the skies are full of them

What if, when Petunia Dursley found a little boy on her front doorstep, she took him in? Not into the cupboard under the stairs, not into a twisted childhood of tarnished worth and neglect–what if she took him in?

Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them).

Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes–she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.

Harry grew up small and skinny, with knobbly knees and the unruly hair he got from his father. He got cornered behind the dumpsters and in the restrooms, got blood on the jumpers Petunia had found, half-price, at the hand-me-down store. He was still chosen last for sports. But Dudley got blood on his sweaters, too, the ones Petunia had found at the hand-me-down store, half price, because that was all a single mother working two secretary jobs could afford for her two boys, even with Vernon’s grudging child support.

They beat Harry for being small and they laughed at Dudley for being big, and slow, and dumb. Students jeered at him and teachers called Dudley out in class, smirked over his backwards letters.

Harry helped him with his homework, snapped out razored wit in classrooms when bullies decided to make Dudley the butt of anything; Harry cornered Dudley in their tiny cramped kitchen and called him smart, and clever, and ‘better ‘n all those jerks anyway’ on the days Dudley believed it least.

Dudley walked Harry to school and back, to his advanced classes and past the dumpsters, and grinned, big and slow and not dumb at all, at anyone who tried to mess with them.

But was that how Petunia got the news? Her husband complained about owls and staring cats all day long and in the morning Petunia found a little tyke on her doorsep. This was how the wizarding world chose to give the awful news to Lily Potter’s big sister: a letter, tucked in beside a baby boy with her sister’s eyes.

There were no Potters left. Petunia was the one who had to arrange the funeral. She had them both buried in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had chosen her world and Petunia wouldn’t steal her from it, not even in death. The wizarding world had gotten her sister killed; they could stand in that cold little wizard town and mourn by the old stone.

(Petunia would curl up with a big mug of hot tea and a little bit of vodka, when her boys were safely asleep, and toast her sister’s vanished ghost. Her nephew called her ‘Tune’ not 'Tuney,’ and it only broke her heart some days.

Before Harry was even three, she would look at his green eyes tracking a flight of geese or blinking mischieviously back at her and she would not think 'you have your mother’s eyes.’

A wise old man had left a little boy on her doorstep with her sister’s eyes. Petunia raised a young man who had eyes of his very own).

Petunia snapped and burnt the eggs at breakfast. She worked too hard and knew all the neighbors’ worst secrets. Her bedtime stories didn’t quite teach the morals growing boys ought to learn: be suspicious, be wary; someone is probably out to get you. You owe no one your kindness. Knowledge is power and let no one know you have it. If you get can get away with it, then the rule is probably meant for breaking.

Harry grew up loved. Petunia still ran when the letters came. This was her nephew, and this world, this letter, these eyes, had killed her sister. When Hagrid came and knocked down the door of some poor roadside motel, Petunia stood in front of both her boys, shaking. When Hagrid offered Harry a squashed birthday cake with big, kind, clumsy hands, he reminded Harry more than anything of his cousin.

His aunt was still shaking but Harry, eleven years and eight minutes old, decided that any world that had people like his big cousin in it couldn’t be all bad. “I want to go,” Harry told his aunt and he promised to come home.

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Here’s to the ones who are not brilliant. Here’s to the people who question the very purpose of their existence, like I do. To the ones who feel like they do not belong, to the ones who feel they were born in the wrong century, in the wrong galaxy. Those who are full of insecurities, worries, doubts and fears. Those who feel crippled with paranoia and trapped in a meant coated skeleton. There are people like you and me, equally messed up, their souls equally complex and bruised. They too spend Sunday afternoons gazing at clear blue skies, trying to connect to their real self, looking for something to free them, to save them, waiting for miracles while sipping coffee. These people too are lost like you and me, their minds wandering aimlessly through forests and alleys, and places and countries, hoping to make sense of their own existence, hoping to be significant. Trying desperately to love themselves with the self-love they are told is the only cure, but failing miserably, horribly. So, on those evenings when your body and soul seem like two separate entities, when you feel exiled from the home within your own heart. Know, I have been there too and it will be okay, it will get better. It has to, right?
—  Kopal
The Labyrinth Chapter 40

Originally posted by bts-we-are-bulletproof

Genre: Gang AU/ High School AU

Pairing: Reader/Jimin ft. all the members

Length: 4.8k

Summary: Looking back on your past, your life has never been anything out of the ordinary. Although your parents had left you on one mysterious night, leaving you little to no explanations, you live out the rest of your years residing in a new town under the custody of your aunt. That is, until you return to your hometown to investigate the whereabouts of your parents during your senior year in high school. It was that fateful decision that led you to find a boy collapsed on your front porch one night, wounds gaping and life fading when your entire life is spun out of control. Somehow being dragged into a life of crimes in the underground business of his, you discover the twisted secrets hidden behind the world you thought you had known all along. 

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 Finale

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Bmc Summer Hc's no one asked for

Before school starts and summer ends, I’ll just dump this collection of my hcs

-chloe drives up in the heere’s driveway and just yells for the twink to get into her car

-brookes in the passenger rocking some sunglasses

-they get michael because you can’t keep the boyf riends apart

-”summers about to end so i want to take one last vacation before satans creation is back,”

-christine, jenna, rich, and jake are in rich’s brothers truck that he left behind for rich to use

- they rent a beach house

- when they’re at the beach so many guys are hitting on brooke

- you bet chloes jealous

- rich wears a jacket to hide his burns

- the boy loves the water but in order to go in he’d have to take his jacket off

which means showing his burns to other people

- jake stays behind to sit with rich

- jenna takes so many pictures and posts all of them on twitter

- they spend the evening having a full on volleyball tournament

- christine won surprisingly

- they all just pass out once they get to the beach house

- they went water skiing

- jeremy was screaming the whole time

- they stopped for a break and just sat at the docks

- michael made the mistake of bringing food and eating it in front of the seagulls

- jake ended up getting chased

- the boy hates birds

- that night there was a bonfire party nearby

- rich has a small panic attack due to the sound of the flames

- jake helps his boyfriend calm down

- they go diving and jenna loved it

- the boyf riends, richjake, jenna and pink berry swam with sharks

- they had to lie to brooke about it

- ”yOU TOLD ME WE WERE GOING TO SWIM WITH DOLPHINS“

- “im sorry babe-“

- they had to go to pink berry afterwards in order for brooke to forgive them

- when they got back home the were all s o sunburnt

raythebrutallyhonestguy  asked:

I saw your blog and I must ask one thing for people I know: Why didn't they take the eagles? It's a question, not a way to piss you off.

