worn knuckles

anonymous asked:

Hi, if possible: Canon and Uther finds out that Arthur is in love with Merlin? Maybe confronts Arthur? Thank you :)

Anyone remember this scene from 1.09 and also this hilarious interaction in 2x10? I kinda pulled Uther’s mindset from these two scenes. Like Uther’s feelings towards Merlin is definitely a mixed bag.

***

Uther had been eating dinner with his son when he noticed it. Perhaps Uther had noticed this behavior in his son before, but it was the first time the realization struck Uther.

Arthur was smiling throughout their silent dinner. He didn’t say much of anything, but there was a small tilt to his lips.

As Arthur’s servant bent over to pour wine into Arthur’s mostly-full goblet, Arthur looked up to his manservant, only a few inches away. Arthur gave a shy smile. Merlin pulled away, either barely noticing Arthur’s smile or ignoring it.

Uther had never seen his son act so coy before. Arthur was a man who took what he wanted, and stated it proudly. Perhaps Arthur wasn’t always so brash, but he certainly was not shy about anything.

But it clicked into place as Uther remembered Merlin’s complete and utter dedication to Arthur. Merlin was always by Arthur’s side, and he had proved he would die for Arthur if need be. Such loyalty in a servant was hard to come by and very valuable. Uther believed that one’s people should be a bit in love with their Prince, but the way Arthur was looking back at Merlin…

“Arthur, I wish to have a word with you.” Uther cleared his throat, gesturing to the guards at the door and to the manservant. “Alone.”

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The first time a shit-bag teenager punched a crow with red dye dripping down his neck, California was split in two. His worn down knuckles collided with the synthetic, rubbery, skin of all that he hated. The passion ran through that motherfucker’s blood until it spilled out his beat-up leather jacket. Just beyond the concrete where he stood, the embodiment of his spirit awoke in the sand. The witch gave a home to the rage and energy that he had released. All that pain and anger and excitement and passion and creativity and courage took the form of the man we all know and love as California’s first killjoy.

All Work & No Play

Requested By Anonymous

Word Count: A perpetually excessive 4,232

Warnings: A domineering boss, cruel teasing, smut to make even the most virtuous curl their toes. 

Thank you for reading, as always, please let me know what you think, as feedback is a five-star meal for any writer.

 

“Would you like to share your daydreams with the company?” Tommy asked, syllables clipped, “I’m sure they’re very interesting.”

Tommy’s impatiently bored face stared at you, waiting, and you wondered what he had asked, what the odds were of you guessing and answering correctly. But as each second passed since Tommy had caught you longingly staring out the window into the foggy street, the chances of you saving yourself grew worse. John sniggered and you shot him a glare.

Tommy cleared his throat and you moved your glare to him, tip-toeing along the line of being an employee and a lover, a neat reply to your boss having to take precedence over a sassy retort to your beloved.

“I’m sorry, Thomas, what was your question?” Your voice was exaggeratedly collected and Tommy’s lips twitched in reluctant amusement.

“Your numbers. For Kempton.”

“Of course!” you replied, falsely cheerful.

The room reserved for family meetings was warm and stuffy with bodies, the audience of regular Blinders and inner-circle Shelbys watching you two dance around each other as you had been all morning, entertainment and tension mixing together as they gauged you both. The occasions that you and Tommy were short with eachother were infrequent and fleeting, but always heated enough to make everyone want to avoid getting burned by mistake.

As soon as your feet had hit the floor this morning, you and Tommy had started to bicker, both of you overtired and overworked from being in the midst of the busiest race month of the year. Although true anger at each other was rare - no argument ever survived a whole day - stress grated on you both when the days were long and the nights too short, fights over nothing crawling out of the woodwork like irrelevant snakes.

You prattled off your reports automatically, explaining what had to be clarified and glazing over what didn’t. Tommy waved his hand towards you vaguely when he’d heard all he needed to, reaching his hand out for the paper of your numbers, staring but not speaking, never needing words to demand something.

You rolled your eyes deeply and huffed, unable to help the attitude seeping from you as you gave him your list of bets. Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes stunning in their amused irritation as he tilted his head at you, a single brow arched smoothly. Holding your gaze as his eyes flashed, a decided mischievousness crawled across his chiseled face.

Anticipation settled in your stomach; giving Tommy cheek at work was never one of your better ideas, the consequences varied. You watched the thoughts settle into his mind and you blushed. He just smirked subtly, his eyes not leaving yours as he passed your numbers to John.

Polly cut the stalemate off with a sigh, having been here with you two before, although you were grateful that she didn’t know the half of it. “Can we continue please, or would you two just like to stare at each other and bicker like children?”

Tommy obliged after dosing his aunt with a scowl. The morning meeting carried on as it always did, each report boring you more than the last. Tommy was far from bored, asking questions and giving orders.

But under the table he was wandering, his hand brushing against your knee, Tommy’s violence-worn knuckles come and gone with an innocent swiftness, an accident. But you knew better, Thomas Shelby never did anything without a sharpened purpose. He returned for more, tracing your knee and flirting with the bottom of your skirts, grazing his fingers underneath them.

In hopes that they would force your thoughts clean, your focus on the numbers John was reporting became absolute, paying attention to nothing but scratching the numerals onto paper, no lust permitted inside your tunnel vision.

Tommy turned to you, shoulder brushing against yours, speaking nonchalantly under his breath as to not interrupt his brother, a normal interaction to anyone else’s eye but yours. Pointing to the paper you were desperately clinging to with your pencil, his lips twitched in self-satisfaction as a whisper dripping with sarcasm rolled into your ear, “Don’t bother writing them down, I’ll get them from John.”

“Are you sure?” you asked innocently, still writing, hanging on to your life raft. He trailed his hand up and down your thigh, fingers moving across the silky net of your stockings silently. You kept your voice even, “I might need them later.”

“You won’t,” Tommy whispered, eyes squinted in a nod of false assurance as he took your pencil, sliding it inside his suit jacket.

You dared a glance around the table and were soothed slightly, attention was on John and the discussion surrounding him. A glance at Tommy found him keenly attentive as if his hands were on top of the table and not between your legs. Watching John and Arthur argue with a tense jaw, Tommy’s hand slid back down to your knee, gripping it and pulling it towards him, your legs spreading easily, traitors.

