ski-field

Sensory Snapshots

“the five senses” of simple, pleasant moments that capture each sign. 


ARIES IS // Fast legs and faster hearts just as dawn breaks. Numbness from scraped kneecaps and bloodied palms and the dizzying blur of quick sidewalks. Clattering of a chain link fence; dry laughter from desert throats – the kind that rises up from your lungs into your mouth, leaving the rusty taste of adrenaline on the tongue. Smoke lingering in your hair and on your clothes.

TAURUS IS // Standing in the dim light of a warm oven at 2am, messy hair and satin pajamas. Night air dancing in the curtains of an open window. A spoonful of peanut butter thick in your mouth – the sweet of baking cookies fills the room, mixing with the white noise of hushed radio. A gentle hand against the small of your back – an involuntary tugging at the edges of your lips.

GEMINI IS // Bright blue skies and big white clouds. Birds nests tucked in branches, and linens clipped on lines, hanging in an afternoon sun that will plant fresh freckles in ruddy cheeks. The whistle of laughter through gapped teeth. The smell of fresh cut grass from between bare toes, and the stickiness of thumbs wiping the pink and yellow of cotton candy from corners of crooked smiles.

CANCER IS // Early Sunday morning – soft eyes with heavy lids open slow to a familiar room, the walls bathed in shadows and faded lighting. The quiet patter of rain drops against the roof, and the deep rolling thunder. Being surrounded by the soothing scent of home and down feather pillows. The overwhelming comforting weight of blankets draped over tired bones, wrapped tight in the warmth of sleep and rumbling of storms.

LEO IS // Summer kissed skin, big sunglasses and floppy hats. Bright skies over dry fields laced with endless rows of sunflowers – the floral perfume mingling with thick July air. The hot breeze fluttering under a loose tank top, frayed cuffs of denim shorts with holes in the pockets, against your legs. Ripe strawberries in open mouths, the smiling voices of friends singing loud and off key.

VIRGO IS // Crisp, white sheets on a freshly made bed, the corners creased and smoothed down with precision and care. The smell of morning mist and steam rising from the brim of freshly steeped peppermint tea. Ticking analog clocks, rustling papers and the echo of hurried footsteps on wet pavement. The cool glass of a foggy window against your cheek. The quiet hum of waiting.

LIBRA IS // The pink of sunrise filtering through half-open blinds, cast over silk sheets. Opening windows and being greeted by the wafting scents of breakfast and pastries. Tucking hands into the pockets of a new sundress. Sidewalk sounds of birds and bicycle bells and cafe conversations. A thick, creamy smoothie with chunks of fruit stuck in the straw.

SCORPIO IS // The harvest moon, full and round and golden, peaking out from behind clouds that wisp around her like ghosts. The hollowed hooting of owls and sudden rustle of dry leaves. A breeze that raises goosebumps under sweater sleeves. Rich, dark chocolate on your teeth, and lungs full of crisp autumn air – the eerie peaceful of nighttime.

SAGITTARIUS IS // Speeding down an empty road, windows down, wind in your hair and squinting eyes. Crackling bonfires on a river bank, embers dancing as the sun slips behind the horizon. Marshmallows melted to the roofs of mouths – smell of fireworks, and mud on damp skin. The chirping of crickets and boisterous conversations of close friends.

CAPRICORN IS // Midnight all alone – soaking in the almost silence of fresh snowfall. Glowing street lamps illuminating crystallized puffs of breath and streets coated in sparkling, powder white. The burn of hot, black coffee on your tongue and warmth of the cup through knitted mittens on your hands. The still, winter air full of aged evergreen.

AQUARIUS IS // A little shop in your hometown you never noticed before. Dusty books in foreign letters and saturated fabrics, old typewriters and odd lamps. The unique vibration of a phonograph drifts through air that smells like ginger, and something that can’t quite be placed. It leaves spice on the tongue. Tingling of curiosity buzzing under the skin.

PISCES IS // A midday picnic on the beach. Sunshine glittering on the sea, its shore decorated by delicate shells and colored umbrellas. Toes sinking slowly into wet sand as waves wash over them, the rhythmic ebbing and flowing of tides. Distinct scents of sunscreen and sea foam – the sweetness in a juicy mouthful watermelon. The haze of a dreamy day.

