her life was cold and dark

artlessmeat  asked:

~ Your muse has to sacrifice something or someone precious to save the world. What would their sacrifice end up being? A cherished memory or memento? Or something greater than that…?

The world - the world was large.  It consisted of people she would never meet, people who would never know what the small Xaela sang to the Duskmother of, caught in a space of endless light and endless darkness framed by the crystal that sang the songs of the whole world.

<What can you offer, to save everyone?  No act could be the price of that, child.>

The Duskmother’s voice was the cold of a mother who didn’t want her child to answer well.

Koke’s eyes were half-closed as she thought - she wasn’t some great or powerful magician, nor strong warrior.  She had music.  It was her life.  It was everything to her, and it wove the entire world.

<Nothing is worth what you think, child.  There are other worlds.  Other lives.>

Koke lifted her hand as if to touch a single scale on the Duskmother’s horns before she turned.  In a world where will and belief formed everything Koke’s belief crystallized the knowledge, understanding, of music - everything that made up the world.  It shimmered and wove and danced merrily and for what was the last time, she sang.

“[♪The only thing that could be fair is what makes my world exist.  But for the ones I love, for them, I would give up that world, so that they can have one.♪]”

Maybe it was a vision - when Koke stirred she started to sing and it was like a breath scattered the knowledge of speech, of notes, of what a note was, what singing was, what heartsong was.

But there was still a world.

So it had to be worth it.

Hallelujah

Summary: Through Bucky’s eyes, he falls in and out of love with you.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1,545 (incl. lyrics)

Warnings: Angst. 

A/N: Heard this song today and well, this came out. Hope you all enjoy.

Originally posted by gliceria


Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah 

I remember the day I met her. I recall everything, the clothes she was wearing, the weather, the name of the waitress that was taking my order, how stale the soda became because I was so entranced with her, with the way she moved. I remember everything. And every now and again, my brain goes over this occasion, because it does not want to forget, does not want these details of such a monumental moment in my life to fade away.

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The Pawns And The Kings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut



Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Smut

Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.

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A Warm Welcome [h.s.]

A/N: here’s some hades!harry! Sorry if it’s shitty I’m trying to get back in the game! And sorry for any typos and mistakes! Enjoy :-)

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Being a god comes with a large bundle of heightened emotions and Harry honestly wishes that they had an off switch. Celestial beings are called “celestial” for a reason, after all. They’re abnormally better than any human, and thus they must keep an attitude and air that enforces nothing less, but damn feelings for being able to get in the way so easily.

Gods must be calm and collected under the most extraneous situations, they must rule with an iron fist, and most importantly, they must forbid emotions from deterring them in any way. He’s not saying that he hates feeling emotions more intensely; some are worth the toil. Pleasure, for example, is felt tenfold what any human could handle and he can almost say that this alone makes the troubles worth it. But it’s moments such as now that bring forward overpowering feelings that he wishes he could cast aside: a dangerous mixture of excitement and anxiousness.

More specifically, the excitement and anxiousness that comes with the return of his beloved wife, Persephone (or as he calls her, Y/N), from being away for her given six months of the year.

All is normally well due to the fact that Harry usually throws big, extravagant parties for her returns because he wants the whole world to know that the light of his life is coming back to him, as well as to take off some of the pressure that comes with not seeing her for a long time. He’s talking about an all out, full-fledged celebration with hundreds of different types of flowers adorned all around the dark obsidian palace. All of the gods are invited (even those minor ones that Harry thinks are irrelevant but Y/N carries a fond for) and he brings down the musicians that play up in Olympus because he only wants the best for his precious girl. Amazing food, a ten story cake, and the finest wine and ambrosia brewed all across the seven seas.

But this year, Y/N sent a message with Hermes (whom he knows as Louis) down to the Underworld. As he had unfolded her note, the familiar scent of clementine arose from the scratchy paper and made his eyes pinprick with tears of longing. In her beautiful curvy handwriting, she explains how she doesn’t want a big party this year. That she wishes for the contrary, actually. She wants the whole palace to only themselves so they can take a long walk through all of its expanse and talk about everything that’s happened in the time they’ve been apart. She writes that she loves the parties he throws her, but for this return she just wants some quality time with no one else but him.

And so that’s exactly what he does. When the day arrives, he sends all of his servants out of the castle walls, leaving the place feeling hollow. He sits on his throne waiting for her, fidgeting helplessly. It’s a tall, black steel and celestial bronze number with red garnet and imperial topaz strewn in with the metal. It’s meant to be intimidating and fearful and, well, godly, and he couldn’t love it more. Harry usually feels right at home in the cushioned seat, but at the moment, he feels puny in its shadow; all do to the concoction of giddiness and nerves that stem from Y/N’s return.

He focuses himself on smoothing out the wrinkles in his black silk toga and on messing with the gold emblem that rests on the fabric above his shoulder, right where the back and front of the toga connect. The cherished possession was forged by Poseidon’s Cyclopes at the bottom of the sea, hence why it tends to have flashes of blue in certain lighting. He picks at the ruby eyes incrusted into the ghastly imprint of a skull, tracing the laurel wreaths around its head. His concentration then moves to his hair, which he had cut a couple of weeks back. He hadn’t said a word to Y/N about it in their letters because he wanted it to be surprise. He was sure she would like it because he feels that it fits him pretty well, but now as he sits here with nothing but his thoughts as company, he begins to worry. What if she thought he looked odd? She did really love his long hair– could never stop complimenting the perfect curls that liked to form across his shoulders…

Harry rises abruptly, toes curling against the worn leather of his sandals. His anxiety is going through the roof because he hasn’t seen Persephone in so long and he doesn’t want their first encounter of her return to be awkward. He quickly paces towards the closest mirror in the throne room, footsteps echoing, loud and empty, across the large room. Squaring his broad shoulders, he cocks his head slightly and finger-combs the fluffy, messy curls into place. He curses under his breath as one ringlet keeps curling weirdly in front of his ear and works on taming it, wishing he had some of that new jelly stuff Apollo uses.

He’s so engrossed in his hair that he doesn’t hear the large doors creaking open across the throne room. A single door cracks just the slightest and in slips the figure of a woman, the lights from the giant candle chandelier reflecting off the golden wreath atop her head. The big onyx jewel in the middle of the crown signifies her as queen of the Underworld, the gilded plants at the sides confirming her identity as the goddess of spring. She stands absolutely still at the door, leaning against it’s ginormous frame and watching the young man across the room mumble curses and fiddle with his short curls.

She knows his figure well– too well. It doesn’t take much to give away it’s Harry. The way he stands with his shoulders broad, the silk material of his toga hugging the taunt muscles of his back. The way he’s propped more on one leg than the other do to a back injury from taming his hell hound, Cerberus. The way his tan skin glints like copper, pulled tight over fit arms. Contrary to popular belief, Harry’s skin isn’t pale (underground kingdoms don’t exactly get the best sunlight) but rather a healthy golden tint. She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t question it; it’s a great look on him.

Out of everything, however, the one characteristic that stands out most of all is the way he gives off a certain cold aura that draws her own warm one towards him, as well as the way that every shadow created across the room seems to naturally obey his will, bending over him to cast a dark stain across his silhouette.

Y/N can feel his hollowness crawl across the room, sweeping over her like the waves of a relentless sea. There have been stories that the sheer strength of Harry’s presence has driven mortals to take their own lives do to the desolation he gives off. Being the ruler of death and destruction isn’t exactly a happy job and it’s burden had definitely taken its toll on him, but he had managed to find a way to stifle the vacancy.

That’s where Persephone came in. Her role as the goddess of spring meant that she was, quite literally, the physical embodiment of life and warmth, and thus his polar opposite. It was she that brought the proper seasons around for the mortals to do their harvesting in order to survive, and so it was she that could counteract the darkness Hades resonated.

And right now, she was about to take on the second role again and she couldn’t be happier.

Y/N allows the door to shut behind her, the loud sound of the two pieces of stone sliding into one another booming across the huge, quiet throne room.

Harry’s body freezes up, a sheen of ice materializing across his already cold blood. He can feel his black heart lodging into his throat, his nerves going haywire at her presence. He locks his gaze on her through the mirror, her body somewhat smaller across the large expanse of the walls. His emerald eyes twinkle unearthly, putting the shine of any actual emeralds to shame. One of his titles isn’t “the god of wealth and jewels” for nothing.

Hades turns slowly on his heels, facing Y/N fully. As he takes in her appearance, he can’t help the small, childish laugh that releases from his throat. She looks absolutely breathtaking, a pure white dress flaring out around her body, the shimmering fabric hugging her upper arms as delicate golden chains lay across the tops of her shoulders. A certain glow seems to swell around her, so warm and buttery it makes the candles seem dim. And all Harry can think is, there she is, all beautiful and stunning and all mine.

His feet are moving before he’s even stopped admiring her, walking briskly in her direction. Each step seems to shake the ground, the indescribable mixture of emotions that churns within him finding an outlet in every bound he takes. Y/N takes off too, walking with a certain grace to her that makes his heart melt. They meet in the middle of the room, both slightly out of breath and smiling like fools. He reaches a ring-clad hand out to her, cupping her jaw and swiping his thumb across her supple cheek. Electricity sizzles through their point of contact, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up to the tips. Every cell in his body is screaming to feel her’s, the slight touch setting forward a chain reaction of sensations coursing through his veins.

To his sudden surprise, she lunges first, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing the living daylights out of him. His arms unfreeze from their shock, instinctively wrapping around her waist, face burrowing into the slope of her neck and he takes a deep breath, eyes watering with happiness as the scent of sun and flowers and just life fills his drowning lungs. They tumble back a few feet, giggling like children as Harry spins her around, dress whooshing happily through the air. She cups his face, kissing his forehead softly and he can feel her gentle smile spread across his skin.

He sets her on the ground carefully, pulling her into his strong chest and kissing the top of her head lovingly. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. So, so much.”

“Me too.” Her voice is, for the kick of the joke, like the first breath of spring – it refreshes him, filling every crevice of his body with light.

Harry pulls back, leaning down to prop their foreheads together, staring into her caring eyes and grinning like an idiot. His dimples pop into place and she laughs, reaching up to poke at them playfully.

“You cut your hair!” She exclaims in awe, running her hands through the short locks and twisting them around her fingers. “It looks amazing, Har. Handsome as ever.”

“Y'think so? Was scared you wouldn’t like it…” He mumbles shyly, looking away in embarrassment.

“You look as incredible as any celestial being ever could.” Y/N nudges his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

He blushes (because that’s the perfect thing for the god of the deceased to do) and grabs her hands, intertwining their fingers together. “So you wanted to have a heartfelt chat with me, is that it? That’s why you turned down ambrosia squares?”


Y/N returns his jesting smirk, nodding her head. “Yes, that’s why. But also, it’s because I wanted some alone time with you and I want to be able to–” she leans into his ear, her words causing a shiver down his spine–“scream and have no one hear me.”

Harry immediately stiffens up, staring at her with wide eyes because she’s rarely the most needy in the relationship, and having her practically jump into his pants as soon as she sees him is a new experience for him. She gazes up at him with hooded eyes, slipping the left sleeve of her dress further down her arm. She presses forward, lips latching to Harry’s like he’s a lifeline.

“Already?” He murmurs against her mouth, feeling her hands grasping wildly at his groin and he hisses quietly at her eagerness. “You’ve barely been here five minutes, love. A bit shameful, don’t y'think? And also, I thought–”

He gets cut off by Y/N sliding her tongue down his throat, her teeny whines causing his knees to disintegrate. “Bet you’ve only gotten bigger than before. Longer, thicker– fuck, just thinking about it makes me wanna come.”

Harry pulls away, gently detaching her from him and looking down at her with slight confusion because it’s all so sudden and unexpected.

“Are you sure you want to do this now? I thought we could wait a bit, y'know? Do something romantic, like a big feast for two and then walk through your gardens for a bit! Bathe afterwards and just let natural instincts take their course.” He hates himself for being such a sap with her but he can’t help it. And her letter had suggested she wanted this type of welcome so he had been looking forward to it.

“Harry, I love you and I absolutely want to do all of those things,” Y/N stares directly into his face with the biggest doe-eyes he’s ever seen, chewing at the corner of her mouth as her eyes flicker to his reddened lips and he can sense how desperate she is. “But I’ve been horny from the second I set foot on the first stair of the palace. I just can’t hold off. I just…I want you to fuck me, Har. Right here, right now. Please?”