Resuming his climb up your thigh, Tommy took your skirt with him this time, cool air rushing underneath the silk as he pulled it upwards. He played with the top of your stocking, cruelly and slowly tracing it from the snap of your taut garter down to the inside of your thigh, taking his time to do so.

The pulse between your legs throbbed steadily, your skin tingling helplessly as Tommy drew closer to you, fingers dancing away each time he nearly touched the satin of your lingerie. If you weren’t soaked already, you would be soon, and you both knew it. Teasing you skillfully, Tommy played with the skin of your thighs, spending a merciless amount of time tracing the spots he knew would rile you, the same spots that made you gasp when he pressed his lips against them under the sheets.

A sudden wave of panic rushed through you when Scudboat asked you a question, your brief flustering being dismissed as daydreaming, you hoped, and not the desire trying to burn through your skin.

Answering Scud’s inquiry, you felt Tommy swivel his attention to you but you refused his gaze, knowing his expression was smug as he slid his finger over your underwear in a long line. To stop the moan you knew would come if he reached your clit, you shifted your hips backwards and crossed your legs in a smooth motion, finding the correct date and race for Scud before pushing the book towards him. Tommy’s hand lay caught between your thighs, having slid down when you pulled away from him, inches away from being able to torment you.

Frustration rippled through him, you felt it in the flex of his fingers between your crossed legs, moving them slightly. You knew he could push them apart easily, his physical power far stronger than yours; gaining access to you was never something he struggled with. But Tommy wasn’t used to an audience, and the act of spreading you for him required more discretion than he was capable of in a crowded room. 

Tommy bristled in his chair, running his free hand over his face, half-annoyed with you and half-annoyed with Arthur, who was now berating him about something you hadn’t heard.

Gratefully taking the opportunities that appeared as Tommy’s agitation and Arthur’s discourse, you reached for Tommy’s cock - hand meeting stone as you found it, clothed tightly. You kept your movements imperceptible as you rubbed it slowly, your palm hot as you moved your hand down his length and back, the feeling of it making your clit pulse with desire.

Tommy expressed his annoyance by pinching the soft skin of your thighs gently, digging in just enough to make you shy away from the pleasurable pain, his hand gaining an inch towards you each time he did. Briefly abandoning his cock to fiddle with the buttons of his pants, you slipped one out of its place and reached in to meet the hot skin there, the smooth marble of his cock silky under your fingers.

In a nimble twist of his hand, another pinch of your delicate skin helping him along, he forced your thighs apart, unconcerned for the possibly conspicuous results. Tommy never enjoyed playing games where he didn’t have the advantage.

Your crossed leg slid off your knee with his sudden push, the heel of your shoe slamming into the floor like a heavy box that had been dropped, snapping a few heads up and making some others jump slightly.

“I’m taking that as a slamming gavel to end this meeting,” Polly said, unconsciously saving you from embarrassment, standing gracefully and lighting a cigarette, looking at Tommy. “Do you have anything else to add, Thomas?”

“No,” he replied simply, voice strained slightly with irritation, the reason easily disguised as the stress of work.

People stood, freed, filtering out into the office or the street, only a stray few staying behind to ask Tommy questions and immediately regretting it when he leveled them with a glare capable of arson.

Legs open under the table, you sat and felt your breath hasten in need, Tommy leaving you behind to stand and talk with his brothers, air rushing into where his hand had begun to sweat between your crossed legs. You stood, trying to look busy as you shuffled your papers. Tommy walked his brothers out as they spoke to each other in low voices, the duo waving you a goodbye as Tommy pushed them out the door.

The click of the door closing curled up your spine, a gasp barely escaping you before Tommy was back across the room to you in seconds, a voracious look in his eyes as he snatched you up to put you on the table. The wooden legs shifted from side to side unevenly on the floor, rocking you into his chest where he tightened his arms around you, your breath hot on each other’s faces.

Untangling your hand from the locks of hair on top of his head you moved for Tommy’s cock, glaring up at him through your lashes when he caught your wrist and held it. The two of you wrestled like Goliath and a kitten, Tommy’s amused chuckles infuriating you as he easily kept your hands from him.

But Tommy soon grew bored with winning so easily and took your mouth for himself, pouring into you with a carnal ferocity. Your argument from this morning mixed in with the violent unpredictability of business and the hunger of wanting you, your lips moving together, stress flowing out.

“Open your legs,” he said into your mouth, drinking in the tiny moans you let out as he rolled your nipples gently through your blouse.

“Tommy, not here,” you whispered in a rasp, contradicting yourself helplessly as you reached for his cock again, succeeding now that his hands were occupied, Tommy sharply inhaling your sigh as you stroked his clothed length.

The low growl from his chest vibrated into you, Tommy effortlessly kneeing your legs apart to stand between them, holding you close to the edge of the table so you couldn’t back away. “Yes, here.”

Ducking to your neck, he nipped at the thin skin under your jaw, crushing you to him with one arm around your back. Tommy slid his fingers into your mouth, abandoning the love bite he was busy imprinting on your neck to watch you breath heavily as he ran them in a circle around your parted lips, plunging them back inside before starting all over again.

“Good girl,” he murmured, so quietly his lips barely moved. “Such a fucking tease, aren’t you? Should we see how wet you are?”

Nodding around his fingers with hollowed cheeks, you sucked lightly, humming in pleasure. Tommy pushed his fingers deeply into your mouth and kept them there, focusing on pulling your lingerie to the side. Watching your pussy contract and relax, begging to be touched, he didn’t look at you as he slid his fingers from between your lips, reaching down to press them to your clit, rubbing softly.  

“Tsk-tsk, making a mess all over the table already,” he said, taunting you. Warmth spread over your body and mind deliciously as Tommy spread your wetness around in heavenly circles; the excess running down onto your thighs, your ass, and the wooden surface below.

Waves of pleasure shot through you, making you grit your teeth and clutch at him desperately. Your hand finally done with undoing his buttons, Tommy did nothing to stop you when you took his cock out, sliding up and down the satin of his length with both hands, finding a rhythm for him as he found one for you.

Pulling you close, Tommy held you by the back of your neck and pressed your foreheads together as you panted in sloppy unison. The kisses you spared breath to exchange were raw and overwhelming, your argument from this morning being dredged to the surface so lust could wash it away.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, voice made of begging breath as you gripped Tommy’s shoulder tightly, one hand rubbing the head of his cock as he liked, his breath getting caught between his ribs. Grazing your teeth against the shaven skin above his collar, you felt his jaw clench as you wetly kissed your way down the bone. “I need it Tommy.”

