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1kook · 4 years ago

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crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast.

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office.

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5.

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses.

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful.

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.”

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.”

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.”

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking.

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever.

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours.

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together.

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.)

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be.

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part �� is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you.

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber.

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend.

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary.

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days.

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.)

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like.

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites.

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?”

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.”

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind.

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into.

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway.

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin.

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear.

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass.

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you.

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak.

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead.

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat.

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts.

They go like this:

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really.

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively.

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once.

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you.

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome.

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts.

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.”

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles.

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild.

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums.

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again.

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning.

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.”

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment.

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him.

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned.

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.”

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.”

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.”

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.”

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“—

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer.

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole.

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise.

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath.

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes.

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue.

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger. “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…”

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?”

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles.

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over.

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more.

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them.

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub.

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face.

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention.

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock.

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand.

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane.

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh.

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be.

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds.

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter.

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic.

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock.

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you.

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip.

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl.

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully.

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin.

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said.

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away.

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself.

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you.

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once.

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth.

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets.

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever.

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries.

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you.

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question.

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest.

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

#networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #Jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 4 years ago

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If Bella was a boy (with Bella's gift. And he would be Edward's singer). What would change? What do you think?

So, I gave a fairly detailed response to this already. The long and short of it being that, depending if Beauford’s the right kind of guy, he and Edward will essentially end up in a romantic relationship neither realizes is romantic. Then Edward eats Beauford at some point.

But, since we’re here, I suppose we can enter imagination land and get into some more details.

Caveat that I haven’t read Life and Death and have no desire to, so we’re actually ignoring some strange alternate universe canon that never made much sense anyway. Shocking, I know, and very unlike this blog.

Beauford Swan and a Kid More Messed Up Than Even Bella Swan

In order for our love story to even start, Beauford has to be the kind of guy that Edward’s into (or can project that he’s into). Well, we know Edward’s into Carlisle (he projects pretty much an idealized version of Carlisle’s personality onto Bella and actively wants to look like Carlisle as to him Carlisle’s is the face of holy perfection while Edward looks like a demon) and given what he says he likes of Bella’s personality we can extrapolate from there.

Edward’s not going to be into an Emmett or anyone remotely resembling Mike Newton. He’s going to be into a quiet, kind, misunderstood, sensative, intellectual who probably looks some level of frail and in need of protection. Essentially, what he saw in Bella, subverting the Madonna complex he has for her a bit (Beauford will be a kind of Madonna, sort of, but not quite so blatant).

So, we have Beauford, who looks a lot like male!Bella and by that I mean he keeps her pale skin, her big dark eyes, and general look about her that she could break with the slightest contact. Basically, he’s a very pretty guy the likes of which typically comes from a shojou anime. He’s also likely still debilitatingly clumsy.

So, you have this guy who’s awful at sports, as in each time he tries he probably ends up in the ICU. Is an intellectual in that he reads old books, an odd amount of Jane Austen at that, but isn’t actually an artist or writer. In fact, other than reading, he has no real hobbies. Has a larger than life mother who constantly needs looking after. And has nothing in common with his peers.

As bad as Bella had it, I posit Beauford would have had it worse. He’s not going to get along with 90% of boys until... probably college. He’s always picked last in kickball, shares 0 interests with most other boys, and is probably ruthlessly bullied for all of this and more. Worse, being so pretty, he’s going to attract a lot of romantic attention, especially from preteen girls who are very into that look and Beauford’s sensitive artistic nature. This is going to get him so much shit from other guys.

Add on top of this Bella’s original difficulty socializing and I imagine Beauford is just as depressed if not more so.

Fast Forward to Forks

Beauford comes to Forks for a similar reasons to Bella, because he felt like a third-wheel in Renee and Phil’s relationship and that his mother was better off without him. I can also see him just not knowing how to act around Phil, who probably expects a stepson who’s more... sonnish. Beauford’s not going to play catch with dad in the yard and I can see Beauford wanting to avoid all of that entirely.

He enters Forks and has a vaguely similarish reception to Bella. Only, there are some key differences.

I imagine Mike, Tylor, and Eric quickly sour on Beauford as he goes from being potentially cool new bro to a guy that can pick up every girl in this school. He’s like the Cullens, but less incestuous and creepy and therefore a thousand times worse. They desperately don’t want Beauford sitting at their lunch table where he can potentially pick up all the babes.

In other words, Mike is the new Lauren, and Beauford knows it. But it’s either eat with these guys or eat in the bathroom, and Beauford’s not at that level of desperation yet.

Jessica’s probably into him, having been into Edward (another pretty, sensitive, guy), but unlike Bella I imagine Beauford has a little better social intelligence in that he has seen this game before and he knows where it leads. So, he desperately, actively, doesn’t flirt with anyone. Which makes him a terrible conversationalist, and he just comes off as really weird.

Beauford, therefore, actually is a Cullen 2.0. You don’t want to be a Cullen 2.0 (Bella is the only one in that school who thinks the Cullens were in any way popular).

I imagine Edward notices this, plus Jessica’s interest, and gives a Nelson laugh from across the room. Now someone else can have the joys of Jessica Stanley’s lust. Though he does notice he can’t read Beauford’s thoughts, which is strange.

Like Bella, Edward undoubtedly thinks Beauford is at first highly overrated, just like all the other mindless teenagers in Forks, and rather plain (from his narration, Edward likes blondes and lighter eyes).

The Rest

Biology happens, it’s a disaster, Beauford has no idea what he did to get Edward to loathe him so much but this time Mike isn’t in any way sympathetic. Instead, Mike just can’t believe he and Cullen seem to agree on something for once.

Edward flees to Alaska, decides he won’t lose to Hamburger, and comes back to do damage control. And we start mirroring canon a lot here. Edward has varying conversations with Beauford, is intoxicated by his very scent, and starts projecting an almost saint like personality onto him. Edward grows increasingly obsessed, starts creeping into Beauford’s room at night to protect him from spiders, etc.

The difference being that Edward is utterly convinced that what he and Beauford share is the highest platonic ideal of friendship. They are platonic soulmates, all other friendships pale in comparison to them, they are intellectual peers and artists.

This is even when they still go to the meadow, Edward kidnaps Beauford in Port Angeles for Italian dinner (despite Beaufrod not having been nearly raped without Edward’s intervention), Beauford is invited to the Cullen house, and more.

Beauford, being Bella levels of oblivious, also has no idea this is a romantic relationship. Likely, what he feels at first and is driven by is a strong sense of kinship with Edward. As Edward is also an intellectual outsider hated by the male half of the school. Beauford’s been there, bro.

However, like Bella with Alice, he appreciates small details of Edward’s vampiric physical appearance, enjoys staring at Edward’s perfect face, and really digs that vampire smell.

I imagine, beyond what happened in Twilight things like the following occur: Edward constantly sketches Beauford in unintentionally (but secretly intentional) erotic positions with no clothes (this is art!), Edward leers at Beauford changing in his bedroom because “we’re both men”, Edward insists on discussing Beauford’s future bride with Beauford and imagines the most perfect woman in the world while also imagining smashing her head in like a melon.

But I imagine most of the Twilight plot points happen. The difference being that everyone is very confused on why these two can’t admit they’re dating. Rosalie probably bringing up very valid points of “Edward, if you want this guy to go date someone else then you can’t monopolize his life” and Edward telling her to stop being so petty and jealous of Beauford’s beauty. Aro, I imagine, just dies in New Moon and has no idea what to say when Beauford returns from the dead because it’s not, “Oh look, the lovers reunited! Ah, right, I forgot, they’re just friends. Yes...”

The other difference being, as I strongly suspect that without Renesmee Edward would never have turned Bella (Renesmee really forces that issue as Bella actually dies before Edward turns her), that he would have eventually eaten Beauford as Alice predicted.

