So I decided to try something different & took the Raw Shea Butter that I use for my skin and melted it to put in my hair…
MY HAIR LITERALLY FEELS LIKE A CLOUD LIKE I WAS NOT PREPARED ITS SOO SOFTTT. I’m lowkey mad I didn’t do it sooner.. BUT I AM LIVING RN
icarus watches the sun. gauges how close he’s getting, feels the heat on his back, the wax melting over his skin. icarus knows the exact moment his wings fail him.
achilles forgets about his weakness. he is a god, cutting his way through the battlefield, armor soaked in blood but none of it’s his own. he has no mercy, no lines he wouldn’t cross. he doesn’t even know he’s dead until his sword stops swinging.
hercules is tricked, wakes up to two slaughtered children and a dead wife. he is filled with rage, with red eyes and swimming vision. after he completes his tasks he toasts his victories with a goblet of ichor, the god’s blood. he’s dead before he puts his cup down.
you’d think after thousands of years, we would’ve learned from their mistakes. you’d think after thousands of years, we’d stop acting like it isn’t our own fault when our hearts stop beating.
the truth about your heroes isn’t always worth looking at– lily rain
A/N: Inspired by the song by Shayne Ward (You should listen to it!).
Byun Baekhyun awoke with what felt like eyes leaded with dust and a head full of sand. He stretched comfortably against the sheets, his soft skin melting deeper into the cotton. His tongue was laden with a tangy, unfamiliar taste. He blinked, staring past a long, pale arm to the sight of his beloved beside him, sleeping soundlessly.
He watched as your chest gently rose and fell beneath the duvet, your breasts and shoulders hidden beneath the pale sheets. Sunlight slanted through the thin curtains, giving the room an amorous, white glow. Your cheeks were warm and pink against the pillow, soft from the tranquil herbs of sleep. Gently moving as not to wake you, Baekhyun slowly slipped from beneath the covers. His morning erection rocked expectantly against his thigh, but he ignored it, snaking across the floor with the gentle treads of a butterfly. He bent to the floor, replacing his naked legs with the familiar, silky cloth of his white pajama shorts, and listlessly shrugged on a white dress shirt, not bothering to button it closed. He escaped quickly to the bathroom where he carefully cleaned up, brushing his teeth until they gleamed a blinding, pearly white, and washed his face. When he was done, he shifted down the hall and towards the kitchen where he gathered a clean, wooden tray, a sturdy pitcher of orange juice and a food hamper from the cupboard. After pouring two glasses of orange juice and a cold jug of milk, he placed the food hamper on the counter and carefully ripped it open, removing a wrapped set of toasted muffins, four plain bagels, six slices of bread, a fresh wedge of cheese, two handfuls of grape and apples and a round, bumpy orange. He placed a sturdy, china plate in the middle and carefully glazed it with the food, keeping the orange locked in his hand. When he was done, he turned to regard it sturdily. It was cold and stone in his hand, yet felt like it could easily melt into a pool of runny, warm juice if pinned under his gaze long enough. Shaking away any further thoughts of perplexity on trivial, piddling fruits, he fixed it calmly next to the stash of cheese and turned to pluck the slices of bread into the toaster. While he waited, he gently garnished two of the bagels with some sweet cinnamon spread and sliced the cheese into limp, even pieces. When the toast was ready, he tossed them readily onto the tray, which he took steadily into his hands, and started out of the kitchen and back along the hall, starting to recognize the familiar taste lingering on his tongue. Your taste. When he returned, the bedroom was still worn with the familiar albescence of waning dawn and his erection was now fitfully jerking against his thigh. He set the tray nicely against the bedside table, careful not to make too much noise with moving things around, and bent down so he was level with your peaceful sleeping figure. Brushing a loose strand of hair from your eyes, he admired the slip of bare shoulder peeking from the heavy coat of duvet. Seeing you like that made him want to hold and protect you even more and he fretfully hoped he’d showed you that last night. A smile tugged impatiently at his lips as you began to stir, your hair moving to splay across your neck. He knew how much you hated that and moved it slyly, carefully studying your face as you wearily came to consciousness. You twisted your head, turning to look at him. He was beautiful—the way the white light fluidly fell around his exquisitely lean form, his shirt parted around his nude front, the smooth dips in his stomach and sharp angles of his pectorals greeting you smugly. “Good morning, princess,” he brushed a strand of dark hair from your eyes, smiling warmly. You giggled, almost childishly. “Shouldn’t a princess receive a kiss the moment she wakes up?” “I thought a kiss was what woke a beautiful princess up,” he mused, leaning forward. His nose brushed yours and a blush bloomed in your cheeks. He smiled, eyes flamed with compassion, and closed his lips over yours. It was a warm, sweet kiss and you fretfully bit back a groan as his tongue gave you a wet, warm greeting. The taste of sweet fruit and