On Hogwarts Houses

Slytherin is fall evenings, the air crisp but not cold, the setting sun revealing autumn beauty before darkening to show a million billion stars in the indigo inky sky, when the air smells like cloves and cinnamon and smoke from the crackling bonfire. Slytherin is the faint trace of cigarette smoke curling from your lips. Slytherin is sushi, is apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Slytherin is a glass of golden scotch. Slytherin is finding comfort in jeans and a leather jacket, dying your hair and tattoos that are like artwork. Slytherin is pride in your heritage, in what it took to get you here. Slytherin is the warm blossom of accomplishment in your chest. Slytherin is tall boots and long scarves. Slytherin is the person you’d trust with anything and everything, the one you love above all else, the one you’d kill for. Slytherin is not being afraid of the dark, but remembering that night heals. Slytherin is musky forests and the steady soothing rainfall. Slytherin is sarcasm and wit. Slytherin is determination in the face of fear. Slytherin is talking your way out of situations to keep those you love safe. Slytherin is the love that shows itself quietly from day to day, with quiet brushes and unsaid favors, but that rears up in fury to defend if necessary.

And Slytherin is the dark side, the morally ambiguous, the race for whatever it is you desire, shoving others aside. Slytherin is locking yourself in a shadowed corner and curling up, because it’s too much it’s too much it’s too- and wiping the tears and standing anyway, because you can’t stop now, and you can’t show weakness.


Gryffindor is summer, cloudless blue skies and endless green fields. Gryffindor is adrenaline highs and truth or dare. Gryffindor is bright red lipstick and cologne that makes heads turn. Gryffindor is parties that go all night. Gryffindor is fireworks exploding in the sky. Gryffindor is standing up to anyone, friend, foe, or stranger, to tell them they’re wrong. Gryffindor is throwing your friend a beer and jumping on their lap to take a nap. Gryffindor is the love of horror games. Gryffindor is steak and burgers, Gryffindor is spicy curry. Gryffindor is taking the risk, making the leap, no matter the odds. Gryffindor is raising your hand in class. Gryffindor is passionate love, whether it be romantic, platonic, or otherwise, that sees no difference in a hand picked wildflower and a diamond necklace as long as it makes the recipient happy. Gryffindor is defending, even if it’s defending someone you hate against someone you love, because Gryffindor stands up for what is right.

And Gryffindor is recklessness, the uncontrollable emotion, the carelessness with laws and rules. Gryffindor is choosing the ‘morally correct’ option even if it means more are hurt. Gryffindor is solving things brashly, physically, and only making everything worse.


Ravenclaw is winter peace and blizzards. Ravenclaw is the beauty of white snow against evergreens and a baby blue sky. Ravenclaw is the sharpness and cutting edge of a cold breeze, the glint of a metal blade. Ravenclaw is the silence of a library, lost completely in a world of ink and screens and words. Ravenclaw is a glass of wine and an old friend. Ravenclaw is martial arts and street smarts, Ravenclaw is always asking why, Ravenclaw is pages filled with writing and doodles and diagrams. Ravenclaw is telling dirty jokes in code so no one can tell why you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe and the teacher can’t read the notes you were passing in class. Ravenclaw is failing a class because you couldn’t be bothered to read or do homework, it was too boring and you had other things. Ravenclaw is challenging the status quo and 'there’s always another option’. Ravenclaw is citrus and a stash of junk food that you always seem to eat right away. Ravenclaw is learning a new language because you want to. Ravenclaw is an innocent face that can hide the dirtiest mind. Ravenclaw is a pile of books that you’ll read - you will, you promise - one day. Ravenclaw is looking up and… hell, when did it get to be three thirty AM, you have classes in five hours, you… another half hour won’t hurt. Ravenclaw is love that happens slowly, like creeping ivy, till one day you wake up and realize it’s ensnared you tightly and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

And Ravenclaw is addiction, to coffee, to drugs, anything to get that clarity and that swooping feeling. Ravenclaw is coldness, is locking away resentment to fester, is 'revenge is a dish best served cold’. Ravenclaw is shutting up and never asking for help, because you’re smart enough, capable enough to handle it. Because you have to.


