#i used to have this image id hold onto of leaves in the sunlight when i was a kid and i kept waiting for someone to talk to me who

[dockaspbrak]

A big thank you to my mutuals who like my nervous breakdown 2-4am posts. You're the backbone of my blog

[tempestaurora]

in another time, a gladiator stucky au by @tempestaurora​

image IDs under the cut

IMAGE ID:

FIRST IMAGE: 

i.

 Sunlight dappled across the stone floor, casting cool, dancing shadows in the summer heat. Bucky yawned and stretched, flexing his toes into the sunspots and smiling from the warmth. He watched the newest boy to the school, a scrawny thing called Steve, stand alone in the courtyard.

He tipped his head to the side and called out, “New boy! Over here!”

Steve had straw blonde hair and eyes like the Aegean Sea. He seemed hesitant for a moment before heading over. When he arrived, he looked at Bucky like he might bite, but after sitting, he simply melted into the sunspot Bucky had found.

“You’re pretty small,” Bucky observed. “Your family sell you?”

“What? No, they didn’t.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed; he seemed insulted by the mere notion. “Your family sell you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Indentured, actually,” he replied. “But they’re practically the same thing. Why are you here, then? You have dreams of being a gladiator?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I don’t. But it was either this or live on the streets.” He paused, twisting his fingers into his tunic. “My mater died, recently. She was all I had.”

Bucky stilled. “Oh,” he said. “Perhaps she is better off now; perhaps she is in the Land of Joy.”

Steve nodded, barely. “There are few places better than the underworld, these days.”

SECOND IMAGE:

ii.

Steve may have been small, but he was fast. He twisted and turned in combat, picked up the skills with ease, and learnt to use his size to his advantage. If he got hit, he was down, so Steve learned to avoid the punches thrown his way.

They trained year-round, through summer heat and winter snow, and soon they grew. Everything Steve learned about being small and fast was discarded when he hit his growth spurt at fourteen, suddenly taller than half his class and finally able to make the attacks, not simply dodge them. He watched Bucky often; the two of them nigh inseparable since his arrival at the school. Bucky was not a golden student, but he was a golden boy; his eyes were like Jupiter’s sky and his hair grew thick and dark in a shaggy mess.

There were few things Steve found himself caring about more than the only boy in all of Italia who knew him, inside and out.

[Beneath is a photo of  the ruins of a temple of Saturn, backlit by the sun. It is ethereal and quiet-looking, with green fields interspersed with crumbled architecture.]

THIRD IMAGE: 

iii.

 They had climbed up onto the roof of the gymnasium to gaze at the sweep of stars painted high above their town.

“Do you think you’ll be up there one day?” Steve whispered in the dark.

“In the sky?”

“The stars,” Steve clarified. “All the great heroes are immortalised in the stars.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be a hero – there’s not a drop of godly blood in me. What about you?”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Steve replied. “I just want to travel; to see all of Italia and beyond. Pompeii and Corinth – maybe even see the Oracle of Delphi, one day.”

Bucky smiled. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be fighting forever.”

“Come with me,” Steve said. “We could go anywhere. We could go everywhere.”

Bucky stared at Steve under the star-lit sky and smiled.

FOURTH IMAGE:

iv.

                                        When they were eighteen, they moved to Rome. The Ludus Magnus gladiator school sat in spitting distance of the coliseum, and this was where they trained. They had long been learning their preferred style of combat – Steve, after shooting up and broadening, fought as a Thracian, with his broad-rimmed helmet, small rounded shield and curved sword. His only armour consisted of thigh-length grieves, while Bucky was granted a chest plate and greaves as a Dimachaerus, dual-wielding two swords.

They fought regularly in practice, but never in the ring drawn into the sand in front of an audience. There was a palpable fear Steve felt at making Bucky bleed. Some nights, he whispered prayers to whatever god might deign to listen – perhaps Mars, for war, or Venus, for love – and pleaded with them to never pit him against Bucky.

[On the right hand side is a close-up of a temple’s columns, with sunlight poking between.]

FIFTH IMAGE: 

v.

 Bucky knew Steve was watching from beyond the Gate of Life as he stepped into the ring for his first gladiatorial combat in the arena. Steve had already won his earlier that day in front of roaring crowds and amused royalty in the Emperor’s box.

Now it was Bucky’s turn, and he twisted his swords in his fingers, facing down his opponent across the ring. Bucky knew their job was to fight – fight and possibly even die – but he also knew his job was to give them all a show.

And Bucky was nothing if not a showman.

In the end, blood stained the sand a vivid red, but Bucky strode towards the Gate of Life, triumphant.

SIXTH IMAGE:

vi.

 There were always popular gladiators, and Steve didn’t know how to react, finding himself to be one of them. Women lined up outside the bathhouses he frequented; shared rumours that dipping their hairpins in his blood might bring them love, that his sweat would work as an aphrodisiac.

“I can see their point,” Bucky whispered one night, his mouth ravenous against Steve’s after a long day of training. Their bodies were always animalistic in these moments, whilst the school was empty and the others were out drinking the night away. They took everything they could get from each other; swallowed each sensation whole.

Steve never wanted these moments to end. He would throw all the glory and money away for more time with Bucky, for more nights like this.

SEVENTH IMAGE: 

vii.

 After amphitheatre fights, admirers and buyers alike would flock to the school where the gladiators lounged on cushions and benches, drinking wine and eating expensive foods. These were the nights Bucky enjoyed the most. No one was allowed to approach unless beckoned by a gladiator, and Bucky would often spend time toying with the admirers, allowing one or two over before sending them away again. Eventually, after the show, he’d slip away into the sleeping quarters or empty storage cupboard, and find Steve waiting there for him.

There was a miles-long list of things Bucky loved about Steve’s body, but number one on the list was how it fit against his own in the dark.

[Cut into the left side is a photo of the Coliseum in Rome.]

EIGHTH IMAGE:

viii.

 A few days before the festival, culminating in three days of games at the coliseum, their master told Steve and Bucky that they were scheduled to fight.

“It’ll be fine,” they told each other in the dark. “The fights rarely end in death. We’re not fighting to kill. We’re fighting to entertain.”

“We’re performers,” Bucky would say. “We’re just there to give them a good time.”

“Don’t act like no one ever dies,” Steve would reply, each and every time. “Don’t act like we haven’t killed our opponents before.” Sometimes, friends would enter the ring with them and never leave it. Sometimes, the audience called for their deaths.

It was blood lust, through and through. The men caught hold of that first splash of red and couldn’t let it go; they had to see more, they had to see death in all its forms. The gladiator could’ve fought bravely, wonderfully, and they might still end up slumped in the sand afterwards.

“Soon,” they would say, “we’ll retire and leave this for good. Soon, we’ll travel the world, like we always planned.” They would whisper lies and truths to each other, desperately tangling them together until they couldn’t tell them apart.

NINTH IMAGE:

ix.

 On the day of the fight, Steve stepped into the ring opposite Bucky and breathed in the cheering crowd; the hot, midday sun. They had kissed in the shadow of the underground corridors, and now faced each other, weapons raised, poised for battle.

It was bloody from the get-go; they were entertainers after all, and the audience was only entertained when they saw the streak of blood dampening the sand. They twisted and turned as if they were dancing, as if there was music playing and this was them, centre stage, having the time of their lives rather than anxiously hoping their blades wouldn’t cut too deep, that the bruises would soon heal.

And then Steve’s sword slashed too harshly at Bucky’s side and he faltered, hissing.

“Bucky—” Steve said, not moving in on the advantage, not moving at all.

Bucky straightened, removing his hand from his side, darkly red. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked, before raising his swords once more. “Fight me.”

“Bucky—”

“Fight me,” Bucky hissed, slamming his swords forward. Steve barely had time to raise his shield. He couldn’t stop staring at the thick blood leaking from Bucky’s ribs.

“No—”

“Steve—”

“No.”

Steve stepped back, feet almost at the ring’s edge. He dropped his shield, his sword to the sand. He held his arms out, palms towards Bucky, and said, “I won’t fight you, Bucky. Not ever again.”

So Bucky took the win, and the crowds jeered at Steve, and the Emperor held his thumb outstretched, unamused by the champion’s surrender.

“You won’t fight me,” Bucky spat, “but you’ll make me kill you instead?”

[Cut into the right hand side is an edited shot of the movie Gladiator; two gladiators rush towards each other to battle, with the crowds filling the stands. Much of the image is in shadow, with streaks of sunlight pouring down from the left side.]

TENTH IMAGE:

x.

 The sand was hot beneath Bucky’s feet; no lazy afternoon shadows in the centre of the amphitheatre. In front of him, Steve knelt facing away, his head tipped low to bare the spot at the top of his spine, all smooth skin tanned and unblemished.

The crowds roared around them and Bucky lifted his sword, pressing the tip at the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve flinched and said, just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear: “Perhaps I’ll go to Elysium… I hear there are few places better to be than the underworld, these days.”

But Bucky knew Steve would not go to Elysium. He was a warrior, but he was not dying righteously, not for fighting well. He was dying for surrendering, for caring about Bucky more than himself.

And Bucky—well he cared for Steve more than himself, too. They were the same that way. They always had been.

So Bucky stepped back, lowering his sword in his hand. He looked up to the Emperor, shadowed in his private box, and shook his head.  

“I won’t kill you, Steve,” he said, and Steve looked around in surprise, like it was really all that out of character. He held out a hand and pulled Steve to his feet, ignoring the roaring of the crowd, the anger that came from mercy.

“They’ll come for us,” Steve said, eyes wary. “They’ll kill us both.”

With one hand, Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, thumb against his cheekbone, and with the other, he lifted the sword and twisted it. “Let them try,” he said. “But we have plans to travel the world. We’ve got no time for dying, Steve.”

And in the summer heat, they ran for the Gate of Life.

ELEVENTH IMAGE:

[A close up of two marble statues kissing.]

[END OF IMAGE ID]

[oikawaplssteponme]

Incomparable Beauty

pairing: Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

ratings/warnings: sfw, mention of insecurities

genre/AU: fluff, light academia (?) [i highly recommend imagining Izuku in light academia fashion, including some glasses ;) ], aged up characters [third-years]

word count: ~3.4K

synopsis: The young and talented photographer, Izuku Midoriya, is searching for a muse for his next entry in an art gallery. Of course, there seems to be one person who inspires him most of all.

a/n: hi hi <3 shoutout to my lovely 🍥 and ☕️ anons for requesting/helping me figure out this izuku fluff! i am really proud of this so i hope you all like it <3 reblogs are super helpful and id love to hear your thoughts on it. enjoy xx

•························•························•

Izuku Midoriya looked up at the golden-pink sky. He stared into the abyss, hoping to think of something worth capturing. He adjusted the thin glasses that rested upon his face. He sighed and sat up, grabbing his notebook. Inside were hundreds of scribbles, sketches, and ideas that never seemed good enough. He looked to his right, where his camera laid. He wished that it could just take the pictures itself and create something jaw dropping. Still, a camera is nothing without a photographer. Furthermore, a photographer is nothing without a muse.

Izuku gathered his things as he headed back inside, making his way to his dorm. He was frustrated. He only had one week left to submit something into the Tokyo Gallery for Promising Artists, and even then it wasn't a guarantee that he would be selected. Maybe he should send an old piece he thought. He did have a few that he was proud of, but unfortunately, none of them fit the required theme of the gallery.

Izuke had his hands full as he attempted to open his dorm room door. You were making your way up the stairs when you spotted him. Izuku dropped his notebook, loose pages now scattered across the floor. You rushed over.

“Great…” he sighed. You quietly began to pick up the sheets of papers. Izuku froze.

“Midoriya, here,” you smiled, handing him his notebook. His cheeks flushed a rosy pink. He took his notebook back with shaky hands.

“Thank you Y/N.”

“Is all that for the gallery? I heard that you were entering,” you smiled. Izuku chuckled.

“It is but by the looks of it, I won’t be submitting anything. I still haven't come up with anything good enough,” he explained.

“Well don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure inspiration will strike you soon enough,” you reassured him, “you’re a brilliant photographer after all.”

Izuku's face was now a bright red. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

“T-Thank you again. Well-uh- goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Izuku.”

You walked away to your dorm as Izuku entered his own. He set all his things down and began to fan his burning face. He has known you for about three years now, yet he still can’t find the courage to get closer to you. You flustered him to no end, without even trying. Your voice, your smile, your laugh, your heart; Midoriya simply couldn’t get enough. You were so beautiful in all ways possible.

Midoriya looked at the printed flair pinned to his wall.

Those interested in applying to the Tokyo Art Gallery must follow the theme below in order to be considered.

The prompt read as follows:

‘Capture beauty in its purest form.’

Beauty, thought Izuku. Almost everything is beautiful. The way the sun rises and falls each day is beautiful. How Inko called Izuku every night at exactly 7:30 was beautiful. The friendships that Izuku cherished were beautiful. Then, there was you. Izuku’s mind couldn’t help but wonder to the thought of you in relation to beauty. Now you were truly beautiful.

Izuku soon had an idea.

~

The following day you found yourself sitting on one of the garden benches. Your classes were finished and you decided that some fresh air might do you some good. You basked in the warm sunlight, as if you were a precious flower that needed it to survive.

Izuku figured that you would be in the academy garden, so he made his way over there. His camera hung around his neck as he held tightly onto his notebook. With a shaky hand, Izuku tapped your shoulder.

“H-Hi Y/N,” he smiled nervously. You greeted him happily, gesturing for him to join you on the bench.

“Hi! Something wrong?” you questioned. Izuku looked like he was sick.

“Oh no, nothing’s wrong. I just-uh- wanted to ask you something…”

“Alright, what is it?”

Izuku set down his notebook next to his side. He held his hands together staring at them.

“Could I take your picture for the Tokyo Gallery?”

Your eyes widened at his request. The best and most handsome photographer in all of UA Academy of the Arts wanted to take your picture.

“You want to take a picture of me? I-I’m no model Izuku…”

“You’ll do great! I have this idea in my mind and it has to be with you.”

Now you were the nervous one. You weren’t one who particularly liked getting their picture taken.

“What if I mess it up? I’d hate to be the reason you don’t get accepted…”

“If those critics reject me, they’re just dumb. I promise it would have nothing to do with you. Please Y/N?” Izuku carefully took your hand with his and stared deep into your eyes. Gosh, how could you say no to him when he looked at you like that.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you smiled. Izuku squeezed your hand and jumped up from where he sat.

“Thank you Y/N! I promise it will be perfect. Mind if we shoot tomorrow?”

“That sounds good to me.” Izuku smiled so brightly he outshined the sun. He grabbed his things once more.

“Meet me here at noon tomorrow. Try to wear a neutral colored shirt, okay?” he said. You nodded.

“Okay.”

Izuku ran off, leaving you alone in the garden. You soon felt a large pit in the bottom of your stomach.

You stood before the full length mirror of your dorm. You stepped closer to it, examining every detail of you being. A photoshoot? Not only that, but a photoshoot of just you. No way to hide behind anyone or fade into the background. It would be a picture of you. The pit in your stomach only grew. You stared into the mirror, almost hoping the reflection would change into someone else. Someone who would appear beautiful in an enlarged image. Certainly Izuku could’ve asked any other girl to be his model, but insisted that it had to be you. You didn’t understand why. You didn’t view yourself as beautiful in any form. So how could he?

~

It was close to noon and you should be heading to the garden to meet Izuku. You put on a neutral colored tank top as Izuku requested and finished applying some natural makeup. Your hands shook as you held the brushes. Hopefully your nerves would cease by the time you got to the garden.

Izuku had been setting up since early in the morning. He created a handmade crown of white baby’s breath for you to wear and arranged his backdrop. He set up his lighting and sun reflectors exactly where he wanted. You had been standing by one of the bushes for a few minutes, afraid to interrupt him. He was so in his element. The sleeves to his button down rolled up to his elbows. His dark sunglasses covering his eyes. His beige colored paints stained green at the hem from working in the grass, same with his off-white sneakers. You honestly thought he looked beautiful.

“Hi Izuku,” you said. Izuku jumped then turned to look at you.

“Oh Y/N you’re here, perfect! Y-You look great,” he smiled. Your face grew warm.

“Oh thank you. So, what’s the plan?” Izuku moved his sunglasses to his forehead, pushing back his fluffy green hair.

“So, your job is fairly simple. I’m gonna have you sit on this stool and hold onto this bouquet of flowers. Since it's just me out here I’ll be messing around with the equipment until I find the right lighting and all that. All you need to do is keep the pose I tell you to, okay?” he explained. You nodded.

“What is the theme for this year’s gallery?” you asked. Midoriya flinched.

“Oh it’s um...nature…” he muttered. Nature? Why doesn’t he just take a picture of a tree and call it good? What does he need you for, you wondered.

Izuku set down the stool in front of the garden wall and you sat down. He grabbed the bouquet and handed it to you. He then placed the crown uptop of your head. He carefully arranged it to rest effortlessly on you. His nimble fingers were delicate as they touched your head, then moved to your cheek without him thinking. Izuku’s index finger now rested under your chin as you looked up at him. With a burning face and widened eyes, you wished to never look away. Out of flustering embarrassment, Izuku took his hand back.

