries valiantly to finish his thought “into-anyth-ii-ng-ISSHoo! Heh, excuse me.”

Fjord cringes and averts his eyes as Caduceus whisks out a bit of cloth and turns to wipe his nose with a sorry sounding sniffle.

“You sound shitty.” Beau pats the firbolg firmly on the back- a little too firmly, since it makes Caduceus start and cough. This is high sympathy and affection coming from her, and they all know it.

It makes Caduceus smile at least. With his blanket shawl and his long limbs tucked into the slightly too-small chair, he looks worn and sleepy. Fjord watches him shiver, swallow, wince as though his throat is sore. Then Fjord feels like a creeper for watching so closely. It’s been getting increasingly hard not to stare at their companion, no matter what state he’s in.

“This is medicinal.” Nott holds out her flask of liquor. “And it’ll knock you right out. Best thing if you can’t sleep.”

“No thanks.” Caduceus shakes his head, predictably. “Maybe just some water.”

That Fjord can do. He manages not to leap to fetch it, but he’s glad he’s the one who moves first because that means he’s the one who gets to brush his fingers against Caduceus’ as he passes the glass, he’s the one who gets “thanks, Fjord,” and a grateful smile directed his way.

What he’d like to do, when Caduceus sniffles again and rubs his eyes in sleepy discomfort, is to bring him to bed and lay with him until the shivers ease. To give him the same warmth Fjord had received from him when Uk’Otoa’s nightmares raged. Fjord hadn’t felt shy then, but he feels shy now. So instead opens another bottle of ale and deals the cards between himself, Nott and Beau while Yasha chats to Caduceus. Eventually Caduceus clears his throat. “Think I’m going to turn in now. Thanks for the company.”

“Sleep well,” Yasha says.

Fjord ads, “Night, ‘Deuces. I, uh, hope you feel better.”

“Hah. Me too."

………………….

Fjord pauses at the door of Caduceus' dwelling, straining his ears for sounds of movement. He doesn't want to wake his friend if Caduceus has managed to drift to sleep.

Jester, in full cleric mode, has already come and gone this morning, having given Caduceus a healing spell, a potion and a plate of cookies which remain uneaten. Fjord recalls her face scrunched in a pout of disappointment that her spell didn't immediately return to their friend to fighting fitness .She reported that his fever is down from blazing to merely uncomfortable, leaving him drowsy and restless

"And I was gonna sit with him and read, and sing to him and stuff, but I could tell he didn't actually want me too. He's just suuuper tired right now so if you go see him you gotta be quiet," she told Fjord, eyes serious. "He might like to see you though, you could talk about Wildmother stuff."

"I think I can manage that." Fjord agreed. "If he gets worse, I'll definitely let you know."

So here he is, feeling a little awkward hovering on the threshold of Caduceus' bedchamber.

Fjord has been spending a lot of time in the tower garden but has never had cause to step into the little wooden shelter Caduceus prefers to an actual bedroom in the house. He doesn't want to invade his friend's privacy, but is desperately curious nonetheless. He wants to know everything about Caduceus.

He knocks very gently and waits for a response.

"Hey." A soft voice and the sound of a body rolling over.

"Don't get up-" Fjord begins, but the door opens for him.

Caduceus Clay greets Fjord with a pleased smile that is at odds with the gaunt look of his face. Fjord's not sure how someone with fur can be pale, but Clay has managed it, with the exception of a flush of colour high on his cheekbones. His eyes are over-bright and his poor nose looks chapped and sore from rubbing.

"Fjord!" Caduceus says fondly. "What can I do for you?"

That selfless, innocent question is so utterly Caduceus that Fjord is stopped in his tracks. It's a lucky thing because when Caduceus wavers, suddenly lightheaded, Fjord is right there to catch him with both arms and bring him in for a hug which is more about keeping him upright.

"Whoah!" Fjord stumbles and swears, straightening them both. "I got you"

The Firbolg takes his own weight back but doesn't disengage from the embrace. His head drops to Fjord's shoulder as he takes a deep breath. The warm huff of air makes Fjord shiver.

"Oh- sorry- think I stood up too quickly." "Looks like it." Fjord agrees. "Fuck. Come on, sit down."

The firbolg has only a low futon mattress on the wooden floor, as simple and spare as the rest of the room. The rest of the space is filled with the pots containing seedlings he had determined required a little extra nursing- a sentiment that today describes Caduceus himself. Fjord lowers them both onto it and turns to give his companion a closer look.

He pushes the firbolg's hair from his face and feels fever heat radiating through his fingers and where their bodies touch. Jester's right, he's not in any danger, but he looks miserable, an expression so unfamiliar on his good-natured face that all Fjord can do is hug him again.

"Mm. S'nice."

It's more than nice. Fjord closes his eyes, breathing in Caduceus' scent and savouring the moment. They rest in the embrace for a long minute until Caduceus sniffles softly and first and then more insistently.

"Uh oh.." he murmurs, pressing a hand under his muzzle.

"You okay?" Fjord queries.

"Yeah- just-" His expression goes vague and then crumples into a fit of sneezing.

"-ISSHoo-!! hhisSShww!- ISSHwww!" Soft and with hardly a breath between them.

All Fjord can do is watch and feel the tug on his heartstrings as Caduceus sneezes and sneezes, shuddering hard as he smothers them into his elbow.

He surfaces, apparently finished, and manages to murmur a "ugh, scuse me-" before he is overtaken again.

Eventually he is able to blow his nose and stop the fit, giving Fjord a sheepish look over the handkerchief followed by an exhausted groan.

"I'm so sorry. Looks like Jester's spell is -snf- wearing off."

"Bless you." Fjord sighs. "You sound rough."

"Yeah." Caduceus agrees softly. That's typical Caduceus, too, neither dissembling nor seeking sympathy, merely accepting the fact.

"Can I do anything?"

"Hmm, I don't know." He shakes his head. "I can't think."

"What about some tea? You always drink tea."

His ears perk up a little as he considers. "Yeah. Good idea. I- I might need you to heat the water. I don't have any spells in me at the moment."

Fjord agrees at once. He notices Caduceus' tea set and kettle on a little stand but without any means to set a fire underneath. Fjord doesn't have any warming spell himself so he takes the kettle down to the kitchen to heat it the old fashioned way.

When he returns he is surprised to find his friend wandering the garden. He has put on a knitted sweater but his hunched posture still speaks of chill.

"'Duceus?"

"Hey." And a smile.

"What are you doing up?"

The firbolg clearly needs a second to think, visibly reaching through the fog of fever. "Getting some herbs. For the tea."

"Oh. Can't I do that for you?"

Caduceus nods vaguely. "Got to get the right ones. For healing. I'll get them. I'll teach you for next time."

Something irrational in Fjord's chest says there won't be a next time, because I'm never gonna let you get sick again. He doesn't know how he'd manage that, of course, but the sentiment remains. That said, it might be good to learn some healing herbs. If nothing else it'll give him a reason to spend more time up here.

Caduceus turns away from his harvesting to sneeze weakly into his cupped palms. He finishes with a whole-body shudder that makes his teeth chatter with cold.

"You should be in bed."

Thank the Wildmother, Caduceus doesn't argue the point but gathers the handful of leaves into his palm and looks towards his room. "Yes. Yeah. Sorry, I got- distracted- there."

"It's okay. Come back inside and we'll make that tea."

Fjord loops his arm around the firbolg's waist to lead him back. He feels Caduceus lean on him in a way that suggests dizziness or maybe just fatigue. He feels the heat bleeding through the layers of their clothes. If it's making Fjord uncomfortable from the contact then Caduceus himself must be miserable with it, even if he's currently in the shivering phase.

Fjord adds the herbs to the teapot, while Caduceus seems very glad to settle on the bed once more. He collapses all the way down and curls in on himself as he shakes with chills. Even with his hands in his armpits and his legs tucked up like a child's, he can't seem to get warm. Fjord pulls the blankets around him and that helps a little, but he still lets out a soft whine as a wave of chills passes over him.

It just about breaks Fjord's heart. He goes to sit on the bed as if drawn by a tether, his arms going to Caduceus' back and rubbing heat into him through the blankets.

"Hey. Hey. It's okay. What do you need?"

"M'okay. M'just cold."

"The tea's ready. Can you sit up and drink some?"

Caduceus Clay and his family make tea not exactly for a living, but as a byproduct of their profession and their faith. Under normal circumstances Fjord would never dare to make a cup for him, but these are far from normal circumstances. It's not that he thinks Clay would judge his tea-making, exactly, but he wants so badly for the firbolg to think well of him.

It seems unlikely that Caduceus can taste anything at all right now. He sits with his back leaning against the wall and their thighs touching on the bed. He holds the cup under his nose and breathes the stream. His slender, slit nostrils flare slightly, like a cat's, snuffling more and more rapidly, until he has to pause between sips to scrub the heel of his hand underneath his muzzle. It doesn't seem to be helping much.

