braided-leather

DEH 10.5.17

-general-

  • OH MY GOD HERE WE GO
  • So there was the obc except for larry/michael park who was understudied by Asa Somers
  • Mike looks at individuals in the audience, he speaks to them specifically
  • i think Will uses this technique where you look at the back of the heads of people/back of the theatre, its used for speaking to the whole theatre 
  • and can i just say, will does NOT get enough credit for his entire performance, while yes his comedic timing and stuff are AMAZING, he cries while on stage and brings a lot of emotion that i did NOT expect but it was so good
  • Ben kinda does both, god his voice is so good, its so much better irl if thats even possible
  • connor has a braided leather bracelet
  • If mike says that he’s not a strong singer 1 more time im gonna cut a bitch
    • his voice is so clear and he hits every note perfectly
  • dude. the sets are so pretty ughgugh
  • Mike Faist is a beautiful human like. pictures dont do him justice man, he looks good in them but irl hes like. !!! wtf hes so pretty
  • bens outfit changes are so quick how does he even do that wtf
  • LISTEN TO ME DO NOT SELL YOUR TICKETS BC THERES AN UNDERSTUdY

-act 1-

  • after connor says fuck you to zoe ,, mike gives laura a teeny tiny smile right before he puts his head down 
  • oh my god speaking of smiles the are you high smile is SO FUNNY
  • the part in waving through a window where theres the break and then the 
    “ON THE OUTSIDE ALWAYS LOOKING IN”? that is so powerful irl like. dude the sound vibrates through you and its so good
  • connor tries waving to evan during waving through a window but evan didn’t see, im fine this is fine
  • I started crying during waving through a window and I didnt stop till after the end of the show
  • Evan starts crying during writing the letter and he also doesnt stop
  • sincerly me has so many pretty harmonies
  • JARED SAID IT, HE SAID IT INSTEAD OF HOT I LOST IT
  • KiNkY
  • Zoe bounces her leg and bites her nails
  • Evan bites his nails, fiddles with his shirt, scratches at his palm, and picks at his fingers
  • the actors bring so much to the characters its so good!! its so good omg
  • AFTER SINCERLY ME FINISHES AND THE LIGHTS GO OUT CONNOR FLIPS OFF THE AUDIENCE ITS SO FUNNY
  • all you gotta DO
  • i could see the cellist from where i was sitting and she was rocking out to sincerly me and mouthing along it was great
  • right before requiem zoe like, rushes over to the letters after holding back and pushing cynthia away, its so deperate and powerful oh lord
  • okay so Asa brings so much to the role of larry, from what ive heard Michael is very stoic all the time but Asa like, is just really tired of life more than anything. 
  • Asa’s Larry for sure isnt a good guy but hes not the bad guy either. He fucks up as a parent for sure, and what he did to connor was not okay but like… man he does care even if he tries not to show it
  • during you will be found larry breaks down, he starts crying oof it broke my heart
  • Ben Platt is so good, his emotions are so raw, fuck, 

-act 2-

  • so, you and zoe,, ?? 
  • OH WHAT A NICE GLOVE
  • to break in a glove is so funny and sad at the same time
  • larrys voice breaks on “or if you’re tryna do whats best”
  • and he yells the next part, hes like on the brink of tears
  • Sincerly me reprise is a fucking bop and connor looks mildly uncomfortable about how many kids end up sucking dick for meth
  • we all know it but WILLS LAUGH IS A BLESSING
  • nYehHEHHeHEHhE
  • its so funny holy shit
  • YES THE INSANELY COOL !!! JARED KLIENMAN
  • a part of the saucy friendship we had ;)
  • i like the choreography for the reprise too its kinda different from sincerly me ??
  • larry drinks bourbon and some expensive looking wine
  • jared invites evan to his party with lots of alcohol like. he makes a big fucking deal out of the alcohol
  • ok so after the scene where jared accuses evan of having connors death be the best thing thats ever happened to him, jared storms off and evan kinda lingers after him on stage for a solid 30 seconds before being pulled away by zoe
  • evan starts dressing more and more like connor till theyre in almost the same outfit
  • evan has funyuns stashed away in his little headrest storage thing
  • after only us zoe kisses his and they lay down and wowie some things are heavily implied there
  • oh god so when heidi is at the murphys house and evan finds out he shrinks into himself so much 
  • will screams FUCK YOU EVAN, ASSHOLE with so much emotion in his voice you could feel everyone react
  • jared like, stomps his foot and screams silently during good for you, he starts crying and you wont see it if you dont look for it but man. that fucked me up.
  • heidi crys so much
  • okay so during the did you fall or did you let go connor yells at him almost as if he’s angry

  • during the finale ben seems like hes talking to everyone who’s ever wanted to kill themselves and it. Made me CRY
  • this is such a lifechanging show holy shit

First DR Characters as Unique Aesthetics:

Makoto Naegi:

Calm nature, rain droplets, the smell of a woodstove burning in winter, dewdrops, a breeze over a rolling meadow, sephia photography, 

Kyoko Kirigiri:

Fog falling upon a valley, looking down the train tracks, abandoned and run-down homes, lavender pastels, braided hair, leather gloves, creaky floorboards, 

Aoi Asahina:

Water ripples, pastel sweets, muscled bodies, snapchat filters, underwater photography, varsity jackets, feather earrings, 

Byakuya Togami:

Modern architecture, cursive handwriting, porcelain skin, antique coins, paperwork strewn over an executive desk, secret love notes hidden away, 

Yasuhiro Hagakure:

Cracked glass, smooth stones lying in a wicker basket, neon signs, dreadlocks, tarot cards, opalite, rainbows cast through translucent glass, black lace, dreamcatchers, neatly written notes, 

Sakura Oogami:

Bruises as they lighten to yellow, fresh bindings, fallen cherry blossoms, water swept beneath a bridge, disturbed dust upon a surface, sweat upon skin, 

Hifumi Yamada:

Pastel hair, seifukus, pigtails, winged humans, manga clips, grid patterns, sketch art, pink chocolate, striped drinking straws, starry eyes, 

Mondo Owada:

Pristine motorcycles, long coats, greaser hair, cigarette smoke, drive-in theatres, baggy pants, make out movie scenes, scribbled out road signs, scars, fogged car windows, 

Celestia Ludenberg:

Spiral staircases, skin out from beneath foggy rose water, stiletto nails, checkered tiles, antique bottles, portrait lockets, Goth clothing, dark lips, dried blood, velvet dresses, 

Junko Enoshima:

Glitter hair roots, hair bows, ribbons, blue eyes, long lashes, crowns, chokers, magazine clips, rotary phones, miniskirts, plaid, corsages, heart boxes of chocolates, 