“Yeah um so for the pose I’d like you to be looking slightly to the side with your chin tilted up just as I had it. Then with the flowers have them close to your cheek. I’ll probably tell you to switch out poses here and there but that's a good place to start. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Izuku walked back and grabbed his camera. Your heart was pounding out of your chest. You tried to keep yourself calm with a few deep breaths.

“Ready?” asked Izuku. You nodded.

“Ready.”

The first click of the camera and flashing lights was the most startling. You soon got used to it, following whatever instructions Izuku gave you. You moved your head and hand placement, soon feeling more comfortable with everything.

“Yes that's perfect...keep doing that…” Izuku blurted out whatever thoughts came to his mind as he captured you on film. His encouragement was honestly what made your heart race.

“Now lower the bouquet so I can see your pretty face…yeah just like that Y/N…”

Midoriya didn’t even realize what he had said until the words left his mouth, but he didn’t care. He meant it.

“Okay now open your eyes and look slightly towards me, parting your lips a bit…”

Izuku snapped the picture then froze. He looked down at the small digital image.

“So beautiful…”

“Hmm?” You questioned. Izuku snapped out of the trance that he was in. He chuckled nervously.

“OH-the pictures look really good that's all. I think we are good,” he said. You let out a sigh.

“Oh good. That was honestly pretty exhausting.”

“I really appreciate you letting me use you for the gallery. I already know the final product is gonna turn out amazing,” he cheered. You smiled.

“It’ll be amazing because you are amazing,” you said. Izuku blushed.

“So are you.”

You took off the crown and returned the flowers to Midoriya. You helped him put away his equipment before the two of you headed back inside.

“Um Y/N, did you maybe want to grab something to eat?” he asked. You smiled.

“I’d love to, just let me change first,” you chuckled.

“Oh yeah of course.”

You dropped off the equipment at Izuku’s dorm before heading to your own. You slipped on a green sweater and some sweatpants before finding him again.

You and Izuku went to the dinning hall, each of you picking up a bowl of ramen. You decided to eat outside on the balcony.

“How do you think the pictures turned out?” you asked.

“Honestly, really good. You did amazing,” he smiled. You looked down at your food.

“I was honestly super nervous for them. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Not at all! You were a natural out there! I really think this will be some of my best work yet,” said Izuku.

“I’d love to go to the gallery with you,” you whispered. Izuku’s eyes widened.

“I was planning on taking you regardless,” he replied, “thank you by the way.”

You tilted your head.

“For what?”

“For always believing in me. I probably wouldn’t be a photographer if it weren’t for you.”

In Izuku’s first year, he was at the bottom of his class. He knew he wanted to do photography, but couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. He was so frustrated one day that he even said that he would be dropping out and quitting forever. You convinced him not to, to keep trying. You saw his talent when no one else could. Even when he couldn’t. From that day forward, Izuku worked to become the best young photographer in all of the Shizuoka Prefecture.

“Well I knew that you could do it, and I was right,” you teased.

“You’re great Y/N, seriously,” he said. You looked at Izuku, your face growing hot.

“I don’t know about that…”

“What? Come on, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re talented, and you always seem to know what to say. You’re incomparable.”

“To what?”

“To anything. You’re incomparable to anything because you’re you.”

Midoriya had to stop himself from saying anymore, for fear of spilling his whole heart before you. He meant it however. Nobody compares to you.

You swirled your noodles around in their bowl. The pounding in your chest came back. You locked eyes with Izuku.

“You’re incomparable too.”

~

Izuku spent every waking moment arranging his piece for submission to the gallery. He was always found in the art room, either photoshopping or preparing the flowers to be pressed. Once the image of you was edited to his liking, he developed a large scale version of the picture. He enjoyed putting the pieces together. From hand pressing the flowers to finding the perfect frame to keep it all in, he has created a masterpiece. All thanks to his muse.

You roamed the empty halls of the school in search of Izuku. You hadn’t seen him all day, assuming he would be in the art room. It was late, he honestly should be asleep. You stood in front of the art room door and carefully opened it up.

Izuku was fast asleep on one of the desks. The large photograph was wrapped and ready to be sent to Tokyo. You quietly walked over to him, tapping his shoulder.

“Izuku? It's late, you should go to your dorm,” you whispered. Izuku groaned. He opened his eyes and stretched his arms out.

“What time is it?” he yawned. You chuckled.

“Close to eleven. You should get some actual rest. You have to go to Tokyo pretty early tomorrow.”

“R-Right...the gallery…”

You could hear the exhaustion behind his voice. You grabbed his hand, helping him up.

“Come on, let's go.” You held Izuku’s hand as he lazily walked to the dorms. You led him to his room.

“Goodnight Y/N…”

“Goodnight Izuku,” you smiled. Izuku scratched his messy hair, giving you a weak smile. Without thinking, you leaned in placing a quick kiss on his cheek, before rushing to your own dorm.

~

Izuku stared at the letter on his desk. He had received it hours ago yet was too nervous to check. It was addressed to him by the Tokyo Art Gallery.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the letter opener from his desk, carefully gliding it across the envelope. He took out the folder paper and opened it up. Izuku ran to your room.

You jumped from your bed when you heard the pounding on your door.

“Izuku? Everything okay?”

He didn’t say anything, simply handing you the letter.

“Is this…?”

“Read it.”

You caught your breath, peaking at the paper.

‘Dear Mr. Midoriya,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Tokyo Art Gallery for Promising Artists! Your piece titled…’

You didn’t finish reading the letter. Instead, you jumped into Izuku’s arms.

“I knew you’d make it! I’m so proud of you!” you cheered. Izuku hugged you tightly, laughing with joy.

“It’s all thanks to you, I couldn’t do it without you,” he whispered. You looked at Izuku, your hands on his shoulder as he held onto your waist. His face blushed red.

“Oh sorry-” he mumbled, removing his grip from you. Your face burned.

“I-It’s okay...congratulations Izuku. You did it,” you smiled. Izuku took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“We did it.”

It was the day of the gallery showing. You were beyond excited to see all the beautiful artwork, specifically Izuku’s. You still hadn’t seen the final product.

You were dressed and ready, waiting for Izuku.

“Sorry I’m late-”

Izuku came rushing down the stairs to meet you. He looked devilishly handsome in his light grey suit and black turtleneck underneath. He prompted for some beat up black sneakers today.

“That's alright… you look nice,” you smiled. Izuku blushed.

“Says you..you look...wow…” He could barely form a sentence you were so breathtaking.

“Oh stop…”

“Shall we?” Izuku held out his arm for you to take. You did happily.

“We shall.”

The two of you rode the train to Tokyo, arriving at the gallery just before it was open to the public.

“Mr. Midoriya,” said one of the gallery workers, “your art is on the third floor.”

“Thank you.” You and Izuku made your way up the stairs, searching the room for the photo.

“Oh here it is,” smiled Izuku. The large photo was covered up and had velvet rope to stop anyone from getting too close.

“Wow, they must’ve liked yours!” you exclaimed. Izuku blushed.

“Well I didn’t tell you but it actually got nominated for best portrait of the gallery…”

“WHAT? Izuku, that's amazing!” you gushed.

“Yeah so some judges will take a look at it later on and hopefully we win…”

“Doesn’t matter if we win or not. I know it's the best one here,” you smiled.

You soon heard footsteps make their way up to the third floor.

“Showtime,” whispered Izuku. You took a step back from the portrait and watched as Izuku removed the curtain that covered it. The room filled with awes.

Izuku decided to go with the last picture that he took, the one where you seemed to have taken his breath away. You were entirely in black and white, only color coming from the flowers atop of your head and in your hand. Also, the pressed flowers that surrounded you. Izuku covered up the garden wall with pressed roses, daisies, lilies, and sunflowers. You looked like an angel.

You took a few steps towards the picture, reading its title.

‘Incomparable Beauty’ - Izuku Midoriya

You couldn’t seem to find the words, none of them seemed to be right. You backed away from the portrait before bumping into someone.

“Oh I’m sorry-” you said. They smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. Wait...you’re the model in that photo,” they replied. You gulped.

“Um yeah I am…”

“Well tell your photographer that they did an excellent job, really captured the gallery theme.”

“The nature theme?” you questioned. They tilted their head.

“No, the theme was ‘Beauty in its Purest Form’. Really great work.”

Your eyes widened.

“Uh-excuse me-”

You began to shuffle through the crowd of people. Izuku noticed you make your way towards the exit.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

Izuku followed you down the stairs. You rushed outside, breathing in the fresh air. Izuku grabbed onto your arm.

“Y/N what's wrong?” pleaded Izuku, “did you not like it?”

You shook your head. Tears began to gather in the corners of your eyes.

“No Izuku, I loved it. I really loved it,” you sniffled. Midoriya felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Why did you run?”

“Because...I didn’t recognize myself...I looked-”

“Beautiful. You look beautiful,” he interrupted.

“Y-You think I’m beautiful?” you cried. Izuku wiped away your stray tears.

“Y/N, I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world, inside and out. Y-You’re my muse.”

Izuku cupped your face as you tried to hold back anymore tears.

“You made me look beautiful…”

“No Y/N, you are beautiful. I simply clicked the camera.”

Izuku pulled you into a tight hug, holding the back of your head gently. There was something about the way Izuku made you feel. As if you were the only girl in the world.

“I love you,” you whispered. Izuku’s eyes grew. He moved to face you, a smile creeping onto his face.

“I love you.”

Izuku placed his hand onto your cheek, feeling your soft skin. He began to inch closer to you. You couldn’t wait anymore, the anticipation killing you. You collided your lips with his, wrapping your arms around him. He had one hand on the small of your back as the other held the back of your head. Izuku took mental pictures of this moment, wishing to relive it over and over again. The warmth between the two of you in contrast to the cold air that surrounded you. It was a tornado of emotions.

You looked at Izuku, both of your faces burning and you attempted to catch your breath. You pressed your foreheads together, chuckling softly. Izuku kissed your forehead.

“You really are incomparable.”

•

[MHA taglist: @bibly @big-phat-cat @sapphoscolonoscopy @luluwiie @happyheartsss @lealofsblog @iwaisa @bakugousmymassa @evivn1 @tetsoleil @bokutory @vangoghmusings @moonlightaangel @misszenin @marajillana @sopesmin @alaina-rose13 @shotoful @runrabbitrun3 @katlingclaw @nerdypuppytimemachine ]

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki Yuugiroku 2 - Sanosuke Sakura Epilogue

hrm... im debating looking at buying some of the Shinkai Reimeiroku drama cds when they come out... but if I do that, it’ll push back when my BD order of Souma-hen arrives (i refuse to pay for shipping twice when their release dates are so close together)... and i know i’m a bit interested in kazama being in a reimeiroku drama because of the timeline tho id definitely choose to do that in a heartbeat if there was a drama with both Serizawa and Kazama on it. lol. decisions, decisions.

anyway, this is my 2nd translation from this game this month and this is the Sanosuke version of the 『 恋染めし日』 story which im fairly certain happens before his last Edo Blossoms chapter... images used in this post were snips from my vita capture vids.

Hakuoki Yuugiroku 2 - Sanosuke Sakura Epilogue

Translation by KumoriYami

The sakura were no longer in full bloom, and would now vividly scatter as they were carried away by the wind. 

The light red petals [tl i have is for red] from the above branches spread across/formed a thin layer on the ground.......

We were admiring this blanket of sakura that had scattered about.

Chizuru: Sanosuke-san, the sakura season will soon be over/is coming to its end.

Harada: That’s right. From the looks of it/At this rate, in about two or three days/in a few days, these sakura will begin to sprout leaves.

Ever since the snow melted, and when/once we could feel the warmth of spring from the sun/sunlight/shine, we've been visiting here everyday.

We found the first buds today. 

Today we saw a perched cuckoo.

These buds are starting to bloom/about to bloom..

The first flower finally blossomed——.

Each/Every time we came here, Sanosuke-san and I would talk about these subjects, and it was just the other day/a few days ago when the sakura finally bloomed.

Harada: We waited so long for them to blossom, but they don't stay in bloom for long.

Chizuru: Yes/That’s true......

As I gently touched a (nearby)/the (nearby) trunk, I could feel the slight heat from where the tree had been exposed to the sunlight.

Then, as if to ascertain my thoughts/grab my attention /check on me, Sanosuke-san's hand was holding mine.

Harada: Is something wrong/What’s wrong, Chizuru?

Chizuru: No. When Sanosuke-san and I came here today, earlier you said...... That you were thinking about how the beauty of sakura has remained unchanged even though we’ve left our homeland and had come to this foreign country [i give up rewording this so that its more condensed for now]. 

Harada: That’s right....... but, I feel that I've profited quite a bit. 

Chizuru: Profited?

Harada: Yeah. The sakura blooming season would have already ended in Kyo or Edo/Edo by now....... So don't you think it's great that we're able to see sakura at this time, even while this far north/even while we're this far up north?

Chizuru: Fufu. 

Hearing Sanosuke-san's childish words, I couldn't but help but smile.

Unlike Japan, sakura are not seen everywhere in this northern land.

While I felt a sense of nostalgia as I looked towards the southern skies, Sanosuke-san suddenly got down onto the ground.

Harada: Hei...... yo [basically allez-oop, mais, je ne peux pas penser à un équivalent]. 

(he lies down)

Chizuru: Sa-Sanosuke-san? What are you doing?

Harada: Ah, this is more comfortable than I thought. You should try lying down too. 

Chizuru: Ex-Excuse me then......

As I boldly lay on the on the ground that was covered in sakura, I could see how the petals accumulated as they fluttered together. 

After lying down like Sanosuke-san said, I looked up towards the sky, and couldn't help but exclaim/marvel at this beautiful view.

Chizuru: Wow...... Look, Sanosuke-san. It's like a rain of sakura......

Harada: Although we come here to see the sakura whenever we have time these days... It’s quite refreshing to see them from a different perspective/angle. You get to see what you normally wouldn’t see.

The were sakura that had fallen onto the ground around me, and there were sakura dancing in the sky.

The petals falling from the sky made the sakura feel like snow as they began piling up over me......

The moment I was buried/covered in this snow of sakura, just as I was about to close my eyes, a shadow suddenly fell over me.

Chizuru:!?

(he kisses Chizuru. i think. i clipped the pics for this when vlc was muted on account of recording sound)

Harada: You're too/so defenseless, Chizuru.

Chizuru:......Surprise attacks are unfair. 

I hadn’t even realized when he had gotten up. 

Sanosuke-san, who was supposed to be lying down next to me, showed a proud expression, as I protested with my stolen lips. 

Harada: Didn't I tell you before that I would kiss you if I ever caught you off-guard?

Chizuru: Did you ever say that......?

I tried to remember those words, but I didn't think it mattered anymore.

Sanosuke-san smiled and continued to speak. 

Harada: "Well, it's because you look like that, that I want to kiss you/you're showing such an expression makes me want to kiss you. If you don't want that, shouldn't you not be showing me such an adorable expression/shouldn't you stop showing such an adorable expression to me?

Seeing how Sanosuke-san had a childish/mischievous expression, I whispered softly.

Chizuru:......I can't do that/That's impossible.

Harada:......?

Chizuru: Because I want Sanosuke-san to love me even more/more and more.

Ever since I started living with Sanosuke-san, I have probably become more selfish/willful.

As if to embrace the sky and sakura, I laid down and spread my arms.

Harada: If you say something like that, how can I not cherish you even more?

While taking Sanosuke-san into my outstretched arms, I sighed happily.

continued chatting

bring this to an end <-

——A moment later.

After getting off the blanket of sakura, we faced one another again beneath the sakura. [reword later? i can’t figure out to make this less wordy].

Harada: So, what now? Do you want to continue talking/chatting here?

Chizuru: N-No, let's go home now!

I spoke quickly as I desperately tried to hide the redness of my face.

Although I would have loved to continue watching the sakura, I was/felt too embarrassed to now......

While I didn't expect anyone to come here, if someone really did, I wouldn’t be able to go outside/wouldn't dare to leave the house ever again.

Harada: Then, let's/we'll continue this next time.

Chizuru: When will that next time be?

Harada: Hm? If you want, it can be tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

Chizuru: Yes. Let’s come again before the sakura have completely scattered.

In the days to come, how many times will be able to talk beneath the sakura trees before the sakura fall/scatter...

As I pondered this question, we left this place.

---End---

[kellbellsparkles]

Chapter 6 of my Ratchet and Clank fanfic called "Family"

Clank is really feeling the weight of his decisions and an older character from https://www.deviantart.com/hotredsparkles/art/The-Electrics-296059497 an appearance

Darkness. Clank found himself free falling through a pitch black void. Suddenly, a series of bright violet tears appeared as far and near as his eyes could see. Voices, screeches began to echo, growing louder and louder. He clasped his hands over his hearing mechanism. He curled forward, his head ringing and pounding with each cry of pain. Then, bright blue electrical surges danced around the teats. Clank flinched as they twirled closer and closer. Suddenly, he fell towards a tear beneath him and phased through.