Hello! Thank you for asking.  :D Gotta love the Eagles.

Lots of reasons!!! 

We all know that the fantasy genre is all about suspending your disbelief. When you’re reading a work of fantasy, you can accept anything….as long as it’s given an explanation that’s consistent with its world’s rules.  The explanation doesn’t have to perfect, it just has make enough sense for us to buy it. The “real” reason the Ring can’t be destroyed by an axe is because then we wouldn’t have a movie. “The Ring can only be destroyed in the Fires of Mount Doom because Evil Power Magic”–we accept that because it’s the premise of the film. “The Fellowship can’t take the Eagles to Mordor because these reasons”; that’s also something we’re supposed to accept. 

And the thing with the eagles is…we are given plenty of acceptable reasons/explanations? Reasons that might not be perfectly realistic (because nothing in fiction is perfectly realistic) , but are logical enough for you to suspend your disbelief.

In fact:

Hey, any fellow Tolkien Dorcs! 

Reblog this post with Reasons why the Fellowship couldn’t have taken the eagles to Mordor?

If you feel like it. You don’t have to but it could be fun.

My favorite is:

1) Mordor has tons of Anti-Eagle Defenses, making it impossible to enter by eagle

As screenwriter Philippa Boyens said during the film’s commentary: 

 "Why does everyone always say that(they could’ve taken the eagles)?! The flying Nazgûl on their Fell Beasts would have stopped them! How much more obvious does that need to be?! Mordor has flying creatures too!“

Originally posted by mirkokosmos

And in addition to the Fell Beasts/Nazgul, Mordor has plenty of orc archers at the ready. This is the universe where even a  powerful dragon like Smaug could be killed by a single arrow.  (Just one arrow! Killing a dragon ten times the size of a Great Eagle, and covered in armor-scales!) The book The Hobbit confirms that eagles fear archers, because arrows can grievously wound them. Gwaihir, the Lord of the Eagles, nearly died from an arrow wound.

 And even if you don’t buy that a single normal arrow could kill an Eagle (which it could) remember that Mordor weapons are often poisoned (like the arrows that nearly killed Faramir) or cursed (like the Morgul Blades the Ringwraiths carry, or in the Hobbit-film-canon the “Morgul Shaft” arrow that almost kills Kili.)  And Mordor has catapults! 

“But we see the Eagles in the Battle of the Black Gate and they seem to hold their own against the Fell Beasts!” Yeah, but 1) most of Sauron’s ground troops are occupied with fighting Gondor’s army– so there are no archers to shoot the eagles. 2) Sure, the Eagles can fight the Fell Beasts…..but would they be able to do it while people are balancing on their backs????????? Watch that final battle scene again and imagine Frodo on one of the Eagle’s backs, flopping around trying to hold on as the Eagle does all those cool spiraling-sideways and upside-down moves. Frodo would fall off and die. Splat. The end. Roll credits. 

There’s also the fact that “the broil of poisonous fumes”  Sauron creates can’t be all that safe to fly in.

TL;DR: A flock of eagles isn’t discreet– they couldn’t sneak in. They’d be spotted from miles away. 

And a military tens of thousands strong excited to begin war, thousands of archers, skies full of poisonous fumes, the War-Bats referenced in the Hobbit (book and film) and at least nine horrific-dragon beasts…all the might of Mordor…would fall upon on the group at once.

Only one Eagle would need to die for the Fellowship’s mission to fail– Frodo’s. And with all Mordor attacking them, either it or Frodo certainly would. 

I leave you with this:

some thoughts about jaylah the magnificent

- Within her first week at Starfleet Academy, Jaylah hacked into the environmental controls and security systems of her dorm– because she was bored and twitchy, because she didn’t know what to do with a home she had not taken apart and re-wired herself. 


- She broke into the cafeteria after hours and told herself it was just to see if she could. She skipped class to go wander the streets and build a map of the city, of these concrete canyons and glass-and-steel cliff walls, of which way she would run if she needed to. She played her music too loud. Kirk wrote her from deep space, further and further away as the months and maydays of their mission moved on, to ask if she was trying to beat him in demerits earned in an Academy tenure. She took that to mean he approved.


- Jaylah had had a big brother, once. Elah had taught her about engines, about how to wrestle, and a lot of really terrible jokes, once. But Scotty walked her through the Enterprise’s engines, when she was rebuilt and shining. They got grease and fluids all over their overalls. Kirk and Spock sparred with her while they waited for the Enterprise’s next mission to come through– Academy martial arts and Vulcan holds and corn-fed Iowa brawling tricks. Uhura provided the bawdy humor, parsed out smugly at the edges of social gatherings. 


- They had set the ruins of the Franklin up as a museum, tucked into the floating bubble of Yorktown. Schoolchildren would take field trips to wander the halls of her house. They invited her to the opening ceremony, cut the ribbon while she and the Enterprise crew were still wandering, limping, through those clean curving streets, but she did not attend. 


- Instead Scotty showed up at her doorstep with a bottle of Scotch stolen from Chekhov. They played her music so loud it shook the walls and earned them a dozen pissed off texts from Bones and a single sternly disapproving note from Spock. They ignored them all and toasted the Franklin, a good lady, a fine home. 


- When Jaylah boarded a transport ship for Earth, for California and San Francisco and the Academy that lived in the shadow of that golden bridge, the whole surviving crew of the Enterprise came out to the loading dock to wave her good-bye. It had been so many years since she had known any faces so well, living, other than her enemies’. She pressed up against the window and watched them– peach and blue and brown and black and green– disappear. 


- No matter how hard she fought and hoped, she had thought she would never get off that planet. The moment she saw her father go down, she had thought she would never be able to survive that stab in his gut, that light that went out of his eyes. She had been small, willow limbs and shaking hands, and she had thought she would never see another sky again. 


- She got up early on cold mornings and walked through the swirling San Francisco fog. She greeted the sun as it climbed up over the Bay and burned the sky back to blue. 


- The crew pooled their credits and bought her a motorcycle for her next birthday, to replace the one they’d left on the planet. Jaylah had left a lot of things in that boneyard. She drove the steep streets on her humming bike and felt like perhaps she had not left everything. 