“Oh, is that so?” He mocked gently, slipping a finger inside you and drawing it in and out slowly. Tommy shushed you when you gasped, watching you with a devious smile. In smooth motions he would travel up to circle your clit, barely giving the nerves the attention they wanted before returning to push his finger back inside you, moving in and out twice before beginning again. You forced a moan into a pathetic mewl, the sound of the bustling office beyond the closed doors reminding you that you weren’t alone

“You like that, don’t you?” Tommy cooed, smirking in your ear when you didn’t answer, words not something that you could accomplish. “Are you going to keep quiet?”

Managing a nod, your eyes fluttered as he pulled you back slightly to look at you, watching you greedily as he added another finger to your now dripping pussy, stretching your tightness deliciously, your mouth falling open.

Your hand slowed on his cock, mind growing blurry as Tommy slid his fingers in and out of you while he whispered unholy things in your ear, holding you to him with nowhere to go. Leaning forward to bite into the jacket of his suit, you sunk your teeth into the wool so you wouldn’t cry out. The walls of the office were thin, and you two had already learned that the hard way with many jokes at your expense, and dealing with your own share of listening to others.

“Perhaps I should I leave you like this,” he murmured, the low gravel of his voice thick with lust as he continued to play with you, watching your face go slack as he whispered, “Dripping wet like the little tease that you are.”

Tommy made sure your whine of disagreement was caught in his suit, his hand large on the back of your head as he pressed your face into his shoulder, muting you. You writhed in his grip, reluctantly releasing his cock for good to clutch yourself to him, breathing heavily into his chest while every nerve in your body tried to force out the whimpers you were struggling to keep inside.

But you knew Tommy was going succumb soon, his breath speeding as you rolled your hips into him, your quiet gasps apparently permissible as he pulled more and more from your mouth, his brow furrowed in effort as he watched you with icy and starving eyes.

Suddenly he pulled his fingers out, the hollow emptiness stirring a moan of frustration that started in the back of your throat. Tommy pushed his fingers into your mouth, silencing you with the taste of yourself, sweet on your tongue.

Tommy hummed and watched, his hand going to his belt to free himself, his eyes not on his undoing but on your half-lidded ones, calm in his command, “Touch yourself.”

You obeyed, rubbing your clit while you moaned quietly around Tommy’s pussy-soaked fingers. He watched with lips parted, swearing to himself. Knowing just how easily you could make yourself cum, he kept a careful eye on you, pulling your hand away to kiss the tips of your fingers when you began to get close.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Tommy said, his voice darkly controlled, rubbing the head of his cock against your inner thighs, teasing himself as much as you, “And you are not to make a sound. Do you understand?”

You hummed affirmation on his fingers, long having sucked them clean. He pushed you backwards with them, slowly letting you down by your jaw until your head met the table. Hooking your leg over his shoulder Tommy pulled you towards him, pushing your other leg back until he had you opened for him how he liked.

Running his cock everywhere but your entrance, Tommy rubbed his cock on your clit in wide circles, his chest rumbling deeply at the hot silk of your wetness on him. You writhed, lost under his touch, the feeling of release begging to escape spreading underneath your skin in an electric web.

But Tommy could no longer resist, the sight of you rolling your clit against his cock pushing him over the edge. He slid into you with a fast and rough thrust, causing you to helplessly moan his name despite his order and the crowded office beyond. Bending down to you Tommy shushed you roughly, his cock reaching impossibly deeper and driving your back into an arch. His fingers clearly no longer an efficient means of keeping you quiet, Tommy spread his hand over your mouth, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone before squeezing your cheeks, pressing his palm to your lips firmly.

“What did I say?”

You answered him, words lost in his hand. He understood, your muffled mumbling a language he knew, nodding seriously, “That’s right. Maybe if you’re quiet from now on, I’ll let you cum.”

Working his way snugly in and out of you, he let you suffer under the tantalizing strokes of his size while he began to undo the buttons of your blouse. Loosening just enough to reveal your breasts, he pulled your bra to the side until you felt cool air lick at your hardened nipples, Tommy groaning quietly in appreciation as he played with them.

Straightening back up, he squeezed your cheeks for emphasis to remind you of his threat, the choice yours, holding your mouth beneath his hand as he began to fuck you.

You prayed no one would hear the things Tommy was murmuring to you as he filled you over and over; the words alone could burn a church to the ground. His hand held your calf tightly on his shoulder, turning to kiss the bone of your ankle as he kept you open for him, using your leg to pull your ass up off the table when he so chose, driving in deeper when he did, your eyes rolling back.

“So fucking wet,” he swore, his dilated eyes ablaze as he watched himself bury his cock in your pussy, the force of it rocking the table beneath you. Its wobbling legs began to knock against the floor, and Tommy’s eyes left you reluctantly to search the room for a quieter spot, a hunter looking for a safe place to devour.

Sliding his hand down to your throat, he squeezed and pulled you up with his grip, placing your legs around his waist. Walking you to a bookcase, he sat on you on the wide ledge, his cock never sliding out an inch. Barely ten seconds had passed, Tommy resuming his thrusting like he never stopped.

A single gulp of oxygen was all you were able to drink in before Tommy’s hand was back on your mouth, silencing you easily, unconcerned for the heavy breaths you drank in through your nose. He ducked his head into your neck and grunted quietly as he fucked you, pressing you against the books by your mouth.

Both of you grew closer to your orgasms, the strokes of Tommy’s size coming harder as he fought against the wet resistance of your tightening pussy. He held you tightly, his fingers digging into your hip as he shifted you forward to reach deeper inside you, daring you to make a sound.

Moan you did not, channeling your feverish need into a plea for him to let you cum, knowing Tommy would understand the muffled words but not knowing if he’d grant your wish. He said nothing, the only sign he’d heard you being his teeth on your neck, spread in an open-mouthed smile. Asking again, you repeated your mumbled question, the begging in your stifled voice high-pitched as every nerve in your body began to burn.

Ignoring you again, the pace of Tommy’s strokes sped up as he squeezed your mouth hard, taking his leverage. Your cheeks rubbed against your teeth with each thrust, a dull ache that only drove you closer, helplessly trying to keep yourself from cumming as he fucked you hard. A single book fell from the bookcase and onto the floor loudly. Neither of you cared.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed, straightening to watch your face as he brought his fingers to your dripping clit, rubbing it smoothly in quick circles. Your eyelids fluttered and he gave you a nod, holding you tight as he whispered, “Cum.”