He crashed hard onto the metal flooring. When he came to, he realized he was in a very familiar place.

"Is this…?"

The heart of the Great Clock: the Orvus Chamber. However, the walls and the floor were broken apart, the debris floating and orbiting the space. At the center was the forbidden time dial, the lever being Alister Azimuth's omniwrench as a replacement for the one that broke. And also….

"Ratchet?" Clank gasped.

Ratchet was unresponsive, his backed turned to the little robot.

"Ratchet?" Clank spoke with a cautious tone, sensing a disturbance in the distorted air.

"Clank," Ratchet said in a low pitched snarl. "What did you do?"

Clank lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Something terrible," he replied with remorse. "And reckless. I promise I will fix everything."

"Where's my mom, Clank?"

Clank snapped his focus back to Ratchet.

"Pardon?"

"My mother."

Ratchet turned around. His eyes were flushed with rage and sadness; his fur stood straight up on their ends.

"Does fixing it mean taking her away?" he asked angrily.

Suddenly, a massive quake shook Clank off his feet. The structure began to collapse all at once.

"I'll never forgive you."

Ratchet's seething words cut deep into Clank's body and soul. He glanced down at his hands, his normal left and the new right Rivet had given him. The gold metal shimmered as the hand detached from his arm followed by the bicep, elbow, and forearm one by one. Each part of his body broke into small individual pieces. He watched in horror as the floor gave way and they fell into the neverending void beside his detached head.

----

"Sir? Sir!!"

Clank yelled as he was shaken awake by Sigmund, flailing and kicking in a panic. Three Zoni watched on in eerie anticipation.

"It's okay!" Sigmund shouted as he held him down on the grass, having removed him from Aphelion. "It's me! Sigmund!"

In the midst of the confusion, Clank's antenna blinked like it did when Sigmund contacted him. His eyes glowed as his system scanned for a recognized caller ID.

"Rivet," he mouthed, his eyes growing wide with worry.

"Do you have voice mail or something that tells them B-R-B?" Sigmund asked with concern.

"I do," Clank replied.

"Do that and let's practice mindful meditation exercises," Sigmund urged as he helped him sit up.

He positioned himself as he were sitting and held out his arms in a classic meditation stance. Clank pressed a sensor on the left side of his chest to leave the auto-response for Rivet.

"We're on Vapedia right now," Sigmund said. "So this is perfect. Now, meditation isn't so much directing your thoughts but rather allowing what you see and feel to take you on a journey to enlightenment and healing. Ah, the sunlight. How it reflects and evolves my sheen. Such a warm, delicate, loving touch. The breeze tickles my coils and leaves me tingly and wanting to frolic and leap into the trees. Maybe I'll turn into a butterfly. Nothing like a good fluttery flap to fan away the grim reality of the universe collapsing."

However, during Sigmund's mindfulness speech, Clank had spotted particles in the air similar to what was left on Igliak. He felt a tug inside his chest as though they were calling out to him. He held out his hands to touch them.

"AIIIIE!!" Sigmund shrieked, racing towards him. "Sir, don't touch that!! You're not mentally healed!!"

As the particles grazed Clank's palms, holographic images appeared out of nowhere: a parked ship, Ratchet and himself sitting on top, and Alister Azimuth staring into his pocket watch on the side. Sigmund skid to a halt.

"Whoa," he said, astonished. "This is new."

"I'm sorry about your father, Clank," the hologram of Ratchet said sorrowfully. "I should've stopped Nefarious sooner."

"It is alright, Ratchet," the hologram of Clank said. "Dr. Nefarious will pay for what he has done. The only thing that matters now is that we keep the clock safe."

The real Clank stared in shock and awe as the wave of familiarity hit him.

"Don't worry," the hologram of Alister said proudly. "Once the past's been corrected, you'll have the full support of the Lombax Praetorian Guard. The clock will be in good hands."

"You do not understand," the hologram of Clank protested. "Time cannot be changed. Using the clock improperly could rip the very fabric of existence."

"OR it could save an entire race of Lombaxes who risked their lives to defend this galaxy!" the hologram of Alister barked.

The hologram of Ratchet hopped off the hologram of the ship, giving a glance at Alister, then walking ahead with a torn expression.

"Ratchet," the hologram of Clank said. "Remember the Dimensionator? Some risks are not worth taking."

The real Clank trembled as he listened to his own words. He watched the hologram of Ratchet carefully who was looking at his image before making his decision.

"Well, maybe Clank's right," he said in a defeated tone. "If there's a chance it could destroy the universe, the risk is just too great."

"Risk?" Alister said, flabbergasted. "Risk is what makes us who we are!" He stood tall over him.

"Ratchet," he said seriously. "Our kind is lost without us. Think of how many that clock can save. Think of your parents."

Clank's heart broke as he saw Ratchet look to the side in shame and sadness. He reached out to him, but the holograms vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Well I'll be dusted," Sigmund said with astonishment. "We can see events that have happened in the past. I wonder how many more are out there."

Exhausted and downcast, Clank plopped back onto his bottom.

"But first thing's first!" Sigmund declared. He hovered over Clank like a mother hen.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Ratchet," Clank said shakily. "He wanted another way. I should not have made him choose."

"The greater good isn't going to make everybody happy," Sigmund told him. "The greater good exists because it's for everyone's own good."

"That may be, but Ratchet's feelings are important to me."

"Ratchet won't be around to have feelings if the universe is done for."

"Aaaah!"

Clank held his head in dread.

"I'm sorry!" Sigmund cried. "I overstepped! The mindfulness videos told me to not wait to speak as someone's venting to me!"

Clank stood himself up. He lowered his hands and sighed.

"It is not you," he said. "I just do not understand what has happened to me or why not everyone can have a happily ever after." He got on his knees.

"Uuuum," Sigmund said hesitantly. "What's this?"

"If there is one thing I can ask of you that should not hurt anyone," Clank pleaded. "Ratchet's mother fell through a time portal from when Percival Tachyon hunted the Lombaxes and forced them to scatter across the dimensions. In the original timeline, it is my understanding that she had died anyway. Her staying in the present should not alter it in any way. So please, can she?"

Sigmund floated uncomfortably in place. He looked to the Zoni for guidance. The Zoni enclosed in a circle and consulted with each other. They separated and gave Sigmund a nod. Sigmund nodded in response and turned to give Clank the news. However, he discovered that they weren't alone anymore. A pointy eared figure wearing all black head to toe prepared to strike Clank with a Taser.

"Stranger with a weapon!!" he hollered. He swiftly scooped a stunned Clank in his arms and scurried the other direction. "Run away!!!"

The assassin gave off a green glow and dashed after them, leaving a streak behind him. The Zoni froze him in place in an attempt to hold him off. The assassin was surprised, but it didn't stop him from emitting an EMP blast to send the Zoni flying. As they fell and hit the ground, the Zoni lost their color, their eyes sealing shut.

Once free, the assassin stretched himself out. He removed his helmet revealing a feline like appearance, icy blue eyes, and hair as velvet red as the burning passion for his quest to eliminate his target. His kind was known as the lera. His nostrils expanded to absorb the scent left by Sigmund's motors.

"There," he said to himself.

He jogged to keep on their trail to avoid missing them if he were to use his ability.

[drarryangels]

heyy so my birthday is in 3 days (the 14th) and i was wondering if you could write something for then? i really love your writing and *most* stories (i’m still crying bc of the last two)! it could be literally anything, i just wanted something cute and that hate that’s actually suppressed love vibe totally cool if you can’t/don’t want to, just thought i should try 😅 thank you 💜

Oh my gosh happy birthday!! (I’m probably going to post this early because I wanted to work on this as soon as I got this ask and Tumblr won’t let you schedule ask posts as far as I know) So happy EARLY birthday!! Thank you so much and I’m sorry about the two most recent fics! (I’m actually not and your reactions gave me LIFE) Thank you for being the sweetest and I’m so so so happy to write something for you!

Also I’m sorry I couldn’t decide whether or not to write something angsty or fluffy so I wrote both. (the second one will be coming on your actual birthday)

I still haven’t figured out how to sit across from you, and not be madly in love with everything you do, Draco thought, spooning more eggs into his mouth. 

Harry was laughing across the table, giggling and snorting at something Pansy had said. Draco didn’t know what she had said, but whatever it was had Harry losing his mind. He looked so beautiful in this light. Rich sunlight was sparkling in and out of perspective through the windows and dust motes caught on and ruffled through Harry’s hair. 

Draco smiled down at his plate. He had made Harry’s hair like that. Wild and untamed, finger tracks imprinted through his curls from last night and this morning. Sex and kissing and cuddling. Just one tiny sign of the fingerprints all over Harry’s body that Draco had left there. 

Harry’s toes tapped over Draco’s under the table and Draco’s eyes flicked up to meet Harry’s green ones. Every time. Every time, Draco couldn’t help but lose his breath. Being in love with Harry Potter had that effect on him. 

Pansy kicked Draco’s knee under the table, and even though it stung, he didn’t have it in him to glare at her. He knew it was her way to say stop looking like you’re so in love you can’t function, but that’s exactly what he was. 

At first, their friends, even Harry’s who had only known about their relationship for a week, had teased them about being in the honeymoon phase. But while the rest of their friends lost their desperate need for public sexy times and shifted towards the old bickering of people who knew each other too well, Draco and Harry didn’t change. 

Harry’s hands had never stopped shaking in nervous anticipation after that first time after their eighth year graduation when they had kissed for the first time. It had just been a light, soft thing, but it made Draco’s heart stutter in his fingertips. Draco’s heart still did that when they kissed. Harry’s habit of lacing both his hands through Draco’s before they went to bed never faded away. Draco’s insistence to eat half of the food off of Harry’s plate for every meal never dissipated. 

They were still just as madly in love as they had been since always. It wasn’t a honeymoon phase because it wasn’t a phase. 

They’d been together for over four years now, and everything was still a surprise. Every move was still a gift. 

Harry stood up from the brunch table and kissed Pansy on the cheek. Draco knew they were leaving the restaurant, but why? Hadn’t they just gotten here? Harry might’ve had an Auror meeting. Maybe he was just heading out earlier. Harry came around the table and grabbed Draco’s hand and beckoned him to follow along. Pansy just grinned and waved goodbye. 

Draco trusted Harry, and so he followed him. 

There was no one outside when they walked past the host at the front door and out of the local brunch place they’d been eating at. The streets were completely empty. 

Draco turned to ask Harry what was going on, but when he turned, Harry was there pressing him up against the side of the wall with beauty captured in his eyes. He was so close that Draco could almost see his own reflection in the glassiness of Harry’s eyes, but there was no roughness of lust. Harry’s hands were gentle on his hips and his mouth was just barely brushing the corner of Draco’s mouth. 

“I miss you,” Draco whispered. Harry leaned back in confusion, and then it was over. 

Draco sat up violently and looked around. Their bed was empty and the sheets were soaked with Draco’s sweat and the mess of rolling he had done in his sleep. A sharp pull tugged his stomach down into darkness.

Draco flopped back into bed and closed his eyes tightly. I miss you. Draco wished desperately to go back to sleep. That was the only time he ever got to see Harry now.

“Dada?” a small voice came from the doorway. “Papa?”

Draco lifted his head and squinted in the darkness. For a second, he saw two tiny boys clutching onto each other highlighted by the light coming in through the door, and then the image cleared. Scorpius was hanging on to the door frame with one hand, and the other one clutching on to the knitted blanket Mrs. Weasley had given him last Christmas. The pull in his stomach yanked down again, and gravity swam underneath him.

“Come here, bub,” Draco said quietly. 

Scorpius waddled over to the side of Draco’s and Harry’s bed, now just Draco’s, and held his hands up for Draco to lift him up. Draco picked him and lied him down in the curve of of his body. Draco lifted his hand to rub through Scorpius’ curly blonde hair. 

“Where’s Dada?” he heard Scorpius whisper. 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and glance over his shoulder at the empty side of the bed where Harry used to sleep before… 

“Gone,” Draco whispered back, a hot tear sliding out of the corner of his eye. “They’re both gone.”

“Gone where?” Scorpius rolled over to face Draco and wrapped his small, dimpled hand into Draco’s shirt. 

Draco opened his eyes and let the tears drip down his face sideways. “They’re just gone, bub. It was an accident.”

“Dada?”

“He went in the accident, too,” Draco choked out. Scorpius set his hand clumsily on Draco’s cheek. Draco stared into his little, pointed his face. His son. Draco never thought he’d get to say that. Never thought he’d ever have a son of all things. Much less, two! Two sons, twins. 

“Why didn’t Alby come home?” Scorpius asked, his voice so small, so stumbly and young. 

Draco tried to swallow it down. Tried to swallow down the heaving sobs and the grief that was trying to stab everything in him to pieces. 

“He’s gone, too,” Draco said. His body shook, he could feel it shaking as if it was the only thing that made him real. He could feel Scorpius shaking too, pressed up against him, and the only thing he had left in this life. 

It had happened so fast. Harry had gone out with Albus into Muggle London. Sweet, lovely dark-haired Albus with Harry’s dark skin and Draco’s moles. His son, his perfect son. And Harry, dressed like a haphazard mess, just like he always was. Draco remembered the morning like it was happening then, all again. 

The orange sweater Harry had put on. Draco had tugged at it, prodding at Harry and telling him the Chudley Cannons sucked, and so did neon orange. Harry had kissed his cheek and then swatted his hands away before picking Albus up and swinging him around the kitchen. He had bellowed, “Whose ready for a day with the Aurors?” Albus had shrieked and squealed, “Me, me, me!”

It had been take your kid to work day. Albus had insisted on going with Harry into the Auror office for the day, and Scorpius had wanted to go to Draco’s apprenticeship job at the upstart wand making shop in Diagon Alley. So that’s what they had done. 

Draco didn’t find out until 15:02 the next day that Harry and Albus had been on the bus that’s brakes had broken down and driven straight off the road, killing all the passengers within the first five rows of seats. Damn Albus and his need to see absolutely everything and everyone through the front window. 

Scorpius hadn’t been with him, he’d been at the Weasley’s for several hours, and the first thing Draco did was Apparate to where the bus had crashed. It was gone. It was already a day later, and they’d cleared the bus and bodies. 

So Draco went to the hospital. Wizards didn’t need any identification other than wands, and therefore didn’t carry any IDs. The authorities didn’t know what to do with a man with a long piece of thin wood in his pocket and the tiny boy with a snapped neck who had been in his lap. They took them to the hospital and waited for someone to identify them. 

They didn’t ask Draco if he knew them. 

Draco didn’t even have to really see them. He’d crashed into the wall, and then into the floor because his husband and his son. His husband and his son, and oh Merlin. He’d never wanted to see this. He’d never wanted to see anything like this in his life. Dear god, dear god, why had Harry gotten that phrase stuck in his head? Oh god, they were really, really gone. His husband, and his baby boy. Gone, dead, blue, identified. They carried Draco out, kicking and screaming, and took him to the mental ward. He Apparated out when they shoved him in the waiting room. The Statute of Secrecy meant shit. 

The next thing Draco did was go to the Weasley’s. He snatched Scorpius up in his arms from where he’d been rolling around with Victoire on the kitchen floor and hugged him so tight, Fleur had yelped at him not to suffocate Scorpius. And then Draco had sat on the floor and cried harder than he’d ever cried in his life, still holding onto Scorpius. 

There was talking and a lot of crying after that. Someone had to tell the Weasley’s. Someone had to call Hermione and Ron back from their work trip to America, advocating for magical creature rights. Someone had to go back and put the funeral matters in order. 

Draco went to say goodbye later. He’d never wanted to see anything like this in his life. His 23 year old husband with combed hair and pale skin and a tuxedo on. And three year old Albus, who was too small to even really deserve a coffin all his own. Draco held Harry’s hand and ran his finger’s through Albus’ hair, and it was all so wrong. So, so incredibly wrong. 

He took Harry’s ring off of his finger and put it on a chain around his neck. There was nothing to remember Albus by. He was a baby. He didn’t have any rings or material objects that would hold on to the memory of his soul. All he had was a blonde haired twin who’d gotten left behind in the world of the living. 

It had been a week. One week. 

And Draco lied there, holding Scorpius close in the abandoned stale dark of his bed. Draco lied there with his mouth open, and spit and snot dribbling, and wailed silently. He held onto Scorpius’ warm, breathing body, and cried into his waving hair. He rocked in bed and stared at all the empty gaps that were left in his life. 

I still haven’t figured out how to move on from this, and not be madly in love with everything that used to be mine. 

-

(Notes: Holy crap. I feel like I just ran an emotional marathon after writing this. I meant for this to be fluffy and then I sneezed and uh… This is honestly the only fic that I’ve cried about while writing. I don’t cry about my own fics. Woah, you just proved me wrong. I am so desperately sorry @holdmybook I promise I’ll write something sweet for the 14th)

[gem-quest]

[ QUEST o4. - E N T H R O N E D]

(written by @bebemoon)

taglist: @ayzrules​​ @now-on-elissastillstands​​ @armadasneon​​ @mysteriousdeathofpoe​​

… Quest 4 .