Hufflepuff is tea and sweaters and punching someone in the face because they need to shut up, calm down, or get the sense knocked into them. Or just because the punch was really satisfying. Hufflepuff is spring, Hufflepuff is winter melting away and basking in the sunlight. Hufflepuff is singing loudly to Journey and Queen. Hufflepuff is having the messiest rooms and yet knowing exactly where to find everything. Hufflepuff is 'there’s no such thing as too much chocolate’. Hufflepuff is one too many glasses of champagne so the world feels like sunshine. Hufflepuff is honestly not giving a damn what anyone else thinks. Hufflepuff is 'you’re never too old for…“ Hufflepuff is beating the crap out of people who destroy what a Hufflepuff believes in. Hufflepuff is prank wars that spiral out of control. Hufflepuff is getting shit done while everyone else argues. Hufflepuff is refusing to fit into the mold, which results in hufflepunks as well as Hufflepuffs in every dormitory because they have friends in every house and no one minds a 'puff sleeping over now and then. Hufflepuff is honey badger don’t care and angry momma bear. Hufflepuff is staying up till three am to talk someone out of depression, out of suicide, out of something stupid, convincing them how amazing and how loved they are. Hufflepuff is enduring scorn. Hufflepuff is a bumblebee hat on a Slytherin’s head because, despite whatever your mascot may be, YOU are a human and humans have ears and just wear the damned hat you asshole; a plate of supper next to a Ravenclaw and if you don’t eat it I will shove it down your throat with my own claws; a tightly wrapped bandage around a Gryffindor’s sprained arm and a surprisingly painful punch to the other shoulder because you NEED to stop nearly dying, thank you. Hufflepuff is loyalty, is true friendship, not the plastic My Little Pony stuff but the true friendship. Hufflepuff is the first ones to get Netflix running at Hogwarts, despite magical interference.

And Hufflepuff is loneliness, is the intense desire for friendship. Hufflepuff is having to deal with derision and scorn. Hufflepuff is the sting of betrayal and abandonment that cuts so much more deeply then with others. Hufflepuff is loyalty placed in the wrong ideal, Hufflepuff is loving the wrong person. Hufflepuff is drowning in emotions that bring panic attacks.

tl;dr

Slytherins are NOT evil.
Gryffindors are NOT assholes.
Ravenclaws are NOT heartless.
Hufflepuffs are NOT weak.

Thank you and have a nice day.

The signs as Windows XP things

Aries: 3D pinball
Taurus: Microsoft office programs
Gemini: word art
Cancer: the cloudy skies and field background
Leo: comic sans
Virgo: “error” pop-up
Libra: “windows is shutting down” song
Scorpio: spider solitaire
Sagittarius: gradients
Capricorn: the clip from Microsoft office
Aquarius: chess
Pisces: windows xp logo

Hogwarts Houses Headcanons

Hufflepuff is tea and sweaters.

Hufflepuff is punching someone in the face because they need to shut up, calm down, or get the sense knocked into them.

Hufflepuff is spring, seeing winter melting away and basking in the sunlight.

Hufflepuff is singing loudly to Journey and Queen.

Hufflepuff is having the messiest room and yet knowing exactly where to find everything.

Hufflepuff is “there’s no such thing as too much chocolate”.

Hufflepuff is one too many glasses of champagne so the world feels like sunshine.

Hufflepuff is honestly not giving a damn what anyone else thinks.

Hufflepuff is prank wars that spiral out of control.

Hufflepuff is getting shit done while everyone else argues.

Hufflepuff is refusing to fit into the mold, which results in hufflepunks.

Hufflepuff is staying up till three am to talk someone out of depression, out of suicide, out of something stupid, convincing them how amazing and how loved they are.

Hufflepuff is loyalty, is true friendship.

Hufflepuff is the first ones to get Netflix running at Hogwarts, despite magical interference.

Hufflepuff is loneliness, is the intense desire for friendship.

Hufflepuff is having to deal with derision and scorn.

Hufflepuff is loyalty placed in the wrong ideal, loving the wrong person.

Hufflepuff is drowning in emotions that bring panic attacks.


Ravenclaw is winter peace and blizzards.

Ravenclaw is the beauty of white snow against evergreens and a baby blue sky.

Ravenclaw is the sharpness and cutting edge of a cold breeze, the glint of a metal blade.

Ravenclaw is the silence of a library, lost completely in a world of ink and screens and words.

Ravenclaw is a glass of wine and an old friend.

Ravenclaw is martial arts and street smart.

Ravenclaw is always asking why.

Ravenclaw is pages filled with writing and doodles and diagrams.

Ravenclaw is telling dirty jokes in code so no one can tell why you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, and the teacher can’t read the notes you were passing in class.

Ravenclaw is failing a class because you couldn’t be bothered to read or do homework, it was too boring and you had other things.

Ravenclaw is challenging the status-quo and saying “there’s always another option”.

Ravenclaw is citrus and a stash of junk food that you always seem to eat right away.

Ravenclaw is learning a new language because you want to.

