for the first few trembling years of her life, she is a
princess. she is the daughter to the king, born of his beloved wife and of her
visage. her dark eyes have the appearance of a smoky quarts and her mother
carefully twists her mass of black hair into a hundred small braids down her
back. she is a beautiful, quiet child, and for a while all is well. they call
her princess maleen.
then her mother dies. it seems as if the king is determined
to bury his love for his daughter along with his queen. he moves her to a
different wing of the castle, and refuses to see her. her tutors are let go,
and the nobles’ children are no longer allowed to play with her. only the maids
look after her now.
the king remarries. the new queen gives birth to a son, and
maleen is forgotten completely, banished from a home she still resides in and a
life she can now only watch unfold.
the maids take care of her, braid her hair and kiss the
blisters on her fingers, teach her to scrub at porcelain and polish silver, to
clean a fireplace and mop polished marble floors.
they call her maid maleen.
the king has a son by his new wife, and then a daughter.
they are pale and fair-haired like their mother, with only their dark eyes to
show they are the king’s children. but they inherit none of their parents’ beauty, have faces that don’t look quite right
and bodies that get stuck between gangly and chubby and never settle into one
or the other. princess gisella and prince jan are privately regarded as
unfortunate products of a lovely union.
maid maleen spends long hours working, and has neither the
time nor funds for creams to soften her skin or oils to care for her hair, has
never used face powder or lip color.
maid maleen is twenty three years old, and the most
beautiful woman in the kingdom.
her braids are wrapped carefully atop her head, but when she
lets them loose they hang past her hips. her dark skin is made even darker thanks
to long hours working in the palace garden, and her eyes have never lost that
same curious light. she walks straight and strong, years of hard labor giving
her muscles and definition to her body that she never would have had as a
princess. boys and girls give her long, considering looks and flirtatious
smiles, and nobles have to double-take when she passes them by.
no one speaks of it anymore. but maid maleen looks ever more
like her beautiful late mother, has the same eyes as her father, and dressing in
ill-fitting cast offs and running her ragged can’t hide the truth.
maid maleen is the king’s daughter.
she has accepted her life as a maid in the palace she was
one day set to inherit, and tries to see it as a gift. she sleeps with who she
likes, may marry whichever of the charming boys from the city who’s smile she
likes best. in the maids who raised her she has more mothers than she has
fingers, and perhaps she longs for the days when she was a small princess, when
she was the apple of her parents’ eye, when the whole of their nation was to be
hers to inherit.
but then the blacksmith’s daughter lets her hands linger a
little too long on her wrists, and maleen knows that she won’t be sleeping
alone tonight. there are some things that worth more to her than a throne she
was born to. she doesn’t miss the little girl she used to be.
tensions have always run high between their kingdom and the
neighboring one – too many squabbles over borders, over trade agreements, over
patrols, over anything and everything the kings can find a reason to be upset
about, it seems like. so when prince wolfgang is sent over, the whole palace is
abuzz. the prince seems determined to inherit a peaceful land, and is coming
over to talk with the king to do it.
maleen does not care for princes. nor for nobles of any
rank, in fact. she remembers how they turned on her, she sees the small acts of
pettiness and cruelty they thoughtlessly inflict on their servants, and she
wants nothing to do with it. commoners may not be as educated as nobles, may
not have as many objects to call their own, but maleen finds she prefers their
company to that of lords. she’s uninterested in this prince, which is perhaps
why she’s the one that gets sent to his rooms. her moms can trust that she at
least won’t fawn over him.
“sir wolfgang,” she murmurs, pushing open his door and
giving a low curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his mud covered boots. “is
there anything you require?”
silence. she can only stay bent in a curtsey so long before
she loses patience. she’s almost given up on him, is about to cut her losses
and call it a night when he says, hesitant, “queen sabine?”
her mother’s name is punch to her gut, and her head snaps up
at the sound of it, the rolling fire of her temper bubbling just below her
skin. “i am maid maleen,” she snaps, then tacks on “your highness,” after a
his cloak is half unbuttoned as he stares at her with a
slack mouth. she supposes he would not look unhandsome if he were not currently
doing his best to imitate a frog. he appears to be only a handful of years
older than she is, and if she were not furious she would be impressed that he
remembers her mother well enough to see sabine in her.
“maleen,” he repeats, and for a moment she wonders if he
will recognize her as well, but he only says, “my apologies. if you would help
me with my cloak, i would be much obliged.”
she’s instantly suspicious. she’s met nice nobles before,
ones that were considerate and remembered her name and thanked her when she
brought them wine. but she’s never met a nice prince before – they’re always of
the worst sort. “yes, your highness,” she says, and the cloak is soaked through
and clinging, it’s no wonder he’s struggling with it. once she’s gotten it off
she hangs it to dry, then goes back to him. she slaps away his numb, struggling
fingers and undoes the rest of the buckles and loops of his overly complicated clothing.
she’s gotten down him down to an undershirt and pants when his hands grab hers.
she blinks and looks up. he has freckles dusting across his nose.
