#rosie lowe birdsong

[knightofleo]

Rosie Lowe | Birdsong

[bikerbutchbait]

SOMETHING SPECIAL ˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

found this adorable butchfemme blurb in my notes and i had to share! hope u enjoy let me know if you’d like me to continue it. mdni suggestive content.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

“so how’s your biker beau?” annie wraps her rosy lips around the white diner straw, eyes peering up at adelaide across the booth. she pokes her lip out. “she’s not my beau…” she sighs, slumping back into the seat. “thanks for reminding me.”

annie rolls her eyes, shaking her head and taking a fry from its home in the basket at the center of the table. she dips it into her vanilla milkshake, then pulls it out and sucks the cold cream clean off. “you’ve just gotta bite the bullet addy. take her by her leather collar and kiss her hard.”

“think i don’t want to? what i wouldn’t give…”

annie shakes her head, rapidly whispering no. “i don’t wanna hear about it until it happens. pull up your big girl britches and have sex.”

jo, the aforementioned biker beau, had been staying at the cider motel just off the highway. she wasn’t planning on being in town very long, but her buddy al met annie lou and everything changed. they started going steady and a month later they were planning the rest of their lives together. jo didn’t mind it though, she was glad to see al so happy. he deserved it.

that just left her in rough spot. they were planning on seeing the world together. two butches biking state to state, keeping warm under the comfort of one another. now jo spent her nights reading newspapers for job openings and watching the twilight zone.

a sudden knock on her motel door stirs her up. she ashes her cigarettes in an empty can of coors and rushes to the window. peering through the curtains, she slaps her hand over her mouth.

there stood adelaide, red lips and blushed up cheeks. manicured hands at the sides of her hips, dress just above her knees, and it was jo’s favorite color. sweet baby blue. sweet baby jesus, what’s she doing here all dolled up?

“just a second!” jo calls out, followed by the sound of commotion. she jumps around her room, throwing away empty beer cans and picking up her socks off the floor. then she tucks the covers of her bed in and rushes to open the door. “sorry to keep you waiting, pretty lady.”

adelaide could’ve melted right then and there. before her, a slightly sweaty and out of breath jo. comfortably in a wife pleaser and a pair of slacks. glasses pushed up into her short hair, and a toothpick hanging out of the side of her mouth. she stands there for a second soaking it all in, then realizes that she’s gawking with her mouth slightly open and stutters out a greeting.

“hi- hello. sorry. hi, i’m sorry.”

“nice to meet you sorry, i’m jo.” jo holds a hand out, letting a small laugh slip from her throat, smiling at adelaide. there’s heaven in that sweet serene sound of her laugh. birdsong and an angels chorus when she smiles. safety in the dimples of her cheeks. she looks incredible in the room’s low lamp lighting.

adelaide laughs like it’s the first time she’s ever heard a joke in her life. the kind of laugh that makes you stumble and hit your knee. grab your stomach, fall back. shimmy and shake it out of your body. the kind that squeezes tears out of your eyes, and it’s all so endearing to jo. because god this girl is cute, and it wasn’t that funny.

“wanna come in?” she moves out of the doorway. adelaide nods, carefully stepping in. one hand is in the other now, she starts to nervously fiddle with her fingers. looking down at the copper carpet, how the color contrasts with her brightly colored mary janes.

“is everything okay?” jo has closed and locked her door now. she’s standing next to adelaide, close enough to make her breath hitch and get stuck in her throat. she wants to look in her eyes, but she can’t. she’s lost in the freckles speckled all over her strong arms. addy can tell she works with her hands, and can very easily get lost in the imagination of her lifting heavy objects. getting dirty under the hoods of cars. lifting her shirt up to wipe the sweat dripping down her forehead…

“yes. yeah jo, everything’s fine. i just wanted to see you. i got you something.”

jo’s heart swells as the words leave the girl’s mouth. she watches as she pulls a wrapped gift box out of her pocket. the poor girls hands are damn near trembling. she hands it off to her, then puts her hands behind her back and bites her lip.

jo wastes no time opening it, carefully discarding the wrapping paper to unveil a small box. she pulls off the top to reveal a silver watch, something she’s been wanting to get but swears she didn’t have the “time” to do it. that she’d come around to it. she takes it out of the box and examines it further, noting that it looks incredibly expensive before flipping it around to see her name engraved on the back.

her jaw drops and her eyes grow wide as saucers. “oh fuck, addy. can i give you a hug?”

she smiles and whispers a soft “sure” before being embraced warmly. she can’t get enough of feeling jo’s body on hers. the woody scent of her cologne, the heat from her body, subtle skin to skin. it was enough to make you dizzy with desire. they’d only hugged for 10 seconds but it felt like a lifetime.

jo pulls away, putting a hand on her head and patting it forwards. “wow adelaide this is- wow. this is really something, you know?”