Ravenclaw is an innocent face that can hide the dirtiest mind.

Ravenclaw is a pile of books that you’ll read - you will, you promise - one day.

Ravenclaw is looking up and saying “hell, when did it get to be three thirty AM”, and you have classes in five hours but decide that staying up another half hour won’t hurt.

Ravenclaw is love that happens slowly, like creeping ivy, till one day you wake up and realize it’s ensnared you tightly and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ravenclaw is addiction, to coffee, to drugs, to sweets, anything to get that clarity and that swooping feeling.

Ravenclaw is coldness, is locking resentment to fester, is “revenge is a dish best served cold”.

Ravenclaw is shutting up and never ever asking for help, because you’re smart enough, capable enough to handle it. Because you have to.


Gryffindor is summer, cloudless blue skies and endless green fields.

Gryffindor is adrenaline highs and truth or dare.

Gryffindor is bright red lipstick and cologne that makes heads turn.

Gryffindor is parties that go all night.

Gryffindor is fireworks exploding in the sky.

Gryffindor is standing up to anyone, friend, foe, or stranger, to tell them they’re wrong.

Gryffindor is throwing your friend a beer and jumping on their lap to take a nap.

Gryffindor is the love of horror games.

Gryffindor is steak and burgers, Gryffindor is spicy curry.

Gryffindor is taking the risk, making the leap, no matter the odds.

Gryffindor is raising your hand in class.

Gryffindor is passionate love, whether it be romantic, platonic, or otherwise, that sees no difference in a hand picked wildflower and a diamond necklace as long as it makes the recipient happy.

Gryffindor is defending, even if it’s defending someone you hate against someone you love, because Gryffindor stands up for what is right.

Gryffindor is recklessness, the uncontrollable emotion, the carelessness with laws and rules.

Gryffindor is choosing the ‘morally correct’ option even if it means more are hurt.

Gryffindor is solving things brashly, physically, and only making everything worse.


Slytherin is fall evenings, the air crisp but not cold, the setting sun revealing autumn beauty before darkening to show a million billion stars in the indigo inky sky. 

Slytherin is when the air smells like cloves and cinnamon and smoke from the crackling bonfire.

Slytherin is apple pie with vanilla ice cream.

Slytherin is a glass of golden scotch.

Slytherin is finding comfort in jeans and a leather jacket, dying your hair and tattoos that are like artwork.

Slytherin is pride in your heritage, in what it took to get you here.

Slytherin is the warm blossom of accomplishment in your chest.

Slytherin is tall boots and long scarves.

Slytherin is the person you’d trust with anything and everything, the one you love above all else, the one you’d kill for.

Slytherin is not being afraid of the dark, but remembering that night heals.

Slytherin is musky forests and the steady soothing rainfall.

Slytherin is sarcasm and wit.

Slytherin is determination in the face of fear.

Slytherin is talking your way out of situations to keep those you love safe.

Slytherin is the love that shows itself quietly from day to day, with quiet brushes and unsaid favors, but that rears up in fury to defend if necessary.

Slytherin is the dark side, the morally ambiguous, the race to the finish line for whatever it is you desire, shoving others aside because you have to.

Slytherin is locking yourself in a shadowed corner and curling up, because it’s too much… it’s too much… and wiping the tears and standing anyway, head held high because you can’t stop now, and you can’t show weakness.


Hufflepuffs are not weak.

Ravenclaws are not heartless.

Gryffindors are not arrogant.

Slytherins are not evil.

Break Stereotypes.

Be Open-Minded.

Originally posted by saliechelon255

One day, one rhyme- Day 1298

We must choose carefully all the words that we wield,
Each username’s a person, each screen is no shield.
Words typed out in anger are not swift to forget
And the damage cannot be reversed by regret.
Take care with your phrases, they mean more than you know
The path they slash may just lead where none wish to go
And we could just as easily lay a path to
Bright blue skies, flowered fields and chocolate fondue.

#acspreadlove

In all honesty I love the midwestern gothic aesthetic because it works well both realistically and in fiction; it’s already horrific standing on its own, with all the hopeless people and cloudy skies, flat, barren fields and ominous signs warning of hellfire and begging you to seek salvation through Christ, but the idea of nightmarish creatures slithering out of the cornfields on an oppressively humid midnight in July is so enticing and I just really adore this aesthetic,

Fields of Heaven

Authors Note: Hey, everyone. I slacked on writing, I know. I am sorry, last week was not a great week for me and I couldn’t bring myself to write as much as what I usually push myself to. Here is a little something for you guys. I felt like writing something sad and this is what hit me when I stared at the title for a few minutes. It is sad, so please do not read if you are in an emotional state.