tea exploded into your mouth—the taste of Byun Baekhyun. You cupped the back of his neck, tugging him closer as his tongue gently lapped against yours. He shrugged a hand beneath the covers, skimming his fingers across your hip as he pulled from your lips. “Breakfast?” You furrowed your eyebrows as he gestured soundlessly towards the tray on the bedside table. You smiled, suddenly aware of how unbearably hungry you were as Baekhyun took the tray into his hands and perched next to you on the bed. “Good sleep?” He grabbed the knife from the tray with one hand, fixing a bagel on the plate with other. You nodded as he began to garnish the bagel with warm cinnamon spread, occasionally licking his thumb and fingers free of it. “You?” He nodded enthusiastically, and you watched as both his eyes and hands fell in concert across the blanket covering your breasts. You emitted a shaky gasp and Baekhyun’s eyes lit above his smug sneer. He gently lowered the duvet, exposing your chest. His eyes glittered as he marveled at your rounded breasts, his fingers reaching to dance over the curved rosebuds tipping the flesh. He brushed your nipples softly with his thumb, the air swirling around them becoming blissfully warm. He quietly hummed and straightened himself again, seemingly in a freshly good mood, and took the handle of the knife once more between his delicate fingers and started the blade along the edge of the orange. A blush bloomed in your cheeks as you remembered how those fingers had sinfully worked you to euphoria. “Oops.” You quivered as you felt a drop of wetness hit the top of your chest. You looked down to see a strip of orange-colored liquid snaking almost languidly down to your nipple. A chuckle sounded from your right, brimmed with immorality, and you turned your head to look down at him. He was grinning nefariously from the pillow, but you noticed his hands had moved. They were now tipped almost purposefully over your breasts, the juice from the knife seeping freely to your skin. He pulled the knife back and sank the tip between his lips, coaxing the tangy-flavored stickiness into his mouth. You remembered how he’d poised his lips just like that when he’d been in between your legs the night before, his eyes and tongue flickering wickedly. He divested his mouth of the knife, driving it deep into the orange until the hilt was perfectly damp with yellow-orange liquid. His eyes roamed over your body, vigilant and watchful, and he gently plucked the knife from the base of the fruit, moving it so the flat end of the blade suspended just over your right breast. He lowered it slowly and you swallowed a gasp the moment the cold blade touched your skin. The flesh became doused with streams of bright, runny liquid and you watched as several drops swirled around the mounted bud of your nipple. “Mmm,” he reached to gently cup the underside of your breast, his fingers dipping into the full, soft flesh. “What a mess, I’ve made. Guess I’d better clean it up. You watched as he dipped his head forward and took your breast into his mouth, humming against you. He drew on it lightly, pulling softly, almost tentatively, at the nipple, measuring your reaction carefully. "You’re killing me, Byun Baekhyun.” He reached up, tenderly cupping the bottom of your other breast as his lips closed around the nipple, suckling sweetly. When he was done and faintly assured all his “mess” was cleaned up, he looked up at you, flicking an excess strand of hair off your bare shoulder. “Wouldn’t that be such a sweet death?” he murmured, lower lip grazing your nipple. You shivered, unable to meet his eye. His breath grazed your neck and you sank your teeth into your lower lip, concealing a moan. “Don’t be shy with me, sweetheart,” his hand ran up your bare thigh, which softened against his touch. He closed his lips around your nipple again, feeling it peak even further in his mouth. His pride seemed to swell as you finally released a soft, shrill whimper and he moved a hand down beneath the duvet to caress your hip. “So beautiful,” he gently pecked the other breast, the nipple mounting almost immediately at his touch. He smiled, reaching out a single finger to graze the rosy bud. You shivered, sharply taking your lip between your teeth as his finger ghosted across your nipple, sending tuffs of heat swirling around in the flesh. “So sweet.” He leaned forward, drawing it into his mouth whilst reaching under the duvet to grab your thigh. He gently pulled you from under the sheets and placed you gently on his lap, paying homage to your breast all the while. You cupped the back of his head as he stared up at you, running careful fingers along your skin with one hand. You heaved the tray off his lap and leaned across his legs, planting it firmly on the bedside table. The orange juice quivered with disappointment on the wooden surface. “Are you sure you just want to discard breakfast like this, sweetheart?” he whispered, feigning concern as he ran a hand across your stomach. “Oh, I’m sure,” you murmured, reaching below the duvet to slip a hand inside his shorts. His face immediately darkened as your fingers folded tightly around his erection, breath catching against you. You pressed kiss after kiss against the slope of his throat, stroking surely, but hesitantly. The incoherent growls in your ear propelled and coaxed you onward as you splayed your lips against