I’d like to imagine little Lexa running around the village and the nearby forest with her wild hair in messy braids. While some of the other Trikru kids had their parents or older siblings to braid their hair for them, Lexa had no one and had to do her braids herself. Some kid made fun of her for it once, but she nearly broke his face and from that moment on, nobody dared to cross her path again.
When Anya chose her to be her second, Lexa was beyond ecstatic. Not only was she going to train as a warrior who will be protecting their village and the entire clan in the future (and maybe put a stop to this war against the Mountain Men that had taken away her parents), but she finally had someone. Even if this someone was her mentor who sometimes thwacked her on the back of her head or slapped her face with mud when she was being too rash or too mouthy. Then one day, not long after she became Anya’s second, Anya made her sit down on the log, sat behind her and began doing up Lexa’s hair in braids. When Lexa started to ask, Anya tugged her hair really hard to shush her. Then after a minute, Anya said, “I won’t have my second looking so sloppy and disheveled. If you can’t take care of your own appearance, then how can you expect anyone to trust you to care for anything else?” (See, Anya was rather fastidious about her own looks. Where the other warriors were content with simply tying their hair back in braids, she would decorate hers with feathers and beads.) Lexa didn’t say anything to that, still making sense of that feeling in her chest, the feeling that she was no longer lost and untethered. That somehow she was someone’s. She wasn’t going to tell Anya that though; Lexa had a feeling she would be rewarded with more than just a muddy slap.
(What she didn’t know, of course, was that Anya felt that irritating pang of tenderness at the sight of this headstrong brat with the messy braids. That despite their protocol of making their seconds learn everything by themselves–especially with something as elementary as braiding–she succumbed to doing Lexa’s hair. ‘It’s just hair,’ Anya reasoned to herself. Of course, braiding was never just about hair. And if Anya noticed that Lexa had gone quiet and she looked like she was about to cry, Anya didn’t say anything.)
Flash forward to when Lexa has been called to lead her people as Heda. Along the way, she had met Costia–beautiful, kind, wise Costia–who came from one of the villages near the sea. This time around, Lexa had her “coterie of shield maidens” to do her braids for her, which she was grateful for because braiding is a time-consuming process. But sometimes, Costia would take it upon herself to do Lexa’s braids, and when Lexa would ask, she would only reply with, “I want to.” And Lexa would fall silent and let herself enjoy the sensation of Costia’s fingers on her hair, carefully pulling and twisting the wavy strands until they come together in such neat, beautiful braids. In these moments, Lexa would feel that she and Costia existed in a world removed from the one where every day was a fight for survival, where death was a daily visitor, where loss was a lesson that every child knew. In the moments when Costia would untangle the knots in Lexa’s hair, Lexa felt that somewhere there was a place for them where they could just be. And Lexa’s eyes would flutter open and she would just gaze at Costia as she worked, thinking and feeling, “Mine; she is mine.” And Lexa couldn’t help but reach out to her and Costia would oblige her with a kiss. It was never just a single kiss and one kiss followed another then another until they braided together into something that was all safety and comfort and love.
(Costia loved the moments when Lexa would let herself be young and vulnerable with her. Moments when Lexa would take off the mantle of Heda, and simply be Lexa. But as the days and weeks wore on, Costia was seeing less and less of Lexa, and more and more of Heda. Apart from the threat of the Mountain Men, tensions were running high among the Twelve Clans and in-fighting was happening more frequently. She had seen Lexa stay up late many nights, her eyes deep-set and worried, and so, so alone with the burden of leadership. Costia would not presume to know how to share in this burden for it is something that only the Heda could know and carry. But she could be with Lexa in the increasingly brief moments when she was not Heda. She knew that Lexa had people who would do her braids for her, but Costia insisted to take over when she could. She didn’t tell Lexa that she offered up a prayer with every twist of her hair, a prayer to the gods to grant Lexa wisdom and strength and protection from harm. Costia offered up prayers and all her love weaved into the wild curls of the bravest, gentlest, kindest person she knew. And as she would finish the last braid on Lexa’s hair, Costia would add a plea, 'Come back to me. Come back to me, safe and whole. Come back to me as you are,’ because the gods knew Costia wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything happened to Lexa.)