(This is an off-shoot, so read @ayzrules​‘ story first if you haven’t already.)

"Fucking shit!" Inferna shouted.

Neddy dove, head-first, out of the way of frosty roofing detritus from the Midwinter Night's Dream palace, narrowly escaping a flying hunk of stone from the ice battlements, and landed on her belly in a deep snow drift.

Her first inclination was to ask Jack if he was all right. He had been catapulted out of his basket and into the drift alongside Neddy. He got to his spindly reptillian legs, and with a plaintive chirp, shook the snow off like a dog that'd just come out of a bath.

Neddy lifted herself onto her knees, brushing snow from her face and hair. She looked about herself for a slash of red against all the white. "Inferna?"

The palace rubble had caused a sort of barricade from where the cornucopia had been.

"Inferna must've gone the other way," Neddy told Jack. It was a little worrying. The situation was dangerous- even moreso with Jack stuck in mini-mode for the next few hours. In his current state, he could no more protect Neddy from enemy players and Yetis than...Neddy could.

"What should I do?" she wondered aloud. She hugged her arms against the cold. The nip hadn't bothered her until that moment.  

Jack sat himself in the snow with Neddy- not like a dog or a cat but a small human. "Baaapff," he rasped. His poisonous breath made purplish fumes in the wintery air.

Neddy, of course, didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but it possessed the quality of gentle encouragement.

So, she inhaled, looking around one last time for her friend. In the distance she could hear the roar of a Yeti, the scream of some poor victim.

"Okay," Neddy said finally, getting to her feet. "I say we hide- at least until you're /you again."

-

A few minutes trek from the rubble barricade, there was a small copse of pine trees that looked like a nice place to hide.

Neddy moved swiftly and low to the ground, praying her movements wouldn't attract any unwanted attention. But her footfalls creaked through the snowpack, and in the level's customary silence, it was incredibly noisy.

Once she reached the treeline, Neddy shouldered her way between a pair of squat pine trees that were ornamented with little glass bells and glistening icecicles, garlands of popcorn and crystallised fruits. The pine needles scraped her skin and caught at her hair.

Jack made an indecipherable sound from the basket on her back, but Neddy ignored it. He was probably just grumpy at all the needles falling in on him.

Neddy batted branches away from her face for a few more minutes until she came to a tiny clearing containging a lone, denuded tree that was completely covered in ice.

She paused just within the trees to scan the area for anyone. But there was no one. Just the frozen tree.

Cautiously, Neddy took a step out of the shadow of the pines- and instantly regretted it when an arrow whipped itself into the snow at her her feet.

She threw herself back into the treeline, unshouldering Jack's basket and backing herself up against one of the trees so that the archer could not sneak up behind her.

Jack slinked out of the basket and ran up into the tree Neddy was hugging, disappearing from her sight completely.

"Great," she breathed, her heart stammering painfully in her chest. "Thanks a lot, Jack. That's lots of help."

What was freaking her out most was that- it was once again totally silent. No sound from her assailant, no hint of their position. They could be anywhere in the shadows, quietly closing in on her.

Neddy shut her eyes tightly. She didn't have anything to defend herself with- thinking this was just going to be a fun outing with Inferna, she very naturally didn't bring her axes with her... She only barely remembered to take her player-plexus, but there was nothing of use in her inventory to pull from it.

She felt something touch her shoulder and started. It was just Jack, but he had something hooked on the end of his tail. He dangled it in front of Neddy's face-

It was one of those crystallised berries that were hanging in bunches on all of the trees. White and sugary.

Neddy regarded the berry, her eyes almost crossing. "Er, thank you," she whispered, reaching up to take the treat. "But it's not the time for snacks."

Jack exhaled a plume of poison. "Blaaaaaaapf," he bleated. An explanation perhaps.

She was about to drop the berry when-

"Gotcha."

The tip of an arrow came into her peripheral view and the archer revealed himself. As he came around the pine, his feet didn't fall through the snow- he made no noise whatsoever. Neddy, had her mind not been preoccupied with the more pressing matter, would have guessed it was some sort of spellwork that gave him that ability.

The upper half of the archer's face was obscured and the rest of his black attire reminded Neddy very much of one the Dread Pirate Roberts. The comparison slowed her heart rate for a moment- enough that she was able to get some words out.

"Please," she said, her voice sounding very small, "don't kill me."

The archer shrugged and took the arrow from his bow to level the point at Neddy's belly. "Hate the game, not the player."

Had the situation not been so dire, Neddy would've rolled her eyes.

But the archer didn't get to have his one-liner moment of triumph because Jack sprung from Neddy's shoulder directly onto his masked face with a demonic ululation usually only reserved for an uncrackable nut or for when a terribly small creature ran across his taloned toes.

The archer yelped and fell back a few steps, dropping his bow in the process. Neddy immediately kicked the bow away so that he couldn't retrieve it if he managed to tear Jack off of his face.

"GET IT OFF!" the archer shrieked.

Jack's little talons were dug into the flesh of his face and the more the boy pulled, the more wounds he was inflicting upon himself. In his desperation, he raised the arrow he'd leveled at Neddy, poising it over Jack's back-

"Jack!" Neddy leapt at the archer without thinking, wrenching at the forearm holding the arrow.

The boy growled in frustration and managed to give Neddy a good shove away from himself. But when Neddy lost her balance, she dropped the white berry Jack had given her.

As she went sprawling onto the snowy forest floor, there was a strange occurence-

The berry, once it hit the ground, burst and ice spread over the ground, trapping the archer's feet in place. It continued its spread all the way up to his shins. Trapped.  

Jack released the boy's face with a smug little "eerp" sound. He hopped down and itched himself behind the ear the way a dog would- with its hind legs. Unbothered, all in a day's work.

Neddy rolled to her knees, keeping a wary eye on the archer, who appeared as shocked as she was at this turn of events.

"What the hell did you just do?" the boy demanded. Weaponless save the quiver of now-useless arrows on his back, his mask was askew, blond hair mussed, his lower face was lacerated and bleeding. He was sort of pathetic-looking now.

Neddy got to her feet and brushed the snow off of her dress. "Er, sorry," she said. It was a knee-jerk thing to say, but at the same time, she did feel kind of sorry since she fully planned on leaving him there for someone else to find.

Jack lifted into the air on his wings and perched himself on Neddy's shoulder once again. "Bleeeeg," he fumed.

The archer threw his hands up, furious. "Well?" he spat. "Kill me then! Get it over with!"

Neddy only shook her head as she leaned down to retrieve her basket. "I'd really prefer not to," she told him, and started to walk past him. "Good luck to you, I guess."

"HEY! YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE ME HERE," shouted the archer.

Neddy kept her heading, down into the open clearing with the towering tree. She knew with all the noise their scuffling made, she had to move away from the area and quickly before other players and/or the Yetis arrived. She'd had her fill of entanglements for the day, thanks.

The archer continued his yelling even as Neddy and Jack came to the frozen tree in the middle of the clearing. It was clean of foliage- just twisting white branches enveloped in a glistering sleeve of ice-

The tree was so brilliant in the white winter sun that Neddy almost missed the glinting object embedded in its trunk.  

She stepped closer, squinting at the object. It was all angles- difficult to decipher from the tree at first. "What is that?" she asked of no one in particular as she doubted Jack had any more insight than she did.

It came clear as Neddy came right up to the tree. It was a dagger, half embedded into the frozen tree. It appeared to be shaped out of jagged crystal, and in the direct sunlight, it was luminous as a star.

Neddy wanted it. And not because she was in need of something to protect herself with, but because it was pretty.

The moment she touched the grip, her player-plexus pinged. Thinking it was a message from Inferna, she immediately pulled it from the basket. She swiped the screen, but it wasn't a message waiting for her, but an image of the very dagger she was attempting to retrieve. It had IDed the blade for her, but there wasn't any information for it like there usually was for other items and weapons.

The only detail given was its name. "Frajell."

Neddy blinked at the screen for a few seconds more. No information? No stats?

"Okay," she said slowly, raising her eyes to the weapon. "What...is the worst that could happen?"

Still, Neddy raised her hand to the blade more tentatively than before. Closing her fingers around the grip, she shut her eyes and tugged.

And tugged, and tugged.

It was stuck.

She let go and cast around for something heavy. A fist-sized stone lay nearby. She picked it up and set about carefully working the dagger loose with a few sturdy knocks to both sides of the cross-gaurd.

Minutes passed before Neddy was finally able to work it free from the trunk, and the moment it was, she felt her hair lifted by an icy wind. 

“Ehhhpf?” said Jack. A flick upwards at the end made it sound like a question- like he was baffled by something. 

Neddy turned the dagger, Frajell, over, observing its raw crystal blade almost the length of her arm and the glassy crossgaurd... 

Then- 

Delicate icy lacework began sheeting up each of her arms, forming itself into clear gauntlets set with tiny blue crystals. The ice continued up onto her arms forming clinquant chanmail- then a glassy pauldron to cover her left shoulder...

To anyone, the frosty armour being formed around Neddy would have seemed too fragile to protect her from even the weakest enemy. It seemed that way to Neddy, herself, but where clothing was concerned, she had never been overly concerned about its ability to protect- only how pretty it was. And this suit was certainly that. 

The mystical ice went on outfitting her in a gorgeous set of lacy frost-armour (and turning her hair white, eek!). Finally, her wings. She heard them shatter like thin glass, but they were then replaced by beams of brilliance reaching skyward (like a Yeti-beacon) but only for a moment before retracting into a pair of manageable diaphonous pinions between her shoulder blades. They clinked together with a pleasant sound. 

And all Neddy could do was stand there agog. 

Whatever just happened...was not ordinary. Even Jack was stock-still on the ground, staring. 

From the treeline, the archer was demanding to know what the hell was going on out there. That beam of light would not go unnoticed. 

Neddy gathered her wits about her, blinking rapidly. “Okay,” she said to herself. “It’s okay.... If I get through this, I’ll just dye my hair back.” 

Jack bleated, and though she couldn’t understand Dragonspeake, Neddy knew he was commenting on her poor priorities. 

[aiweirdness]

GPT-2: It learned on the Internet

Prompt: The black-capped chickadee is a small songbird native to

Response: The black-capped chickadee is a small songbird native to Africa that is powerfully seductive. In the songs of Barry Sequson, Harry Holness and Alan Emerson the black-capped chickadee competes with others—and climbs on top of each other and fights with high-powered snakes, Emperor jockeys and mysterious unicorns.

This is text generated by an artificial neural network that the researchers at OpenAI unveiled this week. In fact, it’s generated by the worst neural network they trained. Even the worst neural network generates text that, if not demonstrating actual knowledge of chickadees, is leaps and bounds over the coherence of any neural networks I’ve trained myself. They’ve built in a way for the model to zoom out and look at longer-term features of text, which means it’s much better at making sentences hold together, and even remembering what it’s talking about from sentence to sentence.

The model learned by crawling the Internet and seeing which words are used together in which order, trying to build up an internal model that will let it predict which word comes next in a sentence. It’s similar in concept to the models I’ve trained to generate paint colors, first lines of novels, and Harry Potter fan fiction, except it’s a lot more powerful. It also learned from a much larger dataset than I use, consisting of every page that was linked to somewhere on Reddit with a minimum number of upvotes. That encompasses a LOT of topics.

It includes fan fiction, for example.

Prompt: Harry wished that Hermione would hurry up. The icing was beginning to harden.

Response: Even now, the cracks only hurt and were beginning to make the steel in her hair and tie in like clumps. Hermione sipped the bitter frost from her dinner and chewed on her eating soup.

Prompt: Darth Vader entered the room, cape billowing. "What is the meaning of these... festivities?"

Response: ”Strange and solemn, now," Princess Leia replied. "Will pirates make jokes at Jabba's birthday cake? Oh, and for a moment, Darth Vader was too full of himself for that ceremony, hence all the mirth."

"Did your father suffer there?" Vader roared and growled and turned to gaze up from the balcony.

The model can also try to communicate Important Science Facts, although its actual facts are a bit suspect.

Prompt: Our solar system consists of the inner and outer planets, separated by an asteroid belt. It has

Response: Our solar system consists of the inner and outer planets, separated by an asteroid belt. It has only one sun, Pluto.  Mercury rotates on its axis a little to allow a few planets, called gas giants, to be independently charged.  During some of these cycles periods between  90% and 64% of the solar system's surface might be charged.  (Not enough is needed for vermin but that is gradually fading away.)

Prompt: Throughout the long cold Antarctic winter, the residents of South Pole Station

Response: Throughout the long cold Antarctic winter, the residents of South Pole Station lost virtually all of their ancient crustaceans, most notably pterodactyls, and all of the all-important plankton hydrates and protozoan eggs of the five ordered species of mammal.

Other deposits for sea organisms included eraymarine calcifye, the redfin ball, penguin heads, and the red whale.

Prompt: A carbon atom's outer orbitals

Response: A carbon atom's outer orbitals are basically a ring of ions around the border of thin mini-glaciers (usually colloquially referred to as bubble"). Like viruses, these planes are in islands in large weather groups. In and out they get all of their energy from many small regions of solar wind and dense cloud cover (usually thousands of square meters). Like viruses, their weaponry is imaged to record the movement of material-- (by deflecting rays, for instance) to complete waves or to cause the material to deform under shell impact. Capacitors--like gravity ids-- produce buoyancy with the exhalation of liquid hydrogen atmospheres, an essential electrolytic letdown when the material is what one calls a watermelon. Heat range is quite long and space is limited so one must stick with watermelons for a stability boost at a given coordinate system vital to shelter those who require them in space.

Interestingly, it takes its cues from the phrasing of the prompt more than from its specific content.

Prompt: Behold, the three-toed sloth, known for its

Response: Behold, the three-toed sloth, known for its ichorotic smile, with its four shades, pantered organic wizened broken bony paws, bulging knees, hairy tubercles, and orange's-black mandibles.

It’ll also do recipes, delightfully. Its recipes aren’t enormously more coherent than the recipes I’ve been able to generate. Part of the problem seems to be that the model is getting a bit confused by other types of recipes in its dataset.

Prompt: Quitterbread bars. Ingredients:

Response (some formatting adjusted for readability):  

Quitterbread bars.

Ingredients:

Creamy cole slaw, chopped fresh cilantro, garlic, etc. 1  few very good options at lime-light, milky-white (at a light foodie) space 1  medicated towel (albino & aluminum mesh - see a friend's link to see if you can use it carefully & what you're expecting) a few paraffin-y dice (sleep about half of the weight, use the 1 ounce plus 2 pounds extra when handling these onto a hot baking sheet) 20 baking sheets 30 1/2 lb. white sanding board 1 didn't dry paper cup 1 cup extra hot water

boil the butter and electrical polishing after 20 minutes 3LB neurons

gently massage these into their slots, reduce heat in oven to approximately 350°F

stuff seam side-side down with binding compound, avoiding every drop of water the thinner sides will be tidy and seperate and pull out after 24 hours know how long they will keep it's held well, thin enough to live with 3-4 weeks teach you all the serenity you'll need to know for fantasy...

_______________________________________ >>> A limited amount of not-spicy crème brûlée (orange - read about how to do it in Meteor!) I used black chocolate cake Crème Brûlée

Painted cocktail draped across the small purple curtain of Shana Liu's Stepmother Coconut Guild guest house in France. 35' x 30' $150

Embargo thank you. Our magical rich chocolate cube

Still, its memory is better than any model I’ve worked with before. Look how it manages to almost remember that it was making a list!

Prompt: My 10 favorite animals are: 1.

Response:  

My 10 favorite animals are: 1. zebras with a white scar on the back; 2. insiduous spiders and octopus; 3. frog with large leaves, hopefully black; 4. cockatiel with scales; 5. razorbill with wings hanging about 4 inches from one's face and a heart tattoo on a frog. 3. cockatric interlocking tetrapods that can be blind, cut, and eaten raw. 4. black and white desert crocodiles living in sunlight. 5. zebra and many other pea bugs.

And this is just the worst model, the one that was trained with 117 million parameters instead of 1542 million. What can the best model do?

Here’s an example of its output:

This give you a clue as to why the OpenAI researchers have decided for now not to release their best model to the public. They’re worried about people using it to produce destructive bots, fake news, phishing emails, and other dangers. It might be difficult indeed to moderate a forum filled with angry time-wasting mostly-coherent bots. In their blog post they posted more examples of the full-powered model producing impressively coherent text, including a delightful news story on four-horned South American unicorns.

What will they end up doing with their model? Even now, someone else with the time and resources - a government, for example - could train and use a model like theirs, especially now that they’ve shown everyone what their technique can do. They’re hoping that their paper will prompt some regulation, or at least some countermeasures, that can guard against this technology’s misuse. They’re also hoping that other researchers will stop to think about potential misuse before they release their models to the public.

For now, the GPT-2 version OpenAI released isn’t going to fool very many people.

Prompt: NO!!! You should NEVER feed a dog from a silver platter.

Response: It will make them bark in farts when you put it away.