Trigger Warning: Sadness & losing loved ones involved. Read with caution. Xx



Two-Thiry-seven, in the morning, was when you received the call, a call you had never in your life expected to have obtained.

The moment replays in your head constantly, the moment you felt your heart drop, your eyes immediately began to well with tears, and your body was motionless for a moment.

You had pressed your hand to the side of the bed beside you, trying to find your boyfriend before reminding yourself that he had yet to come home from the studio. You had reached for your phone again, dialling his number.

The minute his voice beamed through the phone, you choked up, your words struggled to slip from your lips. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He had questioned, his voice seeming imperceptibly worn, but still had a hint of energy left in it. You could tell he had been appreciating the studio session. “Y/N? Are you there?” His voice pulled you away from staring at the wall, your thoughts circling your mind. You opened your mouth, the only words coming out were, “Car accident.” The line went withdrawn for a moment, your body unaware of what to do. “What? Who?” He instantly questioned, probably just as confused as what you were.

You didn’t know how this happened.

“My parents.” You managed to murmur, informing him of what you were trying to express to him with vague words that managed to escape your lips.

Now, now you are here, at the hospital with tears flowing down your delicate cheeks. You knew the day would ultimately come, where nature takes its course, where the stairs to heaven are walked by the ones that you loved the most, but you never expected it to happen so abruptly, you thought you had more time.

The stairway to heaven was something you thought neither parents would step for another twenty or more years.

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A Road Paved In Gold (1/?)

Summary: In Steve’s memory, the seconds, and minutes, and the hours of that day blurred into one endless moment of aching uncertainty and bone-chilling fear, but if his calculations were correct, his watch stopped ticking at the exact moment when his plane had gone up in flames.

Steve Trevor was never meant to die in the sky above Belgium for the reasons much bigger than he could ever imagine. Therefore, he didn’t. However, surviving came with a price he didn’t ask for. The price that Diana had to pay, as well.

A/N: Okay, so…. I was playing with this idea for a while until I had no other choice but to put it into words. Not sure how long this story will be, but I have 2 chapters done and 2 more planned out, so more than 4, for now. Hopefully they’ll be a fun ride!

AO3  |  Fanfiction.net


Antiope pushed the doors to her sister’s chambers open without so much a knock and strode in, printing each step on the stone floor – a privilege very few were granted.

Hippolyta didn’t even turn around, only her shoulders stiffened slightly in acknowledgement on the intrusion as her eyes remained fixed on the fire in the hearth, the flames reflecting in her diadem and making it look like it was pulsing with light.

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Adam’s Rib (Part 3C)

Masterlist | Part One | Full-Length Part Two | Part 3A | Part 3B

Pairing: Lin-Manuel x Reader

Summary: is it too late now to say sorry..?

Word Count: 11.4k

A/N: hey fam, what’s up? You’re almost there, folks, almost at the homestretch, so just hang in there and enjoy the ride.

we legit cannot tell you how excited we are about this entire story (we’re seriously so sorry that it’s the length of a legitimate novel [and there’s still just a little bit more oops]), but thank you all so much for being so supportive and just reading the thing like YOU’RE ALL SO INCREDIBLE THANK YOU SO MUCH WE LOVE YOU ALL TO PIECES OKAY ADIOS MUCHACHOS ENJOY PART 3  

Warnings: alcohol, drinking, and abuse


Lin continued to go to meetings as needed. On the weeks when things got particularly hard or he’d watched you suffer through cold sweats and nightmares one too many nights in a row, he’d find his way to his usual seat at the back of St. Francis of Assisi’s and remind himself that he was not at fault for your demons.

You didn’t find out until about three weeks in.

Lin had come over for dinner that night, making one of his mother’s old recipes on your stovetop while you worked on an essay at the small island separating your kitchen from your living room. Nights like this brought a comfortable domesticity to your apartment that made the spot at the top of your gut where the bottom of your ribs met feel warm and fuzzy. It was a new feeling, enjoying having another person casually existing in the same space as you, but one that you could easily get used to.