“this is inappropriate,” he says, but honestly she’s
stripped a lot of nobles, it wasn’t weird until he took her hands and looked at
her like no one’s ever looked at her before.
“yes, your highness,” she agrees, and takes a step back. she
places his clothes in front of a fire, curtsies, and leaves. she can feel the
weight of his gaze on her all the way back to her room.
wolfgang continues his diplomatic agenda, having long
meetings with the royal family. after, maleen goes and tends to him, setting
out his food and taking care of his clothes, straightening up any mess that he’s
made. at first he’s quiet, and he just watches her, but he quickly discovers
that maleen has opinions and thoughts and isn’t afraid to share them. soon they’re
debating the finer points of trade routes and arguing the effectiveness of a
sliding tax scale, and maleen comes to cherish the evenings she spends with the
prince, likes the way he speaks to her and looks at her, likes the shape of his
weeks in she enters his room, dinner steaming in her hands
and eager to continue their conversation about state funded orphanages versus a
state funded foster system. he’s pacing and tense, shoulder stiff. “wolfgang,”
she sets down the food and wipes her hands on her apron, “is something wrong?”
“is it true?” he asks, and he’s not looking at her. he’s
always looked at her before.
“is what true?” she flinches away from his coldness, is
already preparing to retreat and hide and beg someone else to watch over him.
he turns to her, and she’s baffled by the mixture of hope
and anger on his face. “are you the king’s daughter? are you princess maleen?”
she takes a step back, “i am maid maleen.”
“please,” he follows her as she steps away from him, and her
back hits the wall. he stops when he’s almost close enough to touch. “my father
sent me here with the goal to seal our new treaty with a marriage. he expects
me to marry princess gisella. but if you are the daughter of the king – then he
will allow me to marry you instead!”
“who says i want to marry you?” she retorts, but he gets on
bended knee and she freezes.
he holds a hand for her own, and against every bit of logic,
she gives it to him. “maleen, i’ve never felt this way about anyone. i was
willing enough to enter a loveless marriage before i knew what true love is,
but now i do, and i can’t go back. marry me.”
she wants to. she thinks she loves him. she hadn’t been
planning to fall in love with anyone. “i am the king’s daughter,” she tells
him, “but i am no princess. i haven’t been a princess in a long time.”
he brings her hand to his mouth so he can kiss each one of
her knuckles, “then we’ll have to change that.”
wolfgang goes to the king to make his case, to return maleen
to her birthright and allow her to marry him.
it goes even worse than maleen had feared.
her father is furious. he’s so angry at the audacity of this
request that prince wolfgang is thrown from the kingdom. so incensed is he,
that guards drag maleen from her bed in the middle of the night and throw her
into a tower. the door closes shut behind them, and she bangs on it and screams
but no one comes for her.
there are no windows, and only one door with a sliding metal
grate in the bottom. she’s high in the tower, she thinks, from the number of
steps she’d been forced to climb, but she stands on a dirt floor. the room
contains only the bare minimum needed for survival, and nothing more.
once a week food is slid through the slot in the door. she
has to be careful, because if she eats it too fast they will not provide more,
she will just starve. days turn to weeks turn to months, and she despairs of
ever being let out of this tower. months turn to years, and she gives up hope
entirely of leaving this tower. she considers refusing to eat, killing herself
slowly through starvation, because death is preferable to life locked in this
one night there’s a scuffle, and shouting, and for the first
time since she was shoved inside the door opens. there’s a guard standing
there, and princess gisella tentatively steps inside. “maid ma – i mean,
maleen stares. this is the first time she’s seen another
person in years, and suddenly for all the screaming she’d done she can’t find
her voice. gisella takes another cautious step forward, “maleen, please – we don’t
have much time.” she holds out her hand, “come with me.”
gisella is sixteen now. although she’ll never be a great
beauty, she’s grown into many of the features that she was once mocked for. “where?”
she asks, but takes gisella’s hand and lets her lead them down the twisting
staircase. anyplace is better than the tower.
“i’m to be married in a week’s time to prince wolfgang.”
maleen feels a sharp pain go through her chest. had wolfgang forgotten her?
their farce of a romance was such a quick, shallow thing. she was a fool to
fall for it in the first place. “i’m not going to show up. you are.”
she stares, “what?”