- When Jaylah took the Kobyashi Maru her final year, she watched her classmates complain and rant afterward about unfairness, about no win scenarios. She did not speak up, just took her results and left. The lesson was one she had already learned, already buried in herself. Sometimes you cannot win, no matter how good you are, no matter how brave, no matter how much you love your daughter and want to live and live and live for her. Sometimes all you can do is die the best way you know how. 


- (When the ruckus had finally died down on Yorktown Base, after the smoke had settled, after the crowds had parted, Jaylah had seen Demora Sulu run to her father’s arms. She had seen Hikaru kneel in the rubble and lift his daughter into his lap and hold her safe in his arms. She had thought, I would have died for this. I am alive, and I am glad, but I would have died for this, I would have, I would have died for this)


- (Her little sister Jessy had been about Dem’s age, the last time Jaylah had seen her alive). 


- She didn’t declare an emphasis in her Academy studies for two years. Scotty thought she should go into engineering, because as a traumatized, escaped child she had reverse-engineered repairs on the Franklin that could only be matched by his own genius. Kirk thought she would make an excellent command officer. Uhura, impressed by how she had taught herself Federation Standard from the Franklin’s logs, made sure the communications department paid friendly attention to her. 


- Instead, Jaylah took the introductory classes for every field of study in the Academy, ignoring the disapproving cries of her guidance counselors. In combat she was years ahead of her peers. She found languages easy, but their technical underpinnings were unengaging and confusing. In engineering she was gifted, but decades behind the state of technology. Scotty had happily dragged her through the Enterprise’s rebuilt engines, but her heart and her blackened fingers would always belong to engines lifetimes older.


- The Enterprise crew were on their second five year mission when Jaylah graduated from Starfleet Academy. They gathered in the main mess hall, all the crew that had survived the Enterprise’s first death, and the new crew members who had heard stories of this adopted daughter of the ship for years. They live-streamed the ceremony. Scotty wore a ‘PROUD BIG BROTHER OF A STARFLEET GRADUATE’ shirt Sulu had hand-lettered for him. Bones opened a bottle of good ol’ Earthside bourbon and pretended not to tear up when her name was called. 


- She wore medical blue.  


- After years of Academy schooling and medical training, Jaylah stepped onto a Starfleet ship, her badge pinned to her chest. The corridors curved into the distance. The lights hummed and lit up as the ship floor murmured under her feet. It felt like coming home. 


- But there were no rocky hills out her shipboard window, no dull sky, no shimmering shield to hide her from her enemies. There was just space– black, cold, endless; brilliant, star-studded; full of discovery and danger and things worth dying for. She was ready to boldly go. She was ready to bravely go. She had thought she would never see another sky and here she was, older than her oldest brother had ever gotten to be, with hands that could defend lives and save them and heal them. The universe was spreading out before her, endless stars lighting the skies of endless planets. She was ready. 

Here’s to the ones who are not brilliant. Here’s to the people who question the very purpose of their existence, like I do. To the ones who feel like they do not belong, to the ones who feel they were born in the wrong century, in the wrong galaxy. Those who are full of insecurities, worries, doubts and fears. Those who feel crippled with paranoia and trapped in a meant coated skeleton.

There are people like you and me, equally messed up, their souls equally complex and bruised.

They too spend Sunday afternoons gazing at clear blue skies, trying to connect to their real self, looking for something to free them, to save them, waiting for miracles while sipping coffee.

These people too are lost like you and me, their minds wandering aimlessly through forests and alleys, and places and countries,hoping to make sense of their own fucked up existence, hoping to be significant.

Trying desperately to love themselves with the self love they are told is the only cure, but failing miserably, horribly.

So, on those evenings when your body and soul seem like two separate entities, when you feel exiled from the home within your own heart. Know,I have been there too and it will be okay, it will get better.

It has to, right?

—  Kopal
All Hands on Deck (m)

Summary: You go all day with a budding heat between your legs and return home with the idea of taking care of it yourself however, when Taehyung arrives home a few days early from a business trip, you decide to let him join- but only after you make him watch. 
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader
Genre: Smut, Romance
Warnings: PWP, masturbation (w/ toys), foreplay, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, teasing, oral sex, edging, etc.
Rating: M
Word Count: 6,119
A/N: This is a (sort of) sequel to Helping Hand

Originally posted by taestiny

From the very first moment you woke up, a hunger and a desire incurable by normal food settling low in your belly, you had known the day would be nothing but long and tiresome. The alarm had not gone off, (no doubt caused by your late-night phone call with Taehyung in which you had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice before you could reset your alarm), leaving you with nothing but twenty minutes to rush through your morning routine and no time at all to spend five extra minutes in the shower quenching the heat and ache working its way through your system.

You had made it to work on time, thankfully, but your day had not improved. Instead of an eight-hour shift full of nothing but paperwork and a few phone calls, you had been forced to sit in on several meetings, all the while ignoring the way pleasure thrummed through you as you clenched your legs just a tad tighter. It was possible the ache between your legs was due to almost having to go a week without sex however, you knew it was mostly caused from the dream you’d been deeply invested in when the sun and the birds outside had pulled you back into consciousness; the dream had been rough hands sliding across your body, teeth and tongue scraping over sensitive skin, pulling small gasps and moans until you were nothing but a desperate mess beneath his touch.

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The Crown of the Sun

During a total solar eclipse, the Sun’s extensive outer atmosphere, or corona, is an inspirational sight. Streamers and shimmering features visible to the eye span a brightness range of over 10,000 to 1, making them notoriously difficult to capture in a single photograph. But this composite of telescopic images covers a wide range of exposure times to reveal the crown of the Sun in all its glory. The aligned and stacked digital frames were taken in clear skies above Stanley, Idaho in the Sawtooth Mountains during the Sun’s total eclipse on August 21. A pinkish solar prominence extends just beyond the right edge of the solar disk. Even small details on the dark night side of the New Moon can be made out, illuminated by sunlight reflected from a Full Earth.  

Image Credit & Copyright: Derek Demeter (Emil Buehler Planetarium)

Saurbury, Saurustan and Sauratlas

Based on Brachiosaurs, and serve as the ‘semi-legendary’ line on Islas Azul. 