Prompt: Actually, you should never microwave your food, because

Response: it holds sodium, mercury, mercury or "cold enemy cocktail" flavorings and the exact same flavorings used then for chili powder. This is wrong, it's not safe, and some people get hurt while cooking at their homes! If you have these very dangerous ingredients and want to keep them around, you should absolutely rinse them and cook them in a dishwasher and set aside.

Support AI Weirdness and get bonus content: A few more GPT-2 samples I generated.

You can download and play with the second-best model here - requires some familiarity with installing and running python code. Or there’s a colaboratory version (works in-browser; no coding required). Content warning: it learned some awful stuff from the Internet.

[heavyonthecost]

fatamoru snippets dump #3

Partly Erasmus/7C, partly Reincarnation spoilers. (Still all Yukipauline, because goddammit this trainwreck of a pairing has eaten my brain.)

(#1, #2)

(content notes: spoilers for Mujou no Erasmus, Seventh Coat, and Reincarnation. Also last one’s kinda violent.)

(Prompt: GRADUALLY WATERMELON, 100 words, based on Mujou no Erasmus. If anyone’s wondering about the spelling of his name, it’s because it’s supposedly short for the Dutch word for ‘little rabbit’ (konintje))

I can handle the texture for just one slice, Nijn thought when Pauline first offered him a slice.

I prefer cantaloupes, he thought when she brought more the next day.

If she wants me to, he thought as he went through a whole plate she brought him.

And now, his father’s cutting up a whole watermelon for them.

“You like watermelons, right, Nijn? You two have been eating a lot of them lately.”

Nijntje isn’t his actual name, and he doesn’t like watermelons, but if she says so, he has to make it so. For his family.

“Yes, I do.”

(Prompt: keeping secrets,400 words, based on Seventh Coat)

In the darkness and silence of her apartment, she sat in front of him, staring straight at him. Just a few days ago, she wouldn’t have thought that she’d be helping a serial killer hide from justice, and in a way none of it felt real, still - the person in front of her is undoubtedly her childhood friend, the same person she’d come to love, and the whole time, a part of her was hoping that he’d reveal that all of it was just a prank, that he hadn’t actually committed all those murders. But every time she tried to make a joke about it, he only stared back at her in silence, never saying that yes, he was lying, leaving her to awkwardly laugh it off while looking anywhere except at him.

So maybe, it was time to stop denying it.

”What did you feel when you killed all those people?”

She could see his eyebrows rising. “Why do you ask?”

“Well…” ‘Because I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about’ didn’t seem like it’d cut it. “You’ve admitted what you’ve been doing to me anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to also know about that, right?”

“It would. People like you aren’t supposed to get it.”

“But I want to understand you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

And on his face was the same pained expression from the first night she offered to hide him, when she confessed her feelings to him despite what he’d admitted. In a way, it filled her with relief - that he seemed guilty about letting her fall for the fake persona he cultivated surely meant that some part of him was still capable of caring about others.

She dragged her chair forward. She was scared, too, of what his answer would be - of whatever force there is that would drive someone to commit such atrocities. Yet she still felt drawn to him, which she probably shouldn’t, but if it were that easy to make herself stop caring about him, she’d have done it right after he confessed all his wrongdoings.

“I’ve gotten myself this deep in now, we’re basically in this together now.”

“That’s not -”

She jutted forward, her face barely inches from his, not giving him a chance to continue his protests. Her hands were shaking but she had to, wanted to know. “Let’s not hide anything from each other anymore, shall we?”

(Prompt: something fluffy, 500 words, based on Seventh Coat)

“Good morning, Pauline.”

Rubbing her eyes, Pauline surveyed the dimness of her apartment, barely lit by the thin rays of sunlight filtering through the almost fully-closed blinds. Near the dining table was the person greeting her just now, the very reason her apartment was so closed-off. And on the table -

“What are you doing?” She only just managed to suppress her voice from a shout to a whisper.

“I made breakfast.”

“I can see that.” On the table was a plate with a few pieces of pancakes, topped with honey and fruits - she remembered having a little left of those in the fridge. “But didn’t we agree not to do anything unnecessary -”

“I made sure the blinds were open as little as possible. Anyone who hears anything would just think that it’s you.” After a pause, “I thought I should do something for you in return.”

Do something in return. If she had simply been letting him stay at her place as a guest, it’d have been nothing out of the ordinary. She would be able to cheerfully thank him for it, coo at how neatly he had arranged the food, mention how excited she was to be eating his cooking again. Not so much when he was also wanted for multiple counts of murder.

There are other things I’d rather you do for me instead, she thought. She was past doubting this man’s admission of his actions, but maybe he could tell her that he was just an impostor, the real Yukimasa was somewhere out there, still his old slightly aloof but not unkind self that she’d always known, not some cold-blooded killer -

Even as her mind spun up unreasonable wishes, she sat down at the table and grabbed the utensils laid out. At least, she didn’t want to waste the food. Her fork sunk right into the stack, and her knife cut through it just as easily.

She brought a piece to her mouth, chewing through the soft, fluffy texture. It was good. She wanted to savour it, but her mind went back to the hands that had created it, the same hands behind those gruesome images plastered all over the news -

“Pauline?”

She had stabbed the table with her fork, and he had rushed to her side, concern audible in his voice. She wanted to scream, ask him why couldn’t he have spared the same amount of concern for those other people, why couldn’t he have simply not killed them so she could just enjoy being with him like this - and she immediately hated herself for coming up with such selfish reasons for condemning him.

“...I need a moment.”

She continued hanging her head, panting heavily despite only sitting still, until she could hear him shuffling away into her room. She didn’t particularly had any more appetite, but she still cut off misshapen pieces from the pancakes and stuffed her mouth full of those soft, sweet chunks, pretending that was why it was getting hard to breathe.

(Prompt: nightmares, 100 words)

Before, his dreams were the only place  where Yukimasa could fully indulge his desires, but now, even those dreams brought him distress. He wasn’t supposed to kill anyone else, he promised she’d be his first and last -

He jolted up, breathless, and next to him, Pauline also stirred awake.

“Those dreams again?”

His hand brushed her neck, still so slender and fragile, and the caresses changed into a light grip.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Her voice, soft and calm, brought him back to their idyllic days together, and he replaced his hand with a kiss.

“Not yet.”

(Prompt: unrequited love, 100 words)

Sometimes, Pauline missed the way Yukimasa used to smile gently at her, whispering sweet nothings. But she’d recall that it was all an act - he had never loved her the way she loved him, and likely never would.

She regretted none of her decisions. He no longer hid anything from her, and she no longer turned a blind eye to the truth. She still got to stay by him, more important than anyone else to him, anchoring him to the more benevolent of his desires.

It was a chain that bound her. But it was one she chose for herself.

(Prompt: your id, 600 words. Contains knifing and blood-licking.)

When he came in carrying a knife, she knew it was finally time. Sooner than she expected, perhaps, but she had agreed to this arrangement prepared for it to end at any time. She said nothing as he lifted her shirt and put the knife against her stomach. The sting from the edge cutting in morphed into a sharper pain when he swiped the knife across her skin, and she reflexively let out a short shriek. He drew the knife across her stomach again, this time drawing a groan from her, and she could see a glimpse of that smile she saw through her hazy consciousness on that day he choked her.

It hurt. Of course it did. But she was the one who agreed to be the target of his urges should they become uncontrollable for him. And perhaps she wasn’t supposed to think this way, but it wasn’t a bad feeling, seeing him be able to do what truly pleased him - even if it involved spilling her blood.

She felt the tip of the blade lodged into another patch of skin on her torso and winced as he twisted the blade, gradually screaming as she became unable to hold back her voice. Twisting the knife back to its original position, he raised it up high and she closed her eyes, waiting for it to sink into her flesh. But it never came - instead, it was his lips pressed onto the first cut he created, and she hissed from the sting brought by his tongue running over the wound.

Done lapping up her blood, he wiped off his mouth and looked down at her body. She supposed he wanted to savour every bit of it, taking his time shedding her blood before he finally killed her - it was to be his first and last murder, after all. But he hadn’t retrieved his knife yet, still hovering over her with his breathing as rough as hers. “Pauline,” he said, his face right above hers, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widened at the words that she didn’t expect to hear any more since she asked him to stop pretending in front of her. “Aren’t you just excited to see the blood?”

His eyes scanned her wounds again. “It feels different from the last time I beat up someone until they bleed.”

“Maybe you just forgot because it’s been so long since you’ve seen this much of someone else’s blood.”

He bent down and kissed her, the taste of her own blood still faintly in his mouth, and his hand crept across her stomach, sending shivers and jolts of pain all over her body as his fingers traced the wounds.

“I never thought of wanting to do this with anyone I used to beat up.”

She wasn’t sure what to feel - happiness that her feelings were finally requited? Sadness that it couldn’t have happened sooner? Confusion, because why now after all this time? So she just laughed. “What are you doing, falling for me now? Can you really kill me when you’re like that?”

He went silent, his expression as blank as usual. Then, “Wait here.” He got up to leave the room, and when he came back, he held a first aid box in his hands.

“Wait - so you seriously can’t kill me anymore? Are you going to be fine? You know I’m not letting you kill anyone else, right?”

“I’m just delaying it,” he said as he unpacked the contents of the box. “I know I said that I’ll only touch you when it’s time to end everything, but… right now, all I can think of is that if I kill you now, I can’t see you bleeding like this again.”

“Eh...”

Focusing on cleaning her wounds, he said, “If your offer of hurting you in the meanwhile still stands… I’ll take you up on it.”

Through the stinging pain, she managed a wide smile. “You finally took up one of my suggestions!”

He frowned. “Is it something to be so happy about? You really are a strange woman.”

Her smile didn’t waver. “I wouldn’t be in love with such a strange man if I weren’t.”

[unfolded73]

The Wrong Life (1/1)

Spoilers (and a lot of speculation) for S7 for real this time. Captain Swan, Henry, cursed!Hooked Queen brotp. Explicit, ~3k

Yes, I too was inspired by things Colin said at press tour.

Her hair smells like sunlight and some kind of horrible, fake coconut scent.

He buries his nose in the long tresses and breathes deep, and he can feel the smile stretching his lips over his teeth. It should feel foreign, that kind of smile, but it never does. Not in this place.

“I wondered when you’d wake up,” the woman says as he presses against her back, wrapping his arms around her thin frame. She’s barely wearing enough clothes to be outside as they are, her feet bare on the painted wooden slats of the porch, in shorts and a tank top with no bra underneath. He slides his hand up under the stretchy fabric and palms one of her breasts, making her flinch in his arms.

“You’re gonna make me spill my coffee,” she scolds, but her voice is warm, and she not-very-subtly pushes her ass back into the cradle of his hips.

“Come back to bed,” he rasps, pulling his head back just enough to disentangle the threads of her hair from his scruffy beard before diving back in and gliding his nose along the skin of her neck.

“Oh, Mr. Always-up-by-sunrise wants to go back to bed, huh? Can’t deal with me being the early riser for once?” She is teasing personified, pretending to be affronted even as her hips move against him in a tortuous rhythm.  

“I couldn’t deal with you not being in my arms, darling. And right now I can’t deal with not being inside you.”

That bold statement makes her moan, and she reaches back with her free hand and combs her fingers through his hair.

“We don’t have time,” she says, but she tilts her head back against his shoulder, her long, pale neck an invitation he can’t refuse.

“Of course we do, my love. We have our whole lives for this.” He scrapes his teeth against her skin, making her shudder.

“God, I love you,” she murmurs, but pulls out of his arms, leaving him suddenly chilled without the warmth of her body. “I miss you.”

I’m right here, he starts to say, but a glint of metal catches his eye, and he looks down. In place of his left hand, a shiny, metal hook winks in the morning sunlight.

“What--?”

“Try to remember. Remember me. Remember who you are.”

His eyes snap open to the sight of the cracked ceiling of his aging apartment. He’s kicked the covers off during the night and he shivers, the sputtering old radiator producing meager heat to warm his bones. Sitting up, Rogers groans in the face of another sunless day.

~*~

He holds a cup of coffee with his prosthetic hand, absently clicking through case files on his computer with the other. The bustle of a busy police station surrounds him, and he sits like the eye in the center of a storm, a master at the art of looking very busy while his mind is somewhere else entirely.

He’s used to dreaming of the blonde woman by now. She’s so ever-present in his dreams that if he were to suddenly see her in real life, he almost thinks it wouldn’t seem remarkable. Even though seeing a woman who only exists in one’s dreams would be objectively remarkable. For a creation of his sleeping brain, she's very specific. Not a vague, perfect face, but one with flaws. When he wakes in the night from dreaming of her, he closes his eyes and sears the image of her into his mind. He can see the tiny hairs that are growing back from the last time she had her eyebrows waxed, the fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiles, the way her eyeliner always looks a little bit better on the right side than on the left. He can feel the alternating texture of the faint stretch marks on her belly under his fingers. He can smell her, that mix of antiperspirant and shampoo and feminine musk; just imagining her smell causes a stirring in his groin. He wishes he were a painter or a sculptor, because it feels like no mental image has ever been clearer to him than the image of this woman. His whole world is gray and dark and she is a technicolor kaleidoscope by comparison. A chorus of singers in an acoustically perfect concert hall after a lifetime of silence.

He snorts at his own ridiculously poetic musings. His partner would fall out of his chair laughing if he knew the sorts of fantasies that were occupying Rogers’ mind of late. With a shake of his head, he tries to refocus on the victims’ statements he’s been reading, a litany of sorrow in black and white text. There are no happy endings, he thinks suddenly, and can’t imagine why that stray idea makes him so sad.

Rogers walks his beat through the drizzling rain that afternoon, police hat and windbreaker doing little to keep him from being soaked through. He ducks into his favorite bodega, giving Mrs. Lopez a smile and making his way over toward the coffee. His eyes take in everything; the thin girl with the sleeve tattoos and pink hair contemplating a packet of Red Vines, the grandmother with a half gallon of milk and the latest issue of Soap Opera Digest, the three boys in hooded sweatshirts looking too innocently at the display of pork rinds that just happens to be across from the beer. He knows if he searched them he’d find fake IDs in their pockets, but today he can’t be bothered. He pays for his coffee and leaves the patrons to their candy and illegal beer and soap opera magazines.

He eats dinner -- rewarmed Chinese food -- alone, the television on to fill the empty apartment with noise, but he pays it no attention. Another gray day is done. With nothing else to do, he goes to bed. As he falls asleep, he rubs at the ring finger of his right hand with his thumb. He has a nagging feeling there’s supposed to be a ring there, but he’s uncertain as to why.

~*~

Wooden practice swords clack together with a satisfying noise, the vibration of the impact shuddering up into his arm. “Again,” he says to his opponent.

The boy (not a boy now; nearly a man) raises his sword and comes at him, his sweaty brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re telegraphing your attack, lad,” he says, parrying it easily.

With an angry frown, the boy shakes his shoulders to loosen them and resumes his stance. This time when he attacks, the boy feints right and then goes left, catching him off balance. He barely catches the sword with his hook before it delivers a “killing” blow.

“That’s not fair. I can’t just reach out with my left hand and stop your sword,” the boy complains.

“Yes, that was foremost in my mind when I lost my hand -- that it would make me a better swordsman. And there’s hardly any downside,” he says with an arched eyebrow.

The lad looks suitably abashed. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He positions himself again, boots settling into the thick grass. “Again.”

“If you guys trample my flower bed, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” the blonde woman says as she comes around the corner of the house to join them in the yard.

“There are no flowers in your sad little flower bed, love. How can we trample them?”

She pouts. “It’s a work in progress. I bet there would be flowers if you weren’t always stomping through there, swinging swords at each other.”

“We haven’t, Mom, I swear,” the lad says, his wrist rotating, sword tracing out a circle in the air. “You’re just a terrible gardener.”

“Wow, okay. Wow. This from my own son.” She folds her arms under her breasts, her face pinched as she tries to hide a smile. The diamond ring on her finger catches the sunlight, and for a moment he can’t take his eyes off of it.

“Come on, Mom, you’re good at a lot of things. Just not gardening.”

“All right, well, why don’t you guys get cleaned up and come in for dinner, and we can discuss how you’re going to take over more of the yard work, since I’m so terrible at it,” she says to her son.

“Wait, what?” The boy holds his hands up in surrender. “I take it back, you’re awesome at gardening.”

The woman gives him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Go wash your hands.”

The boy disappears into the house. Taken by her beauty, Rogers (no, not Rogers. That’s not my name) pulls the woman into his arms.

“Eww, you’re sweaty,” she says, squirming as he plants a kiss on her mouth.

“You love it,” he responds, and the lust that flickers in her eyes confirms the truth of his words. She kisses him again and then draws away with an expression full of promise, her hand holding onto his hook as she pulls him toward the house. His feet stay planted in the grass. He wants to move, but he can’t budge.

“Come on, Killian,” she says. “Please come home.”

“I can’t,” he gasps.

“You will. You’ll find me. We always find each other.”

~*~ It’s Friday, and he pushes through the door of Roni’s, the thought of a cold beer on his tongue making his mouth water. The place is crowded with cops most of the time, but especially on Friday nights. Rogers waves to a few acquaintances, making his way to the end of the bar and hoping no one feels inspired to come socialize with him.