Arching into him, you locked your ankles around his waist and let your eyes wrench themselves shut, your hips churning as you felt the flames of your orgasm spread. Noiselessly, you came hard around him, your orgasm stealing your breath and taking over your senses, your legs shaking in release and the effort of staying quiet.

Tommy never slowed as he fucked you through your orgasm, watching your cum begin to drip off of his cock before he succumbed himself. Hand curling around your hipbone, he left lust-shaped bruises as he struggled to hold you still, his thrusts remaining forceful but growing uneven as his cum spilled hotly into your pussy.

The two of you throbbed with the shaking’s of release, Tommy releasing your mouth to slowly to brush your cheek, his other hand running up and down your thigh. You breathed heavily and rested your head on Tommy’s chest, his chin on the top of your head, coming down together. The sounds of the office outside the doors were of perfect normalcy, no whoops, laughter, or loud jokes, and you guessed that the two of you had been quieter than you thought.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” Tommy said eventually, muttering as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It took you a moment to even remember your argument, the irrelevant spat now feeling like a century ago.

“I’m sorry too,” you replied breathily, still recovering from Tommy’s ravaging. But there was no more to be said, a healthy fucking having been what you both needed. “I love you.”

“As I love you,” Tommy responded as always, kissing you deeply before pulling away and leaving you on the bookcase, getting something to clean both of you off.

Reaching your hand out, you watched him wipe you off of his cock, waiting patiently for your turn. But no tissue was given to you, your brows wrinkling in confusion as Tommy pulled you off the bookcase by your ass, standing you straight and crouching down to fix your skirts for you, sliding your lingerie neatly back into its place with deft fingers, snapping it against your sensitive skin. You felt both his cum and yours begin to leak out, stuttering, “Tommy-”

“What?” he asked with mock innocence, straightening back up to stand over you, running his thumb across your lip before lighting a cigarette. “Did you think that roll of your eyes would be forgotten?”

Of course he remembered. You whined slightly, quieted when he kissed you gently, flicking your nose and tucking a sex-loosened piece of hair behind your ear with his finger. He held your chin and stared at you, knowing full well that you were slowly getting soaked, wetness spreading across your lace and the skin of your inner thighs. He kissed you again, murmuring sinful but flirty affections on your lips until he made you laugh, smiling to himself, satisfied by the sound.

“I need your paperwork by the end of the day.” He started out the door before doubling back, whispering at you through a smirk, “And don’t even think about cleaning yourself up, love. I can promise you that I’ll know.”

Leaning back against the bookcase after he left, you sighed, thinking that you shouldn’t enjoy this as much as you did. One last remaining cord of your orgasm made you shiver as the mess between your legs reminded you that you would always enjoy it, no matter how shameful.

Someone called your name from the office and you straightened your hair as you crossed the room, repinning a few curls that Tommy had tugged loose, remembering the consequences of eye-rolls with each step.

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Originally posted by donewithjeon

☽Pairing☾ ; Taehyung | Reader

☽Genre☾ ; Angst

☽Word Count☾ ; 1.9k

☽Note☾ ; I only speak from my own experience.

☽Warnings☾ ; Depression | Mental illness 


“How is it going Y/N?”

A question shot into the frigid air of any type of office room, displayed with flowers, plants and simple dull paintings from kids that has been through your stage in early age. The woman in front, tipped her glasses onto the right spot, finding the clock ticking becoming louder and louder.

“It’s going well. Still tired” You simply answered, fiddling your thumbs as a mechanism of forgetting the demons, which haunts you whenever there is an opportunity to taunt your life.

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Marianne loves to randomly play with Bog’s hands.  Like sometimes, she’ll just reach over and take one of them into her lap.  Since it’s so large, she has to hold it in both of her own hands.  She’ll turn it over, count all the scars, link the long fingers, drum each worn knuckle, pretend to tell his fortune as she traces the lines in his palm, gently brush against his sharp claws, feel the steady pulse at his wrist, and marvel at how the owner of such a mighty hand loves her so much.  <3   

The Invoker’s Regalia

Hang onto your butts! This is gonna be a meaty post.

Collecting the three artifacts grant the bearer the title “Prophet of the Invoker

• Robes of the Invoker: [Body slot]

Originally jet black when it was first found, the robes erupted into a brilliant crimson upon being dawned. Golden runes accentuated the hem of the fabrics and the bearer’s name is engraved onto the back in the ancient draconic tongue. 

These robes grant the bearer a +2 enhancement bonus to Int, Spellcraft, Knowledge (Arcana), and Use Magic Device (+4 bonus to Int and +5 bonus to aforementioned skills with two or more of the Invoker’s Regalia) while having another mysterious power; each time the bearer casts an Arcane spell, the robes have a chance to produce a Mirror Image in brief likeness of the spell that had been cast, of which last 1 minute per spell level of the source spell (Cantrips are treated as Lv.1 spells for sake of determining duration). As a Swift action, the user may expend that mirror image to re-cast that spell in its entirety. If that spell had a casting time of Swift or Immediate, the mirror image may be expended as an Immediate action. The chance of producing a Mirror Image in this way is 10% alone, 25% with two of the Invoker’s Regalia equipped, and 50% once complete. 

Once the Regalia has been reunited in its entirety, the robes also produce the effect of Amulet of Magecraft

• Gauntlet of the Invoker: [Hand slot; takes up both hands despite being a single item]

A deep crimson gauntlet accented with copper, gold, and ruby studded knuckles. This worn, dented, scarred, and battered metal glove firmly sits on the edge of tasteless. 

This +1 Ghost Touch, Spell Storing gauntlet may not seem like much beyond its utterly tacky appearance, but its lone powers fiercely defend the wielder. When an enemy targets the user with a spell (albeit standard casting, casting as a spell-like ability, or with a power acting just as a spell) and that spell is the same as the one stored on the gauntlet, then the spell or power is instantly countered, expending the stored spell in the process. As an immediate action, the user may expend 1 use of Mythic Power to prevent the spell from being consumed in this manner. 