Clarke of the Sky People insisted that she try out braiding Lexa’s hair. After all, she was the reason why they get tugged free and mussed up in the first place. But Lexa kept on turning her down, saying she had people who do it for her, or that braiding took up too much time, time which they could put to better use, etc. Lexa wouldn’t say that the real reason why she wouldn’t let Clarke braid her hair was that the act reminded her too much of Anya and Costia. Two people she had cared about so deeply and who were taken from her cruelly by death. Lexa wouldn’t give voice to her fears that maybe she was jinxed, that everyone she loved would surely die. And she knew it was stupid but she held onto the belief that as long as Clarke didn’t braid her hair, then she wouldn’t die. Lexa wouldn’t say any of these things but maybe she didn’t have to. Clarke would just look at her in that careful way of hers then nod in understanding. One night, as they lay in bed, Clarke started running her fingers through Lexa’s wild, messy hair. “I am not going anywhere. You know that, right?” And Lexa could only bob her head in a shallow nod. Clarke’s lips quirked up into a small smile. “You are mine, and I am yours.” And that was as much of a declaration and the only promise they could afford to make each other. Lexa could feel her eyes stinging with tears so she turned to lie flat on her stomach, her face away from Clarke. “Clarke, will you braid my hair?” After a moment of surprise, Clarke jumped on the opportunity. Literally and figuratively. As it turned out, Clarke kind of sucked at braiding hair. (After all, there was a reason why she could only tie up her own hair in that simple way she had been wearing since arriving on Earth.)
Good thing she was rather skilled in other things and she was saved from Lexa’s further teasing.
I’m pretty sure a translation for this song will turn up soon, but here’s me posting my version of it.
I’ve spent the last few days crying over the ending to this game. If you like rhythm games and/or need a game for your smart device(s), I highly recommend that you get Deemo and play it. You will not regret it.
This song was played right before the climax, where the titular character Deemo plays this song as a farewell for the little girl. Only the second half of the song was played in the game, starting with the lines “’Don’t leave me’ you said, but I’m sure the one that can’t stand being alone is me.” TT__TT
And yes, I translated this song from Deemo’s POV. Kanji and Romaji lyrics are included. Enjoy!
EDIT (4/6/15): It turns out that there’s another version of the lyrics which actually makes more sense. I have changed my translations, the Kanji and Romaji accordingly. I can’t be sure if these are the ‘actual’ lyrics (they certainly are the most popular), so if anyone has the booklet or the scans, I would love it if you can confirm this with me. :)
Composition: onoken Lyrics: Sao Minase Vocals: Rin
Fast forward to when Lexa has been called to lead her people as Heda. Along the way, she had met Costia–beautiful, kind, wise Costia–who came from one of the villages near the sea. This time around, Lexa had her “coterie of shield maidens” to do her braids for her, which she was grateful for because as Heda, her braids has become more ornate and doing them had become a time-consuming process. But sometimes, Costia would take it upon herself to do Lexa’s braids, and when Lexa asked, she would only reply with, “I want to.” And Lexa would fall silent and let herself enjoy the sensation of Costia’s fingers on her hair, carefully pulling and twisting the wavy strands until they come together in such neat, beautiful braids. In these moments, Lexa would feel that she and Costia existed in a world removed from the one where every day was a fight for survival, where death was a daily visitor, where loss was a lesson that every child knew. In the moments when Costia would untangle the knots in Lexa’s hair, Lexa felt that somewhere there was a place for them where they could just be. And Lexa’s eyes would flutter open and she would just gaze at Costia as she worked, thinking and feeling, ‘Mine; she is mine.’ And Lexa couldn’t help but reach out to her and Costia would oblige her with a kiss. It was never just a single kiss and one kiss followed another then another until they braided together into something that was all safety and comfort and love.