“it’s just a little something. i know you’ve been wanting one for a while so i-“

jo scoffs. “it’s more than a little something addy. my names engraved in the back, how’d you manage that?”

the shy girl tsks. “guy at the shop did it for me. you deserve it jo, really. you deserve something special.”

jo feels fireworks exploding inside of her and she can barely contain herself. overwhelmed at the happiness those very words gave her. she looks at adelaide with nothing but love in her eyes and steps closer to her. “i gotta tell you addy, i’ve never wanted to kiss anybody as bad as i wanna kiss you right now.”

silence and a spout of tension before adelaide closes the gap between the two of them. she took the front of jo’s shirt in her hand, twisted it, and pulled her lips onto her’s.

sweet sweet bliss. a fervor burning in the air around them. jo’s hands on addy’s waist. addys hands on the back of jo’s neck. nails scratching at her with a want. a need. deep desperation and pent up sexual frustration. one could almost ask how long has it been? a damn hot minute.

jo pulls away but there’s an obvious pain about it on her face. addys got the widest smile plastered on her very own. so big and dumb, lipstick smudged all over her lips.

“even better than i imagined.” jo wipes some lipstick off her chin. she plants a sweet kiss on the sweet girl’s nose, then pulls her closer by her waist.

“better than you imagined? how long have you been imagining this?” addy wraps her arms around jo’s neck, staring deep into her glistening eyes. “how about i show you just how long i have?” jo responds without missing a beat.

adelaide can feel the heat rushing to her core, legs growing weak at jo’s touch. her fingertips slightly grazing at her sides. the way her eyes wander all over her body, with longing. a lustrous desire spreads throughout her body and the sight alone makes addy feel like she’ll explode.

[noblesouls]

a study.

BASICS.

full name : olynna blackwood name meaning : helpful, researcher, comfortable nicknames : oly, nana. epithets : the beauteous raven titles : lady of raventree hall gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her sexuality : heterosexual date of birth : on the thirteen day of the first month age : seven and twenty years zodiac : capricorn place of birth : raventree hall, the riverlands, westeros accent : northern westerosi languages : common tongue, old tongue, high and low valyrian allegiance : house blackwood religion : the old gods

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim : synnove karlsen height : 5′5″ eye color : blue/grey hair color : brunette with copper undertones dominant hand : ambidextrous

MEDICAL.

mental : n/a physical : n/a

PERSONALITY.

positive traits : eloquent & resourceful negative traits : opinionated & judgemental hobbies : reading, needlework, medicine, horse back riding

RELATIONSHIPS.

parents : ruling lord lonan blackwood & late ruling lady ilianna blackwood siblings : lord alton blackwood, lord samwell blackwood, lady alyce blackwood, lady melissa blackwood, lady ilianna blackwood extended family : tba spouse : n/a children : n/a pets : birdsong ( raven ), onyx ( friesian stallion)

FAMILY DYNAMICS.

house blackwood is an ancient one and as so they were expected to carry duty over anything else. it was why even though lord lonan had fallen for different woman and fathered a bastard he still married the woman chosen for him by his father. sealing his fate and that of lady ilianna for a miserable marriage. the new lady blackwood vent backwards in hopes to gain the favor of her husband, and when she gave him a son she almost thought she had him, only to learn his mistress had also given him a daughter not long after. but she did not give up, her children watched her break for a man that paid her no mind, and eventually she lost her life in the false hope of giving him another son. not long after mourning period and with no one else to deny him he married his mistress and legalized his bastards. now the power balance tips back and forth with the ruling lady fighting for her bastard born son to become lord heir, while the children of the first wife refuse to back down.

BIO.

olynna had been her mothers treasure, a soft chubby babe that cried rarely and laughed often. the second gem of raventree hall, gentle demeanor and rosie cheeks, her birth had been an ease, as if predicting the calming nature that would run through her veins. as she grew up it was clear olynna would be everything a lady was expected to be, soft spoken, witty, gentle, but the demeanor of any raven ran deep in her and she was also strong willed and opinionated. and while she had a tendency to please and listen to the careful path suggested for her, there were instances were her strong personality came to shine.

her role was clear, even though she was her parents beloved, she would marry to strengthen the alliances when the time came. but that wasn’t enough for her, learning needle point, how to rule a house, she demanded to learn politics and strategies, she took her lessons and asked for more, the more knowledge was poured into her the more she craved

her life came to a sudden halt when her mother became pregnant once over, the pregnancy had her sick and bed ridden, and not long after the babe had been born lady ilianna was not longer with them leaving olynna with the weight of a promise to always look out for her siblings. at the tender age of thirteen she took it to heart, leaving everything that wasn't their care to become second in her list

but the little piece they manage to find came crushing when his father did what olynna had been most afraid, decided to marry his mistress, which she knew would only be the beginning of the darkness that would surround their lives. the children of the first ruling lady of the house welcomed the new comers with resistance, specially olynna, whom would accept no other than her mother as ruling lady and so raventree hill became a war camp

oly against all odds grew older she grew into herself; smarter and beautiful, she began creating her own alliances, her own networks. a woman that supported her family, her siblings, her friends, loyal to a fault.

olynna has seen what love has done to her father, and it terrifies she could be the same way, love is something she deprives herself of and has pledged against it. if she could remain unmarried and dedicated to her healing, her main goal is simply secure her brothers seat.