But he’d be so delicious.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #bella swan #beauford swan #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #edward/bella #anti edward/bella #edward/beauford #anti edward/beauford #meta #headcanon #opinion

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butterflies-dragons · 3 years ago

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Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. —A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” Ned inspected the bruise himself. “I hope Forel is not being too hard on you,” he said. —A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

Sansa listened raptly while the king’s high harper sang songs of chivalry, and Rickon kept asking why Jon wasn’t with them. "Because he’s a bastard,” Bran finally had to whisper to him. —A Clash of Kings - Bran III

I told her she would hear music of all sorts, that her father could find some master to help her learn the high harp. —A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VI

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother’s queen, of Nymeria’s ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

It had been so long since she had enjoyed the company of other women, she had almost forgotten how pleasant it could be. Lady Leonette gave her lessons on the high harp, and Lady Janna shared all the choice gossip. Merry Crane always had an amusing story, and little Lady Bulwer reminded her of Arya, though not so fierce. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. —A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

Ser Garlan laughed. "I was a plump little boy, I fear, and we do have an uncle called Garth the Gross. So Willas struck first, though not before threatening me with Garlan the Greensick, Garlan the Galling, and Garlan the Gargoyle." It was so sweet and silly that Sansa had to laugh, despite everything. Afterward she was absurdly grateful. Somehow the laughter made her hopeful again, if only for a little while. Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together. "My lady wife is most concerned for you," he said quietly, one such time. "Lady Leonette is too sweet. Tell her I am well." —A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. —A Feast for Crows - Arya II

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. “The man has played us every song he knows thrice over,” Lord Eddard told her gently. “I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come.” They hadn’t, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent. —A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne . . . —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. —A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Quotes: Sansa Stark & Music

Art: Sansa playing the high harp (based on a medieval illustration from Ms. Bodley 264)

#sansa stark #high harp #mio de mi

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sweetfierceimagines · 4 years ago

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PART1/ It was supposed to be simple. Ricky x Reader (HSMTM)

Hello everyone, I’ve been trying really hard to write lately, and it has been very complicated. I think you all understand, when everything is not ok in someone’s life, that someone kind of loses it.

But I decided to fight that, I least trying !

I discovered the series High School Musical the Musical and even though I’m 24 and supposed to be over this kind of drama, I’M CLEARLY NOT.

Synopsis : Reader is a student, she’s not technically involved in the Musical like everyone else, but she helps with costumes making and set management. Ricky gets to know her and even though he really wants to get Nini back and has a whole plan for it, life decides to mess with him, and he gets involved in a new sentimental obsession.

Warnings : none. Probably not my best writing, please be kind to me.. Just a lot of fluff and teenage drama ! Enjoy <3

Tell me if you want this to carry on ! I’ll be glad to write a part 2 if you like it :)

RICKY POV/

Here he was, playing Troy Bolton in this Musical. He would never have done it if it wasn’t for Nini.

He understood her, understood her pain, understood why she chose that stupid E.J. But he was not going to abandon. It was not because he didn’t reply that he didn’t mean it.

So he enroled (quite amazingly by the way) in this musical. He was dancing, singing, acting.. He never thought it could actually be this fun and exhausting. He seemed to be reaching Nini’s heart more and more each day, as she was also realising that EJ was not as perfect as he pretended to be.

But something was about to mess up all his plans.

READER POV/

The school was all about that Musical. It seemed as if every other activity and class was less important and didn’t deserve that much attention. Y/N was not a singer, not a dancer. She didn’t play any instrument, she didn’t like to be under the spotlights.

She was all about reading, writing and creating. So when the art class shut down for “fund purposes” (basically meaning this musical was costing the school too much), she had to find another way to create.

So she went for it. Asked Miss Jenn if she needed someone for her costumes and decor management, and simply started to work on the set. She wasn’t the only one working on costumes and on stage management, but she clearly was the best of the team.

And it was appreciated.

After just a few weeks, she was named “stage and costume director”, whatever that means. Even though she was pretending she didn’t care, it sort of made her feel validated, and allowed her to create as much as she wanted to, which was pretty amazing.

RICKY POV/

It was one of these days.

Everything seemed to fall apart. His parents were ending their relationship, his mom would probably leave for a long time, Nini still supported EJ even though he was making mistakes for which she would have dumped him..

He felt like everything he was doing was not good enough and it was hard to deal with. He was not usually shy with his feelings, but this time he didn’t feel like sharing. So he stayed late, very late, at school, and waited for everyone to leave stage to show up.

He was sure no one was there, so he let his emotions speak and just let it out. He started by talking to himself, making moves and being loud. He was talking about his family, his fear of being abandonned, his fear of never being loved again, the pain of knowing he lost Nini because he didn’t deserve her back there, the impression that EJ was a better man than he was.. he could go for hours.

And then he started singing.

A couple sentences from numerous songs. Songs about love, songs about pain, songs about courage. He closed his eyes and sang his heart out. It was beautiful, strong, sincere. It would have tear anyone’s heart.

And it did.

READER POV/

Y/N was staying late, as usual. She had a special authorisation from Miss Jenn and the Dean to stay extra hours backstage, working of costumes or just on personnal projects.

At school at least, she didn’t have to deal with noise, with family issues of with anything that could poison her creativity.

She was painting when she heard a noise.

Startled, she sort of went in panic mode, imagining a hundred scenarios in which she would get in troubles. She walked smoothly to the stage entrance and remained out of sight while looking at the boy who played Troy basically loosing his mind on stage.

She could have told him that he was not alone, she was actually about to signal her presence out of respect for what he was revealing, when he started singing.

It made Y/N go numb, as if she left her body and could feel her soul burning of compassion. His voice was everything, his face was everything.

She didn’t realise, but she was crying silently.

After a couple minutes, she realised she was actually holding her breath. She breathed heavily and stumbled, making Ricky realise he was not alone at all.

The boy jumped and fell down, hurting himself quite badly.

Y/N came rushing at him, feeling terribly sorry for what happened.

RICKY POV/

- Man ! Couldn’t you say you were here?!

Ricky was flaming red, embarrassed that someone heard everything. He looked at this girl’s face and it honestly took him a few seconds to remember who she was. Yes, she was on stage pretty much each day, but at some point he got so obsessed with the Musical and Nini that he completly forgot about the environment he was evolving in.

She was pretty, her Y/E/C eyes looking terrified and guilty, and it seemed as she cried recently, her eyes a bit red.

He stood up and winced, lifting his shirt a bit to realise he was going to get bruses all over his chest and stomach.

- I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt or even listen. Seriously, I was going to tell you, i’m not a creep. Well, not that kind at least..

- Yeah? You were going to? Seems like you had plenty of time.

He sighed and headed backstage to inspect his clothes and body in the miror, assessing at bad it was.

Y/N followed, staying a few meters away to give him some space. She didn’t say anything, feeling guilty enough.

Ricky took his shirt out completly, looking at his body. Y/N could tell he was contracting a bit his abs and arms and let out a silent laugh. She observed for a couple minutes and finally talked.

- You riped your shirt a bit.

Ricky turned, facing her, looking anoyed, and lifted his arms.

- No joke ! Who’s falt is it?

- You’re the one who fell dude.

He opened his mouth to answer right back but her cheekiness cheered him a bit, and he simply nodded his head.

- Yeah, I’ll blame gravity next time I see her. A real troublemaker that one.

He looked at his shirt and sighed. He didn’t know anything about sewing and his mom would probably have other things to do. Too bad, it was his favorite old school shirt.

Y/N stretched her hand toward him and he gave her his shirt. Still shirtless, he looked as she sat down where it seemed like she was staying most of the time, in a corner with painting all over, needles and fabric. She grabed one needle, easily got the thread in and started sewing, with a hand technique that showed how used to it she was.

He looked around, noticing one painting that seemed to still be in progress. He got closer, reaching his hand to it.

- Don’t ! It’s wet, I was on it when I heard you.

He turned around, looking at her in another way. She was pretty impressive, painting stuff, sewing shirts and managing a stage so well people didn’t even realised she was here.

- That’s sick.

He said with a smile.

She looked back at him and nodded, smiling at him too.

- Thanks. I usually plan what I’m going to do but this one.. it just came to me.

He looked closer, noticing a female silouette, somehow looking cut in some parts. Not cut as stabbed, but cut as split in different sections.

- What do you think it is?

Y/N said while carrying on her sewing. She acted as she was not looking at him, but each time he got his attention back at the painting, she would look at him, trying to anticipate his reactions.

- Hum.. It’s a.. it’s a woman? Right?

He would turn to her, as if he was looking for her validation for each word he said. She simply nodded, encouraging him to carry on.

- It’s a woman, and this woman is split. She.. Maybe because she went through a lot, maybe the different sections represent different emotions? Different moments of her life?

He remained silent for a second and looked with intensity at the painting. His eyebrows frown and he suddently looked sad.

- Maybe because she can’t be whole again. She has to be split. She has to try to deal with these conflicting emotions, these ups and downs. Maybe people tell her she should be grateful, and happy, and she should move on. But she can’t, because life cut her in several pieces.

And a tear rolled down his cheek.

Y/N stood up, mooving carefully toward him, and put a gentle hand on his (still naked) shoulder. She could feel him shaking a bit, deeply moved by what he felt from the painting.

- Ricky.. it’s ok.

He turned, facing her, his eyes still filled with tears. He didn’t quite knew why, but he didn’t feel like looking anything but himself with her. After all, she knew how he was feeling, she heard what he said, and she felt what he felt.

The way she was looking at him.. Conforting, warm, yet terrifying. She understood.

He put his hand on hers, squeezing it as if it would make him feel better. He was here, facing her, hand on hand, eyes to eyes.

