this thing is lined in silk too ; ;

things the sister signs remind me of - romantic version

♡ aries & libra: pink chocolate, cherry earrings, fiery passionate lovers, rose gardens, red wine stained lips, pink silk robes, tuscany in the summer, neck kisses, being called baby, high school sweethearts, writing poetry for your lover, a-line mini skirts paired with knee-high boots, rose water, learning french, 60s girl groups, sickly sweet perfume

♡ taurus & scorpio: little parisian cafés, good girls and bad boys, dark plum lipstick and black lace lingerie, honeymoons, caramel coffee, partners in crime, wine tasting in florence, undying love, handsome men in suits, purple velvet, dancing in the moonlight, nancy sinatra songs, ribbons in your hair, candle light, cashmere sweaters, taking baths together, rose bouquets

♡ gemini & sagittarius: sea air, baby blue silk dresses, dancing around your apartment in your underwear with your lover, moonlit eyes, dreaming of the 70s, parisian balconies, piles of unread books everywhere, swimming in the ocean at night, exploring new places together, old records, counting stars, eating exotic fruit on the beach, sunkissed skin, making each other come alive

♡ cancer & capricorn: film noir, lavender fields in the south of france, classic literature, warm rain, waking up next to the love of your life, glossy manicures, vintage tea cups, 50s hairstyles, holding hands, keeping photos of loved ones in your wallet, falling asleep in their arms and feeling safe, looking at old photographs together, being protective of each other, jasmine tea

♡ leo & aquarius: red patent mini skirts, the artist and the muse, past life lovers, cherry flavored lip gloss, being each others biggest fan and supporter, powerful women in high heels, lipstick kisses on envelopes, making art in your underwear, being proud of your partner, golden heart shaped hoops, first kisses, breaking rules together as a hobby, faux fur coats

♡ virgo & pisces: first loves, white cotton sundresses, lullabies, milk and honey, being soft-spoken, buttercream blondes, wrists that always smell like roses, quiet sunday mornings, baby swans, a love that feels like coming home, claude debussy’s clair de lune, tender touches, dreaming of finally meeting your soulmate, soft tunes, goodbye kisses, satin sheets

Azriel set Elain down on the tiled shower floor, but he didn’t let her go. He reached over and turned the faucet. Warm water rained down on them. They shivered together for a few moments until their bodies warmed. Slowly, he turned up the temperature.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, how long he might have listened to the beating of her heart through the sound of the falling water. Her head was pressed against his chest, and he wondered if she were listening to his heart, too.

When they’d both stopped shivering, Elain lifted her head. “Where are we?”

Water dripped from his face and hair as he looked down at her. “My house.”

“Where is your house?”

“Just outside Velaris. In the cliffs by the sea.”

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10

It’s a two-fer! Courtesy of @dcwomenkickingass, and specifically this post, I had to do an edit of these, while my storyboards wait. 

I’m not going to go into long explanations here, I hope the drawings do speak for themselves. In the first case, it’s a Land being Land, although I do have to say that he did give a butt to Silk, as opposed to his usual ablation of hips and gluteus maximi. However, he unfortunately did it wrong. 

Artistic anatomy is all about drawing structure, from the inside out. Your muscles by themselves can’t look right if they aren’t placed on top of a properly proportioned skeleton.  Boobs won’t look right if they aren’t drawn as following the curve of the ribcage, its center line, or the movement of the arms which either pull or push on the pectorals on which the breasts hang. The arms back mean the shoulders are lowered, and the angle of the hands will be different since there’s a ¾ turn on the torso. It shows that Land is drawing by guessed shapes, copied contours and practiced repeated motions. There’s no real structure underneath his shapes.

And if we look at the legs, I can only picture Kitty Pride phasing out of a wall: the legs look like they got mangled up to look like stumps. But even structure-wise, there is no thought put into whether the pose actually works, which is why it looks so clumsy. The legs should be reversed due to the line of action that’s in the torso but not followed through into the pelvis and legs. And I’ve been using the coil technique a lot in order to make my volumes work - it should be obvious by the roughs above - which help me figure out things like foreshortening. 

Silk too was a problem of lack of structure, proportions all over the place, and lack of weight and purpose, but it felt moreso than Spiderwoman. I used the same pose Land did but worked out the skeleton first, using rotation arcs in order to properly proportion the length of the various limbs. I don’t know these characters and I might not have used these poses, but Silk here definitely looks like she’s dancing.

The variant cover by Manara looks like a pose right out of porn, pelvis up and cheeks spread, costume looking like body paint, and it makes me very uncomfortable. She doesn’t look like a superhero about to strike, she looks like she’s about to get… well, it’s a porn pose. This is sexualisation. It also reminds me of the Dog Bone sexy shape. 

So I turned the pose sideways to figure it out, and to see what would work better. The sideways pose as is, as you can see, is angled to do quite the opposite of ass-kicking. Were she to try to leap from that pose, she’d fall flat on her face. The second pose is the “coiled like a spring”, but in the camera angle of the cover, it’s an ugly, ugly pose. So I tried to do something in-between, and just by making the pelvis horizontal and lifting the torso off the ground, I’ve managed to move the center of gravity so her weight is on her feet instead of her knees, she can use her arms to maneuver in most directions, and you still get an interesting body shape to look at. I think this works better, and much more ready to spring into motion.

Wanted also to say thanks for all the reblogs, likes and recent follows! I appreciate each one of them, and it’s because you’re still sharing and commenting that I came back to do this. However I’m still really busy! I won’t be posting a lot, but I do plan on posting more than I have. Back to storyboards for me! 

In Plentea of Time [ML Ficlet]

@kasumiafkgod @keaoriginalart @fynneyseas @sockdilemma


“Hi, welcome to Lucky Cat Tea!”

Marinette freezes in her spot behind the counter. Busy replenishing the tins of loose leaf tea for the more popular brews, she hadn’t heard the delicate chime at the front door. She turns in slow-motion to the shop floor, watching as the new customer starts chatting with the blond standing by the shelves. She hadn’t heard the front door chime, which means it’s too late-

“Oh, I have no uncertainteas about finding the right blend for you.”

It’s too late, and Adrien has taken center stage.

The customer, a woman around forty or so, giggles behind her hand and bats her eyelashes at him. Gross.

And it’s not like Marinette can blame her, really: the only thing Adrien has more of than looks is charm, and both are abundant. When the bright-eyed boy with a voice that toed the line between silk and sin had clocked in on the first day, Marinette herself had experienced a good swoon. She’d even made the mistake of mentioning her handsome new co-worker to Alya, resulting in a one-woman warpath dead set on getting the two of them together. Normally, Marinette would appreciate the enthusiasm, were it not for the one glaring, unfortunate, and utterly unavoidable problem:

“Well, I’ll leaf you to browse the rest of our selection,” Adrien says. The grin is quick to his lips, lips that would otherwise be very kissable were they not the purveyors of such unholy atrocities.

Given the way he swings that grin to light on her the moment that the customer looks away, Marinette is sure he’s doing it on purpose.

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Pink Silk

Harry had this shirt. This soft pink silk shirt, that had his last name embroidered on the pocket. You had a habit of taking it from his closet and wearing it when he was going to be gone for awhile. You looked the way the silk slipped over your body and you weren’t as tall as him so the hem fell just above your knees.

Harry was supposed to have been in London doing interviews about his role in Dunkirk, so it hadn’t crossed your mind to put the shirt back before he came home. So when your phone rang just as you were going to sleep that night you didn’t think it would be Harry asking about the shirt.

“Hey pet” Harry said into the phone. You could almost see him smiling the way he did when he talked to you in person.

“Hello” You say stifling a yawn.

“Did I wake you?” He asks, just a little concerned.

You tell him you weren’t sleeping just yet, and listen to him talk about how the interviews went and how he was glad to be home.

Home.