Mukuro Ikusaba:

Exposed tattoos, sleek guns, engraved daggers, freckled faces, mirror images, foggy lakes, grey skies, murky water, bloody noses, combat boots, baggy sweaters, 

Kyotaka Ishimaru:

Button-ups, lace-up boots, stark white hair, scarlet irises, empty hallways, hanging banners, dawn light through the window, jackets coated in badges, chalk drawings on the sidewalk, 

Chihiro Fujisaki:

Clean desktops, typography, fractals, equations on grid paper, tears of joy, stripes, the shade beneath the trees, organized folders on a computer, long embraces, plants grown between the keyboard, neat and tidy wires, 

Toko Fukawa:

Ink blots, vintage books, attics, leather and lace garters, lipstick hidden on a man’s collar, satin sheets, handcuffs, typewriters, dominance and submissiveness, 

Sayaka Maizono:

Pastel pink, strawberry milk, porcelain tea cups, city skylines, stage lights, glitter dust, makeup brushes, selfies, cat-ear headbands, swishing skirts, 

Leon Kuwata:

Bold eyeliner, studs for piercings, stuck out tongues, exposed skin, ripped jeans, tattoo sleeves, French kissing, bitten lips, messy apartments, smokey eyes, dramatic stages, 

Showers and Feelings ➸ Brett Talbot

Request: Could you please write a Brett one where the reader’s Liam’s best friend and she naturally doesn’t like Brett but Stiles forces them to stay at home together to watch over someone and they end up doing it in the shower?

IM BAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK i apologize for taking so long anon but here it isss!!!!! not as smutty as it could have been but vvvvvv fluffy

HUGE SHOUT OUT TO ROBERT FOR EDITING FOR ME. THANK YOU V V V V MUCH BB ILY ANGEL THANK YOU CUTIE ILY

Masterlist

Requests

Warnings: LOTS AND LOTS OF ANGST; ALLISON’S DEATH; SMUTTY SMUT SMUT; BRETT SO FLUFFY YOUR HEART MIGHT DIE; FIGHTING READERXBRETT; BLOOD; BEST FRIEND!LIAM; ALPHA!SCOTT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No. Absolutely not!”

Stiles sighs at your stubbornness. “Please Y/N,” the he pleads with you, “Please, we need you to watch him, just this once.”

“Are you kidding me, Stiles?” you growl, E/C eyes flashing blue, “It’s not about that. But you expect me, while you go out looking for this Benefactor, for me to stay home with the giraffe over here and some random ass beta?” Brett growls and bares his canines at your words. You only sneer at him before letting out a challenging snarl. Brett roars in provocation and advances towards you, eyes glowing, teeth bared, claws extended. But you weren’t afraid. You felt your own canines slide over your lip, and then a chick is heard as you reveal your sharpened claws.

“Bring it, Talbot,” you jeer as he let’s out yet another growl. And then he’s rushing at you. A few feet in front of you, Brett leaps in the air and raises a clawed hand to slash at you. You push yourself off the wall behind you and meet him halfway. The two of you crash in midair and fall to the ground. Brett slashes at your face and you go for his throat with your teeth. You roar in pain as the Talbot boy’s claws drag across your face, easily breaking the soft flesh. Blood drips down your face as you catch his wrist in your mouth, biting down so that the bone fractures. He snarls and struggles against your powerful hold. You release him with a howl of pain when his claws dig into your stomach. Writhing out of his grip on the floor, you deliver a two-legged kick to Brett’s chest and the he shoots away from you.

Brett cradles his injured hand and multiple cracks are heard as his body puts his bones back into place. You hiss as you feel your own wound mending and the skin flowing back together. Your fangs have dulled but your eyes remain glowing a steel blue as you get up and face Brett once again. You snarl at him, hatred burning in his own eyes as you stare each other down.

As you raise your hand to rip his throat out, a roar is emitted from Scott. Your Alpha’s eyes are blood red, and his multitude of sharpened canines were showing as he roared. Both you and Brett are thrown back by an invisible force, though it affected you more than he. You’re immediately shifted back to your human form as you hit the wall. Clawing at your ears, you whimper, just the noise made by your Alpha was hurting you. You whimper again, your body being  wracked by tremors from an unknown source. Liam is by your side in less than a second on his knees.

“Scott,” Liam growls, “What did you do?”

“I was being her Alpha.”

Eventually the tremors stop and you get up with only slight discomfort, Liam at your side, shooting you an apologetic glance You narrow your eyes at Brett before turning to Scott and Stiles.

“Y/N,” he sighs, “Please.”

“Fine,” you say with a tone so cold, you scared yourself, “You owe me.”

——

“Y/N?”

“What, Brett?” you respond, exasperated beyond caring.

“I’m sorry.”

What? You turn to the Talbot boy and raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

Brett shifted awkwardly, staring at his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm… sorry? For, you know, attacking you, and clawing you, and-and ripping your shirt, and um-” he motions to the blood, cuts, and rips that seem to cover your body all too often since you’ve met Scott McCall and Derek Hale. In the 3 years that you’ve known Brett Talbot, you’ve never seen him like this. Awkward, nervous even.

“Wait, wai-wai-wai-wai-wait,” you hold up a hand to stop Brett’s rambling. “Is Brett Talbot, apologizing to me? Wow, what a day! Do you mind if I can just record it?”

“Stop it!” You laugh at Brett’s disbelieving face. “I’m serious, I-I really am sorry.”

Your gaze flickers to the ground as your lips begin to curl into a smile and Brett can’t help as a grin spreads across his face. “You’re forgiven.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Really?” When you nod, a sigh of relief escapes Brett’s mouth. He steps towards you, toned abs showing through the claw marks that you had left in his shirt. Brett takes another step, and against your instincts, you don’t take a step back. Hesitantly, Brett raises his hand, and pauses, before reaching towards your face. He uses his middle and ring finger to brush your hair out of your face. Brett’s ears twitch at the sound out your heartbeat quickening. Ironically, you can hear his own heart racing.

Brett towers over you, tracing a line of blood across your cheek, the skin smooth underneath as you had healed hours ago. He let’s out a breathy laugh through his nose as he continues to stroke your cheek. Your eyes follow his hand, to his wrist, where a braided leather bracelet was tied, up his arm, to the pulled-up sleeve of his long sleeve shirt. Your eyes linger on his shoulder, the muscles bulging, even as he was relaxed, then to his neck, stopping for a moment on his jawline, then to his lips, which were quirked into a trifling smile, and finally to his eyes. His bright green eyes were soft, gazing at you with such tenderness you didn’t think was possible towards you from the Talbot boy.