Suddenly, the speaker went on, the voice of a security guy telling “Miss Y/N, time to close the school. Sorry”

This sort of broke the moment. They broke the physical contact and she gave him his shirt back. They both gathered their stuff and silently headed to the front door, thanking the security guard for his patience.

They smiled at each other and Ricky waved goodbye, whatching as she was quitely leaving of her bike.

#hsmtmts #hsm the musical #high school musical the musical #rickybowen #ricky x reader #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen imagine #imagine #imagines #joshua basset x reader #joshua basset imagine #joshua bassett #nini hsmtmts #romance

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 4 years ago

Text

🕺🏻Fri 1 Jan '21🗓

Hey remember last year when Harry broke with longstanding tradition and didn't tweet to tell us it was a New Year, bringing down a terrible curse on the whole world? Yeah, that sucked. Well, not to worry friends- he's not gonna let that happen again! He's gone all out to bless 2021 with good vibes first thing today, showering us with positivity in the form of a whole ass cinematic spectacle of a VIDEO, yes, Treat People With Kindness is HERE! The gorgeous Old Hollywood looking piece has Harry camping it up as a circus ringmaster-esque nightclub singer, sparkles, shimmys, jazz hands, and all! Pheobe Waller-Bridge plays his alter ego, initially playing the (traditionally male) role of the powerful and sought after venue owner, shmoozing and spectating- until Harry lures her from her table to join him in front of the crowd, at which point both of them shed their outer layers, blurring the (fine) line between them to reveal that they are a pair in their matching outfits, becoming nearly indistinguishable as they spin each other around and around. The back and forth of roles continues to with her taking the lead parts as they dance-- and do they dance!! A full ensemble choreography routine complete with cartwheels and shuffles! (Everyone's always talking about the guys 'breaking with their boyband pasts' but has Harry finally done it by abandoning the cardinal rule of 1D, We Don't Dance? Well, he's still visibly counting his steps so idk if we're quiiite there yet...) For the grand finale, they continue and reinforce the gender flip with her dipping him, and making pointed eye contact with the viewer as it all fades to black. The fourth wall break is a Fleabag reference, sure, but also stands on its own as a challenge and a wink and nod if you ask me: do you get it, her look asks, do you see? The video, filmed in February, is in black and white, but that didn't stop them from dressing the band in the signature pale blue (and the extras in a kaliedescope of rainbow colors) and picking a filming venue paneled in that very Shade of Blue (the restored East London art deco cinema is also STUNNING, and currently operates as a popular LGBTQ events space.) Release day also brings new merch for the song- TPWK merch isn't new of course but there are black and silver versions and some new colors and it's got SPARKLE- plus lots of behind the scenes pics everyone must have been waiting all this time to post, including a couple very cute ones of Harry and ones showing an 'everyone take one' box of TPWK shirts on set, cute, and the DYWYA site updated to a classic movie title screen card look with a single result: Kind.

Despite many twists and turns along the way, the final Fashion Archive bracket winners were unsurprising (and, dare I say, a bit anticlimactic?)-- the Vogue dress, Niall's livestream outfit, and Louis' sleek black Walls suit and turtleneck combo. All the rest, gone now (though not forgotten) but some less than others; Harry Lambert, unlike the bracket voters, appreciates the Beauty Papers shoot looks, and posted the one of Harry in the TPWK shirt today for the video release.

Popsugar has an interview with Liam; they talk about what he smells like for a while (“after about 20 minutes, a bit woody”), what his new very old house smells like (“history” according to Liam), this year ("I feel like because we didn't know if we had to completely stop working or whether we were even going to have anything to do this year, we worked as hard as we could constantly since March,") and next year: "It feels for all of us that 2021 is going to hit a little bit of a refresh button."

And just in case Harry's good luck charm video needed back up, Louis threw in a hello New Year tweet “Happy new year! Thank you for all the support you've shown me this year. You're all legends!” and Niall says “Happy New Year” and also voices a more guarded prediction: “gonna be the best year for everyone... hopefully.” Yeah, mood.

#harry styles #louis tomlinson #liam payne #niall horan #thanks Fashion Archive for giving us something (relatively) harmless #to discourse about during the slow post xmas days!#you know how destructive downtime can be around here #if you're wondering what happened to the promised Niall and Liam NYE performances well #BITCH ME TOO #will update tomorrow if possible but it now appears that Liam had a brief prerecorded 'hi viewers' type thing...maybe..#and Niall just had the interview snippets we've heard all week? Or like every UA but me is really hungover and has abandoned us IDEK #but I really don't know man no clue whatsoever #phoebe waller bridge #1 jan 21

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mishinashen · 3 years ago

Photo

Self-Portrait by Alphonse Mucha, 1899

Alfons Maria Mucha (Czech: 24 July 1860 – 14 July 1939), known internationally as Alphonse Mucha, was a Czech painter, illustrator, and graphic artist, living in Paris during the Art Nouveau period, best known for his distinctly stylized and decorative theatrical posters, particularly those of Sarah Bernhardt. He produced illustrations, advertisements, decorative panels, and designs, which became among the best-known images of the period.

In the second part of his career, at the age of 43, he returned to his homeland of Bohemia-Moravia region in Austria and devoted himself to painting a series of twenty monumental canvases known as The Slav Epic, depicting the history of all the Slavic peoples of the world, which he painted between 1912 and 1926. In 1928, on the 10th anniversary of the independence of Czechoslovakia, he presented the series to the Czech nation. He considered it his most important work. It is now on display in Prague.

Alphonse Mucha was born on 24 July 1860 in the small town of Ivančice in southern Moravia, then a province of the Austrian Empire (currently a region of the Czech Republic). His family had a very modest income; his father Ondřej was a court usher, and his mother Amálie was a miller's daughter. Ondřej had six children, all with names starting with A. Alphonse was his first child with Amálie, followed by Anna and Anděla.

Alphonse showed an early talent for drawing; a local merchant impressed by his work provided him with paper for free, though it was considered a luxury. In the preschool period, he drew exclusively with his left hand. He also had a talent for music: he was an alto singer and violin player

After completing volksschule, he wanted to continue with his studies, but his family was not able to fund them, as they were already funding the studies of his three step-siblings] His music teacher sent him to Pavel Křížkovský, choirmaster of St Thomas's Abbey in Brno, to be admitted to the choir and to have his studies funded by the monastery. Křížovský was impressed by his talent, but he was not able to admit and fund him, as he had just admitted another talented young musician, Leoš Janáček.

Křížovský sent him to a choirmaster of the Cathedral of St. Peter and Paul, who admitted him as a chorister and funded his studies at the gymnasium in Brno, where he received his secondary school education. After his voice broke, he gave up his chorister position, but played as a violinist during masses.

He became devoutly religious, and wrote later, "For me, the notions of painting, going to church, and music are so closely knit that often I cannot decide whether I like church for its music, or music for its place in the mystery which it accompanies." He grew up in an environment of intense Czech nationalism in all the arts, from music to literature and painting. He designed flyers and posters for patriotic rallies.

His singing abilities allowed him to continue his musical education at the Gymnázium Brno in the Moravian capital of Brno, but his true ambition was to become an artist. He found some employment designing theatrical scenery and other decorations. In 1878 he applied without success to the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague, but was rejected and advised to "find a different career". In 1880, at the age of 19, he traveled to Vienna, the political and cultural capital of the Empire, and found employment as an apprentice scenery painter for a company which made sets for Vienna theaters. While in Vienna, he discovered the museums, churches, palaces and especially theaters, for which he received free tickets from his employer. He also discovered Hans Makart, a very prominent academic painter, who created murals for many of the palaces and government buildings in Vienna, and was a master of portraits and historical paintings in grand format. His style turned Mucha in that artistic direction and influenced his later work. He also began experimenting with photography, which became an important tool in his later work.

To his misfortune, a terrible fire in 1881 destroyed the Ringtheater, the major client of his firm. Later in 1881, almost without funds, he took a train as far north as his money would take him. He arrived in Mikulov in southern Moravia, and began making portraits, decorative art and lettering for tombstones. His work was appreciated, and he was commissioned by Count Eduard Khuen Belasi, a local landlord and nobleman, to paint a series of murals for his residence at Emmahof Castle, and then at his ancestral home in the Tyrol, Gandegg Castle. The paintings at Emmahof were destroyed by fire in 1948, but his early versions in small format exist (now on display at the museum in Brno). He showed his skill at mythological themes, the female form, and lush vegetal decoration. Belasi, who was also an amateur painter, took Mucha on expeditions to see art in Venice, Florence and Milan, and introduced him to many artists, including the famous Bavarian romantic painter, Wilhelm Kray, who lived in Munich.

