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rarephloxes · 3 years

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@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

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Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

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Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

#elucien #lucien vanserra week #lucien vanserra headcanons #lucien spell cleaver #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien fanfic #elucie fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #sleeping beauty

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

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The one where it turns sweeter (part2)

TW: smut

So... this is my first time writing smut. I just hope that I did the piece justice and that you’ll like it. Tell me if that’s something you’d want more or also if you have any feedback/criticism/idea/request, I would love to hear your lovely thoughts. Please don’t be shy xx

Part 1

"Just shut up and come kiss your dork."

Y/n certainly doesn’t need more incentive to comply; the sweet taste of his lips seeping through hers is plenty enough as it is. Her mind is a nerve-ending away from losing any semblance of a grasp on reality. This feels too much like a dream: fuzzy mind, sensitive skin and a desperate plea not to be awakened yet.

Except, all her senses are on overdrive, buzzing with more fervency with every new inch of her that Harry explores. And no matter how dreamlike it all seem, the thrills are much too intense to be sleep-induced and the details much too accurate to be conjured up by a deceiving mind. The way chills spiral up her spine as they follow the roaming of his hands underneath her shirt; the way her skin erupts in tiny goose bumps where his lips leave wet spots after careful ministrations. Starting at the corner of her month, as if reluctant to retire from their twin set, all across her left cheek to finally tease the area right below her ear and mischievously graze his teeth around the earlobe.

Definitely real.

"Fuck. I’ve been wai’in." He almost whimpers the extent of his relief, the rasp of his voice triggering a new wave of shivers across y/n’s straddling body. "Been waiting so long, love."

"No more waiting now." She quickly answers with a pointed shake of her head.

Her hands also have a mind of their own, not wasting a second more to finally tread the land that had been forbidden to her until tonight. Now his neck was hers to scratch and his wondrous locks hers to grasp and to pull in taunting fashion. Now the grunts coming out of his mouth still tending to her ear, were hers to revel in and to swallow in a searing kiss. Now she was his to hold, to touch and to undo like the final tug to a bow on a wrapped present. Now the pleasure was theirs to share.

"Off, take it off" Y/n breathlessly inquires after pausing their kiss long enough to voice her request. Her fingers have already made their way to the bottom of Harry’s jumper, slipping underneath the heavy material only to be met by more fabric. She pouts as she realizes there was more work than expected, but as soon as the first layer has been discarded and she takes in his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks, the disappointment melts right off her lips. Her hands cups at his face as she bits a growing smile and her eyes dive into the green gems already focused on her. "Flustered, are we?" She teases before rearranging his hair back in one brushing gesture and sealing their lips back together.

"Mhm, got me all hot an’ bothered, darlin’" he quips back as he rids her of her top, successfully leaving her in a simple black laced bra. Damn, she didn’t have the same multi-layer luxury he had apparently. The special endearment is also not lost on her, its appearance quite new between them, but in retrospect it can just be added to the list of ‘new’ things their relationship now entails.

Harry takes in the sight of her exposed cleavage, one hand swiping the strings of hair still resting upon her right collarbone, before finally dropping kisses down her neck and across the top of her breasts. One soft grip at her waist, his other hand crawls back to press against the area between her shoulder blades in a desperate attempt to get her that bit closer than she ever was.

"You’ve got one more." Y/n reminds him, her head slightly tilted upward as to avoid a mouthful of Harry’s mane. At her words, he slowly leans back to take in her own flustered state.

"This not enough fo’ you?" He asks knowing full well she was just as antsy for skin-to-skin contact as he was.

"Not even close" she proudly responds while taking the matter into her own hands. In a swift and not too clumsy motion, she’s got his undershirt in a bowl that she hastily throws behind them.

"Better?" He smirks at her.

"Halfway there" is all she retorts and goes back for a much needed kiss, hands finally embracing the smooth expanse of his bare back. She can feel his own smile spreading so wide he can barely follow the kiss’ dynamic. "What?" She finally asks him in suspicious banter, keeping her face an inch away from him, a finger swiping across the corner of his bottom lip.

"Nothin’" He murmurs along her jaw, before elaborating. "Just…livin’ on a prayer."

Y/n can’t help but laugh at the Bon Jovi reference, the moment is so Harry-like. A few words were always enough to make random songs pop into his head, and then the temptation is too hard for him to pass up the opportunity to make a pun about it. That’s just how he’s brain works and y/n has always loved this quirk of his. He is a music enthusiast after all, and the passion he’s derived from is what made him such a force to be reckoned with, so really, y/n doesn’t mind.

"Care to clue me in on that prayer of yours?" She says instead, before she suggestively takes a bite of his lip. The statement earns her a chuckle as Harry goes back to flowering her neck his tender pecks.

"Don’t worry darlin’, you’ll be singing them in no time." He chirps back seductively, bringing his hands to grasp at y/n thighs still straddling his lap. Then in one swoop, he lifts her and lowers her back until she’s laying on the ground. Quickly his tattooed torso follows suit as he comes resting above her figure and reunites their lips in an unprecedentedly passionate kiss.

This time around, y/n’s hand concentrate on the inked work adorning his front, fingers tracing each of the artist’s lines. It mesmerizes her how the art seems to be such an intrinsic element of his skin now. Like all the graphics and doodles had been embedding the tissue since birth. Swallows flying across is chest as he learnt how to walk; laurels flourishing along his pelvis as he became less boy and more man; butterfly metamorphosing some every day he grew closer into the amazing being he is now.

So y/n may have lost it a little, but in her defense, Harry has always been her weakness and now he’s kissing his way down her chest and playfully nipping at her belly button…so she’s officially relinquished any sovereignty she may have once possessed over her body. Harry softly pecks the palm of her hand when she brings it to his cheek, her gaze already clouded in euphoria. After sharing a knowing look like two accomplices on the brink of mischief, he mutters a soft "can I?" as his fingers tease at the waistband of her jeans.

A hazy ‘please’ is all he needs to work her zipper down and button off, all the whilst sporting a smug corner smile. The task gets a bit more tedious when it comes to peeling the fabric from her legs but it’s not Harry’s first skintight jeans’ rodeo. Plus, the sight he is privy to once they’ve joined his long forgotten undershirt and jumper somewhere behind the couch, is quite unparalleled in comparison. Smooth legs that take his head for a spin with how elegant yet how strong they look; cotton panties, still matching in color, covering wonders he has yet to experienced; so much flesh and skin ready for the taking and calling out for his touch.

A soft groan escapes him as he lowers himself back to place a wantsome kiss on her timid smile. "Fuck, look a’ you, love." More kisses. "So pretty…so delicious." He utters against her throat, nose tenderly rubbing against the skin.

His lips retell the same stories as they travel down y/n’s body once again, this time making a longer halt as they gloss over her breast, blindingly enclosing themselves around y/n’s nipple though the garment’s lace. She swears she can feel him smiling against her boob as the small bud hardens from pleasure, and when he adds in a quick graze of his teeth once he’s satisfied with his work, y/n’s hand flies out to the one making its way up to her other nipple.

The gesture isn’t meant as a restraint so much as an encouragement which Harry happily embraces. His thumb starts circling the areola in a slow and teasing manner, every now and then applying increasing pressure in its center. Y/n’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist, as if afraid he would suddenly stop, while the other slides down his back to squeeze at his bum.

"Touch me" she breathes out.

"I am."

"Touch me more." Her insisting words have him lift his head from her skin to process her demand: at this point, his mind might be fuzzier than hers.

"My girl wants somethin’ more? Just have to ask, darlin, I’ll give it straight t’you."

His hand starts moving underneath hers, and once she’s pleased with the path it’s taking, she lets go of it. Just as her hand settles back on his shoulder, her fingers dig in the flesh in retaliation to the dragging caress Harry is delivering underneath her panties. He is being awfully slow at it, collecting wetness all around and bringing it back to slick up her neglected clit. He has readjusted his body back to her level, not wanting to miss the slightest manifestation of her pleasure on her face.

As his movements around the bud speed up, her legs fidget more and more in between his, until the pressure starts building strong in her lower belly and her mind is once again pleading to get him closer to her. Untangling their lower limbs to wrap hers around his waist, his response comes in a feverish kiss and his ministrations moving from her tingly clit to her wet opening. They resume their circling motion, index teasing its way in but never quite making an entrance; the patience game he seems to be playing not to y/n’s liking as she groans against his lips.

"Flustered, are we?" He has the audacity to use her own words against her but somehow it turns her on even more. Makes her all the more curious to discover just how sassy he can be when he’s got her in a puddle at his fingers. Quite literally.

"Don’t be mean." Y/n pouts before laying open mouth kisses along his neck. Maybe that’ll motivate him.

"Sorry, love. You’re just so drippy down there, it’s driving me crazy. Is it all fo’ me?" He kisses her forehead in a vain attempt to make up for all the riling up he’s doing.

He forgets he can be as easily riled up though, when y/n susurrate at his ear "You know it is."

The admittance has him pushing his hips against her, effectively pressing his fingers harder on her pussy. They both moan in unison at the friction, heightened pleasure coursing through their bloodstream, saturating their veins. It’s then they realize there’s so much more to come, like the moment ticked something off in their brains, and now they can’t get naked fast enough. Frantic hands pulling at the remaining clothing articles left of their bodies while their lips are caught in an equally raging war. A war they’re battling on the same side as they fight for the same thing: intimacy, passion, closeness.

Once they’re both left bare to the other’s eyes, they take a second to revel in the moment. It took all the patience and abnegation in the world to get them to this point. Days of yearning stifled in silent admonition and nights of supposedly wishful thinking that left them wanting more at every new sunrise. So much anguish turned into so much elation as the truth prevailed though. That’s a lot pleasure warranted to make up for lost time.

"Been dyin’ to taste you, darlin’. What d’ya say?" He asks in between kisses. Their naked bodies are so untangled they can’t tell beginning from end, but Harry is all too willing to unweave himself form y/n’s loving limbs if it means he gets to have her on his tastebuds. And apparently so is she, if the high-pitched ‘please’ breathing past her lips is any indication.

The smugness returns on his face as he once again undertakes the delightful descent to her sensitivity. There is no material stopping him this time though, just more skin begging to be brought to life. And when his lips finally surf across her mound, the goose pumps blooming in their wake just prove him right. Her breathy noises only spur him on, tongue finally taking a long swipe across her lips, like a secret weapon kept under wrap for the most opportune time.

Y/n’s hands are quick to grab onto something, and the absence of linens underneath her only hastens her reach for him: one hand buried deep in his headful of curls, the other resting on his own hand at her hip. She feels his thumb rubbing soothingly at her skin there and she loves how tender he can be, even while simultaneously devouring her in greedy licks. The contrast as her vision blurring and no matter how much she wants to watch him have the meal of his life, her body is too riddled by pleasure to keep herself focused enough.

The feeling only keeps intensifying as Harry properly delves into her, tongue first, his other hand eventually coming to hold her thigh down as it keeps clamping back shut at every new wave of ecstasy rushing over her. "So good, Harry. Feels so good." She keeps chanting in delirium, and Harry’s own excitement is starting to grow unbearable. There’s no way he can’t let go of her to relieve himself for a second though, he’ll just have to wait for her unravelling.

"Taste so sweet, love. Come on, please cum fo’ me. Need it real bad." He pleads for her undoing as though Time was about to rip her away from him before he got to properly have her.

Deciding the moment calls for a change in tactic, he brings two fingers to her wet hole and swiftly slides them inside of her. Rejoicing when he is met with no resistance, he quickly brings his lips back to her sensitive bud, alternating between hard sucks and pacifying licks.

It doesn’t take much longer for the knot inside of her to come undone and her orgasm to take over every parcel and every atom of her. And Harry can’t get enough. She’s everywhere: all around his tongue as he keeps fucking into her in earnest strokes; up to his nose while the angle has him brushing against her clit; down his ears with songs of uncontrollable bliss; underneath his hands as he can feel every spasms seizing her body.

He tends to her sensitivity until she’s too overwhelmed to bear it, and complies when she gives a small tug at his hair. Their lips immediately find each other even though they were both rendered breathless by y/n’s climax. She can taste it on his lips so vividly, it makes her moan at how utterly crazy he’d gone at it. She tenderly swipes away the wetness on his chin while their tongues waltz together, and brings him closer to her with a koala move. Soon they are both made acutely aware of Harry’s excitement as his hard member is trapped between their heated bodies.

"You’re incredible." Y/n finally voices with a look of unadulterated love and pure wonder. Her smile only emphasizes her confession and Harry’s heart swells so hard, he wonders if the butterfly on his stomach feels it too. He mirrors her beam with one of his own before lowering his forehead against hers. His muscles are starting to feel sore from the tension that has yet to be liberating from his body, and it takes all he’s got, not to drop the support his arms provide as they lay on each side of y/n’s face.

"Got me so hard, love. Feels like imma bout to explode." He admits while sliding his cock back and forth along her sweetness. He feels like a ticking bomb, winded so tight from years of nerve-wracking suspense, that have never felt more like foreplay than right at this moment, as y/n reaches out to him. Her hand confidently wraps around his shaft to deliver long strokes that have him shudder in pleasure.

"Gonna do something about it?" She murmurs tauntingly at him.

"Mhm" is all he can respond before taking her hand from his cock and holding it down above her head in an interlocking grip. Taking a hold of his hard member, he then proceeds to gently tap her clit with his sensitive tip, in retribution for a teasing behavior. "Do we need a rubber?" He remembers to ask in between her moans.

"Not on my account." She answers truthfully, and Harry exults in knowing there will be nothing but warm smooth walls enveloping his dick once he finally has her.

"Yeah? Gonna let me just slide in? Take me all the way an’ keep me there forever?" The words have a clear purpose to wind her up further, but Harry thinks he might have screwed himself over with that one, as he finds himself equally aroused at the idea. Precome is already leaking from his reddened and swollen tip, only adding to the mess they’ve made together.

She answers him with a gentle kiss and her free hand comes to hold his jaw, thumb caressing his cheek in light motion. Their lips part for a shaky breath as Harry slowly pushes himself inside of her. They both sigh when his hips meet hers, every tensed molecule in their body uncoiling at the delicious friction.

As he starts rocking into her, Harry’s hand grabs at y/n’s thigh to keep it close around hip. His other hand is still interweaved with hers by her head and he doesn’t think he’ll ever let got of it.

He’s movement starts to speed up, as the pleasure becomes stronger and the change in pace has y/n arching into him. He takes the opportunity to slide his hand up her back, when his fingers come in contact with a tiny item on the floor. In confusion, he takes it out from under her, and brings it up between them. Puzzled faces relax in recognition as they take in a square shape piece of their long forgotten game, the letter G carefully painted on its surface.

"Guess I found it, huh." He jokes before tossing the piece away, and they both burst in laughter at the silly pun, Harry’s face buried in her chest. How can one have still so much wit even when balls deep in their secret-not-so-secret-anymore crush for the first time? Y/n loves it, though. It makes all the rapture even more delectable to know the one giving it to her is the same old Harry who almost gave her a heart attack once from how hard she was laughing.

Laughters quickly merge into gasps of pleasure at the pressure of y/n’s walls tightening around Harry’s cock. Just like that, the playful interlude is over, letting lust conquer all. Powerful thrusts resume their pounding motion as y/n once again dissolves into colorful moans, and Harry takes his hand back up her spine until he’s holding onto the back of her neck. Kisses are trailed down her throat as he tilts her head slightly to the side. "Squeezin’ me so hard, love. Must be doin’ somethin’ right," He says against her skin, as he pounds into her. He can feel her walls clenching again, body twitching around him and he knows she’s close to her peak.

Removing his hand from underneath her, all the whilst not relenting from his earnest fucking, he brings two fingers to her lips, caressing the soft flesh before dipping past them. "Come on darlin’, make ‘em wet for me." He commands and the mere word have her throbbing from anticipation. Obediently, she accepts the digits in her month and starts wrapping her tongue around them like she would his cock. As she indulges in a soft suction, Harry’s hips snap even harder, making her wheeze in response.

Fingers free from the confine of her warm mouth, he fits them down where their body meet and starts rubbing at her clit. "About to cum, aren’t you? Can feel it too, you know," he starts rambling to distract him from his own impending climax, "Gonna give it to me good, yeah? Wanna feel it all around, makin’ a mess o’ me, alright?"