(Costia loved the moments when Lexa would let herself be young and vulnerable with her. Moments when Lexa would take off the mantle of Heda, and simply be Lexa. But as the days and weeks wore on, Costia was seeing less and less of Lexa, and more and more of Heda. Apart from the threat of the Mountain Men, tensions were running high among the Twelve Clans and in-fighting was happening more frequently. She had seen Lexa stay up late many nights, her eyes deep-set and worried, and so, so alone with the burden of leadership. Costia would not presume to know how to share in this burden for it was something that only the Heda could know and carry. But she could be with Lexa in the increasingly brief moments when she was not Heda. She knew that Lexa had people who would do her braids for her, but Costia asked to take over when she could. She didn’t tell Lexa that she offered up a prayer with every twist of her hair, a prayer to the gods to grant Lexa wisdom and strength and protection from harm. Costia offered up prayers and all her love weaved into the wild curls of the bravest, gentlest, kindest person she knew. And as she would finish the last braid on Lexa’s hair, Costia would add a plea, 'Come back to me. Come back to me, safe and whole. Come back to me as you are,’ because the gods knew Costia wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything happened to Lexa.)
ok if we gotta go there then let’s fucking Go There
my eternal devotion to That Absolutely Fucking Terrible Person who makes a tony stark gifset compiling as many elements of this list as you possibly can:
- yinsen dying + close up of tony’s expression
- coulson dying + close up of tony’s expression
- happy in a coma + close up of tony’s expression
- maya dying + close up of tony’s expression
- pepper falling + close up of tony’s expression
- steve dying in tony’s vision + close up of tony’s expression
- JARVIS shredded hologram + close up of tony’s expression
- unconscious rhodey + close up of tony’s expression
Their kiss lingered as Jamie carried Claire from the windowsill. His hands held her close as he placed her on the bed and kneeled down in front of her between her legs. Their lips met over and over as their tongues lapped languidly against each other.
“I love you.” Claire sighed against him, her hands slowly opening the buckle of his belt.
“I love ye.” Jamie whispered back, his hands carefully drawing the shawl she wore from her shoulders, his finger drew ghostly lines along her arms as he went. She shuddered as a jolt of pleasure shot up her spine, her toes curled and her legs opened wider. She could feel her hips lifting as she angled herself towards him.
They undressed each other between sensual kisses and soft touches, every inch of fabric removed bringing their aching bodies ever closer. Droplets of sweat dripped along Jamie’s spine and his hands shook as he lifted his weight from the floor. They were chest to chest now. Claire’s whole body throbbed and pulsed, she couldn’t help but roll her hips as his exposed crotch came dangerously close to hers.
Breaking their contact, Claire lay back against the soft sheets of the Laird’s bed. The soles of her feet rested neatly against the warm solid mass of Jamie’s thighs as she urged him to join her. His hands held him steady either side of her head and she twisted to kiss the delicate skin of his wrists. Her hands slid gently over his sides, her palms tracing every inch of taut muscle there. She could feel him quiver and knew he was teetering dangerously on the edge. He wanted her quite badly, she could feel him against her, the heat of him and the heat of her mingling.
She watched him, her eyes barely open. They were both shifting with the other, not quite touching where they both needed it, but rocking. The bed creaked with each minute step. His mouth was open, lost to the intimacy that swirled around them. Claire didn’t know how much longer she could take this. Her heart raced and her thighs ached with the pressure building within her. It was like sweet torture.
Her hand slid between them, the gap big enough for her to run her fingers through the thick hairs that lay towards the base of his stomach. The air left his lungs in one big gust, the sensation of her fingers there causing his cock to twitch. He lay his forehead against hers as he waited and waited. A small smile crept across her lips as she watched him writhe atop her. His eyes scrunched closed as he lost himself to her touch.