He blinks at her for a couple of seconds, weighing in what she’s saying. He decides to go with it, fingers sliding the golden chains from her shoulders as she continues clutch his neck. “Alright, kitten. I understand.”

He stops when the dress is about to expose her chest. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Harry grins coyly, poking fun at her. “Like I said, s'really only been, like, five minutes. No shame, hm?”

“Not at all, considering you haven’t been in me in barely six months.” She quips back sarcastically, shoving one hand up his toga all of the sudden and squeezing him hard, revering in his breathy whimper, which she stifles with her mouth.

“Now take me.” She whispers into the heavy kiss, reaching up to pop the emblem open so that she could pull down his toga to where it pools at his banded waist.

And that’s exactly what Harry does. He takes her right then and there, in front of his throne, with both of her wrists pinned down to the cold marble floor, her dress hiked up her creamy thighs and her breasts swelling out of her garment, crowns discarded besides an alter. He throws her legs around his hips, bucking into her roughly as she gives small gasps of pleasure, his cock pulsing against her softness. He’s bent over her, whispering dirty promises into her ear as he pinches her clit, grinning triumphantly into her neck.

“Tha’s my girl, yeah? Baby’s been gone and hasn’t had a good fucking in months, hm? Wants Daddy to take her right here? Want me to fuck a new sense into you, darling?” Harry’s voice is low and strained as he works on keeping himself from coming, all of those weeks of using his hand being nothing compared to her warmth and tightness. “Fuck, it’s been ages. You’re…you’re so good for me.”

Harry means that in every sense of the thought. Y/N’s good for him because she brings out the best qualities in his death-ridden heart, and she’s good for him in a sensual fashion, breaking him down molecule by molecule and stripping him of his sanity. She’s his complete opposite and he wouldn’t have the same spark with any other person.

Y/N wriggles her wrists in his hold, whining as she arches her back to be closer to him, wanting to be enveloped by his whole body. Harry releases her hands, which immediately go to his shoulders as his arms wrap under her lower back. She snakes her arms across them and down his back, digging her nails into the tight muscles under his toga, throwing her head back and letting out a loud, cracked moan. “Harry, I’m– fuck, you’re amazing.”

Harry licks a stripe up her throat, kissing at her chin as her legs spasm against his hips. “Such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a tight, sweet little thing…Missed you s'much– missed this so much.”

“F…Fuck me,” she whispers, her voice feathery and desperate.

Harry reaches above her, hands wrapping around the thick legs of his throne, the solid celestial bronze nailed down into the floor so that the chair works as a reinforcement. He pulls upward, arms flexing alluringly as he thrusts hard into Y/N, causing her to scream out.

“Want– to– make–you–feel–so good.” Harry grits out with every slam, head dropping down to allow him to peck chaste kisses onto her swollen lips. The sweat is making his eyes bleary and causing curls to stick to his forehead, but he doesn’t care. She’s here, pliant and slick and begging him for it and nothing else is important other than her.

A meek whine comes from Y/N, her head turning to give Harry access to her neck. He sucks the skin into his mouth, teething until he sees mauve and purple bruises blossom across her delicate throat. He’s panting against her jaw, small choking sounds scratching his throat raw as his thighs clench with every thrust.

“Did you…?” Hades swallows thickly, his sentence cut off by his mouth falling open as she gives a hard squeeze around his length. “Gods, jus’ like that, pet. Squeeze me nice and snug– tha’s it, kitten. So good for me, hm?”

Y/N nods vigorously, hands diving into the hair along his neck and she yanks him closer, noses nudging and breathing mingling. “So big, H. You’re so fucking big and it’s been so long and–”

Harry quiets her with one of his hands, his thumb sliding into the dip of her rough tongue. His gaze is trained on her face, watching as her eyes lull shut as she moans wetly around the digit.

“Suck for me. Can you do that?” Hades mumbles, biting onto his lower lip with fervor as she wraps her plump lips around the circumference of his finger.

“Mmm…” Y/N hums groggily and he can feel the tug of his skin in her mouth as she sucks excitedly, eyes fluttering open all wide and innocent.

“Shit, Y/N, just– just fuck me.” He whimpers brokenly, licking up her jaw to nibble at her left earlobe.

“Feels incredible…” She glubs over his thumb, tiny hiccups of pleasure bouncing against the far walls of the room with every hard slam Harry gives his hips. One of her hands fumbles with the one in her mouth, tugging at it weakly.

He lets her take it, watching as she presses it to her right breast, taking the same wet thumb and passing it over her nipple a couple of times. The shutter that racks her spine leaves her feeling lightheaded and airy, and she gives an encouraging hum. Harry adapts to her request, releasing his hard hold on the leg of the throne and using both hands to cup her chest, bringing them together and giving a long lap to each pebbled nipple. He uses his forefinger along with his thumb, tweaking the tiny nubs and staring at her, mesmerized by the face of sheer rapture her features mold into.

Hades leans down, pressing his warm, wet lips to her ear, his exhales causing her skin to grow red with need. “Did you touch yourself?”

Persephone hesitates for a second, and then nods bashfully.

He grins, humming with amusement. “How often?”

“Almost every night…” Her answer is soft and wistful, as if recalling a fond memory.

He teethes the curve of the shell of her ear, blowing on the wet patch it leaves. “Me too.”

She gasps gently as he gives a hard push and doesn’t relent back, keeping her on edge. The worn marble ground bites at his knees as he remains stationary, buried to the hilt inside her. His fingers pinch the buds of her breasts harder, his body in love with the way she thrashes against him.

“Sometimes I couldn’t sleep,” he continues, voice sultry and low, like blood-red velvet. “I would toss and turn all night, finally just laying on my stomach and staring at the tall headboard, all hot and hard. There would be nights where my hand just wasn’t good enough, so I’d grind my hips into the mattress, holding your pillow close so I could smell you as I did my best to come.”

Y/N’s breathing has gotten faster, her hips wiggling from side to side to try and pry her own pleasure from his unrelenting cock. He won’t move and she can feel him twitching inside her and she needs him to keep fucking her. But he won’t– he’s getting off way more from torturing her with his words.

“Harry, please. Wanna come…” Her eyes are swelling with tears from how destressed she’s grown, her hands grabbing his sharp jaw in her palms so she can force him to see how wrecked she is.

He simply smirks, ignoring her pleading. “Sometimes it would hit me while I was bathing. Those didn’t take as long though– the warm water helped a lot. I’d just rub one out nice and quick, leaning against the cold wall and gasping out your name, imagining your pretty little mouth taking me all the way in.”

Y/N is a shaking disaster, her hands hugging him to her so hard he was sure she was unknowingly tapping into her godly strength. Her gaze is set on the extravagant chandelier above them, all of the multicolored jewels embedded around different curved rails reflecting a kaleidoscope of shades onto their connected bodies. The flames of the candles on the source of light seem to grow dimmer, her eyesight getting more and more blurry by the second as she feels her release bubbling and churning at the pit of her stomach, clawing at anything it can get, which includes her ability to see straight. The cold floor against her backside suddenly becomes prominent, the contrasting temperatures making her head swim with ecstasy.

“Tell me about it.” Harry wraps one of his arms fully under her lower back, the other reaching up to stroke his knuckles against her cheekbone. He cups his fingers under chin and jaw, thumbing over her cheek and lips, infatuated with the ruby redness of her skin.

“I…I don’t–” Persephone begins weakly, shaking her head faster because she knows if she talks about it, she’ll implode entirely.

“Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how you fucked yourself with me in mind.” Hades slowly begins to push his hips back and forth again, euphoria inflating her muscles and causing her to yawp. “Just tell me and I’ll fuck you so hard, you won’t even remember what you said.”

She swallows heavily, mouth slightly agape with shallow inhales and exhales. Her eyes refuse to meet his, focusing on the intricate designs of the wall instead. “I…I used my fingers–”

He interrupts spontaneously, turning her head forward so that their eyes are level. “Look at me. Want you looking at me when you confess all of the naughty things you did.”

She just nods her head docilely, chewing on her bottom lip as he begins to speed up, toga draping down his body loosely with his hair flopping around and his tan skin simmering to the touch. He breathes in deeply, opening them with leisure. The look behind them is predatory with nothing but sheer lust.

“Go on, then. What’d my baby girl do without me beside her?”

“I used my fingers.” Y/N repeats quietly, eyes rolling back into her head as Harry suckles along the subtle dip of her collarbones. “And I–fuck, I…rubbed myself.”

He nods encouragingly, moving to bite down on her lower lip, pulling it away and allowing it to snap back into place. “You miss my mouth on you?”

She digs her nails harder into his back muscles, feeling them flex under her fingertips. “Yes. Wanted you doing it…”

“I’ll do one better.” Harry leans back onto his heels, grinding his hips so that his cock slicks in and out of her fast and hard. He places one arm behind him for balance, using the hand on the other to slap Y/N’s dripping clit. Her reaction is immediate, body arching off the ground as he forces her legs to stay down. He slaps faster, pinching every now and then and letting his head fall back, neck vein protruding across his clammy skin.

“Little longer, peach. Warm little cunt gonna make me come so hard. Gonna take all of me in there and love every drop, yeah?” Harry gives a particularly hard smack to her folds, grunting heavily as she cries out excitedly.

It doesn’t take long at all for her to release, body slumping into the cold, shiny ground with her brain floating around high above the ceiling with the chandelier. Harry coaxes her through it, falling forward again so that his forearms are on either side of her head as he presses his nose to the underside of her jaw, pooling light kisses and mumbling encouragement. His hair tickles her cheeks, the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood evading her nose and causing her to melt.

“Tha’s my girl. Squeeze fo’ me– little more, sweetheart, c'mon. Daddy’s got you.”

He rides out his own orgasm, gasping and mewling lightly as he feels his balls tightening and then release in a flush of warmth. He gasps out as he feels the first ribbon of come spurt out thickly, trickling into her steadily as he continues to fuck her limp body.

“Oh, Gods, I’m–oooh, fucking hell!” His eyes squeeze shut as his whole face crinkles in pleasure, a hand fisting her hair as his hips jerk spastically against her’s.

He slides the other hand under the backside of one of her knees, hiking it up until it’s at the level of her navel, opening her up fully to be filled completely. He sports a tiny, wistful smile, drunk off his climax as he nips across her chin and with each word, he thrusts the last couple of times. “So– fucking– hot.”

Harry pulls out slowly, hearing her whimper quietly at the sudden emptiness. He sees himself spilling out of Y/N and begins chuckling as if he were high off his ass, giggling against her chin and blinking up at her with shining, watery green irises, the tiny specks of gold winking like stars. “So full of me. Won’t be able to get me out of your veins for days. Y'smell like me already…”

He sneaks two fingers between her thighs, bringing them up to his mouth and licking at her dripping release. “So sweet fo’ me.”

“Need–” she swallows, moistening the sandpaper that is her throat and blinking the black spots from her sight. “Need a cool bath. And you and wine and cuddles.”

And who was he to deny her that? He pushes himself up onto wobbly feet, gaining stability soon enough. He adjusts his toga, clipping the emblem back together and tugging it loose around his legs. The sweat had really done a number on the silk cloth. Leaning down, he slides his arms under her back and legs, scooping her up bridal style. She wishes she could move, but she literally cannot feel her legs and she quite likes being a right “damsel in distress” for a little bit if it gets Harry to carry her up a flight of stairs and into a tub.

“You’re burning up and I don’t think it has to do with your godliness…” Harry coons playfully, voice echoing around the bathing chamber as he slips the soft shimmering fabric of her sleeves down her sweaty arms, kissing each of her shoulders gently. He buries his face in her neck as he eases her out of the dress fully, large hands coasting down her arms and around her waist to cup her bottom. He gives it a good squeeze, breaking into laughter when she gives a sudden jump. “Hundreds of years old and still got it.”

Y/N shoves his shoulder, glaring daggers at him as he shrugs it off like it’s nothing, attempting to hide his shit-eating grin. She dips into the cool, bubbling water of the obsidian tub, sinking down up to her nose.

Harry leans his shoulder against the chamber wall, a small, fond smile warming his lips. She stares up at him, blowing bubbles into the water and wiggling her eyebrows childishly.