You heart almost stops when you hear him say it, because right now you were laying in bed wearing his pink silk shirt that had probably cost a shit ton of money. You hoped he wouldn’t notice, and you keep talking to distract him from saying anything.

“Alright, Petal, I’m gonna let you get some sleep” Harry says and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Goodnight!” You say almost too cheery. You prepare to hang up, but you still hear him talking on the other line.

“I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find my pink shirt with my last name in it, it’s made of silk and it’s really soft and I want to take it with me next trip” You can hear him saying.

You almost want to hang up, you’re afraid he’s going to be angry that you have his shirt or that maybe he’ll yell at you for taking his things.

You breathe in and let it all out in one breath.

“HarryItookyourshirtoutyourclosetwithoutaskingbutitwassosoftandsowarmansitsmellslikeyousoivegotit” You close your eyes and wait for him to start yelling, but he starts to chuckle instead.

“It’s alright, just make sure you bring it by my house tomorrow so I can take it with me on my next trip”

You’re smiling, you’re happy that he wasn’t angry and that you’ve got another night left with such a wonderful shirt. He tells you goodnight and you hang up.

You fall into a deep sleep, smiling and hugging yourself in that pink silk shirt.

(Please don’t steal my stories, ILY)

Tim + Alex Get TWATD #7.1: Minerva, Baal, Woden

So here’s a thing we used to do which we haven’t in a while. When TWATD started out, the idea was six units of criticism every six months, split into two halves, for reasons of formalism probably. 

The format has changed considerably since then, but Tim + I still think in the basic unit of three, so to highlight that fact – and because I’m having a stressful morning and this is a soothing activity – here’s the latest round of essays. And, hey, because this is comics, I’ve even gone back to the old numbering.

A Year Older, A Year Wiser

Tim: “We’ve held Mini at arm’s length, and the book has treated her more like a symbol than a character in her own right. Her short blonde hair emphasises her childish features, and her glasses kept us at a distance from her. At best, she was a representation of the stolen youth of the Pantheon, a reminder of their tragically preordained early deaths. At worst, she was a plot device, a cat dangling from a rope in need of saving.”

Read more.

Baal So Hard

Alex: “Even in Gillen’s playful dialogue, these constant elaborate nicknames feel too written, too overwrought to be part of natural speech. I mean, Nick Batcave? But looking back, I suspect that’s the point. These lines are a little too neat and clever to be thought up on the spot. Baal is a dude who sits up at nights really thinking about all this, you feel. Tangled up in the silk sheets, brow knitted, considering where he stands among his peers.”

Read more.

No More Mr Asshole

Tim: “Woden has done awful, terrible things. He has been an accessory to multiple murders, collaborating with Ananke to facilitate and cover up the death of several of his fellow gods, as well as numerous regular people. He openly acknowledges that he treats women as objects for his sexual satisfaction, and he exerts an abusive level of power over the Valkyries. Plus he is smug, cowardly, manipulative and probably doesn’t smell too fresh in that leather suit either. 

But is he irredeemable?”

Read more.

And with that, once more we piss off for a bit. 

See you again at the end of the arc.

The North Star

A @sbbsnippets from my SBB Pirates Historical au, where Captain Steve Rogers commands a crew of scallywags across the high seas in search of plunder.

Steve finds Luis in the Captain’s quarters. Three rooms, each one twice the size of Steve’s own cabin. The one Luis is in seems to be devoted to clothes. Luis crouches in the eye in a hurricane of silk and brocade, a green velvet jacket in his hands.

“You see this shit?” he waves the jewel-encrusted cuff under Steve’s nose. “These ain’t even real, they’re fuckin’ paste! Cheap bastards!” He throws aside the offending jacket and picks up a frilled silk shirt. “And you seen the state of this? Hijo de puta, there’s like three shirts worth of silk in all this business! A man wears that you’d mistake him for a fuckin’ jellyfish!”

Steve reaches down into the pile and pulls out a plain-looking jacket and shakes it out. It’s made of sturdy, quilted cotton in blue, the wide front flaps overlapping and fastened down one side with wooden buttons covered in matching fabric.

A good jacket, one that would keep the wearer warm on cold nights. Would bring out the blue of their eyes.

Luis makes a triumphant sound and holds up another coat. It’s made of felted wool in deep blue, with a silver trim along the shoulders and cuffs. The front is a simple row of silver buttons.

“Cap, you would look fan-fucking-tastic in this thing. Feel it, that shit is serious. Silk lined too, oh man, you gotta try it!”

The coat Steve is wearing is frayed around the edges, so he shrugs it off, setting it to one side, and takes the offering. Luis claps his hands together and Steve pulls on the coat and fastens up the silver buttons.

“Oh yeah, that is some premium shit right there. The cut of the waist, all those pleats and shit, great for bringing out that whole…” Luis sketches an upside down triangle in the air between them. “Shoulder to waist thing you got going on.”

“Luis,” Steve says softly.

“All I’m saying is you wanna catch a fish you gotta throw out your line.”

anonymous asked:

Could you explain your interpretation of "fright lined dining room"

Cornerstone EP lyric question! Okay. 

There’s a lot of weird things in here, proving once again that Alex Turner was absolutely not as innocent as people pretended he was in 2009. I think again, it’s an observation of a situation he has found himself in. A strange place, somewhere a little bit new for him - the beginning of the years they spent in exclusive parties and bars and VIP lounges. They spent the night there, observing a girl who dances in their laps and they feast on her. Although Alex declares he needs a breather, or a minute to leave. I think this is his first observation of the beginning of his time spent in exclusive clubs, with heavy drinks and pretty girls and ummm well “ drowned bags of sugar in the night.” Hahaha. Which in itself is a contrast to AM’s No. 1 Party Anthem, which can essentially be the same song, the same theme, just differently phrased. He knows his way around the block by the time he gets to that song, right? He’s not as shocked by the way a woman looks when she’s strutting on a pole, I guess. I digress! Sorry.

I like the last lines of the first verse so fucking much: 

I am the truth’s true truant, I can feign excitement
Fluently as solid as I can busk shock
With well-presented merriment and I know all too well
I shouldn’t break the key off in the lock

He can pretend/hide he’s not excited as well as he can perform. Busk means to perform, and he’s saying that he’s a good actor - he can look cool, aloof, excited, or bored, in any situation. The truth’s true truant, meaning he can abandon the truth when he has to. Some websites will tell you this line ”I shouldn’t break the key off in the lock.” means he knows he can’t get a girl pregnant - I don’t think Alex is that crass, so I will not agree with that until I can ask him myself, haha. But I think it could mean something similar - he knows not to let things go too far… He knows not to get stuck in a room, trapped, somehow. He knows he needs to escape.

And the tumble splits the fray
Revealing silk can fit
In the fright lined dining room
Throw a gaze towards them while they feast

This to me is just his observation of the way the stripper/dancer is like, being feasted on by the guys around them. I feel like in some way this song details their weird time in the desert-era-days (i made that up), where they were kind of bored throughout the week (”The days drag their heels when you’re not there to crack the whip”/”And the weeks wait to burst like a sachet of brats”) but sort of come alive at night in this weird, trippy place they’ve found themselves.

Listen to how the song is a little bit dancey and kind of upbeat in the beginning and then by the end gets a little more dreamy/spacey. I think that’s part of the message. He’s describing an event in his life where he was in one place, and then stuck in another. Sometimes I wonder if the strip club thing was just a dream for him. He can’t sleep, and when he does, he has weird dreams about lap dances. I am reaching, but the song like almost every song on Humbug has the ‘dream’ element to it where it doesn’t feel real. He’s capturing something that seems a little bit out of place. 

The third verse, despite the first line (is it a coke reference?), is again about his insomnia. “I scribbled over dribble, you were snoring/showing off.” His girlfriend (I assume) was asleep, he couldn’t sleep, he was jealous. Also: “rocketing shutter doors despite the shop not opening for hours” indicates the doors being opened (awake?) despite not being opened for hours, which means it was probably the middle of the night. Alex was restless. Again.