When joined with 2 or more pieces of the Invoker’s Regalia, the enhancement bonus increases to +3 and gains the Spell Stealing weapon property along with other strange powers. As long as the gauntlet equipped, all weapons the bearer wields (be they natural, manufactured, or otherwise) also share the Ghost Touch property. In addition, when casting a damaging spell, the bearer may expend a use of Mythic Power as a free action to coat the spell in a thin veil of force, effectively granting spells such as Fireball the Ghost Touch property. 

As the Regalia is completed, the gauntlet also behaves as Amulets of Spell Cunning and Spell Mastery, granting the user 9 additional spell levels to prepare spells with.

• Mask of the Invoker: [Head slot]

A blank, featureless mask where a section where the left eye should be had been shattered. 

The mask first feels heavy once dawned, blocking out all vision from where it isn’t broken, however, the weight suddenly lifts and vision is restored, as if the mask doesn’t even exist to its wearer. This humble artifact grants the user benefits of Ring of Wizardry Type I and allows the user to locate and read the Prophet’s Diary. With a second member of the Regalia is reunited, the Mask also grants the effects of Ring of Wizardry Type II while also feeling breath and vision clean regardless of the environment, much like a Necklace of Adaptation

Once fully completed, the mask then grants the effects of Ring of Wizardry Type III and the nourishment of a Ring of Sustenance

• The Prophet’s Diary: [Slotless]

A small, worn, yet sturdy journal found in a haversack next to the body of the former Prophet of the Invoker, previously invisible without aid of the Invoker’s Mask. To the ordinary, the journal is completely blank and the paper and covers are stained with time and decay, but through the visions of the mask its pages turn and flip endlessly as text appears, dances, and skitters away incomprehensibly. Attempting to locate direct information from this book is neigh impossible as its nature is to give snippets as the powers that be see fit. The function of the diary and the secrets it holds remain a mystery.

So yeah. There we go, I think.  Sorry for the sloppy and repeated wording on my part.

Day6; Lonely Roads

Summary: 5 synonyms for the word loneliness and the 1 antonym that doesn’t exist.

Gen fic / 5 Things + 1 / Inspired by the Hi Hello MV and too philosophical for my own good

read on ao3 here


i. aimlessness

There’s something lonely about this road.

Sungjin can’t seem to find an end to it. It stretches and stretches and stretches still, until it seems to blend with the horizon, where it fades and dips, curves around the edges of the world and disappears into its distance.

This road is lonely, almost forgotten, but Sungjin doesn’t mind it. For him it’s easier this way, because the signs are faded too, worn down into faint green scratches and the dull glint of rain-rusted metal. The directions are lost with them, leaving all those who pass through to the fickle hands of fate and luck. But that’s fine, that’s good, because Sungjin lost his map a few good miles ago and didn’t bother picking another one up when he passed by the gas station at the last rest stop.

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Something Wrong | Taehyung

Summary: You didn’t notice until it was too late. That there was something wrong.

Word Count: 1.2 k

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of death and blood

A/N: Based on I Need U. Enjoy~

Originally posted by the-rap-man

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anonymous asked:

Could you maybe do an imagine where Kakashi is in love with Naruto's guardian/mother figure? Fluff or smut, I'd be happy with whatever you do! Just do whatever you'd like with the story. Keep up the great work! You're doing amazing! Thank you! ❤️

Sorry for the wait, anon! Kakashi is a very complex character and I wanted to do him justice. I don’t know if I really achieved that but I hope you like your 3000+ word story despite any short comings.

I might expand on this story line should we get more requests that fit its criteria as its a fun topic to explore!

~Mod Whipski

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Kaz pulling V down by the collar of his suit to kiss him.

Kaz standing on V’s feet and getting on tip toes to get that extra inch on him to peck his nose and lean their foreheads together.

V leaning carefully on Kaz’s back with his chin resting on his shoulder, the bristle of his beard raising goosebumps on the mans neck every time Venom shifts.

Kaz reaching for Venom’s hand when they’re standing together, not quite grasping it but rather ghosting his touch over the worn knuckles or callused fingertips.

V kissing Kaz on the forehead and brushing hair out of his face when he has to leave early morning for a mission and Kaz waking enough to touch his face as if to make sure V is still looking at him when he tells him to please be careful.


V and Kaz being intimate and cute and being able to be so physically close to one another in their own ways.

4

And they say that dreaming is free
But I wouldn’t care what it cost me

- Paramore, After Laughter, 26


Hair unbound, it fell lightly across her face as she set quill to parchment. They’d been at it all afternoon, reviewing ledgers and shipping routes, writing missives to the Lords of Westeros. They only had one more holdfast to review and they could call it a well worn day. Their knuckles bumped as they both reached for more ink.

“Apologies,” she waved him to go ahead.

“Please, my lady, go ahead, you are in the middle of a sentence.”

Reaching for the pot she dipped and wiped her quill returning to the page, “thank you, my Lord.”

Looking at her from under his hooded brow he watched her finish the scroll. Signing her name with flourish she reached for the wax and poured it into a small pool on the page. He averted his eyes when she puckered her delicate lips; he knew she’d blow at the cooling wax, she’d done it on every parchment and every time the look of her set his nerves on edge. After pressing the sigil into the wax she pulled the stamp away and set the paper to the side to dry.

Sighing she leant back in her chair, “I thought untying my hair would ease my head, but I feel no better.”

“My Lady, it is late, and we’ve not eaten since this morning.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” standing from the table she crossed to the door and stepped into the hall. Muffled voices were broken by the sound of the door opening back up. Sansa crossed back to the table, standing at his side, “I’ve ordered supper to be brought here. I think some food will do us both good… your penmanship is growing sloppy.” Her eyes winked with the jape.

“Har har,” he sneered. “My Lady is very cruel. I have been working quite hard and your mockery wounds me.”

She patted his shoulder, “there, there Lord Hand. Surely you can stand a small criticism.”

“And a dwarf joke - you are in rare form tonight.” he laughed.

Her eyes betrayed her genuine concern, “my Lord I am so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Scoffing he patted her hand where it had remained on his shoulder, “I was joking dear Sansa, I know you meant no offense.”

this town breaks people, don’t you know?


but he’s a firecracker, that boy.
crackling spitfire mouth over freckled porcelain, shows up
piss drunk to a fight and leaves with knuckles worn red,
happiness violent-smeared across his face and you think,
beautiful, you think,
destructive, and you think
he is invincible.


he holds his chin high, teeth sharp.
head cocked just so, eyes hard like bullets.
bandages wrapped like a promise.
fists like a prayer.


it is not until you see the fuse stamped out,
not until the fight comes to him and he’s too sober for it,
not until you have to teach him how to cry, to spill sorrow
without shaking apart that you realize not everyone
has the luxury
of being vulnerable.


so slot your mouth against his, that boy you love.
smoke the unfurling terror out from inside his gut.
wrap your arms around him and think,
like a promise, think,
like a prayer, think,
be safe be safe be safe.


it is hard to live in this town, don’t you know?
it is easy to survive.


see, that boy,
he holds his chin high as though treading water.


he lowers it only to kiss you.