CONNECTIONS.

childhood friends; perhaps someone who knew her when she was a wild little thing swimming in the rivers of the riverlands and running through the field, stealing her fathers horse early in the mornings.

a pen pal; perhaps someone she only came across once before in the years but they shared letters constantly through the distance and time

a betrothal; set perhaps by their parents by pure political strategy, or they could be a lord in search of their own ambitions. could be nothing more than this

[deepergrooves]

André 3000's 'New Blue Sun' Vancouver Review

Highly anticipated ambient jazz show marks a new dawn but leaves fans ATLienated

Birdsong, crickets and rich ambient soundscapes echoed through the deep purples, rosy reds and starlit ceiling of the Queen Elizabeth Theatre in Vancouver on Friday October 11. The scene was perfectly set for a first glimpse at André 3000's highly anticipated 'New Blue Sun Live' Concert series, an unexpected leftfield step into instrumental ambient jazz from the seven-time grammy winning hip hop icon.

Warm up act serpentwithfeet created a suitably gentle atmosphere with kind-hearted crowd participation numbers and feel good R&B. Despite a few empty seats in the pit, likely a result of the high ticket pricing, the room was poised and curious to see how this drastic stylist shift would translate to the stage.  

Origins, synergy and mystical synchronicity

The cosmic butterfly effect that led to the creation of André 3000's 'New Blue Sun' album has already become a tale of folklore. There have been countless stories of André, seemingly never to be found without some kind of wind instrument in hand, serenading unsuspecting Uber drivers and wandering the strip of his new home of Venice Beach like a nomadic jazz monk. It was one such encounter with legendary Californian music arranger and percussionist Carlos Niño in a Venice Beach grocery store that apparently sparked a creative partnership between the two that birthed the 'New Blue Sun's album project. Niño does admit that he had been keeping an eye out for André when he heard he'd moved to town but don't let the truth get in the way of a good story!

Before this reawakening, again mythically attributed to a Hawaiian ayahuasca trip (referenced in the album track 'That Night In Hawaii When I Turned Into A Panther And Started Making These Low Register Purring Tones That I Couldn't Control...Shit Was Weird'), André admitted that he had been suffering with creative block, social anxiety and a mounting sense of pressure to deliver something great in this next phase of his life. In a candid interview with hip hop mogul Rick Rubin on the 'Broken Record' podcast he sounded lost and fearful of his legacy. There was however a flicker of light in André's voice when he began speaking about his new meditative morning breathing routine, involving experimentation with an eclectic set of wind instruments.

Building anticipation - A deep, earthy and aesthetically engaging opening

The show began with a striking visual of a single white beam of light entering a prism just above what looked like a traffic cone before splitting into reds and greens in front of André, backed by his supporting musicians and six lights in a half-crest formation behind the stage. The lighting overall was dark and moody with André just about visible with his red jazz-elder beanie and glasses.

He was stood before a blanket that housed numerous flutes, whistles and other tools. To his right was keyboardist, and Alice Coltrane disciple, Surya Botofasina. At the back was the aforementioned Carlos Niño who seemed to set the tone with various percussion instruments, gongs, shakers and even plants which were a big source of inspiration for the album. To his left, composer and percussionist Deantoni Parks, responsible for the pulsing beat that surfaced through the evening.

The opening song built slowly with Carlos Niño employing various rattles, bushes and what looked like a slinky being swung above head at various points. André let out a mix of guttural and high pitched yelps and animalistic sounds in what felt like a Sun Ra-esque free jazz introduction. Some in the audience seemed bemused early on but for the most part the crowd was still on board and excited with yelps of approval in response to André.

After the first song, André reassuringly addressed the crowd with his southern charm and silky charisma. He introduced the band, cracked a few light jokes and explained the approach to the night - a purely improvised experiment and journey that we would all be embarking on together. It felt courageous and bold, in keeping with the album itself, but what was to follow unfortunately felt for the most part meandering, lacking cohesion and at times difficult to digest.

A brave pursuit but ATLienating for fans

There were some moments where it felt like the embers of an idea were burning but they were never fully formed or realized. A deep, dark primal drum beat from Deantoni Parks ultimately petered out. A lightsaber like hum and arpeggio riff from Surya Botofasina that felt like it could take things in a cosmic, electronic direction (adjacent to album track 'BuyPoloDisorder's Daughter Wears An André 3000 Shirt Embroidered') again pulsated and dropped out before ever taking hold.

Overall, there was a lack of melody, hooks, breaks or structure. There was no pattern, story or resolution to the jam-session musings. There were also no direct songs or distinct elements from the album that could be latched onto. Pure experimentation is a noble pursuit, but for a new group and an artist who is admittedly new to the instruments and finding his feet, it felt like a lot to take on.