“Touch me too, Jamie.” Her feet slipped further down his legs, falling between his calves now and trapping her hand against them both. His hips were almost flush with hers as her hand finally wrapped around the base of him. He shifted a little, just able to push his hand between hers and ran two fingers along the length of her. His head dipped and he took her nipple against his tongue and sucked. She arched her back, her bones seemed to turn to mush all at once and she cried out.
“Jamie, take me now. Please. I love you. I need you.” She muttered breathlessly. She was shifting and bucking under him, her whole body alight with pleasure. Her hands both grasped his arse now and he removed his hand from her and aligned his hips against hers. For a moment he simply held himself there. His cock resting gently along the length of her, every breath he took inched him closer. He could tell by the tightness of her thighs around his waist how much she desperately needed him.
He placed his mouth gently against hers as they both twisted their hips in the right direction. With one solid movement he was buried inside her. His tongue mimicked their actions, thrusting deep into Claire’s mouth as she moaned with their coupling. She tasted so sweet, of honey and summer and he couldn’t help but run his tongue against hers as he slowly rocked his hips.
The candles had long since burnt out, leaving the lovers in only a dim firelight. Their sweat drenched skin catching flickers from the embers as they joined over and over. Their shallow breaths became shattered cries as they came together for the last time, shaking and falling against one another.
“Ah…Dhia. Mo nighean. Tha gaol agam ort.” The wisps of his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her collarbone as he murmured his love for her over and over. She ran her fingers through his damp hair, her heart slowing as they fell into a peaceful sleep.
“Oh god how I love you, Jamie.” She mirrored, half conscious, her hands never ceasing their ministrations against his scalp.
She dreamed of him, of his subtle caresses, of his hands on her malleable flesh. In her mind he had his fingers drifting over her stomach, the pads running circles over the light hairs there. His mouth had started at her neck and was peppering kisses down and along her shoulder before nipping at the skin of her breast. She felt him, the wet softness of his lips, as he ran the flat of his tongue against her pert nipple.
She tensed and moaned, the sensation of him so real. She wanted to reach out to him. The sounds of his weight shifting on the bed seemed to reach her ears. Something nudged at her, urging her to wake.
“J-Jamie…” She stuttered, her legs twitching and slipping apart as his fingers nudged between her legs and rubbed her so gently.
“I didna mean to wake ye.” He panted against her, never ceasing his movements. “I’m s-sorry. In yer sleep, ye were calling to me and I wanted so badly to touch ye.” He brought his head up to take her earlobe between his teeth as he tugged.
“Ye can go back to sleep, ye dinna have to indulge me.” Her eyes fluttered open now as he pushed himself to the side leaving his hands lingering against her.
She gripped his fingers in hers, ran her foot along the outside of his exposed calf and then pushed herself more fully against him again. She held his hips close as she whispered in his ear, “…and let you have all the fun?”
He nearly choked at the playfulness in her tone but took her lips against his and kissed her thoroughly.
“No, my love.” Her eyes held his, serious but dreamy.
“Does it ever stop, the wanting you?” The words slipped from her lips like a prayer. He twisted her round then so he lay on top of her, her words sinking deep into his soul. No, he nearly said, I don’t think it does.
He pushed forward, the slickness of her enveloped him almost immediately. Home.
The delicious intrusion pulled her fully awake. Her legs ached, thrust as they were flat against the mattress but the feel of him against her was utterly indescribable. In the deep dark of the room they moved together, both half in a daze. The sounds of their breath the only noise that flowed through the silent room as they loved each other quietly.
The soft light of dawn rose sending wee bolts of dim blue fluttering through the still room. Jamie and Claire lay on top of the coverlet, legs twined, hands locked together over Jamie’s chest. Neither were worried about the cold, each keeping the other warm. Their joint smiles echoed their dreams, of love and home. Suddenly their heads moved towards one another and they met in a sleepy kiss, their lips still swollen from the night’s activities. Sated and happy they lay as the birds rose and went about their business, both more at ease than they’d been in months.
