Request: no request i just wanted to do this, also i originally had names for y/bf/n and y/f/n but decided to remove them and let you all do that for personalization.
Word count: 789
was the best time of my life, I casually swayed and sang along with the crowd
banging my head to the rhythmic strums of the hardcore, bands guitar. As the
lead singer belted his ear-piercing screams I noticed my friends start to slip
away from the crowd, I chased after them swiftly dodging through waves of
sweaty bodies to inquire about where they were going and why they didn’t
include me in their plans.
“Wait up, where are you
Y/bf/n spun around whipping
her honey brown, loosely spiraled curls around after hearing my voice call for
“We were just going to go
get something to drink, you seemed really into the show so we didn’t want to
bother you,” she responded, as Y/f/n continued to walk towards the lengthy
concession lines “do you want us to get you something?”
“Uh sure, get me a coke.”
“Okay.” she calmly
retorted and walked away.
bands set was almost over and the crowd slowly started to die down, I stood by
swaying to the calm beat of one of their more mellow songs when I notice a boy
in my peripheral. The straight midnight black hair that hung just close enough
to cover his eyes was swept to the side as he looked around. The way his eyes
drifted over his surroundings said he was lost, but the charming smirk spread
across his plump, pink lips said he knew exactly where he was. I was intrigued
by his somber demeanor and made it my business to know who he was.
glanced over at me after noticing my stares walking closer, but not exactly
towards me. I did the same. We continued to gravitate in the others direction
until we were so close we practically danced circles around each other.
He smiled down at me and
yelled “Hey” above the crowd noise
“Uh-h, I’m Johnny.” he
“Well,” I looked him up
and down, “I like your outfit Johnny.” commenting on his, what looked like,
well thought out attire.
“Oh these old things, I
just threw this on.” he chuckled referring to his worn in, black and white
vans, single cuffed brown denim jeans, and black band tee.
“That’s a nice name Y/n,
are you here by yourself?” he asked
“Oh, no my friends went to
go get something to drink.” I answered,
“What about you, here by yourself?”
“No, I came with my friends
Jaehyun and Mark, but they went to go see another band.”
The two of you spent the
rest of the set talking about your stressful journeys to the festival and what
other bands you’d seen before this one.
“And the drive here was
chaos,” He chuckled recalling earlier events “twenty minutes into the drive
here we realized that we forgot our tickets at home, then we couldn’t agree on
who to see, and on top of that I’m sure I’ll get lost trying to find them.”
“Well that explains why
you got here halfway through the set”
“Yeah.” He looked off
behind me, “Uhm… are those your friends?” he asked pointing at very giddy Y/bf/n
and Y/f/n who were staring at us, hands clutched together covering their mouths
to hide their excitement upon seeing you had made a new friend.
I laughed looking at them
“Yes, I guess I should get back to them then.”
“Well it was nice to meet
“You too, good luck with
finding your brother.” I shouted back at him while walking towards my friends.
“Hey! Wait!” he shouted
I cocked my head to the
side after hearing his voice and was thoroughly startled at the chaste kiss he quickly
planted on me. The kiss was fast but passionate and you quickly knew that you wanted more of him.
“So… can i get your number” he shyly glanced to the ground after performing such a bold move
“ Yeah, sure… totally!” you quickly grabbed the phone he pointed at you and entered your number being sure to call yourself so I’d also have his just in case.
“Well goodbye.” he winked at you before turning to go find his friends
As soon as I reached my friends, questions were shot at me
about the mysterious guy I was with. “Who was that?” “Where is he from?” “What
happened?” “How’d you meet him?” “What did you two talk about?”, after the
questions stopped I simply told them that he was a nice person that I would
never see again and that was that. The delightful day slowly came to an end as
my friends and I walked to our car and said goodbye to the festival until next
i am thinking about your lips and all the colors you like to paint them crushed berries and ground coral, bitten rose petals dripping damascene. ah, for the tender brutality of beauty!
skin of vanilla and spice-flecked cream and hair spun of thick dark honey smelling of strange flowers born and blooming beneath foreign suns. a body curved and lush, ripe as fruit, with hips an upturned bowl to keep it. the metaphors are all hungry.
in the blue darkness, when the bed sinks beneath another weight, i am thinking of your lips and of parting them with mine, to taste that golden attar of your bitten roses to twist it into dark honey between my fingers, secret and sweet.
you are a thing i could devour in metaphor and in truth.
The gardens down by the waterfront was one of his favorite places to have her. It was far enough away from the church that they could make a fair amount of sound without the fear of being caught. There had been a few times - how could there not have been - that they were careless, needing each other in broad daylight with her golden locks shining in the sunlight like a halo around her head. Sometimes it was almost as if God himself was giving his blessing to their union. Yet Killian knew that couldn’t be true because what they were doing was a sin in the eyes of the Lord. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Emma Nolan was an angel sent to him from heaven above and he worshiped her as such.