At one point André began riffing in what sounded like an imitation of a primal language, which he jokingly admitted he had been making up on the spot. It was a funny moment, but a bit too close to the bone for someone attempting to communicate using instruments he wasn't necessarily fluent in.

It was hard to tell if the accomplished band were limited by André's range or if they were intentionally playing a supporting role but either way they were consigned to little more than background hushes, atmospheric flashes and ponderous patterns.

The final crescendo, albeit very charged, was particularly challenging and had the feel of a free jazz ayahuasca trip being led by an inexperienced astral traveler, with Andre finally slowing things down by breathing rhythmically into the microphone as the lights turned to blue.

New Blue Sun - A New Dawn for André 3000

I still love André 3000 and support this artistic change; the New Blue Sun album is fantastic and deserving of acclaim. This is undoubtedly the start of a process and an experimental phase for a long term project, but the current iteration felt ill equipped for such an ambitious undertaking. Despite the dark mood lighting, the stage left nowhere to hide. In the end, there was a limp standing ovation but no calls for an encore.

This felt like a harsh reset, a journey of purification teetering on the edge of a bad trip, but cleansing for what will hopefully now be futile ground for one of our generations true shining stars. The New Blue Sun is rising, but the cold light of day can be harsh.

[mu-sique]

Rosie Lowe - Birdsong

Después de debutar en 2016, Rosie Lowe se juntó a una bola de mentes maestras para hacer su segundo disco. YU sale el próximo 10 de mayo, y está producido por Dave Okumu (qué también le ha echado la mano a Nilüfer Yanya) y tiene coros de Jamie Woon, Jamie Lidell, Kwabs, entre otros. Acá está la primera probadita “Birdsong”, enjoy.

[lunapaper]

I loved Rosie Lowe’s early singles. ‘Right Thing’ was heartbreakingly sensual. ‘Me And Your Ghost’ was simply sublime. ‘Water Came Down’ and ‘How’d You Like It,’ meanwhile, were sophisticated pop gold.

But, for some strange reason, we didn’t get to see that magic on her 2016 debut album Control, a sleek yet mostly benign effort. Even worse, 'Me And Your Ghost,’ ‘Water Came Down’ and ‘How’d You Like It’ weren’t even included on the album.

Hopefully her latest single, ‘Birdsong,’ is a sign of good things to come, a woozy, hypnotic cut of synth-streaked RnB funk quick to pull you under its spell. The video, meanwhile, sees the cracks quickly form around the British singer, in the role of a disillusioned miner’s wife.

Honestly, does this whole clip kinda look like a hipster Poldark or what? (¬‿¬)

‘Birdsong’ is from Rosie Lowe’s second album YU, out May 10. Read the review for her debut album Control here.

- Bianca B.

[losangeleslovesyou]

ROSIE LOWE : BIRDSONG

[come-to-the-opera-with-me]

'Til the early morning

Baby, the love that you give

Takes me to Heaven, to paradise

Birdsong

Every note that you sing

Tells me I'm doing something right

- Birdsong by Rosie Lowe

[sadsexysag]

YU by Rosie Lowe (2019)

[murphy-kitt]

Core - Day Six

(Part 2: Candlelight)

Jack can’t remember when he first started hearing the humming.

It seemed to hover in his ear, buzzing constantly — not in an annoying way that would make him want to destroy everything in a ten mile radius until he found it — but rather a muted humming, like the sound of a bustling city in the distance, or white noise ruffling in the air.

Sometimes it was actually quite soothing. A few times he’d almost fallen over in a trance while inventing, Maddie clearly concerned to why he wasn’t his usual enthusiastic self.

At first, Jack didn’t really mind. It wasn’t as if the sound was annoying him, and the rest of his family weren’t bothered by it (if they were, they would’ve said by now), so he went on as usual.

But as time dragged on, the humming still remained. Faint, but there. Never really going away.

Yet, he still didn’t find himself being annoyed at the sound, rather a growing sense of curiosity at what the mysterious noise was. Where was it coming from? What was it?

Jack was a naturally curious soul, always questioning the why’s and what’s and how’s of the Earth. He’d driven his parents crazy as a child, but he only wanted the answers. If they couldn’t give them, then he’d set out to find them himself.

His ma, Florence, had been like that too. Or maybe not to the same extent, but she had always been a curious one, prancing with him through the wheat fields, while his older brothers and father worked on the farm.

She’d sit him on her lap, red curls pushed back and smiled at him with rosy cheeks and glittering icy blue eyes.

“Now don’t you ever lose your curious streak, you hear me Jack? Always be out there exploring.”

Then she’d died along with his baby sister, and then words had been even more important than ever. Instead of becoming more reclusive, like a majority would, he embarked on exploring on his mother’s behalf, completing adventures that she wouldn’t be able to.