Your hand lifted and covered Brett’s own on your cheek. Brett cocks his head to the side, and barely, just barely, leans down to close the distance between his lips and your own. Brett leans in a little more and you breathe in sharply as he gazes at your lips, his eyes flickering yellow for just a moment. Brett closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. “You- uh, you should probably go shower,” his hand falls from your face, dragging yours with him. Brett squeezes your hand, “Go, I can watch Bailey until you’re done.”

You nod and allow Brett’s hand to slip from your grasp. Brett can’t help but watch as you leave and begin to climb the stairs. You pause for a moment and for a second, Brett hopes that you might stay, but you turn away from him and make your way up to Scott’s room.

—-

As you open a drawer to grab some of your clothes that are kept at Scott’s house, you grimace at the box of condoms on the shelf. Kira, you thought, before shuddering and digging out an old t-shirt of your brother’s and a pair of sweats, a bra, panties, and socks. You connect your phone to a speaker and place them both on the counter. You had already turned on the water to make sure that it was warm by the time you climbed in.

You sigh in relief as the warm water hits your back. Reaching for the body wash, you lather it over you hand and scrub your body, scrubbing roughly at the blood on your face, your arms, and your sides. You wince as the water turns pink from the blood of your now-healed injuries. You just stand there and watch as the pink water pales until it returns to the normal transparent color. Blindly, you reach for the shampoo, but instead knock into it. You watch it fall to the shower floor.

“Fuck,” you mutter, reaching down to grab the bottle from the tile. Your hands close around it and you bring it up to squeeze some into your hair. You massage your head slowly as the water washes the shampoo away. The conditioner came next, the cream softening your hair under the spray of water. You sigh as you sit down and allow the water to hit your back. You don’t realize how much time has passed as you just sit there and think. You didn’t know why you and Brett hated each other as much as you did. You shouldn’t. Lydia had told you many times that if you hadn’t hated each other as much as you say you did, you would be perfect for each other. Allison used to tell you the same, whenever you complained about the “asshat my parents make me hang out with.”

Allison. She didn’t deserve her death. None of your friends did. Not Erica, not Boyd, not Aiden, but Allison most of all didn’t deserve what happened to her. You can’t help but picture her face as the Oni stabbed her through the stomach. You picture Scott’s face. You picture Argent’s face. But most of all, you can hear your own deafening scream, mixing with Lydia’s until you can’t differentiate between them. A sob escapes your lips as you return to your body. And you remember, Allison has been dead for nigh over a year now. Tears fall from your eyes and mix with the water dripping down your face as memories of Allison run through your head.

The sobs that wracked your body ceased after a little while and eventually you stood, allowing the water to cascade over your whole body. Slowly your brain began to fall into a sort of lull, and nothing went through your head. You just stood there, staring at the tile in front of you. And then you felt a touch to the middle of your back.

Brett.

“Y/N,” he murmurs softly, dragging his fingertips up your back to your bare shoulder. You were numb at this point, you couldn’t feel anything. And Brett knew this; it would happen to his sister sometimes after their parents died. You had lost too many people, and he knew exactly how to coax you out of your stupor. “Y/N,” he whispers into your ear again. “It’s alright, Y/N, you’re alright. I promise.” His breath hits the back of your neck as his tongue traces the shell of your ear. Your eyes slowly begin to focus at the action, finally becoming conscious of the man standing behind you.

“Brett?” you say quietly, “Where’s Bailey?” “Scott called, it’s over.” Brett’s answer was short and curt.

“What are you doing?” you breath as the werewolf wraps his arms around your waist and pulls your back to his chest. “Brett, what-what are you do-” You break off with gasp as Brett’s lips land on your neck.

“I want to show you how sorry I am,” he hums into your skin. His kisses don’t stop as you tilt your head to the side. “I’m sorry.” Brett’s lips brush over your pulse point and you gasp, letting your head fall against the torso of the giant mix between man and wolf standing behind you. “I’m sorry.”

“Brett, you-you’re forgiven,” you stutter as he continues to mouth at the flesh covering your pulse, “I-I said you’re forgiven.” Brett’s dulled fangs graze your skin and you whimper, chest heaving as you struggled to breathe. “Brett. Brett.”

“Yes, darling?”

Your breath hitches at the pet name that fell from his lips. When you don’t answer, Brett lowers his head back to your neck. A moan of his name slips unwillingly from your mouth.

“I just want to make it up to you, darling,” Brett rasps in your ear, “Show you exactly how sorry I am.” A shiver runs down your skin at his words, and you tilt your head even further, if possible. One of his hands snakes down your arm to intertwine your fingers with his. His other hand - oh, his other hand - stays locked around your waist, massaging your hips with the pad of his thumb, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. “Just relax, darling.”

And you do. Your muscles relax and your head lolls back into Brett’s chest. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, placing kiss after kiss into your neck. “It’s alright darling, you’re alright,” Brett murmurs, slowly turning you around to face him. One of his hands is still around your waist, while the other rises up slowly to brush your dripping hair out of your face.

And finally - finally - Brett leans in and kisses you. It feels as if it’s in slow motion. He glances at your lips before looking back to your eyes, searching for permission. Your expression says it all. You want this. Him. But just to be clear, you give a slight nod of your head. That’s all Brett needs before attaching your lips together.

His lips are soft and smooth. Gentle. He kisses you as if you’ll break. His thumb caresses your cheek as you respond to his touch. Your own arms come up to wrap around his neck. He’s tall, so much so that you have to pull him down by the neck in order to run your fingers through his hair. Brett moans softly when you tug at his hair. The werewolf pulls you closer to him, if possible, and deepens the kisses, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, then taking your top lip between his teeth.

“Brett,” comes the soft whimper from your mouth into his own. He hums in response, not once breaking apart from you. Brett gently backs you up into the shower wall, grip still tight around you. You whimper his name again when Brett separates your lips. His tall frame stares down at you with such tenderness and adoration that you can feel the walls you’ve built around your heart begin crumbling. “Brett,” you breathe once more.”

The Talbot boy’s eyes flash yellow at the way to say his name and he’s having a hard time keeping his wolf in check. “I-” he begins, but cuts himself off and starts over, “Are you sure, Y/N? Are you sure you want this? If I start, Y/N, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. Tell me you want this, Y/N. please, tell me.”

“Brett.” You stand up on the tips of your toes, and you still weren’t tall enough. He bends down slightly to hear your answer. “I want this, Brett,” you breathe against his pink, swollen lips, “I want you.” Brett moans at your words, and drags his fingertips up your sides. Your breath hitches at the action, anticipation for what was to come becoming the only thought in your head.