“wolfgang started a war over father locking you in the
tower,” she explains, “but eventually it got to a point where neither could
justify it, so our father and wolfgang’s decided our union would mean peace between
our countries, as intended. but i don’t want to marry prince wolfgang, and he
does not want to marry me.”
“i don’t understand,” she hadn’t paid much attention to the
girl when they were in the palace together, and she’s regretting that now.
they finally reach the end of the tower. it’s the first time
she’s breathed fresh air in years. she tries not to get distracted by it, and
instead focuses on the carriage to her left, and the pure black mare laden like
a pack mule on her right. “i’m leaving,” gisella says, “i don’t want to be
wolfgang’s bride because i want to be klaus’s,” the guard smiles, and he must
be klaus, the princess is rejecting a prince to run away with a commoner. “there’s
a map and everything you need in the saddlebags. the wedding dress is waiting
for you at the castle. no one will know you’re not me until wolfgang unveils
you, and by then it will be too late. he will marry you, and i will be gone.”
“why are you doing this?” she asks.
gisella shrugs, “you’re my sister, and father is an idiot. i
want you to be happy, and i want wolfgang to be happy, and i want to be happy
too. this way we all get what we want. our brother will be waiting for you in
wolfgang’s castle. he’ll help you.”
maleen is speechless. gisella grabs her in a quick hug – the
only one they’ve ever shared – and then goes to the carriage with klaus
trailing behind her. “i’ll see you again, princess maleen!”
she doesn’t have time for tears. she gets on the mare, and
rides for the palace of the neighboring land.
she makes it just in time. she sneaks into the castle the
night before the wedding, ducking around servants until she find her way to jan’s
door. she knocks, tentative, wondering if this was a mistake and all one elaborate
trap. but the door opens and his face slackens in relief, “finally!” he pulls her inside, and sits her down. there’s lukewarm water
waiting for her so she can clean herself, and jan stands with his back to her
the whole time, outlining the wedding and how it will go so she knows what to
expect the next day. “father isn’t here,” he assures her, “he didn’t want to
leave the kingdom, so i’m here in his stead.”
“won’t you miss your sister?” maleen finishes washing
and wraps herself in a soft blanket.
“when i am king, gisella will return,” he says confidently, “she
will come home and bring klaus, and you will rule here with wolfgang, and all
will be well. our countries shall be great allies when it is me and wolfgang on
he’s only a year older than gisella, just seventeen, and
maleen feels oddly old next to them, feels old next to these children who know
what they want and take it and don’t let anything stand in their way.
“we need to get your hair rebraided,” he says, “you should
look perfect tomorrow. it’s your wedding day.”
she stares, aghast. “that will take all night!”
“i’ve brought help,” he says, and sends a servant down the
hall. the servant returns with a half dozen of the maids who raised her, and
who crowd forward and hug her and kiss her cheeks and say how much they’ve
missed her. princess or not, bride or not, to them she will always be their
little maid maleen.
it’s clear gisella picked her wedding dress with maleen in
mind. it fits her for one thing, and is clinging and heavy, and it must have
looked awful on gisella, but on her it’s perfect. her dress is accompanied by
white silk gloves and a thick veil so that no one can see her, so that no one
will know she’s not the daughter of the king they’re expecting to be there.
wolfgang is at the end of the aisle, looking like he’s going
to an execution, and it takes more self control than maleen was anticipating not
to go running to him. she turns to him, and he lifts her veil. he sees her and
freezes, mouth sliding open. she winks at him, because they just need to keep
it together until they’re married, he just has to keep his cool for a few
minutes and they’ll have won it all. wolfgang closes his mouth and says nothing
about how this is clearly not the bride he was supposed to marry. they turn so
none of the guests can see them, and the priest gives maleen a confused look,
but with a glare from wolfgang he continues on with the ceremony as if nothing is
out of place.
“you may now kiss the bride,” the priest says, after what
seems like an eternity.
wolfgang grabs her about the waist, dips her, and kisses her
soundly on the mouth. her veil falls off and she can hear the horrified and
shocked gasps of the guests, and under that jan’s laughter. when they break
apart, foreheads still pressed together, she whispers, “hello, prince wolfgang.”
he kisses her again, quick and sweet, and does nothing at
all to disguise the joy in his face. “hello, princess maleen.”
I can see kirishima and bakugo working well together in their future careers!
i got into bnha recently (because of a certain @artofmimi). before i actually dove into it, i was really interested in kirishima lmao! my little sister kept telling me about all his idiosyncrasies and background, i was quickly endeared (kind personality, shark teeth, the red Axel/Zack Fair hair)
Holy hell! There’s 1000 of you now!! Thanks so much for sticking around during my shenanigans. Please enjoy this list of some of my favourite fics found on tumblr. (Warning: There may be some triggering angst, please refer to the fics for more detailed warnings). You can find more in my ‘fics I love’ or ‘fics I like’ tag! This isn’t exclusionary in anyway, it’s just a few of the fics I adore.