—  CODEPENDENCY // h.x.l.
(for @firstnameagent)

anonymous asked:

Hey I loved your Mother's Day fic, I was just wondering if you would do a second chapter that follows immediately after when Mrs Shepherd discovers Amelia is pregnant?? I love you writing and would love to read this!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hello! Thank you for being so sweet! You made my day SO much better. ❤️

A/N: Thank you for the lovely comments! You do not have to read part two if you do not want (“A Mother’s Love” is complete on its own), but if you choose to read this chapter, please make sure you read the first!


A Grandmother’s Love

AO3    FFN

By the time Owen gets back to the house, two bags of food in tow, it’s already eight o’clock. He shakes his head as the door slips open, left unlocked. “You know, you really should lock this,” he says, head tilted, eyebrows teasing her. “I reminded you before I left.”


“Oh, we’re fine, O,” Amelia says, moving her arm up and down as if shooing the suggestion away.


“I could have been an ax murderer.”


“Well, I’m glad you’re not,” Amelia says, moving a few steps closer to him and pecking his lips once they’re breathing the same air. Pulling back, she chuckles. “Though it’s more probable you’re a lumberjack.” She steps back, her eyes roaming from his eyes to his red flannel shirt to his worn blue jeans.


He pinches her side in retaliation, muttering a, “You didn’t seem to mind when you stole this shirt last week.” He catches the blush rushing up her chest and cheeks, and only smiles in response. He looks ahead, by chance, meeting Mrs. Shepherd’s eyes, and he sees the happiness radiating back at him. “Who’s hungry?” he asks, breaking the silence.


“Me,” Amelia says, raising her hand like a third-grader. “I’ll get plates.” She heads into their kitchen, then pulls a few ceramic dishes from the top shelf, standing on her tiptoes to reach them. He smirks, the skin of her low back revealed as she stretches, before tracing his fingers over the exposed flesh. He smiles as goosebumps materialize under his hand, holding his hand there–barely touching–as he uses his right to grab a few glasses. Once he’s grabbed them, he pours them all sparkling water with lime, squeezing a little lemon into his wife’s glass as he knows she likes. Amelia pecks his cheek in response, grabbing her glass and the plates on her way to their small, round table. Owen carries the other glasses out, setting one in front of his mother and one next to his wife. Mrs. Shepherd has already begun to set out their food containers, snacking on a fried wonton as she does so.


“Oh, I’ll take one of those,” Amelia says to her mother, reaching her hand in the container.

“I’m not surprised.” Mrs. Shepherd laughs, light and free, placing her hand atop her daughter’s for a few seconds, squeezing lightly. “You used to devour them when you were a kid. The only toddler I know who ate fried wontons like candy.”


Amelia smiles, her dimple prominent, as she grabs another. “I was a weird kid,” she says with a shrug, scooping her dinner onto her plate.


“Were?” her mother jokes, taking her first bite of food. “You’re still weird.”


Owen chuckles, surprised at her mother’s candor, only for Amelia to hit his upper arm. “Ow,” he whines.


“Oh, shush, you big baby.” Amelia sends him her patented puppy-dog eyes. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”


“You’re tiny,” he says, shaking his head, “but strong.” She smirks, popping her right shoulder higher than her left, and then turns back to her Pad Kra Tiem, mixing the brown sauce with her garlic shrimp.


They eat quietly, save for a few words here and there, each hungry and content with their dinners. “I’ll be right back,” Amelia excuses herself ten minutes later. She heads to the bathroom, silently cursing her hormones. She has been to the bathroom three times since she got home. Apparently her surgical bladder of steel isn’t going to be sticking around this pregnancy.


Back at the table, Carolyn Shepherd begins to ask Owen about his job and interests, having realized she knows very little about him personally. “I’m a trauma surgeon,” Owen says, smiling with pride. “I really enjoy it. It’s a challenge, but one I love.”


“I would guess so, Major.” Her eyes crinkle with her smile, the lines permanent after years’ worth of experiences. “Are you still Chief of Surgery?”


“No. I resigned last year.” He shrugs, chewing another bite of beef, then swallowing. “It was time for someone else to step in. Besides, I now have fewer managerial duties, which means more time for surgery.”


She nods in understanding. “A surgeon always wants more time,” she says wisely, a little sparkle in her eyes. He nods, turning his head slightly at the sound of Amelia making her way back down the hall.


Amelia sits quickly, shooting both family members a smile before diving back into her dinner. After a few bites in relative silence, she looks up with furrowed brows. “When’s your flight, Mom?”


“I cancelled it after you asked me to stay.” Mrs. Shepherd pats her mouth with her napkin. “I figured I’d reschedule it after we talked. I hope that’s okay.” Her blue orbs meet her daughter’s matching ones, her smile tender, but unsure.


“Of course it is,” Amelia says, voice low and confident.


“You’re welcome any time,” Owen adds.


“Thank you,” Carolyn murmurs, cheeks stretched tight with a smile, eyes downturned in quiet gratefulness. She lets out a little breath, taking a moment to appreciate the amends she has made with her youngest daughter, before she turns her eyes upward. Her eyes are alight with mischief as she looked between her children. “So when were you going to tell me?”


Amelia shovels another bite into her mouth, frowning slightly. “Tell you what?”


Mrs. Shepherd chuckles at her daughter’s denseness–for someone so observant and wise, she is often trapped in her own world–and reached her hand out to cup Amelia’s cheek. She meets Owen’s eyes briefly, internally laughing at his shocked expression, before saying the words. “When were you going to tell me that I’m going to be a grandma again?”


“Um,” Amelia says, eyes widening in disbelief. In lieu of answering, Amelia asks,“How’d you know?”


She rubs her thumb over Amelia’s cheekbone, her smile tender. “I’m your mom. I know everything.” She pulls back, settling back against her seat. “And I’ve been here before,” she says in mention to her older daughters. “You learn things.”