Saurbury are known to gather in impressive numbers in vast plains, causing the plain to be seen no more. They like to created stampedes, which can be felt and heard miles away, and are rather mischievous, often causing havoc. A group of Saurbury is called a borough. 1.6m (5′03″) tall. Name derived from saurus + -bury (an English suffix given to fortified cities)

Saurustan occasionally join boroughs of Saurbury to keep an eye out for danger. They mostly spend time in groups of 5-10 individuals (known as a nation) raising young Saurbury, while singing beautiful songs to calm them. Their gender ratio is 12.5% male and 87.5% female, and only males can evolve further. Females don’t evolve because it is impossible to raise young once they do. Each year after breeding season, males migrate to a certain area where one is chosen to evolve. 4.0m (13′01″) tall. Evolves from Saurbury at Level 42. Name derived from saurus + -stan (a Persian suffix meaning ‘land’ or ‘place of’, given to several Central Asian countries and provinces) 

Sauratlas is the tallest known Pokemon in the Cyare region. It’s impressive height at 13.9m (45′07″) has unusually made it part flying type, due to the fact that it feels like it’s soaring the skies with a bird’s eye view of it’s surroundings. Clouds even form around it’s head. Sauratlas are mostly solitary, as a group of them (known as a world, containing up to 3 individuals) would cause too much chaos due to their sheer size. They are also very few and far between, due to the extremely specific conditions required for it’s evolution. Evolves from Saurustan at Level 70 (males only, perhaps holding a specific item, in a specific area, during a certain time period, just to be annoying. Maybe your entire party needs to be full of male Saurustan as well, to make it more annoying). Name derived from saurus + atlas.

jane eyre, on helen burns

  • “what a smile! i remember it now, and i know that it was the effluence of fine intellect, of true courage; it lit up her marked lineaments, her sunken gray eye, like a reflection from the aspect of an angel.”
  • “resting my head on helen’s shoulder, i put my arms round her waist; she drew me to her, and we reposed in silence.”
  • “first, they glowed in the bright tint of her cheek, which till this hour i had never seen but pale and bloodless; then they shone in the liquid lustre of her eyes, which had suddenly acquired a beauty more singular than that of miss temple’s – a beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance. then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what source i cannot tell; has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough, vigorous enough to hold the swelling spring of pure, full, fervid eloquence?”

jane eyre, on blanche ingram

  • “blanche was moulded like a dian. i regarded her, of course, with special interest.”
  • “the noble bust, the sloping shoulders, the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there”
  • “she was the very type of majesty: then she was accomplished, sprightly. most gentlemen would admire her, i thought”

jane eyre, on mary and diana rivers

  • “both were fair complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction and intelligence.”
  • “diana had a voice toned, to my ear, like the cooing of a dove. she possessed eyes whose gaze i delighted to encounter. her whole face seemed to me full of charm. mary’s countenance was equally intelligent – her features equally pretty”

jane eyre, on rosamond oliver

  • “perfect beauty is a strong expression, but i do not retract or qualify it: as sweet features as ever the temperate clime of albion moulded, as pure hues of rose and lily as ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened, justified, in this instance, the term. no charm was wanting, no defect was perceptible; the young girl had regular and delicate lineaments; eyes shaped and coloured as we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark, and full; the long and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with so soft a fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness; the white, smooth forehead, which adds such repose to the livelier beauties of tint and ray; the cheek oval, fresh, and smooth; the lips, fresh too, ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and gleaming teeth without flaw; the small dimpled chin; the ornament of rich, plenteous tresses – all advantages, in short, which, combined, realised the ideal of beauty, were fully hers. i wondered, as i looked at this fair creature: i admired her with my whole heart.”

jane eyre, on edward rochester, the “love of her life”

  • “the incident had occurred and was gone for me: it was an incident of no moment, no romance, no interest in a sense”
  • “i knew my traveller, with his broad and jetty eyebrows, his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. i recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, i thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw – yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake.” 
  • ’you examine me, miss eyre,’ said he: ‘do you think me handsome?’ i should, if i had deliberated, have replied to this question by something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slipped from my tongue before i was aware, ‘no, sir.’
One Last Try (Gaston x Reader)

Part 2 of “Another Look Around”

Originally posted by good-gay-sherlock

Word Count: 2,123

Warnings: None

Tags: @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @lovelylpevensie

A/N: Ok wow so the amount of love on my last post was incredible. Really. You got no idea. I never expected such a positive response to my first ever Tumblr fanfic, so THANK YOU TO ALL THE LOVELY SMOLS WHO LIKED/COMMENTED/REBLOGGED. YA’LL MADE MY DAY. Originally I had no plan to continue this story, buuuut…after several requests, I present to you, part 2 *dramatic overture*


  You waited with bated breath until the sound of Gaston’s boots on the stone stairs had receded into silence before allowing yourself to draw air. With a gasp, you wiped a hand across your forehead and pushed yourself off the door.

   Belle was still staring at you in befuddlement. She placed the loaf of bread in her hand on the table, then mounted her hand on her hip. “Honestly, (Y/N), what’s gotten into you? You’re face looks like a tomato.”

   “Does it?” you panted, raising your palms to feel the heat in your cheeks. You giggled breathlessly for no reason. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from smiling.

   “Wait a minute…” Belle began suspiciously, moving towards you. “Was that Gaston that you were talking to?”

  You swallowed, dropping your arms to your sides. Belle gasped loudly. “It was, wasn’t it!” Looking completely aghast, she rushed forward, gripping your shoulders and looking you directly in the eyes. “Tell me what happened. Every bit of it.”

   With much difficulty, you were finally able to force your lips out of their grinning state, returning Belle’s gaze. Your heart was still relentlessly thudding against your chest, and you covered her hands with your own as you admitted rather timidly, “Oh, Belle you’re going to kill me.”

   Her eyes bugged. “Did he propose?”

   You raised an eyebrow and said, “When does he not?”

   “You didn’t say yes!”

   “No, of course not!”

   “Then what happened?”

   You bit your lip. “Well, he asked to have dinner.”

   “And you said yes?!”

   You frowned. “No.” Then you paused before adding, “But I didn’t necessarily say no either.”

   Belle threw her hands up and sighed. “Well if it wasn’t a yes or a no, then what was it?”

   “I don’t know! I guess it was a maybe, we’ll see.”

  Belle’s face said it all: she couldn’t believe the words that she was hearing. How could she? You and her had spent many days in the past mimicking some of Gaston’s most ridiculous lines and gestures. Belle would imitate his voice and stick an imaginary bouquet in your face while you clutched your stomach and nearly fell backwards laughing. You would make her choke on giggles by miming his smirk and wiggling your eyebrows. You had spent some of the merriest times in your friendship joking about Gaston and his infatuation with you. No wonder it was shocking for her to now hear you say that you had practically accepted a dinner date from him.  