“Brett, please.”

He doesn’t answer you, only continues his gentle exploration of your body, gentle, absentminded touches memorizing every inch like the lines to his old favorite song. His hands are gentle with you, as if you’re so fragile that you’ll shatter beneath him if he presses too hard.

“Brett.”

Your plea of his name brings him out of his daze. He was so mesmerized by you, it was like he couldn’t live without you. Underneath all the hate filled glares, the snide comments, the arguing; beneath all of that, Brett couldn’t help but be totally, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with you. Brett finally kisses you again, before sliding his hands back down your waist to cup your thighs. Without faltering in the kiss, he lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist. He so tall that you squeal for a moment, breaking your lips from his.

“I’m not used to being this far off the ground,” you mumble, blushing embarrassedly. Brett’s lips part before letting out an unattractive snort. Soon he’s full on laughing. “Bretttt,” you whine, it’s not funny.”

“I-It’s just,” he said between chuckles, “you’re so small. It’s so cute.” Brett kisses you again, peppering kisses all over your face, jaw, cheeks, neck, and lips. “God, you’re beautiful,” Brett gushes, “So beautiful.”

You whimper softly at his words and push your hips against his. “Brett, hurry up, God damn it.” Brett complies, finally. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he guides his length to your entrance.

“I love you,” he breathes as he ever so slowly slips into you. His confession shocks you and you gape at him, before your eyes roll back into your head. He keeps pushing into you and soon he filled you to the hilt.

“Say it!” you gasp out, needing to his hear his confession once more.

I love you,” he repeats, “I love you. All of you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything that I’ve ever done to you. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“Brett!” you gasp as he pulls back and slams his hips back into yours. “Brett! I love you too! Oh! My! Go-!” Brett presses his lips to yours fervently, whispering sweet nothings against your mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers again, and it wouldn’t be the last time he said it. Brett drops his head to the crook of your neck, a “you’re so beautiful” falling from his lips and causing you to flush against his body.

The more Brett collides his hips with yours, the harder it becomes for you to control yourself. You grip his shoulder with one hand, while the other tangles into and tugs at his damp hair. The water from the shower head is hitting his back, spraying off of his muscled body and protecting you from the drizzle. You just about fall apart when Brett thrusts up into you at a new angle, hitting a spot inside you you didn’t even know existed.

“Brett!” you nearly scream his name as he repeats his action. Brett continues to place kisses along your neck and jaw, whispering for you to come for him.

“You can do it,” Brett murmurs into your ear, “You can do it darling, come for me. Come all over me. I love you. Come for me.”

And you do. You cry out Brett’s name multiple times as your orgasm hits you, writhing in his strong arms that are still wrapped around your body. Brett groans as you clench around him, and that alone is enough to send him over the edge. Brett’s eyes turn yellow and his fangs protrude from his gums as he sends thick streams of cum into your body. As the two of you come down from your high, he presses his forehead to yours. He laughs breathily against your lips and kisses you gently.

“I love you,” he says once more, “I mean it. I really do. I love you.”

A gentle smile spreads across your face. “I love you too, Brett.

But how are we going to tell Scott we had sex in his shower?”

Are You Coming, Amad?

(Not my image)

Ahhhh, first Hobbit imagine and Im so excited to share. This was a dream that I had and I just had to write it out. Please send me feedback! Im seeing a possibility of a series, prior and post Amad/Adad. Let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated!

Pairings: Fili x Reader 

Warnings: Battle/injuries mentions, loss of family, cuteness (let me know if I forget anything)

Word Count: 2404

Summary: Reader comes to love a little orphaned dwarf, and Fili reveals his feelings to the reader.

~His POV~

A loud knock shattered the quiet that surrounded him, the room now vibrating with the echoes from the bang on the door. Sleep hadn’t come easy since his last battle, the battle that almost took everything. Nightmares frequented his dreams whether he was awake or asleep, but even worse when he tried to relax and let his mind go. They had all healed physically, with time, but the bruises still ran deep, especially with Fili.

He sat up from the bed, his strong, muscle-ridden arms pushing himself up from his almost-sleep. As he shuffled to the door, he could hear a sign of exasperation from the other side, and upon opening the large wooden door, intricately inscribed with golden inlay, he was surprised at the sight of a nurse. This nurse in particular had become one that he had become quite used to the sights of, as she was the one that he would talk to concerning the little dwarf boy who was orphaned during the BOTFA.

He knew that Y/N had taken a strong liking to the boy, finding a kindred spirit of sorts in him. He tried talking to you once about adopting him, but your reception of the suggestion wasn’t taken well, and you distanced yourself from the dwarf for a little while. Fili took it upon himself after that to visit the young dwarf at least once a day. He would go and talk with him, read to him, sneak him a cookie or three. And the older nurse who took care of him had become someone that he had confided in a lot about his feelings about the boy, and about you.

Keep reading

Hogwarts house aesthetics based on my OCs
  • Gryffindor: ripped jeans, panic attacks, a crackling fire, denim jackets, braided leather bracelets, wanderlust, dried flowers, chewed fingernails, mason drinking jars, hot cocoa with cinnamon, tears of frustration, skipping class because you’re overwhelmed, chipped nail polish, each scar telling a different story, hesitant kisses, brick walls, crying in the middle of class, oversized hoodies, messy writing in textbooks, homemade t-shirts, bottled up insecurities, boisterous laughter in the middle of the night, beads of sweat on the back of your neck, tungsten rings, retro vinyls, books with handwritten commentary in the margins, intrusive thoughts, prank wars
  • Hufflepuff: blurry photographs, milk and honey, yelling at someone who insulted your friend, fact checking, plants in hand-painted pots, sugar cookies with sprinkles, the feeling of achieving victory through teamwork, tulle skirts, mentoring first years, caramel drizzle, burying your face in someone's neck and crying, curled fists, matchmaking attempts, sweets from Honeydukes, sneaking into another dorm at night to comfort a friend, blind loyalty, brown leather jackets, tears of anger over injustices, floral button-ups, breakfast for dinner, friendship bracelets, stealing kisses between library shelves, cozy window seats, multicolored gel pens, proving someone wrong, warm vanilla sugar perfume, chewed lips, jars filled with buttons
  • Ravenclaw: doodles on homework, coffee stains on your scarf, choking on your pride, blank sheet music, fidget bracelets, oversized sweaters, using everything as a bookmark, scented candle collections, succulents on window sills, taking naps during class, anxiety attacks, chewed pen caps, patterned tights, Shakespearean insults, crying because you feel stupid, learning shorthand, animal-shaped slippers, numbly listening to music, competing for the top of class, having a dozen mugs but only ever using your favorite, bouncing your leg, hardcover journals, stubborn biases, low participation marks, counting freckles, forehead kisses, baggy sweats, ink-stained fingertips
  • Slytherin: marble floors, pristine white adidas, grass stained skinny jeans, handwritten letters, the fear of disappointing your parents, thick-knit blankets, icy glares, night terrors due to anxiety, organized chaos, insatiable curiosity, colored hair, working together on homework assignments, playing the social chameleon, really nice pens, watercolor palettes, being protective of the people you love, placing bets, pressed leaves, holding back tears, having to wear a mouth guard because you grind your teeth in your sleep, rolling your eyes, working hard to fix your mistakes, latte art, heart-shaped lockets, nervous giggling, creative insults, wool socks, old trunks full of collective trinkets, pretending you're fine when you're not