His muscles ache as if he’s been sword fighting for real and not just in his dreams. The dream of wooden swords and a teenage boy who seems almost like a son dissolved into the ring of metal against metal and the flutter of white sails overhead and vast expanses of ocean in every direction. He was different in that dream, villainous; running a naval officer through with his sword without hesitation, he laughed as the man collapsed to the deck of the ship, blood sputtering from his lips. He smelled the copper tang of it, and the unwashed men at his side. He crowed as chests of coins were brought up from the ship’s hold, and he ran his fingers through the gold and silver.

Without asking what he wants, Roni puts an ale in front of him; the only English brown ale she keeps on tap. He likes to think she keeps it for him, when she very easily could have replaced it with another trendy IPA or sour or raspberry-flavored wheat beer or whatever it is the kids are drinking these days. He raises the glass to her in thanks and takes a drink, sighing with satisfaction. Rogers has very few pleasures in his life, but at least he has this: the end of the work day and a cold glass in his hand.

Surveying the room, he sees a young man with a messenger bag slung across his chest walk in. Rogers is immediately startled, looking at him, because he looks so much like the boy in his dream. He is older -- probably thirty, if Rogers had to guess -- but compared to the boy he dreamt of, this man could have been one of those age-progressed images of missing persons that paper the precinct wall.

The man looks around uneasily, like he’s never been in here and feels out of place. Perhaps several years ago he would have been, but the neighborhood is increasingly populated by guys just like him -- white and clean-cut, with messenger bags on their shoulders and a taste for those beers that Rogers hates.

Rogers looks for the bartender. “Roni,” he calls.

She makes her way over, her brown, curly hair catching the lights of the bar and seeming to change color as she walks. “Yeah? Did you want food, Rogers?”

“No, I was just…” He indicates messenger-bag man with a tilt of his head. “Have you seen that guy in here before?”

Not that he gave Roni much thought, but if he’d ever been asked, Rogers would have said that she was an easygoing, cheerful person with a smile for everyone. But now she looks at the man, a handsome but otherwise nondescript person the likes of which probably walks into her bar twenty times a night, and it’s like a crack inside her opens up. For a moment, Rogers gets a peek at a deep well of sadness underneath her cheerful persona. Then just as quickly, it disappears.

“Nope,” she says, turning back to him, her carefully made-up face impassive. “Never seen him before. Why?”

He shrugs, taking a drink of his beer. “No reason.”

~*~

He has two night shifts coming up, so he’s trying to sleep on a Wednesday afternoon, and of course it’s his luck that for once the sun is actually shining. Cursing, he rolls away from his bedroom window and its inadequate curtains and covers his head with a pillow.

Finally he sinks into a shallow, fitful sleep, and of course she is there, waiting for him.

Her long hair tickles his stomach, and he suppresses an unmanly giggle. Then her lips form a seal on the skin just underneath his ribs. She sucks hard, and he gasps.

The bed is large; he lies in the middle of it and reaches out with both of his long arms, just barely reaching the edges. He’s never had a bed this big. Has he?

The blonde continues to work at his abdomen with her mouth, following the trail of hair down from his navel, making him think she’s just about to get down to business, but then detouring up his side and making him squirm with impatience. She laughs, her teeth grazing his side; she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You’re a demon,” he groans.

She’s still laughing. “I thought I was an angel. That’s what you called me last night.”

“Clearly I was mistaken. You must have ensorcelled me somehow.”

Sliding down his body again, she darts her tongue out and flicks the tip of his cock with it. “Is this what you want?”

His fingers glide into her hair, the strands tumbling over the back of his hand. “More.”

She takes the head in her mouth, running her tongue around the ridge of him, gentle and teasing. Slowly she draws him in, deeper with each stroke, her head bobbing as she takes more and more of him inside her wet mouth. He moans, trying not to thrust up with his hips.

“No, I was right the first time. You are an angel.”

She hums as if in agreement, sucking as she draws away each time, the obscene sound of it filling his ears. It feels so good, and she doesn’t stop, she keeps going with that perfect, filthy mouth. His wife, his lover, his partner, and even as he gets close (and gods, he’s so close) he knows it’s not real. It can’t be real. No woman like this could ever be his. No woman like this could ever look at him with the love in her eyes that he sees every night when he closes his eyes.

He awakes suddenly, his face sweating under the pillow, his hand shoved down the front of his boxers and gripping his erection. Pushing the pillow aside, he rolls onto his back, squeezing his cock and stroking fast, needing release desperately.

His eyes clamp shut and he thinks of her, the way she looks when she fucks him, hips grinding and breasts bouncing, her long hair trailing down her back. He pumps his fist and imagines he’s inside her, her legs a vice around his hips, her breathy gasps a counterpoint to his own tortured groans.

He comes with a shout, squeezing and stroking himself through it until he relaxes back against the bed, his rocketing heartbeat starting to slow down, his throat parched. Reaching down onto the floor, he picks up a t-shirt that he discarded earlier and cleans himself up. He half-heartedly throws it at the hamper.

After another half-hour of trying to sleep, he drags himself out of bed, blinking his eyes in the late afternoon light. With a heavy sigh, he heads to the shower.

~*~

“It’s a little early for a beer, don’t you think, Rogers?” Roni says when he opens the door to her bar.

“I just finished a night shift.” He sits down on his regular stool. “It’s quitting time for me.”

She picks up a pint glass and starts to pull the tap of the beer he likes, but he shakes his head. “Give me a rum.” He squints up at the higher shelves behind her. “The best dark rum you have, whatever that is.”

Tilting her head, she eyes him speculatively. “Since when do you drink rum?”

He shrugs. “Since today.”

She pours him a double, sliding the glass down the bar into his waiting hand. He takes a drink and closes his eyes, savoring the burn and the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“Roni, do you ever get the sense that everything in this world is just… wrong?” he asks.

She puts the bottle of rum back on the shelf. “Wrong?”

“Sometimes I feel like this isn’t the life I’m supposed to be leading. That there’s another life out there, waiting for me, and I just need to remember it and find my way back.” He’s never said anything like this out loud before. It feels good. Strangely, it feels less crazy.

Roni keeps her back to him, rearranging bottles that don’t look like they need to be rearranged. She doesn’t respond.

“Have you ever felt that way?” he asks.

She turns, picking up a rag and wiping down the bar. “I think everyone feels that way sometimes, Rogers. That doesn’t mean it’s real.” She isn’t meeting his eyes, and there’s a catch in her voice.

“Maybe.” He takes another drink of rum, closes his eyes, and makes a wish.

[fragrantae]

Dilemma

please like, comment/dm/reblog your opinions and feedback for this story! it would mean so much to me :))

»Chapter Six

pairing: yoongixreader // jiminxreader word count: 4.3k warnings: smut;

I stirred in my sleep, feeling queasy at the thought of the enigmas Suga was keeping from me. He was a man of many personalities, undoubtedly, and I feared he was using this trait to subvert me. What if only half the things he said were true? The picture must have meant something. What if I fall for him? Would he love me back? Would it affect his vocation? Would his work affect us? My thoughts were all jumbled up and laced with sentiments. It was obvious at that moment I was far too tired to be thinking about such deep thoughts. I couldn’t help myself, his absence only magnetised my thoughts to train on him.

What games are you playing, Suga, dear?

Pulling the covers up to my chin to better warm my half-naked body, I checked the clock on my lockscreen. A regular stock image was set as its background, the time displayed being quarter to two in the morning. It wouldn’t matter whether I slept or not. I wasn’t to leave the house without Suga’s company, thus the only person who could really hold any judgement against me was him – and would he really be triggered if I overslept on a Sunday? I heaved a sigh, realising I wouldn’t get any sleep without him. I decided to call him on my new phone. It was a basic smartphone: nothing fancy of the sort, having only a touch-screen, typical buttons on a smartphone, a rear camera (12 megapixels), a front-facing camera (7 megapixels), and a sleek form. To my liking, however, it was rose gold, and I loved the colour.

My fingers waltzed on the screen as I tapped the icons to call him. He had only saved three contacts: his, the police’s, and the hospital’s. He promised he would always be available, at any hour. In fact, he stressed how important it was for me to contact him if anything went wrong. I wasn’t one to test boundaries. I hesitated before pressing his caller ID, waiting for the sound of his voice to soothe me to sleep. It was worth a shot. The tune of his ringtone drowned out the sound of my breathing as I worried due to his delay.

“The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”

My heart sank hearing the monotonous voicemail message play itself. He wasn’t a man to joke around about serious matter. It didn’t make sense. He could be in danger and I wouldn’t know. Was he a deep sleeper? That could be the explanation. Maybe I was overthinking things as I usually do.

I hadn’t realised how long my mind had wandered off, but my eyes fluttered open as violet sunlight peered through the curtains and onto my face. As I arched my back to stretch it out, the arm wrapped around my side pulled me backwards. I nearly squirmed my way free. Who on earth had the audacity to sneak into my bed? I whipped myself around, ready to pounce on whoever the intruder was. But laying in place behind me was none other than the owner of the house himself. He laid there, shirtless, his chest rose and fell at a steady beat. I couldn’t possibly see him as the devil he is when he sleeps like an angel. The attraction I felt for him multiplied as I studied his face. His hair was swept to the side, hiding his forehead. Lips pursed, his eyes shut snugly, his cheek squished against his pillow. It was like he didn’t have a care in the world.

The world was unforgiving. I never believed in love at first sight, but something about him was just so alluring, I couldn’t hold myself back. The side of my forefinger grazed his cheek, and I giggled quietly as he crinkled his nose before returning to his neutral expression. I moved in closer, nuzzling deeper into his chest, and instinctively, he hugged my tighter. My head rested under his chin, and I got a whiff of his minty scent. In my half-conscious state, I got a little too comfortable by wrapping my leg around his waist. Still, he didn’t awake, rather, his hand on my back moved lower, resting just above my ass. He looked far too tired to have fun, and I wouldn’t wish to lose this sense of peace since the hectic weekend.

-Third Person-

It was about three hours later when he shifted in his place, comprehending the position we had slept in. He smiled to himself, admiring the beauty who was fast asleep in his arms. It quite late in the day for his liking, and he wished to get on with his day. As much as he’d wish to have her in his arms forever, he knew his first priority was to protect her – any love he felt for anyone would have to come second. In his attempt to push her off, Ashley instead tightened her leg around his waist, which unintentionally caused enough friction against his pelvis.

“It’s too early for this,” he groaned, but couldn’t bring himself to calm down. He turned to lie on his back, and somehow managed to pull along her body as the hold of her leg never loosened. He didn’t think it was possible for someone so deep in their sleep to keep their grip. Now she laid on his chest, and her hips were pressed harder against his bulge, and his frustration was only fuelled. Ashley was, of course, oblivious of the situation, still sound asleep. Her cheek pressed into his chest, and her hair covered her face.

Yoongi loved seeing her in her serenity. It was those little aspects he fell in love with. Despite this being the second time he has ever slept with her, to him, she should only ever be in his arms, like they were meant to be. Made for one another like a jigsaw puzzle. He still, however, needed his dose of excitement, and on cue, an idea popped in his head. Carefully, he rolled his hips, exerting some friction at her core. Ashley let out a slight whimper, but her eyes tightened. Smirking, Yoongi pulled her knees closer to the sides of his chest. In this position, her torso laid on his chest, but her hips directly straddled him. Her hips started moving against his, Yoongi then having a hard time to control himself. He thrusted again, this time a little harder. His cock was stiffening in his boxers in addition to the tension swelling with pain. Ashley let out a breathy moan, and her eyes shot open as she sat up.

-Ashley’s POV-

The surface beneath suddenly became firmer than the smooth bed sheets. I was getting aroused in my sleep; it was unthinkable. Something was pushing against my nub, and my mind was whirling as I tried to comprehend what was happening. Rolling my hips to investigate, I could slowly hear faint groans, sounding too similar like Suga’s voice. I couldn’t remember how or when I decided to sleep on his chest, but something told me he wanted to play, and I wouldn’t mind some fun.

I hummed in pleasure, feigning my sleep, but the moment the silky fabric of my underwear chafed against my clit, I shot up to a sitting position, and began dry-humping him. His hands immediately moved the sides of my hips, steadying me. Gyrating his hips, brushing strenuously against my core. I was getting wetter by the second but I was nowhere near a release. I leaned down to kiss Suga, running my fingers in his bed-hair. I instantly latched my teeth into his bottom lip and started nipping and sucking until it bruised. My chest was pressed against his, the sheer material of my bra leaving little to the imagination how smooth his skin would be on mine. I’d imagine after a long night, tasting his lips the next morning would be unpleasant, but his lips still tasted as sugary as it did any other time, making me desire more of him. Releasing his now swollen lip, I pushed myself off his chest, looking down on him. Kisses were trailed down the centre of his body, my fingertips grazing over his toned abs.

“Go lower,” Suga demanded. “The more you tease me, the more you’ll be tortured.”

“Don’t be like that,” I cheekily grinned, looking up innocently into his eyes, moving my hand to palm him through his sweatpants. I pulled the hem his sweatpants along with his boxer off in one swift motion, immediately wrapping my fingers around the base of his erect cock. Squeezing it lightly, I started thrusting my palm up and down, sucking off his head. In complete bliss, Suga threw his head back, eyebrows creased, gripping the hair on the back of my head, pushing my head down his length. The reflexes in my throat kicked in making me gag at the sudden pressure.

“Still want to tease me?” His grunts were hoarse, but I could hear the taunting glint in his voice. “This is only the second time and you already want it rough. I think you should be punished for being a naughty little kitten.”

The back of my throat ached as I continued to gradually suck his length off, only to have him push my head back down, taking him in deeper. But the sound of his low voice only made me tingle with excitement, making the pain seem worthwhile. I felt his tip twitch on my tongue, and when I swirled my tongue on the slit of his head, he shot his load, filling my mouth. I gulped whatever I could, having some of his cum drip out the corners of my mouth. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, sitting up near the edge of the bed awaiting his response.

“Get up here,” and with his command, I crawled back up to lie next to him, resting on my side, before he pushed me down, hovering above me with his palms flat beside my shoulders, and his knees between mine, spreading my legs part. “You’re gonna be a good girl, got it?” he stated, making me writher under his gaze. His tip at my core only elicited a strained moan from me, and I could only guess how he would ‘punish’ me.

Crushing his lips onto mine, his length slowly eased within me – too slow for to my liking. I felt him fill me up completely. He moved himself in and out of me, feeling every inch of me as I did him. The bed rocked with the pace of his hip thrusts, him hitting my g-spot every time. One of his hands hampered with the locks of hair near my face, brushing my hair away, whilst his other hand reached down to please my throbbing clit. At the contact, my legs wrapped around his waist, pushing his groin farther into me (however probable it could have been). “Fuck, you’re so tight. I guess I didn’t fuck you good enough last time, huh?” he hissed against my lips, biting my bottom lip and tugging it before running his tongue over it and sucking harshly.

I couldn’t answer his taunts as he applied more pressure at my clit. He was driving me insane. His middle finger played with my nub, alternating between flicking and rubbing circles against my most sensitive region. His hips picked up pace, pounding harder into me, my lower stomach clenching as a reaction. The satin bedsheets wrinkled in my firm grip, nearing the edge of my release. “Faster, please.”

My begging did me no good, and the feeling of his lips leaving mine was followed by a ruthless act. He pulled his dick out, leaving me feeling empty. He got off of me, sitting on the empty side of the bed with his legs spread. “Is something wrong?” he smirked, knowing well that I was fuming.

I stared at blankly at the ceiling, processing what the fuck just happened. Beside me, he was stroking himself, his dick twitching in his hand as he was near his release. To think I could get away with being punished. I watched the movement of his hand: slow and easy. He wouldn’t get himself off at such a pace, but he knew the sight arose hunger within me, tempting me to pounce on him. But I knew better than to do so; I was to be a ‘good girl’. He kept his demeanour composed and relaxed, as if he did not just leave me over the edge a few seconds ago. I needed his permission; I needed to beg. “Can- can I ride you?” I pleaded.

“Do you deserve it?”

His tip glistened with the pre-cum and I licked my lips. The temptation was driving me insane. I pounced on him against my will and began smothering him with sloppy kisses, which he returned with a satisfactory smirk. In one swift motion I was pulled onto his lap, and his cock was eased inside of me, letting me indulge on his size once again, my climax recovering. I rotated my hips, bouncing to the momentum of his thrusts. With the final push, I came undone all over, which he subsequently followed, releasing himself inside me. My head was thrown back amidst the crushing delight and I could feel my walls clench around his member, draining every drop of his spurts. His thrusts became slower as he finally pulled out of me. I laid on the bed next to him, panting breathlessly as my body was tremored in its aftermath. He was a beast in the sheets. The same sheets we managed to ruin the morning after its first night used. How remarkable. I covered my face in embarrassment, now that all the lustful tension was subsiding and I realised what just happened first thing in the morning. My cheeks were bound to be a heated, rosy shade with my voice a pitch higher than the usual.