Count Belasi decided to bring Mucha to Munich for formal training, and paid his tuition fees and living expenses at the Munich Academy of Fine Arts. He moved there in September 1885. It is not clear how Mucha actually studied at the Munich Academy; there is no record of his being enrolled as a student there. However, he did become friends with a number of notable Slavic artists there, including the Czechs Karel Vítězslav Mašek and Ludek Marold and the Russian Leonid Pasternak, father of the famous poet and novelist Boris Pasternak. He founded a Czech students' club, and contributed political illustrations to nationalist publications in Prague. In 1886 he received a notable commission for a painting of the Czech patron saints Cyril and Methodius, from a group of Czech emigrants, including some of his relatives, who had founded a Roman Catholic church in the town of Pisek, North Dakota. He was very happy with the artistic environment of Munich: he wrote to friends, "Here I am in my new element, painting. I cross all sorts of currents, but without effort, and even with joy. Here, for the first time, I can find the objectives to reach which used to seem inaccessible." However, he found he could not remain forever in Munich; the Bavarian authorities imposed increasing restrictions upon foreign students and residents. Count Belasi suggested that he travel either to Rome or to Paris. With Belasi's financial support, he decided in 1887 to move to Paris.

Mucha moved to Paris in 1888 where he enrolled in the Académie Julian[18] and the following year, 1889, Académie Colarossi. The two schools taught a wide variety of different styles. His first professors at the Academie Julien were Jules Lefebvre who specialized in female nudes and allegorical paintings, and Jean-Paul Laurens, whose specialties were historical and religious paintings in a realistic and dramatic style. At the end of 1889, as he approached the age of thirty, his patron, Count Belasi, decided that Mucha had received enough education and ended his subsidies.

When he arrived in Paris, Mucha found shelter with the help of the large Slavic community. He lived in a boarding house called the Crémerie at 13 rue de la Grande Chaumière, whose owner, Charlotte Caron, was famous for sheltering struggling artists; when needed she accepted paintings or drawings in place of rent. Mucha decided to follow the path of another Czech painter he knew from Munich, Ludek Marold, who had made a successful career as an illustrator for magazines. In 1890 and 1891, he began providing illustrations for the weekly magazine La Vie populaire, which published novels in weekly segments. His illustration for a novel by Guy de Maupassant, called The Useless Beauty, was on the cover of 22 May 1890 edition. He also made illustrations for Le Petit Français Illustré, which published stories for young people in both magazine and book form. For this magazine he provided dramatic scenes of battles and other historic events, including a cover illustration of a scene from the Franco-Prussian War which was on 23 January 1892 edition.

His illustrations began to give him a regular income. He was able to buy a harmonium to continue his musical interests, and his first camera, which used glass-plate negatives. He took pictures of himself and his friends, and also regularly used it to compose his drawings. He became friends with Paul Gauguin, and shared a studio with him for a time when Gauguin returned from Tahiti in the summer of 1893. In late autumn 1894 he also became friends with the playwright August Strindberg, with whom he had a common interest in philosophy and mysticism.

His magazine illustrations led to book illustration; he was commissioned to provide illustrations for Scenes and Episodes of German History by historian Charles Seignobos. Four of his illustrations, including one depicting the death of Frederic Barbarossa, were chosen for display at the 1894 Paris Salon of Artists. He received a medal of honor, his first official recognition.

Mucha added another important client in the early 1890s; the Central Library of Fine Arts, which specialized in the publication of books about art, architecture and the decorative arts. It later launched a new magazine in 1897 called Art et Decoration, which played an early and important role in publicizing the Art Nouveau style. He continued to publish illustrations for his other clients, including illustrating a children's book of poetry by Eugène Manuel, and illustrations for a magazine of the theater arts, called La Costume au théâtre.

#czech art #art noveau

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fridayfirefly · 4 years ago

Text

Cowboy Like Me

Read Cowboy Like Me on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 5 - Last Time

Now I know, I'm never gonna love again

Marinette was a terrible sentimentalist. After such a bad breakup it might have been cathartic to tear up the pictures of them, but Marinette just couldn't do it. No, she could bring herself to destroy the evidence of her six-year relationship. Marinette kept all the pictures, all the movie tickets, all the handwritten notes and put them in a shoebox at the top of her closet, somewhere that she couldn't reach without the help of a stepstool. Maybe the pads of her fingers could brush against the smooth cardboard if she stood on her tiptoes. But Marinette could never open it again. Inside that shoebox were the memories of being in love, kept safe, locked away, just out of reach.

As Marinette boarded the plane, she looked back on everything that had gone wrong. Though the cause of all the destruction in her life was uncertain, Marinette could pinpoint the effects exactly. There were a few things Marinette knew for certain: Marinette would never fall in love again, the city Marinette once loved now only held bad memories, and once the plane took off, Marinette would say goodbye to Paris for the last time.

Never wanted love, just a fancy car

The socialite scene of Gotham was dreadfully boring in the winter, Marinette learned. The weather was so brutal that anyone who could afford a second house in Key West or Malibu left as soon as the first snow-fall hit. Marinette stayed inside her penthouse apartment for weeks, designing her wardrobe for the next few months. It had been so long since she had been able to design for herself, without input from anyone else. It was freeing, to work with the colors, the patterns, the styles that she wanted. Marinette had forgotten what freedom felt like. For so long, she had worked for the whims of others, crafting to someone else's design.

Marinette made her first friend two weeks after the move. Silver St. Cloud was Marinette's neighbor in the apartment to the left. Silver was a model and influencer, and a self-proclaimed expert on all of the rich single men in Gotham. Upon their first meeting, Silver offered to show Marinette around Gotham and introduce her to the socialite scene. Marinette, hesitant but hopeful, accepted.

"Bruce Wayne is the best that Gotham has to offer," said Silver as they leave Starbucks, lattes in hand. "But there are plenty of men who are worth your attention - women too, if that's what you prefer."

"Bruce Wayne is the best?"

Silver nodded. "The Waynes have owned this city for as long as Gotham has been on a map. I wouldn't set your sights on him completely, though. Bruce Wayne doesn't date anyone, not even a former member of Kitty Section."

Kitty Section was known around the world, the biggest band to come out of France in the last decade. Their songs topped charts. Their albums won awards. Their well-crafted image of reclusive, mysterious artists led to a media sensation over the members of Kitty Section. Everyone wanted to know them - Luka Couffaine and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the lead vocalists whose relationship enchanted their fans. Rose Lavillant, the backing vocalist and keyboardist, and Juleka Couffaine, the bass guitarist, who were unashamed of their love for each other. Ivan Bruel, the mysterious drummer who had the name Mylène carved into his drumsticks. They were famous. They were at the top of their game. They were unstoppable.

Marinette ruined it all when she left the band. Her split had been big news, exposing a dark side of Kitty Section that their fans were never supposed to see. But after their breakup, Marinette quickly realized that she never loved music. She loved Luka, and once that love faded away, she loved nothing.

"I guess I'll find someone else," said Marinette, but it was a lie. There was Luka Couffaine, and after that, there was no one else. She might be able to love fancy dresses and expensive cars, but Marinette would never love a person again, not the way she loved Luka. When it came to love (deep, true love, not just the infatuations of childhood) Luka was her first time, Luka was her only time, and Luka would be her last time.

Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Marinette quickly learned the art of charming everyone she met, either through her impressive resume (founding member of Kitty Section) or through her newfound ability to flirt. It turns out, once you turn off your feelings it becomes very easy to pretend that you can still love.

Marinette and Silver became thick as thieves. The girls became a popular pair, charming every birthday brunch and charity dinner. For Silver, it was all about networking. As she explained to Marinette, "I'm trying to create a brand. I'm trying to turn my own name into something that can be sold, and for that, I need connections.

For Marinette, it was something to do. As long as she used her money wisely, Marinette had enough saved to comfortably live out the rest of her days. The real problem came in finding something to pass the time. Marinette rarely felt joy in living her life, the way she used to back when she was a child, the bright-eyed girl who aspired to be a designer. Now, everything from charming a billionaire to designing a new dress felt like a chore.

"Come meet Bruce Wayne," urged Silver as she grabbed Marinette's hand. "He just got back from Nepal. It's his first time in Gotham in six months. He skipped his own New Year's Gala to go soul-searching in the Himalayas. It's my job tonight to convince him to stay in town for longer than a week."

There was a determination to Silver's voice. From everything she had heard about Bruce Wayne, Marinette doubted that Silver could make him change his ways. However, that wouldn't stop Marinette from helping her new-found friend.

Silver's whole body-language changed, shifting from a determined march to a delicate float as she made her way over to a dark-haired man in a well-fitted tux. "Hello, Bruce. It's so nice to see you again."

"Silver." Bruce acknowledged her, sounding bored. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was the lead singer of Kitty Section before the band split up a few months ago."

"Kitty Section... I might have heard of them before. The band was... French?"