He’s only been walking for about a minute before something in the air changes. Frowning, Castiel Novak looks up from where he’s been watching his step to take a look at the copse of trees around him, shivering slightly against the wind. The rain has finally cleared to give way for sunset–gold light spilling across hill and rock. It’s beautiful in an ancient, abandoned sort of way… but something in the air has him alert and careful. 

This glen demands respect.

He pays special attention to his steps from then on, careful not to put his feet anywhere outside the marked paths. 

The more Castiel walks, the faster his heart beats and his body curls into itself, and suddenly, the nice Scottish man who picked him up on the side of the road and drove him to the fairie glen doesn’t seem so crazy.

“They’re there,” he’d said sagely, nodding up the road. “Ye canna see ‘em, but they are. And if they choose you, lad, well… ye best do whatever they want, because fairies are a fickle sort.“ 

Dunvegan, the faerie castle, is a big and imposing outcropping of rocks, and after seeing the old and new spirals on its other side, Cas carefully makes his way to the top. There are a couple of people making their way back down, and he nods to them as they pass. 

But to get to the top, he has to climb up a narrow passageway. He goes from thinking he can fit with his backpack, to being completely stuck.

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Braids & War Paint (Part 1)

Notes on:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:


Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had experienced a lot during her not-yet-imortal life. At eighteen, her name day being only a few days ago, the Crown Princess of Terrasen had done an awful lot. She’d fought battles against two witch clans, learned a handful of languages, caused an ancient race of water people to guard her coast and of course more girly things like collecting expensive dresses, growing her hair out so long that it wraps around her hips and having three secret relationships; Her flings with the Crown Prince of Adarlan and his father’s captain of the guard were nothing more than a little fun.

Sam Cortland, her first love, he was very different. He meant something special to Aelin, he was an assassin she met when she killed a trafficker of young Terrasen girls, Arobynn Hammel. Sam had been forced into Adarlan’s underworld with no other option, Aelin did what she thought she should do. Got him out of that life, got him his own house, however, small and dark, in the streets of Rifthold’s slums. And before Aelin could kill her target, Arobynn killed Sam.

That was two years ago, today. Though Aedion, the only person that knows everything Alein had to hide, has tried his hardest to help her ‘get over it’ Aelin’s grief and responsibility haunts her. As a reminder she braided one strand of leather into her hair, a promise she made herself, to never forget Sam Cortland but to grow and rise like a phoenix out of his ashes. He wanted her to be happy.

And that is exactly what she was going to do.


Aelin could taste the Terrasen pine and snow scented winds as she rode through her lands, Kasida her Asterion mare gracefully jumped over fallen trees and tore up the moss and dirt behind her. Asterion horses were bread by the Fae, but Aelin’s horse was a diplomatic present from Lord Berrick of Xandira. To Aelin Kasida was a petty gift, but she loved the horse nonetheless. Everyone wanted to be allied with (or on the good side) of Terrasen. Aelin’s uncle, Orlon was very diplomatic, a politician with an army. But her parents were Rhoe Galathynius and Evalin Ashryver. Evalin Ashryver of Wendlyn was a force of nature herself. With such strong heritage, most kingdoms in Erilea were quite afraid of Aelin’s kin across the sea…and the other Queen that Aelin has never met but will forever dislike. It was enough for gifts and balls and invitations.

“Aelin!” Aedion shouted atop his stallion, Aelin had just breached the hill. Aedion had waited for his cousin, her golden hound at his horse’s legs. The Wendlyn visitors had just rolled into Orynth.

From here Aelin looked down, the green grass rolled down to the alabaster castle. Rose gardens and hedges framed the sandstone path. The birds of the Oakwald were nearly as loud as the laughs ringing from the castle courtyard.

“Hurry up, Princess Pain-In-My-Ass!” Aedion called her over again.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot.” Aelin huffed, Kasida snorted in response.


Aedion leaned against the rough wooden pillar in the stables as his cousin rode in. Her hair was windblown and had become curly in her hair-tail, her furs were lightly coated in snow, as if she was a pastry.

“We’re late to meet The Other Cousin.” Aedion spat in dismay. ’The Other Cousin’ was a name the duo quipped for their cousin across the sea: Prince Galen Ashryver of Wendlyn. Apparently he was pompous and nothing more than a typical castle brat.

“He can wait, he’s in our court now.” Aelin smirked as she handed the reins to the stable boy.

The cousins walked shoulder to shoulder through the rose garden, the sun was still high in the sky and to be fair, she was impressed Galan and merry band of guards had made it so quickly, they only docked in Suria yesterday.

Aelin hadn’t been expecting much when she entered the courtyard, but what she saw was certainly more than Aedion’s expectations.
Galan, Aelin’s parents and uncle all sat at the wicker lounge, tables of fruits and finger sandwiches lay between them and the chairs filled with guards and the one Fae dressed in the Doranelle colours of purple, black and grey. The owl crest sat heavily on his broad chest. Aelin met his green eyes the same time he met her’s. His silver hair was pulled back from his tan face, black markings ran from his temple down to his pointer finger.

“Aedion, Aelin. We have company.” Her oblivious uncle announced, ruining her staring game with the handsome stranger.

Galan Ashryver turned around to face his cousins of legend. Gods, they were both heart shatteringly beautiful. When Aelin smiled her canines reflected the light. Her Ashryver eyes, the same as his own scanned the room with ferocity, Aedion on the other hand just looked hostile, Galan realised how it must look to have one of Maeve’s personal favourite warriors sitting with them. Gods, Galen didn’t even know Whitethorn was coming until he was on the ship.

A golden hand flicked in front of his face, Aelin extended her hand to him in greeting. He took her petite, scarred hand in his barely worked olive one. “It’s been a long time coming, you’re highness.” Aelin grinned, her voice held promise, of what Galan didn’t know but he felt the sweat on the back of his neck form as Aelin, Princess of the Wildfire, let heat seep through their joined hands as they shook.