"Can you h-hold this for me?"

He thrusts the cup at Fjord with a waver in his voice that makes Fjord take it automatically.

"Thadks-" it's an octave higher than Caduceus' usual bass, drawn tight by a flurry of panting breaths. "heh… ehh…. heh'ISSShooo!"

"Bless you!"

Caduceus waves a hand vaguely, pressing the other up against his nostrils. "Scuse-" He manages. Oh, his eyes are watering. He looks desperate and sniffly and full of cold, and Fjord can't do very much about it but watch as his breath hitches- hitches-

"Chiiishhhoo!" And again, eyes slamming shut as his body jackknifes forward. If he'd been holding the tea, it would have been everywhere, that's for sure.

"hah-CHIIShhoo!"

He surfaces with a watery, apologetic sniffle and takes the teacup back. "Nggh. Thanks, Fjord."

"Bless you." It seems inadequate for how tired Caduceus seems.

"Thanks." He says again. He drains the rest of the tea before any other mishap can befall it, and slumps tiredly to one side. This leaves him with his head leaning heavy against Fjord's shoulder.

"Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay." Fjord soothes. He can feel the fever heat from the firbolg's brow and the back of his neck as he shivers. It's not unpleasant, he just wishes he could will it away. What he can do is reach his hands around and smooth the back of his fingers against the firbolg's cheek. He hopes for it to be soothing but his friend jumps in his arms, pulling away with a soft whine.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

"Your hands are c-cold."

"They're really not." Fjord sighs. "Come on. Lie down again now."

With a little hauling and shifting of blankets he is able to settle Caduceus back on the mattress. It's not that 'Duceus is resisting, he's just lax with fever, and seven feet of Firbolg is a lot to manhandle. It's worth the effort to see him sigh in relief, even if it is punctuated with sniffles as he rolls over to bury his face in the pillows.

Fjord steps back for a moment and takes stock of his patient. Caduceus lies on his belly, smothered by blankets that are not too thick to hide the occasional shudder running through his form. All that beautiful hair is vibrantly, ridiculously pink against the white cotton, tangled from all the commotion. His ears peek out from the strands, low against his head in misery.

Another set of sniffles from within the covers, then an uneasy "uh oh-" heralding another sneeze. It doesn't come at once but teases, leaving Caduceus to scrub his face miserably into the pillow and make soft, frustrated sounds on each exhale until he finally works up to a cleansing, "HeYSSSShhuh!" that makes Fjord cringe for his poor throat.

"Fuck…" Fjord sighs, and tries not to listen as the firbolg blows his nose. It's a sniffly, uncomfortable sounding affair. He tries not to think of Caduceus' physiology as animal, exactly, but his slit nostrils are somewhere between a cats' and a cows', and hardly seem designed to handle the congestion.

"Ugh, I'm sorry Fjord. I'm no good to anyone like this."

That's the last straw for Fjord's beleaguered heart.

Before he knows what he is doing, he finds himself crawling the length of the mattress and gathering the firbolg into his arms. There is a rush of heat and sweat from the lifted blankets but it is more than worth it to get Caduceus' head cradled against his chest, the weight of his body draped slack across Fjord's legs and curling into the warmth of him with another shiver.

It feels so Goddamn good that Fjord's chest gets tight.

Caduceus has gone very still. The shivers stop as their shared body heat blossoms under the blankets.

"This is… new" He says tentatively.

"But good, right?"

"Yeah. It's nice. It helps a lot, actually. I think I needed a hug."

Of course he does. Caduceus has always been tactile, ever ready with a hug and a kind hand. He never pushes it on anyone else, meaning that Jester gets the bulk of his physical affection. He grew up a big family and then has been alone for a long, long time. No wonder he craves a little comfort when he's not feeling good. Fjord feels like an ass for not recognising it before.

In a bid to make up for lost time, Fjord presses a kiss to the crown of his forehead. Caduceus shivers again, but perhaps not with cold.

Inevitably, Caduceus’ sickness intervenes again, lest they forget what had brought them together this way.

"Uh, Fjord…"

Fjord has seen this cycle enough times to correctly interpret that hazy, ticklish squint and groping hand. He passes a clean hankie just in time for Caduceus to tuck it over his muzzle and shiver a soft, miserable "hhisSShww!"

He can feel Caduceus shudder with it, feel how much it takes out of him in this fevered state.

The firbolg recovers more slowly now and his eyes remain unfocused. Gods, his pupils are like coins.

“I think my fever’s up again.” Caduceus adds helpfully.

Fjord snorts. He may not be a healer but the heat radiating from the firbolg's skin is like sitting beside a brazier.

"Shall I call Jester?" There must be more magic they can pour at this problem, surely?

"Needs to save her spells. In case something happens." Caduceus explains. "She's coming this evening."

"Okay." Fjord doesn't like that much but apparently there is nothing to be done. Caduceus is selfless but he isn't a martyr or a fool. If he says there's no quick cure, Fjord believes him. It just really fucking sucks.

He wishes he had picked up some healing magic along the way, but that wasn't what his patron had in mind, so he does what he knows how to do.

That involves a cold cloth for the firbolg's brow and another to wipe down his neck and chest. Plenty of water to drink and another cup of tea, cold this time. Ensuring Caduceus always has a handkerchief to hand and a fond blessing when he sneezes.

Caduceus lies placidly through all of this, a ghost of a smile on his lips in spite of it all. How he remains so good-natured, Fjord will never know.

Fjord considers leaving him to get some sleep, but when he makes the suggestion Caduceus manages a very good impression of a wounded puppy even as he says, "Oh. Sure."

So they end up together in the bed again.

Caduceus is far too warm to snuggle in, but he lies on the mattress with his head resting on Fjord's arm so that the half-orc can smooth his sweaty hair back from his neck. It's almost perfect. Almost wonderful. It's been a long time since Fjord has lain with anyone like this. He watches the Firbolgs eyes weigh shut with a deep tenderness he hardly knew he was capable of, and presses another kiss to that burning brow.

"You comfy? As you can be?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I-" Caduceus raises his head, looking up at Fjord with big pupils, fever flushed cheeks and a peculiar determination. Looks like Caduceus is steeling himself for something.

" 'm far too loopy to think now." The firbolg begins, placing each word as if he has to retrieve them individually from the fog of fever and they lay them out before him. "But this is really nice. We should do this again...so I can… enjoy it properly."

A long speech from someone hazy and half-asleep. Fjord feels his lips tilt into a delighted, probably goofy, grin. He is very glad Caduceus can't see it from this position.

"Yeah. I'd like that too."

No reply this time. Caduceus Clay is asleep and snoring softly on his chest, and Fjord couldn't be happier.

#sickfic #fever #sneeze kink #let them be soft #I'll never get bored of hurting the healer #it's my favourite

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

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Surface Breach(1/3)[β]

(A/N: Apologies for the longer-than-usual wait on this one. I went back and forth a LOT on which direction I wanted to take this in. and both the weather and irl things have not been cooperating with my muse. X_X. Anyway, the prompt for this was ‘Ahsoka completely breaking down and Maul comforting her’. Sequel to ‘Pressure Points’, so set about 2-3 years after ROTS with circumstances being closer to canon. Warnings for: Non-consensual abduction, emotional manipulation, possessive behaviour, intrusive thoughts, violent outbursts, violation of physical autonomy/boundaries, mentions of possible body modification/invasion of privacy, major character death and some internalized shame regarding sex and sexual practices. Once again, potentially triggering sections have been marked off with ‘****’. Unbeta’d.)

Ahsoka...drifts for an uncertain amount of time. She gets vague impressions of eating and performing other necessities as if through a thick haze. There’s a...person who helps her with these things. Someone with warm hands(which are very appreciated, wherever she is, it’s cold) and a low, pleasant voice that she could curl up and listen to for hours. Mostly she sleeps, deep and untroubled by nightmares or immediate concerns. When she comes to, there’s an overwhelming grogginess and a slight chemical tang on her tongue that she only gets from prolonged bacta treatment. Not full tank immersion, but there are a fair amount of patches stuck to her skin under the loose robe she’s currently wearing. Peeling them off carefully, she finds that most of the bruising and other marks that covered her body-like a tribute to poor decisions- are either gone or greatly reduced. And she doesn’t feel...sore in any tender places. Kind of a welcome change. Which now brings up the question of Where the kriff am I and how long have I been here?