He chuckles lightly. “Gods, I missed you. Don’t think I can express it enough.”

Y/N floats over and sits on the stone step that circles the inside circumstance of the small pool, patting the water next to her in a signal for him to join her.

“Can’t seem to stop getting me naked, can ya, love?” He unlaces his sandals, toeing them off as he undoes the golden rope around his waist that holds his toga to his body. He pulls the garment over his head, tossing it in the general direction of a marble bench.

He descends into the churning water, going under and paddling towards her. His head breaks the surface, hair matted to his neck and head, covering his face completely. Y/N pushes it back, revealing the silly face he’s making underneath. She draws him closer, sponging her lips to his nose and giggling as he scoops her into his lap, head cuddling against his strong chest.

Hades’ chin rests atop Persephone’s wet hair as he caresses her back, feeling his heart swell in his chest. The couple sit there for a while, naked bodies pressed together, yet there is nothing sexual about it anymore. It’s innocent and sweet, filled with stories about their time apart and splash fights and Harry’s stupid jokes that Y/N rolls her eyes at but secretly loves. And Harry sits there, staring down at her laughing face with her nose scrunched up and her teeth showing and he knows he would never stop loving her.

Not in a thousand years, which he freely has to spare.

________________________________

A/N: ahhhHHHHHH HADES HARRY IS MY FAVORITE THING. I hope you guys like this! I haven’t been writing much lately and I apologize for that but I’m trying to get back into a routine of it :-) thank you so much for reading and for your patience and support and feel free to drop by my inbox with opinions❤️☺️

- Andrea :)

PadMay

Day 21: Favorite RotS Costume

The Funeral Gown

The last thing she is ever seen wearing. She and the dress are so beyond beautiful. She looks like an angel almost. The dress looks like she’s wearing a waterfall, and all those sequins catch the light in such a sparkling way. The flowers in her hair are beautiful too, looking almost like stars. The flowers and resemblance of water seem to represent the natural world, and is a stark contrast to what Anakin has become. Vader’s costume is dark, cold, and terrifying. He is a man-made machine, nearly devoid of life, where as Padme seems to represent things that grow and give life, despite the fact that she is the one that has died. 

The designer, Trisha Biggar, said the costume was meant to resemble the lakes of Naboo and symbolize her spiritual return to the lake. Natalie Portman once said the dress reminded her of Ophelia in that Padme looks like she’s drowning. I think these are interesting ways to interpret the dress. And I’m so glad they decided to include the japor snippet, calling back to her love for who Anakin once was.

anonymous asked:

Your Caeneus and Poseidon fics made me weep. Will you ever write about when Poseidon gives up the power of the sea and returns to Caeneus?

Part One / Part Two


They’ve all abandoned their duties, the world has changed and they’re not needed like they were needed before.

All but the three of them, the most powerful of gods.

Zeus stubbornly remains on the abandoned Mount Olympus. Even Hera has left him, shaking herself free of her shackles and her crown all at once.

Hades continues as he always has. It’s possible he wouldn’t have noticed anything had changed if it weren’t for Persephone’s new freedom that allows her to spend all months of the year with her husband.

Then there is him.

Poseidon sits on his thrown at the bottom of the sea, restless in a way he can’t remember ever feeling before. Amphitrite sighs from her place besides him, then stands to face him. “Perhaps it is time.”

“What are you talking about?” he snaps, although he knows the answer.

She smiles at him, soft and exasperated and even a little fond after all these years. “You knew it wasn’t forever. We both did.”

He presses a hand to his chest, and – he is of the sea, and he is not supposed to be feel fear. But he does. “I do not remember the man I was before I was King of the Sea.  If – if I return to that person, I do not know what I will be, who I will be.”

Amphitrite holds out her hands. Feeling like a child, Poseidon takes them. “I know exactly who you will be, and what you will do. It’s time, Poseidon.”

He’s never loved her, couldn’t love her. But she’s been his constant companion for almost his entire life, and he cares for her, as much as he is capable of caring for anyone. “What will happen to you?”

“That is none of you concern,” she says, “but I will be what I’ve always been – the sea.”

She uses a single claw and opens her chest, the inside of her a dark green except for a pulsating red heart. He sighs and breaks off a piece of his throne to do the same to his own chest. It’s not like he’ll need it after this.

He takes out the cold, dark lump from inside him and places it safely below her ribcage. Her skin heals over and pales, and the warmth of her eyes snuffs out. She slips the beating heart below his sternum, and his skin heals over just as quickly as hers had.

Poseidon didn’t know how cold he had been until he could feel warmth again, like a bonfire in his chest unfurling to fill him, warming the bottoms of his feet and tips of his fingers. The tidal wave of grief and love and happiness and sorrow nearly threatens to barrel him over, all the emotion he’d only felt echoes of now overwhelming him.

But even with all of that, he instantly knows something is wrong.

“This isn’t my heart,” he says, and it functions like his heart, these are his emotions and feelings, but – it’s not his heart, it’s not the heart he traded away to Amphitrite for power so long ago.

“No,” she agrees, “it’s not.”

She almost looks like she’s smiling.

He means to question her, to demand answers in spite of personally knowing how worthless it is to ask anything of the sea. But before he gets the chance, he’s being pushed away and onto the shore, and he knows better than to try and go back and attempt to get answers she doesn’t feel like giving. He doesn’t think she’d kill him, but he’s not interested in finding out.

He looks out at the impossibly tall structures before him, the glass city sprawling at the end of the beach when before there had only been a – been a – a cottage.

“Caeneus,” he breathes, and is gone in the next moment.

~

He knows the entrances to the underworld well, even as the world moves and changes they never have. It takes him no time at all to be standing by the River Styx with Charon in front of him. “You are not dead,” the boatman says reproachfully.

“No,” he says, “Summon Hades, I must speak to him. There’s someone in there who – someone I – someone,” he finishes, and it’s been thousands and thousands of years since he last has Caeneus in his arms, but it doesn’t matter. The heart in his chest is a heart that is capable of love, and he loves Caeneus just as he did as a fledgling god with dominion over nothing.

Charon has no face that he can see, but he still gets the impression he’s being laughed at. “The underworld contains many someones.”

“Call Hades,” he says, low and dangerous, and the waters of the Styx churn angrily at his temper. He may no longer be the king of the sea, but he is still a god of it, and a powerful one at that. Charon takes a step away from him, no longer laughing but also not moving to help him.

There’s a shift in the air, and a young woman stands before them. Her skin is as dark at the water of the river, and her eyes are the grey of its foam. “Who dares disturb my river?” the goddess Styx demands. He meets her gaze, and her mouth drops open. “Poseidon? What are you doing here?”

“That is not Poseidon,” Charon says, “He doesn’t feel like a king.”

He wants to slap himself. Charon is blind.

Styx raises an eyebrow, “Looks like he finally got with times. The king of the ocean is no more.” She circles him like a predator circles prey. “There’s something different about you.”

“Lady Styx,” he grits out, “Please. Summon my brother, I must speak with him. I’m looking for someone.”

She shakes her head, “I can’t. He and Hecate are expanding the realm today. They can’t be disturbed.”

He doesn’t care about his brother’s obsession with home improvement, but he doesn’t say that. “Persephone then.”

“The Lady is currently among the mortals,” Charon says.

He clenches his hands into fists. He knows it’s been thousands of years, and a little more time won’t make much of a difference. But he’s already lost so much time. He doesn’t want to lose any more.

Styx sighs as if she finds him troublesome. “Thanatos,” she calls out conversationally, “I need you.”

There’s another shift in the air, and a familiar figure appears in front of him. “What do you need?” the death god asks, ink on his hands and smudged across his forehead. “I’m busy.”

“Icarus,” he says. It’s hard to regret the actions he took with Amphitrite’s heart in his chest. He wanted, and so he took. Such is the nature of the sea. However, there many things he did then that he wouldn’t have done if he’d had his heart. Those years with Icarus are among them.

He’s never said no, never pushed him away or lashed out. But if Poseidon had had his heart, he would have known that it wasn’t what the young man wanted.

Icarus’s mouth drops open, but he shuts it again. “Poseidon,” he greets carefully. “Can we help you with something?”

“I’m looking for a mortal. His name is Caeneus, my magic should be clinging to him. He died – a long time ago, I’m assuming. I don’t know exactly when.”

Icarus’s eyes go distant as he reviews a mental list of the dead. He blinks, then slowly shakes his head. “There are many by the name of Caeneus in our realm, but none that are god-touched.”

He says, “That’s impossible. I transformed him myself. The magic would have clung to him, even in death.”

“Yes,” Icarus agrees. “But he is not among our realm, which means he’s not among the dead. This Caeneus of yours is still alive.”

“That’s impossible,” he repeats, but fainter this time. He presses a hand to his sternum, where a heart that isn’t his own beats.

Styx laughs and drapes herself over Charon, who tolerates it. “Poseidon, nothing is impossible.”

~

He goes to Aphrodite next. She’s dressed as a mortal, wearing glasses she doesn’t need and a dress too short for current mortal fashions. She’s curled up on a chair reading, and she slowly lowers her book to look at him. “So the rumors are true,” she says finally. There’s something like sympathy on her face. “They all said you were different once you became the god of the sea. None ever knew the reason was that you lost your heart.”

“Traded it, actually,” he says, “and we didn’t want you to know. That’s not why I’m here.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“I need your help,” he taps his chest, “This heart isn’t mine either. I need your help to find the man it belongs to.”

She closes her book and puts it aside, eyes sparking with interest. “Very well, Uncle. I will do my best.”

~

Aphrodite finds him. They arrive at a small house jutting out of the edge of a cliff, the sea wide and churning below. A man stands at the edge, subtly manipulating the waves with the push-pull motions of his hands. “I didn’t know you knew Glaucus,” she says. “What are you doing with his heart?”

Glaucus. A minor sea god who looked after lost fisherman. “His name is Caeneus,” he says, already walking away from her.

“Good luck!” she calls out before returning to her home and her book.

He walks over slowly, not sure what he’s expecting. Anger, certainly. Perhaps a fight. Maybe if he lets Caeneus beat him up, he’ll be more willing to listen to him. “Hey,” he says, when he’s only a few feet away, bracing himself for – something.

Caeneus stills, turning to face him. His eyes widen, and he takes a hesitant step closer. “Poseidon. Is it – is – do you have,” he pauses and reaches out a hand, pressing a hand against Poseidon’s chest. “What’s in here?”

“Your heart,” he croaks, and reaches out a trembling hand and pressing it to Caeneus’s sternum. “Just as my heart is here.”

“You can have it back,” he says, taking another step closer, and the sun reflects off of Caeneus’s eyes so they shine gold. “I was only keeping it safe for you.”

He reaches for his chest, but Poseidon grabs his hand. “Don’t. Without my heart, you’ll die.”

Caeneus smiles, “That’s all right. I’ve been waiting for you to come back for it, and now you’re here.” His smile dims, “Will you kiss me first? Is that all right?”

Poseidon pulls him closer and presses their foreheads together. Caeneus’s arms wrap around his waist, and something inside him settles. “I will not,” he whispers, and Caeneus tenses. “You must keep my heart, because it belongs to you. It always has.” He shifts to kiss his cheek, and he can smell the salt from Caeneus’s tears that are threatening to spill.  “I shouldn’t have traded it to Amphitrite. It wasn’t mine to give away.”

“Then you must keep mine,” he says, and he’s shaking, “because it has belonged to you for just as long.”

Poseidon kisses him then. Caeneus melts against him, and the first true sunburst of happiness blossoms in his chest.

This is the beginning of the rest of their lives.


gods and monsters series part xvi

read more of the gods and monsters series

Hades and Persephone (harry au)

I’m a sucker for Greek Mythology lmao. This isn’t the same exact story probably but I wanted to put it in my perspective and how I like to imagine it. Especially imagining Harry as god of the underworld because that boy is a total cupcake. We’re just gonna call Hades as Harry’s name lmao. I’ve been fantasizing this for a while now so I hope this kills you as much as it kills me! Haha xx M

Contains mature content

The underworld is a very dark and dreary place. The blood curdling screams from the spirits of the dead could be heard from miles away beneath the earth’s ground. The souls being punished severely for the countless sins they’ve committed. As soon as one enters the underworld, there’s this depressing aura that surrounds a person. A very frightening one too. There is literal smell of death that fills the air of the gloomy place. 