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Whimsy

Among lilac skies
fields of colors
before my eyes
leaves of azure
grasses gold
a step reveals
the roses bold
clouds arranged
in raving swirls
trees adorned
with lavish pearls
the paths aligned
with mushroom caps
of polka dots
and proper hats
when then upon
bewildered eyes
a flower of the
rarest guise,
its light refracted
crystallized
and gleamed
upon those
purple skies,
blinking twice
in disbelief that
diamonds filled its
splendid wreath,
a sudden noise
upon the scene
aroused to find
it was a dream.

-M.R.

2

    that is our heaven. beautiful blue skies, open fields. my prince will get to ride horses there and for my beautiful princess i will make crowns from the flowers in the gardens. we will awaken to the smell of roses, hyacinths and lilacs every morning. we will watch the stars at night together. we will be free from all troubles. the happiness and peace we could not find in this palace, we will find there.

Coffee Shop Tweet - Dan Howell Fanfiction

A Quick Fic based on this tweet…

I took a long sip out of my mug, the taste of tea washing over my tongue and down my throat before releasing a deep and content sigh. It had been a while since I had enough time to just sit and enjoy my surroundings, though lord only knew why. It wasn’t like I didn’t get up early enough, it just seemed that lately time went by in the blink of an eye and before I knew it I was rushing out the door frantically trying to shove everything I needed into my purse. But today was different. Today was a day where I didn’t have university classes, didn’t have any social plans and definitely didn’t have any pressing responsibilities that were nagging at my soul. No, today was just a day to be myself and relax in my favourite coffee shop.

I took a moment to take in my surroundings. It wasn’t particularly busy that day, the Café was nonetheless beautiful though. It was a nice place with the side facing the street lined with large windows and booths with surprisingly comfortable seats. From there the floor was dotted with simple but strong wooden tables and chairs and with bright hanging lights dangling from the ceiling, the equipment was always clean and the people who worked there knew you by name. overall it was a relaxing atmosphere that quickly when I first discovered it became my happy place. Today was no different.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, briefly taking in the mouth-watering scent of tea and coffee fumes before concentrating somewhere else. I took a moment to visualise the flowing green hills and open skies, with a field of flowers stretching on forever, I imagined the scents and the sensations that would caress my senses and smiled in bliss. When I found myself completely immersed in my idea I opened my eyes and began penning down my thoughts. My entire life I had wanted to be a writer. It’s what I centred my entire life around, all with the hopeful thoughts that I would one day be published successfully, my words out in the world for people to enjoy and hopefully love. The problem was, that lately I hardly found time to write properly anymore; I was too busy being bombarded by assignments, classes with required attendance, exams, studying and work. Now, that I only had work to worry about for the next month I planned on reading and writing until I dropped. Which I realise sounds really lame even in my head… but hey! Can’t really change what makes you happy.

I scribbled down to the end of the page in my atrociously messy hand writing until I was stuck on how to correctly phrase the next sentence. I looked up from my page and rested my face against my hand tapping my pen against my lip. Without even realising I started looking around the coffee shop looking for inspiration when I made eye contact with someone.

He was insanely tall, with beautiful brown eyes and swept to the side straight, brown hair. Dressed in black skinny jeans and a black leather jacket, he was walking through the centre of the shop with a take-away mug in his hand. Good grief he was gorgeous. I realised that I was staring in this moment and felt a blush over take my face, but I couldn’t manage to look away. Tension started to build in the space between us and when I saw his lips part to take a sip out of his cup, electricity zinged through my veins, causing me to part my lips in response. He still didn’t look away, I wasn’t sure how to react, being a social recluse like myself meant I didn’t have a lot of experience with strangers making sexual eye contact with me, I mean it’s not like I-

My train of thought was interrupted when the beautiful stranger slammed into the window, missing the door beside it quickly. The crack of his body hitting the glass echoed throughout the coffee shop and caused every body to look at him. I watched frozen in shock as a blush erupted on his face as he scrambled to right himself, a look of consternation crossed my face as I realised that I had caused this situation, like sympathy. Poor guy, I’d probably be stumbling around just as much as him. I tried to do something to help the situation but my brain was drowning in guilt and embarrassment.  Before I could gather my courage to do something he had already bolted out of the door.

Without thinking I packed up my stuff and followed after him. I threw myself through the door after him and looked back and forth rapidly to determine his direction. When I saw a familiar leather jacket and jeans I bolted after him, with my bag slamming against my side, I cried out “Wait!”