And so, the Ashryver’s, the Galathynius’ and the lone Whitethorn sat and ate luncheon.


A/N: I’m so sorry, for the few of you who supported me until not long ago,

anywho, my name is El. This is my first ToG fanfiction ever and I’m excited to hear what everyone has to say about this, please don’t be afraid to tell me your thoughts because I need your thought to continue. 

Much love and many apologies,

-El.

Sober - Part 1/2 - Nessian fic

Summary: In which Nesta and Cassian get into drinking contests.

AO3 : Inspired by this prompt (”everything is fuck”)

**************

Nesta threw open the curtains of the bedroom and was rewarded with a grunt from Cassian. After securing the heavy fabric, she turned to the bed.

“Cassian,” she said, a reminder that the curtains hadn’t opened themselves, and that he had responsibilities to attend to.

A muffled sound came from the pillow. Sheets were wrapped around his hips low enough so that Nesta said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t move too much. And another simultaneous prayer that he would.

“What was that noise?” she asked.

Cassian lifted his head. “Everything is fuck.” He threw his face back down dramatically, gripping the pillow as if it would save him from the way the sunlight invaded his senses, or perhaps it might serve as an anchor in a room that wouldn’t stop spinning.

“Everything is most certainly not ‘fuck’,” she answered. “The weather is perfect for training, which is where you should be right now. Stop lazing about and setting a bad example.”

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EWOK DRESS

RETURN OF THE JEDI: After meeting the young Ewok Wicket, Leia returns to his village where she is given a new dress to wear, crafted by the Ewoks. While the dress is made from simple, natural materials like animal hides, it possesses a rustic beauty. Leather sandals and two braids interwoven with leather complete Leia’s look.

DESIGN: To create a dress that looked like it could have been made on Endor, stitcher Laurie Rudd used chamois leather with an integrated crepe blouse.  The dress was stitched together and then leather was handsewn over the seams to create a primitive, decorative cross-stitch pattern.  This is Leia’s last costume in the Original Trilogy, and its informal, casual nature is representative of the peaceful conclusion of the saga.

starrizlightning  asked:

I enjoyed your last tidbit to the #labkitty 'verse, if you're amenable, would you please write more? whether during anakin's padawan days in the future or immediately following your last addition. thanks!

There is an undeniable truth that Qui-Gon will do his best to avoid admitting out loud because he wants to be better then the others who says the same.

But the truth is that his padawan is a beautiful creature.

For Qui-Gon it doesn’t have to be his forced modifications that the slavers so long ago added to his padawan but he knows that Obi-Wan often hears leering comments about them, drunken bastards and sleemos.

The unfortunate truth is that he now does look like something out of a filthy holosmut as the boy had termed it when Che had confirmed that he would not be able to return to normal as the ears and tail were now an integral part of being able to hear and balance after the slavers medic had removed internal systems of Obi-Wan’s human ears to rewire the feline ears.

The last thing Obi-Wan needs is a master mooning over him along with the creepy lechers when Qui-Gon is suppose to be his place of stability and harbor from such things.

Even inside the temple Obi-Wan can’t find total peace.

There are still those that whisper while peering at him though at least they do not approach the padawan.

‘And I’m just as bad.’ Qui-Gon thought dryly as he watched Obi-Wan and Anakin from the doorway without the two noticing, his padawan showing the boy how to work the pads and teaching him basic since there wasn’t much else for the blond to do on the Nabooan ship when everyone was so busy all the time.

Anakin seemed to be in awe of Obi-Wan, petting his tail with his little hands as Obi-Wan gave over the furry appendage.

Qui-Gon could count on one hand the number of people allowed to touch that tail and one of those people included Obi-Wan himself. He wondered if Anakin knew what kind of trust Obi-Wan was giving him…

“I made you something.” Qui-Gon was drawn out of his thoughts as he leaned against the doorway to continue watching them as Anakin spoke, the boy smiling shyly. “I gave Padme something similar last I saw her because she’s been so kind but you deserved something too.”

Snorting a bit, Obi-Wan patted Anakin on the head. “You don’t have to give me anything Anakin, honestly, you’ve managed to keep me busy since Master Qui-Gon apparently has been too busy to speak with us…”

A spike of guilt went off in Qui-Gon. He hadn’t meant to ignore Obi-Wan but he could see that he had done just that the trip from Tatooine, spending most of the time either with the Queen and her handmaidens or meditating on the creature that attacked him on Tatooine.

“I still want you to have it.” Anakin pulled something out of his cleaner then Qui-Gon remembered tunic, holding up a pendant tied with a leather cord from the sight of it. “Its a japor snippet. Padme’s is bigger, I didn’t have much left but I managed to carve a protection rune on yours too.” He smiled.

Obi-Wan blinked before carefully accepting the braided leather cord with a circular metal piece no bigger then two and a half cm in diameter. “A protection rune?”

“Tatooine needs protections against the sisters, the Tuskens, sand storms, slavers…” Anakin trailed off then shrugged. “And Jedi’s go on lots of dangerous missions and you know what its like to be with slavers. So you should have protection too.” He beamed a boyish smile up at the other.

Qui-Gon was treated to Obi-Wan’s face softening, furry ears flickering before he slid the cord over his head and settling it under his tunic. “Thank you Anakin, that is a very generous gift.” He ruffled the others sun bleached hair.

‘They’d make great brother padawans…’ The stray thought crossed Qui-Gon’s mind as Anakin giggled sweetly.

hello-tarpon  asked:

Ohhh latest twin sons is really good! But, of course, you set yourself up for the next one; what happens to Obi want with krell? How does everyone else react? Anak ? Cody? The councul? Protective jedi are amazing. You are amazing!! Thank you!

“Be-General Skywalker sir?” The Jedi stopped and turned at the voice, smiling at Cody.

“Commander Cody, was there something you wanted? Shuttles about to take off.” He added gently though he emphasized that the shuttle was about to take off.

Cody moved closer and caught Ben’s hand, pressing something into his hand. “I know you have the japor snippet General Skywalker made for you but…I made this for you. Cuyir morut'yc General sir.” He then took a step back and saluted before heading off before Ben could respond.

Ben blinked before looking down at his mech hand.

Black against white and silver metal laid a braided leather cord, strong and well made by careful hands. On that cord a single pendant hung, a simple round disk of onyx carved with Mando’a.

Cyar'ika.

Sweetheart.

Ben stared at the necklace, Cody’s words in his ears. ‘Be safe…’

A small smile curled his lips before he carefully put the necklace on and slid it beneath his tunic beside the japor his brother had given him so long ago before moving onto the shuttle.