Marinette nodded. "Yes. All the members were born and raised in Paris. Have you heard of any of our music?

"I'm certain now that I have. It was very... commercial."

Marinette ought to have slapped him across the face right then and there. Not only was commercial not a compliment, but it also wasn't even true. It was the biggest criticism of Kitty Section, their reticence to work with popular music trends. Despite her overwhelming desire to assault the most wealthy and influential man in the ballroom, Marinette instead steeled her face and gave Bruce a pleasant smile. "Thank you. So what do you do for a living, Mister Wayne."

"I travel."

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He spoke two words to her. The conversation was anything but interesting. "How interesting. Have you ever been to Paris?"

"I'm not a tourist, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I travel to much more interesting places."

Marinette officially gave up on the conversation. She would let Silver (who looked to be itching to have her turn to talk to Bruce) try and fix the train-wreck of a conversation that Bruce created. "You sound like a man with a lot of stories to tell. I hope you can tell me them over lunch someday."

"Perhaps."

Marinette gave Bruce her politest smile. "I have to excuse myself. Silver, why don't you tell Bruce about your new sponsorship from Lululemon."

Silver lit up. "Oh, you have to hear about this email I got last week. It was amazing, it's so good for my brand..."

Marinette walked away, letting her distaste towards Bruce leave her. Secretly, a little part of her hoped that Bruce would leave Gotham, as he was well-known for doing. Though Silver was her friend, Marinette didn't think she could pretend to like Bruce.

"He's intolerable, isn't he?" joked a voice from beside Marinette.

Marinette turned to face the stranger, a beautiful woman, taller than Marinette by quite a few inches, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. She wore a dress of royal blue silk, so elegant it reminded Marinette of the sort of thing she always dreamed of making. "Who?"

"Bruce Wayne. Who else would it be?"

Marinette let out a quiet laugh. "He is quite unpleasant. I take it you know him."

"I accompanied him on some of his travels. Bruce is a good friend of mine, but these parties tend to bring out the worst in him. He hates this city and he especially hates the wealthy of this city." The woman grabbed a glass of wine off of a server's tray and handed it to Marinette, who gratefully took it.

"Then I doubt Silver will have any luck convincing him to stay." Marinette tried to keep the satisfaction out of her tone, but the woman laughed anyways, an indication that it didn't work.

"You're quite funny..." The woman paused for an introduction.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And you are?"

"Diana-"

The sound of shattering glass interrupted Diana's introduction. The crowd started to get frantic, and Marinette was pushed one way while Diana was pushed the other. The glass of wine was knocked out of Marinette's hand, staining the fabric of her dress. Marinette struggled to stay on her feet, desperate to not twist an ankle in her four-inch heels.

"Listen up!" shouted an oddly-dressed man. "You're all going to listen to me, and no one will get hurt."

Marinette had a very odd feeling that this would be a moment she remembered for the rest of her life.

Never thought I'd meet you here. It could be love

"They're calling him a supervillain. Apparently, his name is The Riddler," reported Marinette, looking up from her phone, where she was reading about the events of the night before.

Silver glanced up from her seat on the sofa across the room where she was painting her nails a delicate shade of pink. "It's about time Gotham got its own supervillain. Metropolis has had Superman and all the villains that follow him around for years."

Marinette snorted out a laugh. "You think that a supervillain is a good thing?"

"Sure. It means that Gotham will be getting a superhero of its own soon." Silver brightened up. "Plus, the hostage situation from last night meant that I got to spend a whole two hours with Bruce."

Marinette groaned. "I can't believe that you two are going on a date. Bruce Wayne is one of the most insufferable men I've ever met."

"It's not a date. Bruce specified it as just dinner between friends. You should come too, Marinette. I'm sure that once you spend some time with Bruce you'll warm up to him."

Marinette gave Silver a skeptical look. "You want me to come with you on your date with Bruce?"

"Again, it's not a date. Bruce said that he would be bringing one of his friends along as well."

Marinette finally understood Silver's intentions. "You want me to come with you so that I can partner up with Bruce's friend, and you can get some alone time with Bruce."

"Well it doesn't sound very nice when you put it that way," huffed Silver.

Marinette giggled. "I love devious plans. We'll just have to make it look natural."

It took a little time to get all the details, but Marinette and Silver got their plan in order. Silver would arrive first and meet Bruce and his friend. Marinette would arrive later, strike up a one-on-one conversation with Bruce's friend, and spend the night engaging Bruce's friend in conversation so that Silver could flirt with Bruce. Marinette's only concern about the evening was that Bruce's friend would be just as unbearable to talk to as Bruce himself.

The restaurant that Bruce picked out was very fancy, but Marinette didn't mind. It allowed her to wear her new dress, a pale blue and silver creation meant to mimic the shimmering quality of ice. Marinette thought it might be a little too experimental for the old-fashioned Gotham society, but Silver approved of it, and Marinette trusted her friend.

As soon as Marinette walked through the doors her eyes caught sight of Silver's white-blonde hair. Then she noticed Bruce sitting beside her friend, his eyes trained on Silver with an odd intensity. Finally, Marinette noticed Bruce's friend. She was shocked to see that it was Diana, the very woman that Marinette had met at yesterday's gala, the very woman whose introduction was interrupted by the untimely arrival of the Riddler. For a second, Marinette was shocked into stillness. The chaos of the night before had overshadowed her meeting with Diana to the extent that Marinette had forgotten how very charmed she had been by Diana. Now, it seemed Marinette had the perfect opportunity to get to know the charismatic woman from the night before.

"Marinette," the surprise in Diana's tone told Marinette that she was just as blind-sighted by their meeting.

"Hello, Diana. Fancy meeting you here," said Marinette with a smile.

Bruce raised one eyebrow. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We met last night," explained Diana. "I wanted to let her knew that you aren't usually so insufferable."

Bruce looked affronted. "I wasn't insufferable."

"You lied about having listened to Kitty Section," piped up Marinette. "There are a lot of valid criticisms of Kitty Section. However, our music being too commercial is not one of them."

Bruce had the decency to look guilty. "I apologize, then. I'll make sure to take the time to give your music a real listen."

For Silver's sake, Marinette was willing to forgive him. "Maybe next time you can give me some real criticism."

Bruce nodded graciously. "I'll do that."

Diana took that moment to bring back up their introduction the night before. "So Marinette, I don't believe we got the chance to finish our introductions last night. I'm Diana Prince, newly a curator at Gotham's Art and History Museum."

"I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, former member of Kitty Section, currently taking a soul-searching sabbatical."

"Soul-searching for what?" asked Diana.

"I suppose I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. When I was younger I was so passionate about fashion. I made my own clothes, entered my creations into design contests, spent years creating a portfolio. I'm trying to rediscover that passion."

"Maybe you could show me your designs some time," offered Diana.

"I would like that," agreed Marinette.

"Actually," chimed in Silver, "Marinette made the dress she's wearing right now."

"Really? I would have assumed that it was professionally made. It's a gorgeous dress," praised Diana.

Marinette blushed, a warm fluttery feeling stirring deep within her. The rest of the night passed in a blur, with Marinette hanging on Diana's every word. It was easy to talk to Diana. She was so naturally charming that Marinette couldn't help but enjoy herself. As the evening winded down, Marinette felt only regret that they would have to part so soon.

As Marinette stood outside the restaurant, waiting for a taxi, she felt Diana's hand settle on her shoulder. It had been a while since Marinette had felt such an intimate touch. "I had a nice time talking to you tonight." The feel of Diana's fingers gently trailing down Marinette's arms was almost more than Marinette, touch-starved and hungry for more, could bear.

Marinette smiled. "I did too. I hope to see more of you."

"I'm sure you will." Marinette took comfort in the certainty in Diana's voice.

And in the back of her mind, Marinette began to rethink her policy of never falling in love again. Something about Diana made Marinette think that Luka wouldn't be her last time after all.

And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

Marinette could not believe he did this. After everything they had been through together, Marinette's one final request to Luka was that he not release a song about their breakup. But there it was, top of the charts, the lead single of Luka's new solo album, Different Cities. And if it wasn't bad enough that Luka broke the only promise she asked him to keep, included in the song was a snippet of the last voicemail she sent to him. She left it for him weeks after they broke up, as an explanation to him, to let him know she was leaving Gotham.

In the last few seconds of the song, Marinette's voice is hesitant as she speaks. "I know that you wanted me to stay so that we could work things out, but I don't think that our relationship is fixable. So I guess I'm calling to tell you that I give up. I'm leaving Paris next Friday. I've already bought the plane ticket. You can't change my mind. Goodbye, Luka."

It was the rawest emotion Marinette had shown since the breakup, and Luka exploited it for his own gain.