Most of these are 18+, sorry youngins.
At A Cellular Level (Virgin!Steve): Alex was created as a weapon by AIM. She can control things down to the Cellular level. Altering them so they can be something else. SHIELD rescue her but thanks to years of torture she is damaged and dangerous. Can Steve Rogers get through to her? (@emilyevanston)
Caring Company: You’re sexually frustrated and can’t sleep. Most nights like these, your best friend Steve Rogers keeps you company- it’s always just been platonic and friendly until one night he finally makes a move. (@marvelfic)
Misdialed Call: After an overall bad day, you call your best friend to rant and to vent. But when you accidentally misdial, you end up talking to a complete stranger. What you don’t know is that this stranger may not be a stranger at all. He may even be the world’s first superhero. (Drabble Series)(@avengersandchill)
Heart On The Line(AU): You and Bucky had your differences in college, but now you need a place to stay and he needs a roommate, and in order to make ends meet, you two start a phone sex line together. (@sugardaddytonystark )
Incubus (AU): A mysterious man comes to your rescue when you attract some unwanted attention at a club. It just so happens that he’s a sex demon…(@after-avenging-hours )
Rotten Judgement (AU): Hercules!AU After selling your soul to save your lover’s life, you become one of the Lord of the Underworld’s slave. Bucky is obsessed with one thing: collecting hearts. But why? (@redgillan )
The Friendly Wager(AU): Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit? (@just-some-drabbles )
A Lesson In Love (AU): (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance. (@buckyywiththegoodhair )
Love Always Wakes The Dragon: It could be worse. You do have all the luxuries befitting a princess, though one charged with treason. But a gilded cage is still a cage. And the prospect of withering away in this, the tallest tower of the Palace of Asgard, in the same place where your once-betrothed will live and marry and rule from, it’s almost too much to bear. (@sugardaddytonystark )
Terms & Conditions: On a long mission with Clint that has the two of you sharing a small hotel room overseas you make a ‘no strings attached’ agreement to pass the time, but when you see each other for the first time since returning to New York, you’re not sure you can forget him as easily as you had hoped. (@marvelfic)
Summary: Can you write a short where Seb abd Bucky are in the same universe and they meet. But the reader is dating one of them and hangs out with the other one then her bf gets jealous at the end with fluff please?? Requested by Anonymous
Warnings: Language, Mention of Alzheimer, Tiny Angst, Fluff
A/N: And Happy Birthday Sebby! This is probably not what you had in mind, but it’s what I came up with. I don’t write rpf so Seb is not a Stan ;) I made that gif, you’re welcome to use it.
“Babe?” you called out to Bucky once you noticed him. You
were supposed to meet at your favourite coffee shop for lunch and your
boyfriend was standing at the hand-off counter, patiently waiting for his cup
When he didn’t turn around, you walked over to him and slid
your arms around his waist. You didn’t notice how the man tensed and
straightened himself up. You nuzzled his neck and placed a soft kiss on his
“Um, you cut your hair?” The man gave you a little shove and
you took a step back to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
Samira Wiley & Lauren Morelli Wedding Photo. The 29-year-old Orange is the New Black actress and writer got married in a intimate ceremony on Saturday afternoon (March 25, 2017) in Palm Springs, Calif.
Okay, but Otabek's family's first impressions of Yuri?
Yesterday I made a post in which I stated I think the Altins would be really chill people. (Because of reasons)
I imagine that after seeing and meeting Yuri they would be highly entertained.
Here you have this boy that looks-wise is the polar opposite from their dear Beka. Blond hair, fair skinned, big light eyes, slender build. They have seen his skates, in which he has been beautiful, a fairy dancing on the ice. Then there was that exhibition skate in which Otabek featured and his family got it. Because what they saw, was totally the type of boy their Otabek would be inclined to hang out with. Like one of his street friends (who admittedly look a bit like punks, but are actually kind hearted boys who look up to Otabek) but prettier. They nod. They can see where this is going.
They have heard stories about Yuri of course. They have seen interviews, in which the blond just answers questions with a morose expression (which is kind of what Otabek does too) and makes grandiose statements (”We only need one Yuri on the ice.” Damn, son!). What a wild little thing.