Moans and groans could be heard from where Harry was sat in his palace, on his large throne that was made of dark steel meaning to look intimidating with it’s size and the bronze gemstones dispersed into the strong metal.

It was his job to rule the underworld. To control the deaths and punishments of those souls who deserved it. The sound of terrified screams coming from the outside of his palace did not phase him at all. He has learned to not sympathize any of the souls who are being punished. It isn’t exactly an easy job to rule death.The worse the sins are, the more unfortunate a soul was. He has learned to avoid them.

Harry is a man who is void of emotions. Or he was a man who was void emotions. It had all changed when the light of his life, his love, his beautiful goddess Persephone entered his life. Her job was to control springtime and vegetation. She was literally the physical representation of warmth and life thus, being the polar opposite of Harry who was cold and only took lives. She was the reason why he has become less harsh and more warm. His cold, black heart would melt every time he saw. 

Persephone literally glowed and out shined the dark world of death. Her warmth and caring persona was the only life down in the underworld. She was able to counteract Harry’s darkness with her power of changing the seasons and growing the plants for people to survive with food. 

Her beauty was something Harry still wasn’t use to. He still couldn’t believe that this beautiful goddess was all his. His, his, his. This beauty was all his and he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that they were married. That he was married to someone who was the polar opposite of him. He couldn’t believe that a beautiful, caring woman like her loved a cold hearted man like him. She was the only person who would make him feel emotions. She was the only person that Harry cared about. The only person Harry has ever felt loved for.

The first time he saw her, he was so sure he fell in love with her right then and there. She was stood far away from him, picking flowers from a field when he saw her. Her aura radiated innocence and warmth. He wanted her as his wife so he had abducted her and took her into the depths of Earth into his realm. She hated him at first. She hated what he did and she hated how he acted. She had thought that he was a selfish man for abducting her. But slowly, she fell in love with the man who had a black heart. She was the cause of his heart turning one shade lighter from black. She had learned to love him with everything she had despite who he was. She accepted him into her life. She accepted his job as the ruler of death and stood by his side as goddess of the Underworld when they got married.

Persephone was Harry’s weakness. They both knew that. She was the woman who was able to control him. She was the only person who was able to slightly melt his ice cold heart. She was the woman who lit up his life and brought a smile to his usual stoic face. 

Harry is sat in his throne room with a fluttery heart and butterflies bursting in his stomach as he watches his beautiful wife walk down the aisle. The only woman who could cause butterflies to erupt in his stomach. The large stone doors shut loudly behind her, leaving both of them privacy from their servants. His raspberry lips lift up into a smile as he stands up and allows his long legs to carry him to his glowing goddess. He felt his cold heart lodge in his throat when he sees her smiling at him, her demeanor radiating happiness when she sees him. He couldn’t believe that he was the reason for that wide smile. A ruthless man like him.

Persephone walks towards him in a white gown that contrasts against the dark room and Harry, who was dressed in a thick black robe. The upper half of the dress, clung to her chest. Her breasts slightly swelled up due to the golden belt wrapped around the waist and she knew it was going to bring a reaction out of her husband. The sleeves were off the shoulders, revealing her soft gleaming skin. Her hands were clasped together in front of her body and she looked down at the ground shyly when she saw Harry’s green eyes staring at her with adoration.

The both of them meet in the middle, his arms immediately going around her waist and pulling her as close to him as he can. Persephone’s hands rest against his broad chest and she leans her face closer to his as he bends his neck down slightly. She feels his breath wash over her face, cushioned lips pressing a kiss to her forehead. She shuts her eyes, enjoying the moment of the muscle that is puckered against her head for a few minutes.

Harry puckers his lips against her forehead a few more times before leaning down to press a kiss against the tip of her nose. She scrunches her nose up cutely at the tickling sensation and Harry chuckles at how adorable she looked, pressing his forehead against hers. 

“How did yeh sleep m’love?” He asks her, cupping her left cheek with his right hand. She leans into his palm, kissing it and he smiles at the action, rubbing his thumb under her eye.

“Very well,” She tells him, her fingers playing with the collar of his robe. She slightly opens the top apart to run her hand across his clavicle. Harry’s stomach tightens at the action, his hand moving behind to her hold the back of her neck. “Although, I was not happy when I saw that my husband wasn’t laying beside me,” She slightly pouts, causing him to chuckle.

He leans down to capture her rosy red lips in his, the hairs on his arms immediately raising at the feeling of her lips on his. The connection of their lips was felt throughout his body, electrifying and shocking every nerve. He shuts his eyes, enjoying the moment with his wife. Her arms latch around his neck, pulling him down even closer, harshly pressing her lips to his. Their lips move in sync and at the same rushed pace. Persephone bites down on her husband’s bottom lip, emitting a low groan from him as he tightly grips her hips with his large hands.

They let go after a few moments and breath across each other’s face. Harry’s hands run up and down her sides before grabbing her hips and squeezing them before pulling her close again.

“’M sorry, my angel,” He apologizes, giving another quick peck to her lips. “‘ve got a job t’do don’t I?”

“Mhm,” She hums, grabbing his collar to pull him down and latch her lips against his in another chaste kiss. She was addicted to the feeling of his lips on hers as was he. “As do I, but I wanted to spend time with my handsome man before I had to leave.” She mutters against his lips. 

Harry sticks out his bottom lip into a pout and Persephone chuckles, kissing it. “D’yeh have t’go today?” She nods, running her fingers through his brown locks. “Can’t yeh just miss a day?” He asks.

She shakes her head and he sighs, “If I don’t go, how will the plants grow? People need them for food, Harry. Or they might end up here.” She gives him a stern look and Harry grumbles, pulling her to his chest. She rests her head into the crook of his neck, pecking it a few times while he runs his hands up and down her back.

There are days where Persephone has to leave the Underworld because after all, she is the goddess of spring and vegetation. Just because she lives in the Underworld with her husband, it doesn’t mean her role above the Earth’s ground was over. It was her job to grow plants in the season.

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh, “Alright but…” He slides his hand down to her bum, grabbing each cheek with both hands and she gasps in surprise, nuzzling her nose into his neck even closer, “Can we at least spend some time together befo’ yeh leave,” He whispers hotly in her ear, biting down on her earlobe and squeezing her bum harder. She moans against his neck, tugging at his hair. 

No matter how many times they do this, he always takes her by surprise. She’s still his innocent girl. She still shies away at sex or when he mentions it. She’ll still blush whenever he finishes eating her out with her arousal on his face or when she has his cock in her mouth. But Harry loved it. He loves how red she gets and how she doesn’t meet his eyes when she finishes wiping her face after sucking him off.

“Yes, yes, yes,” She throws her head back when he starts kissing her neck, giving him more access to suck on her skin. He bites down on the skin beneath her ear, running his tongue over the soar spot before giving it a kiss. He does it a few more times on other places on her neck before she stops him, worried that her companions might see.

Harry growls, pulling her back by the waist and stares down at her breasts that are pushed up from her dress. He squeezes them harshly, emitting a loud moan from his goddess. His nose nuzzles between the area of her breasts, his hands moving up to her sleeves that rest just below her shoulders. He pushes down the sleeves more, revealing more of her cleavage; her skin looking as smooth as silk. He pushes down the front of the dress off her upper chest, releasing both of her breasts. His green eyes darken in lust at the sight, his lips immediately latching on to her hardened pink nipple. He bites down on the peaked bud, causing her to let another loud moan and her hands involuntarily move up to his hair, tugging at it harshly. His hands move down to her arse, giving it another hard squeeze, surely leaving marks. 

He swirls his tongue around her pink nipple a few times before kissing and biting at it. Persephone’s legs shake at his actions, shutting her eyes in pleasure while he moves on to her other breast. She feels one of his hands move to the front of the body, cupping her crotch and rubbing her through her gown. 

“H-Harry,” Persephone calls.

“Hm,” He hums, spitting down onto her sternum and watching his saliva slide down the bone. 

“Don’t wanna do it here,” She gasps when he pinches her nipple between his forefinger and thumb harshly. “Please.” She begs him. “Someone might come!” She says, watching him wrap his left arm around her torso and tugging her dress up to run his hand over the skin over her legs. 

“The only one whose goin’ t’come is yeh,” He whispers hotly against her lips before kissing her hungrily. Harry pushes his tongue against Persephone’s lips and she opens her mouth to grant access. Their tongues touch, swirling in motion. She bites down on his bottom lip while she trails her hands down the front of his body to his groin, squeezing it. Harry groans, kissing her roughly while he grabs her hair at the back of her head.

“Let’s go upstairs. Please,” She pleads, tilting her neck to the side as he kisses down her throat. “To the bedchamber.”

Harry growls, complying with her wishes. He moves one arm beneath her back and the other beneath her knee, picking her up off the ground. She squeals in surprise and Harry chuckles, kissing at her lips again as he carries them towards the doors. 

“Open the doors!” Harry commands to his servants who stood on the other side of his throne room. They follow his orders, pulling open the doors, not daring to look at him or Persephone. Her cheeks tint red when she notices her breasts are still hanging out of her dress. She moves her hands from around his neck to try and fix it but Harry stops her. “Don’t worry, darling. They wouldn’ dare to look at yeh ‘cos they know wha’ would happen ‘f they do.” He assures her, giving a hard glare to his servants who look down at the ground.

Persephone grabs his cheek to turn his head towards her again and away from his servants. She presses her lips against his, running her tongue along his lower lip. She tightens her grip around his neck again, unlatching her lips from his and nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck as he carries her towards their bedchamber. She sucks on the skin beneath his ear, leaving her marks. 

When they reach their bedchamber, the servants who stood on either side of their door immediately open them without looking. Harry carries her towards the bed, gently laying her down from the foot of the large bed. They hold eye contact with each other the whole time, their eyes filled with lust and love for each other. 

Harry roughly and hungrily presses his lips against Persephone’s while he tugs the sleeves of her dress down her arms, revealing more of her chest. Her hands move to the front of his black robe, untying the small knot and pulling the cloth apart. She runs her hands down his strong, tan chest. Her hands push his robe of his shoulders and it immediately reveals his bare body. She scratches at the back of his shoulders as he tries to tug her dress off from the top.

He grunts in frustration when the gown gets stuck at the waist and she chuckles at his annoyance. He’s hunched over her body, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers as he looks down at her with challenging eyes, a smirk on his bruised lips.

“’S this yeh’re favorite dress darlin’?” He asks her and Persephone looks at him in confusion, shaking her head no. “So yeh wouldn’ mind ‘f I did this?” And before she can even reply, he rips the front of the dress, the gemstones falling off the fabric and onto the floor with a clatter. The rest of the dress is pulled off of her legs and onto the ground without a care. She gasps at him in surprise, getting ready to scold him but before she could say anything, she feels him pulling her down by the ankles to the edge of the bed. 

She leans her weight on her elbows that rest on the mattress, watching him kiss inside her thighs. He pulls her legs over his shoulder as he kisses her inner thighs. He moans at the sight of her dripping pink core, ready to devour her sweet taste. 

Persephone’s chest heaves up and down as she gulped, her body shaking and her legs starting to quiver around Harry’s face. Harry dips his head down to attach his mouth to her clit and she instantly whines, throwing her head back as Harry kisses her cunt. He closes his eyes in a bliss, groaning against her heat, sticking his tongue into her wet hole, almost making her scream as her hands pull at his hair because he was driving her mad with his tongue that she loved so much. She was a screaming mess as Harry devoured her, fucking his tongue into her at a fast pace while he rubs at her clit. Her legs tighten around his head as they cross each other at his back but Harry didn’t mind. He pumps his fingers in and out her entrance, replacing it with his tongue, repeating the process. He moans against her, shooting waves of pleasure throughout her body, causing her to arch her back and let out pleasurable moans that causes Harry to become more aroused, his leaking cock slapping against his abdomen.

“’M so close,” Persephone whines, pulling at his hair again that emits another groan from Harry. 

“Come on my tongue, my love, c’mon,” He tells her, tongue still deep inside her, swirling, flicking, and thrusting while he still rubs her clit with his fingers. She whimpers, one hand coming up to squeeze her breast as the other tugs at her hair. She throws head back in pleasure as she approaches her orgasm, moaning loudly. Her hips thrust up into his mouth, screaming his name while he sucks up her juices. Her head falls back onto her mattress as she sighs in contentment, her body relaxing.