Unfortunately, neither Danny or Jazz seemed eager to embark on adventures or even spend time with him anymore. Danny was distanced more than ever, he’d been splitting from them more, and Jack couldn’t even connect with Jazz anymore.

There’d been a brief time where Danny had wanted to be an astronaut and explore the stars, and Jack had marvelled (even if he had tried to push the career of a ghost hunter towards his son), seeing his mother’s curiosity shining through. But that had fallen and crumbled with the ashes.

So there he was, in the lab, the humming crooning in his ear like a low birdsong. It was stronger, Jack noted, there was a sort of routine. Stronger in the morning and evenings. Nonexistent in the afternoon, although sometimes there may be a slight whistle of invisible sound. On weekends, it was constant.

He was jarred by the humming becoming louder, in the direction of the lab stairs, and Jack watched as his son traipsed down the stairs, blue eyes dull and dreary with boredom.

Just at the same time, a ghost invention rang behind him, wailing loudly, bright crimson lights filling the lab an anxious scarlet.

Ghost core detected! Ghost core detected within a 1 metre radius-

Frustration filled Jack as he slammed a hand on the button of the invention, trying to get it to shut up. Now was not the time!

Ghost core—

Danny had gone quiet, simply frozen in place, staring at his father. Inadvertently, Danny placed a hand on his chest, and Jack stared in confusion, still frustrated that the invention had unsettled his son and ruined any chances of talking to him.

Although Danny's stance was unusual, he thought. The inventions always went off around Danny, that wasn’t anything new. However Jack had tried his best to make sure the Fenton Core Finder wouldn’t detect Danny, but here they were.

What even had the invention detected?

Turning around, the dark blue eyed man grabbed the invention, knocking a few other items over as he did so, glancing at the small digital screen on the bottom of the Finder.

Current Power Usage: 5%

Radius: less than 1 metre, East

Core Status: Stable

Core Strength: 8.3

Worry filled Jack as he glanced at the screen, eyes darting around the room. There was currently a very strong ghost, no more than a metre from Danny and him. They were invisible obviously, just waiting to prey on them both.

He cursed internally for not having the ectosignature finder, Maddie had taken that out on patrol and the other was currently a pile of metal on the floor from where he’d knocked it off the desk. He couldn’t fix it right now, there wasn’t the time and the ghost might attack while he was doing so.

And amongst that was that humming still, Jack had forgotten about it briefly, but it was there, strong and fluttering in his ear.

Danny still had his hand over his chest, almost defensively, just in the exact spot of where a ghost's core would be, he noted with amusement.

However, the look on Danny’s face was anything but amusement. His son looked genuinely terrified.

But, when had Danny not behaved like this?

Ever since the accident, in which he was still in the dark about what happened, Danny had changed. Stopped being the curious person that Jack hoped he would grow up to be.

The Accident.

Since that time, Danny had acted weird, the inventions were malfunctioning around him. Now, Jack couldn’t remember when the humming had started, but something also told him around the start of Danny’s accident.

The humming, it was in the morning and it was in the evenings and now it was even stronger in the lab. But what was it?

Jack glanced at his son again, and back at the Core Finder, back at where Danny was shielding his chest.

Cogs turned in his head. It wasn’t scientifically possible, but there, Danny was holding his chest where a ghost's core would be. The Core Finder had gone off—

No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

“—Always keep exploring”

He couldn’t just give up, because something might not be possible, or didn’t make sense to him.

Jack opened his mouth, and Danny’s body hitched and tensed.

“Danno, are you that humming sound I’ve been hearing for the past six months?”

As a heads up I’ve got exams every single day of the week for the next two weeks (except Monday + Weekends), I should be able to post DannyMay daily the first week but from the 18th — 21st I won’t be as active since those are the exam subjects I struggle with. Next Monday is also my birthday (yay!) so I’ll be busy then too. Looking back maybe it wasn’t the best idea to start a one-shot a day project considering my last track record of DP events have never be completed, but I want to finish this.

Murphy

[fandomcitymayor]

Birdsong - Rosie Lowe

[spacesquidlings]

Happy Father’s Day, Gavin

Gavin had never imagined a world where he would wake up every day to unconditional love and warmth. That he would be wanted and cherished by anyone again. But then he wakes up to his wife and his daughter trying to give him all the love in the entire world.

Pairing: Gavin x MC

Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you to one of my bestest friends @jihyuncompass who lets me ramble about Gavin all day long!!!!! I loves you Anne, thank you for always being the best.

ALSO this fic features my lil fan-kid for Gavin. Her name is Aurora and she is very loved.

ALSO, final note, but I’ve decided to stop using MC in lieu of an actual name just to make the fic flow a lil better

*******************************************************************************

Gavin woke up later than usual. He’d managed to get most of the week off, and he’d grown used to sleeping in, the warm cocoon of the blankets and his wife’s arms lulling him into a deep, heavy sleep. It wasn’t until the sunlight staining the curtains was a deep gold that he would slowly begin to wake, turning onto his side to pull Rowan against his chest and cuddle her for a while until his eyes were no longer crusted with sleep, and her voice lilted through the air, welcoming him into the new day.