The stranger stopped and I managed to reach him after a little while and I slowed down when I reached his side. Since I was horrifyingly unfit I had to bend over for a second holding my hand up in the universal stop sign until I caught my breath, I must have looked completely ridiculous as he let out a deep admittedly sexy chuckle. “Are you okay?” he leaned down with me and placed gentle hand on my back suddenly caught up with the feeling of his hand warm on my back I blushed a little and jumped into a standing position. I must have come close to knocking him out as he reeled back from me quickly.

“I’m sorry!” I waved my hands in a panicked manner, before scratching the back of my head nervously. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, it looked like you hit your head pretty hard.” I smile a little to try and communicate to him that I wasn’t completely insane.

A matching blush swept across his features and he fiddled with his fringe a little; it looks like we’re both nervous wrecks. “Oh yeah, I can’t believe I did that while making eye contact with you. That was so embarrassing.” He gave me a small smile in return and my heart fluttered when I noted that he has dimples on his cheeks.  

“No need to be embarrassed, it was my fault for staring at you.” I laughed a little at his confused look.

“I’m pretty sure I was staring at you back.” He grinned and stepped forward and I was greeted by the smell of his cologne, the second mouth watering scent I had smelled that day.

“Well, I’d still like to buy you a replacement to say sorry.” I smiled up at him sweetly, man he was tall!

My thoughts must have been painted on your face as he let out another chuckle. “Only if I can buy you one as well, just not the place we were just in… I don’t think I want to return there ever again if I can help it.”

I giggled at the look of embarrassment on his face and nudged him with my shoulder. As we began walking side-by-side to the next closest coffee shop I added “It wasn’t that bad,”

He placed a mock-offended hand on his chest and tried for a dramatic pose, “Not that bad? Literally everyone in there stared at me!” I nodded in agreement but I wasn’t going to let this go.

“I’m sure you’ve experienced worse right? By the way, I love the way you pronounce literally.” I smiled at him, our hands brushing as our arms swung back and forth with the rhythm of our steps.

“Oh I could tell you stories,” he pronounced proudly, causing he to giggle. This one was definitely born to entertain others with his antics. He seemed to take my laughing constantly at his demeanour with pride as he then leaned down to my dwarfish height and asked. “What’s your name? I’m Dan.”

“Y/N”

“Y/N?” I nodded. “That’s a really pretty name.”

“Thanks,” I blushed and Dan straightened to his usual height. I still couldn’t believe how tall he was.  We arrived at the next coffee shop, when Dan stepped in front of me to reach the door first.

“Well, Y/N” he began as he opened up the door to the coffee shop for me. “I believe this is the beginning to a beautiful friendship.”

Offer Me

The amazing @raven-brings-light requested "offer me”. This is for you (I so hope you don’t mind Loki+lip balm) + a hug for writing such a beautiful fic for me eeeeeee!! 

(this is a little mix of classic Myth type thing and more modern. Sorry for getting names of places wrong!!)


                                                        ***


When I turned eighteen, my father gave me a pet Jotun. His name was Loki. The Jotuns, they migrate, just like birds do, when their treacherous  land turns too cold and steals the life away from their lips in their sleep, in that point when all dreams turn to black and vibrate with a melodious silence. He fled Jotunheim with his mother, who perished on the fourth day. Loki was captured two days later and was sent to be sold on our markets as a slave. My father told me that the men who captured him said his black-black lashes were coated with frost clear as water and that the breath of winter itself escaped from his lips and turned their hearts cold and lonely.  

“My lonely boy,” my father said to me, “gone for hours on end with only the skies and the hushed fields to keep you company, only the lakes to reflect your smile, only the caves to echo your laughter. One must never journey through this life alone. Therefore I gift you with a living heart, one you can share your thoughts and memories with. Close he is to your age, and he cannot judge, for he does not speak our language. Teach him, if you so wish, yet remember this: once you gift him with the gift of language, he may ask things of you that you will not wish to give. He may ask for the gift of freedom, my son. What will you do then?”

I loved roaming the fields of our beautiful lands, gathering pollen on my lashes and soft petals on my shoulders, tricking servants sent after me to fetch me back to the palace, making myself invisible to them in all those never-ending fields of wheat glittering like gold in the light, and arriving at the gates just before the sun goes down, breath tickly in my throat, ankles blazing red and sore, the sunlight still sticking to the sides of my neck. I was always alone, but then I had Loki and I took him everywhere I went. I’d watch the shadows of the branches paint ancient tales over the pale skin of his shoulders and arms, I’d feel the ends of his black tunic getting caught in the wind and brushing the sensitive skin of my calves, I’d listen to the sound the flowers would omit when he’d brush them with his fingertips and tip them over like a crumbling tower just to gently push them the other way and have them stand upright again, and I’d study his eyes as they’d touch with their gaze a ray of light fallen over a coarse tree bark, the airy wings of a butterfly caught in the breeze, the corner of a soon to be purple sky closing around a silver half-moon.