She feels her husband’s body climb on top of her, pinning her back down beneath his body. She opens her eyes to see him staring down at her with a smirk on his lips, his hair falling over his forehead, eyes two shades darker from their normal color filled with lust. She moves her hand up to push his hair off his sweaty forehead. 

She giggles, pulling him down by the neck to kiss him, tasting herself on him as she sucks on his lower lip. He holds her waist, squeezing it when she bites down on his bottom lip.

“How was it?” He asks her, laughing when she hides her face in his neck with red tinting her cheeks. 

She nods her head, not saying a word and Harry smiles, knowing she doesn’t want to say it out loud. “C’mon, I dunno wha’ yeh mean, darlin’” He teases, kissing the side of her face while he runs his hands through her hair. “Did yeh like it?” She nods. “Did yeh like m’tongue fuckin’ yeh’re cunt?” 

Persephone gasps at his vulgar words, pulling her head back to look at him with pink cheeks, hitting his chest. “Shut up.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head before leaning down to kiss her nose. He stares into her eyes with adoration, his love for her being indescribable. He didn’t know how he could explain how much he cared about his girl. She was the most precious person to him and he still couldn’t believe that they were married together. He snaps out of his trance when he feels her hand on his cock, running over the head. He groans, digging his face into her neck and biting at her neck.

“Want yeh on yeh’re knees darlin’“ He whispers in her ear and she nods, letting go of his cock to get on her knees. 

Persephone obliges to his command and got on all fours, hands pressed against the mattress as her knees dug into the cushion. Harry narrows his eyes at her when she slightly wiggle her hips, wondering why she’s teasing him. He grabs both of her arse cheeks in his hand, sitting on his knees behind her. He pulls her hips back more, the head of his cock knocking against her entrance causing her to moan in desperation. He holds his thick girth in his hand, running the head up and down her folds with his pre-cum leaking from the top. 

He pulls her cheeks apart as he pushes himself deeply into her tight cunt, making her moan loudly and shut her eyes. Harry groans loudly at the feeling of her wet walls clenching around his cock. He doesn’t move yet, making Persephone impatient and causes her to push her arse back, making him sink all the way into her as she arches her back. Harry digs his fingers into his hips, bruising her skin with his fingers but her not minding at all.

Her body jolts forward when he pulls out all the way before thrusting back into her in one quick motion, instantly hitting a spot inside of her that causes her to scream out loud. He fucks into her slowly, putting his hand on the middle of her back and pushing her chest flat to the bed as her arse sticks up at the perfect angle. He bucks his hips forward, moving her arse back to slap against his bottom half as he grunts in pleasure and hears her moans. 

“S’good, my love. Feel s’good around my cock” Harry moans, grabbing her arse again and fucking into her sharply. The sound of their flesh slapping together rapidly and the bed hitting the wall bounced across the walls of their bedchamber and Persephone was so sure their servants can hear from outside the door. 

“Harry,” She moans, his pace becoming faster. 

“C’mon, love. Help me out here hm,” He says, lifting her up so she could hold herself up with her hands, her head hanging low between her shoulders. She complies to his wishes, slamming backwards as he thrusts forward. He pulls her cheeks up apart to stare at where they connect, his cock pulling back before slamming back in each time. 

He slows down, swiveling his hips, going deeper each time before pounding harder, making her gasp and moan loudly, her hands clenching the sheets in her fists. He takes a handful of her hair, wrapping it around his fist as he pulls her head back, her body arching as they both pant loudly. Harry brings his face down to hers, his body hunching over hers as he kisses her ear, his hand coming from behind to turn her face to his and kiss her. He sticks his tongue into her mouth, allowing it to glide across hers. He growls, slowing his hips as he releases her lips. 

He sighs deeply through his nose, moving back to grab her wrists and pull her body backwards so her back was to his chest and her head laid back on his shoulder. Persephone swallows thickly, looking into her husband’s dark green eyes, still not use to each time he fucks her in different positions.

She lifts left hand and holds the back of his neck. “I love you so much,” She whispers against his lips, kissing him again as he pushed himself back in. His left hand gripping her waist to keep her in place as the other palms and squeezes her breast. He grunts into her mouth, moaning louder as he continues to snap his hips up and fuck her her. 

“Like it? Hm?” He asks and she nods, moaning as she brings her hand up to squeeze her other breast as he thrusts into her deep and hard at a fast pace. She mewls, kissing at his neck, licking the salty skin from his sweat. 

“I-I’m gonna…gonna come,” She whimpers, feeling a spark in her lower abdomen. 

Before she knew it, he turns her over and pushes her down to the mattress, placing his chest against hers and slamming back into her as soon as he can. Her breasts press against his chest and she felt like she was losing her breath from his hips connecting with hers, thrusting into her far too fast. Harry presses his forehead against hers, both of them breathing on each other’s faces. Persephone keeps her eyes closed as Harry’s slowly start to droop. The heels of her feet dig into his lower back as her lips part to whimper his name. 

Harry places his hand his hands underneath her, on her arse, and pounds harder, causing a small tear to escape her eye. He kisses it away, puckering his lips against her skin a few more times. Persephone could feel him deep in her stomach and she moans loudly when he hits her spot again. 

“Like that yeah? Can feel me in yeh’re stomach hm?” He says, licking his bottom lip. 

Persephone nods, not having the strength to mutter any words when he’s thrusting into her hard. The grip on her arse becomes harder, his cock pushing deeper. She claws on his back, surely to leave marks and she could’ve sworn that he was bleeding.

“Yeh close?” He asks and she nods again, swallowing thickly. He leans his head to her breasts, kissing her sternum. He spits on each of her breasts, biting, sucking and swirling his skillful tongue against her pink nub. 

Persephone brings one of her hands between them to rub at her clit, bringing her closer to the edge. She tugs at his hair again, pushing his face against her cleavage, enjoying the feeling of his lips on her chest. 

“Wanna go on top,” She mutters breathlessly, not even sure if he heard her but to her surprise, he does and flips them both over, growling, so she could take control. 

“C’mon then,” Harry says, staring at his beautiful wife who is sat on top of him. Her chest and face red, skin glistening of sweat but still glowing like always. He grabs her hips, lifting her up so she can grab his cock, leveling it to her entrance but not before sliding it against her folds, making Harry roll his eyes back in pleasure. She sinks down on to him, balancing herself on him by placing both of her hands on his muscular chest. Harry thrusts up into her as she bounces down onto him. 

He grunts, enjoying the sound of loud desperate moans as she fucks him into a bliss. Harry’s eyes close as his orgasm approaches, hands squeezing her arse roughly. Persephone gasps when his hand starts rubbing at her clit again, helping her approach her orgasm quicker. She moans loudly when she feels herself come around his cock, clenching her walls around him as her juices slide down. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans loudly in pleasure. “Tha’s it. Jus’ like tha’, my angel.” He praises, dragging out another groan when he releases his cum deep insider her as her arousal washes over him. He lets go of her arse, letting his arms fall beside him on the mattress, calming his breathing as she does the same. The both of them panting loudly and coming off their high. He opens his eyes to look at her, seeing her body almost fall back from how weak and tired she felt but he quickly catches her with his arm. 

Harry chuckles, moving her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear as he leans up. “Yeh okay there darlin? Wore yeh out didn’ I? Hm?” He says, kissing her lips. 

“Don’t feel like going anymore,” She tells him, wincing when he pulls out of her heat slowly. He watches their arousal drip down her inner thighs and his cock covered in her wetness. 

He chuckles, pulling her down to lie beside him, stroking her hair as she rests her head on his shoulder. She kisses his shoulder, resting her hands against his sweaty chest as her thigh hooks over waist. He leans down to kiss her forehead, lips pressing there for five or six seconds.

“Told yeh not t’go but yeh said yeh had to,” He says innocently. 

Persephone rolls her eyes, enjoying a few more moments in her husband’s arms before she had to leave. 

“I love yeh too, by the way,” he tells her, remembering when she said it to him earlier when he was fucking her with his chest against her back. Persephone grins, kissing his chest again.


I’ll see y’all in hell lmao. I’ve never written so filthy before. Please let me know what you think. Requests are open as well so don’t hesitate to send them in :) Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading xx M 

My headcanon of how the reylo cliff scene will play out.

Ahch-to, sixth months after the destruction of Starkiller base…

“You’ve been busy,” Rey shouts over the violent sea wind that swirls in the space between them. “Did you find what you’ve been looking for?”

“You know I have, Scavenger.” Kylo Ren ignites his lightsaber at his side and its unstable crackle seems to drown everything out. Rey doesn’t reach for her own lightsaber, which is still secured to her belt. She stands her ground, waiting for him to come at her. She appraises the jagged scar that bisects his face, feeling a quick burst of pride at finally seeing her handiwork.

“I’m here for your master,” even though he speaks quietly, his words swirl through her head across the distance between them.

“I have no master.” Rey juts her chin out defiantly, knowing he won’t expect this.

He arches a single eyebrow, his head almost imperceptibly twitches towards the temple at the top of the island as his hair whips around his face from a massive gust of wind. He knows they can both feel Luke’s force signature up there, tucked away. Hiding like the coward he is.

“How did you find us?” She shouts at him, fists clenched at her side, itching for a fight and waiting for him to make the first move.

‘You know how.’ His lips don’t move but his words fill her head nonetheless. Her jaw clenches tightly, teeth grinding together at the invasion of her mind. At this close proximity, it is impossible to keep him out. Just as it is impossible for him to keep her out of his own mind.

‘You call out for me every night. It is all I can hear, all I can feel. You consume my entire being, your longing drives me to the brink of insanity.’ His thoughts are again forcibly pushed into her mind. The invasion of his words is excruciatingly warm and soft as his presence ripples along the edge of her mind.

“Enough!” She yells, hand finally going to her lightsaber. She draws it and lights it in one swift arcing motion, the cool blue glow pooling around her. ‘You know it isn’t me that’s calling for you.’ She adds as an afterthought, almost not meaning to send the thought to him. Only when his expression darkens does she realize he heard it too.

“So you think it is our bond alone that calls to me?” He is talking out loud now, approaching her at a steady pace. His upsilon class shuttle left empty behind him, awaiting the return of its pilot. “You think it’s the bond that whispers my name feverishly in its sleep?” His lightsaber is still dangling in a lazy grip at his side.

They are closer now, only a few aching meters between them. Rey stands her ground, gripping her lightsaber in a fighting stance despite the fact that he has yet to raise his.

“The bond that is practically singing now that we are finally together again?” He almost sounds hopeful. The hard affection in his voice makes her stomach turn over. She thinks of Han tumbling from the walkway on Starkiller. She thinks of the last time she saw Finn, unconscious and kept alive by machines. She thinks of Poe slumped in a chair at Finn’s bedside, whimpering in his sleep, nightmares of having his mind torn to shreds keeping him from getting any rest.

“The bond that is just another in a long list of atrocities committed by you,” she hisses at him, palms sweating against the warm metal of her lightsaber. She adjusts her grip.

“Oh, my dear Scavenger,” his lips peel back from his teeth in a grim smile, he shakes his head as if he regrets it, “you are so, so mistaken. This bond is your doing.” He sounds so confident and sure that it causes her to hesitate. He feels the doubt sinking into her and latches on to it. “You’ve known all along, you just don’t want to admit it to yourself. You pushed back into my mind.” He reaches up with his free hand and taps his left temple. “You created this connection with your clumsy and amateur fumbling into my head.”

“Liar!” She regrets the word as soon as she shouts it at him, he can see her weakness now. Her anger.

Her accusation seems to encourage him even more, his grim smile transforming into a more genuine one, which is the scariest she has ever seen him look. He looks as if he is a predator sensing an opening, ready to pounce on its prey.

“This is why you need me to teach you, you are too powerful for your own good.”

“I have a teacher,” she responds sharply, trying to school the tone of her voice into something calmer and more even.

He raises an eyebrow at this.

“A teacher,” she clarifies, “not a master.” Luke’s words to her when she had first arrived on Ahch-to float through her mind and she knows that Kylo can hear it as well. ‘It’s time for the Jedi to end.’

“Whatever you call him,” Kylo shakes his head as if to forcibly remove the voice from his mind, “I am here to destroy him.”