Marinette spent the day joylessly deleting emails from various news outlets begging her to tell her side of the story. As if she would give Luka the satisfaction of giving free publicity. Everyone loved drama, so Marinette was going to make her reaction - or lack of reaction, in this case - as boring as possible.

Every time her phone rang, Marinette ignored it. The voicemails started to stack up, and eventually, Marinette found herself going through them one-by-one. One from Alya, letting Marinette know that she was there for her when she wanted to talk. One from Adrien, more joking in tone, trying to cheer Marinette up. One from Ivan, directly threatening to punch Luka in the face if Marinette wanted it (and that was the only voicemail that actually brought her spirits up). One from Juleka, an apology.

In the voicemail, Juleka's voice was rough, like she had been crying. "I'm so sorry, Marinette. I begged Luka not to release it, but he wouldn't listen to me. He said- he- he said-" Juleka broke off into a sob, and Marinette couldn't help but sniffle along with her. "I can hardly recognize him anymore. Rose and I aren't on speaking terms with him now. He's no longer my brother."

Marinette wished that she could pick up the phone and tell Juleka that it was okay to forgive Luka, but Marinette couldn't. The wound was still fresh, still bleeding out.

One step forward, one steps back. Two days after Marinette considered the idea of loving again, and she was right back where she started - in too much pain to even consider friendship, let alone love.

Speak of the devil, Marinette's phone rang, Diana's name lighting up on the screen. Part of her wanted to throw her phone across the room and curl up under her blankets. The other parts of her answered the call. "Hello?" spoke Marinette, wiping away the moisture at the corner of her eyes.

"Marinette, are you okay?" Diana's voice was soft. It was the most comforting thing Marinette had ever heard.

"Not really. I can't decide if I want to punch Luka in the face or if it would hurt too much to ever see him again."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Marinette sighed. "I met Luka when I was fourteen. He was my classmate Juleka's older brother. Luka had his own band, so all the girls in our class thought that Luka was so cool, but he mostly ignored us. Then one day his backing vocalist got bronchitis and he needed someone to fill in. I was a soloist for the school chorus, so I volunteered. Luka was hesitant to let me join his band until he heard me sing. He told me I had the voice of an angel. Two days later he kissed me, and I fell in love with him so hard and so fast I didn't have a chance to consider if he was really the one."

Marinette took a deep breath, then continued, "It was a whirlwind after that. We started dating. We started a new band and named it Kitty Section. We started writing songs together. The weird part was, he never asked how I felt about any of it. He never asked me if I wanted to date him, he never asked if I wanted to join the band, he always assumed that I wanted what he wanted."

"And what did you want?" asked Diana.

"Back then, I thought I wanted a future with Luka. Now, I guess I just want to feel passion again. I've felt so empty since I left him."

"You might feel better with some company. Do you want me to come over to your place?"

Marinette looked around at her empty apartment, at the way the shadows filled the room, at the way seemed to lurk in every corner. "Sure."

"You could show me some of those designs you were telling me about the other day," suggested Diana.

Marinette glanced over at her sketchbook, which had laid empty for months. "That sounds good."

As she hung up the phone, Marinette realized that talking to Diana had made her feel a bit better. The knife wound that Luka had left in her heart had begun to close up at the edges. Marinette took a deep breath and picked up her sketchbook. If she wanted to rediscover her passion, she needed to work for it.

Now you hang from my lips, like the Gardens of Babylon

Marinette let out an appreciative noise as Diana re-entered the room, modeling one of Marinette's creations. "Give me a little spin."

Diana turned herself around, letting the red fabric swirl around her legs. Something about the way that the dress looked on Diana made it so much prettier in Marinette's eyes. Suddenly the fabric wasn't just red, it was carmine. The dress wasn't just being worn, it was being modeled. It didn't just move, it flowed. "It's a gorgeous dress," complimented Diana as she looked over her shoulder at the mirror behind her to admire it.

"It is nice, isn't it." Marinette had been so caught up in her head she had forgotten to truly admire her creation. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. "You should keep it. One of Bruce's charity galas is coming up in a few weeks. You could wear it there."

"I couldn't," protested Diana.

Marinette shook her head. "It looks best on you. I could never pull off such a vibrant shade of red." There was a second part to the sentence that was left unspoken. If Marinette made the dress knowing that it wouldn't look good on her, she must have made it for another reason. She must have made it with Diana in mind.

Diana smiled, seeming to have caught those unspoken words. "Well if I'm going to wear the dress, you'll have to put up with me gushing about how talented you are all night long."

Marinette flushed. "It's no big deal. It's just a dress."

"It's not just a dress. It's your passion." There was truth in Diana's words that Marinette couldn't deny. It was so much more than a dress. It was the passion for design that Diana had helped her rediscover. It was the newfound friendship with Diana that chased away the loneliness and despair that had taken over her life. It was the glimmer of hope for a future with Diana.

Takes one to know one, you're a cowboy like me

Diana looked beyond gorgeous in that carmine dress. Marinette could keep her eyes off of her as they mingled around the ballroom. Marinette's dress was nice, made with the same passion that Marinette had in her younger years, but it paled in comparison to Diana. However, Diana made up for this disparity by gleefully explaining that Marinette was the creator of the dress every time it was complimented. By the end of the night, Marinette had spent so much time blushing over compliments that she worried her face would become permanently flushed.

The gala was a complete success for everyone involved. The charity, which happened to benefit Gotham Child Protective Services, raised twice their goal amount. Marinette got to spend time with Diana. Even Silver had spent the night looking very pleased with herself, her hand resting on Bruce's forearm as they walked through the ballroom together.

As the night winded down, Marinette and Diana found themselves walking out of Wayne Manor towards Diana's car. Diana had offered to drive Marinette there and back, and Marinette had eagerly accepted. Marinette hated driving in Gotham, as Gotham was known for its aggressive drivers and high rates of automobile accidents.

Marinette sat down in the passenger seat with a sigh, kicking off her heels. "Tonight was nice."

"It was nice," Diana agreed. "We'll have to attend galas together more often."

"You just want an excuse to get your hands on another one of my dresses," teased Marinette.

Diana laughed. "I wouldn't say no to another dress. But really, Bruce's rich friends are much more bearable when I have someone to make fun of them afterward with."

Marinette shuddered. "And to think I thought that Bruce was bad. His friends are intolerable. I never want to talk about golf again in my life."

The two women chatted as they drove through the dark streets of Gotham, back to Marinette's apartment.

"Thanks for driving me home," said Marinette as the car pulled up in front of her apartment building.

"It was no problem." Diana hesitated, before continuing. "I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Dinner sounds good," Marinette replied, strapping her shoes back on.

"I'm asking for this to be a date." Diana finished.

Marinette looked up at her, surprised. Her friendship with Diana had been so easy that Marinette had forgotten that it could be anything else. She had half a mind to decline, to stay in the familiar, but that little bit of hope in her heart urged Marinette to take a leap of faith and accept. "I would like that. What time will you pick me up?"

Diana smiled, her whole face lighting up. "How does six sound?"

Marinette smiled back, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. "Sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow."

And as Marinette got ready for bed, she realized that all of the sadness that lingered in her heart since the breakup had gone away. All that was left for her to feel was hope for the future.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Diana Prince #wonderbug #dianette #my work

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lepoppeta · 4 years ago

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Bioshock B.S.

I would give ya'll art but I currently hate my art so ya'll get random headcanons instead.

SUBJECT DELTA

• Has a definite "Frankenstein's Monster" vibe underneath all of that brass and canvas. He's covered in scars from all of the experiments he’s had to endure, but still has this looming, gothic beauty about him.

• After all is said and done, he still actually has (true-black) hair, and grows it out long, providing him with a bit of an emotional crutch.

• He can speak, but he often chooses not to, only saying a few words at a time. He hums a fair amount, though. He doesn’t know sign language.

• Against all odds, he really likes humpback whales. He thinks they're rather lovely, peaceful animals.

ELEANOR LAMB

• Yes, she is the biological daughter of Delta, and she inherited his deathly pale skin and blacker-than-night hair. You'd think they were both related to Edgar Allen Poe.

• Thin and wiry and flexible as hell. Has the metabolism of a rabid squirrel. Relatively tall as well (possibly the only other trait she acquired from her mother, aside from her accent).

AUGUSTUS SINCLAIR

• Can still speak a fair amount of Castilian Spanish. He isn't necessarily fluent anymore, but he knows enough for simple, amicable conversation.

• Isn't terribly physically affectionate. His love language is words; pet names, flattery. You name it, he's said it.

• Honestly kind of squicked out by the sight and smell of blood, especially after his stint in Rapture. Pretty pacifistic, all things considered. Excellent at verbal de-escalation, if anything to cover up the fact that he’s absolutely abysmal with weaponry and can’t aim for shit (seriously, this man can’t even play darts).