“He looks at her like she puts the stars in the sky”
She arrives at the
beginning of Draco’s fourth year.
Saunters in amongst
the other Beauxbatons girls, smothered in blue silk and soft mouths and giggles
that fluttered in their throats like butterflies. And there had been so many of
them; a mirage of powdered cheeks and rouged lips and practiced, purposeful
perfection, Renaissance paintings with rounded edges and placated smiles – but
it was her that caught Draco’s eye and never quite managed to let go.
Because he knows
myths, has ran his fingers over age-old ink that told tales of vengeful gods
and spinning wheels, gingerbread houses and maidens dragged beneath the ground
and he’s never understood the Trojan war, no, didn’t understand how pretty eyes
and a slender fingers could cause bloodshed –
But she feels the
weight of his stare against her shoulders. Glances over and meets his eyes.
He thinks about
trees falling in an empty forest and whether they make a sound.
He’s in the owlry
when he sees her again, tying a green ribbon around a letter addressed to his
mother. A coat of snow has been draped over the castle, frost etching patterns
against window panes and boots leaving imprints of wherever you go.
Draco’s breath fogs
in the air, words catch in his lungs as he turns and sees her, an apparition, a
A fur collar is
brushing against the slope of her jaw, pinned with a diamond brooch that’s ostentatious
and spectacular and matches precisely the color of her eyes. “Hello,” she says,
words dripping icicle-cold down the notches of his spine.
“Hello,” he replies,
because he’s a gentleman, extends his hand and marvels in how much smaller she is than him. How her
fingerprints seem to match his despite all reason.
A blush – fine and
faint and vaguely reminiscent of the ice dusted roses in his mother’s garden –
suffuses the grooves of her cheeks. “You’re,” she starts. Stops. Heart stutters
like it’s drowning. “You’re the Malfoy boy, aren’t you?”
And he wonders just
how much she’s heard.
arrogant and sullen, bratty and petty and widely despised. Because he’s sharp
edges and sharper words, the pomegranate that had tricked Persephone and the
curse that turned King Midas’ touch to gold. Because he can’t imagine anyone
who didn’t benefit from it like him,
no, not when his morals have firmly affixed themselves to his last name until
he can’t quite tell the difference.
“Yes,” he says, as stiff
as a starch collar. His Achilles heel is pulled taut. Then, “How do you know
who I am?”
She lowers her eyes.
The flutter of her lashes reminds him of the flapping of an owl’s wings against
the pale, pale sky. “I asked about you,” she replies, and his heart skips a
He’s in the library,
sat at a table in the back beneath color painted windows that cast stories
against the floor when under the burden of sunlight, fingers smudged with ink
and every word on the page somehow translating to the width of her smile and
the depth of her eyes.
A stray parchment –
his first attempt at his potions essay – is hanging languorously off the table.
Ink is speckled across the fine wood of the table, ink blots that they show you
in a therapist’s office and ask, “What do you see?”
preferred the hazy certainty of crystal balls.
And a weight is
settling into the chair beside him, the girl, with a textbook in her arms and a
question on her mouth and –
“Of course,” he
says, pushes his things aside so she has more room. “I could use the company
It’s not exactly
He hadn’t been able
to concentrate before and now all he can see if the blur of her smile in his peripheral,
a striped tie that abides to no house, long fingers and porcelain cheeks and a
lock of hair tucked behind her ear.
“I’m going to set
this whole school on fire,” she sighs. Giggles at the laugh that rumbles in his
chest like a thunder stroke. Sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. Pauses for
one heartbeat, two, and says, “Would you like to go for a walk with me? I need
a break, I think.”
It doesn’t matter
that they’ve been studying for barely ten minutes.
He says yes and can’t
help but compare the gossamer in the trees to the way her hair blows in the
wind, the gold of the eking sunlight to the apple of her cheeks, the rippling
of the lake to how he perceives her to be – everything below the surface.
They settle into a
routine by the time Christmas magic is flickering in the air.
He walks her to her
classes, helps her with her homework at night. She sits in the stands at his
Quidditch practices and loops her arm through his elbow when their footsteps
echo against the castle floor. She wears his jacket when it’s cold and they
discreetly pass notes during class, pretend that the smudged ink on their palms
doesn’t quite communicate how they feel.
She tells him of
France – all muted colors and crisp days, flowers blooming like pulses beneath
skin and people like dolls dressed for antique stores. Asks him to read his
mother’s letters to her when they come and lounges against his lap in the
We’re friends, he
tells Blaise, irritation lacing beneath his scalp as he twists his fingers
around the handle of his broom. Mud is caking the soles of his boots, sweat
congealing at the base of his spine.
And Blaise smirks.
Shuts his locker door with a clang. “Sure,” he says, reaches down to unlace his
gear. “You might be friends – but I hardly think that’s what you’d like to be.”
Draco doesn’t quite
know what to say to that.