But today when he reached for her, his eyes still closed, he was met with nothing.

Gavin frowned, reaching further across the bed, his hands meeting nothing but air and an empty bed.

His eyes snapped open and he winced, the sunlight shining directly into his eyes. The bed was indeed empty other than him, the sheets a rumpled mess, the pillows pushed around haphazardly the way Rowan often shoved them around when she was trying to wiggle against his chest.

He rolled over, wondering if maybe she was just in the bathroom, but the door was open and the light was off.

For a moment his heart sank, a bitter feeling of loneliness seeping into his heart and spreading across his tongue as he laid in the empty bed.

Where was Rowan? Where was his wife?

But then he heard the sound of footsteps heading towards the room, and the soft cadence of Rowan’s voice as she murmured something, so low Gavin couldn’t make it out.

He didn’t know why he did it, but he pulled the blankets back up around him, shutting his eyes as the bedroom door opened, his wife making her way through the sun-warmed room.

“Okay little princess,” she said, her voice low as she slowly sank onto the bed. “You can sleep with us for a bit, okay? But don’t bother daddy too much, it’s a special day for him, and he needs his sleep.”

“Okay mommy,” came the quiet response, and it was then that he realized that Rowan had only gotten up to retrieve Aurora, their toddler.

She’d been sleeping with them nearly every morning since she’d been a newborn, sometimes sandwiched between the two of them, sometimes carefully nestled into the bed next to Rowan when he had to leave early for work.

He felt the mattress shift again, and then a small body was curling up against his chest, little hands grasping at his shirt. The blankets lifted higher, and he felt them being tucked around him and Aurora as the toddler squirmed, giggling even as Rowan hushed her.

“Time for sleep, okay?” She whispered, and Gavin felt a hand against his brow, brushing back his bangs, and his heart warmed as he pictured the expression on his wife’s face, the tenderness in her eyes, the way her mouth curled up, her cheeks stained a rosy pink as she looked at him.

Aurora huffed, but curled closer against him, so much like her mother it made his heart ache.

“Happy daddy day,” she said, her voice already sounding tired, and he couldn’t help smiling, his heart aching from all the love that poured into him like the sunlight spilling into the bedroom.

He fell back asleep with the comforting warmth of his daughter against his chest and the brush of his wife’s lips against his cheek as she whispered how much she loved him.

***

He woke a second time to kisses from his wife, the sound of Rowan’s laughter dancing through the room.

He cracked one sleepy eye open to peer at the scene before him. Of Rowan propped up on her elbow, one hand cupping his cheek while she pressed kisses to his face and his neck. Aurora was still curled against his chest, but she was grinning up at him, her small hands now balled in the sheets.

“Good morning,” Rowan said, running a hand through his hair.

He smiled at them, his two favourite people, and his heart felt full. “Good morning.”

“Do you know what today is?” Rowan asked, her eyes shining, her voice teasing as she spoke.

But before Gavin could respond, Aurora chimed in, waving her hands as she beamed up at him. “It’s daddy day!”

Rowan snorted, leaning down to kiss the top of Aurora’s head. “It’s daddy day, you’re right! And do you know what happens on daddy day?”

Aurora hummed for a minute before jabbing a chubby finger at Gavim. “We celebrate my daddy!”

“And how do you think we should do that?”

“Breakfast!” She squealed, rolling onto her back. “With breakfast!”

Gavin couldn’t stop smiling, his heart warm, his world painted in sunshine and glittering starlight, happiness brighter than any star as he basked in these two people that he adored.

“What do you think, babey?” Rowan asked, turning her bright eyes towards him. “Should we start with breakfast?”

He kissed both of Aurora’s cheeks, and then brushed his lips against Rowan’s, unable to contain his smile.

***

The day was warm, with a soft breeze that carried the sound of windchimes and birdsong. He could smell blooming flowers in the air, could hear the quiet buzz of the bees that bounced through the garden in their backyard. Stella barked at a stray squirrel, her tail wagging as she started running circles through the yard, pausing to sniff the grass or the gate before sprinting aimlessly again.

The windows were wide open, and they’d even decided to open the back door so Stella could come and go as she pleased. Normally Gavin and Rowan would have worried about Aurora wandering outside alone, although she couldn’t have gotten far with the fence and with Stella often trailing behind her as she toddled around. But still it wasn’t always ideal to have their toddler wandering around outside unsupervised.

But today Aurora was wholly focused on helping to make breakfast for Gavin. She helped to cut bananas and strawberries, and she put butter on toast, and she stirred pancake batter while Rowan held onto the bowl, doing her best to catch any spills.

And when she was done all of her cooking and she’d supervised the cooking of the pancakes with a serious expression that Rowan teased was exactly how Gavin looked when he was focused, she waddled over to where Gavin sat with a big plate balanced in her hands.