"Yes, Harry. ‘M so close," y/n answers before giving a sharp tug at his hair, "fuck me harder, please." It takes all his might not to nut right then and there, but the prospect of sharing the sweetest high of all with her, gives him enough resolve to hold back. Instead, he endeavors to make good on her request by delivering hard and vigorous thrusts that has her bucking against him. Wet noises start feeling the space around them, arousal coating their joined bits as well as Harry’s busy fingers. "That’s it, that’s it, almost there" he keeps muttering like prayers whispered to the Almighty. And it seems like the heavens are responsive tonight as a couple of hard calculated shoves is all it takes for y/n’s orgasm to rupture and send her spiraling.

"Harry," his name on her lips at this very moment might just be the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. "Feels so good." Bliss and ecstasy are written all over her face, and the visual coupled with the sensation of her pussy still hugging tight onto his shaft, send him to a euphoric release of his own. Goose pumps pave their way across his skin as he gives a few more rolls of his hips to accompany the ribbons of cum spurting out of his cock. Y/n’s name is the only thought consuming his hazy mind, the only sound leaving his mouth against the tender skin of her throat where he’s buried his face. Slowly he then removes himself from her - not without a whine at the newfound emptiness greeting them both - and plops down by her side.

The living room is filled with an eery silence for a minute, as both y/n and Harry process everything that just transpired and give their body and chance to recuperate. Their sides are still touching, sticky from sweat, their breathing slowly regulating back to an even level. Harry carefully slides his hand into hers and they both share a look of affection.

"That was amazing." Y/n breaks the silence first in a hushed voice, and her confession makes Harry smile in pride.

"Fuck, com ’ere." He says although he’s the one lifting himself up on one elbow to give her a languid kiss. As he settles next to her, yet another Scrabble piece makes an appearance, this time stuck to the skin on the side of his shoulder before it falls off in a soft thud on the floor. He must have laid down on it in post-orgasmic bliss and the sweat made it stick there for a second.

Y/n picks it back up with a beaming smile as she inspect the little token. "Damn, for once I was actually kicking your ass at Scrabble. Kinda screwed myself over, didn’t I." She laughs at how she’d been so intent on winning the game, yet had been the one to throw the game board along with caution to the wind.

"Actually love, I believe I was the one you screwed." Harry playfully retort, earning him a small slap to the stomach. The gesture only makes him laugh some more as he engulfs her in a crushing embrace.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles imagine #fluff #harry fluff #reader insert #harry styles fic #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfic #creative writing

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Note

HI! Quick note: write this whenever you want and be sure to take care of your health first! Your works are amazing and masterpieces take time, I can be patient <3 Hope you have a lovely day! (also, 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: trigger themes like attempts of suicide, probable hints to dissociative amnesia? I was inspired by it at least and some... Limb being bitten off as well as latest archon quest spoilers so readers be cautious!)

Anyway, I'd like to request for Xiao, Albedo, Zhongli, Kaeya and Diluc (if the number is too much you can cut off whoever from the list) with Traveller! s/o that like has no memory of their past but have clues through these... "Visions/Dreams".

It started out a little simple; every once in a while, Y/N would see these little figures floating around their environment. Shadowy wisps, sometimes ghosts talking to them. But in real life, people can't see them and only sees them talking by themselves (and some are a little weirded out). But then one day, while they were out adventuring in the ruins slimes or seelies... Whatever small cute creatures can exist in Teyvat suddenly gathered in Stormterror's lair and they grew curious cuz they heard... Music? Playing? It was echo-y and creepy but then they heard a very familiar tune that they KNOW is linked to their past so they followed and went into the vicinity

(As reference, or for some idea: https://youtu.be/JZ6buLNIgs8)

The moment they stepped inside and pinpointed where the music is coming from they bolted up the stairs (if there are any, which probs not but in reader's case there is) and suddenly the stairs lead them to a hallway from a tower/palace, and walking further, there were two huge doors that lead to a ballroom with more than dozens of ghosts waltzing and singing with the music

(No they did not question why would stormterror's lair have a hallway or how it even has a ballroom inside, nor why creatures would gather in said lair. Questions that break away from dreams are nonexistent)

So obviously they were happy at the wondrous sight and began waltzing along with everyone from strangers to... Unrecognizable but familiar faces? Until They danced with this boy their age. The more they looked the more they were enamored and the world around them was but a hazy dream (as vague and hazy the environment in their head can get) but the boy became more and more vivid and so did the music until they practically sang together. But then as the music stopped and s/o turned their back for a second; the boy sang: "And a song someone sings..." And wisps suddenly flew out of him and towards Reader, making them fall unconscious into their arms as the Prince of the Abyss sang in their ear. "Once upon a december..." Before Aether disappeared and he was but a dream.

And then all of a sudden Reader was yanked away from their dream; almost literally. They turned to see their lover holding onto their arm with concern all over their face and explained to them they were so close to the edge dancing away they could've fallen off of the third floor (which was already high!).

And that's when things get a turn to the worse.

Every dream gets worse than the last; anything that involved the abyss, or seeing these star pendants like what Paimon has on her hair or Kaeya's little decor on his clothes or involving Khaenriah or whatever Albedo's research is rn lure them into a dream vivid than the last and it gets even harder and harder to break them off their dreams. One night of going to bed they suddenly had a dream of their old family/friends swimming in the ocean and telling them to join them, and they wouldve if their lover didnt sweep them off their feet and broke away from another dream they didnt realize was 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 a dream. And the realization that if they jumped off, their bones wouldve broken cuz a bunch of boulders and rocks on a steep cliff would make a nice floor for landing right?

But still, Aether and the abyss (which in their dreams were ghosts and just... this blond guy you knew but never realized it was your brother and the abyss) are recurring themes. Coming across any of the factors instantly puts them in a dream and reader cant tell whats reality and what isnt. Everything is too vivid they didnt see a bubble coming their way or an attack coming towards them and they were about to be thrown off. It got to the point Reader was getting claustrophic from the rooms suddenly shrinking as they were cornered by these ghosts that turned frightening and whenever they fight back they end up nearly murdering someone of mindlessly attempting to destroy one of The Seven statues.

It lead Reader to be.. Kinda suicidal. Not just because they hate themselves and their situation its cuz its the 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦 they knew how to escape the dream and wake up in a bed in their lovers arms. And because reader cant distinguish reality from dreams sometimes even if their lover is present they see these ghosts and think 'this must be a dream I have to wake up from!' cuz in the long run theyve learned fighting back meant hurting someone so they.. Redirected the pain to themselves so theyre very confused to see their lover throw their dagger across the room and they end up breaking down no matter where they are (or in worse cases in the middle of battle). Reader grew dependant on them and panic attacks after these dreams became more frequent until they cant even trust their surroundings whether its a dream or not.

(I'm very sorry with how long this is and I rambled in grotesque detail you may polish it however you want :"DD)

This can be in any format you'd like! But I mostly prefer headcanons + scenarios? like the bullets then comes scenario etc. But ye write however you want sorry for rambling hope you have a nice day thank you

As a Romanov history enthusiast this request was both very interesting and very difficult. Mostly because I found myself veering off into “lore dumping” for lack of a better term. Still I hope the general feeling of your request was captured well.

I spread various aspects of your request around as best I could, depending on character, outline, fic structure, etc. The only thing I didn’t keep in was the suicidal ideation. This is for various reasons, some personal, but in a more general term I think that it can be very difficult to portray something like that in a way that isn’t excessively triggering and is worthwhile to read for a variety of people. The way one person would process through such emotions and put them to paper could be harmful to another. Overall I thought it best to steer clear from such a topic, with the knowledge that I didn’t find it necessary to the story and thought it would be an imperfect addition on my part. Not that I find never addressing such topics necessarily the right path either, only I think that in this case better not to. I hope I explained why adequately.

I know that wanting to read and write about such topics does not directly correlate to being in such a mental state but I do hope you also take care of your own mental health. Though getting out of such crises can be difficult I want to tell you this at least. You aren’t alone in feeling this way, even if others in your direct vicinity cannot understand. And also sometimes finding a direct reason for continuing on comes later. Sometimes surviving is enough. And even if you cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel, that doesn’t mean you should take a step which you will never be able to reverse, the only step you will never be able to reverse in your existence.

I also leaned into the Romanov family dynamic, rather into that of the traveler siblings. Whether the reader is the traveler is kept vague on purpose, as I generally as a rule don’t write the siblings. I also found that in keeping them specifically canon compliant to the traveler siblings I’d have to cut back on the more historical illusions. Being a total history nerd I chose the latter option.

Otherwise my fics varied in complete accuracy to the prompt, though I hope you find it enjoyable to read nonetheless.

Here they are in order of Albedo, Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, and Zhongli. I hope you find them a worthwhile read and thank you for your request. I hope you have a lovely week.

#suicide mention #dissociative amnesia #asks #aliarosella #requests

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peachy-beomie · 3 years

Text

I’ll Be Your Light (In The Darkest Night) <KUNTEN>

Genre: Hurt/Comfort (Fluff w/ Light Angst)

Pairings: Kunten (Qian Kun x Ten Lee)

Word Count: 1,936

Warnings: Light Angst (not much but like kun gets yelled at a lot)

Synopsis: Kun is an amazing leader for wayv. He’s levelheaded, smart, observant, and he knows how to make sure the boys are taken care of. But sometimes leaders have to make tough decisions for the good of their members, even if they can’t see the benefit. OR Kun is upset and Ten is there for him.

A/N: Uh hi this is my first fanfic on tumblr!! :DD My awesome friend sophie (@chicksung) encouraged me to try posting one so here I am. Hope it’s at least an enjoyable read :))) Tell me what you think in the comments or by reblogging! Also I thought a cute little thing to do at the end of each of my kunten fics would be to include a random kunten photo, since they seem to be few and far between (@ Kun and Ten POST A SELFIE TOGETHER COWARDS). So look for that at the bottom of the post! Enjoy lovely readers!!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409582

“You’ve got to be kidding me!!!”

Each of the 7 boys flinched hard at their dance instructor’s exclamation, their hearts beating wildly in their chests.

“Seriously what is WRONG with you guys?? That’s the 10th time we’ve gone over that section and you STILL can’t get it right!”

“I think we’re all really tired ge,” Kun interjects, voice calm and collected as always. “Maybe we should call it a night and try again tomorrow.”

The teacher seems to grow angrier from that comment. “We are not done until each of you can do the choreography flawlessly. Go get some water and I better see you back and ready to dance in no more than 10 minutes!!” Kun can do nothing but nod and usher his members into the hall. As they step over the threshold, each boy all but collapse onto the floor, completely drained of energy and courage.

Kun sinks down the wall whilst holding in a groan of pain. The teachers had been really harsh that day, yelling at them and making them work extra hard. Kun wishes he could just go home and cuddle with his boyfriend.

As if sensing Kun’s unease, the aforementioned boyfriend sat next to him and offered him a sip of water which he gladly accepted. Ten intertwined their hands and squeezed Kun encouragingly.

“I don’t think I can take much more of this, my legs feel like Jello.” Hendery comments, breaking the silence of the room.

“I know, the staff have been really crude today,” Lucas responds, his usually wide and wondrous eyes are dulled, which isn’t lost on Kun. His stomach clenches as he looks around at his members. It’s painful seeing them so despondent. Each pair of eyes sporting large bags and shoulders all hunched and tense. The boys stare back at him with expressions so colorless it makes Kun want to cry. Winwin taps him on the shoulder suddenly.

“Kun-ge you have to tell the teacher we can’t go on, I can barely feel my legs.” Winwin’s eyes brim with tears as he speaks and Kun wants so badly to wipe them away. He grabs the back of Winwin’s head and guides it to his shoulder in comfort. Being tired as shit himself, Kun would love nothing more then to tell the teacher to let them go, but he knows he can’t. If he so much as looks at the teacher the wrong way he’ll get them all punished. It makes him feel terrible, not being able to take care of his members the way he needs to. With a heavy heart he brings the boys to their feet, offering them the most encouraging smile he can muster.

“It’s only another half an hour guys, we’ll get through this I promise.”

Needless to say the practice continues to go downhill from there.

The short break did not make the teacher any less cruel. He continues to scream, degrade, and cuss out the members. The words he spews sting each boy to the core. Kun only watches as brows crease infinitely tighter and stray tears are wiped in secret.

Kun doesn’t realize how deep in his thoughts he is until he trips over his foot sending him to the floor. His eyes remain closed as he hears the music switch off and the feeling of doom rises in his chest.

“Oh my god Kun this is RIDICULOUS!! Why can’t you guys get this?? It’s so simple!! Stop slacking and focus!!” Kun reluctantly stands up and faces the teacher with the most level expression he can.

“I’m sorry ge, I’ll do better from now on.”

“You better. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with Xiaojun’s weak form, I don’t need any more challenges today.” Kun is taken aback by the comment. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Xiaojun curl into himself almost as if trying to disappear, and it fills him with rage. Fire spreads from the tips of his fingers all the way to his toes. His hands ball into fists as he struggles to maintain his calm demeanor. He can handle the insults thrown his way, but something about this one comment set him off. Poor Xiaojun is struggling enough with his own confidence and Kun knows things like this really get to him. He doesn’t want to let this teacher continue to talk shit about the people he cares for. His members stare at him almost expectantly as he glares daggers into the back of the staffs’ heads. Checking his watch, he realizes that there’s 5 minutes left of rehearsal and reality sinks in slowly.

Kun, having been cursed with “holding the braincell” (as Hendery lovingly puts it), knows that if he goes off on the teacher it’ll only hurt his members more. God only knows what’d happen to them if the staff report them as “difficult to work with” or anything. As much as the members want him to assert their needs, they have to know that he stays silent to protect them. So he reluctantly bites his tongue and just continues to dance for 5 long, agonizing, scream-filled minutes.

⏳

The ride back to the dorms is unusually quiet. All the members seemingly too upset or too tired to speak. Ten rests his sleepy head on Kun’s shoulder in a form of comfort that’s only half effective. Kun watches as Hendery holds a shaken Xiaojun and whispers affirmations into his hair. He sees Winwin and Yangyang cuddle up to Lucas trying to get as much sleep as they can in the uncomfortable position. Knots of guilt and sadness begin to form in Kun’s stomach. He attempts to focus on Ten’s heartbeat against his side, but he’s never able to drift off.

Once they get home everything explodes.

“How could you let him do that ge?? Shit talk us like that?? You should’ve said something.” Yangyang cries out, emotional and desperate. The tears they’d all been holding in spilling over in the tense atmosphere. Kun stares back in bewilderment, unable to form a coherent response, and Yangyang is not having it.

“LOOK WHAT HE DID TO POOR XIAOJUN!! HOW COULD YOU LET HIM JUST DO THAT????”

“It’s not Kun’s responsibility to cuss out teachers baby.” Ten interjects, trying to calm the two.

“But he could’ve said something. He’s our leader, he should look out for us.” Hendery pipes up, his tone even but a slight bite lies in his words. Kun’s really trying not to cry now. He should’ve been there for them. He was so stupid to stay quiet, they neeeded him, and he’d failed them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Kun mutters. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor.

“You should be.” Yangyang spits out, before turning on his heels and stomping to his room, slamming the door closed.

“Guys, there’s no use placing blame right now. It’s really late, we should all get to bed.” Lucas shoots a small smile in Kun’s direction before shooing Hendery and Xiaojun into their room. Kun walks shakily to his own room, not bothering to get changed. He sits on his bed and buries his head in his knees, focusing on his shallow breaths.

He felt like the worst friend on the planet. His members had been suffering and all he could do was watch. Some leader, he never should’ve debuted. He’s so worthless, so stupid, so-

“Kunnie?”

Ten’s silky voice cuts through Kun’s thoughts like a knife.

“Kun can I come in?”

Kun makes no motion to look up or get the door, only letting out a noise of confirmation before he hears the doorknob turn.

“Oh darling,” And all it takes is that one pet name for Kun to shatter like glass. His body shakes with each silent sob, all the emotions from today come pouring out. Ten sits patiently, never forcing Kun or rushing him. He’s too perfect Kun thinks. I don’t deserve him follows soon after only making him sob harder. Ten’s hands find their way into Kun’s hair, massaging his scalp assuringly. Several minutes later, Kun’s breathing has evened out until only occasional sniffles remain. He looks up at his boyfriend reluctantly, finding only care and worry in his brown eyes. Ten’s expression melts into a fond smile, pressing a kiss to Kun’s temple before getting up and moving to the dresser. Kun’s gaze follows him, puzzled, until the younger boy turns back to him with pajamas and a large sweatshirt. Ten motions for Kun to lift his arms and begins undressing him. Once Kun is comfortable in his pajamas, Ten sits back down on the bed.