Amelia’s chest reddens as the heat spreads beneath her skin. A quick look to her left shows that Owen’s not doing much better. “We were going to tell you,” Owen begins. Mrs. Shepherd raises an eyebrow, rejoicing in the tiny shift toward cowering that Owen takes.


“Surprise?” Amelia says, voice raising in question, as she holds both hands next to her face, moving them like jazz hands. When her mother only continues to smirk, Amelia drops the act. “It’s still early. About eight weeks,” Amelia supplies.


Mrs. Shepherd gasps, a few tears springing to her eyes. Her daughter, her wild-child-hurricane, is growing up. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers, her eyes dancing with Amelia’s. “I wish I had,” her voice catches on her words. “I wish I didn’t,” she pauses once more.


Amelia shifts in her seat to face her mother more directly. Reaching out her hand, she sets it on top of her mother’s clasped ones. “I was always going to tell you,” she confides. “After the first trimester.” She squeezes her hand over her mother’s worn knuckles. “I love you, Mom,” she says, tears in her voice. “I wouldn’t keep our baby away from you.” She leans forward, wrapping her mother in a tight embrace.


“I love you, too, Sweetheart.” Amelia smiles, relaxing into the comfort of her mother’s arms, before pulling back. As soon as she is seated, Owen wraps his arm around her shoulders, tugging her in his direction for a soft kiss.


“Do you want to see a picture?” Owen asks, his grin permeating the hard lines of his face. When Mrs. Shepherd nods, he quickly pulls the folded black and white image out of his wallet, smoothing the creases. He passes it across the table, his pride radiating so strongly that Amelia has to bury her lovestruck smile in his neck.


“Oh, isn’t she precious?” Carolyn’s hand is at her chest, taking in the soft, blurry edges of their baby.


“I told you it’s going to be a girl,” Amelia mumbles against the tender skin of his neck.


He rolls his eyes, but hugs her tighter to his side. “Whatever you say, Mia.” He crosses his left hand over to twirl a few strands of her hair and she smiles at his (slight) obsession with her silky tresses. Then, looking over to his mother-in-law, Owen says, “The baby’s the size of a raspberry this week.”


Mrs. Shepherd grins, bringing her hand to cover her mouth. “You know,” she begins softly, “Amelia’s dad used to do that. He used to track her size each week and tell me all these random facts about my pregnancy.” She lets out a tiny sigh. “You remind me so much of him.”


Stunned, Owen breathes a grateful, “Thanks, Mom.”


Amelia moves her head, disentangling herself from his arms, only to grab his hands in hers. “You’re a good man, Owen,” she says seriously. Leaning forward, she grabs his lips with hers, gently sucking his lower lip into his mouth. She then smoothes her tongue over his lips before pulling back and cupping his cheeks. “And you’re going to be a great dad.” She smiles, the two lost in the words of their eyes. “I can’t wait,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.

And while this is happening, all Carolyn Shepherd can think is how lucky she is to have her daughter. To have her wonderful, weird, all-encompassing-love of a daughter. And how lucky her daughter is to have found such a husband, such a father. They’re her family. And she couldn’t be more proud.


“Motherhood is a choice you make everyday, to put someone else’s happiness and well-being ahead of your own, to teach the hard lessons, to do the right thing even when you’re not sure what the right thing is…and to forgive yourself, over and over again, for doing everything wrong.”

~Donna Ball


Thanks for reading! I’d love your feedback! Prompts are always welcome. 😉

anonymous asked:

you up for writing a one-shot that takes place in a world without any quirks, where whenever Tamaki goes to this certain restaurant, Mirio's always his server despite the many other servers there. they basically know each other via small talks; but one day, Tamaki arrives at his usual time and goes to sit in his spot(tm), but the table's already set with what he regularly orders and Mirio's sitting on the other side wearing normal clothing and with candles there too, he went all out on it.

“This is gonna go great, this is gonna go great, this is gonna go great,” Mirio chants over and over again to himself as he bounced left-to-right on the balls of his feet and shook the tension out of his arms and shoulders.

“You know, I really wish your date could see you do this; true moments of stress like these really show your true colors.”  Hadou crooked an eyebrow at the waiter, keeping an eye out for the man of the hour who was supposed to be walking through the front door any minute now.

((read it here or on Ao3!))

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agent-jaselin  asked:

27 or 43, reverse portal au Stan and Angie.

27. “I’m with you okay? Always”

43. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me”

Since the two prompts you suggested work really well together, I went with using both of them.  And oh my gosh, this was so wonderful to write.  I so rarely get a chance to write scenes as sweet and intimate as this one.  I’m just…really proud of how this turned out.

Send me a number and some characters and I’ll write a ficlet!


               Angie slowly regained consciousness.  It was still dark, and as she squinted at the alarm clock by her bedside, she could see it was four in the morning.

               Then why did I wake up?  

               “No…”  The sound of Stan’s whimper, coupled with him moving uneasily next to her, chased away her grogginess.  Angie looked over at her husband.  His eyes were closed tightly as he tossed and turned, pleading with someone to leave him alone.  

                He’s having a nightmare.  Angie reached out a hesitant hand and put it on Stan’s shoulder.

               “Stan?  Darlin’?” she said gently.  He slapped away her hand.  Angie swallowed.  “Stanley, I need ya to wake up fer me.  Please.” Stan continued to move around, lost in his nightmares.  With a sigh, she reached over and pinched Stan’s nose shut, a trick that she had used on many of her older siblings as a child.  Stan gasped.  His eyes popped open, but they were glassed over.  He looked at her.

               He can’t see me, can he. Angie took a hold of one of his hands, rubbing her fingers along the calluses and scars she had yet to get acquainted with.  She took a deep breath.

               “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” she said.  Stan continued to stare at her blankly.  She lifted his other hand to her mouth and kissed his rugged, worn knuckles.  “Darlin’, come back to me.  Please.” Stan’s fingers twitched.  “That’s it.  Listen to my voice.  Concentrate on what I’m sayin’, and what yer feelin’.”  She stroked his hand.  “Ground yourself in this, the way my fingers feel against yer skin.  The way my voice sounds.  And come back to me.”  Stan let out a long breath.  Angie felt him begin to squeeze her hand.  She smiled at him.  He was still looking at her.  But now she could see recognition in his rich brown eyes.  

               Twelve years later, they’re still that beautiful color.  So deep I could get lost in ‘em.