There’s just so much in this damn song I can’t even like, comprehend the level of complexity. He’s really attempting to mask whatever it is he’s actually doing. At the time, he had less eyes looking into the meaning of every word he wrote. I think some of this is just lines he strung together that sounded so good he couldn’t get rid of them. I love how arrogant he sounds, the cockiness of the first to verses. He’s so… He was just as much of a rock star back then as he is now. It just takes a minute to really find it. Remember, during the time of Humbug they were hanging out with Josh Homme a lot, and his crew, and obviously that runs a little bit on mystery, and desert, and weirdness. 

Whether or not Alex is actually doing the things in this song is not exactly clear, either. What I find interesting about Alex is that he is an observer of behavior and will write lyrics based on what he sees. So in theory it could be just him taking a person or a place, or an idea, and writing it out on a night he can’t sleep. He wrote Humbug during nights he struggled to close his eyes, and he’s describing a dark thing. Something that would work only at night. Can’t talk about it in the daylight.. Etc.

This one is hard. This is kind of my thoughts on it, but I know this is not my strongest post. I’m sorry! I’m trying my best.

sanoiro  asked:

I don’t usually ask for a fic or give out prompts but selfishly I want... no need one. If you are up to this of course. My prompt request is “The Movies”... Perhaps Chloe and Trixie finding Lucifer at the cinema? He is an avid fan after all...

It’s your lucky day because this is a prompt I get an awful lot! I have lots of TV loving Luci hcs and I have two more movie prompts here and here if you’re interested. 



He hadn’t answered her calls all weekend. The last time Chloe had heard from Lucifer had been their midnight glass of wine on Friday.

Today was Sunday and Chloe was in his amber elevator trying to convince herself that she was just worried and totally not clingy.

When she’d started dating Dan she’d been anything but clingy. They would go a whole week without a single phone call and not worry. She frowned to herself. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure why she was so surprised that they drifted apart.

But Lucifer was not Dan.

They’d had a proper date the month before and that had only been the beginning. Soon Lucifer’s jackets found their way to the backs of her chairs and her perfume clung to his silk sheets. There were littler things she noticed too: a light touch on the waist here or a hand carding through hair there.

It were other things she told herself that she would never let herself do that she found herself doing with him. She let him sling an arm around her hips while they waited in line for Starbucks and let him pull her into a few dances around Lux. But most of all, Chloe let him completely charm her.

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keyofjetwolf  asked:

Haruka and Usagi, you're the sweetest cherry in an apple pie.

OBVIOUSLY I’M DOING A SHIT JOB WRITING TODAY BUT I AM TRYING, and in fairness to me I’m intentionally picking tougher stuff to challenge myself. This is all Usagi being a beacon of love and light in a way I can theoretically live with, all for you you loser gumdrop muffin, 1,400 words and you owe me a drink. 


Haruka had a great many insecurities, most of which she denied vehemently as her cheeks grew red and she felt a twisting in her belly, but most of these fell to her intellect, or her class, or if they did somehow invoke her appearance, it had more to do with her tendency toward scrawniness than her general presentation.

But there were nights, and moments, from time to time, where she wished she were not quite so very her, living between worlds, it seemed, not given to femininity but not longing to be a man either, the world desperately wanting her to to give in to either. Michiru liked her very much, just as she was, and Haruka believed her on that score, and it provided a bit of a shield from the way the rest of the world regarded her as something not quite right, from the idea that if she could have been a princess, or just been a man, her mother might have loved her, school might have been easy, and all things might have aligned in her favor.

Tonight was, nearly inexplicably, one of those moments, and one of those nights. Normally she felt so handsome and comfortable in the suit jacket Michiru had given her so long ago, the one she teased her for keeping from early in their courtship, neat grey cashmere lined in teal silk, a touch Haruka only realized years later was a mark of ownership. It felt nice to be wanted so badly.

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100 Ways To Say I Love You || 04

100WTSILY Masterlist

WC: 976

Characters: Suga/Yoongi + Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of blood.

A/N: Surprise! Yall thought I was going to wait till next Friday to post number four huh? Lol nope~ (Just kidding none of you thought that did you?) Well I just want to apologize for publishing this story late. I had a really busy week and was not able to finish it like I had hoped for. Thankfully I had some free time today so here it is. Feedback is always welcome and I hope you enjoy!

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Under my skin (Namjoon/Oc)

Chapter 5

“What do you wear to a non date? You know where you go out with a guy but you don’t want him to think it’s a date? Because you’re not into him that way… ” I say casually, watching my roommate as she digs through her closet , wrapped in a fluffy white towel .

 She’s got an interview in a few hours and she gives me a look of long-suffering, eyes hooded and mouth twisting downwards in displeasure.

 "Ae Rin-ah, you know how I feel about your stunted emotions , your lack of a love life and your fashion sense, why would you put all three of those things in one sentence, it makes me nauseous..“ She mutters.

 "Don’t be a bitch. Come on, toss me a bone here.”

 "Is this the back up dancer you’ve been sleeping with?“ She says with a frown, laying out her own outfit and then going back in to dig through her clothes. As a fashion major she usually had an excess of dresses and t shirts and pants lying around. 

"Uh…” I hesitate just a bit. “ Not exactly. ”

“Then?”

“it’s his friend.” I mutter under my breath. Jiah frowns deeper and pulls out three dresses, decent calf length gowns with stitched hems and puffy, flowy sleeves. They look decidedly feminine and i wrinkle my nose. 

“How close of a friend are we talking here? Your fuck buddy is okay with you going around with his friend?” 

“It’s not that serious. Remember that cafe I told you about? The one in Gangnam? He’s got tickets for the weekly exhibit and I just want to see it!” I say briskly, grabbing a periwinkle blue dress and holding it up against my body. i’m not fashinably thin, but not exactly voluptuous either. The wide neckline would be wasted on me. 

“Wait, is this the same exhibition you’ve been salivating over for  years ? The one where you can’t get tickets unless you’re super rich or super connected or something?” 

“Yup..” i hum, reaching for the next gown. It’s a soft pink, not garish or overdone and i like it. There’s some lacy white overlay near the neck and pink bows on the sleeves and Jesus, is that a satin bowtie? It’s definitely girly though, and I feel like a little feminity never hurts, you know? 

Except when I hold it up, it falls a few inches short of my knee. Too much skin. 

Rejected. 

Jiah let out a low whistle.

“He got you tickets to a show like that? That sounds very.. romantic and date-y? Okay, does  he  know you’re not into him.??”

I make a noise of impatience. 

“Of course, I told him that.” 

“then why do you feel the need to convey it through oyour clothes as well? if you guys already talked about it, and he knows you’re not interested him, then wear whatever you feel like.” She sounds perfectly sensible, of course , but I still feel a cloying sense of guilt in the pit of my stomach. i don’t know what it is that’s triggering all these negative emoitons in me. 

“I just…Wanna be safe i guess. I don’t know … i don’t want to hurt either of them.” I say, feeling silly. there’s nothing to be hurt here, i think firmly. there’s no prospect of a serious relationship with either of them anyway. it’s absolutely foolish to even think of something like that. 

they’re superstars. 

I’m a struggling photographer who takes pictures of them. Yoongi just.. well, he likes me for a quick lay, possibly because I could hold a conversation with him when he wanted me to. 

And Namjoon… Namjoon was…

“Ae Rin? Rin.. You listening?!”

I startle, blinking back to focus on her. 

“Uh.. yeah?”

“I said, don’t be the reason their friendship gets shot to hell. it’s a shitty thing to do. “ She says firmly and I nod absently, reaching for the burgundy gown with the lace lining. it looked classy, perfect for a photo exhibit. 

“I’m not getting involved with either of them.” I say firmly, testing the soft silk of the gown. it looks expensive too, texture like flowing water over my fingers. 