his bare pectorals, nipping gently at the arched flesh. His soft, harsh grunts turned into pants as you quickened your speed, petting him definitely. He suddenly arched up off the bed, wrist folding tightly around your hand as he wrenched your fingers free of his erection. Perplexed, you tried to study his face to see what was the matter, but he crushed his lips against yours, breathing harshly. “Not now, baby,” he panted, stretching a hand between your legs. “I don’t want to come yet.” He began to pet you softly, latching the skin of your neck between his lips. He sucked, not to hard, but not gently either and a dark, purplish mark fused in his lips’ wake. You drew your lip tightly between your teeth, shamelessly beginning to slide against his fingers. A smirk formed on his face again as he watched you, panting and beginning to slightly curve against him with need. His other hand splayed gently across your ass, guiding you forward as he leaned to press an earnest kiss against your heart. “What happened to being shy?” he breathed against the muscle beating frenetically in your chest. “I want you too bad to care anymore,” you whispered, reaching to draw the flesh of his neck into your mouth. He stilled, a groan spilling in your ear. You remembered how he’d groaned and quaked for you last night—sex with Baekhyun was absolutely nothing less than fulfilling. “I can’t take it anymore,” he roused, reaching to grope you by the ass. His erection was sitting expectantly between the crevice of your asscheeks, twitching slightly against your skin. “I need you.” He pressed chaste kisses against the hollow of your throat and the supple skin of your neck. “Now.” You groaned, feeling as he rocked against you. Driven by need, you took him into your hand, pinning him right up against your entrance. Then, making sure to poise yourself straight to attention, you drew yourself down onto him with a quick, sweeping motion. He groaned, loud and fervent against your throat and you cupped the back of his neck, pressing kisses all along the crown of his head. “God, I love you,” he whispered against your throat. “I love moving inside of you.” He leaned back against the pillow, blonde hair spilling against snowy cotton. You watched as his erection slipped in and out of you, lined with gleaming licks of wetness. “Damn,” he rasped, reaching to pet your clit. You gasped, fighting back the urge to grab his wrist. Your stomach flamed with something tight and unbearable and as you fought it back, he began to quicken his movements, rubbing you in time to his thrusts. “Damn, you’re so wet.” You ran your hands across his chest, mapping the surface, painting the warmth of his nipples with your fingers and coloring the flesh of his hips with your palms. He caught your waist firmly with his hands, edging you onward, bucking to meet every single roll of your hips. He was slow, yet passionate, his face a mask of free euphoria as you moved in blissful concert, his mouth slack with ecstasy, his eyes deep and loving. The twinges of the sensation seemed to swirl and jet around you, catching you in its blissful halo as you rose and dropped against him. “Look at me,” he grated as your head began to lull back. He cupped a comforting hand around the back of your head, long, delicate fingers bringing you back to eye level. It was too much—too intense—swirling in his eyes was a hazy collection of emotions: love, affection, lust, concern. You bent forward, brushing your lips with his, but you didn’t draw them in completely, just grazing them lightly. He tugged you forward, trying to ease your mouths together, but you remained still, all the while still moving sinfully against him. Desperation filled his eyes as he pulled at your hips in rebuttal, locking his lips together in earnest. “Please,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and throaty, his eyes locked on yours. “Please—if anything
let me kiss you.” You swallowed, feeling your dominant facade slowly crumbling beneath his soft gaze. You drew his lips slowly into yours, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him melting into you. He lifted up and his bare chest slid against yours, his arm folding around you. You watched, mouth aloft, eyes burning with bliss as he heatedly rocked into you, his hips pouncing from the bed with each thrust. Your head fell back, your eyes closing as pleasure wracked every inch of your body, overtaking each particle, twisting it into a tight knot of ecstasy. He held you close, his mouth planting searing spots across every space of skin. You struggled against the strong, overbearing hands of orgasm tugging freely at you, coaxing you forward into its hot, smoky depths; you wanted to hold on—you didn’t want it to end yet, you didn’t want to let Baekhyun go. “Look at me, love.” It was like lifting the heftiest load of lead from your eyelids: your forced open your eyes, looking down into the sea of rust-colored oblivion. His eyebrows were narrowed and nudged together, his whole face crinkled with pleasure. You could tell he was close, not just from the sound of his heavy, ragged moan, increasing in volume, but from the sharpness of his movements, the dutiful charge of his hips, the snapping of his pelvis, the tight drawing of lower lip between teeth. You arched against him, reeling and tightening, as he leaned forward, lapping and sucking at your breasts. His