Ahsoka catalogues her surroundings: Simple bed, storage unit, two doors presumably leading to a refresher and an outside corridor. It’s very...bare. Easily left behind or packed up. Whoever is staying here doesn’t plan to do so for long. She finds her lightsabres, clothes, and armour in the top drawer, and her boots placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Only when she is nearly finished getting dressed does she take out a long, even strip of black fabric. For a moment, she thinks that there must have been an error of some kind, until the memories of her most recent slip-up rush in like floodwater through a broken dam. There’s a hot, tight feeling in her gut that balances precariously between desire and shame. Maul has an obsessive personality. She knows this. So why am I encouraging this disaster by-Ahsoka can’t even finish the thought. It makes her sick. And so very angry. She’d made the mistake of seeking him out for something other than business, and he had flat-out abducted her. Any number of people or her objectives could be in danger right now. Her fingers fumble slightly on her wrist-comm as she checks it for tampering. Still functional. She’ll have to disassemble her equipment later, to ensure there aren’t any tracking chips or other unwelcome additions.

He might have embedded something in me while I was under. It rattles her, not remembering, not knowing what Maul could have done, given the opportunity. And he’s close. Even with apprehension curdling in her veins, she can tell that much. Slipping the blindfold into a pocket, she pulls her boots on and pauses for a moment in front of the door. So. Time to find out whether she’s a prisoner or a...’guest’. It opens seamlessly, and she almost gives a sigh of relief. Until she realizes that it leads directly into his office. Ahsoka steps through into a moderate, dimly-lit space. The glow from the screen of the datapad he’s perusing throws Maul’s left side into sharp relief. “Sit.” No need to guess whom he’s addressing, or that he expects to be obeyed. And as there are no other chairs in the room -besides the one he’s currently occupying-, her options are limited. She folds her arms and prepares to stand her ground, only to find herself pulled forward. There is a struggle, though the distance is so short that by the time she breaks out of his Force grip, she’s already right in front of him. Ever the image of arrogance, he sets the ‘pad down, only now raking his gaze over her body. If it’s just to assess the state of her injuries, she might not mind. As much. Except this is Maul, so his motives are guaranteed to be awful at best and downright terrifying at worst. She takes the opportunity to loom over him, gripping the back of his chair with one hand. “You have one chance. Tell me why in the name of a Hutt’s karking diseased brood pouch you thought any of this was a good idea.” The odds are heavily in favour of him lying, or any facts being filtered through his...particular mindset. There is still a possibility that she can glean some scraps of truth from whatever pile of waste product he presents her with, though.

“You were incapacitated, and your stability is, shall we say...currently less than sound.” He answers, lazily resting the curve of his jaw against one set of knuckles as he sprawls. “I acted as I saw fit.” Even when appearing relaxed, Maul is still a coiled serpent. She can never forget that. “Although I am curious...What you might have done had you woken up alone.” “Gone back to work with a few new bruises.” Ahsoka retorts flatly. Which is true, minus some details. It might have at least given her more motivation to stay away from him; knowing with certainty that she is viewed as a plaything for him to use roughly and toss aside on a whim. If only.

“A poor deflection. Nevertheless...” Maul hooks two fingertips under her chin, pulling her oh-so-gradually towards him as he leans in close. The resulting kiss is unexpectedly gentle. She didn’t think he wanted... But he’s-this is-good. Not hurried or violent. She finds herself angling her head to get a bit more contact, tongue peeking out to tentatively flick at his lower lip. He purrs, and she feels...oddly pleased as the physical connection deepens. Their tongues entwine and slide in a tantalizing dance to the point where she hums. Ahsoka is dizzy from either a lack of oxygen or budding arousal when they pull apart, chest heaving slightly as she takes in some much-needed gulps of air. Still, there has to be a catch.

“Explain why I should allow you to leave, Ahsoka Tano.” Sometimes, she really dislikes being right.

“That’s not something you get to decide.” Ahsoka practically spits in retaliation.

“You ran.” Maul hisses. Like she’d had any other choice. It doesn’t matter if he’s gentle, fucking is just one more way for them to hurt one another. “And avoided direct contact for months only to slink back beaten and exhausted to the point of collapse. I have spent the last four days looking after a husk.” Ahsoka nearly hates the look in his eyes right now. Because he is so very good at pretending to truly care that she almost believes it.“Is martyrdom so much more appealing?” The Dark Side seems to slither over her as he purrs, deceptively pleasant even while it attempts to invade.

**** She sinks into his lap as he tugs her down, thighs parting instinctively under his touch. He fills the space between them with far too much ease. She refuses to urge him to get this over with, already. Bad enough that she wants anything from him in the first place, that trading pain, degradation and cruelty with a monster gets her off at all. Except that it does. Ahsoka had hoped at first that it was just the physical aspect; That finding someone who could bite and claw at her in the right way would satisfy this...twisted craving in her off-time. There had been satisfaction, and a few personal revelations, yet it wasn’t enough. “Rex and I buried the men you killed. So many more innocents are dead, dying or suffering under the syndicate.” Any mention of Satine Kryze or Adi Gallia sticks in her throat. She cannot bear to see his pride over those victims while he’s touching her. “You’ll betray everyone and everything for power or revenge.” What good has it done, pushing herself to the absolute brink to fulfill her duties, all but throwing herself into the arms of strangers? She’s still here, on the receiving end of that searing and inescapable gaze. “And you still don’t get why I can’t stand to look at you when you’re-” Finishing the sentence is impossible, both because she cannot bring herself to say the words and suddenly she cannot stand him, his presence, his touch, any of it.

“I should have just killed you then.” Her shoto is ignited and at his throat in the span of a heartbeat. Maul doesn’t retreat or let go, fingertips pressing bruises into her hips even as he half-bares his teeth in a silent snarl. Taking his head off would be right. The Rebellion needs his resources, not him. Criminals are easily manipulated, and Ahsoka will be free of these urges-The lightsabre is actually burning his skin now. He’s pressing into it, practically inviting-His eyes are-Her mouth is dry. Maul has always been a reminder of who she might have been, and what she might become if she ever loses herself. Everything comes crashing down on her at once, and the next thing she is truly aware of is that her weapon is deactivated and re-holstered, eyes leaking copious amounts of tears. **** He guides her hands to his chest, fingers automatically digging into the material of his vest once he lets go. Her face lowers to rest in the crook between neck and shoulder, breathing stuttered and wracked with quiet sobs while she trembles. Maul doesn’t embrace her. Merely...accommodates her current state of being. The pulse against her lips drops from frantic beats to a measured, steady rhythm. Ahsoka doesn’t want to be like him. Doesn’t want to go further down the path to becoming a desperate, selfish, manic person that would sit back and watch everything burn to ashes.

Her chest is full of broken transparisteel and every breath hurts. The tears are a deluge that take far too long to dry out, and when they do she wants nothing so much as to sleep again; curled around a warm body for comfort and safety. Obviously she can’t do that for a number of reasons, but it would still be nice to have the option. “Does this-” A light brush along her flank. “-mean I am forgiven?”

“No.”

“Good. What I am, my actions...They do not affect who you are, Ahsoka Tano.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not? When the Empire falls, you still intend to bring me to whatever ‘justice’-” Maul scoffs. “-Your reborn Republic sees fit to mete out. Our alliance has always been one of convenience. Physical intimacy does not change that.” “What the Republic will do to you is the least of what you deserve.” Ahsoka states with firm conviction, raising her head to make eye contact once more. “And am I really supposed to believe you’re not going to try and twist this to your own benefit?” “No.” He replies simply, though she can see that eerie, devouring light in his eyes beginning to emerge. “You already know what it is I want from you. And it means nothing if you come to me unwilling and utterly broken.” “Hm. We’ll see how long that stance lasts.” Her response is justifiably skeptical. “I have work to do, so if you could point me in the direction of your hangar...”

“Of course.” Maul lists off directions as well as the model of ship she’ll be ‘borrowing’, her own presumably still hidden where she’d left it. “Close your eyes.” “What are you doing?” “Providing incentive. Return to my side when you are ready.” The pad of his thumb traces her lower lip sensually before he tries to close the remaining distance between their lips, only to have her lean away.

“If you want it that badly, you’ll have to catch me, next time.” She can practically feel the air crackle once the hushed provocation leaves her mouth. If she is to keep succumbing to these desires, it will be on her terms.

“It is not wise to tempt me when you are so close to freedom.” The rasp in his voice and the dilation of his pupils indicate that he is seconds away from pushing her down onto the desk and ravishing her senseless. The thrill of it is enough to make her grind down against him, once.

“Try it. We need to have a talk about boundaries anyway.” Ahsoka smiles, a challenge in her eyes as she loops and ties the blindfold around his left wrist before getting to her feet. “I’ll be in contact.” Maul actually lets her go when she walks away, this time. She feels...better. Not healed or whole, but better than she was. In any case, the work of toppling a tyrannical Empire waits for no one, and she has a lot to catch up on. (A/N: Ahsoka’s still planning to see a med-droid ASAP, since they haven’t had that discussion yet and it’s been thoroughly established that Maul is Bad With Boundaries. I’m sure that most of you can guess what the second part will involve. [I’m predictable that way, lol.] In any case, I will be trying to get my WIPs out sooner and my inbox is still open to all interested parties. Cheers, everyone!)