“For you!” She announced, holding the plate up while Rowan stood behind her, trying to make sure it didn’t fall from Aurora’s tiny hands.

But Gavin hadn’t even taken a bite before Aurora was crawling into his lap and taking his fork from him.

“I’m going to help you daddy,” she said, nearly knocking an entire pancake from his plate in an effort to spear one piece of banana. “It’s daddy day after all.”

He couldn’t help snorting as she pointed the fork at him.

“Eat daddy! You need your breakfast!”

Beside him, Rowan laughed. “Aurora, why don’t you let daddy eat his breakfast. You need to eat yours too.”

She pouted, still waving the fork in the air. “But I wanna help daddy!”

Gavin rested his chin on top of Aurora’s head, peering at Rowan imploringly. “I don’t mind, and it means I get to cuddle with my little princess!”

He pressed kisses to Aurora’s cheeks until she squealed with laughter, her eyes screwing closed as she wiggled in his arms.

Rowan held up her hands. “Alright alright, it’s your day after all.”

Gavin hummed, taking a bite of pancake as Aurora jabbed the fork at him again. “Maybe you’re jealous though? Because you’d like some cuddles too?”

Rowan’s brow arched, but her cheeks turned crimson as he teased her. “That’s an awfully bold claim.”

“Aurora,” Gavin said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think mommy wants some cuddles from me too.”

Aurora giggled, covering her mouth. “Daddy, you need all the cuddles today!”

He nodded. “You make a good point, and mommy gives good cuddles.”

Aurora nodded furiously. “The best!”

Rowan smiled, poking at her food. “Well maybe after breakfast I would like some cuddles.”

Gavin grinned, wide and bright. “As you wish, sweetheart.”

***

There wasn’t really any better way for Gavin to spend his day, if he was being honest. Aurora refusing to let him go, wanting to hug him as much as she could, Rowan pressing kisses to his cheeks and wrapping her arms around his waist for quick, tight hugs whenever she passed him in the house.

They all went outside to play with Stella, throwing around a little plastic basketball until Aurora fell back in the grass and whined, saying she felt too hot. But they’d barely been inside for a minute before she was clinging to him again, saying she had to give him more hugs.

She even tried dragging his guitar out, saying she wanted to play a song. But after smacking her hands against the strings a few times, Gavin scooped her into his lap, balancing the guitar on his knees.

“Do you want to play a song with me?” He asked, and Aurora wiggled with excitement as he’d tried his best to take her through the chords of simple, beginner songs.

They snacked on cut up peaches and strawberries and watermelon, all fruits Aurora had insisted on choosing at the grocery store a few days ago, and that she’d insisted on helping to cut, shouting at Gavin when he tried to help.

“No daddy! You can’t help today!” She said, waving her hands at him, her fingers stained with strawberry juice.

Rowan nodded, taking Aurora’s hands and gently wiping the fruit juice away. “We’re taking care of you today, babey, remember?”

He’d pouted at that, wanting to help with even the smallest of things. But any brief melancholy he’d felt was quickly washed away as both Rowan and Aurora had curled up with him, and he’d felt himself enveloped in more warmth and love than he’d ever thought he would experience in his life.

They watched movies until late, past Aurora’s bedtime, plastic bowls of ramen from one of Gavin’s favourite shops spread out before them. And when the food was done and the movies were over, night draped across the sky like a glittering veil, they’d all gone out into the backyard, and Gavin had gotten to lay on the cool grass and stare up into the shining universe, at the shining silver light of the stars, with the brightest lights of his life on either side of him.

The day ended far too soon, with Aurora falling asleep in the crook of his arm as they’d made wishes on shooting stars that had streaked past so quickly they’d almost missed them.

Gavin wrapped her in his sweater, cradling her in his arms as he’d carried her back inside, Rowan’s cheek pressed against his arm as she’d peeked down at their sleeping Aurora, cooing softly and reaching out to squeeze one of Aurora’s hands.

“She loves you so much,” Rowan murmured, kissing Aurora’s cheek as they laid her in her bed, tucking the blankets around her.

“I love her,” Gavin breathed, for a moment unable to take his eyes from the little sleeping form as she rolled onto her side, curling into a little ball, the way Rowan did when she fell asleep.

She was perfect, his perfect, beautiful little daughter.

He looked up then, into Rowan’s eyes, and the love in his heart grew brighter, shining like the shooting stars in the sky. “And I love you.”

Rowan ducked her head, but he could see the flush on her cheeks, the smile playing at her lips. “I love you so much, babey.”

He took her hand and drew her from the room, closing the door softly behind them, not wanting to disturb Aurora’s sleep. And then he swept Rowan into his arms, holding her tight as she gasped, her arms encircling his neck.

“Gavin!” Her tone sounded reproachful, but she was smiling wider now, and after a moment she nestled her head against his shoulder, her eyes falling shut.