“Care to tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Kun can’t help the slight heat that spreads across his cheeks. Even though they’ve been dating for 3 months now, Ten still manages to fluster Kun with ease. It’s just one of his many annoying charms.

“Nothing,” Kun lies, not convincing Ten for a second.

“Come on Kun, knowing you, I’d be more worried if you WEREN’T overthinking this,” Ten giggles melodically making Kun’s stomach flip slightly. “I’m not gonna judge you sweetheart, I swear.” Kun looks down and fidgets with his sleeves.

“It’s just…” he begins, “I feel like a shit leader. Like I wasn’t even able to protect you guys from our own staff! I just think I should’ve... done better.”

“You saying something would only make the situation worse, and we all know that.” Ten smiles lightly. “You can’t actually blame yourself for this Kun, look at me.” Ten presses his forehead against Kun’s and their gazes meet.

“You have to know they didn’t mean that,” Ten’s eyes scan Kun’s, “You didn’t do anything wrong bub, they’re just tired and upset.” Kun nods understandingly, but is obviously still uneasy. Ten quickly notices this and presses his lips to Kun’s. Their eyes flutter shut as each of them get lost in the feeling of each other. Ten’s lips work as if he’s trying to erase all traces of doubt and worry from his boyfriend’s mind. To be honest, it’s kinda working. When they break apart for air Kun can’t wipe the smile off his face. Ten, wearing an equally dopey smile, reaches up to wipe the saliva from Kun’s lips tenderly. He looks into Kun’s eyes with intent as he delivers his next statement.

“You. are. not. always. to. blame.” He boops his nose with each word for emphasis. “You did what you thought was best for the group, as any good leader does. You are so kind and considerate darling, the members love you so so much, you are the perfect leader for WayV.” Kun’s face feels like splitting from the size of the smile he’s wearing now.

“I love you so much.” Ten giggles and pecks Kun’s lips once more.

“I love you too, my handsome baby. Now get over here and sleep with me. We’ve had a long day.” And who’s Kun to refuse such an offer?

⏳

The next morning, Kun watches as Yangyang shuffles into the kitchen looking considerably more rested and also considerably more guilty. He pauses eating his breakfast to look up at the young boy.

“I’m really sorry Kun-ge, I didn’t mean to get so angry last night. And I definitely didn’t mean any of the things I said.” He genuinely admits. Kun only smiles.

“It’s ok Yangyang, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” Yangyang’s shoulders relax at that.

“Thank goodness. I feel really bad about it.”

“No need. All is forgiven.”

“So does this mean you’ll make me pancakes?”

“You little-”

KUNTEN PIC OF THE DAY:

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

Note

okay!!!! so!!! i guess it’s kind of a prompt, but like steve goes to an art college thing. and he’s suuuper talented, one of the best in his class. and the prof. says that they have a guest to come in for some modelling. and steve is super excite ‘cause he loves doing projects like this. and then the model comes in, covered in a bathrobe, it’s billy. he goes to sit on the stool at the front. drops the robe, he’s completely nude. looks steve directly in the eye and winks! just an idea i had! -🎨

Dear anon, !!!!!!! This took SO LONG, but then again I was flagged and unavailable for like two weeks, and I did not write at all in that time, but as I woke up today to find myself back to normal, I quickly finished what was left, and now 11 pages long, I will post some of it here, then link the rest on my AO3!

My mind went off on this, and I hope it’s as good as I believe, especially what with all the teasing I’ve been doing!

Now, enjoy~

An arts scholarship is not something everyone can brag about, well, almost everyone, or so Steve thought when he got approved for one after his high school teacher encouraged him to apply.

He’s not dumb, or unintelligent, as most people around him will say - the words on the pages just don’t connect right, as if he can’t see what any other person might perceive, and it is reflected on his grades. Math is… fine, the only issue there is a general unwillingness to learn, because rather than doing algebra and figuring out trigonometry, Steve’s talents lie in the stroke of a brush, in the graphite of a pencil, in the black of charcoal.

His mother always encouraged him with a loving hand and a wondrous appreciation for every single little drawing Steve came up with as a child, fueling this intense fire inside of him that only felt relief against paper or canvas. She showered him in materials; endless chalk, a rainbow of watercolors, acrylics, oil pastels, pencils in all shapes and hues, stacks of papers, piles of canvas, even let him paint the walls of his bedroom as far as he could reach.

His father… simply stood and scowled in the doorway. He’s old fashioned, wanted an heir to the Harrington Construction Empire his own father built, not some… artistic little fairy. Steve stopped counting how many of his parents' fights were about him years ago.

And now he’s here, in California, attending college of all things, surrounded by students who, just like him, have devoted their entire lives to the arts. He feels less special, less talented, amongst his peers, where it seems that a third of them have arrived on scholarships, too.

But his teacher, Mr Reynolds, an old man with a long goatee and suspenders, always assures Steve that he is, without a doubt, the star of the class. That he will go far in his life, become world renowned, famous for his works, that in the future art classes will teach about his techniques and colors and soul.

Steve likes to believe it; spends his spare time thinking about what painting of his would be displayed in museums, what the critics will say, what he will wear to the reveal party, what his speech will sound like.

All those thoughts course through his overactive mind whenever he looks at a blank surface, just waiting, begging to be filled with his inspired soul. Perhaps he’s a bit too immodest and vain and arrogant, but he doesn’t really put up a fight against those ideals; never bothered trying to be humble about what is so obvious to any eye, and when every teacher has never offered up anything besides praise, is he to believe they’re all liars?

He looks around at his classmates as they set up in the arranged circle surrounding a single stool in the middle. They all smile at him, greetings exchanged as always, the friendliness of people who you’ve had a few beers with, attended some parties and gatherings together, but never really gotten to know past the surface.

Steve’s just not as social as he used to be, and moving halfway across the country didn’t really help that either. Something changed in him during the last year of high school, but honestly he can’t complain. He goes whenever invited, otherwise he keeps to himself, focuses on his studies, does his homework, a scholarship can only get you so far, and if his grades dip too low, it’s bye bye future.

“All on time for once! Impressive!” Reynolds says with a cheery tone, clasping his hands together with a wide smile as he moves to the center of the classroom. “For today’s live figure drawing practice, we’ll continue working with models and volunteers from all parts of life, and today I’ve managed to convince a hard working, blue collar of a man! William Hargrove, you may take the stage!”

Everyone turns to the stained room divider over in a solitude corner, the usual spot where their models change in and out of clothes and robes, and from behind steps a man dressed in a dark gray bathrobe, adorned with the most gorgeous crown of golden curls, his stubble is scruffy with a more accentuated mustache, and his eyes are of the clearest blue waters Steve has ever seen before.

His breathing pauses for just a moment as he stares at the broad shouldered stranger, caught in a trance - a willing subject to be ensnared by this man’s confidence, walking like he owns the room. Steve doesn’t even realise that he’s staring till he’s met with those heavenly eyes.

Who then winks at him, grin mischievous and aware of what thoughts surge forth in his presence.

Steve’s heart beats like a drum, ramming against his ribs, a heated flush rushing up to tint his ears red, spilling into his cheeks. He can’t help but whip his head back towards his easel with a stare that could burn a hole in the pages before him, restraining himself from gawking further, trying to calm down some.

It’s not that he hasn’t paid attention to other guys in the past, it’s just that he hasn’t cared for that kind of stuff before. Even when he was dating Nancy back in high school he didn’t care enough. But now? This guy? This man?

Nothing more than one simple, flirty look, and Steve’s interest tiptoes over the line of professional into personal, dipping in, testing the waters there.

And when he reaches the middle of the circle, everyone here far too interested in seeing what he’s hiding beneath the robe, he slowly slips it off, clearly revelling in all the attention if the smile he carries is any indication.

Unfortunately, much to Steve’s inconvenience, this William Hargrove is ripped. Jaw strong like a cliffside, biceps akin to perfectly carved marble, formidable pecs covered in chest hair lush like a forest that spreads down abs like rolling hills, Steve’s eyes travels smooth like a stream across the landscape of William’s body, down to his-

He refocuses on the easel in front of him, invitingly barren and pleading for him to ruin the stillness with his own inappropriate curiosity.

“Thank you once again for agreeing to this, Mister Hargrove. You may use this stool here to pose with, or without, it is entirely up to whatever you’re most comfortable with,” Reynolds explains, unhooking a thumb from where he fiddles with his suspenders to accept the robe that William has removed.

“Yes sir,” sounds the response, his voice husky and charming, throaty from years of use.

It tugs further at Steve’s intrigue, oh to hear him laugh, read a book aloud, sing along to whatever reckless music he listens to, probably rock or something abrasive. Steve’s wild imagination goes through it all in the matter of seconds, just to be pulled back when his teacher speaks again,

“We’ll be taking things a bit slow today, six poses with 10 minutes each, let you all get a good feel for Mr Hargrove’s body, really focus and pay attention to how the shadows fall.”

Steve’s convinced the way he swallows hard must be audible, the lump in his throat making a loud splash in the pool of boiling nerves gathered in his stomach, breaking surface tension and stirring up thoughts he hasn’t really bothered with for months, if not a year by now.

Yet here’s this stranger with such undeniable magnetism, taking a seat, naked on a stool, aiming straight at Steve, staring at Steve, smirking at Steve.

Who nervously rakes fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away as to more clearly see his model, noticing how the muscles flex and tense as Hargrove decides on his first pose. The human body is phenomenal to look at, nothing in the world deserves grander appreciation than it, and it’s easy for Steve to convince himself that that’s what this is, an accentuated form of gratitude for the very same shape that Michelangelo used for his David.

Finally William gets settled, on the edge of his seat, one foot on the ground, the other up on the bar between the legs of the stool, elbow raised and bent to bring a hand behind his head, the other relaxed on his thigh. Exposed and raw and muscular and brilliant.

Steve could truly go on and on and on about this Adonis posed all nude before him, face turned slightly to the side, but it is unquestionably clear that the rest of him is aimed directly at where Steve sits, and he doesn’t realise he’s staring again till Reynolds says,

“Ten minutes, everyone! You may begin!”

Keep reading on AO3

#Harringrove #My Writing #Art Student AU #Only Mature for now ;)))#God I went OFF on this one #Anonymous

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isshuns · 3 years

Text

the progression of things - discarded scenes

this is a dump post for scenes that were in the original draft, but never made it to final version of the fic. they bear no connection to the final version of "the progression of things”, but i liked them enough that i couldn’t bear just deleting these scenes (TPOT underwent a lot of editing and rewrites) ;_; they were part of the original premise where I wrote Miyano as ace/demisexual, but in the end it didn’t work out ;_;

click on the “read more” link if you’d like to read them, but take note, they’re were part of the rough draft, hence are extremely unpolished.

Miyano remembers being fifteen, his school bag heavy on his shoulders, but his heart heavier in his chest. Every day he looks at the mirror in his bathroom and wonders why he was cursed with such feminine features, a smaller build than the rest of the boys in his school; everything on his face seemed wrong as though nature forgot to switch its genetic code back to “MASCULINE, MALE” when constructing his face.

He couldn’t blame his parents, they never had any say in what he’d look like when he was born, and his mother would be heartbroken to hear that her son, bearing such resemblance to her looks, actually hated his own.

But as slightly estranged as he was from his middle school classmates when his looks came up as a topic of conversation, Miyano still heard Things whispered amongst his peers, seen Things even, when his classmates included him in their weekly get-together to ogle at printed materials meant for a demographic way beyond their age.

In the flush of youth, where the boys in his class pondered over their body anatomy, fascinated with nature, and looked to adult magazines (stolen from their older sibling’s stash) for enjoyment, Miyano pondered over the harsh reality of his feminine features, upset but resigned with nature, and looked to fashion magazines (taken with permission from his mother’s collection) for pointers on how Not to appear even more like a girl.

(His father’s copies of Business Weekly helped a little too, even if only to remind Miyano how top businessmen in the country dressed for a business photoshoot with the press – suit, tie and expensive watch peeking from the cuffs.)

When the passage of time came and went and Miyano entered high school, he discovered the world of Boys Love manga and dedicated his free time to understanding the intricacies of this fascinating genre. Being a minor, the type of print he could obtain were fairly sweet and innocent, nothing too explicit save for some scenes that took place on a bed, the protagonists’ modesty preserved with a flimsily drawn blanket over their nude bodies.

Occasionally, a book or two with explicit content would make their way to his collection. The internet was also a place full of wonders and possibility, and once or twice Miyano would (secretly) look up the famous series promised with rave reviews, but somehow, Porn Without Plot never really stuck to his repertoire.

Even after becoming of age, Miyano still finds himself gravitating towards the safety that comes with the PG-13 books. There is a strange sort of comfort in consuming fiction that depicts love as something simple and uncomplicated, straightforward and representation that love– intimacy did not necessarily come hand in hand with sexual acts. Intimacy could exist with or without sexual acts and vice versa, whatever floats your boat, really.

For Miyano, it was always the build up leading to that ultimate confession scene (at the rooftop, under the cherry blossom tree by the school yard, the back of the school gym, endless options) that grabbed him by the feels and punted him into the sun. That’s where the highlight is!! He once told Sasaki, unable to hold back on his excitement that twinkled in his eyes.

And identifying all the event flags leading up to that very moment of their first kiss? Unparalleled. Truly the best of all scenes there is. Peak romance. The bedroom scenes (few and rare in his possession) are really just a bonus.

So, while his peers continued to chat about going through the motions in bed, the closest miyano could ever try to relate to during those conversations was the intimacy that came along with the idea of sexual intercourse.

-------------------------------------

The moment Miyano is done with the last of his midterms and bids his notes goodbye (for now), Sasaki magically appears beside him and whisks him away to the nearby izakaya for a celebratory dinner.

“For getting through the first midterm week of your life~” His giant baby boyfriend coos, ever so sweet like the cakes he bakes.

Miyano pretends to be exasperated, shoulders dramatically slumping over the sticky izakaya table, but his heart knows better. It’s been one month since he’s started college (the one Sasaki also so happens to attend, not a coincidence at all), and the privilege of having more time to spend with one another makes Miyano giddy with happiness.

Gone are the days Miyano can only meet his favourite senpai for a handful of hours after club activities until the reality of their courseload slaps them in the face; gone are the days they have to rely on telephone calls and text messages, where the minutes and seconds flashing across the screen serve as an unforgiving reminder of the time they have left before they have to part ways.

It’s all gone now. Sasaki sits before him, in the flesh, and Miyano has always felt that seeing Sasaki’s smile in person would always be different from seeing it on screen. The grainy pixels on his phone can never do those handsome features justice, nor can it the warmth blooming behind his breastbone whenever Sasaki threads their fingers together and walks him all the way back to his dorm.

The freshmen all share a common dormitory block separate from the rest of the college students, something about building connections and getting to know each other better, so Sasaki insists on walking Miyano back to his room before he makes the trek all the way back to his own. The night is young, the dorms are peacefully quiet, and everyone is probably still out in town having a good time.

---------------------------

Loathe as he is to do so, Miyano makes the executive decision to drop by the bookstore one afternoon to try and consult a few adult BL manga. It’s the worst idea he could ever come up with, he hates comparing his own relationship to silly BL manga tropes, but nothing short of an apocalypse would push him to ask the people around him whether it’s normal to… not think about sex in a romantic relationship. While the internet is a wondrous place full of answers and possibilities, Miyano figures it probably wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at how society tackles his questions through the lens of BL manga.

Hurriedly, just before his date with Sasaki, he randomly picks up one of the highly rated R-18 series, heads over to the payment counter quickly, and bolts out of the store the moment the cashier bags his purchases. He makes sure to stuff the damned volumes deep beneath his bag, out of sight, before he heads over to the café to meet Sasaki for lunch.

And when he’s finally back in his own dorm later that night, his roommate blissfully unaware and asleep, Miyano retrieves the book from his bag, cautiously peels away the plastic wrap before he settles down for the night to take notes.

His efforts are all for naught. Halfway through the series – one Junjou Romantica –, it takes Miyano all but 3 volumes before he calls it quits and and promptly closes the book. Guess there’s no way he can redeem his money now, unless Sasaki is into dubcon…? Well, that’s a thought for future Miyano to ponder on. Current Miyano just wants to sleep and wash the images out of his mind with bleach.