#maulsoka #recurring tag: Ahsoka needs all the hugs and therapy #(Maul needs the latter as well but good luck getting him there)

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literatehiss · 4 years

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Eventuality

Read on AO3 here Oliver keeps coming into the Archives to flirt with Jon post-coma and Martin considers abandoning his whole fake-lonely thing just to take a leaf out of Elias’ book and smash Oliver’s head in with a pipe Head heavy in his hands, Jon sat in his dimmed office, debating whether to read another statement to take the edge off his headache when the door swung open. He recognised the man who entered only by the fact he had dreams of him without having ever knowingly taken his statement.

“Oliver Banks. What do you want? Unless you are here to tell me that it is my time to die? I’d rather not know if I am honest with you.” The man who entered his office just laughed and Jon was tempted to put some power into his questions to make the smugness leave the man’s voice.

“We both know that you aren’t being honest at all, you’re one of the Watchers, you want to know everything. Anyway, I came to give you a statement. That is what you do after all.” Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I already have two statements from you, well you gave one to Gertrude and somehow gave one to me while I was asleep. What else could you possibly have for me?” Banks tutted at him in disapproval.

“You know full well you weren’t asleep Archivist. You were dead. You are just lucky that you made the choice to come back. And I had an interaction with someone who was being affected by a Leitner, thought that you might be interested. I brought the book as well, as a gift.” He handed over a cheap plastic bag and when Jon checked inside there was an ash covered book laying within it. The front cover was slightly open and Jon could see the edge of the bookplate that would mark it as a Leitner. He nodded his thanks but couldn’t help but let out a weak, disbelieving laugh at the man’s words.

“Ha! Lucky. Sure. I’m sure you are the only person who thinks that. Everyone else seems quite upset that I didn’t stay dead.” He carefully pulled out the book and placed it on his desk. He desperately wanted to know what it did, how it worked. Part of that was the pull of the book and the other was the pull of the Eye. Not that it mattered. Jon would respect the memory of Gerard Keay and burn the thing in the Institute’s parking lot when the rest of the employees had gone home for the night. “Not the worst gift I’ve been given. Not a statement from the original recipient of the book though?”

“No she is… well she is indisposed right now. You will have to make do with me I’m afraid.”

“O-ok,” he cleared his throat, “Statement of Oliver Banks regarding the effects of a Leitner of the Desolation. Statement taken direct from subject. Recorded by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

That was the first time that Oliver came to his office, but it certainly wasn’t the last. At first it was just Oliver coming into contact with various avatars or Lietners, such a suspicious amount of them that even Jon was starting to suspect that the other man was purposefully seeking these encounters out, but their little chats after the statement became them just meeting up for coffee or to just talk.

Basira had glared at them as Oliver had hooked his arm around Jon’s and pulled him out of his dingy office. She didn’t approve, didn’t think he should be hanging out with other avatars or leaving the Institute without good reason. Oliver thought she could get stuffed and reassured Jon when he insisted that he was a danger to the public. He could hurt someone, but the only reason that had happened before was because he was hungry and Oliver had just given him a statement so he should be fine to have fun for once. Arm in arm, they walked through the entrance hall of the Institute and out into the misty London streets, not noticing the fog-draped figure glaring from the Institute steps.

Martin hated Elias.

But every time he saw Banks with Jon we couldn’t help but think that maybe the other man had the right idea with the pipe murder. Not that Oliver could die. Probably.

Martin knew it wasn’t fair of him. Jon didn’t belong to him and these feelings wouldn’t be ok if they did mean anything more to each other than co-workers. It wasn’t like he was there for Jon right now, wrapped up with Peter’s plans as he was, but it didn’t help the twisting anger every time he saw the handsome man spending time with Jon, making him laugh and smile. It reminded Martin that Jon didn’t need him.

It made him feel lonely.

That was probably why Peter kept setting up situations for Martin to catch sight of the two of them.

The only thing stopping him from doing something very unwise was that Jon, despite his intelligence, clearly did not realise that Banks was flirting with him. Then again, he hadn’t noticed that Martin was interested in him either and he had been considerably less subtle about it, so maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

He was sat on the steps that lead up to the Institute, waiting for the taxi that Peter insisted he go home in rather than risk Martin speaking to people, even if it would just be the workers at the tube stations. He saw them come down the steps and he felt grief grip his heart as Jon gave Banks a wry grin as the other man made a joke as they made their way to the little cafe bookshop around the corner. It had taken him months and a worm invasion to get Jon to look at him like that. He was surprised that Daisy was alright with the whole thing, he knew that she had become very protective of Jon since he dragged her out of the Buried but apparently she thought it was good for Jon. Had even defended the two of them to Basira and Melanie and would wait eagerly for Jon to return so that she could tease him.

Martin was giving everything for Jon, for him to be safe, and his only reward for that was Jon seemingly finding someone else. Just as he watched the two of them turn a corner and out of his vision, Banks shifted and his white eyes caught Martin’s. Banks gave him a considering glance and did nothing but give a quick grin before he vanished into the crowd.

Oliver thought this whole thing was hilarious.

He liked Jon. He liked the way his stern countenance melted into a smile when he laughed, he liked the way he would loose track of what he was saying and start a mini lecture onto whatever topic had caught his interest. He just found the man enjoyable to be around and he couldn’t deny the entertainment value of being so close to the soap opera that the Magnus Institute called an Archive. The other man didn’t seem to get that Oliver was flirting and he was so used to people finding him handsome and making assumptions that Jon was a breath of fresh air. It didn’t help the man wasn’t so bad to look at himself. So yes, he was interested in Jon.

He was also interested in the ball of repressed jealousy and rage that liked to watch them from foggy corners.

Oliver had never managed to sneak up on the other man close enough to actually speak to him before he just vanished into the mist. He knew that he was one of Jon’s old assistants before he had been snapped up by Peter Lukas. He also knew that the other man loved Jon, that his nonsense with Lukas and the Forsaken was in some way to keep Jon safe. Oliver couldn’t say that he approved, but he understood. He heard from Jon how the other man, Martin, was the one to trick Bouchard so that they could arrest the bastard, that he had survived a siege by Jane Prentiss for two weeks. He also heard that he apparently made the best tea and no cafe Oliver could find served tea that was up to Jon’s standards. The few glimpses of Martin caught his eye, the man’s ginger hair paling at the tips and his blue eyes starting to grow foggy. The picture of Martin that Jon kept in his wallet, a Polaroid with a man and woman he didn’t recognise, was well worn and showed a happy man with a shy smile that warmed Oliver’s cold dead heart.

He was fully aware that Martin wasn’t the only one pining. That Jon was just as enamoured with the other man. He resolved to do something about it and hey, if he was a little selfish and got something out of it for himself, well, who could truly complain.

He pulled out a phone that he had swiped from the desk of current acting Head of the Magnus Institute. An order for coffee sent to one of the only three numbers saved onto the phone. Oliver waited in the almost abandoned coffee shop, thumbing through a book he had pulled from one of the shelves. He gave Jon a grin and waited for the show to begin.

#NaNo 2020 #Oliver Banks #Jon Sims #Martin Blackwood #Jon/Martin/Oliver

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army-author · 7 years

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jimin scenario | mutual muses

❝ After helping a young busker one Christmas, he goes on to earn fame and fortune. But he hasn’t forgotten you, or your kind deed ❞

➸ prompt: I vowed to do something nice for a stranger this Christmas. Guess today’s your lucky day…

➸ pairing: busker jimin x heir reader

➸ requested by anon | 2.5k words | fluff, heir au

It was a cold December day when you first saw the man you would come to know as Park Jimin. He was standing at the entrance to the subway station, the last dregs of snow swirling around him while he strummed on a guitar with purple fingers and sang with blue lips. At his feet was a hat, with a pool of loose change lying in it, and as you passed by, wrapped up in coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, all designer, as if the name could protect you from the cold, you felt guilt snaking up to choke your heart.

Here was a man, working in the sigh of a frozen wind, all for a few coins to keep him alive, while you were off to dinner with yet another important CEO you didn’t care about, where you would be served food you could never finish, and be left to nod along as the conversation around you writhed with competition over who owned the biggest pool, or the best car collection.

Stopping in your tracks, you stared at the young man, while the crowd flowed past you, yawning to swallow you up in an ocean of shopping bags, and brisk-stepping shoes, and solemn faces.