   “Are you insane?” she finally squeaked. You wiped your sweaty hands on your skirt. “Probably,” you muttered back, stepping past her to the table and tearing off a chunk of bread from the large baguette. You popped it in your mouth as Belle began pacing across the room.

   “But - I don’t understand, (Y/N). You’ve always said that Gaston was wasting his breath with you. That he was utterly absurd and you would sooner court Madam Roux’s old tabby cat. Besides, you know what he’s like! He’s rude, and conceited and -”

   “Belle,” you interrupted. She froze where she was and looked at you. “Hold still before you wear a hole in the floor.”

  She exhaled exasperatedly and crossed her arms almost sulkily. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into you,” she mumbled.

    You pursed your lips and raised your hands in a clueless gesture. “Neither do I.” The smile began to return as you continued, “I wouldn’t be able to explain it if I wanted to. There was just something different this time. For a moment, I was looking into his eyes and I actually think I saw..”

   “What?“

   “Well, something along the lines of sincerity.”

   Belle scoffed. “Oh, I don’t doubt that he’s sincere. Sincerely full of himself.”

  You tossed her a disapproving look and shot back, “No one’s without their good qualities, Belle. Besides…I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

   Belle faced you with a stern expression. “You honestly think that there’s a chance that Gaston is a decent man underneath all of his peacock feathers?”

   You grinned at her and answered, “Call me crazy if you like.”

  Your best friend shook her head. “You’re completely crazy,” she lamented before snatching the baguette, ripping off a large piece and stuffing it in her mouth.


   The rest of the day dragged by uneventfully.

  You’d left Belle’s after eating a large lunch, then headed straight to your own house. After running the rest of your errands and taking a long bath afterwards, the jitters in your stomach had begun to grow.

  Essentially, you were meeting Gaston tonight. You were walking straight into the thing that you’d been trying to avoid for the past four years, but instead of dread, you felt only nervous excitement.

    Your earlier encounter with Gaston had undeniably changed something in your mind. Thinking of him - his looks, his voice, or even just his name - gave you a new feeling that you weren’t familiar with. It made your stomach tighten, but in a good way. It made your breath catch in your throat and your thoughts go fuzzy. Right at the moment, you weren’t sure if you liked it. But there was no going back now.

   The sun had reduced to a formless lake of burning orange hanging on the horizon by the time you left home for the final time that day. The skies to the west were a deep, silky navy dusted with stars, and the full moon was proudly standing out against backdrop. Villeneuve’s streets were lit with flickering lamps, and the amount of people milling about them was dramatically reduced due to the impending night.

   The tavern was only a three minute walk from your neighborhood, and your heart thumped a little quicker with every step you took. Every stride carried you closer to a night that would either live in your memory as a nightmare…or a dream.

   Well, you thought as the bar came into view, here goes nothing. Inhaling shakily, swishing your skirt out behind you and blinking a few times to clear your mind, you finally pushed through the door.

  The smell of ale and smoke dropped over your senses in an intoxicating veil. The light inside the tavern was dim and golden, and though the noise was jarring, an odd sense of calm settled in your stomach upon entering, soothing the nerves.

   Without wasting a moment, you weaved your way around the boisterous crowd to the bar, where you spotted the familiar face of Louisa as she filled two heavy metal steins with beer. She happened to glance up as you made your way to her, and she gave a startled smile.

   “(Y/N)! What brings you to this neck of the woods?” She questioned, sliding the full mugs to the end of the bar. You returned her smile as you leaned against the counter. “Girl can’t get a drink in this town?” you joked. Louisa cocked an eyebrow, reaching for another mug as she replied, “Last I knew you weren’t exactly a frequent to our fine establishment, dearie.”

    You traced circles in the wooden tabletop with your fingernail, saying, “Well, you’re right, I’m not. Just needed a change in scenery for once.”

   Liar, liar, a little voice inside you sung. You shook it away as if it were a pesky insect.

  “Now that I can understand,” Louisa said before placing the mug in front of you. “Careful now. This stuff’s strong enough to make steam come outta your ears.” You laughed lightly and thanked her, wrapping a hand around the cup. You then turned and leaned your back against the bar, taking a sip of the alcohol and letting your eyes wander casually around the packed pub.

   You nearly choked on the beer as your gaze snagged on one man in particular who was sitting near the roaring fire with his friend, LeFou at his side.

   Gaston reclined in his chair with his legs spread and his arms draped lazily over the armrests. His position caused his shirt to strain over his muscled chest, and his head was tilted to the side, a bored expression on his face.

   Until his eyes caught yours.

   You swallowed not-so-subtly.

   He blinked, a surprised smile flitting onto his face as he smacked LeFou on the arm, who nearly tumbled off his own chair before he too noticed you. “(Y/N)!” he welcomed loudly over the noise, beaming happily. The momentary lull of anxiety vanished, and your pulse shot back to a dangerous pace.

    Since there was no way to escape him now that he’d caught sight of you - and since you didn’t feeling like leaving either - you knocked back one more gulp of beer, thinking that you’d need it, then placed it on the counter.

   Your palms were sweaty as you stepped away from the bar and slowly worked your way around the many tables and bodies. You could feel Gaston’s gaze on you the whole time. When you finally navigated your way to him, you watched as his chest rose with what could either be an inhale, or pride. He shifted his shoulders.

   “(Y/N),” he greeted, almost savoring the sound of you name on his tongue. “You came.”

    “I’m a woman of my word, Gaston.”

  His smile deepened to a smirk, and he straightened up as he said, “Well, it’s a great pleasure to see you again.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “I’m sure it is,” you returned sarcastically. By this point Gaston had risen from his seat and advanced towards you until you stood separated by two feet at the most. Your heart flipped as his eyes briefly scanned your form before returning to your face. He then extended his hand and offered smoothly, “Drinks are on LeFou.”

   Despite your insides being a mess of butterflies, you couldn’t help but laugh. You took Gaston’s hand and asked, “Does he know that?” Gaston made a face that said who knows? and replied, “He won’t mind.” He flashed you a winning smile and then, his fingers laced through yours, led you to one of the only empty tables on the opposite side of the place. He politely gestured for you to sit first, then called towards the bar, “Louisa! Another round for the most beautiful girl in town!”