-------------------------------

he has no care for sex, but nothing compares to the tender happiness that comes along with partaking in something sasaki enjoys and yearns for. sasaki’s language of love has always been touch and spending time partaking in activities of common interest.

today, sasaki has picked a soothing lo-fi playlist as their background music. they’re seated on the bed, warmly nestled against each other as they browse through their respective manga

his eyes may be on inked pages, but his heart is long gone. he discreetly observes his boyfriend, the curve of his jaw, long lashes almost curling against the high of his cheekbones as his honey-gold eyes flit across pages and pages of content.

the fingers flipping through each page is steady, long, and miyano suddenly wonders how it would feel to have them splayed across his body, touching him in places his own hands have never ventured before.

“what’s wrong, myaa-chan?” sasaki smiles at him, eyes impossibly fond and kind.

well, fuck it, there’s no going back now.

“senpai, what do you think… about… BL with explicit content?”

sasaki blinks. miyano tampers down the urge to kiss those parted lips.

“you mean books with sex scenes in them?”

“yeah.”

“oh.” sasaki turns away, the hand that’s not rested on miyano’s shoulder has found a place on top of sasaki’s mouth. he’s embarrassed, miyano realizes, and somehow that makes him feel ten times more endearing than usual.

sensing that this was a topic his boyfriend wasn’t going to let go any time soon, sasaki clears his throat and returns miyano’s gaze head on.

“i’m fine with it. why do you ask?”

“i… well.” while miyano struggles for words, sasaki hand starts moving up and down his arm, soothing him.

“are you starting to read rated manga? it’s normal, at least, ogasawara’s girlfriend says so. so there’s no need to be shy, myaa-chan! if you want to recommend any, you know I’ll read anything you lend me. no judgment here.”

it should have been reassuring, but the thought that ogasawara’s girlfriend discussed with sasaki about explicit BL manga like it’s the fucking weather has miyano choking on his spit. what the actual fuck.

do people actually talk about these things? is miyano the abnormal one instead for never entertaining the thought of doing things with his significant other?! has he been missing out on some code of relationship couples ought to follow?! the BL mangas he read never said so!

“myaa-chan? are you okay?”

“you- you talk with ogasawara senpai about these things?”

sasaki’s cheeks colour a lovely shade of red. from his looks, he’s starting to catch up with where miyano wants the conversation to go. that’s a relief, because miyano honestly doesn’t know how to tactfully broach the topic without sounding like a dumb dumb about these things.

“yeah, i do.” sasaki admits, “but only once or twice, because ogasawara needed to vent about things. sorry, does that weird you out? i can stop. i don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“no, no, it’s fine. totally fine, senpai.” it must be a common boys topic that somehow eluded miyano and friends during high school. at this point, miyano’s face must be burning with the hot flames of embarrassment and shame, he’s pretty sure sasaki’s fingers can feel the heat all the way from where they are, stroking his cheek absently.

“what brought this on, if you don’t mind me asking?” sasaki asks a moment later, when the weight of silence in the room gets a little too much to bear.

“just… some friends talking about it the other day.”

“friends.”

“yeah… fine, classmates.”

“are you… thinking about it?”

at miyano’s surprised expression, sasaki backtracks immediately.

“forget i asked.”

“to be honest, i don’t know what to feel about it.”

“it’s okay, we don’t have to do what you don’t want to do.”

it’s so painfully awkward yet endearing at the same time.

“do you think about it, senpai? about us… doing those things?”

sasaki’s lack of an answer is extremely telling. the shade of red coloring his cheeks is probably bright enough to rival miyano’s own face.

“does it matter? i am happy with doing whatever myaa-chan wants to do.” sasaki finally says, but his eyes have shied away from miyano’s gaze, and something within miyano snaps.

“of course it matters. it’s you, sasaki-senpai. i want you to be happy too. i want to do things that you want to do too.”

something akin to hope blooms across sasaki’s eyes (surprisingly moist).

“thank you, myaa-chan. that thought alone makes me happy enough. let’s leave it here for now and let things progress as they naturally would, how about that? we don’t need to rush into anything. i’m really happy with where we are now.”

he knows that sasaki has caught on to his sexual orientation, no doubt. it’s been a year since he became of age, and yet the BL manga he still buys have never ventured into the explicit genre. briefly, he wonders if sasaki actually keeps his own stash of porn somewhere below his bed, like normal boys would do.

they aren’t in high school anymore. it’s been years, and yet until this point, the thought of doing something more than kissing and cuddling has never crossed miyano’s mind. he wants to cry at how respectful his boyfriend has been all this while.

“myaa-chan? myaa-chan? oh no, yoshikazu, don’t cry. i’m sorry if i said something wrong-”

oh fuck.

miyano has always been uncomfortable with displays of affection and attention, preferring to bask in the comforting arms of his daydreams and fantasies, but his love for sasaki burns greater and he will do anything he can to ensure that sasaki receives equal, if not more, affection and care than the amount his boyfriend showers him in.

scene ends with sasaki hugging miyano tightly, reassuring him and planting a kiss at the side of miyano’s temple. but it does nothing to seep away the frustration gnawing at his bones.

END

#ssmy #my fic #the progression of things: discarded scenes

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zealouswerewolfcollector · 3 years

Text

A Poetry Lesson

Maedhros/Ingwion because why not? This is just silly fun except for the last part, which isn’t fun at all, I have to warn.

On Ao3

At first, Ingwion paid no mind to the air of excitement in the library. It was enough to know that it wasn’t about him; he was a frequent guest here. He also knew that it wasn’t unusual for impromptu poetry discussions to take place here or for scholars to meet for debates. So the prince stayed in his corner, reading the newest poems that had been written down at his request. He wasn’t always able to visit the poetry gatherings, but he didn’t want to miss anything. When he was done, he chose several poems to show his mother and stood.

On his way out, he glanced at the small group gathered around a desk. He knew two of the loremasters; the other three were young, possibly only apprentices. The younger ones were whispering among themselves, while the loremasters were silently watching the elf who was hunched over a scroll, writing or rather drawing something, judging by the careful movements of the quill. One of the apprentices asked a question, and when the elf raised his head to answer, Ingwion, to his surprise, recognized Nelyafinwë, King Finwë’s eldest grandson.

The Noldo was dressed plainly, in dark green and grey; he had no adornment on his head and wore his hair in a simple style—three narrow braids going from each temple to join together on the back of his head, the rest of his hair tumbling freely down his back. Ingwion wondered if he should approach, but Nelyafinwë seemed busy. Ingwion didn’t have much time either; the hour of the mingling was nearing, and he had to be with his family to sing for the waxing of Telperion.

He came back to return the poetry collection he had taken when Laurelin was in full bloom and found Nelyafinwë there again. He was alone this time, but for reasons he didn’t understand, Ingwion still hesitated for a moment before approaching. Nelyafinwë didn’t look surprised as he greeted Ingwion formally but warmly.

“I have seen you here before a few times,” he said when Ingwion took a seat in front of him.

“A few times? How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to have seen you a few times,” Nelyafinwë said with a slight smile.

Ingwion was thrown off for a moment by the familiarity in the Noldo’s teasing words but found out that he didn’t dislike it.

“Why didn't you let us know?” he asked. “You could stay with us as long as you wish. Our doors are always open before Finwë’s kin.”

“Thank you, but I have to decline,” Nelyafinwë said. “As tempting as it sounds, I have found a very cozy place to stay in the city. Besides, I am not here as a prince. I have come to help your scholars draw maps of the northern lands.”

“I didn’t know you were an expert in mapmaking.”

“Oh no, I am no expert. I am sure these will get redrawn later. I have traveled quite a lot, though, so I can offer my experience.”

Ingwion looked at the scroll on the desk. “You are being modest, Nelyafinwë. These are very well-drawn.” Nelyafinwë’s smile grew a little brighter, and Ingwion felt strangely proud for causing it. “What region is this?” he asked, pointing at the map.

“This is a cave system in the northern part of the Pelóri,” Nelyafinwë said. “It is so huge that we haven’t reached the end yet. Every time that I go there, I explore a little more and come back to expand the map. It is fascinating. The entrance is hidden from view. We would not have discovered it if not for Aulë. He told my father about it, and we went to explore it. I often go there now. Imagine any cave you have seen. Now imagine it a hundred times more vast and beautiful. Wait, I will sketch it for you.” He drew an uneven line on a free corner of the scroll. “This is going to be redrawn anyway,” he said smiling. “And maybe they will appreciate my drawing.”

Ingwion watched as Nelyafinwë’s hand moved gracefully, and under his quill, various misshapen towers took form, swords hanging from the ceiling, miniature mountain chains, monster teeth, and rock icicles.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Nelyafinwë asked. “I have tried to do it justice.”

“It is,” Ingwion agreed. “Though I cannot imagine spending so much time in a cave, no matter how wondrous the rocks there are.”

“I don’t spend that much time there,” Nelyafinwë said. “That is why this map is still incomplete. There are so many places to go and so many wonders to see. If you go far enough into the north, the stars shine so much brighter. The light of the Trees is just a faint shimmer, and at times the sky itself is painted with many different colors. Words aren’t enough to describe its beauty. Maybe you should give traveling a try? I am sure you would enjoy it.”

“Listening about it is much more enjoyable,” Ingwion said.

“Is it?”

Nelyafinwë’s smile was almost smug, though still kind, and Ingwion sputtered, hurrying to save the situation.

“I only mean that I prefer plains and woods over caves,” he said, though it wasn’t the only thing that he meant. The way Nelyafinwë’s eyes glowed radiantly when he was talking was also very enjoyable. “I would rather stay here and listen to stories about different places, than travel myself. There is no place better than Valmar, no mountain fairer than the Taniquetil.”

“How could you know that if you have not seen the other places?”

“There are a lot of marvelous places to see here.”

“Really?”

Ingwion decided not to take offense because he liked the smile on Nelyafinwë’s lips.

“Obviously,” he said with a smile of his own. “Have you spent all your time here drawing maps?”

“Of course not. There is time for work and time for fun.”

Ingwion didn't know why the way Nelyafinwë said the last word made him shiver.

“Speaking of work,” the Noldo said. “I am done for now.” He seemed to be thinking for a moment. “But I will be here later.”

Ingwion expected him to continue, but Nelyafinwë said nothing else. He only covered Ingwion’s hand with his and squeezed it. Ingwion barely stopped himself from looking down because he knew it would make this situation even odder. Instead, he held his breath and focused his gaze on Nelyafinwë’s face. It seemed too long before the Noldo got to his feet and said his farewells. Ingwion was surprised to find himself still smiling after Nelyafinwë left.

He waited until Telperion waxed and waned twice before he returned to the library. Nelyafinwë was there, as he had promised.

“It looks like you have finished your work,” Ingwion said, noticing the absence of maps on the desk.

Nelyafinwë looked up. “I will be honest. Drawing maps is not the only reason I am here,” he said. “The Library of Valmar has the largest collection of poetry. I enjoy reading it.”

“I am quite sure that you are reading Elemmírë,” Ingwion said, laughing a little.

“Guilty,” Nelyafinwë smiled, raising a book.

“You know she is not the only great poet we have. Every second Vanya tries their hand at it, and many succeed.”

“Is that so? Do you write poetry too?”

“I...” Ingwion didn't know why he was so flustered. Maybe it was because of the intensity in Nelyafinwë's gaze or because of the barest hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “I have written several hymns to Manwë, which my mother put to music.”

“Oh, I would love to read them! Do they have them here?”

“No, no, they aren't good enough to be kept in the library.”

“I truly doubt that. If you want to prove it, you will have to sing them for me.”

Ingwion couldn't tell if the Noldo was serious or not. “Just not in the library, Nelyafinwë,” he joked. “Or the real poets will beat me up with the books.”

Nelyafinwë laughed. A clear, ringing laugh like the bells on the bay tree which grew in front of Ingwion’s window. He had put up the silver and golden bells himself, had added, removed, and replaced them until he had perfected the sound.

“I am too an avid lover of poetry,” Ingwion said before he could regret it. “I can show you works by other poets if you wish.”

He read the surprise in Nelyafinwë's eyes. The Noldo stood. “Lead the way,” he said.

In the back of his head, Ingwion knew that his offer entailed more than poetry books, but he wasn't sure what exactly, was reluctant to think of it. Maybe Nelyafinwë truly only wanted to read poetry, maybe the Noldor were just overly friendly. Yet the other day Nelyafinwë's touch on his wrist lingered for a moment too long.

He walked to a remote corner of the library, away from everyone’s eyes, preferring to ignore the perfectly good poems on closer shelves, acutely aware that Nelyafinwë was just behind him. His heart was fluttering with excitement. When they reached the shelf, he stopped in front of it, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“Some of my favorites are here,” he said, turning to Nelyafinwë.

He drew a sharp breath. He knew the Noldo had been following him, but he hadn’t expected to find him so close. Nelyafinwë was tall for a Noldo, nearly at height with Ingwion himself, and he was beautiful in a stern, intimidating Noldorin way: high cheekbones, piercing eyes, proud nose. Ingwion felt his heart in his throat. He raised his hand slowly, without fully realizing what he was doing until his fingers were almost touching a long, dark red curl that fell over Nelyafinwë's ear. He stopped himself, feeling suddenly that he couldn’t bear it, that he would be struck by lightning if they touched. The air was as thin as on the peaks of the Taniquetil. He struggled to breathe.

“Nelyafinwë,” was all he managed to gasp.

“You may call me by my mother name,” Nelyafinwë said in a hoarse whisper. “Maitimo.”

“Maitimo,” Ingwion repeated slowly, rolling the name in his mouth, delighted by the way his lips came together and parted, his tongue touched gently the back of his teeth to form the sounds. It made him feel bolder. “Aptly named,” he said.

“Am I,” Maitimo said with the confident smile of someone who knows the answer very well.

“Yes,” Ingwion said anyway. “Thank you for allowing me to use it. Every time I said your father name, it felt like a slight against my cousin.”

Maitimo laughed, and all the tension was suddenly gone. Ingwion was once again reminded of the sound of bells as the bay tree swayed in a warm breeze. He had no idea why he had thought Maitimo's beauty intimidating just a moment ago. It wasn’t. It was gentle like the light of Laurelin after the mingling when there was still just a hint of silver in the gold. The corners of Maitimo’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. Ingwion took Maitimo's curl between his forefinger and thumb. It was soft. He felt lightheaded. He was unafraid in the relative privacy of this little corner, ready to do anything.

“You are not like how I remember you from our last visit to Tirion,” he whispered.

Maitimo tilted his head. “I am different in Tirion. There I am Nelyafinwë, son of Fëanáro, grandson of Finwë. Among the Vanyar, I am not as noticeable. I rather enjoy the anonymity. Here I can be Maitimo, an ordinary Noldo, who has come to draw maps, read poetry and kiss the crown prince.”

Ingwion looked into Maitimo's eyes, barely daring to breathe. “You are falling behind on the last part, aren't you?”

“Then it is time to rectify the mistake, wouldn't you say?”

“I would.”

Ingwion leaned forward and did what he had wanted to do since the first moment he laid eyes on Maitimo. He felt the Noldo’s smile against his lips, his fingers in his hair, his warm breath. He pulled Maitimo closer, shivering when they were chest to chest, sighing when the other elf deepened the kiss. Ingwion forgot for a moment where they were, forgot himself. His spirit was floating, his body was non-existent except where Maitimo’s burning touch connected him to the physical world.

Maitimo broke the kiss but didn’t move away, just turned his head a little, so his lips were now brushing over the shell of Ingwion’s ear. His arms tightened around Maitimo’s back. His awareness was slowly returning, and he was already looking out for every little noise that could disrupt their moment.

“The library isn’t the best place for this,” he said regretfully.

“Not very adventurous, are you?” Maitimo laughed and made no attempt to move.

“I don’t have the luxury of anonymity, Maitimo.”

“Do you have the luxury of privacy? You promised me a song, remember?”

Ingwion didn’t remember promising him, but he still nodded. “Maybe somewhere else,” he said.

“Maybe,” Maitimo whispered. “Maybe you can pay me a visit while I am in Valmar.”

“What did I say about anonymity?” Ingwion laughed. He shifted a little and finally let go of Maitimo, sighing. “You should come to me.”

Maitimo frowned. “I am not enjoying the idea of making small talk with the entire Vanyarin court.”

“I will choose not to be insulted,” Ingwion said. “But that wasn’t what I meant. There is a hidden way to my chamber. You should come straight there.”