“So you say. But honestly, you know that these sex only relationships are never that, right? You end up catching feelings in the end and then it all gets shot to hell. You don’t want that distraction…” 

You see , over the years, I’v realized something. 

Jiah is smart. 

And I’m a reckless fool. 

I ignore her warning and get dressed slowly, texting my location to Namjoon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He picks me up in a blue Porsche Cayenne. I fidget uncontrollably as he comes around to open the car door for me, dressed in fitting blue jeans and a plain white button down, face hidden by a mask and hair swept up underneath his fedora. He looks like an idol, even without the fanfare, body taut and firm: all 181 cm of him. 

He greets me normally, because he’s a normal human being, while I try not to feel like an bull in a china shop, fumbling over my syllables like an idiot. 

“You’re late.” I blurt out stupidly and his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling. It’s a shame i can’t catching sight of the dimples that are no doubt underneath that mask.  

He’s incredibly tall, up close and i struggle to feel less like a bug as he helps me into the seat, the musky scent of expensive perfume and clean male skin hitting me in all the right places . Or should I say , wrong places.

“I’m sorry, I was held up a bit by traffic. I hope you’ll forgive me. ” He whispers, eyes fixing on mine with alarming force. It’s almost physically restrictive,. his gaze. Like arms gripping my waist and pinning me to the seat.

Breathing has never been harder.

It’s new and terrifying, this foreign feeling of nervousness and guilt. And it confuses me completely. Namjoon isn’t the sort of person I usually admire. 

Not to say he isn’t attractive.

 He’s intensely masculine, unforgivingly male and there’s just this something in him that would make any girl want to… get down on her knees .

For not-so innocent reasons. 

And that scares me. 

Attarction is one thing : but something about Namjoon tells me he’s dangerous.All consuming. The sort of person who would demand too much. Demand it all. He would probably want to  own  the girl he got together with. 

Well, if you had to belong to someone, he’s not a bad choice  a voice snickers in the back of my mind.

 i know that voice. It’s the same voice that makes me follow idols to five star hotels and let them take naked photos of me. That voice is not to be trusted.

When he slips behind the car wheel, I can’t help but stare at his veiny forearms, the quiet strength of his fingers as he grips the wheel. He’s a confident driver but not cautious like Yoongi. There’s a bit of a rashness in the way he drives, not wild per se but just a little out of the comfort zone. 

 You know what they say about the way a man drives and the way he is in bed,  the voice is back, this time too loud.  Namjoon looks like he could be into some freaky stuff. 

My face is flaming red and I already wish I’d just refused him. 

“The Photographer this week is In Sook Kim… You like her right? I read that she’s your favorite photographer” He says casually and I pull myself together. 

“Read?”

“Your thesis on Florence. It was published in that magazine… i read it.” 

“ She talks about a lot of things : abstarct stuff that people ususlaly tend to ignore. i love that about her. She makes me feel like, … even if i’m not someone famous or well-known…i’m still special. I want to recreate that sometimes…. ” I say softly, momentarily forgetting my nervousness. 

“She’s done a lot of projects…” 

“I studied one of them. Muses… it came out in 2004. “ I smile brightly. 

“The one with the women from the S and M club?” He smiles faintly, reaching out to take his mask off and it’s a bit like getting a floodlight shoved into my face, the sharp features and the bright gaze.

“uh.. yeah.. That one.. You know it?” i’m surprised. 

“Of course. it’s one of her famous works. I have two copies of it on my bedroom wall.” 

I try not to think of him on his bed , staring up at photos of submissive women in a Sado-Masochism club. 

But i can’t control my face and he laughs. 

“Don’t tell me you’re a conservative woman? “

“I.. no .. of course not. To each their own.” I say swiftly. 

“Hmm… Personally , i think everyone should try BDSM , once .” He shakes his head. 

I struggle to draw in my next breath. 

“I.. uh.. yeah, sure.” 

He must’ve caught the way my voice stuttered. 

“Am i making you uncomfortable?” He looks very unapologetic, almost amused. 

 Very much.

“Not at all. But then, not everyone is like that” I say almost defensively. The very phrase brings out a visceral reaction in me. I’ve seen woman hand over control to men. i’ve seen men take that control, take that power and break that woman down till she stops existing. 

“Like what?” He sais gently.

I bite my lips. 

“Weak and submissive.” i say finally. 

Namjoon laughs out loud

“Weak Submissives? There’s no such thing as a weak submissive, Ae Rin ssi… Submissives are usually very strong people. People who are strong enough to trust their Dom with themselves.” He turned slightly, something challenging in his gaze. 

I swallow. 

“Well, I wouldn’t know.” I snap. “ I’m not one!” 

He makes a soft , soothing sound that oddly comforts me. 

“I’m sorry if that ruffles your feathers,  aegi , I just made a general observation.”

Aegi? did he just call me aegi? I’m not his baby!! . I should be mad, I thought trying to summon up some irritation at the phrase. But all i can feel is warmth spreading out to my toes. 

“I… I’m sorry too. I just.. I shouldn’t have snapped.” I say feeling oddly scolded. 

“Let’s talk something fun, where would you like to have dinner tonight? I have reservation for a Chinese, A Thai and a Continental Place. You pick.” He smiles brightly. 

We talk a bit about our favorites and decide on the Thai place, by which time we’ve reached the cafe. 

As we pull up to the entrance. i glance at the board set up on front. The place is oddly empty and uncrowded which was surprising because the cafe is usually bustling with people. 

 Private Viewing Scheduled. Visitors Prohibited. 

“What?” I say confused when he comes around and helps me out. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.. i hope you’ll enjoy this.” He says almost apologetically and i fellt my heart leap into my throat as I follow him into the loungue. The staff greet Namjoon with familiarity, even hugging him. 

“Is she here?” He says brightly and my heart stops. 

“No.. No!1 Kim Namjoon, No!!” I hiss, stunned. 

“You said you like her! You can tell her that in person. She’s in the last room. “

“You.. You’re not..?”

“coming with? Of course not! This is your present. Enjoy it to the fullest.” He smiles brightly. “ I’ll be right here. You can take as long as you want. Our reservation isn’t till eight. That gives you..” He glances at his watch “ Four hours at least.” 

I stare at him, fighting the overwhelming urge to fling myself into his arms . 

“I .. Thank you…I…”

“You can thank me by buying me ice cream the next time we go out.” He smiles and the casual way he tells me he wants to meet me again isn’t entirely lost on me. 

I try to ignore my pounding , breathless heart and move to the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t take me four hours. I spend an hour and twenty minutes with the lady, a bright middle aged woman with a pleasant smile. She’s very humble and answers my question with a lot of patience. 

“I don’t usually meet fans or attend private schedulings. But Namjoon’s mother is an old friend and he’s never called me in for a favor before.” She smiles, when I finally shake hands with her to bid her farewell. 

“I.. Thank you. I had such a great time.” My find feels like a well soaked sponge with all the information I’ve crammed into it. She had been kind enough to let me record some of her more complicated ideas, the ones I was afraid I would forget once i got home. 

“He told me you’re interested in an internship, now that you’ve finished your Degree. My studio does take interns… You’re welcome to apply with your portfolio.” She smiles then and i know my jaw has hit the floor. 

“I… really? Are you serious? I mean.. i’m not that good!! ” I’m too stunned to respond properly. 

“Of course. And don’t be so hard on yourself. You got that scholarship didn’t you? The same scholarship, I myself failed to get .” She winks. 

I nod , feeling lost and overwhelmed. 

“I’ll send it in…I will. Thank you so much.” I say softly. 

“Namjoon’s a nice kid. Bit old fashioned , but a nice kid. I hope you treat him well.” She says gently, her eyes warm and soft and it scares me momentarily, the sincerity in her tone. My throat goes try and i quickly shake my head. 

“Oh, no… No! We’re not together. I.. i have a boyfriend!” I say stupidly. She looks surprised.