Then Yuri comes to visit in Almaty and they see how this feisty tiger is more of a sweet cat when it comes to being with Otabek. They see how happy it makes their Beka. How the pretty boy who seemed so angry is trying his best to make Otabek smile. Bless his heart.
jessamine gray (née lovelace) ❝She was almost ridiculously pretty, what one of Tessa’s novels would have called an English rose—all silvery fair hair, soft brown eyes, and creamy complexion. She wore a very bright blue dress, and rings on almost every one of her fingers. If she had the same black skin markings that Will and Charlotte did, they weren’t visible.❞
Hair extensions, either you’ve tried and love having long locks or can’t afford them. Anyway’s some wacky surreal news has been developed that those long silky tresses that you had to buy may, in fact, be goat or corpse hair. Yeah, allow me to repeat that… corpse hair.
As the BBC investigated along with Fair Hair Care most of the time those locks titled Malaysian, Chinese, Brazilian, Indonesian and etc, is most of the time goat hair.
F.Y.I. take this consideration before washing those goat tresses…
‘Consumers spend large amounts of time and money to find the right type of products to look after the human hair extensions but these products simply just don’t work as they are not treating human hair.’
Yet the corpse concept, yeah read this direct quote:
‘In other instances, some extensions could be taken from corpses or could be from girls as young as who have cut off their hair to sell for just a few pounds.’
Fair Hair Care is currently running a petition to stop and realign the hair extension industries regulations.
“He is not a lord,” a child’s voice put in. “He’s in the Night’s Watch, stupid. From Westeros.” A girl edged into the light, pushing a barrow full of seaweed; a scruffy, skinny creature in big boots, with ragged unwashed hair. “There’s another one down at the Happy Port, singing songs to the Sailor’s Wife,” she informed the two bravos. To Sam she said, “If they ask who is the most beautiful woman in the world, say the Nightingale or else they’ll challenge you. Do you want to buy some clams? I sold all my oysters.” “I have no coin,” Sam said. “He has no coin,” mocked the fair-haired bravo. His dark-haired friend grinned and said something in Braavosi. “My friend Terro is chilly. Be our good fat friend and give him your cloak.” “Don’t do that either,” said the barrow girl, “or else they’ll ask for your boots next, and before long you’ll be naked.” “Little cats who howl too loud get drowned in the canals,” warned the fair-haired bravo. “Not if they have claws.” And suddenly there was a knife in the girl’s left hand, a blade as skinny as she was. The one called Terro said something to his fair-haired friend and the two of them moved off, chuckling at one another.
Harry shuffles some papers around the desk. He folds some parchment into neat squares. He lines his textbook up with the table edge. He checks the stash of ink bottles in his bag. He ruffles and then straightens the feather of his quill. He engraves circles into his textbook with his wand. He flicks his hair away from his eyes. He kicks the table leg. He pops his knuckles.
Ron finally raises his head, and a questioning eyebrow, annoyed, and fed up of his friend’s fussing. Harry just shakes his head. He can’t concentrate. He is sorry for being so twitchy. But he can’t help it. And it’s all Malfoy’s fault.
They must have gotten carried away last night. They met in the Astronomy Tower. Midnight, sharp. Just like they do most nights. They stayed there for some time. No insults were hurled, no wands were drawn, no skin was tarnished. Well…
Draco is sitting prettily at his desk, (he always looks pretty), in the middle of Transfigurations, with a rather large, rosy-red bruise on his neck. On the left, close to his ear. It’s right below that adorable mole.
Harry can’t stop himself from looking. He doesn’t want to stop himself from looking. But every time he glances in that direction he has to grind his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut tightly. He can hardly believe it. He doesn’t believe it. Malfoy always spells away his hickeys.
Harry loves giving hickeys. (Hickey - what a hideous word). Almost as much as he loves receiving them. But Malfoy spells them away, always. Harry likes to make sure Draco hides one, lower down, on Harry’s collarbone. Just so that he can walk about, knowing it is there, a constant reminder that Draco is his, that he is Draco’s. That this is real. Draco doesn’t leave any hickeys on his own skin, no matter how much Harry would like him to. Maybe it’s because Harry wants him to. But Harry couldn’t ask him to leave one, to stop spelling them away. He couldn’t explain to Draco why he likes it so much, why he likes hickeys so damn much, (or why he likes Draco so much!) He can’t even explain it to himself. Nobody likes hickeys. Harry accepts that, he knows that he’s the weird one, it’s not unusual. Malfoy always spells them away.
But today, today he has left it there, on show, for the entire school to see. For Harry to see.
Harry looks up again, he can’t stop it. His boyfriend, (not yet), is staring at their professor. He’s tilting his head to the side, as if he’s interested in what McGonagall is saying. Harry knows him better. He knows Draco couldn’t give two shits about Transfiguration. And he knows Draco is trying to drive him crazy. And he knows that Draco knows he is succeeding.