“You are adventurous after all,” Maitimo grinned. “I will come. I suppose your chamber is more... comfortable than my lodgings.” He took Ingwion’s hand. “Tell me how to find you,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist.

It took Ingwion a while to find his voice to answer.

---

His wild look slid over the surrounding warriors as he slowly walked back. Ingwion expected it to linger on himself for a few moments longer, but it didn’t. There was no recognition in those eyes, no hesitation, no fear, nothing except stifling, overwhelming despair. Ingwion found it hard to believe that this was Maitimo.

Maedhros, that was how they called him here. A harsh name in a harsh land. Gone was Maitimo, the silvery sound of the word, gone was the ringing of the bells, gone was the softness around the mouth. He was all sharp angles now, hard lines, bared teeth for a smile, smoldering embers for eyes. His only hand holding the sword wasn’t shaking, and Ingwion knew that he would fight to the death, knew that it was what he wanted.

An image came unbidden to his mind. Maitimo opening an eye, as Ingwion turns on his side and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear; Maitimo raising a brow in amusement, as Ingwion's slightly trembling fingers outline his face, slide along his brow, his cheekbone, leave feathery touches on his soft lips; Maitimo lifting himself up on his elbows, gently pushing Ingwion down by the shoulder and leaning over him, Maitimo's hair a curtain hiding them from the world, as they kiss.

During the long, terrible war, Ingwion had seen the hardness of the people of this land. There was no other way of living under Morgoth’s shadow except turning to stone. Ingwion had gotten used to it to the point that the sweet bells of Valmar seemed a distant dream. Or so he had believed. Now everything inside of him rebelled against the thought, refused to recognize the dazzling prince he had once kissed in the library of Valmar in this ferocious, rugged creature, tempered by loss and defeat.

He wondered if he should go after them, if he should kill Maedhros; wondered if it would be more merciful than what Eonwë had done, but before he could make a decision, the brothers had disappeared, and he knew he would not see them again.

He turned back and walked to his tent. The war was over. He would soon return to gentle Valinor, to majestic Taniquetil, to golden Valmar, where people smiled, and Maiar sang, and when the zephyr blew, the silver bells on the tree in front of his window rang as in laughter.

#silmarillion #maedhros #ingwion #silm fic #zwc fic #this is the first fic with this pairing on ao3 #it's so funny to me :D #can't believe i wrote 2000 words of these idiots flirting #or trying to #this has been on my mind #since that post about ridiculous tolkien ship names #which i can't find now

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friendofhayley · 4 years

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Drarry Fics to Quarantine to: Below you’ll find 20k+ Drarry fics that will make you want to scream, cry, pace around your living space, and laugh to

🐍 Vortex by @xanthippe74 (20k) Soulmate AU / EWE

“Don’t worry, my dearest one,” Draco’s mother told him when he confided his worries to her. When he was old enough to feel the pangs of adolescent longing, but still too young to sense the storm gathering around them. “Magic will overcome any distance or obstacles to bring two soulmates together when the time is right. Circumstances will arise that steer them in the right direction; strange coincidences will make their paths cross again and again. Then the most wondrous moment arrives, when you both realize that your soulmate, your perfect match, stands before you, and from that day forward your hearts will be one.”

Ten years after that conversation, the idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

🦁 Evitative by @k-vichan (222k) Slytherin Harry / Slow burn

In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn.

Then he gets the bad news: he’s been accidentally expelled from Hogwarts, and he needs to be sorted again. Everyone is confident that he’ll go straight back to Gryffindor, but with what he's been learning, Harry’s not so sure.

🐍 Nice Things by aideomai (22k) Hogwarts 8th year / Touch-starved boys

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

This officially put the number of eighth year students up to seven across three different houses, which was, according to McGonagall, quorum, and meant that the school would no longer simply add a few beds to their existing dormitories. Instead, the eighth years would be given their own lodgings. You will be welcomed, McGonagall wrote in a letter that accompanied the standard supply list, and lodged in the Gatehouse.

🦁 survival is a talent by @shanastoryteller (338k+) Soulmate AU / Found family

In the middle of their second year, Draco and Harry discover they're soulmates and do their best to keep it a secret from everyone.

Their best isn't perfect.

“Are you trying to get killed, Potter?” Malfoy drawls, stalking forward. Quick as a serpent himself, he reaches out and grabs the snake just below the head. It thrashes in his grip, but is no longer able to bite anyone. “This is a poisonous snake, and I doubt anyone brought a bezoar with them.”

Harry glares. He opens his mouth, and feels the beginning the snake’s language pass his lips, and this isn’t what he wants, what’s the point of insulting Malfoy if he can’t understand him –

Malfoy’s eyes widen. He slaps his hand over Harry’s mouth, “Potter, what the hell–”

🐍 Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by @norelationtoatticus (104k) Veela Draco / Pining

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

🦁 Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (302k) Memory Loss / EWE

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

🐍 There Is Always the Moon by @firethesound (159k) Cursed Draco / Fake relationship

Draco's life after the war is everything he wanted it to be: it's simple, and quiet, and predictable, and safe. But when a mysterious curse shatters the peace he'd worked so hard to build, there's only one person he can trust to help him. After all, Harry Potter has saved his life before. Now Draco has to believe that Potter will be able to do it one more time.

🦁 Azoth by zeitgeistic (faire_weather) (88k) Magic nerd boys / Hogwarts 8th year

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

🐍 you’ve got the antidote for me by Kandakickass (20k) Soulmate AU / Terminal illness

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

🦁 Say My Name by Thunderbird487 (199k) Hogwarts 8th year / Character growth

Harry witnesses something unexpected in the 8th year boys' showers and starts to see Draco Malfoy in a whole new light. The question is now, what is he going to do about it?

A coming of age Drarry tale about letting go of the past and building the future.

🐍 Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy’s Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by dustmouth, nerakrose (96k) Asexual Harry / Slow burn

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Features: Little League Quidditch, an abundance of bath bombs, happy endings, and gay robots in space.

🦁 Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (70k) EWE / Time loop

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

🐍 Veela-Struck by Lomonaaeren (148k) Veela Draco / Slow burn

Veela don’t have destined mates, and thank Merlin for that. Draco wants to date Harry Potter because Harry is one of the few people in the wizarding world who treats him decently. But when Harry refuses, with his refusal focused on Draco’s creature blood, Draco sets out on a different journey than he ever expected.

🦁 Purity Control by frnklymrshnkly (28k) Hogwarts 8th year / Redemption

In which Harry tries to ignore his trauma with fantasy Quidditch but Malfoy's Thereness™ is distracting and all his classmates want to talk about are unicorns, virginity, and Muggle music.

🐍 Away Childish Things by @letteredlettered (153k) Hurt/Comfort / EWE

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

The last thing Harry remembered was talking to a snake. The snake had talked back—or sounded like it had—and then the glass had disappeared, and the snake had escaped. Dudley had blubbered like a baby, and Harry had got in trouble—or he thought he might have done, but that was when it started to get hazy, like grey swirls inside his own head.

#this fic rec is long but worth it!!!#drarry #fic rec #harry potter #hp fic rec #mine

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laws-yellow-submarine · 3 years

Text

Incandescent

Author's Note - Hiiiiiii this is my first time ever participating in a writing contest and I am S O incredibly nervous, please be gentle. 🥺 Thank you for hosting such an awesome event and huge congrats to your follower milestone! I enjoyed stretching my brain a bit for this event! Sorry it's right at the deadline, hehe. Ok, I'll shut up now~

Pairing - Drake x F!Reader

Warnings - SPOILERS // 1 paragraph that refers to sex // angst ending 🥲

Prompt Choice - Light

Word Count - 2.8k

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Parties, dances, formal attire. The annual Marine Ball. Though Drake had surely been accustomed to high society due to his Marine affiliations, he never cared for such lavish activities. With an aloof demeanor and two left feet, it was well evident among his comrades that he was far from the life of the party. Still, he made his appearance known at every tedious event. He took his job seriously after all.

All things considered, one can imagine the utter panic he endured when the third woman of the night caught his eye and made her way towards him. In the brief seconds it took for her to approach him, he had already constructed a mental list of countless benign excuses that would be reasonable enough to reject her without hurting her feelings. It took him some time, all thanks to many tears and a few too many slaps to the face, to figure out how to achieve such gentle refusals.

His first excuse was locked and loaded, equipped with a follow up, just in case. However, even as the words were placed on the tip of his tongue, all things left when she pleaded with him.

“Dance with me. Please.”

His eyes widened down at her. This was entirely different from any dance offer he had received. He was well known to dismiss even the most pitiful of beggars, but something about her plea seemed desperate.

“Ma’am, I’m not sure you-” He began, halting when a slur of what was assumedly her name, pierced through the chattering crowd. “Miss (Name)! Playing hard to get I see! Don’t worry, I’ll find you. And when I do, youwilldance with me.”

She hid her face in embarrassment, eyes bulging as she pleaded with the Marine once more. He internally sighed, why me?, but when the drunken man had found her and was rushing towards her, Drake acted on instinct. Placing his hand gently at the small of her back, he guided her through the tight crowd towards the other end of the room. He cringed at the man’s whines, having half a mind to swiftly knock the brute out once he heard some derogatory remarks escape his lips, but getting her to safety was paramount.

They found themselves rushing out onto the balcony, far from the bustling crowd and entirely out of sight of that wretched man pursuing her so dangerously. Before joining her outside, Drake had relayed the information to one of his comrades who stood on guard at the balcony’s door, encouraging him to keep an eye out for the pervert and to remove him from the party if he made any attempts to follow the pair outside.

“Thank you.” She breathed as she sat along the bench, “Though, a dance in the other room would have sufficed.”

He stood in front of her awkwardly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Miss, I have to be honest with you. I’m not much of a dancer.”

She giggled, and an unfamiliar sensation swelled in his chest, “Oh, I’ve assumed as much, Mr. Dory. Why else would you reject all of the pretty admirers? Though, I believe the defaulted rumor among them is that you swing for…”

He stiffened, ears growing warm, “Drake is fine. I don’t care much for rumors.”

She hissed as she removed her shoes and rubbed at her heels, “What’s your rank, Drake, if I may ask?”

“Rear admiral, ma’am.”

“A handsome rear admiral who can’t dance? Well, I guess we can't all be perfect, hm?”

“I don’t need flattery to do my job, Miss.”

“(Name).” She corrected with a roll of her eyes.

“Pardon?”

“It’s (Name). We’re on a first name basis, yes? And you don’t have to refer to me so highly. I’m not like the nobility that swoon at your feet.” She ran her fingers through her hair, “I’m just the caterer’s daughter. Only here to encourage guests to dine on our food. Unfortunately, however, it would seem some men interpret simple acts of kindness as desperation for their affections.”

“Only pathetic ones.” Drake scoffed.

“Let me guess. You’re not like other men?” (Name) laughed loudly this time, and if it weren’t for the sudden rush of embarrassment he’d felt, he’d be captivated by the way she glowed under the moonlight, “Haven’t heard that one before.”

She was entirely correct. (Name) was far from being similar to the other women who more than likely only wanted a dance with the rear admiral for bragging rights. Even if he’d had few formal conversations with the gaggle of swooners, none would dare challenge a man of his rank as she did. It was entertaining, to say the least.

“How can I prove myself then?” He questioned aloud. The teasing tone laced in his words caught the both of them by surprise. He wanted to hurl himself off the balcony, until her reassuring smile offered him solace.

(Name) pretended to be in deep thought for a moment, and Drake grew increasingly anxious as the seconds passed, “Prove to me that you really can’t dance. I find it hard to believe the gods blessed you with those legs and no rhythm.”

It was his turn to laugh this time; genuine laughter. She was taken aback and silently admired the music of his amusement. Even the guard who stood watch outside the door stiffened in disbelief at hearing the typically stoic Drake laugh so heartily.

“I’m afraid you might be setting yourself up for disappointment. Or perhaps you wish to have me step on your toes?”

“It’s alright. You can step on my toes as much as you want.” Her tone was serious now as he opened the door for her, “Just keep me safe, please.”

He swallowed hard, feeling underprepared for what he was getting himself into, “I think I can manage as much.”

They made way to the dance floor, Drake nervous as ever underneath the burning stares of the party guests. Yet as he took her gloved hand in his, a brilliant, incandescent glow seemed to illuminate his entire body at the intimate contact. Her eyes held his and what with the warm smile she offered him, he had briefly pondered if she had felt that sudden jolt of electricity as well.

How’s one to know when you’ve met the one?

Drake couldn’t help but wonder as he danced with this alluring stranger, the caterer’s beautiful daughter. Because as she spun around the room with him, catching him when he’d trip over her dress with reassuring glances and a too-forgiving smile, he couldn’t help but imagine their lives together, a reel of redamancy.

They’d continue spinning around the room, unbothered by the wandering eyes and hushed whispers. She’d hold him steady, eyes twinkling under the light of the chandelier as she laughed, scrunching up her nose and throwing her head back without a care in the world, making him fall harder with each passing second. He’d pull her closer, an evident blush blooming on the both of their cheeks at the contact, further deepening as they realize they are one of the only few stragglers left well after the party is over.

He’d walk her home, picking off a stray flower when she wasn’t looking, offering it to her as a parting gift, a thank you for keeping him company through the night. She’d smile, wider than he had seen that night, a smile he wanted to keep on her face forever. As their hands touch, he’d bring hers up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss along the satin fabric covering her knuckles. Another parting gift, another thank you - a subtle invitation for more, if she’d have him.

He’d pray that she couldn’t see the nervous quake that shook his body, how he was dying to get this right, but she would, of course she would. She was incredibly perceptive, and that’s one of the wondrous things about (Name) that made him fall, after all. Yet, she wouldn’t say a word, just smile and laugh as she hesitantly closed the door, hurrying up to her bedroom window to call out his name like it was her new favorite word as she waved a final goodbye for the night. He’d wave back, butterflies fluttering madly like he was a teenager all over again. That feeling would make home in his stomach until he laid his head on his pillow, dreams painted with her beaming smile glowing under the chandelier light as he held her close once more. His pillow would suffice for the time being.

He’d visit her father’s restaurant, casually of course; purely coincidental. Yet as with all blooming romances, random happenstances turned to every other day, then quickly to every evening after he’d finish his paperwork for the day, and would ultimately result in him asking her father for permission to court her. She’d laugh that million-beli laugh, mocking him for being so old-fashioned, while he mocked her in turn for being so contrarian. His Marine buddies would pick and tease, but as he arrived at each dinner party, each ball, each and every event with her by his side, he would only take it all in stride. He’d watch as she got on with his friends, how they’d gang up to make fun of him, but he could care less as her enjoyment, how she melded so perfectly with his lifestyle, reigned supreme. He’d know in that moment, that the shape of her was the missing piece in his heart all this time.

They’d promenade through town, arms linked as he walked tall and dignified, herself excitable as she yanked him in every direction to browse shops and visit with the coastal townsfolk. They’d believe no one had ever seen a love as pure as theirs as they interlaced their fingers, Drake never quite getting used to how her small hand fit perfectly in his, all the while garnering a few jealous glances from men and women alike. Neither of them would pay the gawkers any mind, and as each gentle embrace from her ignited his skin to the warmest degrees, the possibility of being loved in return was no longer improbable in his mind.

She’d be the one to initiate their first kiss, stealing his affection and attention when he’s rambling about nervously. He’d curse himself for not being braver, but with lots of encouragement from her and plenty of practice, he’d soon find a newfound confidence that resulted in a struggle to keep his lips to himself. Yet not without blushing madly and a few nosebleeds here and there, of course. They’d steal kisses from each other any chance they got, bumping into things and laughing quietly as their lips chased each other fervently in the privacy of an empty shop’s dressing room or the storage room in her father’s restaurant. Drake wasn’t one to break the rules, but all sensibility left him when her lips were plastered against his own.

It would be so much more than her lips. Her eyes, her hands, her hair, her legs; every inch of her was intoxicating and there seemed to be no peak to the love he had for her in every sense he was familiar with. That would be until one night when the two found themselves desperate for something bigger than what they knew, bodies tangled in heated passions, and the wild beating of their hearts and breathy pants filling the empty room. He’d ask her countless times: “Are you sure?” “Is this okay?” “Do you want this?” “Is it really me you want?”

She’d laugh, placing shaky, gentle hands along his cheeks, and pulling him in for a searing kiss, “Yes, I want everything with you. It will always be you.”