hands went to cup your ass, guiding and gently mapping your movements, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. And then the knot that had been binding you tightly, concealing you from the face of pleasure, had suddenly been set loose. The world seemed to tumble around you, a blinding haze of white, brown, and orange, and at once you felt that time seemed to let go of you. You were suspended in mid-air, poised like a rocket sent to space, frozen in a period of free, scorching lust. Something tightened again, deep in your stomach, and you finally, gloriously fell. And then hands were slowly bringing you back to reality, grabbing and pulling you towards a wall of soft skin. Your head fell against a damp, clothed shoulder and the smooth skin of cotton seemed to slowly lull you from your daze. You felt Baekhyun’s hand gently smoothing out the curves of your back, rising and falling rapidly against his fingers. With the other hand, he carefully lifted your face, bringing you up to face him. His hair was a bright, tousled mess, blonde threads falling in loose heaps all along his temples and forehead. A trickle of sweat fell smoothly between each of his pectorals, which were rising and falling rapidly against your own chest. God, he was beautiful. “Are you okay?” He reached to cup your chin with the other hand, regarding you peacefully. “Y-You looked like you were about to faint. You were all flushed.” Instead of responding, you reached forward, breathlessly splaying your lips across his, kissing him with every last ounce of energy you had. You smoothed his face with both hands, mapping your fingers across the angled curves of his cheeks, sailing the point of his chin with your thumb. He groaned against you, pulling you closer and you folded your arms tightly around his neck, never wanting to let go. Unfortunately, he broke away. “Gosh, that was amazing.” You sniggered, a blush blooming in your cheeks. “We really should—have breakfast in bed more—often.” He squeezed you tightly, smoothing the curve of your chin, drawing sensual patterns along the skin of your hip with his other hand. “Catch your breath first, sweetheart. And yes, we really should.” You leaned forward again, dragging his lips into yours as he melted into you again, the tip of his erection probing your asscheeks. “Can I at least say one thing?” He nodded, his hair bobbing wildly against his forehead. “I love you.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling with warmth. He kissed you, a nice, light peck as his hands glided along your hips. “I love you too.” And then you were leaning into him again, drawing him inside, and with a soft, hoarse groan, the cycle started all over again.
feet on the ice, wind in his hair, hot spring steam coiling in his veins from birth on, warm fingertips hiding on thin fingers stuck in black gloves. bubbling water on burning muscles, green tea in the morning and at night. a mother’s kiss. a father’s kiss. a sister’s, friend’s, tutor’s hugs, over and over. love. love. love. being utterly average in school, wanting to go home. blades of a skate on pale skin. the stone steps in front of the rink. standing on a mirror-smooth surface.
the first touch of metal to ice. flying, screams stuck in throat, knowing.
long shirts. long pants. frost biting at open skin, steam melting the pain away. soft-cooked noodles. spring onions, broth that breathes hope back into cells. the golden inside of an egg melting in a mouth. sitting on a bed at night and looking at the moon. praying to nobody. nails so bitten that they bleed. feet cramping. shivering. fear. wishing it to be over. hoping for everything. being so loved that failing feels like betrayal.
failing anyways. leaving home. failing more. foreign countries, travelling. too much coffee. books. the polish that smoothes the metal that carries him over the mirror to heaven.
miracles. sunlight. bone-deep thrumming panic. disbelief. crying to sleep, crying in front of everyone. feeling stupid, untalented. new glasses. dark hair. eyes so warm nobody believes they would ever run out of love to give. watching others conquer the ice, trying the same, losing.
meeting people. standing up. a new scarf. curly dog fur. a mother’s hug. ballet shoes. pink ribbons. cracked lips. foreign languages. cold wind and new scents. disbelief until reality settles in. deep, deep breaths until lungs feel like bursting. body changes. running. stretching until muscles yawn awake.
the ice’s screech turning into a whisper turning into the whistle of a flute, the hum of a violin. an orchestra. a symphony. mastery blooming in the empty grave of insecurity.
dancing. ears red from cold and open for criticism. learning. remembering. falling and bruises that hurt until tears come.
a kiss. losing adoration. finding something deeper.
another pair of hands. glitter. diamonds. slicked-back hair. eyes wide open, warm still, calm too.
flying, again. being the centre of a crowd’s attention. kindness. smiling more. lipbalm. dark lashes fluttering shut. confessions. blushing against pale skin.
fighting. winning. peppermint. moonlight. understanding words in a language he just began to learn. soft sheets. not sleeping alone. tearing down an altar to paint the tarot card of lovers into the dirt.
waking at night. not alone. fingers tangling with even paler ones. ink stains from a pen. diaries. hope. lullabies.