The sunlight makes Draco’s pale skin seem almost translucent, and the mark contrasts harshly against the creamy surface. It’s so fucking obvious. If anyone were to just look at him now, just glance at him, just for a second, they would see it. Notice it. There’s basically a sign above Draco’s head - ‘I’m snogging Potter! Harry licks his lips and imagines it’s the smooth skin of Draco’s throat that he’s tasting. Why does he have to be such a git?
Harry tries to catch Draco’s eye. Tries to glare into those misty pools of silver. Tries to communicate his discomfort, his concern. But the teasing Slytherin purposely avoids his gaze, pretending to be engrossed with Parkinson’s split ends. Harry huffs frustratedly, and he thinks he can see Draco’s mouth twitching. Draco’s mouth is moving. His lips are turning up at the corner. He’s smirking, the bastard.
But then Harry is distracted by Draco’s mouth. As if the movement was intended to distract him in that way. From over here, at his desk, at a distance, those thin lips don’t look like they’re good for much, except maybe sneering. Or maybe that stomach-melting smirk. But once you get close enough, so close that you can see the swirls of blue in Draco’s eyes. So close that you can see the tiny, nearly-transparent birthmark on Draco’s cheek, right below his left eye - that little smudge. When you’re that close, you quickly realise that they are actually perfectly good lips. Pouty, and soft, and addictive, and tasty. Delicious.
Draco ruffles his white hair with an equally fair, bony hand, acting as though it’s a casual gesture. But Draco never ruffles his hair. At least not in public. Actually, he always smooths it back, away from his forehead. He hasn’t done that today. Harry loves it when Draco’s hair is fluffy, fluttering over those high cheekbones of his. Draco knows that. Every move is calculated, measured.
Harry growls. Ron turns back to stare at him again, with wide eyes, he’s alarmed. Harry grits his teeth again and turns his attention back to McGonagall. His nails dig into his palm.
When the bell rings, Harry sweeps the entire contents of the desk into his bag, including Ron’s slimy chunk of wood. They were supposed to be turning a fish into a pencil. Harry’s fish was laying, sweating, on his tile. And his pencil is somewhere on the floor. He throws the grubby bag aggressively over his shoulder, then rushes away from the desk, shadowing Draco as he exits the room. He hastily shouts a last-minute “goodbye!” to Ron without turning back, and dashes out of the room, having to force himself not to run. A gang of Hufflepuffs have overtaken him.
Harry quickly spots Draco’s distinctive platinum hair amongst the crowd. He also notices the tapestry he knows leads to a secret, quiet, desolated corridor. Hurrying forward, he grabs Malfoy’s pointy elbow and drags him away from the crowd. Merlin, everything about that boy is pointy.
Ducking past the flimsy material, Harry dumps his bag and slams Draco against the wall. He swallows the Slytherin’s protests with a heated kiss, and Draco gasps in happy surprise. After a minute, Harry pulls back to nudge Draco’s chin upwards with his nose and stare at the bruise there, tarring that perfect skin. Marking him. Showing Harry that Draco is his. It’s bigger that he first thought, and positioned directly beside his vein, which is throbbing with Draco’s accelerated pulse. Harry smirks and allows his gaze to slide to a spot under Draco’s jaw, finding the other cute mole, biting his lip. Then he reaches down to bite another hickey in beside it, and another. And another.
“Merlin, if I knew hickeys made you act like- mm- this, I’d have stopped spelling them aw- uh- away ages ago!” Draco gasps out, pulling Harry up by his unruly hair.
“Fuck you,” Harry whispers before kissing him again.
From a handout I prepared for my students last year
Bán: white, fair, fair-haired, pale. Bán is the colour of white cloth, frost, white wine, silver, white or fair hair, and pale, pallid, or blanched skin. People with albinism are described as bán. Bán is used in terms of endearment: mo chailín bán, “my fair girl” regardless of hair colour. Idiomatically, bán is used to mean ‘empty’ or 'blank’: a leathanach bán is a blank page, while an áit ban is an empty or deserted place.
Geal: white, bright, clear. Geal is the colour of white flour, lime, the sun, teeth, snow, and swans. It describes bright light, and clear days. Like bán, it is used in terms of endearment: a ghrá gheal, O fair love.
Fionn: white, fair. Fionn is the colour of sunlight, seafoam, and fair hair.
Bán, geal, and fionn all overlap significantly. Bán generally is the most common, and tends not to refer to shades which can be described as bright or shiny – however silver money is described as airgead bán. Fair hair is never described as geal, although fair skin is.