Despite the jostling, you fought against the people around you, determined to keep on your feet, stay in place, and listen to the man perform. Against the backdrop of the dusky city skyline, his voice soared high on angel’s wings, entrancing you while the rest of the world seemed oblivious.

Well aware that you would be late for the meeting if you didn’t move now, you stayed still. Something told you that it was more important to watch this man’s performance, although you couldn’t tell what that something was. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t actually want to go to the dinner anyway. Or maybe it was because his rosy cheeks and nose, picked sore by the cold, has stirred up some sympathy in you.

In the blaze of the Christmas lights, shining red and blue and green, odd and garish at midday, you knew you couldn’t leave him empty handed. So, you stepped forward, making a promise to yourself – you were going to do something nice for a stranger this Christmas. You took off your hat, your scarf and gloves, and handed them over to the stunned man, with a large wad of all the spare cash you had on you tucked in between the fabric.

He stared at you, his almond eyes going wide at the money sticking out from the folds.

“Hey, you… you left some money here,” he called after you, as you turned to leave him with your present clutched desperately in his hands, “I… don’t think you meant to leave so much…”

You glanced over your shoulder to him. “No, I did. That’s yours. Use it well.”

His mouth opened, looking down to the money, then back to you, then back to the money, and then, without any warning, he stepped forward, and in the middle of the swarming crowd cramming into the subway station he wrapped his arms around you in a hug, his guitar banging against you as it hung off his shoulders from the strap.

“Thank you!” he said, “I won’t forget this.”

His genuine gratitude wrestled into your heart, bursting it open with a pop! that made your eyes widen and throat tighten. It was the best feeling in the world, and you decided from then on you were going to do something to help a complete stranger every Christmas.

♡♡♡

That was three Christmases ago. Now, as the calendar counts down the days in another December, you remember once again the boy you helped so long ago.

Park Jimin is his name. You know that now. His face is bright in your head, flashing up on screens all over the city – he’s now one of the best-known singers, smiling a smile that startled you three years ago, with his numb lips, turned almost blue. Now he’s warm and healthy looking, with full cheeks to scrunch up when he smiles.

And every time he comes on interview, he gets asked, “What inspired you to get where you are?”

He always replies, “I used to be pretty much unknown. I’d go out to perform in the streets just to keep myself fed. But one day, someone passing by gave me a whole wad of money, and asked me to put it to good use. Knowing there was someone out there kind enough to do something like that motivated me to keep going. I used the money to study music more, and here I am now.” After this part, he’ll always turn his crescent moon eyes towards the camera, and say, “I wish I could thank them properly… If you’re out there, just know how grateful I am.”

That’s normally the point when you turn off the TV, not wanting to hear his praise. It makes you uncomfortable, knowing how much more you have left in the bank, how little it had hurt you to hand over what was in your pocket, and how life changing it had been for him. He’s worked hard, never taken anything for granted and it’s got him where he is now. You, on the other hand, have had everything handed to you since the day you were born, fed baby food from silver spoons.

Even now, this tradition you have of doing a good deed for a stranger every Christmas feels empty to you – when you know could be doing more, should be doing more. But this year will be different. You’ve determined to put your power, and the money stacked behind you, to good use, and help as many strangers as possible, by setting up your own company to support young musicians like Jimin.

You’ll become the kind of person he imagines you are, you’ll becomes someone worthy of his gratitude, and when that happens… maybe you’ll seek him out again.

♡♡♡

Organising your own company comes with a lot more problems than you realise – your father always made it look so easy, striding home from work everyday with his pristine suit unwrinkled and his face unwrinkled too. He made the life of a corporate manager seem easy, perhaps so as not to worry you, keeping your childhood sweet by sugar coating all things, leading you down an icing path with candied possibilities around every turn, all for the correct fee of course.

But doing it yourself is tough. The sweet glaze of youth has hardened over now, turning from soft sugar to the hard crunch of forgotten candy, left on the back shelf too long. You’re determined to crack your way through it, all for the remembrance of Park Jimin, so you can become someone worthy of seeing him again.

Recalling all he’s done, the hours he’s worked, the tears he’s shed, and the blood he’s sweated, you keep pushing yourself. So you can meet him on an equal footing, not as the one who slept while he worked, but as two people who both slaved for the places they stand at.

You grit your teeth, and head for another meeting, with more negotiations to make and more paperwork to sort.

♡♡♡

With Christmas only a few days away, everything is finally sorted. Now all you have left to worry about are the parties and the press coverage, all to celebrate your opening of a new school for aspiring musicians.

Every day is filled up with interviews with newspapers and TV shows, all asking you what made you chose to do this. And you answer, “I was inspired by a certain musician. Seeing how a little support lifted him up on his own wings, I realised that was what I wanted to do. To make musicians fly.” And then you turn your own eyes to the empty stare of the camera and say, “And if the musician who inspired me - he knows who he is - is watching, I want you to know how thankful I am.”

It feels good to have finally reached the point you wanted, being able to glance at posters of Jimin lining the streets and not feel the urge to look away, stabbed by a burning conscience that told you that you could and should be doing more… there’s always more you can be doing, but you’ve come to be satisfied with what you’ve done – it’s no longer your father’s work you stand on, but your own, and as you grow so does your desire to keep going.

All the same, when your assistant tells you that Park Jimin will be at one of the illustrious parties you’re attending to promote your new project, you feel the old piercing of guilt. What if you meet him and he’s disappointed to discover what you’re like? What if you drag all his dreams down in tatters?

This is your old habitual way of thinking, and it takes a lot of pushing to get rid of it. You have nothing to be ashamed of, you remind yourself, over and over and over, nothing to be ashamed of.

That doesn’t stop the butterflies spreading on the night, as you take the lift up to the top floor where the party is being held, smoothing your hair in the glossy mirror inside.

With the doors sliding open, you’re greeted by a storm of hands ready to shake your own, pulling you in and cooing over how lovely it is to see you. You make your way through, smiling greeting at everyone you can, and swelling in pride when you hear mentions your project and how well it seems to be going.

As the host leads you through to get a glass of champaign, you glance around the guests, searching for the one man who’s been on your mind for three years straight. This room is a whirl of pretty dresses and cocktail glasses and sharp suits, hard to pick out individual faces in the moving crowd. But then your gaze alights on the far corner and you stop, mid-step.

Park Jimin sits alone on one of the leather sofas by the window, which falls way to reveal a wide sweeping view of the city, a matrix of shining light, made all the brighter with the extra sparkle of Christmas that bursts from every street. In his smart suit, tailor-made to cling to his body at all the right edges he looks completely different from the young man you helped at the subway. His thin frame has filled in and filled up with muscle, his face is no longer translucent with tiredness, now pushing up blood and heat from below the skin. But there’s also something different in his demeanour as well. He’s stronger, sharper, readier to face what’s thrown at him.

You murmur an excuse to the host, declining his offer of a drink, and instead step towards Jimin.

As your shoes move into his periphery vision, he looks up from the phone that has been stealing his attention, and his eyes spark with recognition, lips lifting in a smile.

“I heard you were looking for me,” you say.

Before you can continue with any greeting, he stands up and throws himself around you in another hug, flinging you back to that day three years ago, when you handed him the money and he hugged you in return.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asks as you part, “You never gave me a chance to say thank you properly!”

“I know… I’m sorry,” you bow your head, as he sits down again, offering the space beside him for you to perch, “Actually… I think it’s me that should be thanking you,” you say, “Seeing how far you went with what I gave you has helped me to realise that I should be working harder as well. I wanted to become someone worthy of your gratitude… so I’ve been working a lot myself.”

“I can see that,” he says, “I saw you on TV.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah.” His knee lightly knocks against yours, “What you’re doing is incredible. I… can’t believe I’m the inspiration behind it.”

“And I can’t believe that what I gave you three years ago got you here,” you hold out your arms to show the city spilled out in front of you, promising all that you could ever hope for, ready for your picking, the apple red and lime green of traffic lights and the blueberry blues of snowflake decorations in the city centre, just visible from your spot on top of the world.

You turn back to Jimin, eyes sparkling with excitement, but he’s not staring at the city. He’s staring at you.

“You’re pretty incredible, you know that?” he says, and you can’t help but blush from his deep-reaching gaze.

“Not as much as you…” you say, “I mean… come on… you moved from singing on the streets to singing in packed concerts. That’s amazing.”

“And what about you? You went out and helped me, and then decided that wasn’t enough, so you went and opened a school as well.”

When he puts it like that, you do sound pretty wonderful. “I couldn’t have done it without you as my inspiration,” you admit.

“And I wouldn’t be where I am without you as my muse.” His black eyes search your own, “I guess we work well together then, inspiring each other.”

“Guess we do.”

His knee bumps against yours again. “When this party ends, can you promise me something?”

“What’s that?”

“Please, don’t disappear out of my life again.”