“Oh.. really? I assumed… When namjoon said… Oh well,” She looks very confused but smiles. “ I’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable.” She finishes awkwardly. 

When I leave the room, my mind is still running in circles. I’m not an idiot. I know that Namjoon isn’t one either. What he’s done today… it goes beyond the boundaries of friendship. Far beyond it. 

And it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt. Fingers trembling, I make my way to the loungue where I know he’s waiting. He catches sight of me and if i needed anymore proof , it’s there in the way his face lights up when he sees me, twin dimples lighting up on his face. 

i can’t summon up the smile that I ought to give him. In it’s place is liquid terror, spreading through my veins. 

 What are you seeing, when you see me? A pretty young girl with a bright dream? That’s not who i am! There are so many demons inside my skull… they’ll destroy you if you come anywhere near me , Namjoon -ah…

“Hey! Did you have fun….” His smile fades when he sees me and I stop trying to hide it. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He says nervously and i swallow. 

“I.. I’m fine. I was just wondering how Yoongi would have enjoyed the exhibit too ” I lie blatantly and it’s funny, how he wears his heart on his sleeve, how his mile gets wiped off his lips and hie eyes lose that sparkle. 

“Thank you for today. I learned so much from her . She even told me I could apply to be an intern and..” I babble mindlessly . 

Namjoon stares at me for a long moment. 

“I’m happy that you’re happy.”  He says softly and I feel out of my depth. 

Later as we sit down to dinner, he tells me about his family, his dog and his little sister. 

“What about your family?” He says casually reaching across the table to refill my wine glass. 

“Uh.. My parents died when I was six.” I say softly. “ I grew up with my stepfather , till I got the scholarship to study in Seoul univ.”

“Is he still around?”

“Uh…I wish he wasn’t.” I say before I can put a stopper on my thoughts. Namjoon glances up sharply and his dimples peek out.

“Ah… that explains a lot.”

“Sorry?”

“the distrust… the way you always keep glancing at the door … the way you steer the conversation away from amything personal. I bet you’re one of those rare girls who think that a dinner date is far more intimate that a night of hot and heavy sex…” He smiles thoughtfully. I’m momentarily stunned into silence. 

“That’s not… I’m not like that…” I say sharply. 

“It’s not a flaw. Plenty of girls out there have daddy issues. Most of them, in fact. “ He shrugs. 

i feel suddenly affronted.

“I do not have Daddy issues, what the fuck…” The words are out before I can stop myself and he grins. 

“That’s more like it.” He whispers.

“What?” I snap.

“This is more like you. the swearing, The blazing eyes. The heaving breasts. you look like a goddess when you’re angry. You’ve been wearing a mask this evening and I really wish you’d be yourself with me. ” He leans forward and I resist the urge to toss the wine on his face.

“You’re insufferable…i want to leave.” I almost stand but his hand shoots out and grips my wrist, so tight that I whimper, the sound strangled out of me. 

“Don’t be scared, baby. I’m just being honest He whispers. 

“This isn’t a date. Stop calling me that.” I grit out. He lets my wrist go and I wipe at the skin moodily. 

“I know it isn’t a date. I never said it was. “ He shrugs. And then he looks up and there’s a flash of something in his gaze.

“But I hope the next one will be.” He says softly. 

I stare at him and suddenly it strikes me how foolish I’ve been. Of course he’s going to be just like the rest of them.

“You want to have sex with me?” I say blankly. 

“I want to get to know you. To date you… “ He corrects me, leaning forward. 

“You don’t have to splurge for another date. I could blow you in the rest room if you like.” I say it just to shock him but it angers him instead.

“Shut up. Yell back at me if you want… don’t fucking degrade yourself like that. You’re worth far more than a blowjob in a rest room, you silly fool.” He snarls. The words momentarily frighten me. 

“Well, that’s where you’re fucking wrong. I’m not worth ‘ more’. And I’m going to pass on the date. i already have a fuck buddy.” I say softly , leaning back. 

“Yoongi hyung? I know you don’t feel anything for him… You’re using him .You think he’s a safe bet because he’ll never ask for more than what you give. But me…I scare you” He smiles softly and it’s frightening how accurate he is. 

I laugh in disbelief. 

“You think you’re better than him? He took me to the Park Hyatt on our first date..He booked the honeymoon suite for 5000 dollars that night…..i’ve already slept with him a dozen times. i don’t even know you that well.  “ I sound snobbish but the urge to wipe that smirk off his face is overwhelming.

Namjoon smiles.

“Yoongi hyung has a scar on his shoulder. Which one? Left or right?” He smiles.

“What?” I blink. 

“The scar on his shoulder…. which shoulder…?

“I..” I stop drawing a complete blank. did he have a scar? 

“The curtains in your honeymoon suite… do you remember what color they were? “ He smiles , “ the bedsheets.. were they satin or silk…? Do you remeber the conversation you had with him during dinner? Do you remeber what he was wearing that night?” 

It feels a bit like I’ve been sucker punched. i don’t remember any of those stuff. Had never felt the need to ..

“i.. That’s.. Those are physical things.. they don’t mean anything…”

“Oh they would. If Yoongi means anything… those things would mean something too…. But we both know he doesn’t…” 

“Stop.. Namjoon…”

“Give me a chance, Ae Rin.” He says firmly, leaning forward. 

“Take me home.”

“Ae Rin.”

“We’re done. Take me home. Now!!”.

He doesn’t protest. But when he drops me off, his face is somber. 

“I’m not going to back off.” He whispers. 

“Good night Kim namjoon ssi.” 

Bottom!hobi

To the anon who asked for me recs.
Don’t worry I gotchu I’m gathering my links now as we speak bc muahahahahah so many

Okay bear with me

Jihope: To Know Reverence, So That’s What You Like? (this one is my own fic so sorry if it’s bad)

Yoonseok: ‘til morning comes, let’s tassellate, Game Over(Fantasy fulfilled), four senses, Blush, Hot Red (trans!hobi)

Rapline: Feather Light and Smooth As Silk, bound to you

Hyung line: Adult Games

VHope: I want to try it too, Don’t Fuck an Artist, They call me… (A bitch), You’re My Sin

JungHope: A Slight Thing, dance with me, hyung pt 3

2Seok: i’ll give you it all (come here, baby doll), Massage (this one is just fingering)

Restless Nights

Patrol that evening was far from quiet. Shouts and yelling could be heard throughout the city. Unrest disturbed the typically uneventful nights Damian had grown accustomed to. He could see that his brothers and even his father, the ever stoic Batman, were shaken by the recent events.

Damian thought that the continuous violence he saw on a near daily basis wouldn’t affect him much, he was a member of the League of Assassins and the grandson of Ra’s Al Ghul after all. And yet, as he lay awake night after night, he couldn’t banish the images of strife and fear from his mind. It was on these nights that he turned towards the comfort of companionship.
At first it was merely one of his (many) pets, namely Titus or Alfred the Cat since neither a cow nor a demon could fit on his bed comfortably. But despite the warmth of a cuddly pet pressed into his side was not nearly enough, for a dog can’t really tell you that everything will be alright, even if they try.

It was on these nights that Damian would creep silently from his bed, down the halls, past rows of closed doors to his brother’s room. Usually he would visit Dick because for one he was the most comfortable to cuddle with and two he was the least likely to complain should Damian visit in the night. Damian would tap on Dick’s shoulder (it usually took a few tries because Dick is incredibly difficult to wake up) and ask if it would be permissible if he could perhaps stay for a few minutes (hours) and was always met with a groggy “yeah ‘course little bird”. Damian would climb under the unbelievably warm sheets and would lay almost as stiff as a board at the edge of the bed, too afraid to get to close to Dick, just in case he didn’t really want Damian there. But Dick would inevitably wrap his arms around Damian into an impossibly tight hug and just whisper to him that everything would be okay and that no matter what Damian would always have him. Somehow Dick always knew what to say, even if it was 2 am on a night off of patrol.