They would make love that night, and Drake would have to fight back tears. Even after courting her for so long, he’d never experienced such tender touches and praises as these from her before. After years of abuse from his father, he had wondered if he was even worthy of gentle affections of any kind. He’d spent many years cold and alone, his training as a Marine only further icing over his stone heart. Yet she would see him, truly see him that night. The love that would reflect in the light of her eyes as she stared up at him, loving praises of his name and utter adoration for him spilling from her parted lips, her soft hands caressing his skin like he’d disappear if she’d let go - it would be pure heaven sent, and Drake would not help but bask in the love she offered him, biting his lips as he quietly sobbed into her skin as she slept peacefully beside him, holding him in her embrace.

He’d buy a ring the next day, ignoring the snickers and childish name-calling from his comrades. He’d ask her father once again for permission, this time to marry her, though at this point, Drake would be far removed from seeking approval. He’d propose to her on the balcony where they first met, and they’d wed later that season. They would build a home on the cliffside, facing the sea, in a quiet neighborhood not too far from base. They would share a beautiful domestic life together, a few pets and two kids bustling about in the yard. The townsfolk could only ever dream of having a life as perfect as theirs. Drake would practically thrive off of the jealousy, bragging endlessly about his wife and kids, keeping a framed picture of them on his desk, and making sure to tell any and every soul who entered his office random tidbits of a day in the life of the Drake family.

He could see her out in the yard, belly swollen with their third child, being pulled in every direction by their two little ones who looked so much like her, much to his endearment, and their dog running around. She’d wave him over when she’d catch him staring, his two baby dinos running toward him excitedly, yanking on his hands to bring him out into the yard to help catch fireflies. They’d laugh and chase each other around the yard, her smiling widely and whispering to him how great of a dad he is. He’d place his hand on her belly, content and full of love for his growing family, thanking whatever being was responsible for blessing him with the family he’s always wanted. He’d pull her close, gently of course, spinning her around the yard with confident legs, smiling cheesily as he asked her if he’s proven himself yet. She’d laugh that famous, knee-weakening laugh of hers, and reply -

“Drake?”

Head still fuzzy, he peered down at her, “Hmm?”

“You’ve been staring. Is there something on my face?”

Regaining his consciousness, he was struggling to remember where he was, “No. There’s not. I apologize, I- we- ”

“Sir, we’ve escorted the perpetrator from the ball. He has been arrested, so I assure you she will no longer be pursued.” An officer under Drake muttered in his ear. Drake stilled as the realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t real? None of that was real?

(Name) looked up at him with questioning eyes, and he had to avert his own in order to avoid sinking into her depths once again, “Very well. Excellent work, officer.” The man saluted Drake before disappearing into the crowd.

Drake slowly turned to her, “It seems your stalker has been arrested, Miss. I’ll no longer be of any service to you.”

Her hands dropped from his shoulders along with her smile. The return of Miss breaking her heart piece by piece, “Oh, I see.”

He so desperately wanted to reach a hand out to stroke her cheek, encouraging her smile to return, but he didn’t actually know her like that. No matter how beautiful the fantasies he created in his head of their potential life together, in reality, he only knew this woman’s name. She would probably be appalled to know of the things he dreamt up of her, so Drake decided it’d be best for the both of them if he kept his distance.

“If you ever run into trouble with another man, please don’t hesitate to reach out to an officer. You’ll always be in good hands, I’ll make sure of that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She replied dryly.

“Good night, Miss. I hope my company was not too bothersome.” He bowed to her. She quickly wiped at her eyes as he remained at half-back, averting her gaze when he rose up. As she struggled to look into his eyes, waiting, internally begging for him to say more, mentally pleading for him to stay, Drake took that as his cue to leave.

As he walked away from her, his mind, body, and soul screamed to run back to her, confess to her. But that would be insane right? He’d only met her tonight, how pathetic would he look to confess his heart out to a total stranger? It didn’t matter how her eyes offered him home, and in the mere minutes it took for them to share a dance, he effortlessly imagined their futures together; unconditional love shared between them in the purest forms. She'd surely think he was delusional, a creep. Just like the other guys.

To save himself the embarrassment, he concluded it to be just temporary infatuation, and he did not have the time to play with such trivial feelings. The coastal town Drake resided in would never get to see him helplessly in love with the caterer’s daughter, and his heart would only grow colder in (Name)'s absence. A heart befitting a pirate.

#writing contest submission #950 follower event #submission

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dearestboscuit · 3 years

Text

Swimming in Decayed Depths

Word Count: 1765 "Some waters are more diluted than others. Some are as opaque as an innocent soul. Either way, both can be consumed." - Lavelle Pallas.

Whenever I awoke from my bed, I always held the scent of peppermint around me. I never figured out why it was that way, but I had gotten used to it quickly. Education was only about 4 hours, which gave most of my time going to the theatres. It was delightful watching those tall people perform such impressive acts. Their voices in this terrain were enough to astonish the likes of the most respectable kings.

Whenever the theatres were closed, I would venture off into the Ballroom Observatory. A large ballroom, decorated with gold and lights. There were jewels around every polished archway leading up to the Grand ⎎⍜⍀⏚⟟⎅⎅⟒⋏ ⎎⍀⎍⟟⏁ ⎎⌰⍜⍙⟒⍀. It always smelled of delicate fruit, and gentle waltz music always played. The Ballroom Observatory was for grand parties and celebrations. The way the women's silk dresses waved through the dance floor gracefully and how each gentle dance was more caring than the next. It was a perfect representation of agape. I fell in love with that Ballroom quickly. Whenever I visited, the parties that would appear would vary through time. As exhilarating as the parties were, there was a part of the Ballroom that only I knew.

Whenever inside the Ballroom, on empty nights, the ⎎⍜⍀⏚⟟⎅⎅⟒⋏ ⎎⍀⎍⟟⏁ ⎎⌰⍜⍙⟒⍀ would bloom. It intensified the wondrous smells that sprinkled throughout the structure. And every time this ⎎⍜⍀⏚⟟⎅⎅⟒⋏ ⎎⍀⎍⟟⏁ ⎎⌰⍜⍙⟒⍀ would do so, a beautiful woman would come onto the dance floor. She would dance alone gracefully, having nothing but a simple dress accompanied by jewels embedded in her hair. Each time I saw her, the temptation to join her in their woeful dance arose.

The music she danced to was emotional. Compared to the delicate dances in the parties before, these dances had meaning. I assumed that she had been letting off steam, but the translations and feelings that had been showing through these movements were more comparable to a lonely war. Movements as silent as the teardrops expressed, pitiful and tragic imagery shown, sways and gentle swirls died down as if a person were saying their final words amid a painful sea. She never spoke when she entered and stayed that way when she left.

Right next to the Ballroom Observatory would be the ⌇⏁⏃⍀☊⌰⎍⌇⏁⟒⍀ Altar. Unlike many churches, this area was merely a large altar area for those wise enough to worship. This area is where people would communicate to the⌇⏁⏃⍀⌇that would often leave gifts for the ⌰⟒⎐⟟⏃⏁⊑⏃⋏⌇. Many came to the⌇⏁⏃⍀⌇for guidance in their grievances. Their assistance helps many often, and the people beneath them praise in return. This Altar was never alone. If someone appeared not to be there, a child would be sitting beside it, including myself. When a child reaches five years, they get to communicate with the⌇⏁⏃⍀⌇for the very first time. This interaction with such entities bid the child mercy from any judgment they receive.

It takes a lot for a child to be quiet the entire time throughout the visit. The⌇⏁⏃⍀⌇are indeed terrifying to the young, underdeveloped mind of a child. Nonetheless, the Altar was their home. And an indeed beautiful home.

One particular night, outside the Altar, arrived a General, scales showing on their arms that they showed off pridefully, wielding an amulet embedded into a large sword. Many gathered, the Minister confronting the trespassing mer-man, my mother holding me in a stern but gentle grasp. The mer-man General claimed that they were from a distant kingdom and to surrender immediately. A large grouping of military soldiers was prepared and watching from behind.

The Minister of our land sighed silently before awaiting. The Mer-man General turned a stern expression, and the blue-ish home around us turned dark. Others had difficulty breathing as the core of the amulet began to radiate, a tidal wave of horrific creatures all wearing a golden crest with a symbol appeared. The Minister looked ahead and saluted towards his heart. He nodded towards the General, going over to shake his hand, something quickly latching onto the General's leg, pulling him onto the ground.

More creatures began to latch onto the General, him bringing the sword quickly to the things on his body as the core of the amulet let out a shockwave, the creatures behind the General hissing loudly, reacting as decayed matter that spread through spiraled out of control. They began rushing over, trying to fight against the sources that produced the toxic vile. Mother had brought me back home, where hopefully both of us would be able to breathe. I don't remember vividly what happened that night, but nobody slept well in the house. The most I remember is the sudden shaking of the ground as if something were erupting from the earth's core and a horrific screech that hurt my ears to an extent. Loud and powerful bashes from afar, and everything went quiet. A few moments after, I hear the breaking down of bones and a distorted screech while others began to call out the ⊑⍜⋏⍜⍀⏃⍀⊬ ⊑⍜⍙⌰ for those who had fallen.

Many fell ill afterward, some succumbing to the unrelenting decay that spread through our town temporarily.

Mother hadn't let me go out for some time, not until she had recovered, when they were no longer infected with the strange disease. It's called ⌇⊑⍀⟟⎐⟒⌰⟟⋏☌ ⎅⟟⌇⍜⍀⎅⟒⍀ for the churning and disorderly feeling that would develop in the lungs.

Once I got out, I traveled a bit. Not too far out, as I didn't have a map nor compass. But, far out enough where it was quiet. The Ballroom Observatory had gotten damaged during the attacks, so others helped get it repaired as quickly as possible. I heard many complain about the news.

During the 4th time I traveled, I had reached an area filled with nature all around. It was indeed beautiful, every color contrasted with the vague and light surroundings quite beautifully, and the reflection from the light gave away each detail in the plants. When I entered this area, the familiar scent of disease had appeared once more, drawing its auras towards me like a lure, capturing me in a gaze of which I could not withhold as I walked towards an empty and dead spot. Vines hung holding lights above the middle of the small wasteland, a hand subconsciously reaching out only to grasp onto the floor, a ragged gem protruding from the sandy soils. The minute I felt the texture, my skin felt oily and began to peel off as if scratched lightly with a blade.

My fingers felt tingly as I pulled my hand back as if having a slight allergic reaction. Despite the feeling, I pulled the gemstone from the ground and inspected it closely. It held golden outlining and appeared to be polished with few scratches seemingly from nearby rocks. The more I had it, the more it seemed that I was losing my sense of who I was. As if I were to be possessed or had my thoughts stolen away from me. Luckily, the feeling had forced its way back, raising the gemstone towards the light to get a better look. It sparkled nicely, and upon lightly pressing down on it, a hiss and shine emerged from the stone, letting out a shockwave. It hadn't affected me strangely, despite the effect it had previously on many. A pang of guilt had struck its way inside me, violently coursing through my body like a mighty stream. I lightly dropped the stone in front of me, curiosity and shame now settling in their new home as I buried it where it was previously.

I never told my mother about this..'stone.' It would've caused my mother much distress knowing I held a possibly (very much so) deadly weapon. And so, I arrived alone once more to the god-forsaken stone and stared intently. I carried a couple of tools along with me, including a sponge, a drill, and a piece of sandpaper. The area around the stone appeared more withered now, the vine that hung the small light source above the black stone hanging lowly. It ached my heart. Without much time in between, I took the sandpaper and roughly scraped the golden remains on the jewel. It looks damaged now. Alas, that had no importance. Maybe now people will mistake it for a rock! With a now sanded gemstone, the drill still needed to carve out more natural divots and ridges. Once the tool had done its job, the sponge put a shine and gloss on the jewel, how pretty.

The more I stared at this strange stone, the more anxiety developed. What do I do now? With enough time, the lights were beginning to dim around the scenery of my home. Quickly, I tore a bit of cloth from my dress to carefully wrap the jewel. I had brought it home sneakily.

While I brought it home, it pulsed lightly through the cloth. I slept weirdly soundly. As if e̸v̶e̷r̵y̷t̵h̶i̵n̶g̷ ̶̧̊w̶̆͜a̵̜̕s̸̼̎ ĩ̶̞̊͑n̸̫̖͙̈́͝ m̵̧͉͔̞̆̎̾̎͝ȳ̶͇̙̥̹̍̋̓̕̕ c̴̛̛̝̪͇̗̿̆̍̆̉̿͋̂͂͋͗͘o̸͔̳̼͔͔͈̠̝̰̥̫̬̱͆͐̀̿̈̈́̍̈́̋̇̚͜ṋ̶̢͖̹͚̈́̇t̵̟̀̀̂͜r̷̭̻̊̎͑̀́͑̆̔͊̈́ǫ̷̠̲͕̙̩͓̜̺͓͙̯͖́̐̈́͘͠͝l̶̬͈̪̤̤̱̫̗̉̈́̎̈́̚͠. I woke up yesterday and placed the jewel in a small black box, going off towards the plains and digging a large hole. It was about thirty-three ft in the ground. I looked around. Once I figured out I was alone, I opened the box. Inside the box, it had lost its color. My vision got incredibly blurry, losing my sense of reality as black essence began to swarm around me. Life drained from the ground beneath me, my eyes widening in shock as the black essence all had their shockwaves, all painfully inflicting scars on my upper arms. I quickly placed the gemstone back, skin beginning to peel off my face in thin layers.

Nothing had hurt, but it was all surprising. The gemstone was quickly placed back in the box and shoved down the hole as my mind swarmed with sudden thoughts that weren't present before. They all had one theme.

"☊⍜⋏⏁⍀⍜⌰ ⏃⌰⌰ ⎎⍜⍀ ⋔⟒ ⊬⍜⎍⋏☌⌰⟟⋏☌, ⊬⍜⎍ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⌿⟒⏃☊⟒ ⏃⋏⎅ ⍀⟒⌰⟟⟒⎎."

I quickly put it into the ground and walked away as swiftly as possible from the area, feeling my heart pulse rapidly. Never again do I want to see this thing, never again do I want to think like this thing, and never again do I want to mention it.

"Disrespect turns into Mortality. The more you respect others, the more they will respect you back. The more you will live. Because nothing will be threatening you." -Bernice Pallas.

#aquatic #sea creatures #Bernice Pallas #quick story #fantasy #storytelling #first post #hi!#my writing #:)

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jabbajambler · 3 years

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I Don’t Dance

AU One Shot

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 1,902

Night had long since fallen on Canto Bight, but the planet was never truly asleep. Casinos and clubs were filled to the very brim with people. Gamblers, party-goers, and the occasional hunters gathered on the planet. No one truly knew what happened within the walls, the secrets that each room held

After all, what happens on Canto Bight, stays on Canto Bight.

Tonight was no different. People danced, mingled, drank, and gambled. Every night was a celebration and the people there lived it to the fullest.

At the bar sat a mysterious man. He was tall and sat with the confidence of someone who had visited the planet several times. Yet no one recognized him.

It would be hard not to remember the glistening beskar armor, paired with a matching helmet that hid his face from the galaxy. And here he sat at the bar on a busy night, without being able to take a mere sip of a drink. It was ironic, really.

His gaze shifted over the vast room of people dressed in black and white. It was a gorgeous room of riches, something he was rarely able to see. The walls were tall, painted or possibly even made from gold. Long, thick red curtains were draped against the glimmering walls as if each fold was made on purpose.

The Mandalorian had never seen anything like it.

He watched as the people danced around one last time before he remembered his mission at hand. Someone here was meant to deliver him information on his bounty and they were already fifteen minutes late. He knew damn well that he didn’t blend in with the casual scene, he wouldn’t be hard to find. So why were they so late? Or was it all a set up?

“Looking for someone?”

The voice brought him out of his thoughts. It was so delicate and kind, nothing he would have ever expected to come from the cruel world of Canto Bight.

Behind all its glory and lights was a darkness like no other. The Mandalorian knew that and little did he know, the sweet voice he heard tonight knew as well.

“Well?” They asked again in the silence. He let a quiet sigh escape his modulator as he spun to face the sound’s origin. His eyes widened behind his helmet as he met the gentle stare of the woman beside him.

Her skin was graced with a gentle, tanned glow. It matched perfectly with her dark, piercing eyes and soft, brown curls that fell just past her collar bone. His eyes shifted downwards, watching the sparkle of her black, shimmering dress. It was an asymmetric sort of dress that was held up with a thick strap over her left shoulder. The dress landed right at her ankle, displaying her pearly-white heels that were clipped, meeting where the dress ended.