Liath: grey, pale grey. Liath is the grey of grey hair, animals like mice, mist, mouldy bread, and watery milk. Unlike geal, it is a dull colour. Idiomatically, liath can mean “ancient.”
Buí: yellow. Buí is the colour of sunlight, gold, cornmeal, tanned leather, dried fish, and tanned or sallow skin. Idiomatically, buí is used to meán “ugly”, an gadaí buí meaning “the ugly thief.” A fear buí is an Orangeman. Seán Buí is John Bull, or by extension, England as a whole.
Dearg: dark or vibrant red. Dearg is the colour of red ink, blood, gore, fire, embers, hot iron, and the lower layers of soil. Fíon dearg is red wine. Idiomatically, it can mean “real” or “intense”.
Rua: brownish-red, copper, russet. Rua is the colour of red hair, chestnut horses, copper, and rust. Idiomatically, it can mean “strong” or “violent”: an oíche rua is a stormy night. A madra rua is a fox. In place-names, such as An Cheathrú Rua, it refers to high iron content in the soil.
Corcra: purple. An early loan-word from Latin purpura, before Irish had a p sound.
Gorm: blue, but also bluish green, deep green, and deep purple. Gorm is the colour of indigo, azure, discoloured potatoes, the deep-blue colour of the sky, lush vegetation and grass, blue or green eyes, and bruised or livid skin. A duine gorm is a Black person.
Glas: green, but also grey and light-blue. Glas is the colour of the sea, grass, young or unripe plants, and green timber. It is also the colour of undyed wool, homespun cloth, iron, a cold winter sky, and grey eyes. Idiomatically, it can mean new, unexperienced, fresh; a saighdiúir glas, green soldier, is a new recruit.
Uaine: bright green. Uaine is typically used for any artificial green: one of the colours of the Irish flag, green paint.
Donn: brown. Donn is the colour of brown hair, cattle, brown paper, and timber or wood. Idiomatically, it can mean “firm”, or “strong.”
Dubh: black, dark. Dubh is the colour of black hair, night, ravens, and coal. Idiomatically, it can mean gloomy, evil, in secret. A place which is dubh le daoine, black with people, is overwhelmingly crowded. To have a croí dubh, black heart, is to feel overwhelmed by sorrow. An Fear Dubh is the devil.
-Whenever they’re apart, Yuri is the night owl so he sends the good night texts. Otabek is the early riser so he sends the good morning texts.
-Otabek can be found spending his mornings curled up with a book in a leather chair drinking coffee. When Yuri wakes up, he’ll blast loud music and dance around their house and Otabek will put down his reading, watch and smile at his beautiful boyfriend.
-Although Otabek is an impressive chef, Yuri still retains a childish taste in breakfast food. Their cupboards are stocked with Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Lucky Charms, and basically any sugary cereals that should be eaten more as a snack than a breakfast.
-Otabek absolutely adores Yuri’s bedhead. Yuri’s hair is really fair and wispy so when he wakes up, he’ll have a soft nest on his head with tendrils cascading down every side of his face. Otabek finds it beautiful.
-It’s not completely home for Otabek unless he hears Yuri singing at the top of his lungs in the shower.
Okay so in the first two chapters of Ship of the Dead we had Annabeth and Percy hanging with Alex and Magnus and all I can think of now is Percabeth/Fierrochase double dates. Like Magnus and Annabeth are gonna want to spend time together once the whole Ragnarok thing is over, and of course Alex and Percy are going to follow their fair haired nerds around. Just… these four nerds spending a whole lot of time together and being cute and having fun, whilst Jack flirts and serenades Riptide off to the side, turning it into a triple date.
No doubt one day Sally is going to invite the Norse kids over for dinner so they meet Estelle, and Magnus becomes Uncle Magnus once she can talk. She also calls Alex Uncle or Aunty depending on the day, and thanks to her great eyesight inherited from the Goddess Sally herself, she never gets Alex’s gender wrong, which makes Magnus mad because he occasionally still makes mistakes (as stated in the book).
Bonus point: Alex tries to trip Estelle up but she never gets it wrong
(*repeats “don’t make a lap dance joke” to myself 100 times*)
Keith stumbles into the lecture hall with a crash. His hair is a mess, falling out of its haphazard high ponytail, he’s not 100% sure that his shoes match, and his mouth still tastes like last night’s dinner. He winces at the loud clang the door makes. He feels the sting of a hundred tired, student’s eyes focus on him.
Why? Why were the doors to lecture halls always at the front? Would it kill them to put in a door at the back of the room so poor students who overslept could creep in discretely? His professor stops his lecture, gives him a disgruntled side eye, then continues his droning about wind patterns.