Sometimes Dick wouldn’t be home for one reason or another and Damian would have to resort to going instead to his father who, though understanding, was not incredibly vocal in terms of supporting others. Nevertheless Damian would hoist himself onto the towering king size bed and bury himself in plush duvets and silk sheets and just relish in the closeness of being near a familiar presence. Occasionally his father would tell him reassuring things, all along the lines of fear in the face of violence and anger is not illogical, nor is it a fatal weakness and that it’s okay that Damian would need help sometimes. Once he even admitted that he too was afraid sometimes.

It was nights like these that Damian could sleep soundly, wrapped in the warm embrace of a loved one, free from thoughts of terror and despair.

—————————————-


This was a request from @lonesomelittleangel
I hope it was what you were looking for!
Please keep sending in requests

Arya and Loneliness

There’s something incredibly depressing about how much Arya longs for company and companionship. She loves being around people, makes friends wherever she goes-

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody.   Sansa, AGoT

Cat had made friends along the wharves; porters and mummers, ropemakers and sailmenders, taverners, brewers and bakers and beggars and whores. They bought clams and cockles from her, told her true tales of Braavos and lies about their lives, and laughed at the way she talked when she tried to speak Braavosi. She never let that trouble her. Instead, she showed them all the fig, and told them they were camel cunts, which made them roar with laughter. Gyloro Dothare taught her filthy songs, and his brother Gyleno told her the best places to catch eels. The mummers off the Ship showed her how a hero stands, and taught her speeches from The Song of the Rhoyne, The Conqueror’s Two Wives, and The Merchant’s Lusty Lady. Quill, the sad-eyed little man who made up all the bawdy farces for the Ship, offered to teach her how a woman kisses, but Tagganaro smacked him with a codfish and put an end to that. Cossomo the Conjurer instructed her in sleight of hand. He could swallow mice and pull them from her ears. “It’s magic,” he’d say. “It’s not,” Cat said. “The mouse was up your sleeve the whole time. I could see it moving.” Arya, AFFC

And yet she often feels alone.

The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did.  Arya, AGoT

 If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone. Arya, AGoT

The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her. Arya, AGoT

Jaqen was gone, though. He’d left her. Hot Pie left me too, and now Gendry is leaving. Lommy had died, Yoren had died, Syrio Forel had died, even her father had died, and Jaqen had given her a stupid iron penny and vanished.

Where would she go? Winterfell was gone. Her grandfather’s brother was at Riverrun, but he didn’t know her, no more than she knew him. Maybe Lady Smallwood would take her in at Acorn Hall, but maybe she wouldn’t. Besides, Arya wasn’t even sure she could find Acorn Hall again. Sometimes she thought she might go back to Shama’s inn, if the floods hadn’t washed it away. She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs.

But that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream. Hot Pie and Gendry had left her just as soon as they could, and Lord Beric and the outlaws only wanted to ransom her, just like the Hound. None of them wanted her around. They were never my pack, not even Hot Pie and Gendry. I was stupid to think so, just a stupid little girl, and no wolf at all.

So she stayed with the Hound.  Arya, ASoS

There is no place here for Arya of House Stark, she was thinking. Arya’s place was Winterfell, only Winterfell was gone. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. She had no pack, though. They had killed her pack, Ser Ilyn and Ser Meryn and the queen, and when she tried to make a new one all of them ran off, Hot Pie and Gendry and Yoren and Lommy Greenhands, even Harwin, who had been her father’s man. She shoved through the doors, out into the night. Arya, AFFC

Most days, she spent more time with the dead than with the living. She missed the friends she’d had when she was Cat of the Canals; Old Brusco with his bad back, his daughters Talea and Brea, the mummers from the Ship, Merry and her whores at the Happy Port, all the other rogues and wharfside scum. She missed Cat herself the most of all, even more than she missed her eyes. She had liked being Cat, more than she had ever liked being Salty or Squab or Weasel or Arry.  Arya, ADWD

That’s why the “lone wolf dies but the pack survives” is an Arya quote, I think. I mean it is no question an Arya quote in that it appears only in her narrative and is repeated in her thoughts (though it is also a Ned quote because he says it.)

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My Muse

A Smutty Liam One Shot

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to fuck you. Don’t know how bad I want to throw you over the table and take you here. I want you to scream my name so loud the neighbors hear… You’re such a little tease, aren’t you? Love to see me squirm; you know all I want to do is bend you over the table and fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight for days.”

Rebloggable Masterlist || More Liam Writing

Not requested

(2.4K words)

Rating: R

Summary: It’s not often that Liam gets writer’s block, but this time it was really bad. Being the loving girlfriend you were, you figured you had to do a little something to refresh his mind. A striptease would do just that, right?

A/N: (or the one where I have such a thing for Liam and I needed to get it out somehow)


It’d been two hours and all I heard from him were little riffs that turned into frustrated and impatient groans from behind a closed door.

He’d been writing songs for hours now.

Well, Liam had been trying to write a song for hours. Normally, he’d have six songs done by now, but today was a different story; he had writer’s block, and was just growing more and more frustrated with himself by the minute.

I had tried to break him out of it a little earlier. I encouraged a half-hour break under the guise of a lunch break, but he had refused, claiming he wasn’t hungry.

This was my last ditch effort.

Clad in a silk robe and heels, I entered the room that held all things musical. He had all his albums lining the shelves, countless awards stacked up too, a piano, dozens of little writing journals, and recording equipment.

He glanced up as I walked in, my heels echoing as they hit the hardwood.

“[Y/N]?” His eyebrows furrowed. “What’ve you got on, love?”

I grinned, walking up to him. I took the pen and notebook from his lap, placing it on the table beside him before pulling his chair out. As I sat on his thigh, my legs between his, turning at the waist to face him, he instinctively wrapped his arm around my waist. 

“You’ve been working very, very hard,” I said, trying to put on my most alluring voice, “and I figured you deserved a little… break.”

His eyes lit up the second I mentioned it; he knew exactly what I meant and he was happy to oblige. “Well, babe,” he said, his free hand leaving his lap to trail his fingers under my robe and across my collarbone, “I love the sound of that.”

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Strange Magic FanFic – “Flame and Forest, Damsels and Dragons”

There is a finer line then one thinks between Princess and Predator, Dragons and Damsels… 


For Strange Magic Week Day 4: Dark Fantasy AU! 

I had so much fun with this one, guys, I can’t even try to deny it. I’ve been wanting to write a story like this for so long…!

Just want to say that I envisioned Human!Bog here, but in reading it, it could easily be his Canon form too. So, whichever one your mind wants, it works =) 

As always, hope you enjoy!


“The Dire One of the Dark Forest? I was expecting…more of a title.”

The sorcerer planted his staff into the scorched soil of the Dark Forest, more bestial in that moment then the creature before him with the snarl he gave. “If you come to kill me to claim any crown, you’ve been sorely misinformed. There are curse casters like me throughout the Forest—”

Keep reading

So I was feeling bad that I wouldn’t be releasing anything new for my lovely Wattpad followers, as my long fic is on hiatus, and thought maybe I could give them an old fic from AO3.  I was torn between my two Creature!Draco fairy tales Draco Dormiens and Breath Of Life, when I figured I could quickly write a third story, and start a little anthology.  So that’s what I’ve done.

Also, it seemed like a nice excuse to write something fluffy for my good friend Katy ( @enigmaticrose4 / @aroseindaegu ) who had her birthday recently, and has also been going through a tough time lately.  Hugs to you darling xxx

A Veela!Draco take on the Rapunzel story, no smut, 2.3K words.  Aesthetic by me, though I don’t own the images.  Featuring Chris Pine as Harry.

***

On The Wings Of Love

   How Harry got himself into these situations, he still wasn’t sure.  He pelted through the forest, branches whipping at his face as the hounds barked and snapped at his feet.  “Hey!” he hissed behind his shoulder.  “Look no hard feelings, okay?  I was just sleeping in that barn!  I wasn’t looking for trouble!”