               “Angie,” Stan croaked out.  “I- I-”

               “Shh.  It’s okay,” Angie said soothingly.  Stan sat up. He looked away, embarrassed.  

               “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  Angie frowned.

               “What for?”

               “Scarin’ ya.”  Angie shook her head.

               “Ya didn’t scare me, darlin’.  It’s nothin’ I ain’t seen before.”

               “But-”

               “I’m just glad I could get ya to come back to me so quick,” she continued.

               “How did you know what to do?” Stan asked.  

               “Fidds went through sim’lar problems, after he got rescued from that cult he made.”

               “Fidds made a cult?”

               “That’s a long story,” Angie said, waving a hand.  “But he had flashbacks ‘n nightmares.”  She squeezed the hand she was still holding.  “And he’s not the only one.”  Stan stared at her.  

               “Did you…”  Angie nodded. “Oh, shit.  Oh, Angie, I’m so sorry.”  Angie shook her head.

               “Ain’t yer fault.  Merely the fault of my own, broken brain.”

               “Don’t say that.  Yer not broken,” Stan said immediately.  “Me, on the other hand.”

               “No, Stan.  I’m broken, too.”  She stroked his face, relishing the rough feel of his beard.  “But that’s okay.  We’re broken together.”

               “You’re too good for me,” Stan said after a moment.

               “No.  I’m just right fer you.”

               “You didn’t have to wake me up, y’know.”

               “I did.”

               “I can handle my problems on my own.  Done it for twelve years.”

               “Just ‘cause ya can handle it on yer own don’t mean ya should.” Angie kissed him on the cheek.  “I’m with you, okay?  Always.”  Stan smiled at her.  And even though she knew he would deny it if she pointed it out, she could see tears standing in his eyes.

               “Why do ya have all the answers?” he said quietly.  Angie smiled back at him.

               “I’m a mom.  I’m supposed to.”

The 100 Preference - How they fell for you

HEY! could you do a preference for the 100 boys about how they decided you were the one for them including Bellamy, Jasper, Monty and Murphy. Thank you cutiepie! 

 ————————————————

Bellamy: Day 3 on the ground and things were finally becoming organised. People were organising things and putting up tents. Bellamy went around assigning jobs to different people when he eventually reached you. 

“Hey Bell.” You smiled at him. 

“Alright half pint.” He chuckled. He’d always mocked you for being a lot shorter than him. 

“What do you want?” You asked playfully punching his chest. 

“Well I’ve assigned you to be on cleaning duty, you start tomorrow. I just thought I’d let you know.”

"Hell no. I’m not doing that.” You protested. 

“And why not?” He asked.

“I’m a hunter.” You replied picking up your knife and running off to join Miller and the others. You may have been stubborn but, damn he liked it. 

Jasper: You and Jasper had made good friends since landing on the ground. Everyone had become so serious since the grounder attack and had treated Jasper so differently since his recovery. Little did they know, he hated it. You, on the other hand were always up for a joke and to mess around with him whenever. You were the only one that could take his mind off the danger that lay ahead. It was then that he realised it was you that made him truly happy and if coming to the ground and being attacked by God knows what was what it took to have met you then it was so so worth it. 

Monty: Mount Weather had been traumatic to say the least. You had been given an apprenticeship in electronics and computers on the Ark so knew as much as Monty when it came to disabling doors and rearranging wires to work your way through Mount Weather. It was only after being caged with you in Dr Singh’s office saving Harper did he notice he was finally falling for you. Your bravery to step in in place of Harper and your courage to survive was the only thing getting him through this hell and he didn’t plan on letting you go. Ever. 

Murphy: You were definitely outspoken compared to everyone else. You and some of the other boys got into argument a lot of the time and you were always patched up by your two friends Jasper and Monty who looked after you and stopped you getting too ahead of yourself. One day after a particularly nasty fight, you were left with a bloody nose and worn knuckles. You headed to the drop ship in search of Jasper or Monty but couldn’t find either of them so started haphazardly patching yourself up muttering swear words under your breath.

“Need any help?” You heard someone chuckle as Murphy came into the drop ship. He’d always admired your ability to speak out against others and had been looking for a excuse exactly like this to introduce himself to you. 

“Here, pass me those bandages. I’m Murphy by the way." 

————————————————

 AN: hello! Hope this is okay! I am currently taking requests for any type of preference so feel free to request them as I really enjoy writing them :)

Dark Sun

Back to your regularly scheduled NALU hell. We’ve knocked Chy and Alisha off the list. Time to knock off Philine. 


Blood spread out from his side, soaking his tunic and making him dizzy.  The demon was so dazed by the wound to his abdomen; he didn’t notice the sluggish trail of blood from his throat. Ebony wings folded into his back and disappeared, unable to support their weight any longer.

Spiraling tattoos from his demonic form faded away, drifting under his skin and leaving him looking human. Horns receded into cherry-pink hair, his chest heaving with the effort it took to keep walking.

Not yet.

He wasn’t done yet.

Unfocused eyes caught sight of a small human temple, just beyond the tree line.  The demon wasn’t used to hoping, but he was certain he just found his salvation from the dragon hunting him.

His only comfort was he had done just as much damage to the fire-breathing lizard. He would be delayed.

Keep reading

his lips can speak to me more than his words can.
When he kisses me slowly and sweetly I can feel him absorbing the feel of my lips so he can bring out the memory while he’s gone. He can also be sad when he kisses like that, his pillow like lips barley touching mine. A kiss to stop the tears, a kiss to say “thank you for not leaving me.” He kisses me gently because he knows I’m made of glass that has been glued back together so many times and one more drop could break me for good.
When he kisses me deeply it’s high emotion.
Angry kisses, “I missed you” kisses, white dress kisses.
When his lips kiss my stomach and trace my neck I know he’s up to no good. his sweet lips make my body feel like a sinner but we all know that nothing good came from playing by the rules. when he pecks me lightly it’s a joy that I can feel through my toes. “I was thinking of you” “good morning” or because there’s a ton of people around and he knows how I can get. and finally when he kisses the tip of my nose, the middle of my forehead, my worn down knuckles, my scars, or the top of my head I know he’s in love with me. These are the smallest gestures of reassurance but mean the most. he breathes in when he kisses me goodbye and when he does I can only think in the form of his name. Nothing else matters when he kisses me, because I can’t focus or think of anything else.
—  xo | | a.w