“You will have to go through me,” she straightens her back, preparing for him to come at her with that red abomination of a blade. He narrows his eyes. He can’t understand why Luke isn’t here, why would he send his student out to face Kylo alone? Surely he knows that there is no way she could best him in a fight when he is at his full strength as he is now.

“No, I need you alive,” he responds in a tightly controlled voice, still not making a move with his ignited lightsaber. The saber spits and hisses like it is dying for its chance to maim and destroy.

“You need me alive or your master does?” Rey knows it probably isn’t wise to taunt him.

“I do. I need you alive,” Kylo brings his fist up to slam against his own chest, she isn’t sure if she is indicating himself or his heart when he hits his left side. “Snoke wants you dead.” The treason falls from his lips and he is quaking with the release of it. The traitorous thoughts that have been broiling inside of him all this time are finally voiced.

“Then why not kill me?” She is whispering, she knows he can hear her perfectly fine even though the wind eats up her words as they spill out of her mouth.

‘You know why.’ His expression softens.

White-hot anger burns through her, at first she thinks it is coming from his end of the bond, but then she realizes it is from within her. An untapped well of anger is overflowing and tearing through her entire body, threatening to engulf her. Anger at him. Anger at herself.

She makes the first move, charging towards him with her saber in a two handed grip. He barely has time to wipe the startled look from his face and bring his own saber up into a defensive position. Their blades crackle viciously as they come together and she pulls back again to hack at him. She has practiced lightsaber forms tirelessly since Starkiller, she can be graceful and precise. Right now, she is a violent and angry creature trying with single-minded determination to cut him down. In the back of his mind he acknowledges this is the most beautiful she has ever looked to him.

It is all he can do to block her attacks without going on the offensive. She is backing him towards a cliff that drops off into the tumultuous sea below. He thinks about reaching into her mind and stealing her consciousness as he has done before, but he can’t muster the concentration necessary as she rains strike after strike down on him at a relentless pace.

His heels scrabble against the edge of the cliff and he dodges her last blow, sidestepping her and hoping she catches herself before she tumbles over the edge. She doesn’t. He reaches out with the force to try and stop her fall but it is too late, she has already disappeared over the edge.

He leans over the cliff, stomach twisted into a knot. He knows she didn’t die on impact because he can feel her life force still connected to his. A dark figure is sinking beneath the waves below.

Without another thought, he drops his disengaged lightsaber in the grass and dives after her.

The water is ice cold and the current is unforgiving as he tries to locate her. He unclasps his cloak and kicks it away, the heavy fabric is dragging him down and only helping the water as it tugs him in every direction other than towards Rey. He sucks in one last breath and dives.

The silence beneath the waves is terrifying. He has grown so used to catching glimpses of Rey’s random thoughts and emotions since they forged their bond that the lack of her incessant inner monologue is deafening. He finally catches sight of her, she is slowly drifting downwards. His grandfather’s lightsaber is sinking like a rock beneath her almost as if it sacrificed the heavy weight it bore to allow her to hang suspended in the murky water.

Her hair has been jostled loose from the tight buns and is fanned around her. He calls out to her mind, not with words but instead with a sense of urgency and panic. There is no answering feeling from her end of their connection.

He kicks towards her and wraps an arm around her waist. Her body is limp and arches backwards as he drags her to the surface. His pulse is pounding in his ears so loudly that it feels like it is the heartbeat of the ocean itself.

When they finally breach the surface he smooths her tangled hair back and pats her face with his sopping leather gloved hand. He pulls her head up, cupping her cheek.

“Scavenger,” he murmurs, “Rey, wake up.” He lets his forehead fall onto hers, trying to delve into her mind. It is silent, so terrifyingly silent. He can’t take it. Even when she sleeps he can hear her, or at least get an impression of her feelings. The nothingness is all consuming and far too cold.

The waves are still swirling around them and tossing them like a wayward piece of flotsam but Kylo clings to her as if she is the one keeping them afloat.

After too many painful moments, she splutters and the violent coughing fit is the best sound he has ever heard. He grips her waist tighter and slides her up his chest, making sure she is above the water and can gulp down the precious air she has been lacking. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist and her grip is like iron on his shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” he soothes a hand down her lower back and she is still gasping desperately, a dead weight in his arms. Of course she wouldn’t know how to swim. It’s only by the grace of the force lending him strength that he is able to tread water for so long and hard enough to keep them both alive.

She looks down at him, startled, realizing finally where she is. She yanks back from him and he tightens his grip on her, not willing to let her fall back beneath the water. Not willing to admit how complete he feels holding her after so much time spent skimming along her mind, capturing the pathetic scraps of thought and emotion she would drop for him.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats in the same soothing voice, but this time it isn’t a reassurance for her and is instead a declaration of victory. She finally sags into his arms, the tension leaving her body, trusting him to keep them afloat. She buries her face into his drenched hair.

“I know,” she whispers.

6

You know what I’ve just noticed? You know what breaks my heart?

In this scene, when Lexa tells Clarke “Ai gonplei ste odon”, and Clarke responds by “No, I won’t accept that”, you can see Lexa slightly smiling.

You’re driven to fix everything for everyone. 

Even in her last moments, Lexa lovingly smiles, and stares at Clarke. She’s staring at the girl who always makes the best decision for her people, the girl who never backs away from a possibility to make peace with her ennemies, the girl who always wants to save as many people as she can. 

With her last bits of strength, she smiles and stares lovingly at Clarke. 

What she finds is partly comfort, because she knows the girl she loves will always be herself. She will always seek the best in life. Even in the worst situations. 

But as we can see, Lexa has tears in her eyes. She unsuccessfully closes her eyes to hold back her tears, but knows some are still escaping. 

Now, do you believe Lexa, Commander of thirteen clans, a long time trained fighter and leader, who is used to suffering in silence, both physically and mentally, who willingly grabbed a sword with her bare hands, freshly and quickly slicing them in the way, would cry? 

Yes, taking a bullet freaking hurts, but Lexa wouldn’t cry at the physical pain.

Lexa is crying, because as much as she finds comfort in seeing that Clarke is, and will always be, herself in any kind of situation, she knows who she’s leaving behind. She knows that she’s once again abandoning Clarke, and that, once again, Clarke will be hurt because of her. Only this time, Lexa wasn’t the one to make that choice. 

This time, they’re not in the cold, dark woods near Mount Weather. They’re in Polis, the place that made Clarke fall for Lexa once again, a place reflecting hope, and life. They’re in Lexa’s home, a place where they exchanged rough, and yet sweet conversations, where Clarke found peace while drawing Lexa in her sleep, where she found Lexa’s fears and hopes for the future; but mostly, where they found each other, going desperately and hungrily after each other’s lips barely a few hours ago.

Lexa was never afraid of dying, but this time, just to lay by Clarke’s side in their bed, she wishes she could just breathe a little longer.

And this time, as Clarke kisses her goodbye, Lexa falls asleep for good, only wishing she could hold those lips against her own forever. 

prettiestmess  asked:

Oh my God, could you do a top 10 for Michiru's outfits? I feel like they tried so hard to make her a fashion plate (as she well she should be) but were so often stymied by the 90s-ness of it all. I'd love to see what you chose.

The real question is, how will I narrow it down to only ten?? Michiru’s style is so hard to pin down because sometimes it works flawlessly and sometimes it’s hard to justify, in-universe, why she would ever choose to wear what she is wearing. (Thanks again to @sailorcivilian and @fukufashion for their comprehensive representation of Sailor Moon outfits!)

10. The 1940s called. They said you look really good in that dress, feel free to keep wearing it.

9. It is written in ink that this shawl may never cover more than one (1) shoulder at any given time.

8. (”coming soon to own on videocassette” voice) She may have a tiny bow and a tiny backpack, but she’s got a big heart.

7. They told me I could be anything I wanted, so I became the ocean

6. Wearing formal gloves and a pencil skirt to the racetrack just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

5. There are two kinds of people: those who say “you can never have too much denim on your body,” and liars

4. On the back, these shirts say “If found, please return to Michiru”/”I am Michiru”

3. The stylish yet practical baby-stealing ensemble

2. The dress that is responsible for putting many a young boy through early puberty

1. Look. I think there must be a story behind this one. I think this used to be a favorite tunic of Michiru’s; the pale lavender with the white belt is simple but charming. One day she was painting another one of her space whales, and Haruka yelled something from the kitchen about the shrimp paella leftovers in the fridge. In the one uncalculated move she had ever made in her life, she turned around and lowered her brush, leaving a short streak of dark blue on her dress. She tried everything; cold water, rubbing alcohol, Haruka’s Tide-to-Go stick, but she could still see a faint line where the space-colored paint was. Haruka would insist she couldn’t tell there was a stain, but Michiru would always know, and she couldn’t live like that. The next day, she bought a bottle of fabric dye. If she couldn’t remove the accidental stain, then she would make it an intentional one. She wears it as an act of defiance, a warning to the universe that Michiru Kaioh is not one to be defeated.

Victor loves playing scary video games with Yuuri… Wait, let me rephrase that: he loves cuddling up next to a terrified Yuuri, yelping and clinging onto him for protection, but he doesn’t like actually playing the scary game because it honestly scares him too.

The first time Victor was able to convince Yuuri to play Five Nights at Freddy’s, they had turned the lights out in Yuuri’s bedroom and huddled underneath a thick cover in front of Yuuri’s laptop. Yuuri bailed halfway through Phone Guy’s speech, so Victor took over. Yuuri screamed and panicked at every little shape in the dark while Victor wore this big goofy grin and giggled at his boyfriend, but his cold sweat and occasional yelps made his own fear obvious.

Eventually, they were so loud that Mari came in and yelled at them to keep it down. She could see that they couldn’t however (because they’re big babies lol), so she sat with them and beat the game, completely stone faced the entire time while her brother and his boyfriend shivered and clung to her for dear life.

His Family Doesn’t Like You PT 3

Harry sat at the dinning table, a cup of whisky in front of him. His long pale fingers gripped the glass. He had only had a couple, he wasn’t much of a drinker but getting lost in the glass was better than getting lost in a bar where camera’s would be. He hadn’t moved from the spot in the last couple of hours, every time Anne and Gemma hoped he would be done, but he wasn’t.

“He’s so sad,” Gemma frowns, pulling her suitcase out from under the bed, Anne sits in a chair, her eyes on the ground, “you should apologize mum.”

“He’s already upset with me,” Anne shakes her head, “the damage is done.”

“You were too harsh on her,” Gemma sighed, “I was too, we should’ve been nicer.”

“He’s had his heart broken too many times, that Haley girl, and Jen, they all used him and left him so heart broken,” Anne says. 

She thinks back to Harry’s past relationships. She never met Taylor, and Kendall was nice, but they both agreed it wouldn’t work out. Then came Tess, that ended quicker than it started, then Haley showed up. Harry was happy, buying her gifts, showering her in money, and he found her four months later in some other man’s bed. 

Along came Jen, she did some damage. She had taken so much from Harry, his time, his love, his money, and his happiness. Anne remembered reading it on twitter, Jen’s texts were exposed, texts where she stated all she cared about was the money and fame. Harry didn’t leave his house for days, he promised to never date again, until Y/N came along. 

Anne remembered how excited he was telling her the story of how they met. She was working in her small diner, she had the overnight shift, eleven pm to seven am. Her books were scrambled on the counter, notes everywhere, it was just her and the chef. Harry was hungry and when he googled a place to eat at three am it was the first to pop up, he figured it was nice and no one at this time would be there, but there she was. 

He sat across from her, asking her questions. She was so tired from working and studying she couldn’t even pin point where she had seen him before, and when she did she got all nervous. So nervous she started stuttering and he noticed her hands shaking, but she tried to hide it. 

Harry helped her with her flashcards, and ended up staying there all night talking to her. She asked him if he went to college what he would do, and he asked her what she was studying. Something about her made him feel normal, it made him feel happy. And for the next month anytime he had an hour or so he went to visit her. And Anne liked how happy her son sounded, but when the news leaked how he paid her tuition she quickly disliked Y/N.

“Apologize to her,” Gemma says, “give them your approval.”

Before Anne can respond they hear the door shut downstairs, “Y/N, baby, you’re back,” they hear Harry say. 

He struggles to stand from the table but he does. Y/N is a mess, her make up smudged, her cheeks pink and puffy, her hair is in a pony tail, “I just-well I don’t have anywhere to go, I’ll leave in the morning,” she says softly. 