  The dogs seemed less than sympathetic to his pleas though, their teeth glinting in the afternoon sunshine as they salivated.  

  “I’m not that tasty, I assure you!” Harry went on, charging up a rise and swinging from a low hanging branch over a log.  He was too skinny to look appetising, he was certain, but these dogs probably loved gnawing on a juicy bone.  

  He darted through bushes and around trees, hoping to find some way to escape the angry beasts.  He wouldn’t mind, but he really hadn’t been stealing anything this time, he had just wanted a night’s rest somewhere a little more hospitable than the open ground. But of course the young maiden that had found him had questioned his virtue with a blistering scream before Harry had time to assure her she had nothing to fear, and decided it best to run for it rather than stick around to offer an explanation, risking the sword of her no-doubt enraged father.  

  Up ahead, a solitary tower loomed, which was an odd site for several reasons.  There was no town nearby, Harry knew this as he had counted himself lucky to stumble upon the farmhouse.  And if it was a small castle, surely there should have been more turrets?

  He had to admit though, all he cared about was the fact that is rose from the ground. If he could get inside and bar the door, he could maybe loose his hungry entourage.  

  The dogs were still a dozen of so feet behind him, but his chance came to increase his lead when a small stream cut across his path.  The water was fast, but he was larger than his four-legged friends and was able to hurtle across in next to no time.  They though would have to swim, giving him a precious extra few minutes.

  He sprinted towards the tower, his boots squelching but his spirits raised.  As the foliage cleared he could see a single door at the base of the structure, and he lurched for the handle.  It was locked, and picking it would take time he didn’t have, so he decided to risk a few moments to try a direct approach.  

  “Hello there!” he cried out, pounding his fist against the wood.  “Anyone home?  I’m in a bit of a pickle and could use some help!”  He turned around to peer through the greenery, and could just about make out the dogs still struggling across the water, but he didn’t have long before they were free again.  “Blast,” he huffed, and pulled two thin bits of metal from his tunic pocket, hoping he hadn’t made himself become dinner by wasting time asking for help.

  Before he could attack the lock though, he was startled by a rope falling down in front of his face.  He jumped back, and saw it had come from the only window, all the way at the top of the tower.  “Climb up!” a voice called.

  Another glance back to the stream told Harry the first of the beasts were just clear of the water, and he decided it was worth the risk of falling if only to get off the ground for now.

  He grabbed the rope – and almost slipped back off again.  It was like no rope he had ever encountered before, more like silk than the usual course fibres, and now he was looking at it, he could see it was not spun into one single line, but plaited.  It gave a small jiggle as he inspected it.

  “Come on!” the voice floated down.  

  Harry decided not to question his escape route any further, and wrapped his hand around the plait to get a better grip.  The owner of the rope responded by hauling him up, so in mere moments he had scaled several feet.  A good thing too, as the first of the hounds finally reached the tower, and jumped up to try and bite as his heels.  He was already too high though, and he grinned down in triumph.  “Sorry boys,” he gloated.  “You shall have to find your supper elsewhere!”

  Gradually, he made his way up to the window, his feet walking up the wall and his hands moving up the rope, careful not to slip again, otherwise the snapping dogs would be the least of his troubles.  “Are you nearly there?” called the voice of his mysterious rescuer.

  “Yes, almost!” Harry responded cheerfully.  

  It was with great relief that he grasped the lip of the window sill, and with a final grunt of effort, pulled himself through the opening and tumbled to the floor. He shook himself and sat upright, wishing to thank his new friend.  Then stopped in surprise.

  Before him stood a young man of what looked like his own age.  He was dressed simply in a white cloth, draped over one shoulder and collected into a short skirt at his waist.  His skin was creamy like milk, dazzling even in the gloom of the room, and his face as beautiful as any prince Harry had ever seen.  But that was not what had given him pause.  For the man had golden white hair, shining in the small amount of light coming from the window.  It had been pulled behind his head into a plait…a plait that carried on and on until it finished in Harry’s own hands.  

  “Did I just climb up your hair?” he asked, utterly perplexed.  He had never seen such a thing in his whole life.  

  The young man smiled shyly.  “It seemed like the best idea, considering you were in trouble.  I – I watched you run from the dogs from afar, and did not wish for you to be eaten.”

  “Nor I,” Harry agreed, and got to his feet, brushing his hands and marvelling at the man’s gorgeous hair once more.  “Is that how you usually let your visitors in?”

  The man smiled again, but this time it was with sadness, and Harry’s heart gave a twinge of pain.  Surely someone so beautiful could not be unhappy?

  “I do not have many visitors other than my master, and he has the only key to the lock.” He looked at Harry with eyes he could now see were a brilliant silver, and a shiver ran up Harry’s spine.  He was starting to think his lovely new companion was not entirely human.   “He only comes once a week to leave food and collects his wears.  He does not speak much to me, other than to call me his pretty bird.”

  Harry didn’t like the sound of that.  “Your master?” he asked.  “Are you a prisoner here?”

  The man moved closer, and looked out the window.  The view of the kingdom was quite magnificent from here, and Harry took it in with him.  “I am Veela, do you know what that is?”  Harry shook his head, and the man picked his long plait up in his hands.  “Our hair contains potent magic, and until we are Unfurled, grows extraordinarily fast.  My master stole me as a babe from my parents, to keep me from transitioning, and sells my hair for great profit.”  He turned to Harry, and tried to smile, but could not quite manage it. “I fear I shall never become a true Veela, and will remain here all my days.”

  Harry blinked.  “But that’s awful,” he cried.  “Why don’t you escape?”

  “As long as I am still Furled, I am cursed to stay within these walls,” he said, then seemed to rally his spirits.  “But enough of my woes, stranger.  I do not wish to burden you.  When the danger has passed, I will help lower you back down again. Until them, may I ask your name?”

  “Your woes are no burden to me,”  Harry assured him.  “You may call me Harry, and in return I would ask the favour of your name, and the details of this curse.  Surely there must be a way to break it?”

  The man smiled, genuinely this time, and turned back into the room.  It was sparsely furnished, with a straw bed for sleeping, the table and chairs that they now moved to sit at, and a small stove for cooking.  One wall was lined with books, and Harry was relieved to see the man’s master had not been so cruel as to deny him that luxury.  

  “It is good to meet you Harry,” the man said.  “My name is Draco.  And yes, I discovered the curse’s undoing many years ago, but sadly it has done me no good thus far.”

  Harry felt a thrill of hope.  He had never been so enchanted to meet anyone in his whole life, and if he could free this man and become better acquainted with him, he surely could not be happier. “Do tell,” he urged, pulling his chair closer to where Draco sat.  “Perhaps I can help you?”

  Draco looked at his hands in his lap.  “Alas,” he said.  “Only love’s first kiss can set me free.  It is how my people Unfurl and become true Veela.  Then, I could escape this life.”  He looked up at Harry, and laughed.  It was one of the most beautiful sounds Harry had ever heard, like a song straight to his heart.  “Unfortunately, the adventures who have scaled these walls before were disappointed not to find a female, and were disinclined to help me.”

  “Oh,” said Harry, thinking what fools they must have been.

  “I bear them no ill will,” Draco said quickly, silver eyes full of concern. “Love cannot be forced.  I just wish one day I might be lucky, and the right kind of adventurer might come to call.”

  He blushed, and turned his face from Harry.  “You wish for a female also – a girl?” he asked, hope fading.

  Draco looked to the window wistfully.  “No,” he said.  “I would very much prefer a male, but such a thing is rare.  I would be extremely fortunate indeed to find love, even were I not confined to this tower.”

  Harry’s heart raced once more, and reached out to take Draco’s hand.  “And all it takes is one kiss?  The first of a new love?”

  Draco considered him, surprise lining his features.  “Yes,” he said softly.