You gaze up at him, his cheeks colouring while you watch. “Okay,” you murmur, “I won’t.”

♡♡♡

More Christmases go by, each with another good deed to do, and more ambitions shining on the horizon. But you’re not alone now.

The interviews on TV aren’t just you or Jimin, but the two of you together, and the questions aren’t “How did you get where you are?” and “What are you doing?” but “How are you inspiring each other?” and “What are you doing together?”. All over the city you see your and Jimin’s faces brandished across magazines and tabloids, hailed as the town’s sweetest couple, mutual muses for each other.

But even with the busy lives you lead, you find no joy greater than the nights you sneak out, with a mask on, and Jimin in sunglasses, to walk undetected in the throbbing heart of the city, reminding yourselves of where you came from and where you’re going. All with Jimin’s hand in your own, pushing you, letting you pull him, and always thankful for the small things:

Like a kiss on the forehead when you stop under the city centre’s tall Christmas tree, and a murmured, “Thanks for not disappearing.”

♡ END ♡

Author’s note: What a power couple :’)

I hope you enjoyed!

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shafferangelina95 · 4 years

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buzzkillmag · 5 years

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2019 WRAPPED: a few contributors’ (and my) records of the year

in order of release, here are some of our contributors’ albums of the year, alongside my extremely extensive list of my favorite LPs released in the past 365 days.

1. january 18, heard it in a past life by maggie rogers

this album, without a doubt, shaped this entire year for me, but whenever i’m asked to explain how, or why, i get choked up. at the time of its release, i was in such a strange place mentally that i couldn’t listen to “light on” - one of the most popular songs on the album - without sobbing uncontrollably, even if that meant excusing myself to cry in the restroom when it came on at work. i am so grateful to have had hiiapl to grow with this year. maggie rogers is one of the most influential artists in the world right now, and i know this album is a lot of people’s record of the year. recommendations: light on, burning, on + off, the knife

2. january 25, amo by bring me the horizon

the return of british metalcore band bring me the horizon was such a heavily anticipated one, given the fact that their last LP release was in 2015, but i don’t think anyone could have expected the record they were going to release, or how different it would be from anything they’d ever made. bring me the horizon made a really impressive leap into something of an unknown; there has been, both unfortunately and understandably, some backlash regarding exactly what genres the band had decided to experiment with and whether they’d lost their roots in deathcore. but they’ve promised that despite this jump, they’ll still be as rowdy as ever in their live shows. amo is one of my favorite records of the year because of its genre-bending, and because of its desperation and emotion. it’s turned bring me the horizon from a band i never really cared for into one i now seek out when i’m thinking of what to listen to on drives. recommendations: mantra, in the dark, sugar honey ice + tea, mother tongue

3. february 1, midnight by set it off

my favorite record of 2019 is midnight by set it off. not only did the band completely reinvent their aesthetic, they also showcase a more mature and cohesive sound. cody (the lead singer) is a classically trained clarinetist and I think his knowledge of music really shows on this record. each song has little surprises here and there, and shows the work of musicians who understand rhythm and texture. there’s a little something for everyone, from the angsty undertones of “killer in the mirror” and “dancing with the devil,” to the raw, beautiful emotion of the ballad “unopened windows.” hands down best record of 2019! -gabriela (twitter || instagram)

4. march 1, wasteland, baby! by hozier

I wish I could do my dissertation on the various ways Wasteland, Baby! is a masterpiece but unfortunately I'm in a museum studies program and I don't think my professors would accept that proposal. Hozier was somehow able to fit every emotion a human being is capable of feeling in a mere 57 minutes (and 21 seconds of course) and, by the end, has made the listener feel warm and hopeful despite a large theme being, y'know, the literal ending of everything. Don't even get me started on his referencing and imagery we could be here FOREVER talking about Shrike alone! Even Spotify was like "Hey this is literally all you listened to this year, you good?". Hozier and Wasteland, Baby! have been through one of the toughest years of my life with me - including the transition into a new country - and they will forever have a place in my heart. -alissa (instagram)

5. march 22, mystic truth by bad suns

up until this year - and this release - bad suns were always a background artist in my life. i’ve been listening to them since they first released “cardiac arrest” and it was a single of the week on itunes, but only casually. this was, however, the year i saw them live, on their mystic truth tour in late spring. recommendations: away we go, the world and i, love by mistake

6. march 29, you are ok by the maine

the maine are the most dramatic band in the world, and i love them to death for it. after staging a funeral for their 2017 release, lovely little lonely, in october 2018 to signify their departure from social media, they spent nearly six months in silence to write and record before releasing their seventh record, you are ok, this past march. this record makes me more - for lack of a better word - emo than any of their previous work, in spite and as a consequence of its blatant deviation from the loneliness of anything they’ve released pretty much since black & white. you are ok is, from its very first breath, evolved. recommendations: slip the noose, my best habit, tears won’t cry (shinju), heaven we’re already here

7. march 29, when we all fall asleep, where do we go? by billie eilish

the debut full-length from music prodigy billie eilish was long-awaited by dedicated fans and the general public alike, and when it finally dropped in march of this year, not a single person on this planet was disappointed (probably a hyperbole and consequently bad journalism, but who cares, i never claimed to tell the whole entire truth). when we all fall asleep is a genre-defying masterpiece; the tracks don’t feel as if they should be played on the radio, but because of eilish’s more mainstream previous releases, she’d essentially earned a permanent slot in most popular stations’ rotations. i also had the privilege of watching her play to one of the biggest crowds that reading festival’s main stage had ever seen, and she blew myself (and everyone else there) away. recommendations: xanny, all the good girls go to hell, when the party’s over, my strange addiction, bury a friend

9. april 26, the balance by catfish and the bottlemen

despite criticisms that they’ve been making the same album for five years, i genuinely believe that with every new release, catfish and the bottlemen produce more emotionally coherent and intelligent music. i finally got to see them this year, on their tour supporting the balance, too, after years of casual listening. the balance turned me into a ravenous catfish fan; i spent two months after the show devouring all of the content surrounding them i could find, listening to all three of their albums on repeat, and crying endlessly over how beautiful van mccann is. this album absolutely defined the back half of my 2019, and i’m always shocked to learn that there are people who don’t love it as fiercely as i do. i have such an overflowing fountain of feelings about this album that i’m still not entirely sure how to write about, but all i have to say is that, if you haven’t yet, please please please give this album a spin. recommendations: fluctuate, conversation, intermission, overlap

10. may 24, future dust by the amazons

the amazons are the best band i discovered this year, hands down. according to my spotify year in review, i listened to over 9 hours of their music since seeing them at reading in august (not including all the times i spun this record on vinyl in that time as well). future dust is a masterpiece; there is not one bad track; every time i listen to it, it gets better. they’ve got rock and roll on lock. no one else has come close since maybe the arctic monkeys, but the amazons have brought it back. i’m having a hard time stringing together words about the way this record makes me feel, but i hope that you’ll see this, listen to it top to bottom six or seven times, and make your own feelings about it. recommendations: mother, fuzzy tree, black magic, 25, doubt

11. june 14, doom days by bastille

i will probably forever hate myself for falling out of love with bastille after i graduated high school. i’m not entirely sure what happened (actually, i am - i was shoved too far up the maine’s ass to care about anything else) but i know that i loved them more than anything when i was a teenager, and the doom days album cycle - specifically their reading set - reignited that love, so i’ll be forever grateful to it for that. this album is conceptual and amazing, set over the course of one night when the writer - presumably frontman dan smith, whose brain this came out of - attends a party with his friends in an attempt at escapism. the world is fucked - dan’s words, but also mine - and sometimes we really do just need to pull the wool over our own eyes for once and let loose, even if just for a night. it starts at a “quarter past midnight,” when the night has only just begun, endless possibilities stretched out ahead of him, and finishes with “joy,” about waking up on the kitchen floor, your phone going off in your hand, the only person who really matters in your life on the other end of the line. bastille have always released music that makes it clear that they give a fuck what happens to earth and her people, and with doom days, they’ve perfected that sound. recommendations: quarter past midnight, divide, million pieces, joy

12. august 23, GINGER by brockhampton

after a brief hiatus, my favourite all-american boyband returned with their fifth studio album, GINGER. with a noticeably matured and somewhat mellowed shift within the hip-hop collective, this record explores themes of grief and disconnection to the backdrop of upbeat melodies such as on "boy bye" and sweet love songs such as on "sugar". though perhaps my favourite sentiment on this record lies within the fact that it opens with the echoed words, "I don't know where I'm going," and closes poignantly with the heartfelt statement, "Thank God that I'm built for the distance." -katy (twitter | instagram)