“No.” He spoke gruffly, quickly pulling his gaze from her, trying to focus anywhere else.

“Really?” She hummed and crossed her ankles, her heel just barely brushing against the Mandalorian’s boot. Still, he noticed. “So you’re not here with anyone then?”

His head tilted at her question, the light bouncing off the helm as it moved. It was certainly a question he didn’t expect and one he wasn’t sure he ever received.

“Well, surely a man like you isn’t just sitting here for no reason. You must be after something.” She shuffled her seat close to his, her foot now tapping against his shin. He assumed it was only an accident, but he didn’t want her to stop either.

His eyes lifted to meet hers. They held a soft yet somehow stern stare that he found himself drawn to. He couldn’t look away from them, it was as though they were pulling him in. Closer, and closer, he leaned towards her.

She met him in the middle, her lips barely touching the cold, metal helmet as she whispered to him. “I know what you’re after. The information? I have it.”

His head snapped to meet hers. Her face was close, closer than he expected. He could see every detail, every speck of color in her eyes and he thought they were unbelievable. He wanted to map out the features of her face and memorize them while he could.

“All you owe me is a dance.” Her lips lifted into a timid smirk. His eyes caught note of the way the corners moved up to create a lovely smile that he had never seen directed towards him.

“I can’t dance.” He mumbled. “Tell me now.”

She rolled her eyes while her fingers danced across his wrist, moving slowly, tentatively up his arm until she cautiously grasped his bicep. He tried and failed to hold back the shiver that accompanied her touch.

“I refuse to believe that a man who has traveled the galaxy can’t dance. Besides, no one out there cares anyway. So exactly how important is this info to you?” She tilted her head, her curls following to reveal her bare shoulder. Her skin looked soft and he wondered what it would actually feel like beneath his fingertips.

He could’ve forced her to give up the information. He could’ve pulled her up by the arm and dragged her out the door, held a blaster to her head and threatened the information out of her.

But he knew he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Nor did he want to.

“Fine.”

“That’s what I thought.” She stood, allowing the dress to fall perfectly around her. It wasn’t just the dress that sparkled, he thought, that was just her. Her entire attitude and aura shone before him like she was the most important person in the room.

She reached her hand out towards him, resulting in another simple head tilt. This was not his area of expertise, nowhere close, in fact. Yet he was willing to put himself in such a vulnerable place for this woman that he never met before.

He finally lifted himself from the seat, carefully taking her arm beneath his while she pulled him towards the crowd of dancers. Her smile was beaming, shining brighter than the stars in the sky and the Mandalorian wondered what else he could do to make her smile.

She put her hand on his shoulder, right between the area where his cape and pauldron met. He could feel the heat of her palm through the cloth and for a moment, he relished in the feeling before pulling himself back to reality. His hand snaked its way to the small of her back. He found himself wondering if she felt the same way he had when her hand made contact with him.

The Mandalorian’s other hand lifted to hold hers, almost wishing he didn’t have the leather glove barrier between them. No one looked at the two, even though they were an obscure pair. Everyone was lost in their own world and Mando wondered why shouldn’t he do the same?

The band played a beautiful, soft tune that carried through the masses yet the two had yet to move. He felt a sense of nervousness with the girl before him. He didn’t want to embarrass her.

“Don’t be so tense.” She teased and wrapped her arm around him, her hand resting against the back of his neck. She was so close that he could smell the citrus scent that wafted off of her and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“I don’t dance.” He grumbled, but enjoyed every second he was so close to her.

“Then follow my lead.” She winked and took a few steps this way and that way in accordance with the music. The Mandalorian begrudgingly followed her steps but tried to not come off as clueless as he felt in the moment.

It started off as a simple sway sort of movement, but slowly Mando found himself understanding the concept. He glanced around at the crowd, afraid of what his thoughts would say if he glanced down at the wondrous woman in his arms.

A few people started to watch the two, whispering short things about the Mandalorian. They were noticing how strange this all looked and it made him want to reach for his blaster, something to protect him after he let his guard down.

“Hold me closer.”

“What?” He finally looked down, watching how her eyes quickly inspected their surroundings.

“You want your info, don’t you? People are listening, pull me closer.” She hissed.

He didn’t quite grasp the reasoning but he wasn’t going to argue anymore. He pulled her to his chest, his grip on her tightened as though he didn’t want to let her go.

“Where’s the asset?”

“So quick to jump into business.” She tsked and removed her hand from his neck, running her fingers over the smooth beskar.

He watched her move, wondering what it would be like if there was no armor there at all. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the feeling of her tracing the gentle shapes through the thin cloth behind the chest plate.

She pressed her lips to the helmet once again, pulling her free hand from his to replace the lost warmth at the back of his neck. He tried not to move too quickly as his now free hand met his other on her waist.

“They’re hidden away on Jakku. A pretty shitty planet if you ask me, but I guess it’s an okay place to hide.”

“Have you been?” He asked curiously. He’d never been to Jakku, never heard much about it till now.

“Once or twice. I know the bounty’s armed and waiting for someone like you.” Her fingers moved to his helmet, pushing his head to face her without any resistance from him. “I��m sure you can handle him though.”

“What do I owe you for this?” His voice was gentle while his eyes drifted from her face to the curve of her neck. The grip on her waist tensed once again as he wanted to lift his hand to trace the dip of her collar bone.

“Oh, darling.” She chuckled and moved her hand from the back to the front of his neck. “All I wanted was a dance.” Her fingers fiddled with the fabric of his cloak while Mando found himself unable to breathe.

“Surely I can repay you.” His head ducked towards her ear, causing another laugh to fall from her lips.

“You drive a hard bargain, Mando, but I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done. Besides, don’t you have a bounty to catch?” She pressed her hands firm against his chest to push away from his strong grip, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Seemed like he was able to make her smile again after all.

“You know, I didn’t catch your name.” He called after her as she started to walk away.

“Myrah. Myrah Koor. And yours?”

“D-”

“I’m kidding.” She stopped him before he even realized he was about to give it away, something he had kept so sacred yet for her, he would’ve given it up without a second thought. “Look me up if you ever come back to Canto Bight.” She waved before disappearing in the crowd.

If he ever came back to Canto Bight. That was something he swore he wouldn’t do once he arrived but now? He may just have to.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian #mandalorian x oc #din djarin #din djarin x oc #dyn jarren #oc #star wars #pedro pascal characters

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dbhtychou · 3 years

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Valentine’s Day Excerpt

This is old, but since it’s both Valentine’s Day and day one of CG&HA Week, I would repost this Valentine’s Day scene from “Chicago.

Full, finished fic can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717597/chapters/41798249

A week and a half later, it was February 14th. It went on like every other day at home, but that evening after dinner, Samantha presented Connor with a brown padded mail envelope.

“Sorry, I don't have any wrapping paper, so it's just in the package it came in,” Samantha said. “I hope you don't think it's weird I got you a present for Valentine's Day. I just wanted to buy something for someone.”

Connor said nothing as he put his hand into the already opened package. As usual, he had no opinion on this particular holiday or presents. But then he pulled out a bright red tie and something inside him that wasn't supposed to move shifted just a little. He held it in his hand, just staring.

“I saw you looking at it both times when we went to the mall,” Samantha said. “I thought you'd like it.”

Connor continued to stare at the stark red tie. “It doesn't really match my suit.”

“But do you like it?”

The answer fell out of his mouth before he could even think about it. “Yes.”

Samantha smiled. “Then wear it anyway if it makes you happy.”

Connor then looked up at her, his expression suddenly worried. “I didn't get you anything. I... didn't expect this.”

She just smirked at him as she walked toward the kitchen. “I had something in mind that you can do for me if you wanted to give me a present.”

“Yes, I'll do whatever you want.”

Samantha grinned to herself. The things he said to her sometimes. If a human man had said them, the meaning would have felt so much different.

“Good.” She set out two wine glasses from the cupboard. “I would like you to drink with me tonight. That is my request.”

Connor looked at her in confusion as she poured one glass of wine. “I can't drink that.”

She then pulled out a silver canister and poured a deep blue liquid into the second glass. “High grade. The amount was measured specifically for your size. Just enough to give you a good buzz, said the guy I ordered it from.”

“When?” Connor asked in puzzlement. He was with her practically every moment of the day.

“When I was on the library computers. You can get anything done online.” She picked up the glasses in one hand and the wine bottle in the other. “Come on.”

To the parlor they went, as they often did at night. The world outside was brown and ugly in February, half the snow melted, but still miserably cold out. Instead of turning out the lights to watch out the window, Samantha turned on the fireplace with the flick of a switch. They sat together on the couch in front of the fire, lights on.

Samantha sipped her drink as she sat with back against the arm rest, feet on the couch cushion so she could face him. “Try it,” she said, nodding to the drink in his hand. “I want to see what it does.”

Connor would have never tried this of his own volition. He was doing it because Samantha asked as a thank you for the tie that he, honestly, looked forward to wearing. He sipped the glass carefully under her gaze. The sensors in his mouth that he used to identify certain types of evidence immediately analyzed the substance. It was indeed thirium, but in a heavier concentration of certain elements. It went down thicker than the regular kind, sticky and warm, but not unpleasant.

“How do you like it?” Samantha asked.

“It's... nice,” he took another sip.

She watched him, pleased, chin resting on her palm. It took until Connor had fished her from the lake for Samantha to really look at him. She asked him to tell her about his time working for the Detroit police so she could continue to study him without it seeming weird.

He had kind eyes, she noticed. Soft edges and brown like melted chocolate. His voice wasn't the same as other androids. Theirs were always manufactured to be crisp and clear. Connor's was... smokey. How does one make a robot's voice sound smokey? And that mouth, how it would seem so stoic to the casual observer. But Samantha noticed how it quirked itself in little ways when he talked to her. And that adorable smile when he saw the tie she gave him. That mouth was downright kissable. Why were these Cyberlife jokers making an android that was so kissable?

Samantha averted her eyes after that, wondering where that thought came from. Even worse, her brain was still going. He'd let you kiss him, it told her. He doesn't care if you touch him. Which meant it wouldn't mean anything to him. Because he was an android, not a person. Samantha was letting the wine and the loneliness get to her. What a hell of a holiday to spend the evening alone with a handsome man who was wholly incapable of reciprocating any affection she could give him.

Her gaze wandered from him, looking past the back of the couch around the rest of the parlor. It settled on the dusty piano and Samantha let out a long breath. Connor had paused from giving a rather report-type accord of some of his cases as he noticed her attention was focused elsewhere. He followed her gaze to the piano.

“Good enough time as any, I suppose,” she muttered.

Connor wanted to ask what she meant, but he said nothing as she downed the full contents of her wine glass and stood. She walked over to Connor and reached down to push his glass up with her fingers.

“Drink it. All of it.”

Connor did not comply. “Since I have never ingested this type of thirium before, I think it will be more pragmatic if I take just a little at a time.”

“Drink and I'll play you something.”

Connor's eyes widened. He glanced back at the piano. “On...?”

“Drink it.”

Connor tipped his head back and poured the entirety of the contents down his throat. He could immediately feel the thick liquid spreading through his system as he set his glass down on the coffee table with finality.

Samantha grinned at him and held out her hand. He paused before taking it and she pulled him to his feet. Hand in hand, she led him over to the piano. Connor's gaze was transfixed on where they joined. He had never held hands with anyone before. If he could like something, he would like this.

Samantha sat herself at the bench and patted the space next to her in invitation for Connor to join. He sat with enthusiasm, eyes full of interest as she lifted the cover from those pristine black and white keys. The stark colors were beautiful to him. He watched as Samantha raised her hands and then set them on the keys. She pushed down gently at first, a C Major chord. Then she ran a few scales, familiarizing herself with the movements.

Connor was mesmerized as each key was pressed. They all made a different sound. So many, many different combinations of possible sounds. He raised a hand to press those tempting keys himself, but paused when Samantha made a grunt of displeasure.

“I can hear it,” she said with distaste as she played a simple tune with her right hand. “I can hear this stupid fake hand hit those keys. I hate that sound.”

“Play louder,” Connor suggested.

Samantha's response was to suddenly run her hands up and down the keys in a cascade of notes. Connor jumped a little from surprise at the sound. And Samantha was so animated doing it, being purposefully sloppy and loud. Connor found it quite comical and a noise escaped him, something he had never done before.

Samantha instantly stopped playing. “Connor, did you just giggle at me?”

“Did I?” he wondered.

She started laughing. “You have this stupid grin on your face.”

“I do?”

“Do you feel... happy?”

“I...” He could feel that smile pulling at both sides of his mouth. There was a giddiness bubbling up inside him, trying to come out. He barked out another laugh and quickly covered his mouth.

That just made Samantha laugh more. Her laugh made him laugh and now both were just laughing and pointing at each other.

“They weren't kidding with that stuff!” Samantha giggled. “You're laughing like a little kid. I need to get some more of that!”

“No! I don't want any more!” Connor protested, though he was still laughing uncontrollably. He covered his face, trying to get this weird malfunction under control.

His struggle just made Samantha's laughter turn into a tickled cackle—which just got Connor laughing again at seeing this new, weirder laugh that Samantha was demonstrating. Samantha laughed until tears were coming out of her eyes before she finally got it under control.

She wiped her eyes as her giggles began to settle. Connor's attempts at composing himself were becoming more successful as well.

“I guess I needed a good laugh,” she said, rubbing the wetness on her finger. “Can't remember the last time I had one.”

“Cathartic,” Connor agreed.

“I didn't even know androids could laugh,” she answered, grinning wide. She knew she was probably going to laugh about it later, too. Seeing such a stoic face just break into giggles was a treat.

“I didn't know either,” Connor mused, and seemed not entirely happy that he now had the ability.

Samantha grinned to herself as she started to play the piano for real. A playful, upbeat jazz song skipped over the keys, jumping and dancing from one chord to the next as if Samantha were sampling multiple songs at a time. Connor loved, it; hearing the melody, watching her fingers fly over the keys, each one producing a different sound. The cadence of swing, of not quite being on the beat, of pushing each note with feeling, was surprising and wondrous. For a time, he was lost in the music as it swirled around him, making him dizzy and giddy all over again.

Then, the music suddenly tripped over itself and came to a halt. Samantha held her right arm, watching the fingers twitch with a pained expression.

“This damn hand,” she hissed. “It can't keep up.”

“I thought it was very nice,” Connor said. “The best I've ever heard.”

She wasn't listening as bitterness set into her voice. “Why did they have to take this hand? Why couldn't it have been the left one?”

Connor felt that question was rhetorical, so he said nothing. Though the statement was curious and his LED flickered blue as he thought about her words.

Samantha covered her face, letting herself sink into self-pity for a time before she pulled herself back up. With a deep breath, her hands hovered over the keys again and she played. This time, the melody was slow and soft with a bittersweet romance to it.

Connor sank into the music again, closing his eyes for a moment. But opened them again when he heard Samantha's unexpected voice.

She'd trade Colorado if he'd take her with him Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay She's answered by the tail lights Shining through the window pane

He said I wanna see you again But I'm stuck in colder weather Maybe tomorrow will be better Can I call you then She said you're ramblin' man You ain't ever gonna change You gotta gypsy soul to blame And you were born for leavin'

A story, Connor thought. A story through music.

Samantha glanced his way as she started on the second verse. Her voice was sad and haunting, even though she was smiling at him. The music became louder, more soulful as it reached the bridge.

Well it's a winding road When you're in the lost and found You're a lover, I'm a runner We go 'round 'n 'round And I love you but I leave you I don't want you but I need you You know it's you who calls me back here, baby

Her fingers flew unerringly over the keys this time, her face flushed, eyes closed with the thrill of playing a beautiful melody. And then it suddenly drifted into nothing and her voice, alone for a moment, continued to sing.

When I close my eyes I see you No matter where I am I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines

The piano picked up again, a few simple keys to accompany her voice.

I'm with your ghost again It's a shame about the weather I know soon we'll be together And I can't wait 'til then I can't wait 'til then

She finished the song with the closing melody and then the sound drifted off. The music left the two of them sitting alone together.

“That... is a sad song,” Connor then said.

“I'm a sucker for a good, sad song,” Samantha responded, her hands now sandwiched between her knees.

“Thank you for playing for me.”

“You're welcome. Thank you for bothering me about it. I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

“Samantha, the song... what does it mean: stuck in colder weather?”