“…Well?” Cody questioned nervously.

“Well he dropped it on the ground and moved onto the shuttle.” Rex offered cheerfully, waving his binoculars before laughing and hitting the shell shocked looking vod in the shoulderpad. “I joke, I joke! He put it on.”

“Oh you osik stinkin-” Cody tackled Rex.

()()()

There is something very numbing about getting a fist the size of your head hitting you square in the jaw.

It both dazes and collapses Ben and he hits the dirt like a sack of potatoes, blinking stars out of his eyes as he feels what must be a broken jaw. Though its been years since last time he experienced a broken jaw.

Blood is running down his face as he looks up at Pong Krell, yellow crazed eyes glaring down at him. “Little nosy brat you are. Had to dig into the battle plans huh? Had to know huh?” He growled before grabbing Ben by the front of his tunics and lifting him clean of his feet, Ben’s slim hands wrapping around the Besalisks wrists to try and ease the grip despite the ringing in his ears.

“Leggo.” He slurred out.

“What Madam Nu or the Council sees in you I will NEVER know.” Krell sneered at him. “But I guess going out with the trash is starting to become a part of my job description. I will see to the end of these clones and you at the same time and when I do, I will be rewarded by the coming order.”

“You’re…insane.” Ben wheezed out, nails digging into the others wrists and his mech hand nails drawing blood by how hard he was digging them in. “They are…living beings…they deserve…more then your…contempt.” He groaned, feeling what must be a loose tooth from the punch and blood coating the inside of his mouth.

Or perhaps a cut.

Hard to tell when his head was ringing, his jaw was broken and his airway was being partially cut off.

“They are tools.” Krell sneered, eyes sparkling in a yellow and blood red darkness.

Ben gave a soft whimper when a spare hand wrapped around his throat, wondering if this was it for him before crying out in shock as he was thrown back against a wall, collapsing on the floor.

Looking up slowly, Ben tried to focus on the Fallen Jedi.

“Its not worth it, I’ll leave you for droid bait.” Krell growled before waving his hands, ropes curling around Ben’s body. “I’ll just tell the clones your fragile state doesn’t allow you to be out in the battlefield. Its believable.”

Ben stared at him, taking wheezing breaths as the ropes tightened around him. “You… they… deserve… better.” He wheezed out and Krell only laughed at him, the Fallen turning and heading out of the room.

“Then lets hope death greets them well.” The door slid shut, leaving Ben in the dim light, wheezing and bleeding sluggishly from a crack in his eyebrow and split lips.

Chapter One: Homecoming

**Disclaimer: Vikings characters are not mine and all rights belong to their creators. Fics can span large time frames and may or may not follow the events in the actual series. Characters in fics are used for personal inspiration and may or may not completely represent the canon character. Please feel free to message me with questions, concerns, or requests! - Enn

———-

Word Count: 1500+

Pairing: Ivar/Original female character 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Violence, gore, swearing, sexual themes, dub-con, loss of virginity, loss of innocence, mentions of verbal/physical abuse 

———-

The Gods have spoken of this night, he was sure of it. Ivar smiled as he looked out across the field before him, his warriors crying out victory as they ran against the last wall of enemy forces. He loved these moments. When he was in battle he didn’t feel broken and useless like he often did in Kattegat, here in his chariot surrounded by war and pain, was where Ivar felt whole.

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Slow Hands: Part 2

Originally posted by hvitserkblog

Ubbe was supposed to pick you up for your first date any second, and so of course you were chasing four escaped mules down the road, praying they wouldn’t get hit by cars. You cursed as you tripped over the lace of your untied boot. Leave it to the damn mules to walk right through a fence like it wasn’t even there. Your boss, Sharon, was rounding up the three that had stayed on the farm. You heard the whine of an approaching car from around the bend in the road and desperately shook the bucket of grain in your hand. Not to be tricked, the mules kept on their merry way.

You heaved a sigh of relief as Ubbe’s green truck rounded the corner and immediately slowed down.  He was jumping out of the truck in a flash, striding toward the mules with his hands outstretched. The small herd screeched to a halt, large ears flicking back and forth as they decided what to do. Ubbe kept coming at them, motioning towards you, raising his voice to gently scold them in Swedish. “Lead them back, I will herd them,” Ubbe switched abruptly to heavily-accented English.

He raised his voice in a shrill, melancholy call that had you shivering. It was halfway between a song and a call, the ancient sound of a herder summoning his animals to safety as night fell. The sound was warmth and safety, food and fire. It was sad and sweet, the bittersweet mourning of summer drawing to an end, of winter coming quickly with its icy breath.

You grabbed hold of Dolly’s forelock to steady yourself and used it to lead her to the farm, followed by the sounds of clopping hooves and Ubbe’s haunting, beautiful voice. . Luckily they hadn’t made it too far, maybe a half-mile down the road before Sharon looked out her window and saw the broken fence.

By the time you made it back, the other three mules had been rounded up and turned out with the donkeys. “We’ll put them out with their mamas for the night,” Sharon told you. You followed her to the pasture behind the barn where the draft horses stayed. Most of the mules and draft horses had come from Amish farms. Usually, the draft mares were nursing mule foals when they arrived. Sharon opened the gate and you led Dolly in, quick to let go of her forelock and back out of her way.

She kicked up her large hooves playfully, squealing in excitement as she chased one of the large Belgian mares toward the fence. You felt the other three rush past you and closed the gate quickly before brushing your sweaty hair off your neck. Sharon shook her head as she watched the newly-caught mules play. “Thank you for your help, Ubbe. I didn’t know you were coming by today,” Sharon greeted him with a knowing glance at you—untied boots, sweaty half-done hair, sundress hanging slightly askance.

You could feel the blush painting itself up your cheeks as Ubbe smiled warmly at you. “I’m not here on business.” He let the implications hang heavy in the air for a moment before Sharon laughed, waving the two of you away with a laugh.

“Alright, get going. I’ll handle any more escapades.” You took the easy out and fled, tripping over the untied laces in your hurry. Ubbe’s hand at your elbow was quick to steady you, and he linked his arm with yours as you walked toward your apartment above the barn.

“It looks like you had a busy day,” he began lightly, tugging you close against his side.

“It was quiet until I was getting ready to leave,” you answered, turning to look at him and tilting your head in curiosity. “What was that noise you made? With the mules?”

“Oh.” He smiled sheepishly, and he ducked his head self-consciously. “It’s called kulning, it’s an old Swedish herding call. Usually it’s done to call cattle or goats, and usually it’s done by women, but,” he shrugged, “I use it to call my own horses. It works.”