13. september 13, hypersonic missiles by sam fender

hypersonic missiles, the debut full-length from geordie singer-songwriter-maestro sam fender, was my most anticipated release this year. fender has faced a mess of obstacles this year, mostly health-related, after winning the BRIT awards’ critics’ choice award at the start of it, and as a result has had to cancel a majority of the shows he’d had schedules and push back the release of hypersonic missiles a whole month. it was well worth the wait, though, and i ended up writing an essay-length review of it for highlight magazine when i finally did get to hear it. filled to the brim with emotional ballads and belters alike, hypersonic missiles is a culmination of over five years of songwriting and even longer of sam being fed up - with his government, with his peers, with the misrepresentation of mental health by the media. we’ve only had this record for three months, but i can already tell it’s timeless. i’m only hoping sam’s voice recovers enough that he can continue to tour to promote it before returning to studio (reportedly the electric lady in new york city!) to record his second release. recommendations: hypersonic missiles, white privilege, you’re not the only one, will we talk?, two people

14. september 13, pride & disaster by sleep on it

my favorite record of the year is undoubtedly ‘Pride & Disaster’ by Sleep On It. Pride & Disaster arrived the perfect time for me, as I just transferred out of college. I felt lost and unsure of my future. However, listening to Pride & Disaster gave me a sense of hope and support that I’ll be okay on my new journey. -julie (twitter)

15. october 4, interrobang by bayside

Just like the title, there's no single form of punctuation that can explain the brilliance of this album. 'Interrobang' takes the classic Bayside sound to a new level with heavier riffs, faster time signatures, and iconic lyrics. From "Heaven," a stand out anthem for aging punks in the scene to "Bury Me," a melodic metal inspired breakout track, this album is laced together perfectly with both the past and future of Bayside. By tip toeing the line between metal, alt rock, and pop punk, the band has shown that even after almost twenty years as a band, they can still innovate and transform with new music. -katie (twitter | instagram)

16. december 13, fine line by harry styles

i wanted to include this in this roundup, considering i haven’t stopped listening to it since it came out (and i saw him live!), but i did also write an entire review of the album. you can read it here!

honorable mentions (aka albums i didn’t feel like writing an essay about - or just didn’t listen to all that much - but still think you should give a chance)

1. swmrs, berkeley’s on fire (february 15, 2019) 2. circa waves, what’s it like over there? (april 4, 2019 - i wrote a whole review about this record for highlight and not many of my feelings about it have changed since then.) 3. cage the elephant, social cues (april 19, 2019) 4. ten tonnes, ten tonnes (may 3, 2019) 5. palace, life after (july 12, 2019) 6. clairo, immunity (august 2, 2019) 7. the myserines, take control ep (august 8, 2019) 8. muna, saves the day (september 6, 2019) 9. from indian lakes, dimly lit (october 18, 2019)

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djjelo · 7 years

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Justice League & The DCEU

Accepting that I’m in the minority. What I’ve loved about the DC universe is the dark tales. The tales of earth in jeopardy, heroes who’ve turned evil, Villains to heroes. Stories like Superman:Red Son that suppose the hero crash landed in Russia, not Kansas, and how that affected the way Kal-El would turn out. Stories like The Dark Knight Returns (no, not like the film in-name-only) where our vigilante ‘hero’ who tries retirement from being Batman is haunted by his choice. Plagued by the choice,even. Realizing that the costume he wears is really Bruce Wayne, not The caped crusader, and the consequences he faces returning to Gotham as an older man fighting a new war. There’s ‘Kingdom Come’, a dystopian tale of the Justice League that has our heroes battling their offspring, relatives and protégés , resulting in an all out war that engulfs all nations and nearly destroys earth. ‘Flashpoint’, a dark story that has The Flash doing his best to get back to the point in time where he feels he can make the difference and what his past choices have led to...a place where his friends are now enemies with each other hellbent on mutual destruction. Batman, again, in ‘The killing Joke’, battles Joker to near death. Realizing that if he would kill the clown villain that he may be without true purpose. There’s more...but, often, these stories are considered to be DC comics best tales. They’ve been reprinted, they’ve been retold. They’ve been loosely adapted to live action film which ultimately watered down the initial idea of the art. The stories have been animated and they’ve been sequelized and retold again and again on pages. Even though these stories were told as a reaction to the original tales of these heroes, from a golden era where battling Nazis and bank robbers inspired hope to the readers, the titles I’ve mentioned are known as DCs best sellers. The reason why DC became a powerhouse publisher. The numbers are there. I’m sure someone, somewhere is recalling when Superman stopped a train from running over a dog, or when Wonder Woman helped a lost child reunite with a family, or when Aquaman helped clean up an area of an ocean. Maybe someone can recall when The Flash was fast enough to slow down a speeding car from running a red light and causing an accident. I’m sure. But, whoever you are out there ...you’re in the minority of sales. Sales are votes. I know that the primary idea was that heroes should inspire and that these stories helped build into that mythology. The stories laid the groundwork for other legends like ‘TDKR’ or ‘Kingdom Come’ to happen. Yet, when these dark stories emerged from print, they crushed it with mega sales across the planet. Somehow, when adapted to the silver screen, that caused distress among an audiences everywhere. I didn’t get it. Just like ...I don’t think McDonalds makes the worlds best hamburger...yet, there it is. The planets best selling hamburger. I disagree with that opinion but the sales dwarf whatever the hell my thoughts are. I don’t piss and moan much about it as I’ve accepted that people want their shit hot and fast so they can take a fast hot shit. Meanwhile, I’m over at Holy Chuck and baby...that’s a hamburger ! So, when people bitched and moaned about Man Of Steel being too dark, that their Superman doesn’t kill, I thought to myself ‘Which Superman would that be?’ When BvS came out and people gripes about Batman ‘Not being a killer’ or ‘Superman’ isn’t supposed to be moody’ I wondered to myself ‘Which story are they complaining about?’ Batman kills lots in TDKR. Superman self exiles himself in Kingdom Come and is super moody. Wonder Woman is practically militant in Kingdom Come. These are DCs best selling stories. Sadly, instead of translating these mighty tales to film, they’ve been adapted and then relayed to some wonky, stock holding round table of asshats who chose to say shit like ‘too dark’ and ‘not enough light’ and even worse ‘not funny enough’ Before I leave the impression that I think the DCEU is flawless I’ll inject and digress towards my opinions ...loved Man Of Steel. Easily the best Superman I’ve seen on film and it’s a gorgeous looking movie. BvS has moments of awesome mixed with moments of true diarrhea and that’s because many, especially the audience that voted with dollars, had this screwed up reaction suggesting that ‘Superman was too dark’. He’s an alien on Earth ...alone and one of the last of his species. Affleck completely rocked it as Batman. Not one scene prior to Ben in the warehouse comes close to that type of awesome. When he’s training in that film we could believe that this Batman kicks ass. We also finally see Bruce as a detective and technician within the bat cave. He nailed it as Bruce. But, that death thing doe. I could talk all day about the terrible casting for Luthor and the unnecessary addition of Doomsday. I’m on that team. Then, because BvS undelivered at the box office despite the $1billion it generated, Suicide Squad came at us like a bullet of spit. We’ll never know the actual film that director intended us all to see because the studio got cold feet when they saw the dailies, suggesting the film was ‘too dark’ despite the title of the film ...wait for it ... “Suicide Squad” and what that meant. None of them were supposed to live but hey...marketing could’ve gone with ‘Almost Suicidal Squad’. Could’ve worked, maybe? Then ‘Wonder Woman’ happened and the studio and audience did a collective sigh because it brought in the big dollars which means it worked on a level that shareholders and audience members could agree upon. I liked WW but it’s far from perfect. Where the hell did that laser beam come from at the climax ? Diana shoots lasers?! Now, on the eve of the release of ‘Justice League’ all reviews point to ‘fun’ and ‘great jokes’ with ‘not too dark, like MoS or BvS’ and I’m over here scratching my head apart. Which stories were they reading ?! The stories that sold less than half of TDKR ? Or ‘Flashpoint’ ?! Marvel films are transforming into parody, popcorn fodder, and very little discussion happens after that. For example, I’m sure that no one is going to be talking about Guardians 2 the way that people were talking about Guardians1 except for ‘not as good’. Thor:Ragnarok was fun, fast paced and had me laughing out loud a bit but it won’t be this memorable film that I’ll want to replay years from now. In fact, most of the new Marvel films have a disposable feel where I never feel anything is at stake really...just stuff happening without any true resolve. Maybe that’s why I’m so hopeful for the upcoming Infinity War because Thanos kills everyone in the Marvel Universe. Sorry...spoiler alert ? Mostly, it’s this ...when I watch a DC movie I want to see the dark. That’s why I go !!! I want to to reflect and have thoughts and discuss with my friends who or what or when could be different. The change. The twist. I do not hope for my DC films to be like Marvel. But, with regards to Marvel, I mostly just hope for Thanos to kill everything just so we can all move on to something else. We need alternative. That breeds new stuff and new stuff is cool. That’s why these dystopian and dark messed up stories were so badass to begin with. Because they offered us, the readers and potential theatre audience, the opportunity to see ‘what if’. Yes, I know Marvel printed that stuff first and yea I was a fan of their tales. But, no one ever really dies in Marvel, do they. Or DC...they’re guilty too. That’s why the publishers printed these What If stories to begin with ! Otherwise it’s onwards towards the never ending. This type of shit removes the stakes at hand. That’s why the dark ‘what if’ stuff is awesome ...it follows through. It ends things and allows new shit to start. Otherwise we see Magneto die, again. We see Lex Luthor go to prison, again. Do you think Batman might capture the joker, again? How about Wolverine...will he escape the treacherous mutant bad guy...again? I got chubbed when Marvel announced Wolverines death. But, wouldn’t you know it...he’s back. So is Magneto. So is Lex. Pretty sure The Joker is murdering someone with laughing gas and laughing about it. Shocker, isn’t it? A lot of people will take a dump on the film makings of Snyder and what he tried to do with the DCEU. For all the stuff he tried that didn’t work, and some of it didn’t for me too, he def tried to do something different than what was done before his efforts. His reward was getting heaps of po0p thrown at him by keyboard warriors seeking a McDonalds hamburger. These same viewers who reward ‘same, same again’ and fuel the stockholders to sequelize and trilogize stories that we’ve loved at first into this endless, stakes free world, where nothing changes. It’s all safe and they’ll see you soontimes, even if they have to recast. But, get excited cuz this time they’ve got XYZ director at the helm. He’s supposedly got more influence than the shareholders and the board of boredom, donchaknow. I am super excited about seeing Justice League because I’m a slut nerd for comics to film, an admitted sorry ass zombie slave, hypnotized to sleep walk over to the box office regardless of who or what is directing or starring. For example, Taika Waititi didn’t put my ass into a chair. It’s not a perfect hypnosis ...I skipped seeing Suicide Squad in the theatres, I passed over Spider Man:Homecoming and I won’t be seeing Ant Man 2: Ant Harder. I really saw Thor 3 for The Hulk and the wondering of how badly they screwed over the ‘Planet Hulk’ storyline but Thor’s triceps looked huge and the first three times he failed was funny. The 20 times after that not so much. Anyways, the initial tracking after opening weekend for MoS fared shittily for the rest of what could have been the DCEU and sadly we won’t be seeing the ‘what if’s’ and instead we are getting served the ‘you knew it !’ versions of these movies. Also, a studio and round table so desperate to catch up to the financials of their competitors that instead of doing their bestest to tell great stories that they did for us on the page, they’re serving us some McDonalds hamburgers. Enjoy the super size. It’s only an additional buck more.