   You suppressed a blush as Gaston sat down backwards on the bench next to you so that his back and elbows rested against the table, enabling him to face you. “You weren’t kidding about saving the flattery for this evening, were you?” you teased.

   Gaston gave a short, low laugh and answered, “I’m a man of my word, dear (Y/N).”

  You continued the small talk until Louisa arrived with two more beers for each of you. She gave you a sly smile before returning to the bar, which you tried to ignore by quickly averting your eyes to the first stein.

   After several more minutes of chatting with Gaston, the rigidness started to melt off your body, and you relaxed, switching positions to straddle the bench and face him. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe it was simply the ease of his company, but as the minutes wore on, a warm, electric feeling began to bloom in your stomach, working its way through your chest and into your head.

  You were unable to look away from his burning whisky eyes. You began to appreciate just how deeply attractive he was, and when you realized it, you didn’t try to banish the notion from your brain as usual. You let it linger, let it take over. You relished the sound of his rough voice and laugh, memorized every facial expression, every smug little grin, and even the slightest shift in his body language. Your body subconsciously drifted closer to his, feeling a strange need to be in some sort of physical contact. The most noticeable difference was that for once, he wasn’t trying to impress you or pepper you with compliments. For once, he was actually talking to you. Asking you about your family, your ambitions, and your daily activities. He remained flirtatious as always, but in a subdued and intimate way that was a hundred times more attractive than flowers and chocolates.

  If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve heard those little alarms in your head that warned you against falling for anything stupid. But it was too late. You were in too deep, and though it was something you’d never dreamed of admitting to yourself, all you wanted to do was stay trapped in this moment with Gaston, legs brushing, his arm extended behind you on the table, his fingers casually twisting a strand of your hair, and his eyes looking so deep into yours that you imagined he must be able to read your every thought.

   This was it. This was his second chance. One last try at winning your affections. One last try at achieving the ultimate goal. One try at earning your love slowly and purposefully the way it deserved to be earned. And as the hours dwindled away, Gaston could somehow sense that it was working.

Request: Hey. I’m not sure if you’re taking requests, but if you are could you something with Tommy (Fionn’s character) where the reader was a nurse on a ship that got shot down in the mole and he helps her up and they flak in love and he’s like trying to protect her and help her off the beach and can you tag me in it? I love your writing btw. It makes me smile all the time just so much (requested by @emily-ily2 )

A/N: I didn’t want this to spoil too much of Dunkirk, so I only wrote bits about the end.

——————

You were currently regretting your decision to volunteer as a nurse to help the injured soldiers on the beaches of Dunkirk. The ship you were on was currently going down, having been successfully hit by a bomb off the Luftwaffe circling overhead.

Men were screaming around you as they attempted to get off the ship, jumping over the railings into the oil filled water below.

Seeing no other option, you followed suit and jumped overboard. The oil was slimy against your skin, weighing down the material of your nurses uniform.

You stayed back and attempted to help as many men as you could get out of the oil spill, but you were starting to grow tired.

Another bomb was dropped, followed by rapid gunfire. Arms were suddenly grabbing your waist, pulling you down under the water. You fought against the arms, before realizing they were protecting you from the gunfire.

When your lungs began burning for air, the two of you surfaced above the water. Turning to your rescuer, you noticed he was a young soldier. He had dark brown hair and green eyes, with sharp cheek bones and thin lips. His face was full of oil, which you were sure was on yours as well, but he still looked unbelievably handsome.

You thanked him quickly, before turning back towards the ship. You began swimming again, trying to get back to help, but the soldier once again grabbed you.

“I have to help them!” You yelled back at him, fighting against his hold.

“You can’t! We need to go now!” He shouted, one hand moving to point at the skies. You looked up and immediately noticed why he looked so panicked.

The German plane had been shot down, but he was heading right for the oil in the water.

“Come on! We need to move.” He said again, keeping his arm around you as he swam you both towards a small boat a little ways away.

You began swimming with him, allowing him to pull his arm away so he could swim faster. The both of you made it right as the plane exploded behind you, causing the water to go up in flames.

“Take her first!” The soldier demanded, pushing you closer towards the boat with a civilian and a pilot holding their hands out. The civilian pulled you onto the boat, while the pilot grabbed a hold of the soldiers hand as the boat began moving.

The boat managed to get away from the oil and fire in time, and the pilot pulled your rescuer into the boat. The soldier coughed up some water, catching his breath slightly, before he was moving towards you.

He grabbed one of the spare blankets, wrapping it around your shoulders as you shivered. You smiled gratefully at him, watching as he took a seat beside you.

“Are you alright miss…?” The boy trailed off, silently asking for your name.

“Y/N” You responded, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. “And yes, I’m alright. Thanks mostly to you.” You smiled, reaching out and placing a hand on his. “What’s your name soldier?”

“I’m Tommy.” He replied, sending you a small smile in return.

“Tommy. I owe you my life Tommy, thank you.” You told him, before squeezing his hand and then removing yours. His hand darted out, grabbing your retreating one and lacing your fingers together.

“You were so busy saving everyone else, it was the least I could do to save you.” He said, clutching onto your hand.

“Are you alright?” You asked worriedly, noticing how jumpy he was. His hand was clasping onto yours as if you were his lifeline, which made you worry more.

“Yes, It’s just been a long couple of days.” He told you, eyes darting to the skies. You understood then, pulling him up on his feet.

“The war is behind us for now. We’re going home, you’re safe for now. The war is going to follow us eventually, but for now we should enjoy the calm moments while we can.” You told him, keeping eye contact the whole time. “You should go below deck, get some rest. You’re dead on your feel.”

“Will you come with me?” He asked, not wanting to be apart from you. He had only just met you a little while ago, yet he felt connected to you. In a way he was asking for more than just you going below deck with him, but you didn’t need to know that yet.

“Sure.” You replied, pulling him along with you. As the two of you made your way below deck, you noticed Tommy had made eye contact with another soldier.

Pulling you beside him, the two of you slid down the wall. Tommy sent the other soldier a small nod, before closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall.

You relaxed against him, laying your head against his shoulder. His arm rested around your shoulders, head resting against yours. The two of you fell asleep like that, the worries vanishing for the time being.

Maybe something good had come out of you volunteering for the rescue after all.

Suddenly you weren’t regretting anything, as long as Tommy was by your side you felt safe.