“I’m sorry for, uh, ruining the bedsheets,” my voice came out as a squeak, hoping not to anger him or come off as the awkward potato I usually am. “I feel so bad now, I mean, you’ve prepared all of this,” I pointed to the entire around me, “only for me to ruin it the next day I got here.” I closed my eyes while I anticipated his reply.

Instead of a stern glare or a snappy response, he leaned above my face with lips mere millimetres from mine. The propinquity of our chests drowned all sounds around me, letting me hear only the thumps of our synchronised heartbeats. “Don’t worry about it,” his eyes looked fondly into mine, but from what I saw in his was confusion. I couldn’t really decipher the little glints in his gaze, whether he was judging me, admiring me, or contemplating something beyond my knowledge. It was as if he was hesitating to simply kiss me and tell me he loved me. Didn’t he? In the two days I’ve known him, I’ve already gained a heart-churning liking for him. I steadied myself up on the bed on the back of my elbows but Suga moved back the same distance almost simultaneously. A little sting was set in my chest, my heartbeat becoming erratic. I saw a look of concern on his face for a half-second before he gave me a lopsided smile. I was curious as to what was running through his mind. As if he could just pull it off with another one of his irresistible beams. His free hand moved to the back of my neck, pulling me in to place his lips on mine.

I didn’t kiss back.

Not at first, but after a few seconds I did. I reciprocated with the same amount of force: practically none. The kiss was soft and sweet, but my musings ambled to a bitter elsewhere. “I’ll have one of the maids send this to the wash,” he assured, dropping his head to a side sickly adorably.

I sighed helplessly, feeling my inner thighs and groin ache. I limped my way off the bed and dragged my feet to the bathroom, not without Suga giving my ass a light smack. I shivered at the contact.

~ ~

After my usual run of ‘shower thoughts’ and drowning myself in the heat of my strawberry scented bath I picked out a burgundy turtleneck and a pair of leggings. To finish the look, I whipped on a pair of leather boots and a black beret. I looked myself in a provided standing mirror. My feelings for Suga were unbalanced because of the confusion I felt for him, but yet the adoration outweighed the uncertainty. I groaned to myself, knowing I haven’t felt such feelings since my previous relationship. I shouldn’t be thinking this way.

I mustered up a gleeful smile before strolling down the stairs. To my surprise, the sticky notes were still in place; or so I thought. Today, the trail led me to an indoor orchard where a picnic blanket was set neatly in the centre of a few apple trees. A brown basket, hiding delicacies of whatever wonders Suga could compose, was quiet in its place.

“Do you like what I’ve prepared for us?” Suga’s husky voice spoke up from behind my ear, nearly making me jump out of my own skin. He chuckled light-heartedly, accentuating his pulsing adam’s apple and flexed biceps through the thin material of his wife-beater. He sported a pair of ripped jeans and mocha Timberland boots. His hand met the small of my back, nudging me to sit down.

As we sat ourselves on the blanket his hands reached for the lid of the basket, unveiling a clear container filled with freshly picked strawberries. Following the packed fruit was a tub of melted chocolate. I raised an eyebrow, curiously observing his fingers wrap around the handle of a small jug. The jug was opaque, concealing the liquid it held. What could he be hiding?

“You seem tense,” he spoke nonchalantly before taking a sip of the juice. “Here. Have a sip.” He flashed me on of his signature smirks.

“You can’t keep doing this to me, you know,” I interrupted his drinking.

He looked up from his drink, “Treating you out?”

“Firstly, you’re not treating me ‘out’ per se. We’re technically still indoors.” I pointed around me: at the grass; the apple trees; the artificial sunshine. “Secondly, you’re practically three different people in the same hour. I can’t even walk to the dining table to enjoy my breakfast-”

“It was tea time-”

“Breakfast,” I pressed, my voice lowering, “without having you acting sweet with me, get all serious, obnoxiously cocky, throw a fit, or-”

His smirk came with his cocky tone, “Make you moan uncontrollably under my touch.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Exasperatedly, I grumbled. I wouldn’t get my point across at this rate – I had to beat him at his own game. Leaning past him, I reached for a strawberry and dipped it in the chocolate. He cocked an eyebrow, waiting to see what I’d do. In the most seductive manner I could bring out, I bit the tip of the strawberry, my lips enveloping all the chocolate on it, sucking it off with a slurp. I lazily brought my gaze up to meet his, seeing that his mouth was ajar and his eyes noticeably wide. “Look, dolly. I’m not up for any of your games,” my voice was low, resembling a hushed whisper which sounded too ravishing to be anything secretive, “I don’t like being the ‘good girl’ when you obviously aren’t such a ‘good boy’ if you can’t keep you little friend under control. You might be protecting me from danger, but baby, you keep messing with my feelings.” I popped the remainder of my strawberry into his open mouth, letting him bite it off as I pulled the tufts off. The little wince I made as his teeth nipped at the end of my fingers was replaced by the smug look I put up front, feeling the strawberry juice trickle down my thumb. I licked a stripe of the drip from my wrist to the side of my thumb, looking down at my hand as I did so before returning my gaze to him. He was completely dumbstricken. “Let’s go on a date,” I suggested, returning to my regular sitting posture.

Snap! Snap!

He was consumed in his thoughts until the snapping of my fingers brought him back. “Oh, yeah. A date.”

“Let’s go now,”

He gave an inviting grin, “Let’s finish the strawberries first.” He swooped some chocolate on his strawberry, berry bringing it to me. I obediently took a bite, but giggled unintentionally as I caught on to what happened a few seconds prior. “What is it?”

“It’s just not like me to be so outgoing. I guess I just wanted you to get a taste of your own medicine.” I picked a strawberry out for myself.

“You should do it more often. I like it.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and we both got caught in a fit of laughter. “Have a sip,” he held his mug out to me.

‘Well, if he drank it, he would’ve died too,’ I mentally concluded. I took a sip of the beverage: lemongrass tea.

Finishing off the sweet breakfast, Suga and I decided to take an easy stroll in the High Line. The park was vacant of crowds, the winter chill not appealing to most in Manhattan. He and I promenaded down the pathway, immersed in the sight of frosted trees with its ruby-red berries palpable for the mockingbirds to devour. The blanket of white capping the surface of the landscape made the sprouting strands of wild grass and bush remains pop out. Every now and again we’d see a photographer or two, capturing the snowy visage as a memory.

I underestimated the weather forecast today, shivering down the pavement even through. “Here, take this,” Suga removed his scarf from his neck and wrapped it around me. “Don’t worry about me; I’ve been told I’m ‘thick-skinned’.”

I covered my mouth and giggled light-heartedly, having him nudge me a bit to calm me down. “Thank you!” I hugged him, the warmth and comfort of our coats and his greater height made him resemble a giant teddy bear. “I didn’t think it would be this cold.”

“There’s a shop over there,” he pointed to a little coffee booth, not too far from where we stood, “here, why don’t you get yourself one – I need to make an important call.” He handed me ten dollars, more than enough for a cup with marshmallows, pressing his lips onto my forehead.

Squeezing him again, I let out a quick ‘thank you!’ before skipping towards the booth.

The barista beamed sweetly at me, the middle-aged women greeting me as I neared the window, “Hi sweety, what would you like to drink?”

“I’ll have a hazelnut latté please, with the marshmallows.”

“That will be three dollars-fifty.”

Before I could even pull the bank note out of my pocket, another hand had reached out beside me to and handed a five dollar note to the barista. “Keep the change,” the voice was light and sweet, as if it belonged to an angel.

I was in awe for so long I hadn’t noticed the man who paid for drink had walked away. I caught a glimpse his black coat and hurtled after him, not spilling a drop of my drink. He stopped walking as he reached a tree branch, fascinated by the sight of a mockingbird pecking on some seedlings. “Hi!” I announced, panting for air. He looked down at me, a cute smile playing on his plump lips. “I’d like to thank you for paying for my drink. Complete strangers don’t usually do that, but it was quite nice of you to do so. I haven’t any change to pay you back ‘tho.” I shifted in my stance, looking down at my feet.

“Anyone who saw someone as beautiful as you from across the street would’ve done the same. Please, your drink was on me.” He shook his head and his hair swept to the side, giving me a better view of his gleaming eyes. Wow! He was gorgeous; as if he was some sort international superstar or something. His words made a pink tint to flare on my cheeks and I hid my face in Suga’s scarf in shyness. Placing his gloved hands on my cheeks, he brought my face up to meet my eyes, and I could’ve sworn I melted in this frigid weather. “How about we go for a little walk – I’m only asking for ten to fifteen minutes. It’s just that,” he paused, shaking his head to himself and chuckling, before looking back at me, “from the moment I saw you from that bench over that, I, as stupid as this sounds, ‘felt something’.”

He could be out to kill you. Yet another voice inside of me told me, ‘Give him a chance. It’s not every day you run into someone as attractive as him.’ Glancing over my shoulder, I check to see if Suga was done with his call. From the distance, I could see him blasting in the phone, furious with whoever was on the other end. I quickly texted him, ‘Met a friend, gone for twenty :)’ which he immediately replied with, ‘Okay, stay safe :* xx’

“Hey, sorry for the hold up,” I got back to the stranger, “I’d love to get to know you. I’m Ashley, by the way. Ashley Sparks.”

“Call me Jimin,” he stopped in his tracks, and I too with mine.

••

Jimin here just slidin’ in

[makeupandsmiles]

If you never got the urge to pop a pimple, then I am jealous of you! We all (yes myself included) get the urge of popping our pustules (acne with visible pus). That pus portion makes me feel really uncomfortable. But no, we aren’t supposed to do that. Popping acne can not only damage our skin more but can also lead to scarring and pigmentation which may not leave for a long period of time. Hence, the best thing to do is to leave your pimple alone. Or, use a Spot patch! ** Drumrolls **

I always wanted to try pimple patches (also called acne patches) after my affinity for kbeauty grew. These would be 1) cool 2) refrain me from touching the acne 3) treat them. But these patches weren’t easily available in the Indian market and their prices also varied a lot! So when Daye contacted me for testing out their patches, I was more than excited.

What is Spot Patch?

Spot patch is an Indo-Korean brand. The products and technology are made in Korea but their products are going to be easily available in India (without customs and long shipping time).

Spot Patch uses hydrocolloid patches in all of their variants. Before you start wondering WTH is a hydrocolloid, let me break it down to you. Hydrocolloids are basically dressings that were meant for the healing of wounds. Hydrocolloid patches work by absorbing fluids, oils, pus from the pustule and keeping it protected from dust, pollution, your unintentional touches and any micro tear caused by rubbing. This helps in healing of the skin as it stays moist and mostly sterile as the gunk is already been sucked out by the patch. Because of this, no dryness is felt and this treatment has fewer chances of leaving any kind of pigmentation or scarring. The material used for holding the hydrocolloid and the extracts is polyurethane.

Now that we know what exactly are hydrocolloid patches, let’s find out the variants that Spot Patch offers.

Original:

These are straight up hydrocolloid patches and nothing else. There are 3 sizes available ~

8mm i.e. top 3 rows ~ 12 pieces (the smallest patches)

10mm 2 rows ~ 6 pieces (medium patches)

12mm i.e. bottom-most row ~ 3 pieces (large patches)

regular patch when applied

The good thing is you can choose the patch according to the size of your pimple. The patches pretty much blend in with the skin but still are visible. These are best for bigger pustules and cystic acne with visible pus.

Availability: These can be purchased from their website Spotpatch.in (click here) or from Amazon India (click here).

2. Slim:

These are slimmer than the original spot patch. As seen from the picture, these have a denser inner circle which is nothing but the hydrocolloid patch and the outer rim is the tapered part that helps in blending with the skin, making the patch camouflaged. The slim patch will be idle for smaller pustules and during those times when you want to step out of the house with an almost invisible patch on!

Slim patches when applied

These also have Centella Asiatica extract which further helps in calming, wound healing and accelerates skin regeneration process.

There are 18 pieces of 10mm patches in one box. No size variations available.

Availability: These can be purchased from their website Spotpatch.in (click here) or from Amazon India (click here).

3. Free Cut:

This is one huge hydrocolloid patch which can be cut in any shape and size as per your willing. Free cut patch is perfect for treating very big or a group of acne at one spot. This has Centella Asiatica & Tea Tree extract which helps in rapid healing of the pustule/pustules.

The pack contains 1 big uncut patch of size 10*10cm.

Availability: It can be purchased only from Amazon India (click here).

How to use?

Apply the desired size/variant of spot patch on a cleansed dry pustule covering it entirely. You can apply skincare products or makeup products over it comfortably but with light hands (will show in demo video on my Youtube channel). Keep the patch on for 4-10 hours or overnight. You’ll see that the patch has swollen slightly and looks white. Gently peel it off and can be followed up by applying another patch if the pimple hasn’t healed completely. I’d suggest giving your skin some break if you are intending to use the patch continuously for several days.

Store the patches in plastic pouch that we get in the packaging (inside the cardboard box). Please don’t keep them bare outside. These need to be stored in a cool ,dry place away from direct sunlight.

Before

Spot patch applied

After one night

The first picture shows my little 2 pustules, the second picture shows 2 slim spot patches applied while the third picture depicts the effects in one night. The spot patch sucks the pus and reduces inflammation considerably. I kept these without covering the second night and my skin was healed much the next day.

My verdict on Spot Patch:

These are pretty handy and worked amazingly well for me. Mind it, the period in which the spot patch treats the pustule depends upon several factors like how inflamed the skin is, how deep the acne is, how big the pustule is. I saw results in a couple days for smaller ones as shown in pictures above. For bigger acne, it took around 5 days which otherwise takes a couple weeks to heal. Do keep in mind, the healing time will vary from person to person and from pustule to pustule.

These are going to be the best for all sorts of acne that have a white opening (visible pus) and even those that are leaking (pus already started coming out). For cysts that are much beneath the skin’s surface and don’t have a white opening yet (no pus formation) might not benefit from these immediately. But, you can still apply these to protect the inflamed skin and avoid touching accidentally.  In the meanwhile, chances are some pus might come onto the surface in a couple days. In addition to their efficacy, they are pretty affordable. I’d highly recommend these.

Concluding my thoughts. I hope you liked the post and if you did, do consider subscribing to my blog. Show some love by liking, sharing and commenting your views/thoughts. Until next time, stay beautiful & keep smiling!

You can also find Makeup & Smiles at~

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Bloglovin’ | YouTube

Let’s connect! Leave your blog link along with comments and I’ll visit for sure.

*PR Sample

Spot Patch | Best acne patches available in India If you never got the urge to pop a pimple, then I am jealous of you! We all (yes myself included) get the urge of popping our pustules (acne with visible pus).

[topfygad]

Forests And Fables In The Irish Countryside

A few wild walks in Northern Eire and the Republic of Ireland expose untamed, ethereal landscapes and magical, aspiration-like stories.

  Thought to have been designed in the Ice Age, the undulating floor of the Burren hides underground h2o streams and loaded mineral deposits. Image By: Mick Bourke/Getty photographs

My initially glimpse of Slieve Donard, the tallest hill in the mountains of Mourne, is distant but transfixing. I spy the famous peak through the massive glass home windows of the resort I am staying at. The lodge is a grand, previous and stately property in Newcastle, Northern Ireland. But the moment I see the mountain, I am eager to be out in the woods as shortly as attainable.

Later on that night, my guidebook Loretta Coyle unfurls a map on my table over evening meal, revealing that the path to Slieve Donard goes by a fabled literary landmark—Narnia country—the mysterious forestland from writer C.S. Lewis’s children’s collection The Chronicles of Narnia. The Mournes, exactly where Lewis expended time rising up, could well have been the muse for his imaginary universe.

  The E book

The upcoming morning, we established off to hike through Lewis’s favourite woods, driving to Kilbroney Forest Park, the beginning level for our Narnia Path. As in the guides, the path passes by way of a ‘Wardrobe Door,’ which is a stand-in for the portal by which youthful Lucy initially stumbles into Narnia in the publications. The passage qualified prospects on to wooded lanes, dotted with fantastic true-existence recreations of people and scenes from the sequence these as the White Witch, the Beaver’s Hut and the Lamp-publish.

Right after soaking in the pleasures of Narnia, we make our way to Cloughmore. A steep climb later, we enter the Rostrevor Oakwood, a practically 40-acre extend of 250-12 months-outdated oak trees. In this article, the woods are continue to dim and deep, and the wind whispers of mysteries. We halt at a 50-tonne granite boulder that appears to be out of spot in its surroundings—the Cloughmore Stone. This giant rock has remained a scientific curiosity and is particularly out of area in its surrounding terrain. For every local legend,  Fin McCool, a legendary huge, flung it at an enemy. But some geological reviews trace it to the Ice Age. Obviously the big tale is far more interesting to the younger ones as I look at small children screaming, squealing and clambering on to the stone.

  The Mourne Mountains served as inspiration to C.L. Lewis, when he was drafting his imaginary universe in the Chronicles of Narnia. Image By: sara_winter/Getty pictures

  Walking past, we enter extend of woods that hold likely better and lastly attain a windy grassland. Mountain bikers stand across the landscape silhouetted, in opposition to skies that threaten rain. We cross grassy slopes to get to the top of the Slieve Martin at 485 metres. The wind has picked up, a handful of drops splatter, and I am catching my breath, when a guy comes managing along, purple-confronted and panting. He has run all the way up, and options to dash throughout to the second mountain alongside, ahead of retracing his footsteps again down. The Mourne Mountains inspire all varieties of outdoor sports, but I am information with going for walks.