She looks drained, “how did you get back?” Harry asked, rushing towards her.

“I walked,” she responds, stepping away from him, “I’ll take the spare room.”

“No, please, we can work through this,” Harry begs, tears in his own eyes. 

He embraces her, his arms tight, not wanting to let go. He can smell the fries and coffee off of her uniform, and she can smell the whisky on his breath. She’s tense in his arms, not relaxed as she usually is. 

“Harry I can not come in between you and your family,” she says softly, “I’m sorry.”

Upstairs Gemma closes the door, but her and Anne have their ears pressed against it, listening, “you need to go down there and fix this,” Gemma whispered. 

“Please Y/N,” Harry says. 

She shakes her head, pulling away and making her way to the stairs, “I want to marry you,” Harry yelled, making her freeze, making Anne and Gemma’s jaw drops. 

“What?”

“I want to marry you, I was going to wait till you finished school because I wanted you to be focused on your career, not a wedding, not more fans, not the media. But I want you. I see my life with you, I see myself waking up next to you, I see our kids, I see us being old, I see it Y/N. I do,” he says, walking towards her. 

“And when you left today I felt empty, not the empty I did with the others, but a cold and dark empty. I didn’t see you anymore and that hurt, I can’t-I mean I know I can live without you, but it won’t be the same. I’ll be breathing, I’ll be living, but I won’t be alive,” he adds, “don’t you want to marry me?”

“I can’t-”

“That wasn’t the question.”

She sighs, her eyes closing, “of course I want to marry you. I love you, I wouldn’t care if you had a dollar to your name, I wouldn’t care if you didn’t pay for anything, I couldn’t care less if you were Harry Styles from One Direction, I care about you, I love you. But I know how much your family loves you Harry and you will regret this later on when your mother won’t come to the wedding, when you want to have an event and your family won’t be in the same room as me, and I can’t do that to you.”

“Things change,” he pleads, coming to a full stop in front of her, “don’t leave me.”

“Don’t leave him,” Anne says through the door, she pulls it open, taking in the sight of her son. 

Harry’s eyes are red and he’s standing in front of Y/N, his hand wrapped around her wrist. “I was rude, and judgmental, and it was not okay the way I treated you,” Anne stated, “but after his past girlfriends I was scared. I was scared of getting that call again, I was scared of him getting further away from love, from happiness.”

Anne’s own eyes start to water, “I’m sorry Y/N, I was looking out for him, in the wrong approach, but I was. But you’ve done nothing wrong, and if you take him back I promise to open my heart up to you, I promise to take a step to know you, the real you, not what the damn media writes.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N wipes her eyes, “I understand what those other girls did, but I’m not them. I love Harry so much, and I would never even think about hurting him.”

“Then please,” Anne begs, “don’t go, please.”

Y/N looks over at Harry, “I’ll stay,” she says. 

“Really?” Harry asks. 

Y/N nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “yeah,” she smiled. 

Harry picks her up causing her to laugh, burying her face in his shoulder, “I’m sorry,” Anne says once she has her feet back on the ground, “if Harry loves you this much you must be amazing.”

“She’s pretty great,” Harry says, a smile on his face as he kisses her cheek. 

“Why don’t we all go to bed, it’s been a long day. Do you work tomorrow y/n?” Gemma asked, leaning against the door. 

“No,” y/n answered. 

“Well why don’t we all go for brunch?” Anne asked, “you can tell us about yourself.”

“I would love that,” Y/N nods, her hand squeezing Harry’s nervously. 

“Thank you,” Harry says to his mum, “for opening up.”

Where The Wild Roses Grow

Summary: When Jughead becomes an active member of the Southside Serpents, him and Betty are starting to grow further and further apart, as the boiling volcano of Riverdale’s Civil War is threatening to erupt in full force. Can a heart to heart with Alice Cooper and an old Serpent jacket give Betty and Jughead the hope they both need?


(This is huge so grab snacks and drinks. The Bughead scene ruined me. I apologize for all of this. Warning: full angst and sin ahead! I’m not describing it as much anymore cause after the Jughead I saw in the finale that’s a given but still, after I post this, I’ll crawl under my covers in blushing embarassment.😂 Here you go, lovelies! I hope you enjoy this! ❤️)


“On the second day he came with a single red rose

He said, "Give me your loss and your sorrow?”

I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed

“If I show you the roses will you follow?”

The snow is slowly melting under the heaps of rain and so is her will to contribute to life these days. The icy scenery that adorns Riverdale gives out under the rays of sun that stubbornly peek through the pine trees and white oaks, ridding their leaves from the coldness of nature, only to become shiny droplets of clear water that hold the whole kaleidoscope of colors, just like tears and their colossal scale of emotions. He is the ice, she is the stubborn sun; that’s what he tells her through the sad darkness of each night that they lay together but further and further apart. He says it as a compliment, in the most sullen John Wheelwright fashion, but she accepts it gladly as her fingers form infinity signs over the crackling ice of his golden heart. Her hair is golden too under the dim moonlight, it’s a match made in heaven, and she vows that tomorrow she will try to burn hotter than the December sun over the patches of snow that are menacingly trying to turn him into a lifeless statue. And she does. But not today.

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Why is no one talking about the fact that The Book of Breathings in ACOMAF is named after the Egyptian Book of Breathings which, consequently, are several late, ancient Egyptian funerary texts that is intended to enable deceased people to exist in the afterlife. I mean this seems kind of an important clue. maybe? 

In ancient Egypt  “breathing” was a metaphorical term for all the aspects of life that the deceased hoped to experience again in the afterlife.

Could the book Feyre has actually be related to this same idea? 

The first piece that Feyre, well she basically steals it, and that half of the book says the following: “hello liar” “Will you read me?” to which Feyre responds “NO” the book then says “Unmade and Made; Made and Unmade–that is the cycle. Like calls to like”. Then it calls her “Cursebreaker” The first half of the book is described as cold, cunning, heartless.

The Second half of the book comes to Feyre from a sympathetic mortal queen it sings to her: Life and death and rebirth, Sun and moon and dark, Rot and bloom and bones, Hello, Sweet thing. Hello, lady of night. Hello, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, sing me. This half of the book is described as Madness, Chaos, Disorder, and Lawlessness, Joy and Despair.

When Feyre takes the Book of Breathings with her to nullify the cauldron the book has this to say: “Sweet-tongued liar, lady of many faces—You see now, princess of carrion–you see what you must do”

This book is the only one that can nullify the Cauldron and apart each half could be said to represent a different side of creation and together it would represent the whole of creation.

The Cauldron is described as “absence, and presence. Darkness and whatever the darkness had come from. But NOT LIFE. Not joy or light or hope”. 

Does the Cauldron then represent death and the afterlife? When Feyre is telling the Bone Carver about where she went after she died she describes darkness. She said “There was nothing in the dark, but that it was not frightening.”

Feyre has already died once and been reborn, remade, from the powers of the 7 High Lords. What if those 7 High Lords each represent the 7 Gods of the Underworld/Afterlife. What if being remade by all 7 of them makes her the only person not just able to read the Book of Breathings but to truly command the Cauldron as well. 

You can not have life without death, you cannot have death without life the two are inextricably intertwined together. Yet for us mortals and the fae alike there is a moment, a bridge between the two that we must pass over to reach the other side of our existence from life to death. What if Feyre has become that bridge?

The Book of Breathings says 4 times to Feyre “Take us home” It tells her it must be “joined together”. 

I don’t know I’m just speculating at this point so if ya’ll have any ideas you wanna throw my way or you have a different spin feel free to jump in.

consequently the first chapter in the third book A court of Wings and Ruin is titled Princess of Carrion.

@propshophannah @teamfeyre @crochanblackbeak @princevvhitethorn @hermajestymanon

woman in doubt

little jon/sansa fic, for how i imagine their reunion might be like. or a fic that shows jon and sansa’s relationship through dany’s eyes.

When Daenerys finally arrives in the North, she finds Winterfell sorely disappointing.

It’s dark, looming towers surrounded by black trees and ice give an aura of unforgiving chill and rigidness. When she says as much to Jon Snow, he gives her a short bark of laughter. “Yes, your Grace, it is so different from the warmth and comfort of Dragonstone, wouldn’t you say?”

To her side, Tyrion attempts (and then fails) to muffle a snicker and she shoots him a dark glare.

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The Pawns And The Kings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut


Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Smut

Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.

Warning: Chapter contains sexual content that lacks consent.

I had never thought of an ending to my life as cold. I had never pictured one so stained with hatred - not for others but myself. Deep rooted hatred laid awake within me, the seed of despair beginning to bloom into an issue that over came me. I used to believe that I would die peacefully in a sense, whether it’s brutal or not I would undoubtedly rest. But now that perspective has been flipped up on its head.

Hope had swelled in my heart, a hope that I had finally obtained affection driven towards me. A hope that I was desired, a hope that I held a fragment of importance in a certain someone’s life. But his words had crushed this hope into tiny scattered petals, ones that held burn marks and scars from the scissors he held to cut my heart into pieces. I was wilting under his touch, and instead of helping he grew disgusted and dropped me.

And so the flower was carried by the wind, the wind that held it in its hurdling clutches. The wind was in love with the flame, so it selfishly offered the flower as a gift. And so the petals caught aflame, turning to dust - unable to carry any shame. As it wilted and crumbled it caught the smile of the wind and the glance of the flame, and gracelessly it rose to death.

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anonymous asked:

Can you write a fix where Betty and Jughead have gone their separate ways but Betty is jugheads emergency contact still and one day jughead gets into a horrible accident and Betty gets a called.

Okay!
***

Walking out of the dark office she spent Most of her time in, Betty waved at Lucy, the older receptionist with the turquoise glasses and bright red lipstick.

“See you tomorrow Lucy.” She tugged her dark blue windbreaker tight around her shoulders as the white haired woman smiled

“See you tomorrow Dr.Cooper.”

Betty made her way through the sliding glass doors of the Paws and Pets Veterinarian clinic. She was an accomplished veterinarian and everyone in the town knew of her and loved her, she had saved countless hamsters from their untimely death and she could work magic on a Pomeranian with a cold. Her life was steady and exactly where she wanted it, she was due to open her own clinic in Riverdale, just a town over. While Pembrooke was beautiful, Riverdale would always be her home. So sure, she was content, happy even, but still.. something was missing.

The familiar rainforest ringtone snapped Betty out of her daze and she dug in her coat pocket in search of the offending cause of noise, the thick wool gloves she had on made answering the unknown number fairly difficult, with a triumphant “HA” she finally brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” The blonde asked confused, she rarely ever got phone calls from unknown numbers, they usually just called the clinic.

“Hello, is this Elizabeth Cooper?” The voice was serious and deep.

“Yes. That’s me , can I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Riverdale Emergency hospital, I’m calling in regards to Jughead Jones, you’re listed as his emergency contact. There’s been an accident, Im going to need..” Betty slammed the phone shut as she hopped in her car, speeding through every red light, that dared come in her way.

After an incredibly anxious fifteen minute ride, Betty slammed through the doors of the hospital, her eyes searching frantically for anyone who seemed to be working at the hospital.

“Hello?!” She called desperately. “Someone please! I need to see Jughead.. Jughead Jones.” She pushed though people, grabbing anyone. Suddenly she felt a warm hand smooth over her shoulder

“You can come with me ms.Cooper.” A middle aged male nurse, tugged her gently towards the waiting area and sat her down, handing her a cup of water and speaking quietly
“Mr.Jones’ doctor will be out very soon, for now, relax here.” He smiled again and walked the opposite way, leaving Betty with shaking hands and wandering thoughts.

Six years. It had been six years since she had heard from Jughead Jones. Six years since they had broken up and promised to keep in touch, but life got in the way, Betty’s schoolwork, Jughead new found popularity after he became a NewYork Times bestselling author. They just drifted apart. That didn’t mean she didn’t own every single copy of every single book he had written, notes scattered in the margins. But here she was, sitting in a hospital waiting for news on her first love, her heart racing in her chest, stomach in knots.

“Elizabeth Cooper?”

She whipped around at the voice and rushed over to the tall man In the doctors scrubs.
“Is he okay? What happened? Can i see him? If you let him die I will sue you for everything, my best friend is Veronica Lodge, best lawyer in all of NewYork.” She threatened, her eyes filling with tears.