You perked up. “I didn’t know you had horses.”

He nodded, grinning down at you. “I live on a small farm. Just a few chickens, one grumpy goat, a garden, and four horses. You’re welcome to come over, if you want to.”

You nodded eagerly, insanely curious to see where he lived. “I would love to. Tonight, after dinner, can we go?”

“Of course. I wanted to take you there tonight, but thought you might be more comfortable at your own place.” He followed you up the stairs and into your apartment. He settled on the couch, motioning to his lap. “Come here. I want to braid your hair.” You perched on Ubbe’s knees. With a warm chuckle he pulled you closer to his chest, leaning back against the couch. His gentle hands gathered your hair; clever fingers working through the few snarls he found. He scratched your scalp lightly and you sighed, melting into his touch. He grabbed a section of hair from the crown of your head and separated it into three sections. He wove the strands together slowly, pulling more hair into the braid as he continued. He tied off the braid with a leather thong he took from around his wrist, sitting back to inspect his handiwork. He nodded in approval.

You reached back to touch your hair, the braid neat but not too tight. You grinned back at him over your shoulder. “Now we match,” you stated, motioning to his long braid. He laughed, bending forward to press a soft, suckling kiss into your tender neck. You gasped as he pulled back, gentle hands on your hips pushing you to your feet.

“Ready to go?” You nodded as you slipped on your shoes, eyes raking over him in appreciation. You’d been so distracted by the mules and then him playing with your hair, you’d barely noticed what he wore. He cleaned up nicely in black slacks and a simple blue button-down that was just a few shades brighter than his eyes. It hugged his broad shoulders and tapered down to his lean, sculpted waist, where it tucked into his pants, held up by a black leather belt. His long light brown hair was pulled back into a neat braid, short beard freshly trimmed.

Your mouth felt suddenly dry. How could he be so handsome all the time? It didn’t matter if he was sweaty and shoeing horses or dressed to take you to dinner, no man should look that flawless all the time. It simply wasn’t fair. Ubbe opened the door for you and followed you onto the landing at the top of the stairs. You started down, Ubbe following you. “So where are we going?”

“Do you like sushi?” You nodded, and he smiled. “For sushi.”

“What if I didn’t?” You challenged, returning his smile.

“I had four options picked out,” he admitted, not at all sheepish. “I wanted to be sure you would enjoy it.” He opened the door of his truck for you, holding a hand out to help you up, and closed the door behind you. He climbed in himself and backed down the driveway. The nearest town of any notable size was only about ten minutes away, but you had no idea where he was taking you. The radio was playing quietly in the background, but with a little cry of joy you turned it up.

Slow Hands blared through the speakers and Ubbe laughed, looking over as you shimmied in your seat, singing along and pretending to trace a voluptuous body with your hands. “Will you be disappointed if my body isn’t that curvy?” He teased, brows raised. You laughed, too, shaking your head as you sang along.

Suddenly you turned the radio down. “How is sweat dripping down dirty laundry sexy? I mean, just saying, that’s what you get when you let guys try to talk sexy.”

“You don’t think I can talk sexy?” Ubbe asked, tilting his head as he parked the truck. “I think I can have you squirming by the end of dinner.” He opened the door to the restaurant for you and followed you in. The hostess was quick to seat you in a corner booth. The waitress bustled off to get you a couple waters as you perused the menus.

“How was your day? Any horses as interesting as Bucky?” You looked at him over the top of your menu.

“It got a lot better once I saw this beautiful girl chasing some mules down the road. All I could think was how soft her skin would be under my hands.”

“That was weak,” you informed him, nonchalant. He furrowed his brows a little, then shrugged.

“I have all of dinner to get you squirming. Believe me, when I’m done you’ll leave a puddle on your seat.”

“Is that seriously the best you can do?”

His grin was slow and hungry as his clear blue eyes raked over the top half of your body. He shook his head. “Of course not, Y/n, but I have to start off slow, make sure you can handle me.”

You opened your mouth to reply but Ubbe’s gaze shifted over your shoulder, his smile went from smoldering to businesslike. You placed your orders and the waitress left. “So you think I can’t handle you?” You challenged him, meeting his shimmering blue eyes.

“I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

“So surprise me.”

“If you insist. Tonight, I’m going to make love to you. But first, I’m going to play with that beautiful body of yours, explore every single inch of it. How do you feel about being tied up?” His voice was like honey, sweet and smooth, but the question was almost abrupt. He tilted his head, waiting. Your heart pounded, but you tried to play it off like he hadn’t just hit on something that intrigued you.

You shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“The way I do it will be more than fine, I promise. I’m going to tie your hands above your head, have you standing in the middle of my room in only your high heels and a blindfold. You are going to be at my mercy as I learn your body. I’m going to touch every inch of you, to taste you everywhere.” He flicked his tongue at you in a deliciously obscene gesture. “There’s a reason they call it a Swedish kiss.” The wink Ubbe sent your way zapped like lightning to your sex. You tried to keep your face neutral but you were biting back a moan, and a knowing smile was curving up the corners of Ubbe’s full, soft lips.

“Maybe I’ll make love to you for the first time just like that, tied standing and blindfolded, or maybe I’ll take you to my bed. I know it’ll probably be uncomfortable for you to be tied with your hands over your head for too long, so we’ll see how you’re feeling and take it from there.” His smile is tender now as he continues. “And of course at any point if you want me to stop, just say stop.”

You’re practically panting by now, and the waitress raises her eyebrows at you as she sets several plates of sushi on the table. Ubbe looks smug as he pops a California roll into his mouth. He smirks as he finishes chewing. “I win our bet.”

“You won’t be smirking like that by the time I’m finished with you tonight, Ubbe.” He doesn’t even bother trying to stop the low, throaty moan as you take a sip of water, smirking. Dinner is much less interesting than dessert promises to be.

sad songs for dirty lovers

part two / part one here / on ao3

Summary: Sansa plays the game with skill, and Jon and Sansa talk about their upcoming marriage. 

In the end, it is Petyr who comes to find her. She’s in the Godswood. Jon left to find Davos and talk to him of their plan, but Sansa’s thoughts were still freewheeling, thundering around her head. The Godswood is still and quiet and the snow crunches underneath her boots. The heart tree, which always used to unsettle her as a child, drips its red resin into the white powder beneath it. It’s a macabre, even sadistic thought, but she’s glad of the face and it’s blood like resin - it seems to be on her side, a promised end to this war - everyone who’s ever hurt her family will be gone and their bodies will bleed into the snow just like that. She hopes for it, longs for it with all her heart. Sometimes she frightens even herself. But experience has made this way, hard and brittle and out for blood. 

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