Captive Nine (Part 2)

SUMMARY: You were held captive by Hydra for years and had only just escaped when the Avengers find you. You’re beyond terrified of everyone and everything around you, but the thing the terrifies you the most is yourself. The things you can do with your “abilities” are beyond what anyone could possibly imagine.

Chapters: 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9a

Word Count: 1,408
Warnings: Cuddling and arguments?? I hate these 

Originally posted by strictly-bucky

The days grew shorter as winter came upon you, bringing grey skies with them, but it didn’t seem to make you feel anything but happiness while you were with the team. Christmas was heading your way at full speed! Only three more days until you would experience a Christmas without fear.

The team had decided to watch a classic Christmas movie called White Christmas with Bing Crosby… who you thought was very attractive, despite how short he looked. And somehow, you had fallen asleep with your head in Wanda’s lap, her fingers tangled in your hair, and Steve massaging your feet, while Bucky sat immobile under your torso. Crosby’s voice floated through your dreams, soothing you into a deep sleep.

But you were abruptly being pulled from your slumber, when someone shook your shoulder.

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Just One Dance?

Art By: @xla-hainex

More about Sentinel Nathaniel Owen

As the sun sets over the Commonwealth, the cloudy skies turn into a soft grey. The music from Diamond City Radio swells over and around the crowd. Soldiers from the Brotherhood of Steel on leave, crowd the landing pads of the Boston Airport for the yearly Holiday Party.

Nate, with a full glass of whiskey in each hand, wades through the crowd greeting every soldier he sees.

Glasses clink between brothers, between sisters, between friendships, between rivalries. Camaraderie spreads like wildfire as each soldier cheers to the next, embracing the year ahead of them. Stories are shared. Past victories celebrated, sacrifices mourned, and peace enjoyed. Boisterous laughter and drunken cries of celebration drown out the music.

“There he is!” A group of men and women scream out, “Only the best pilot in the Commonwealth.”

Nate takes a shallow bow before taking a shot of whiskey. “Now, now. There’s no need to brag about completely true and honest facts.” Nate raises his final glass, “To future victories…” he pauses. “Because we are too busy getting drunk in the present.”

The music softens and slows as the moon begins to appear in the sky. The last remaining rays of sunlight illuminate the clouds in a spectrum of orange and purple. A peaceful ambience settles over the remaining soldiers as conversations begin to lull.

Nate scans the crowds for any remaining pilots, but none are to be seen. I guess they all headed back to the barracks for the night. He contemplates to himself. Continuing to scan the remains of the crowd, Arthur catches his gaze. Nate smiles as his eyes begin to widen. Arthur looks his way and their eyes meet; Nate sits upright on the edge of his seat, when suddenly a realization came over him. We can’t, not here. It wouldn’t be right.

All Nate wanted to do was to be with Arthur, to hug him and hold his hand. He wanted to not have to hide the fact he was in a relationship with the Elder. What would people think? He wondered. The Elder and Second in Command? Together? People would talk, they’d speculate. Nate slumps back into his chair and takes a second shot of whiskey.

Disgruntled, Nate slams his glass down onto the table. He sees Arthur slowly making his way through the crowd towards him, his face plagued with what appears to be anxiety. Instinctively Nate rises to his feet to greet a superior officer.

Arthur finally approaches Nate. “Elder? Is everything alright?” Nate asks concerned.

Arthur tenderly grasps Nate’s hand, “Just once… one dance?”

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Charming eyes, murderous looks.
Sensual voice, curse words.
Broken finger, moved mountains.
Long legs, short tempered.
Fragile body, strong heart.
Somebody’s everyday wish, somebody’s terror.
She was an irony, still unloved.
She wasn’t like others, yet their friends.
Her nights were dark, her soul even darker.
She played with words, burned them in fire.
On nights of full moon, reaffirmed her aura.
Magic in her hands, futile wishes on her mind. 
Deep hidden secrets of the living bodies, friends with the walking dead.
She was she, who we never knew, a witch on her craft, on her broom, unafraid of you.
—  BINI //witchcraft
To Autumn

by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,  
        Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;  
   Conspiring with him how to load and bless  
         With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;  
   To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,          
         And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;  
               To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells  
   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,  
         And still more, later flowers for the bees,  
         Until they think warm days will never cease,        
               For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.    

   Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?  
         Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find  
   Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,  
         Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;          
   Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,  
         Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook  
               Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:  
   And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep  
         Steady thy laden head across a brook;        
         Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,  
               Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.    

   Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?  
         Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—  
   While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,          
         And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;  
   Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn  
         Among the river sallows, borne aloft  
               Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;  
   And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;        
         Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft  
         The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;  
          And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Angelic Affair (Part 1)

Summary: When England questions his lonely place in the world, magic steps in to solve problems with more problems. What’s the harm in taking advantage of being an angel in order to fall into a loving devil’s arms? Well, for starters, despite the fact that America’s never made a move, he’s not the sharing kind. England’s sudden disappearance rocks the world, but can America find him and convince him to return before the so-called angel, quite literally, falls from grace? Moreover, can he woo him away from the devil who got there first?

Pairing: devil!America / England, America / England, etc.

(( A long-ish short fic, in parts. ))

.

England’s tired.

It’s a self-pitying, melancholic slowness that drags out centuries and then years and then days, until it’s a crawl, each hour measured by how long it’s been since his last cup of tea and how long it’ll be until his next. Bureaucracy and politics, reluctantly installing applications on the smartphone he doesn’t like in order to keep pace with the busy lives of the world. He follows America on Instagram, at the nation’s insistence, only to have the program suggest to him Canada and France and Italy and so on.

He’s by no means enthused with the tools one has access to in order to track others, although his government thinks otherwise and tasks employees with a constant browse of social media. ‘What did Russia mean by that status update?’ or 'Is China’s purchase history cause for concern?’

In meetings, England vaguely thinks over what he’s learned and seen through these screens as he observes the other nations. America, in particular, interests him for obvious reasons. Skiing with his northern brother being on full display online brings sense to comments between them, a question regarding wine from that selfsame brother to France also has known context. Even words between Germany and Italy or Greece and Spain are illuminated by posts online.

Are their lives that entertaining that England’s missing out? Or is it perhaps some kind of ruse and exaggeration?

It isn’t as though England’s unaware as to why he’s not invited. He makes no effort to speak to most nations outside of official business and he has a habit of turning down invitations left and right. Has that progressed to the point where he’s missed the boat on establishing these media bonds? Perhaps.