“Ms.Cooper, Jughead is fine. He was in a minor motorcycle accident, the extent of his injuries is a broken arm. You can go in and see him.” He stepped aside with a knowing smile and right before Betty breezed past him, she turned around.

“His medical records, are they old? Do you maybe still have his emergency contact from high school?” She questioned, her voice the picture of faux steady and cool.

The doctor smiled softly
“Actually Mr.Jones just came in last month to update his records, he still signed you as his emergency contact.”

Betty stared for a moment longer, her eyes somewhere far away, somewhere colored with leather jackets and strawberry milkshakes, a hidden smile appearing on her face before she raced down the hall.

Slamming the door to his hospital room open, she smiled when she saw him attempting to wrap his flannel over the sling on his arm.

“I hope that’s not your writing hand.” She spoke softly, still causing him to jump and turn quickly, his eyes widening when he saw Betty standing in the doorway.

“Betty?” He asked confused, his eyes wide in awe and looking desperately handsome in his scruffy bearded glory, she was struck by how similar he looked to his father.

“the doctor called. I’m your emergency contact remember?” She smiled and took a seat on the bed beside him.

He groaned and smacked his good hand to his forehead

“This hardly constitutes an emergency, I’m so sorry Betty.” He blushed light pink and looked away.

“Hey.” She brought his attention back to her “ im happy they called me. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you and I didn’t know.. I didn’t..” she trailed off, her fingers moving to dig into her palms, even after all these years she still hadn’t dropped the habit.

Jughead was quick to catch it, just like he always had been, enveloping both of her hands with his.

“I’m okay.” He whispered, eyes burning into hers.

“When they called me I was so scared.. I thought something really bad had happened.. I thought I had lost you and I never even had the Chance…” she trailed off

Jughead brought his fingers to her chin, tilting it up so her eyes met his again

“Had the chance to what?” He urged her to finish, her dark grassy green eyes met his ocean blue and after a second she mumbled something suspiciously similar to
“Oh hell.”
And her lips were on his, his good arm gripping her waist, while her hands buried themselves in his hair. It was like two ships coming to dock. It was one of those lifetime original movie moments. Romeo and Juliet reunited and no one had to die.

When Jughead pulled away he panted, resting his forehead against Betty’s
“I come three times a year to make sure you’re still my emergency contact, I wouldn’t want anyone else but you by my side.” He whispered into the quiet air, his nose nuzzling hers as he breathed in her familiar scent. She was home to him, no matter how long it took he had always known he would come back home.

“Next time you want to see me, just call. You don’t have to get into a motorcycle accident every time. Your insurance will skyrocket.” She giggled and he grinned, pressing his lips to hers again

“You got it Juliet.”

atratum  asked:

miranda!

1. 

Mr. Hamilton asks her to marry him so often it becomes a game. “Marry me, Miss Barlow,” he’ll say when they step together in a dance, smiling at her as the dance separates them. 

“I couldn’t marry you today,” she’ll reply when the music joins them again, and his palm presses lightly against hers. “You will note the stormclouds.” 

“The rain would not do,” Mr. Hamilton will agree, hers for a few more measures. “Perhaps next week, when the weather clears?”

“Certainly not,” Miranda will say, and caress his thumb briefly with her own, risking the scandalized eye of Lady Heyward. “I could never marry under clear skies.” 

2. 

James books their passage under the names of Mr. and Mrs. McGraw, and although she understands the necessity–she won’t be parted from him, any more than he’ll be parted from her, and not even the relaxed atmosphere of a merchant vessel bound for Port Royal will allow Mr. McGraw and Mrs. Hamilton to share a cabin–she hates it. James is not her husband, although she’s never loved him more than she does now, the way misery loves grief. 

She’ll never have a husband again. 

1. 

Miranda refuses to marry Mr. Hamilton twice at the opera with the Dudleys, much to their amusement, but she takes his arm and arranges things so the two of them are side by side in the Dudleys’ box. He murmurs softly to her for the duration of the play, clever and wicked by turns, and she had him only the day before, on his knees in Duke R––’s library, but she’s already desperate to have him again. 

“Oh, marry me, Miranda,” he says with amused frustration when the night is over, but the conversation is not. “Come home and talk with me until we’ve put Caccini thoroughly to bed.” 

“Perhaps tomorrow, Mr. Hamilton,” Miranda says gently, and hopes that her eyes are promising him what she cannot, in their company–that she will give him whatever he likes in private, but she is clever enough to recognize the jaws of marriage, its unyielding bite. She has a few years yet before she must step into the trap. 

2. 

On the ship from Port Royal to Nassau, no one cares what their names are, or who shares her bed. She lies in the living dark of the ship at night–the men at watch walking above her head, the groaning communion of the ship and sea an endless chorus–and smooths her hand over James’s hair, mindless and repetitive. He’s awake, but quiet, his breath warm on the bare skin of her stomach. 

The last thing Thomas said to her was Take care of James

“I love you,” she says to the man in her bed. 

1. 

“I would never trap you,” Thomas swears in her bed, tender and relentless. “Would you trap me?” 

“Never,” Miranda says, pressing a brief kiss to his knuckles. “But it would not be the same. You would always have power over me.” 

He looks at her, very serious. “Would you like power over me?” he asks. 

2. 

James Flint murders a man at her word, and then returns to her, like an animal at the end of its chain. 

He tells her that Alfred Hamilton begged for his life. He tells her that her mother-in-law was there on the ship, too, and he did not spare her. His voice shakes in the telling, and she kisses him for it. 

Thomas died alone, in a cold, dark place. Captain Flint is bloodstained and grim in her arms, and she loves him, she loves him, she loves him. 

1. 

Thomas gives her a ring, a household, the promise of a title, and a small bundle of letters that would ruin him utterly if they fell into the wrong hands. He places them in hers with terrifying ease. “Come live with me,” he says, grinning like he’s won, like she’s won, like they’ve triumphed over an enemy together, “and be my love.” 

A year into their marriage, Miranda throws the letters into the fire. 

2. 

James comes home after a two month voyage and kisses her clumsily at the door, purple shadows under his eyes. She manages to get him to take off his boots before he falls into bed, but he’s too exhausted to remember his belt, or his coat. He’s asleep almost as soon as he lies down, and she sits down beside him, feels a rush of affection so strong it feels like fury. 

Oh, she thinks, looking down at the wounded face she knows as well as her own. You are all I have in the world. 

The affection dims under the weight of the thought.

The fury never leaves her. 

Swedish books/movies/tv shows you should read/watch

Originally posted by introverts-hideaway

Here is a list of swedish books/movies/tv shows that you should read/watch if you want to !

(this is not a ranking)

1. BOOKS

April Witch 

(Aprilhäxan) by  Majgull Axelsson. 

Desirée wants to know who stole her life. Institutionalised since early childhood due to severe disabilities, she lies in her hospital bed making plans. She can neither walk nor talk, but she has special abilities. Desirée is an ‘April witch’, which means that she’s able to see through other creatures’ eyes and can make them take her wherever she wants to. In her quest to find out which of her three foster sisters has stolen her life, Desirée becomes an invisible presence in their lives, following them, biding her time.

Simon and the Oaks

(Simon och ekarna) by Marianne Fredriksson.

Simon Larsson grows up in a working-class family in Gothenburg in the 1940s. World War II is raging. Simon’s father is a man of principles and strong views; his mother runs the home with love and warmth. But they are not his biological parents. Simon finds out that he was adopted and that his real father is Jewish. At school, Simon meets Isak Lentov, the son of a rich Jewish bookkeeper. The Lentovs, who fled from Nazi Germany before the war, becomes closely linked to Simon’s own family as the two boys make the transition from childhood to adulthood.

The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared

(Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann) by Jonas Jonasson.

On his 100th birthday, Allan Karlsson breaks out of an old people’s home, through the window. He is determined to fill his remaining days with adventure and embarks on a long journey through Sweden, being chased by thieves and police, making friends along the way. Mixed with his old-age adventure, his life’s story is told: he dines with president-to-be Harry S. Truman, hitchhikes with Winston Churchill, travels on a river boat with Mao Zedong’s wife and treks through the Himalayas.

Gösta Berling’s Saga

by Selma Lagerlöf.

A priest defrocked for misbehaving and drinking, Gösta Berling wants to die. The Mistress of Ekeby saves him from freezing to death and takes him in. As one of 12 party-loving homeless men in the manor at Ekeby, Gösta Berling becomes a leading spirit. But the evil Sintram lures the men into making a deal with the devil, which leads to the Mistress of Ekeby leaving home. Wild adventures, power struggle and redemption follow.

Let the Right One In

(Låt den rätta komma in) by John Ajvide Lindqvist.

It’s the winter of 1981 in the grey Stockholm suburb of Blackeberg. Twelve-year-old Oskar is being bullied. But he has a friend who lives next door, Eli. The two develop a close relationship, and Eli helps Oskar fight back against his tormentors. But this story is more than just a snapshot of average suburban life. Eli is a vampire, which Oskar has yet to find out. As mysterious murders spread fear and confusion in the community, Oskar starts to understand – but doesn’t abandon Eli.

The Road

(Vägen till Klockrike) by Harry Martinson.

In 1898, cigar maker Bolle faces big changes. Hand-rolled cigars have to give way to modern, machine-made, mass-produced cigars. Industrialisation is here and Bolle doesn’t like it. He hits the road. On wood-lined gravel roads we follow his vagabond journey through a Sweden about to change. Bolle learns how to beg without provoking people, faces the fear of inhabitants and meets riding policemen as well as vagabond friends. The vagabonds share a longing for freedom and a feeling of scepticism of the brave new world.

Popular Music from Vittula

(Populärmusik från Vittula) by Mikael Niemi.

Matti and his silent friend Niila grow up in Pajala in the very north of Sweden, in an area called Vittula. This is the 1960s/70s, when roads are covered with asphalt, small farms are closed and rock music hits the radio. The older generation doesn’t like the novelties, shaped as they are by memories of poorer times and by Laestadianism, a conservative Lutheran movement that started in Swedish Lapland. Mikael and his friends dream of another life, a life that awaits beyond the horizon.

Let Me Sing You Gentle Songs

(Nu vill jag sjunga dig milda sånger) by Linda Olsson.

One dark evening in March, Veronika arrives at a remote cottage in a small Swedish village, having come all the way from New Zealand. She is a young author longing for peace and quiet to be able to finish her novel and get on with her life after mourning a great loss. Veronika’s closest neighbour is Astrid, a loner. Behind her walls, dark family secrets and a personal tragedy are hidden. As the cold winter turns to spring, the two women slowly form a bond. Their friendship will change both of their lives forever.

The People of Hemsö

(Hemsöborna) by August Strindberg.

Carlsson is on his way to the island of Hemsö in the Stockholm archipelago to work at widow Flod’s farm. With Flod’s husband dead and her son Gusten not caring about farming, the farm is in a state of disorder. When Carlsson starts taking care of everything, Flod is happy, but her son finds Carlsson very snobbish. Eventually Carlsson marries Flod – but let’s just say she’s not the only woman on the island.

The Serious Game

(Den allvarsamma leken) by Hjalmar Söderberg.

Arvid Stjärnblom and Lydia Stille accidentally meet again, ten years after their young romance ended. Now, they are both married, but can’t help falling for each other again and start an affair. Lydia is an independent woman who gets a divorce and is prepared to follow her emotions, which turns out to have far-reaching consequences. Arvid, on the other hand, stays married to his wife with whom he has two children. It soon becomes clear that love is a serious game.

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She had stars behind each eyelid,
And a galaxy in her soul,
That drew people to her endless heart,
Like the pull of a black hole,
She was made of earth and fire,
Of wishes cast on shooting stars,
She was a brand new solar system,
Unlike the ones they’d known so far,
With constellations ever changing,
No one could memorize her skies,
And they thought the thing for them to do,
Was bring her down to size,
They shrunk the universe within her,
Told her her vast expanse was wrong,
That she should make her life much smaller,
If she wanted to belong,
As they collapsed her world around her,
She felt her inner stars grow cold,
Until her life was far too heavy,
For her once strong arms to hold,
You might wonder how it happened,
But I guess that it makes sense,
Because a life becomes much heavier,
When it’s the universe condensed.
—  e.h.