Keith looks up into the throng of students. In the dim light he searches for a seat that’s not too close to the front, not so far up the back that he’ll have to awkwardly climb stairs for 2 minutes and prolong this agony, but also not right in the centre so he’ll have to crawl over and stick his butt in at least 20 people’s faces.
he’s about to give up and take a seat in the front row when he sees it. A thin, tan arm waving enthusiastically above the crowd. Keith lets out a sigh of relief and begins his climb.
Lance sits 10 rows up, on the end seat. Perfect placement. No awkward butts in faces, but he’s far enough away that he can look at online shopping sites without his professor knowing. Thank. You. Lance.
“Saved you a seat.” Lance whispers and moves over so Keith can sit on the end. Keith quickly sheds his backpack and pulls out his books. He has to shove his hair out of his eyes five times, before he gives up and re-does his ponytail. He sighs when he finally has everything in place and has taken a seat.
“What kept you? You look like shit.” Lance sniggers. Keith rolls his eyes.
“I don’t buy it. Don’t you get up early to run or something obnoxiously healthy like that?” Lance leans forward on his flimsy desk. He notices the bags under Keith’s eyes.
“I had my martial arts grading yesterday. I guess I was just really wiped.” He leans back in his chair and sighs. Lance’s eyes light up.
“Oh shit! Yeah, you told me about that.” He scoots closer as he realises his whispers are starting to creep towards normal speaking decibels.
“How’d it go?”
“Yeah, good.” Lance doesn’t miss the tiny smile Keith wears. He’s clearly trying to downplay his accomplishment, but Lance can tell that he’s actually feeling pretty chuffed with himself.
“Did you win?”
“It’s not a competition, it’s like an exam. I’m not competing with anyone…”
“Yeah…” Lance wears a sly smile. “You totally won.”
“Shhh!” A sharp hiss cuts between the boys’ conversation. A boy with a thin face and long, fair hair turns in his seat to look up at the two with a disapproving look. He holds his index finger up to his mouth in a shushing gesture.
Keith and Lance wear matching condescending expressions. They flip of the student in unison.
The boy with long hair lets out an indignant little huff before turning back around.
“What did I miss?” Keith is careful to keep his voice low. He nods towards the professor.
“He briefly went over our first assignment.” Lance pulls out some papers and puts them in front of Keith. “I collected the briefs for you.”
Keith pauses. Lance really didn’t have to do that.
“Oh… wow, thanks.”
“No problem.” Lance smiles. It makes Keith smile instinctively. He has to tear his eyes away to look at the assignment task sheet in front of him.
His stomach drops when his eyes reach a key piece of criteria.
“Work in pairs?” He hisses. Keith had never been great at group work.
“We all signed up in the google doc this morning.” Lance explains. Keith lets out a little groan. This meant that everyone was already taken. The only people would be left would be the slackers who didn’t show up this morning, or the weirdos who kept to the fringes of the lecture hall and disappeared during tutorials and in between lectures… like they were never fully enrolled.
“Dammit, the one time I miss…” Keith begins to lament.
“I went ahead and put us down together.”
Lance suddenly regrets his decision when he sees Keith’s wide-eyed expression. Oh man, had that been way too presumptuous. He didn’t know Keith too well, but they’d been hanging out for two months now, bonding on orientation day over their love of Top Gun and seaweed salad sushi rolls. He knew Keith was really smart… maybe he would have preferred to be with one of the other smart kids. Oh god, had he just trapped him in this partnership? Was Keith’s GPA going to suffer because Lance would drag him down?
“Is that ok?!” Lance’s whisper comes out as more of a panicked slurry of words.
“What?” Keith is knocked out of his daze. “Yes! I mean…” He tones down his enthusiasm.
“Y…yes of course. I uh… I would like to work with you.” He nervously tucks a loose hair behind his ear. “I just figured you’d be taken is all.”
“No, no.” Lance smirks. “I saved myself for you.” He shoots Keith with a finger gun and a wink.
Was that? Is this… flirting?
Keith clears his throat. His fingers tremble, so he hides them under his desk.
“Would you uh… I’m free tonight if you wanted to come over and…” It’s just a study session. Calm down!
“And make a plan. So we don’t rush this last minute?”
Lance smiles with half lidded eyes and nods.
“Sounds good. I’ll get hungry though. We should go out to dinner together beforehand.”
Keith blinks owlishly. Damn… he really should have showered today.
“There’s a taco bell next door…” Keith stops when he sees Lance’s grimace. Lance waves off his suggestion with a flick of his fingers. He leans in close. Keith can feel the warmth of his skin on his cheek.
“I’ll take you somewhere. I know a place.” He smirks. Keith’s eyes narrow.