#justice league #dceu #superman #batman #wonder woman #aquaman #flash #cyborg #zack snyder #joss whedon #warner bros

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waitinginthedarke · 7 years

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Maybe Someday

A Kwon Jiyong Story

Summary: She was a rose, and he was the darkness that should have killed it…but when a rose is made of enough light to penetrate even the deepest darkness, sometimes the two are able to become one…

Genre: Fluff, Smut.

Chapter 6.5

His lips felt like peaches, tasted like milkshake, and smelt like smoke and cologne, the odd mix causing your thoughts to dissipate where they were unable to accept the bombardment on your senses. But before you could truly get lost in the act- an inbuilt need to prolong the kiss kicking in and causing you to want more- he’s pulling away, letting out a slow breath as he stares at your lips, before flickering his gaze to yours where he was leant down towards you, and you’re taken aback by the passion you see shining from his eyes.

‘Come on.’

His voice is quiet, the whisper-like tone revealing to you that he had been affected by the kiss just as badly as you had, but even as he quickly pulled you from the deserted café and down the side street between two buildings, you couldn’t help but internally freak out about the fact that you’d just kissed him.

You’d kissed Jiyong.

He doesn’t say anything as he comes to a stop in the middle of the darkened alley, the thin strip of space being illuminated only by the moon as he turns to have his back to the wall and pulls you gently close to him, his actions slowing as though he were nervous, the realization making you relax the tiniest fraction whilst the rest of you trembled with adrenaline.

His hand raising to your cheek, cradling your face with a ghostly touch, encourages your heart to thunder harder in your chest, and you watch him in the dim light, being tuned into him with every fibre of your being as his other hand finds yours and you immediately grip tightly to his fingers that were cold from clutching his milkshake glass, causing his gaze to flicker from your cheek to your eyes with the touch.

‘Are you scared?’ he asks on a breath, words causing a barely visible cloud to form from his lips, before the way his jaw moves has your attention diverting to his lips once more as you answer.

‘Terrified.’ You whisper, honesty prevailing with the nerves licking at your skin, causing you to feel like a puppet on strings as you shakily reach your other hand out to curl your fingers into his shirt on his chest, the soft cotton beneath your fingertips being too pliable to fight against your crippling shyness as you grip tightly to him.

‘Me too.’

His broken whisper has your eyes searching his out in the shadows of the alley once more where your gaze had moved to track the actions of your hand, the moment you see his dark brown orbs appearing almost black in the dim light as they stare back at you, causing you realize he was genuinely just as nervous as you were about what was happening.

‘Why-‘

‘Because I don’t want to mess this up. …because the past few weeks that I’ve spent knowing you have been the best few weeks of my life….

…because since the first time we met, you spoke to me like I was just any other person, like I was Jiyong…and I don’t want to lose someone who sees me for me, I-‘

You couldn’t help cutting him off, but the whole time he spoke those words that were filled with such honestly and hope, the whole time you listened to them gush from him with such insistency, you couldn’t help but find yourself being pulled in by him, the longing in his tone making you realize just how he saw you; like a life line; a life line that he cared too much about to lose.

This kiss was filled with a lot more desperation than the first, the initial kiss before being a question whilst this one felt like an answer. Your lips caressed his definitely as his hands came up to hold your waist, his surprise at your sudden move being felt in the timidness of his hands as they initially respond, before he pulls you tighter against him when he cottons on to your need.

Despite both trembling with un-surety, neither of you care for the few people that walk by at the end of the street, too lost in one another as the kiss develops and you curl your fingers into the lapels of his shirt, the second his tongue brushes across your lip making you smirk in your nerves and deliriousness, the foreign sensation making your heart stutter in surprise beneath your ribs.

‘Are you okay?’ he pauses to whisper, his hand that had moved to cradle your cheek brushing some loose hair behind your ear, and causing you to open your eyes shyly to look at him, breathing still faster than normal when you lock eyes with him, and you cant help the smile that pulls at your mouth as you take one another in, seeing the exact same expression slowly being reflected on his own face as he watches you.

‘God…you’re so beautiful.’ He murmurs, suddenly dropping another kiss to your lips, and somehow this one ends up making your face hotter than the last, the impulsivity of it taking you by surprise and turning you bashful, causing you to lose control of normal reactions as you hide your face in his shoulder, shivering happily when he responds to your movements by wrapping his arms around you tightly.

‘I never usually do this, so I don’t want you thinking that I see you as some kind of fling-‘

‘I wasn’t...’ you murmur, your thoughts beginning to get away from you with his quick denial, but he obviously sees the hesitation in your eyes when you pull back to look at him abruptly, as he leans forward to press his forehead against yours, watching you closely.

‘But you know we cant tell Yang about this…right?-‘

‘We cant tell anyone about this.’ You breathe in quiet amusement, still deliriously reeling through the night’s events in your head as you watch his mouth, waiting for him to laugh with you, but slowly feeling your heart sink when he doesn’t and glancing up at his eyes to see him frowning as he pulls back slightly.

‘Not right now…no.’ he murmurs, his hand suddenly coming up to cradle your jaw once again, and the rough pad of his thumb brushing over your bottom lip causes you to shiver as you get lost in his eyes, gripping tightly to the sides of his shirt as you try not to get caught up in the way he’d said ‘not now’.

‘Just as long as I get to call you mine.’ He says, distracting you, the utter sincerity in his words causing your stomach to do somersaults, and the feeling of his breath rushing over your lips as he comes closer encourages you to dart in and kiss him, already growing addicted to the taste of him after only a few kisses.

‘I don’t ever want to go back.’ He murmurs a few moments later, lips brushing your mouth as your hands seek their way up his body to his shoulders, your fingers sliding up to sink into his hair at the back of his head, and the minute they do you get light headed at how it was just as soft as you’d imagined it would be.

You shake your head in agreement, unable to form words as you try to wrap your head around the moment, and its just as the overwhelming realization of just who was saying these things to you hits you, that his blinding smile fills your vision, and before you can react, his lips are pressing against yours once more.

(T.B.C)

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