Two years later, father had sent me to Midgard, a short stay, to learn the ways of those I was destined to protect. Loki came with me and we found a place to stay, a little apartment, squeezed between so many other grey buildings it was impossible to see the sky. I’d find Loki sitting on the windowsill , his legs crossed, the vertebras visible through the thin fabric of the t-shirts he’d wear, his face turned up, lashes longing to feel the touch of a breeze upon them, eyes missing those shades of blue, and other shades, darker, of times long gone.

We’d walk the streets whenever we could. Loki couldn’t bear staying indoors in the summer. We’d walk side by side, shoulders touching, his gentle silence an entire dialogue between us.  The language of Asgard was soft and silky in his mouth, yet he felt uneasy speaking the words. They felt different to him, so unlike the heavy and sharp rhythm of the language they spoke in Jotunheim. So we invented our own language without even knowing it, a language invented by the passage of time and our need to know each other’s hearts. He’d see something and he’d look at me and I’d know what that thing meant to him, how it caressed his heart and left traces there. He’d smile and I’d know if it was a playful smile, shy, happy or melancholy, that smile you give someone when your heart feels like it bears the weight of the entire world yet you don’t want that someone to know how much it hurts.

We’d visit stores and he’d touch whatever he could, lips parted, blinking softly, fingers trailing over vases, books, picture frames and plastic roses.

It was on one of our trips to one store or another one summer’s day when I found him admiring a little tube of lip balm. The tube was made of the thinnest plastic and was light silver. Inside, the lip balm itself was pale-blue. The name printed on it was visage. It smelled like flowers and Loki had his eyes closed, peach colored lids gently covering pale irises lost in memories.

I stood next to him under the harsh neon lights and searched his face. He felt me looking at him and opened his eyes, fingers lightly closing around the sleek tube.

“This made you remember something. The smell of it. I could see it in your face,” I said quietly, “what did you remember?”

And Loki held the tube pressed to his palm with his thumb so he could gesticulate and used both hands to form flowers. And his fingers moving, along with lights, left silvery imprints of petals in the air.

He let his hands fall slowly and his next blink was sad. He looked down and when he raised his eyes to me again, there was a tiny raise to his eyebrows and he rolled the little tube in his palm with his fingertips and I knew what he asking.

“Sure, we can get this,” I said and he pressed his lips together with glee.

He’d wear it all the time. It would make his lips look wet and cool and if the light hit at the right angle one could see the tiny freckles of silver embedded in the airy texture of the balm. It kept his lips protected from the heat and when the fall arrived, we got him another one, it was the last one they had left and we almost couldn’t find it.

When fall would arrive, Loki’s hair would begin to grow at an alarming rate. It always happened. It would go from shoulder-length to touching his hipbones in under a month. It was his kind’s way of getting ready for the cruel winds and bone-chilling cold of the winter in Jotunheim. When we were living in Asgard, I’d chop it off with my dagger. There, on Midgard I’d use a pair of scissors. The blades would flash again and again and little by little I’d start to see his vertebras and then the back of his neck. It always pained me to do this, but brushing it in the mornings was hard for him and without words he’d ask for my help.

When it’d get cold, he’d sleep for hours on end. When he’d be awake, I’d find him in that same spot on the windowsill, looking for the skies. And when it would get dark and I’d go to sleep, he’d sit on the floor, uncap the lip balm and draw on the walls. The lip balm had a bit of a tint to it and Loki would draw with the sweet taste of it on his lips and the sugary scent of it in his lungs; he’d draw crooked trees and fragile lakes, flowers growing on stones and mountains dusted with sleep, the Jotunheim he so missed. They’d all be gone by morning; he would use the inner part of his wrist to wipe everything off but the scent would linger and fill my heart with sadness.

My father was right. Loki never voiced it with words, but the time came when he had asked me for the gift of freedom. And as much as I loved him, I could not refuse giving it to him.

On a lonely white hill in the heart of Jotunheim, we said goodbye. To this day, I still remember the sight of his long black hair dancing in the wind and the taste of the beautiful flowers of Jotunheim on my lips.  

“O, what has become of Altea?

Its skies and fields of green?

O, they say

the people have fled,

Disaster had spread,

They say

              it burned

                            from within