He’s old. Or, at least, he feels old. In his bones, the tech is not natural to him. It doesn’t arouse his wonder, like it might for others. Magic has always been the source of his awe and no amount of electric screens can steal that away from him. Few understand that.

Yet, there’s an accumulation of tension inside of him.

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HOW VENUS SHAPED YOUR HEART

♈ ARIES // A fiery inferno. An organ set ablaze. Unimaginably hot and wildly untamable, fervently consuming all it is fed; the good and the bad. It radiates a heat that can thaw cold cheeks and frost from shivering lips – or engulf you, swallow you whole and leave you as nothing more than smoldering ash. This heart needs generous kindling and constant stoking. Never to be smothered or snuffed out. It beats in booming thunder, and bleeds in plumes of smoke.

♉ TAURUS // A whittled heart of knotty pine, with intricate floral patterns etched deep into its wooden surface. A lacquered finish makes it sleek and glossy. A natural beauty. Carved and hollowed out, so that it can collect all the beautiful trinkets it finds, and lock them away. This heart needs an antiqued key, and reliable eyes that can cherish each and every lovely treasure they’ve buried so deeply in their chest. It beats in gentle echoes, and bleeds in sweet, sticky resin.

♊ GEMINI // A gilded, golden cage, with ornate engravings on every spindly, metallic bar. Glinting and gleaming in playful light; it dazzles and draws many admirers near. However, if they step too close, or extend their fingertips to touch – the hundreds of tiny, frightened finches inside release shrill and frantic chirps from silver beaks. A flurry of ruffled, rosy plumage. This heart needs a patient hand to release the latch. To let the feathers fly, and simply listen as the birds sing. It beats in the flutter of wings, and bleeds in pastel sunrise.

♋ CANCER // Tessellated sea glass and elegant vintage lace; smooth and embellished with pearls that glow soft and argent like the moon. It contains the entire ocean, with all it’s depth and warmth and comfort. Churning, swirling, salty waves flood the arteries and fill it will the soulful beauty of the seas. A home for many – a drowning place for some. Love flows uncontrollably, unconditionally. This heart needs lungs that can breathe underwater. Hands both strong enough to carry it, and so gentle it won’t shatter. It beats in the ebbing of the tides, and bleeds in soothing moonbeams.

♌ LEO // Lustrous sunlight encased in crushed red velvet. Luxurious and sparkling. Bold and rich. It transfixes others adoration and desire with the scintillating light that leak from its seams. It brightens and blinds all those who gaze upon it. Illuminating only the pleasant things, and melting the affection it is fed. This heart needs amorous eyes that have never beheld such a wonder, and will never forgets it’s beauty. It beats in boisterous trumpets, and bleeds in liquid gold.

♍ VIRGO // Precision cut and polished clockwork. Burnished brass and copper coils. Silver springs and cogs and gears that mesh and mash in a complex, synchronized rhythm unlike any other. When well-oiled, love ticks and tocks effortlessly; consistent and hypnotic. It winds and unwinds as it chooses. This heart needs feet that can get lost in a waltz, but still keep time. It beats like a syncopated metronome, and bleeds in bubbling amber.

♎ LIBRA // A twinkling, paper lantern; thin as the wings of a butterfly, and just as weightless. It emits a faint glow from the romantic light flickering inside, yet drifts listlessly through the chest cavity – as though no love can pin it down. It can be folded and creased to look like all that intimacy should be – but isn’t. This heart needs real romance. To be held with grace and loving balance. It beats in charming laughter, and bleeds in floral perfume.

♏ SCORPIO // A twisted labyrinth of thorny vines and ruby flowers. Dark and intimidating, but oh-so alive and growing. Roots constrict and thorns prick to fend off deceitful lovers. But if they’re willing to bleed – each rose that blooms will do so just for them. An endlessly beautiful garden; secluded and full of the richest reds and luscious greens. This heart needs love that is true and unafraid of hurt; that will not let the petals shrivel or wither. It beats in whispered “I love you”’s, and bleed in twilight skies.

♐ SAGITTARIUS // A gluey patchwork of auburn leaves and borrowed things. Stitched together from pieces of foreign hearts to form a hot air balloon-like contraption. Tethered only by heart strings, and fueled by an single spark. Always eager to take flight, to feel new heights, and caress the clouds. This heart needs a skyscape that never ends. A spirit with no map. It beats in whistling fire crackers, and bleeds in afternoon sunshine.

♑ CAPRICORN // An impenetrable exterior of compressed coal; smoky black and unattainable. However, if one stays and chisels for years, they’ll discover this hardened stone is a literal diamond in the rough. A glittering, jewel encrusted cavern. Its walls and arteries lined with vast riches; emeralds and rubies and sapphires. Resplendent and full of love. This heart needs one worthy of holding such a valuable chasm. It beats in refined symphonies, and bleeds in the boldest red wine.

♒ AQUARIUS // A sparkling prism lodged ambiguously in the rib cage where a human heart should be. It’s crystalline surface clarifies the cloudy, and gives the dull new splendor. It isolates and captures the smallest, most imperceptible glints of light, only to reflect and dissect the spectrum of color in it no one else would ever notice. This heart needs eyes that can peer through a kaleidoscope and see new rainbows every time. It beats in neon flickers, and bleeds in cosmic stardust.

♓ PISCES // Wispy gossamer and creamy silk, loosely woven together like a dream catcher. A tattered tapestry of delicate, warm fabric; embroidered with strands of silver thread and tiny beads of amethyst. This heart absorbs all forms love, and unfortunately, all sorrows. It is stained with the fingerprints of every hand it’s held. Soft and sensitive; it should be handled with the most tender care. It beats in soothing lullabies, and bleeds in shimmering, lavender bubbles.

8

So.

I made skies.

Like, *cough* 30 of them. So far! Above is a sampling. I recommend looking at the pics at full size.

Some have horizons, some don’t. Some look good with @greatcheesecakepersona‘s skylines and/or @lowedeus‘s animated clouds, some don’t. 

The fourth one above is one I hand-painted entirely from scratch in Photoshop because I wanted to play with my Wacom tablet. I am especially proud of it because A) Hand-painted. From scratch and B) It was a complete bitch to make it tile seamlessly after all the painting was done, but I did it.

The fifth and six pics are the same sky, just with and without the animated clouds layered on it. That one looks especially nice with that skyline, too.

I’ll be sharing, of course, but there are still some tweaks to be done on some of them, and I need to make thumbnails for all of them. But I need to get my butt in bed now. :)