“What is this?” the captain growled, his stance wide and threatening on the rocking deck. Bilbo crowded as close as possible to Gandalf, his legs threatening to buckle and pitch him over the side. He already hated the two fleshy appendages - why, oh why, had he agreed to leave the water? He missed his tail.
“This, Captain Oakenshield,” Gandalf replied, nudging Bilbo forward, “is your navigator.”
“Ha! Navigator? He looks more like a merchant to me.”
Bilbo Baggins had walked this earth a total of eight times in his past. He did remember them all, in some form or another, though he could rarely recall their names or faces, or very much detail about their lives at all. He always remembered their deaths, though. And he always remembered how it was someone – a well-meaning wizard, for instance – had shown up and enticed or blackmailed him away from his home and family to go off and die for the good of the world.
Much like what was happening now.
Or: How the dragon soul of Bilbo Baggins made a deal with Manwë and can’t seem to escape the consequences, and Thorin Oakenshield looks far too much like one of Bilbo’s dead husbands.
Bilbo Baggins arrived home late one afternoon in the middle of the week and the entire west Farthing is still talking about it.
Poor Mister Baggins. He was doomed to be a nine-days wonder no matter what and is it any wonder after a year-long adventure? Even the Tooks haven’t the influence to hush that up, but Mad Baggins seems to have managed to silence every tongue in the Shire on that subject which would be awe-inspiring …if not for the way he decided to go about it.
OR: That one where Middle Earth seems to be unclear about where baby Hobbits come from.
Bilbo Baggins was proud to say that within two weeks of his arrival at Hogwarts, he had successfully fallen into respectable unimportance, where he remained for many years.
Six years, to be exact; until his seventh, which marked three things of import: his own thirty-third birthday, the retirement of Headmaster Sarumon and subsequent promotion of Professor Galadriel, and - most notably - the arrival of the dwarves.
Hobbits always survive; even where trained and experienced soldiers don’t. Has no one ever wondered about this? Thorin and the Company learn that it takes more than luck to be small in a big world. OR - Bilbo has unexpected skills and Thorin finds he likes them.
The problem, Bilbo would later tell Gandalf in aggrieved irritation, was not so much the unannounced visitors, oh no, but the fact that due to the lateness of the hour and sheer merciless fate, it came to be that at the respectable age of forty, Bilbo was being introduced to a real, live king while wearing striped pyjamas and fluffy slippers.
For as long as even the old Gaffer could remember there had been a wizard living in the hill at Bag End, overlooking the Shire. As wizards went, this one wasn’t the wandering sort, always out to lure gentle folk out onto nasty adventures, or even the powerful kind, the sort that lived in high towers, reaching out into the ways of the world.
Twisted by the effects of dragon sickness, Thorin banishes not only Bilbo but the entire company from Erebor. Days pass with no word from their missing leader and, fearing the effects the gold may have on the other dwarves, Bilbo decides to enter the mountain alone in search of Thorin.
What he finds may not be Thorin for much longer.
Or: In which the dragon sickness is slowly transforming Thorin into a dragon, and Bilbo must save him before it is too late.
Bilbo hadn’t ever expected his soul light to change colour. He especially did not expect it to change colour after bumping into a proud, surly, arrogant dwarf. He DEFINITELY didn’t expect to want more than mere acquaintaceship with said surly, arrogant, proud dwarf.
Thorin just never thought he’d be soulmate to a hobbit of all creatures.
Oh, I certainly do. XD Not sure how many you’ve read, but I’ll just post all the ones I really like.