Robb Stark and Lady Stark survive the Red Wedding. Talisa/Jeyne died and Robb gets his sisters back, there is a new and better King in Kings landing. The North is independent and the Starks killed everyone that betrayed them. Now you are the gem of the North, your father a great general that promised Catelyn Stark to marry you to Robb Stark so he is to remain King in the North.
(Y/N) = Your Name
(Y/L/N) = Your Last Name
Warning: Mean Robb (>3<)
The snow falling always made your heart warm, the way the fallen snow melted against your skin made you smile. You are now of age, a lady in waiting. You are in the snow garden at Castle Elderfrost, a large gray castle with tall skinny trees and frost on all of the blue winter roses.
loving hoseok feels like stepping out of a cold building and into the sunlight and feeling every bit of chill melt away from your skin and you feel toasty and tingly and almost like you forgot what it was like to be this warm
Kravitz doesn’t get summoned often, especially not to talk about his intentions toward his maybe-boyfriend.
Kravitz didn’t get summoned often. It was expensive as shit, for one thing, and for another most people didn’t want to encounter a grim reaper. The Raven Queen’s bounty hunters couldn’t be used as supernatural assassins the way some demons were.
So he was bemused to find himself jerked away from his breakfast (“breakfast”–coffee, black, spiked) and into a binding circle.
Nothing about her is human except that she is not a wolf; it is as if the fur she thought she wore had melted into her skin and become part of it, although it does not exist. Like the wild beasts, she lives without a future. She inhabits only the present tense, a fugue of the continuous, a world of sensual immediacy as without hope as it is without despair.
Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories
yall,,,, kehlanis new album slays my ass also Jason didn’t die in this i guess you could say hes his current age but can be out and about without people raising questions
im also using peggy and angelicas name you in this case would be eliza
You were at a gala, one of the most boring things in your opinion. Everyone showed up in the same dresses, same hair styles, and the same Chanel No. 5 that seemed to drown the room. The only thing different about this gala was that the Wayne’s were supposed to be there, you would die if you got a glimpse of Jason Todd.
He intrigued you the most. His black hair and light eyes made any woman in a twenty mile radius melt. His dark skin always looked good against the white of his tux. You had always wanted to meet the man, but was never given the chance and now here you were with your sisters at the same gala with him.
When he walked in your heart stopped. He look amazing. You had stared at the man for so long your sister had to pull on our arm to get your attention. He was taller in person, the slacks he was wearing made him look even taller. You could see his biceps straining against his jacket, your breath was caught in your throat when he turned towards you and caught your stare.
“Yo,” You turned towards Angelica and pulled her closer to you. “This ones mine.” She gave you a slight laugh and made her way over to him. They struck up conversation almost instantly. Your heart dropped. She could any man she wanted and she went for the one you actually thought you could bare.
You made your way through the crowd and said hellos to anyone who spoke to you. When you finally found your younger sister, Peggy, you let out a sigh of relief, she was always the one who calmed you down. Once you reached her you grabbed her by the arm and immediately started to rant to her.
“I just don’t get it Peggy, she could get any man with that mind of hers and she chooses the one person I have a slight interest in. I mean she could at least go for Dick, he seems really nice.” Peggy stopped you once you were done with a nod of her head and a smirk, you turned around and you saw Jason and Angelica walking towards you.
You turned back to Peggy and did a quick check to see if any makeup was misplaced or if you had a booger and she let you know you were good with a soft smile. Once Angelica and Jason reached you Peggy gave your arm a soft squeeze and went to talk to Damian Wayne, the youngest of the Waynes.
“(Y/N) Schuyler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You gave Jason a soft smile and he returned it.
“Schuyler?” His voice sounded surprised at the mention of your last name.
“My sister.” Angelica beamed at the both of you.
“It’s nice to meet you (Y/N),” Jason’s voice is soft as he takes your hand and places a quick kiss to the top of it, you could feel your neck heating up.
“I’ll leave you to it.” She walked away to find Peggy and left you with the man of your dreams, leaving you to fall in love with him.