ATLAS MULLIGAN

• A "punch first, ask questions later" kind of guy. He's pretty physically and verbally aggressive. Impatient; has a short temper.

• In contrast to Sinclair, he is pretty physically affectionate, often without meaning to be.

• Slightly taller and slimmer than Jack, bordering on feminine ("Look at that high-waisted man, he got feminine hips!"). Has a bit of a barrel chest. Tends to strike a very cold, imposing profile. His eyes are very dark and narrow, and his brows seem always half-furrowed, like he's judging you really hard.

• A talented singer and violinist. Favors a lot of the folksier stuff.

JACK RYAN

• Slightly shorter than Atlas, and naturally quite stocky and muscular. Wears a lot of chunky sweaters that offset these qualities, and his blonde hair and dumb middle part make him look rather boyish and innocent.

• Inherited a bit of Jasmine's singing talent. It's not a hobby he's ever really indulged in, of course, but he can carry a tune. He’s got a soft, fairly warm voice.

• He has the patience of a Goddamn Saint, and doesn't mind being around young children.

#bioshock #bioshock 2 #subject delta #johnny topside #eleanor lamb #augustus sinclair #atlas #jack ryan #jack wynand #my headcanons

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unkownknowledge · 3 years ago

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Genshin OC: Spritefather

(A/N: I'm not used to character descriptions, I'm more used to story writing. So sorry if this isn't good. Also note that this character's history with Baal is a lot darker than originally planned)

Spritefather is an ancient immortal of unknown origin, he's rarely seen by mortal eyes but he is referenced in much of teyvat's legends. His legend depends on the region: in mondstadt he is the father of Barbados, who raised him to follow the path of freedom. In Liyue he helped Rex Lapis connect with mortals by showing him the many artist and singers of the land. In Inazuma he was the husband of Baal before they came to blows when she began the vision hunt. And in Schneznaya he's known as the man who told the Tsarista "fuck off pretender, I'm making cheese" when she ordered he move his camp to make way for a fatui building.

Personally

"Humans are so nice to look at, but Interaction is a bit of a chore."

-Spritefather

Spritefather is a very calm and kind man, as evidenced by his adopting of orphaned sprites and his ability to not lose it at over 30 children. He often wanders around the wilds of Teyvat to admire the beauty of the land and is often accompanied by seven of his children, each a different elemental sprite.

As mondstadt's legend's state, he loves freedom. To him freedom is the natural state of all things, and since he loves nature he loves freedom as well.

To him humans are difficult to understand, and their customs and behaviors are tiring to perform. However he finds Sprites to be more "simple". Their language is clear to him, and their customs and behaviors are casual and easy.

While he prefers to be around sprites and animals, he does love humans as well. He think the art they paint, the stories they write, and the songs they sing are all gifts to the world. Even if a painting envokes no emotion, a story has terrible writing, or a song makes your ears hurt, he will love it and the human who made it. Because to him creativity is the ultimate freedom, and as such is the ultimate beauty.

He is not above hate however. For instance the Tsarista hates his eldest son, so he hates her. However he also does not like to fight, so when he hates someone enough to act against them he will instead prank them and cause them misfortune. This is what lead to him calling the Tsarista a "pretender", because it upsets her, and getting in her way when she made the fatui headquarters.

He is, however, capable of fighting. He is an immortal after all, so it would only make sense he would be capable of defending himself.

History with Barbados

According to mondstadt legend, Barbados almost died in Decrabain's storms before he ascended to godhood. And it was only because of the Spritefather that he lived.

While the legend isn't entirely incorrect, it is plagued with inaccuracies thanks to the people of mondstadt not knowing of Barbados' origin as a sprite.

Long before Barbados met his friend Himmel, the Sprite struggled to persist in the cold storms that surrounded mondstadt. One day he almost faded away, thanks to an avalanche trapping him inside a cave in what is now Dragonspine. Luckily for him, Spritefather was in that cave as well. Though at the time he was simply known as the "husband of eternity", as he was the electro archon's husband. He saw Barbados was starving and freezing, do he picked up the little Sprite and hugged him close to his chest, using his power to transfer all his heat to the sprite. He didn't have much food, but he gave all of it to Barbados in order to keep them alive until the snow cleared away. In the six months they spent in their he told Barbados of the world outside of the storm, how even in war it was filled with beauty, of the many wonderous people he had met on his travels, and of his beloved homeland of Inazuma.

When the snow cleared long enough for the avalanche to clear away, both left, and while Barbados wanted to join the Spritefather the man insisted that Barbados journey his homeland and find people that could make this land worth living in.

Despite his insistence that he would not return, Spritefather continued to return to Barbados and help him live through the storm. Even meeting the bard Barbados became friends with, and comforted him when the bard passed away.

And while the legends say Spritefather taught Barbados to love freedom, he only taught Barbados the philosophy of freedom. And Spritefather, who usually dislikes unnecessary violence, wishes to smack whoever gives him credit for teaching Barbados to love freedom, because it further erases his child's friend from history.

History with Baal

(Note: this might change depending on lore for Baal as it expands)

Long ago, before they ascended to godhood, Baal met Spritefather. At the time he was not known as anything, as he was but an immortal who had nothing to his name. He would observe humans, but noone ever saw him, in fact it seemed that he was invisible to all but Baal.

They continued to meet many more times, each time growing closer and closer. Spritefather telling her of the great history of the world and it's people, and Baal telling him about her day. While to many this would seem an unfair exchange, to Spritefather her days as a mortal was the most amazing stories in all of Teyvat.

When she ascended to godhood Baal used he powers to make Spritefather visible to humanity, so that he may live with them and they may live with him. It was this act that lead to him proposing to her.

After his travels around Teyvat were done, and because of his encounter with Barbados, Spritefather brought up the idea of children to Baal, an idea she equally loved. And so they began to create many electrosprites, and any orphaned sprites they could find immediately became a part of their family, for many centuries the land of Inazuma was also known as the land of Sprites because of how many would fly around the land.

With such a loving relationship, one must wonder what led to them coming to blows.

Fall of Baal

(Tw: this bit includes abuse. Not detailed, but made crystal clear)

Spritefather was appalled when Baal declared the Vision hunts. She claimed that Visions are divine power, and as such belong to the divine alone. But the Spritefather saw it as egotism and denying mortals the rewards they worked so hard to gain.

Tensions rose quickly in their relationship, Baal became more and more frustrated at her husband's opposition to her plans, and how even her children became afraid of her after she began the Vision hunts. Eventually this lead to her most horrific act: abusing Spritefather. She claimed that it was "teaching him to love her" and she was "trying to bring him back to his senses", but his scars made it abundantly clear to everyone who saw him.

While many claim he came to blows with Baal, such an event never happened. What happened instead was Baal almost beat him to death, with a gift he gave to her no less. But the Sprites saved him. All the Sprites in the land of Inazuma came together and, with the combined elemental might of million Sprites, blasted Baal away from their Father and flew him to safety.

Sadly, however, this release of elemental energy did not leave many of the sprites alive. In fact, now only seven of them live. One of each element.

History with the Tsarista

Because she hates his son, Spritefather hates her. In fact many of the bard Venti's tales of Barbados troubling the cryo archon is based off of Spritefather pranking the Tsarista or otherwise being a nuisance. One of the best ones according to him is when he had a bug camp built in the place where Tsarista wantsd to build the fatui headquarters. While she could have killed anyone else, Spritefather is, well, immortal, so that was out. In fact he's the only person who has gotten the Tsarista to give up.

History with Rex Lapis

After a few centuries of being a God, Rex Lapis began to become apathetic to mortals, something Barbados mentioned to his father over wine.

Because of his love for mortals, and having seen the effects of an archon becoming apathetic to their people twice now, Spritefather decided to pay Rex Lapis a visit.

Yo keep him in touch with his people, Spritefather had Rex Lapis take the form of a human and then dragged him from his home in the heavens down to earth by the ear. When they arrived in Liyue he had Rex Lapis see the many arts of Liyue: the dancers, the singers, the poets, they painters, and even the cooks of Liyue. Over the course of a year he showed Rex Lapis the greatness of humanity, and renewed the god's interest in his people.

Description

Spritefather wears a cloak that is similar to a Sprite's body, however it is colored with the seven different colors of the elements. Under his cloak he wears a simple black leather outfit on his whole body. His eyes glow yellow causing them to appear as yellow dots beneath his cloak, and when his hair is visible it is short and brown.

The most notable part of his appearance below his cloak his the electro scar covering his whole neck, and below his whole outfit is almost his entire body covered in electrical burns and electro scars.

_____________________

This was my first attempt at writing an oc page. This oc came to be thanks to @genshin-scenarios take over event.

(Tagging: @golden-wingseos(incase you forgot, you asked me to tag you in my genshin writings), @storytravelled)

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin oc #tw: domestic abuse #tw: abuse

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years ago

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Heartless - pt. 12

A/N: Oh, man.... I love this. I was literally swinging left and right as I was writing the last part, listening to the song.