The Road Delivered Us Home-In the years since Bilbo left Erebor, he has lost his respectability, gained a nephew, and gotten on with life at Bag End.He’d left aside adventure for the comforts and peace of his little Hobbit hole, and for the love of a child who needed him. Though perhaps, adventures can yet find him. (This is my absolute favorite Bagginshield fic to date, I devoured it in twelve hours)
Made and Remade the Necklace of Songs-In a Middle Earth where dwarves dream of Heartsongs and hobbits carry the name of their fated partner as private Mark, Bilbo Baggins had never been able to properly translate the strange rows of runes inscribed on his wrist.And likewise, Thorin Oakenshield had never imagined he would hear the voice of his Heartsong from a fussy little gentlehobbit.
Something Blue-Thorin marries Bilbo after the Battle of Five Armies, a marriage of convenience, not love. Slowly, they must come to make the best of it, Bilbo resolves. After all, he’s a Hobbit. They make the best of things. (This one is SO SO SO GOOD. Lots of angst and pining. Good stuff.)
* Nothing Gold Can Stay: Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an… adventure?
* The Courting Habits of the Line of Durin: Hobbits didn’t have such things as courting rituals – they were uncomplicated folk. They announced their affections with flowers or a cooked meal, a shared pipe or simply a kiss – and then there were meetings with both families and a date set for the wedding. Dwarves, as he kept discovering, were a completely different kettle of fish.
* A Shot in the Dark: When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself in his old bed in his old home in his old body. Is this death? Or a trick of magic? Either way, Bilbo recognizes a second chance when he sees one, and this time his adventure with Thorin is going to go a bit differently.
* Safe and Distant: "Bilbo never bothers denying that he is a slight, little bit, probably infatuated with Thorin. It’s not something that bothers him. Really. He’s pretty sure that everyone very likely has a little flutter in their chest for the dwarf. He’s something grand and unattainable. And it’s really much safer if it stays that way.“
* Prayers to Broken Stone: Twisted by the effects of dragon sickness, Thorin banishes not only Bilbo but the entire company from Erebor. Days pass with no word from their missing leader and, fearing the effects the gold may have on the other dwarves, Bilbo decides to enter the mountain alone in search of Thorin. What he finds may not be Thorin for much longer. Or: In which the dragon sickness is slowly transforming Thorin into a dragon, and Bilbo must save him before it is too late.
* A Dwarf’s Pride: Prequel to Over There and Back Again. “Long story short, master burglar,” Dwalin growled out, “it’s almost as if they raped Thorin in front of us.”
After the Dust Settles: “It seems that your bravery has done the impossible and sparked a truce between us and the Elves, fragile as it may be.” At this, the Dwarf king smiled wryly. Who would have thought that a soft Hobbit would have so much sway over the two most powerful figures in this region? Bilbo Baggins did not respond. He had remained deeply unconscious for the past seven days. Thorin Oakenshield tried not to let his heart break. An AU retelling of the events before, during, and after the Battle, but not necessarily in that order.
* Over There and Back Again: Months after the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo cannot say that his life in Erebor is unpleasant… but he admits it would be much better if a certain King Under the Mountain wasn’t so elusive. Will it take a trip to the Shire and another unexpected adventure to bring them closer?
For The Ages Of A Day: Sequel to Nothing Gold Can Stay. Everything happens so fast in Erebor. Bilbo returns, to a life that promises well-deserved happiness, but he would be a fool to think that finding that happiness by the side of a monarch would come without its surprises and adventures.
Thorin Oakenshield’s Majestic Diary: Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain and Totally Majestic Badass of Middle Earth, does not have a raging hard-on for Bilbo Baggins. No, seriously. Just read his diary.
In my mind
I am standing on the edge of a cliff
The ocean is churning in blues and frothy whites below
Shooting mist into the sky around me as it crashes headlong into the rocks
The wind is blowing hard
Curling around me
So my hair is flying around my face
And I am standing right on the edge
Throwing my prayers into that twisting wind
Watching them dancing and twirling away from me
Shining lights above the raging waters