  Harry moved to kneel before him.  Perhaps he was being reckless, he had only just met the man after all.  But he had never felt like this before, so strongly and so suddenly.  He had heard of love at first sight, why shouldn’t it happen to him?  “May I?” he asked gently.

  Confusion marred Draco’s brow, until it smoothed into happiness.  “Of course,” he whispered back.

  Harry leaned forwards, and carefully pressed his lips to Draco’s.  They were cool, and soft as satin, but as soon as they touched a warmth burst to life, and he jumped back in shock.

  Draco, likewise, shot to his feet, staring at his hands in awe.  His pale skin was glowing, and he began to laugh.  Not the sound blemished by hope that had still managed to fill Harry with joy, but an honest, wonderful laugh of freedom.  “It is working!” Draco cried, tears in his eyes.

  Harry didn’t know what he could feel, but clearly he was changing into a fully grown Veela, and he too leapt to his feet in delight.  And then he could see why the process was called ‘unfurling’.  

  Wings, fluffy as a newborn chick and white as pure snow, were revealing themselves from his back, until they spanned half the room in their mightiness.  “I thought you beautiful before,” Harry said, his voice trembling.  “But now you are truly an angel.”

  Gradually, the glow vanished from his skin, but Draco still smiled as if he had not been so happy in all his years.  “You have freed me Harry.  Can it be, do you in fact love me?”

  Harry laughed.  “As far as I can know, I think I do.  Is that madness?”

  “Only if loving you too is madness,” Draco said, and stepped forward to embrace Harry.

  Their first kiss and been sweet and chaste, cut short by the Unfurling and dismantling of the curse.  But this kiss set Harry’s heart of fire, and he took Draco in his arms, feeling his wings envelope him protectively.  “Now shall you leave this prison?” he asked, and Draco squeezed him tightly.

  “Gladly,” he said.  “But first.”

  He went to the stove, where a knife lay nearby.  He offered Harry the hilt.  “Do you wish to do the honours?” he asked, holding up where the plait of his hair began. “I long to be free of this weight, and I think we could get a pretty price for it at the market.”

  Harry beamed at him.  “Fair money,” he said, light with the thought of not stealing for once.  “To start our life together.”

  “Indeed,” Draco said.  

  The blade cut through the hair smoothly, like it was no more than water, and Draco sighed contentedly as he shook his remaining locks happily.  They coiled the plait into a basket, ready to depart, and Draco opened up his arms.  

  “Come here, my love,” he said, pulling Harry safely to his side.  “So we may find out what freedom really feels like.”

  He beat his impressive wings once, lifting them from the ground.  Harry nuzzled into Draco’s neck, feeling the warmth of his body and the power running through his veins.  “Let us fly,” he said, as they left the prison tower behind, heading into the sunset, ready to begin their future lives, together.

 The End

spinninglenny  asked:

This is a Very Important Question: You told us what Rose wore to the ball at the Winter Palace, but what about Cullen? I can't imagine Josie and Dorian let him get away with the nutcracker uniform next to Rose's glorious dress. And what about the others? Please feel free to elaborate and soothe our souls over Inquisition's disappointing lack of beautiful dresses for the amazing Lady squad

OH NO DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS

On the one hand, I understand why they did uniforms from a game-mechanics perspective, and I even think it makes some sense that uniforms were worn to meetings, etc, while in Val Royeaux. But to a ball? A literal fancy dress ball? I just can’t.

So, let’s pretend time and money are no object.

Josephine wears a gown in blue and gold, but in an Antivan style. (In The Stolen Throne, Rowan wears a red silk gown from Antiva. It has bared shoulders and a train.) How lovely, then, to put Josephine in her characteristic colors, but bare the shoulders always covered in their voluminous sleeves and allow the gorgeous silk to sweep and swirl behind her. Her dress is finest silk, embroidered richly with shimmering gold. Perhaps she wears her hair loose and tumbling down her back, threaded with silk ribbons to match her gown. Her mask is deceptively simple gold, but decorated with a king’s ransom in sapphires.

Leliana, of course, wears a gown in the height of Orlesian fashion. It is silver and purple, rich and sumptuous; velvet, I think, instead of silk. Instead of her hood, she wears the most elegant of silver masks, decorated with amethysts and raven’s feathers. It hides her face as well as any shadow could. Most importantly, though, she wears stunning shoes, delicate to look at, but with heels sharp enough that someone trained to do so could use them as stilettos. Literally. The knife kind.

Cassandra protests wearing a gown. She didn’t like them when she was a princess, and she does not like them now. Eventually, a compromise is reached. She cannot come armed and armored into a ball. She wears a white silk blouse, fine as can be and black leather leggings, under knee-high black boots chased with silver. Over all this, she wears a structured, floor-length coat in heavy black and silver brocade whose pattern is reminiscent of Cassandra’s Seeker symbols. It is slit up the front, of course, for ease of movement, and so that she can tell herself she doesn’t wear a dress at all. After several flat refusals, Cassandra relents and allows Leliana to weave a chain of diamonds and moonstones into her braid. She refuses to wear a mask.

Vivienne would never be caught dead in the Nutcracker uniform, darling. Don’t be foolish. She, too, sticks to her favored colors. She knows very well how flattering and striking ivory and bronze appear on her. She dresses to impress, and to remind the court of Orlais that she is as powerful–if not more so–than she was when last they saw her. She is all gold-grained ivory samite, with skirts others must stand aside to avoid, lest they be knocked over. Echoes of her usual dress are highlighted in the vast and lovely structured collar, the diamond-studded hennin, a mask so finely made everyone who sees it knows it must have cost a not-so-small fortune, and the look that has curdled the blood of lesser mortals.

Sera does not want to wear a dress. Sera does not really want to go, except as a lark, and to prank nobles in need of pranking. She’s afraid a dress will make that difficult, until Dorian says she’ll be able to get away with a great deal more mischief if she blends in. She wears a simple gown in red and gold (no plaideweave, my dear, prostests Vivienne, shuddering). It actually looks a great deal like her tunic–long-sleeved, shoulders bared–but is floor-length, unripped, and made of velvet and silk. She doesn’t wear a mask, but she pins flowers in her hair, and gives rude gestures unflinchingly to anyone who mistakes her for a servant.

I’m going to just keep it at the ladies for now, but since you asked about Cullen specifically:

Cullen does not feel safe with so many eyes on him and out of his armor, and yet armor is not appropriate attire for a ball. He tries to convince Leliana and Josephine to just let him wear his usual attire without armor and weapons, but they absolutely refuse. He wears an even deeper, darker green–almost black–than Rose’s dress, trimmed and embroidered in gold. His leggings are soft and fine, made of a pale gold leather, tucked into well-shined dark boots. He wears an ivory silk shirt under draped fabric not entirely unlike his usual Skyhold attire (Leliana was willing to grant him that small comfort and familiarity, at least). Instead of the furred mantle, he wears a one-shoulder cape in the darkest green velvet, lined in gold silk. (He barely withholds a groan of complaint when he sees Gaspard has been allowed a bit of armor. Besides–armor would get in the way, while dancing with his love, wouldn’t it? Fine.) He also refuses to wear a mask; he has hidden behind too many things in his life and refuses to keep doing so now, no matter what the custom.

3

Here’s a t-shirt I designed for a local foodtruck-herding network.

I thought it would be nice to force myself out of my comfort zone and put together a clean three-Pantone print in Illustrator which I’ve never done before. Unfortunately it didn’t get printed too well (see exhibit 3), apparently the vectors I sent them were fit “for silk screen printing… not for screen printing.” Yes, I know…

At the event I watched processions of expectant faces stretch out before the trucks for hours. From my Russian childhood I associate lines with desperation and fear—a raise in price/futility doesn’t change a thing—it’s still people waiting in line for food. Will Self likened foodism to ”coprophilia in advance,“ and yes, they were languidly thumbing their twitterfeeds in bathroom lines too.

Then I spent my dinner token on a regrettable burrito and went home.