“I didn't write the song, so I couldn't say exactly.”

“What is your interpretation?”

She took a moment to look thoughtful. “I guess... it's cold weather of the heart. He's not ready to commit. He hasn't warmed his heart all the way to let this other person in. But, the bitter sweetness of the story is that he also won't let her go. Some part of him wants her and expects her be there. That line: 'it's a shame about the weather' says to me he just wants to sit in limbo. He doesn't want to change, but he doesn't want to give her up either. And I think one day he's going to show up to see her, and she won't be there anymore because she's done waiting for him to get out of that weather.”

Connor made a sound of acknowledgment, but said nothing more on the subject. They eventually drifted off to different topics, talking idly as the night went on. Then, they just sat together in silence. And the silence was nice as well. Connor was beginning to understand this concept of bonding without speaking.

His inner thoughts drifted off to do their own calculating until he felt a weight next to him. He looked over to see Samantha leaning against him, eyes closed with her head on his shoulder.

“Samantha, I think it's time for bed,” he said.

“Mmm,” she agreed. But then didn't move.

It was a few minutes before Connor decided he would have to do this himself. “Come on.” He put his arm around her and pulled her to her feet as he stood. Samantha walked with an unsteady pace, lightheaded from the late night and the alcohol in her system. Connor, who had already cycled through his thirium by then, was the steady one of the two as he tried to help her across the room. He noticed she wasn't even keeping her eyes open as she walked. That didn't seem safe.

The only recourse was to take control. He bent down and picked her up. Her form was boneless in his arms, one arm reflexively going around his neck. As he carried her through the house, her nose brushed against the sensors behind his ear and an unexpected but pleasant sensation went down his spinal strut.

“You don't smell like anything,” Samantha murmured to him.

“I don't?”

“I don't know why, but I thought you would. You look like you smell good.”

“I do?”

“Mmhm.”

Immediately after, it seemed Samantha had drifted off. Connor carried her to the bedroom and, with an impressive show of his android strength, held her with one arm as he used the other to fold back the covers. One knee pressed to the bed, he set her upon the mattress and pulled the blankets over her. As he moved away, he felt something catch the tail of his jacket.

“You can stay... if you want,” Samantha mumbled, eyes still closed.

Connor looked down at the hand holding onto him. When he didn't say anything, she eventually dropped it. He turned back and watched her lay motionless on the bed. She wasn't asleep yet, he knew. He waited.

“Why are you still standing like that?” she then muttered with one crack of an eye.

“You said I could stay.”

Her body shook with silent, tired laughter. “I can't even tell if you are being facetious with me.”

“I am not aware I have this capability.”

“Okay, now you are just being a smartass. If you want to get in the bed, you can get in the bed. Or if you want to leave, you may do that, too.”

“If I am in the bed, I will be the one closest to the door,” he informed her.

She cracked an eye at him again, a big grin on her face. “Yes, sir.”

“It's for your safety,” he insisted as he removed his jacket. He folded it carefully and draped it over the reading chair in the corner. Next came his tie as he toed off his shoes. Practicality said he should remove his dress shirt and pants as well if he did not want to wrinkle them. Practicality also told him that sliding into bed without clothes was not necessarily appropriate.

Unbuttoning the first top buttons of his shirt, he slipped into bed next to her, still dressed. Samantha slid over to make room for him. He settled on his back, laying stiffly with arms at his side, looking at the ceiling. He had never had a reason to lay down in a bed before. This was all new to him.

Samantha slid up to his side, propped up on an elbow as she watched him. Her finger played with the LED at his temple, covering the light with her finger and then revealing it again.

“You're my best friend, Connor, do you know that?”

The android blinked at her. He could never guess what was going to come out of her mouth. “I'm your best friend? You can just decide this?”

“Well, you're the only friend I have, so I guess it's you by default. Plus you did save my life. You're so easy to be with. I never thought having you around would be like this. Life is... better with you in it. I want you to know that.”

“Good. My primary objective is to take care of you. If you feel that way then I am doing my job correctly.”

Her smile to that was hesitant and Connor felt a distinct sense of falling short of what a correct response to something like that should be. He knew better. His advanced programming knew of a better response, but he couldn't feel that response. He was an android after all. This was the extent of his emotional range. Still, he added, “I prefer seeing you happy, Samantha. I hope you are always happy.”

Then her expression just melted and she lightly kissed his LED. “Best android ever,” she said with humor before settling in next to him. The only physical touch was her head on his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, very acceptable.”

A small laugh from her. “Good night, Connor.”

“Good night, Samantha.”

#Detroit Become Human #DBH #DBH Fanfic #DBH Connor #Cute Girls and Hot Androids

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pjstafford · 3 years

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A Look at my 2020

The end of the year is upon us. It’s been a tough one for all of us. It is a year we will all remember forever. I want to do a positive reflection of this year. I will probably write a blog about what I hope our country’s New Years Resolutions should be. The thoughts on that have been rolling around my head for a few days. But today, December 16, at 4:30 a.m. and unable to sleep, that 2020 familiar dread of what will happen today waking me early, I want to look at some positives. I want to unwrap the positives of 2020 like a Christmas gift before Christmas so that I can wrap myself in them as a blanket of warmth. One thing that I have been truly impressed with is the resilience of the human spirit. Let’s call this a resilience exercise.

Counting my blessings one by one...

1. I am alive. Surviving is a cause for celebration. As far as I know I have been COVID free...although there were a few days in April or early May when I was sick with something and in Feb I had the strangest cold in my life and this time last year weeks of fatigue ended in frozen shoulder syndrome on Christmas Eve. See, I want to be thankful, but I don’t want to be naive in my retrospection. Best to be honest. I’m not sure if I had COVID or not, but if I did I survived with relatively minor symptoms. Every cough or sniffle I feared in a completely irrational way was COVID. There was the week I walked around sniffing everything to make sure I could still smell. It dawns on me it is going to be difficult to write a honest and, yet, positive, retrospective of 2020. I am alive, but I have never been less healthy. I’ve gained weight. I haven’t had the physical exercise to which I am accustomed and now when I try to take a long walk I realize my stamina is gone. It will take years of concentrated effort once things are “back to normal” for me to become normal again. It wasn’t that I didn’t try. I did yoga daily in the Spring and switched to an online Tai chi class in the summer, but I don’t live near beauty or anything interesting so wasn’t motivated to walk and just my everyday life of lockdown in a studio apartment meant less movement. All of which sounds even to me like not very good justification. Did I mention though that I survived. I am alive. I will take that as blessing number one.

2. No one I care about very deeply has died or even been seriously ill from COVID. Doesn’t March 2020 seem far away? I don’t want to be dismissive of 300;000 dead especially with more to come. I or someone I love could still be gone by New Years Day. But in March and April we held our breaths for an apocalypse and at some point most of us decided to take a breath. I don’t know really if it’s good or bad that we have simply adjusted our normal and the number deaths we are willing to accept. It’s bad, what am I saying? It’s bad. But how long can we wait in fear? So I don’t know, but I want to count as a blessing that those I love have all survived to date. I cannot vanquish the fear, but I can be grateful for survival.

3. I have maintained employment in a bad economy and have mostly been able to work from home. There have been some struggles. Sometimes the work I do is depressing. Sometimes I feel I don’t make a difference. There has never been a worse time to be an advocate...or a person with disability, or a caregiver, or a provider agency, or a health care professional. I have maintained employment.

4. I count among my blessings the fact that I had a wonderful 2020 before....remember there was a 2020 before. I love when my work takes me to Santa Fe for a prolonged time. A friend came out in Feb for a wonderful weekend. Another friend came to Albuquerque to see me for my birthday in early March. I remember thinking how social I was in those first ten weeks in 2020. It’s as if I somehow knew....it sustained me.

5. I count among my blessings that when I felt my mental health despair getting at its worse...the strain of living alone in a studio apartment, working from that same apartment and following the Governor orders not to go or do anything. ..that I had friends and two weekends of “risky” behavior; a friend who came for the Fourth of July holiday and an out of state trip to Durango in late September. I’m fortunate that when I had to have human contact my closest friends were there for me

6. I count as my blessings that Biden won the election. It’s not simply a matter of politics. I’m not sure if the last eight months of the Trump Presidency wasn’t worse for my morale than the pandemic because Trump kind of lost whatever semblance of sanity he had. Part of the trepeditation over what each new day will bring is what Trump will say, do, tweet, exacerbate. I still fear revolution in the street before Jan 20. The pandemic is not the worse of what America has gone through. That’s the oddest thing about this year.

7. Here is the blessing which probably will be unpopular. The lockdown and stress of all we have experienced is tough, but the slowdown is a blessing for me. My life had gotten pretty busy. While I miss travel, it’s ok for a year not to have had the time suck that travel for work entails. I will be so happy the first work trip I get to go on, but I feel like 2020 has given me the gift of time. It’s odd because, like many, my creative sense has suffered. I have written almost nothing. Still, I often think of a Dylan lyric, maybe in the next life I will be able to hear myself think. I could hear myself think this year. Unfortunately I thought about the existentialist angst of the meaning of life and my failures as a human being and I don’t think there is enough time still to process the effects of the pandemic and I’m sick to death of the sound of my thoughts, but....I have been given this unique gift of time. Even on December 16th I am not rushed to shop, to cook, to decorate, to go to a zillion parties. It’s a different year. The Holiday will still come. It is pleasant not to feel urgency over, let’s face it, non-urgent things. I am mentally and emotionally fatigued, but not nearly as physically exhausted as I was this time last year

8. The next one is a big one. The gift of living in the moment. I have spent my entire life since 7th grade when Miss O’Neil gave me a copy of The Rubyait of Omar Khayyam trying to live with the philosophy of living for the now. Clear the cups of past regrets...tomorrow, why I may be myself with yesterday’s seven thousand years. The only time I have ever truly experience this is in a handful of concert experience. Even now, I fear for my future and I blame myself for my mistakes. Still, my relationship with time has changed. There is the sun rising and setting and that is a day. Seasons will change. But the gift of time means I can approach my day differently. When five o clock comes on a workday, a needed nap is a step away. No where to go on a Friday night... no where I can go...means the weekend rhythm exists only as I define it. The simple pleasures we always take for granted mean something more now. There is a coffee truck that stops near me on Fridays and Saturdays. When it first started stopping I was over the moon that I could walk and get a latte with fairly little risk. If I go to the grocery store and have a conversation with a stranger, it is different than it was before. Mindfulness exercise and meditation is one thing, but nothing can compare with this year to further my lessons in this pursuit. May I take the lesson with me into years to come.

9. Zoom...yes, of course I have zoom fatigue. But five friends in five different states having a monthly drink together on zoom is a benefit of the pandemic. I watched a movie this year with someone who lives in Brazil. I celebrated a friend’s sixtieth person even though I couldn’t be with her. I’ve attended book discussions and readings in New York and I already have tickets to an event in March. Kind of love New York. I’ve never been there in person. Just a lot happens there. Educationally and socially the world is now open to me. I am not limited to what is going on in my community. I hope this doesn’t completely go away.

10. Finally, storytelling and music. I found it hard to read new things in the lockdown for a while, but in March friends asked me to a virtual book club of three books I already read and we reread them together which took us into the summer. I rediscovered the Foundation series of Asimov and suddenly I could read again! My favorite book I’ve read published in 2020 is Jess Walter’s The Cold Million. I did read a digital advance copy of David Duchovny’snew book due out in 2021 and it is, in fact, the breakout novel I knew this hot young writer would eventually write. Looking forward to 2021 book club! I finally binged Breaking Bad and The Travelers as well as The Queens gambit and watched Peanut Butter Falcon. I am doing a disability focused watch on the X Files and I better kick it it the rear because I’m presenting on it in Feb. at a conference. My God, Dylan put out his first original music in eight years. It will take me eight years to fully ingest it and enjoy it. You see, no matter what happens, humanity will tell its stories and gather to make its songs. It’s that human resilience. Creation of art is not trivial. It’s vital. It has continued in this odd and strange year. It is humanity’s greatest gift and I have definitely used it this year as a resilience and growth tool.

Those are my top blessings in this horrific and, yet, wondrous year. However, you have been impacted, what we all share in common is that In a very short time it will be a memory of a year in the past.

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mercuryonparklane · 3 years

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Not Taylor mentioning being inspired by a Patty Griffin song...

I still don’t think this is the first time she was inspired by her music. As I have mentioned, I see a lot of Patty influence in Taylor’s lyrics, especially on Red. This makes me feel more confident in that assessment (see: here and here and here and here and here).

I did come across that song (”Top Of The World”) on her iPod at 18 playlist, but it was The Chicks’ cover. It was among the songs I almost mentioned, but that lyric post was getting long.

There were two of Patty’s songs that stood out to me as possible influences for folklore.

I mentioned one of them, which was “Peter Pan”, because it reminded me a bit of “exile” (the piano and the birds chirping):

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The other was this song that gave me “mirrorball” vibes:

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"Trapeze" (feat. Emmylou Harris) Little pink dress, hanging by her knees Just overhead on the old trapeze In the old tent tonight, spotlight going round One of these nights the old girl's going down Hallelujah, the old girl's going down She started with us on the back of a horse Just seventeen and already divorced She took to the air with the greatest of ease Like she was born to be gliding on the old trapeze Some people don't care if they live or they die Some people want to know what it feels like to fly Gather their courage and they give it a try Some guy broke her heart and how her heart it did ache So she went to the tent of the lady of the snakes Who gave her a potion and she drank it in After that her heart never ached again After that her heart never ached again Some people don't care if they live or they die Some people want to know what it feels like to fly Gather their courage and they give it a try Fall under the wheels of a time goin' by Little pink dress, hanging by her knees Just overhead on the old trapeze In the old tent tonight, spotlight going round One of these nights the old girl's going down One of these nights the old girl's going down One of these nights the old girl's going down One of these nights the old girl's going down Halle- Halle- Halle- Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

“I’m still on that trapeze...”

Honestly, though, I just feel like Taylor has been influenced by Patty’s music as a whole and that comes through the most on Red and folklore. So, I was not surprised to hear her reference one of her songs. I will say the idea that the song helped her decided to write “betty” from the male perspective and how she has said she’s never written a song from that perspective before... lies. Okay, maybe not an entire song, but there are sooo many times she has slipped “male perspective” lines into songs.

And just to expand upon my previous post about the comparisons people have made between Joni’s Blue album and Red...

I just think that, lyrically speaking, the songs on Red are much closer to Patty’s music/style. There are many Patty lyrics where it really seems like Taylor just reorganized the words to make them her own. These are the most obvious ones to me:

“You Never Get What You Want”

Everybody’s been sad, everybody’s been tragic Whole lot of hard times, whole little bit of magic

And we had a beautiful magic love there What a sad beautiful tragic love affair

“Nobody’s Crying”

In an envelope, inside his coat Is a chain I wore, around my throat Along with, a note I wrote Said "I love you but, I don't even know why"

Long handwritten note deep in your pocket Words, how little they mean when you're a little too late I stood right by the tracks, your face in a locket Good girls, hopeful they'll be and long they will wait

AND

Just to have this secret hope Sometimes all we do is cope Somewhere on the steepest slope There’s an endless rope And nobody’s crying

This slope is treacherous This path is reckless

This hope is treacherous This daydream is dangerous

AND

It says that love is long gone Every move I make is all wrong Says you never gave a damn for me For anything, for anyone

And he's long gone when he's next to me

And the saddest fear comes creeping in That you never loved me or her, or anyone, or anything

AND

May you dream you are dreaming, in a warm soft bed And may the voices inside you that fill you with dread Make the sound of thousands of angels instead Tonight where you might be laying your head

In dreams I meet you in warm conversation We both wake in lonely beds, different cities And time is taking its sweet time erasing you And you've got your demons, and, darling, they all look like me

Also if you told me that Taylor wrote this song, I would probably believe you:

“Christina”

If you had the real thing, how would you tell Liars can say it all just as well Every single word you’ve heard in vain Baubles of gold, stars in your hair Reflections that told you they were not there And the diamonds on your cheeks have turned to flames

And up in the air, they would write your name there But love would fall to pieces in the rain Who would know better than you A hundred love letters and none of them true

Christina, Christina

It’s a wondrous world of ridiculous things With nothing so rare as the love that it brings In the silence of a smile that understands A piece of the action, pieces of gold Everyone’s paid well and does what they’re told For the simple daughter of a simple man

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