It happens at the
against an ink-dark sky, orchestra crooning and champions shuffling across the
floor like it’s all a game of chess. Queen, King, Bishop, Knight.
are at her elbow bend as he murmurs into her ear, watches as goosebumps arise
on her arms from the cold and her laugh is quiet, tinkling like the crystals of
the chandeliers. Checkmate, he thinks. Keeps himself from staring at the line
of her collarbones and the fullness of her mouth and the way that her dress
droops just the slightest because, god, she’s a storm that he thinks he wants
to chase but tornadoes always have had a way of swallowing everything in their
“Dance?” he asks,
holds her waist and her hand and wonders if her heart, too, is burgeoning an
He whirls her around
the glass floor until her cheeks are stained a watercolor pink and he feels
dizzy, drunk, like he’s Dionysus and she’s the wine. And it’s all very inescapable,
“It’s too warm in
here,” she murmurs, sweat gathering in the pool of her clavicle. Strands of
hair frame her face, look impossibly similar to a halo as he leads her outside
into the chill and she glances up at the snow dotted sky.
He looks at her.
At the bend of her
neck and the slope of her shoulders and the curve of her mouth as she sighs.
He looks at her like
she put the stars in the sky, gathered up dragon bones and threw them to the
horizon until they were little more than specks against the cosmos.
He looks at her and
he can’t quite help it, no, can’t quite help the way his fingers trace the
shard of her cheek, heart strings tremble like the string of a lyre in his
chest and –
It feels like
destiny, when he finally kisses her. Bittersweet and melancholy and sugar spun
days, honey sweet summers, the wine he’s been forbidden to touch and the
ambrosia of the gods.
Let’s talk about Eve. Let’s talk about her nakedness. Let’s talk about how she got tricked by something Adam named, there is power in names. Perhaps if he had called it a rabbit instead of a serpent, none of this would have happened. Let’s talk about how she offered him the fruit.
Let’s talk about Pandora. Let’s talk about how beautiful she was. Let’s talk about how much she loved her husband and how she loved curiosity more. Let’s talk about how she got tricked too. Let’s talk about how she released everything except hope.
Let’s talk about her. Let’s talk about her ocean blue eyes and her honey spun hair and her olive skin. Let’s talk about how she got warned about you. Let’s talk about how you burned her until her flesh evaporated. Let’s talk about how she reformed into a spear that ripped you from your toes to your temples.
Let’s talk about me. Let’s talk about how I didn’t know you were the forbidden fruit or the forbidden pithos or the raging inferno. Let’s talk about how you dressed up in wings and a robe and called yourself an archangel. Let’s talk about your flaming sword of vengeance.
Let’s talk about you now. Let’s talk about how your sword is actually a plastic torch that really, wouldn’t even make a good lightsaber. Let’s talk about your hands. Let’s talk about your legs. Let’s talk about your throat. I thought I knew everything about you, but I missed out something. I forgot to taste the forbidden. I forgot to cut your heart out of your chest and take a bite. I forgot. Let’s talk about that.
( ALICIA VIKANDER, SHE/HER ) → oh look, there’s KATARINA MARIA ROSENBURG, the QUEEN of LOTHIERBURG. she is THIRTY-THREE and known as QUICKWITTED but also GUILEFUL, so be wary. people around here know them as THE AMARANTH. let’s see if she survives the war.
Good boyfriends went out and bought their partner a cake for their birthday. Great boyfriends baked their partners a homemade cake for their birthday. But Pearl wasn’t a good boyfriend…nor was Pearl a great boyfriend.
No, she was a drag boyfriend, er, girlfriend, and she was going to give Violet something special to remember this night.
I’m not sorry that this is up late cos I am at home and spending time with my lovely family. I wanted to write this about the past, but I know nothing about American history. Literally nothing. Seriously, until I was about…thirteen…I thought you chose your presidents by which candidate looked the most like naturally formed faces in the cliffs. Honestly.
This is short, and not very good at all. I’m busy.
She closed her eyes, counting backwards from ten, really hoping that she was delusional. Or hallucinating. Or dreaming, although she would have to question her sanity if she was spending her sleeping hours dreaming about grocery shopping at nearly one in the morning…
Which led her right back around to why in the hell was he here?
He was her mortal enemy. Alright, that was an exaggeration, but he was pretty close. From the first day she’d started at the law firm of Queen & Queen, she’d known that he was going to be the worst part about this job. You wouldn’t think that a lawyer’s son would have any interest in being part of the family business, much less insinuating himself into her department. Queen & Queen was an international law firm, which meant they had a large need for an IT department that didn’t suck. Enter her.
It was supposed to be just her and small team…
And apparently the devil himself.
Felicity had never met Robert Queen, since he spent most of his time in Russia, but she heard that he was a decent human being; how he spawned the worst human being ever was beyond her.
Almost every other text to her friend Charlotte was about the ‘demon spawn’ that was her immediate boss - he was technically her boss, but he did most of the project work right along with them, which at first had been endearing until she’d gotten to know him.