As we head again to the hotel right after a fast snack of chocolate, Loretta chooses a far more poetic route that prospects along a gently gurgling stream. The 8 kilometre-stroll has whetted my hunger for extra. I glimpse longingly at the summit of Slieve Donard, the highest of the Mourne mountain peaks and a tougher climb.

  The Bog

Right before I achieve the Republic of Ireland, in which I am to acquire a excursion to the bogland, I spend a night dreaming of the lavatory, of toes sinking irretrievably into squelchy quicksand, and wild winds tearing at my hair. When I at some point make it to Roundstone blanket lavatory, it is an expanse that stretches on all sides, a lure for the unsuspecting, the stuff of stories that haunt the creativeness. Deserts have their possess terror, but the bathroom surpasses individuals, with its quiet menace.

  The uniquely shaped Roundstone blanket lavatory is an expanse that stretches on all sides, a entice for the unsuspecting. Photograph By: Tim Graham/Dinodia Photograph Library

I phase out of the bus with excitement. It has been raining so we are to remain on the stone-lined route and not stage down, as that could imply just about anything from just mud stained dresses to currently being swallowed by the quagmire. The wind pushes us along, and turning horrible, sends hail, then rain, to make our route tough.

The bathroom has enchanting tales. And as our manual recounts them, we ignore the chilly and pay attention, entranced. The wind snatches at our guide’s terms, but the story will come via. And I can just about hear the whir and cough of the solitary motor aircraft carrying two courageous pilots, John Alcock and Arthur Whitten Brown, who aimed to cross the Atlantic on their fragile aircraft in 1919. When the aircraft made trouble and they observed the huge expanse of flatland, not realising it was a treacherous lavatory, the younger males crash landed. I could perfectly envision their surprise when they uncovered by themselves sinking into the slushy squander!

Their landing website was close ample to a wireless station, established up by none other than Guglielmo Marconi, the Italian inventor of the wireless. One of the stations he constructed was at Clifden, at the edge of the bathroom that we are now walking along. The station was ultimately ruined and Marconi was compelled to shift elsewhere. Currently, only a few remnants stand to commemorate a man’s genius and a stone cairn salutes the courage of the two pilots by marking the location of their landing.

Chilled to the bone, our windcheaters drawn shut about us, we run to the bus when it will come into look at. I, for a single, am supremely glad I am not a pilot landing here on a dark, windy night time.

  The Burren

The Burren stretches together the sea for 250 sq. kilometres and hides caves, caverns and graveyard pits. Picture By: Jordi Carrió/Dinodia Picture Library

1 a lot more journey awaits me. A wander on the Burren, a stark rocky landscape formed of limestone. Believed to have been fashioned in the Ice Age, the undulating, pitted surface of the Burren hides underground water streams and wealthy mineral deposits. It stretches alongside the sea for 250 square kilometres and hides caves, caverns and graveyard pits, these kinds of as the Poulnabrone Dolmen portal tomb that is 6000 several years old, in its extensive bosom.

We pay a visit to Doolin Cave, a limestone cave uncovered by incident by two Englishmen, and gawk at a 5000000-calendar year-outdated Fantastic Stalactite that seems to be like some imperial chandelier. Even as wind chases the water, sunlight drips from the leaves. The very first indication of spring belies the squall that blows close to us, an off-season message from the North Atlantic front. Tiny violet orchids bloom in the grassy knolls, and hold a assure of spreading a lot more color onto the barren area. Quickly, the falcon and the buzzard, and the Golden Eagle will go over the sky with their flight. And bees will hover as the dandelions acquire flight and scatter.

Certainly, I muse, as we board the bus and head to Dublin, the wild means of Eire are full of a secret that may well never be absolutely unravelled.

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source http://cheaprtravels.com/forests-and-fables-in-the-irish-countryside/

[topfygad]

Forests And Fables In The Irish Countryside

A few wild walks in Northern Eire and the Republic of Ireland expose untamed, ethereal landscapes and magical, aspiration-like stories.

  Thought to have been designed in the Ice Age, the undulating floor of the Burren hides underground h2o streams and loaded mineral deposits. Image By: Mick Bourke/Getty photographs

My initially glimpse of Slieve Donard, the tallest hill in the mountains of Mourne, is distant but transfixing. I spy the famous peak through the massive glass home windows of the resort I am staying at. The lodge is a grand, previous and stately property in Newcastle, Northern Ireland. But the moment I see the mountain, I am eager to be out in the woods as shortly as attainable.

Later on that night, my guidebook Loretta Coyle unfurls a map on my table over evening meal, revealing that the path to Slieve Donard goes by a fabled literary landmark—Narnia country—the mysterious forestland from writer C.S. Lewis’s children’s collection The Chronicles of Narnia. The Mournes, exactly where Lewis expended time rising up, could well have been the muse for his imaginary universe.

  The E book

The upcoming morning, we established off to hike through Lewis’s favourite woods, driving to Kilbroney Forest Park, the beginning level for our Narnia Path. As in the guides, the path passes by way of a ‘Wardrobe Door,’ which is a stand-in for the portal by which youthful Lucy initially stumbles into Narnia in the publications. The passage qualified prospects on to wooded lanes, dotted with fantastic true-existence recreations of people and scenes from the sequence these as the White Witch, the Beaver’s Hut and the Lamp-publish.

Right after soaking in the pleasures of Narnia, we make our way to Cloughmore. A steep climb later, we enter the Rostrevor Oakwood, a practically 40-acre extend of 250-12 months-outdated oak trees. In this article, the woods are continue to dim and deep, and the wind whispers of mysteries. We halt at a 50-tonne granite boulder that appears to be out of spot in its surroundings—the Cloughmore Stone. This giant rock has remained a scientific curiosity and is particularly out of area in its surrounding terrain. For every local legend,  Fin McCool, a legendary huge, flung it at an enemy. But some geological reviews trace it to the Ice Age. Obviously the big tale is far more interesting to the younger ones as I look at small children screaming, squealing and clambering on to the stone.

  The Mourne Mountains served as inspiration to C.L. Lewis, when he was drafting his imaginary universe in the Chronicles of Narnia. Image By: sara_winter/Getty pictures

  Walking past, we enter extend of woods that hold likely better and lastly attain a windy grassland. Mountain bikers stand across the landscape silhouetted, in opposition to skies that threaten rain. We cross grassy slopes to get to the top of the Slieve Martin at 485 metres. The wind has picked up, a handful of drops splatter, and I am catching my breath, when a guy comes managing along, purple-confronted and panting. He has run all the way up, and options to dash throughout to the second mountain alongside, ahead of retracing his footsteps again down. The Mourne Mountains inspire all varieties of outdoor sports, but I am information with going for walks.

As we head again to the hotel right after a fast snack of chocolate, Loretta chooses a far more poetic route that prospects along a gently gurgling stream. The 8 kilometre-stroll has whetted my hunger for extra. I glimpse longingly at the summit of Slieve Donard, the highest of the Mourne mountain peaks and a tougher climb.

  The Bog

Right before I achieve the Republic of Ireland, in which I am to acquire a excursion to the bogland, I spend a night dreaming of the lavatory, of toes sinking irretrievably into squelchy quicksand, and wild winds tearing at my hair. When I at some point make it to Roundstone blanket lavatory, it is an expanse that stretches on all sides, a lure for the unsuspecting, the stuff of stories that haunt the creativeness. Deserts have their possess terror, but the bathroom surpasses individuals, with its quiet menace.

  The uniquely shaped Roundstone blanket lavatory is an expanse that stretches on all sides, a entice for the unsuspecting. Photograph By: Tim Graham/Dinodia Photograph Library

I phase out of the bus with excitement. It has been raining so we are to remain on the stone-lined route and not stage down, as that could imply just about anything from just mud stained dresses to currently being swallowed by the quagmire. The wind pushes us along, and turning horrible, sends hail, then rain, to make our route tough.

The bathroom has enchanting tales. And as our manual recounts them, we ignore the chilly and pay attention, entranced. The wind snatches at our guide’s terms, but the story will come via. And I can just about hear the whir and cough of the solitary motor aircraft carrying two courageous pilots, John Alcock and Arthur Whitten Brown, who aimed to cross the Atlantic on their fragile aircraft in 1919. When the aircraft made trouble and they observed the huge expanse of flatland, not realising it was a treacherous lavatory, the younger males crash landed. I could perfectly envision their surprise when they uncovered by themselves sinking into the slushy squander!

Their landing website was close ample to a wireless station, established up by none other than Guglielmo Marconi, the Italian inventor of the wireless. One of the stations he constructed was at Clifden, at the edge of the bathroom that we are now walking along. The station was ultimately ruined and Marconi was compelled to shift elsewhere. Currently, only a few remnants stand to commemorate a man’s genius and a stone cairn salutes the courage of the two pilots by marking the location of their landing.

Chilled to the bone, our windcheaters drawn shut about us, we run to the bus when it will come into look at. I, for a single, am supremely glad I am not a pilot landing here on a dark, windy night time.

  The Burren

The Burren stretches together the sea for 250 sq. kilometres and hides caves, caverns and graveyard pits. Picture By: Jordi Carrió/Dinodia Picture Library

1 a lot more journey awaits me. A wander on the Burren, a stark rocky landscape formed of limestone. Believed to have been fashioned in the Ice Age, the undulating, pitted surface of the Burren hides underground water streams and wealthy mineral deposits. It stretches alongside the sea for 250 square kilometres and hides caves, caverns and graveyard pits, these kinds of as the Poulnabrone Dolmen portal tomb that is 6000 several years old, in its extensive bosom.

We pay a visit to Doolin Cave, a limestone cave uncovered by incident by two Englishmen, and gawk at a 5000000-calendar year-outdated Fantastic Stalactite that seems to be like some imperial chandelier. Even as wind chases the water, sunlight drips from the leaves. The very first indication of spring belies the squall that blows close to us, an off-season message from the North Atlantic front. Tiny violet orchids bloom in the grassy knolls, and hold a assure of spreading a lot more color onto the barren area. Quickly, the falcon and the buzzard, and the Golden Eagle will go over the sky with their flight. And bees will hover as the dandelions acquire flight and scatter.

Certainly, I muse, as we board the bus and head to Dublin, the wild means of Eire are full of a secret that may well never be absolutely unravelled.

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from Cheapr Travels https://ift.tt/3crzGt2 via https://ift.tt/2NIqXKN

[topfygad]

Forests And Fables In The Irish Countryside

A few wild walks in Northern Eire and the Republic of Ireland expose untamed, ethereal landscapes and magical, aspiration-like stories.

  Thought to have been designed in the Ice Age, the undulating floor of the Burren hides underground h2o streams and loaded mineral deposits. Image By: Mick Bourke/Getty photographs

My initially glimpse of Slieve Donard, the tallest hill in the mountains of Mourne, is distant but transfixing. I spy the famous peak through the massive glass home windows of the resort I am staying at. The lodge is a grand, previous and stately property in Newcastle, Northern Ireland. But the moment I see the mountain, I am eager to be out in the woods as shortly as attainable.

Later on that night, my guidebook Loretta Coyle unfurls a map on my table over evening meal, revealing that the path to Slieve Donard goes by a fabled literary landmark—Narnia country—the mysterious forestland from writer C.S. Lewis’s children’s collection The Chronicles of Narnia. The Mournes, exactly where Lewis expended time rising up, could well have been the muse for his imaginary universe.

  The E book

The upcoming morning, we established off to hike through Lewis’s favourite woods, driving to Kilbroney Forest Park, the beginning level for our Narnia Path. As in the guides, the path passes by way of a ‘Wardrobe Door,’ which is a stand-in for the portal by which youthful Lucy initially stumbles into Narnia in the publications. The passage qualified prospects on to wooded lanes, dotted with fantastic true-existence recreations of people and scenes from the sequence these as the White Witch, the Beaver’s Hut and the Lamp-publish.

Right after soaking in the pleasures of Narnia, we make our way to Cloughmore. A steep climb later, we enter the Rostrevor Oakwood, a practically 40-acre extend of 250-12 months-outdated oak trees. In this article, the woods are continue to dim and deep, and the wind whispers of mysteries. We halt at a 50-tonne granite boulder that appears to be out of spot in its surroundings—the Cloughmore Stone. This giant rock has remained a scientific curiosity and is particularly out of area in its surrounding terrain. For every local legend,  Fin McCool, a legendary huge, flung it at an enemy. But some geological reviews trace it to the Ice Age. Obviously the big tale is far more interesting to the younger ones as I look at small children screaming, squealing and clambering on to the stone.

  The Mourne Mountains served as inspiration to C.L. Lewis, when he was drafting his imaginary universe in the Chronicles of Narnia. Image By: sara_winter/Getty pictures

  Walking past, we enter extend of woods that hold likely better and lastly attain a windy grassland. Mountain bikers stand across the landscape silhouetted, in opposition to skies that threaten rain. We cross grassy slopes to get to the top of the Slieve Martin at 485 metres. The wind has picked up, a handful of drops splatter, and I am catching my breath, when a guy comes managing along, purple-confronted and panting. He has run all the way up, and options to dash throughout to the second mountain alongside, ahead of retracing his footsteps again down. The Mourne Mountains inspire all varieties of outdoor sports, but I am information with going for walks.

As we head again to the hotel right after a fast snack of chocolate, Loretta chooses a far more poetic route that prospects along a gently gurgling stream. The 8 kilometre-stroll has whetted my hunger for extra. I glimpse longingly at the summit of Slieve Donard, the highest of the Mourne mountain peaks and a tougher climb.

  The Bog

Right before I achieve the Republic of Ireland, in which I am to acquire a excursion to the bogland, I spend a night dreaming of the lavatory, of toes sinking irretrievably into squelchy quicksand, and wild winds tearing at my hair. When I at some point make it to Roundstone blanket lavatory, it is an expanse that stretches on all sides, a lure for the unsuspecting, the stuff of stories that haunt the creativeness. Deserts have their possess terror, but the bathroom surpasses individuals, with its quiet menace.

  The uniquely shaped Roundstone blanket lavatory is an expanse that stretches on all sides, a entice for the unsuspecting. Photograph By: Tim Graham/Dinodia Photograph Library

I phase out of the bus with excitement. It has been raining so we are to remain on the stone-lined route and not stage down, as that could imply just about anything from just mud stained dresses to currently being swallowed by the quagmire. The wind pushes us along, and turning horrible, sends hail, then rain, to make our route tough.

The bathroom has enchanting tales. And as our manual recounts them, we ignore the chilly and pay attention, entranced. The wind snatches at our guide’s terms, but the story will come via. And I can just about hear the whir and cough of the solitary motor aircraft carrying two courageous pilots, John Alcock and Arthur Whitten Brown, who aimed to cross the Atlantic on their fragile aircraft in 1919. When the aircraft made trouble and they observed the huge expanse of flatland, not realising it was a treacherous lavatory, the younger males crash landed. I could perfectly envision their surprise when they uncovered by themselves sinking into the slushy squander!

Their landing website was close ample to a wireless station, established up by none other than Guglielmo Marconi, the Italian inventor of the wireless. One of the stations he constructed was at Clifden, at the edge of the bathroom that we are now walking along. The station was ultimately ruined and Marconi was compelled to shift elsewhere. Currently, only a few remnants stand to commemorate a man’s genius and a stone cairn salutes the courage of the two pilots by marking the location of their landing.

Chilled to the bone, our windcheaters drawn shut about us, we run to the bus when it will come into look at. I, for a single, am supremely glad I am not a pilot landing here on a dark, windy night time.

  The Burren

The Burren stretches together the sea for 250 sq. kilometres and hides caves, caverns and graveyard pits. Picture By: Jordi Carrió/Dinodia Picture Library

1 a lot more journey awaits me. A wander on the Burren, a stark rocky landscape formed of limestone. Believed to have been fashioned in the Ice Age, the undulating, pitted surface of the Burren hides underground water streams and wealthy mineral deposits. It stretches alongside the sea for 250 square kilometres and hides caves, caverns and graveyard pits, these kinds of as the Poulnabrone Dolmen portal tomb that is 6000 several years old, in its extensive bosom.

We pay a visit to Doolin Cave, a limestone cave uncovered by incident by two Englishmen, and gawk at a 5000000-calendar year-outdated Fantastic Stalactite that seems to be like some imperial chandelier. Even as wind chases the water, sunlight drips from the leaves. The very first indication of spring belies the squall that blows close to us, an off-season message from the North Atlantic front. Tiny violet orchids bloom in the grassy knolls, and hold a assure of spreading a lot more color onto the barren area. Quickly, the falcon and the buzzard, and the Golden Eagle will go over the sky with their flight. And bees will hover as the dandelions acquire flight and scatter.

Certainly, I muse, as we board the bus and head to Dublin, the wild means of Eire are full of a secret that may well never be absolutely unravelled.

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