James and Sirius were both laughing as they ran to the house, one racing the other. They were like two children, filled with life as they both like the wind.

“PADS!” James shouted, laughing and running to him. “WE’RE APPARATING!”

“WHAT?!”

“WE’RE APPARATING!”

“WE DON’T KNOW HOW TO APPARTE!”

“WE’RE DOING IT NOW!” James jumped on Sirius and apparated with him, tumbling into the living room floor.

They both looked at each other, traced their hands all over their body just in case if one left their leg somewhere in Switzerland. Sirius still wasn’t of age, until November, to use magic but since James was, all he wanted to do was use it. When they saw each other apparate for the first time.

“Bloody hell, mate! You actually made us apparate!”

“ARE YOU TWO BLOODY INSANE!” Fleamont came rushing into the room with his face red as tomato.

“I did as you said dad!” James shouted, jumping around him meanwhile Fleamont grabbed James’ shoulder firmly and forced him to stop.

“YOUR ROOM! BOTH OF YOU!” his voice boomed through the room meanwhile James’ smile faded at the sight of his father’s anger. He wanted to argue with him but then he saw you sitting in the background, avoiding his eyes as your mother sat beside you and another man stood there.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to push his father’s hand away but Fleamont didn’t let him.

“Alastor Moody?” Sirius walked into the kitchen, smiling at the man as the man only grunted. “Blimey, sir.”

“What is it boy?!” Moody grunted, turning to Sirius. “Oh, you look just like your father. Except the hair. The hair is new.”

“And so is your missing eye.”

“I-”

“Boys.” your father said again and both of them looked up at him. “Room. Now. I will not ask again.”

“This seems like a family matter. Sirius and I are-”

“James, out.”

“But-”

“JAMES!”

“DAD! IT ISN’T FAIR-”

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER GET INTO YOUR ROOM OR I WILL LOCK YOU INSIDE! I HAVE ENOUGH THINGS ON MY MIND DON’T LET YOU BE ONE OF THEM!” by now your father resembled the colour red, almost defined it.

You had never seen your father this mad, nor did James or anybody else but your father had more problems in his mind then James’ behaviour.

“Oh, so I’m a problem now?”

“Yes, now go up to your room before I make you, son!”

“I hate you.” James growled at him and looked at Sirius, who was looking at you, who was looking back at Sirius.

He gave you a soft, comforting smile and nodded. He left with James, always looking back at you to give you the comfort nobody else could.

When you all heard James slam the door shut, your father let out a long breath then turned back to the three of you. He looked at Moody and gave him a stern look. “I’m not sending her away, Alastor. She’ll be safe at Hogwarts.”

“She’d be safer at Beuxbetons or Durmstrang-”

“Durmstrang! All they do is black magic! The Dark Lord could have a bunch of-”

“Hogwarts isn’t safe with her, Fleamont!”

“Dumbledore can surely-”

“Dumbledore can only do just as much!”

“How about I go to Hogwarts... It’s my last year. Everybody will know something is wrong, Alastor.” you stood up and walked up to your father. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you gave him a small, soft smile before looking back at Moody. “You can teach me-”

“Like I have the time for you, you silly girl. I have more important things to do than teach you silly old spells.”

“They’re not silly! I am not silly! I can fight and I can do so much more things. Just because I am a girl, does not mean I am useless!”

“You being a girl is not the issue. You can think as highly as you want, girl but the Dark Lord has years of experiance that you would only dream of. If he gets you in his hands again-”

“He won’t!”

“I won’t be there to save you next time!”

You shut your lips as the terrible events of that night came rushing back into your memory. You turned around, showing him your back as tears started to gather in your eyes. You swallowed them thickly.

“Then find somebody who will!” you said sharply, turning at him and glaring back. “Find a Legilimen! Find somebody who knows-”

“They would never agree to do what you ask of. You’re better off at Durmstrang. They have the best Legilimen teachers.”

“I don’t want Durmstrang! I want Hogwarts!”

“Then I can’t help you!”

“Then I’ll help myself! If you don’t want to teach me- if Dumbledore doesn’t want to teach me then I’ll just teach myself!”

“That’s impossible-”

“No, it’s not.” your mother suddenly cut in, standing up on her two feet and finally getting some colour in her face. She walked to all the three of you and glared at Moody. “I am grateful for saving my daughter-” she took a hold of your shoulders and kept her hands firm on them. “- but my uncle was a self-learned Legilimen and he was successful in anything. She is like him and I know she is better than anybody in this family. She can do this. If she wants to go to Hogwarts, we will send her to Hogwarts with her brother but the only thing I ask you Alastor to check up on her-”

“Mom!”

“Somebody needs to.” she turned to you, smiling. “I know you’re strong. You’ve always been stronger than any of us now you have to let us help you at least a bit. I almost lost you, I’m not taking that risk again.” she then turned back to Moody. “We will pay you ot teach her the Dark Arts- the proper Dark Arts. Four times a week or three times a week. It can be you or somebody you know.”

“Alright.” Moody said, making everybody silence in surprise. “It won’t be me, though. I know you Potters are stubborn but so am I. I’ll find you a good Auror.” and with that he was gone in a blink of a second.

---

You came into your room and closed your door behind you. Leaning on them, you looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath in. “God-”

“Sirius but you can call me God too-”

“BLOODY HELL!” you jumped at the sight of the dark figure in the bed, reading a book under the bed lamp. He was grinning at you, watching you hold your heart and slide down the door from horror.

“Jumpy, are we?”

“Merlin, what are you doing here?”

“James shut the door before I made it inside. Guessed he wants to be alone.”

“Oh.” you said, letting your head fall into your palms and rubbing them against your eyes, letting out an exhausted groan.

He kept looking at you, his eyes focused on the blue lines on your arms. Your sweater was too big, stretched out and worn out, making the sleeves fall down your arms, almost to your elbows. There were black lines, blue lines- like veins, like cuts- something he had never seen before.

He felt a long pit in his stomach form but he swallowed every emotion into that pit. He closed the book and slid down the bed. He leaned on it, sitting opposite of you and watching you.

“How are you?” he asked, making you look up and throw your head back.

“Great, as you can see.” you smiled, closing your eyes and wishing he would be next to you. Wishing so hard he would crawl to you and take a hold of you but when you opened your eyes, he was still there- so far away.

He kept watching you for a moment or two, just before he stood up and walked to your stereo and finding a Muggle station he loved to listen to. He never told this to anybody but James, Peter and Remus but he loved to turn on Muggle radio stations just to piss of his parents. Who knew that he would end up enjoying Muggle music?

It started on the middle of the song, making Sirius smile and how beautiful he looked when he showed his smile- especially the kind that made his eyes sparkle with mischief.

He stepped in rhythm with the song, offering you a hand. “Dance with me?”

“Sirius...”

“Come on, you grandma.” he took your hand and pulled you up, placing his hand on your hip and the other into his, swinging with you on the song.

“You don’t have to do this...” you said, smiling at him before leaning a bit forward to his chest. “But it’s really nice.”

“ I'll be there 'til the stars don't shine 'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme .” he started to sing with the song, making you smile and hold him close.

You put your hand on his chest, leaning your head on it as well and hearing his slow heartbeat as he held you close, singing softly in your ear.

“And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind And I'll love you, always ...” he kept going on, leaning his head on you and letting the song play on by itself. Until he pulled back and stepped back a bit, the bass guitar playing faster and louder, “ What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair To touch your lips, to hold you near When you say your prayers, try to understand I've made mistakes, I'm just a man!!!!!” he shouted loudly and dramatically , taking your hand and pulling you close, swinging with you on your feet and hearing you laugh next to him.

“I didn’t know you were such a singer, Black.” you started to tease, pulling a bit away and wrapping your arms around his neck and going from one foot to another.

“I can be a lot of things, Potter. You only say the word.” his eyes flashed a little mischief, just as his grin, just before he turned his head away, avoiding the moment and hearing the music change. His grin spread and he pushed himself away, opening his arms and singing from the depth of his lungs. “TAAAAKEEEEE MEEEEEEE!!!! TO THEE MAGICCC OF THE MOMENTTTTT!!!!!! ONN A GLOORY NIGHT! WHERE THE CHILDREN OF TOMORROWWW!!! DREAAM OFF-”

“Oh, my God Sirius.” you ran to him, placing your hand over his mouth. “It’s late.” you laughed and he looked kept humming despite your hand on top of his lips, dancing with his eyes as well as his hips.

“Can’t help the music.” he took your hand and spun you around, dancing with you more relaxed and taking a hold of you from behind you, swinging you left and right as his hands kept holding yours.

And you wished it would be like this forever... forever like a dream, your dream....

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