“It’s late,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “We should go to bed too.”

She hummed her agreement, letting him carry her through the house as he shut all the lights off, before carrying her back to their room.

“You know,” he said, setting her down on the bed before going in search of their pajamas. “I do think you owe me one more gift today.”

Rowan cocked her head to the side, bemusement in her gaze as she watched him. “What do you mean? Did you not like the movies and the food?”

He shook his head. “No, I loved those. But I wanted something else, something you promised me earlier.”

Rowan hummed, her brow arched as she turned to change. “And what’s that?”

“I wanted cuddles from my wife.”

Her eyes were warm when they met his again, her features softened by the moonlight that washed across their room. “I can give you all the cuddles you want.”

He crawled back into bed, back into the cocoon he’d awoken in, the blankets soft and warm. Rowan crawled in after him, smiling as she held her arms out to him.

He felt so warm he thought he would melt as he snuggled against her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he rested his head against her chest.

“I love you,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered. “You’re my everything.”

“And you’re mine.”

He was smiling as he fell asleep, warm and loved and safe in her arms. It was a tangle of feelings that he’d once thought he would never feel, and yet here he was now, wrapped in her embrace, her heart beating a steady rhythm against his cheek, lulling him to sleep.

And although, as he fell asleep, he knew that tomorrow would not technically be a special day, that there would be no reason to be excited for it, he found himself looking forward to it all the same.

Because tomorrow meant waking up with warm sunlight staining the curtains as it spilled into the room. It meant waking up to kisses from Rowan, from Aurora trying to burrow into their blankets. It meant another day spent with the most important people in his life, the people that he loved, the ones who loved him unconditionally.

So he smiled as he fell asleep, safe in Rowan’s arms as she played with his hair, already looking forward to tomorrow.

[delicrieux]

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta. 

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up. 

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?” 

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow. 

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

.

hope you liked it! xxx

.

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Now, You Know' EP - Rosie Lowe

As it did for a lot of artists, inspiration struck for Rosie Lowe while in lockdown.

‘Not being able to physically be in a room with people crystallised the opportunity to see this project through on my own whilst collaborating remotely with different people I love and admire wherever they were based,‘ she explains (via Clash). ‘I felt a new sense of freedom to be able to create something away from a label schedule and it left me with this strong desire to create something that captured where I was at without overthinking it.’

On her surprise new EP, Now, You Know, the British singer/producer expands on the luxurious dreamscapes of 2019’s YU while taking advantage of the sparse intimacy of isolation.

The aptly-titled' Freedom’ is a haunting birdsong that passes in an instant, repeating the word over and over like a drowsy mantra. Standout ‘No Idea’ is a dreamy neo-soul ode to seeing someone in an entirely new light, a late night confession fuelled by this bass and swooning lust. ‘Paris, Texas’ also has that monophonic feel, with Lowe softly begging ‘Can we get one more scene?/From this movie’ as she reminisces about ‘Hands on the wall would sang/Hands on my body creeping/We're loving out of time.’

The sultry, jazz-infused longing of ‘Afterlife Pt. 1’ later comes back around to ‘Afterlife Pt.2.’ ‘Would You Stay?’ is a trippy throwback to 90s RnB, turning friends-with-benefits into something slinky and sexy. ‘I’ve Got You’ is uplifting and cool, its sweet falsetto and soft beat patter indebted to one of Prince’s best tracks, ‘If I Was Your Girlfriend.’ Lowe even modulates her vocals in a high-pitched, girlish tone for part of the song. Quite a few of these tracks feel like they could’ve been unearthed from the Paisley Park vault.

The final track, meanwhile, is a looping meditation, beckoning you to ‘say the name’ again and again. Almost hymn-like in nature, voices are layered on top of one another to disorienting effect, ascending the listener to a higher plane until the track simply fades out.

On Lowe’s 2016 debut, Control, there’s a track called ‘INTRLD.’ It’s just an interlude (duh) but it’s easily the best song on the record. Bass crunks and grinds while Lowe’s voice hazily circles around a sluggish beat. In just 51 seconds, the singer creates a classy, full-bodied cut of old school RnB more captivating than other tracks that are double the runtime.

This same approach is applied to Now, You Know, producing so much out of so little. Though longtime collaborator Dave Okumu isn’t present on the EP, producers like Andrew Sarlo, Tom Henry, AVI and Tom Driessler help retain Lowe’s penchant for woozy minimalism while indulging her experimental tastes.

Short but sweet, Now, You Know further cements Lowe as an alt-pop dark horse. And if you didn’t know that before, well... now, you know (◡‿◡✿)

- Bianca B.

[timeforelfnonsense]

The Lusty Eladrin Maid

Rating: E (no smut yet but there will be in the update) || Ao3 ||  Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series || Author's tucked away at the end

It was a simple enough task to find Dafni in the little forest glade. He’d followed the trail of flowers left behind by her bare feet in the grass. The iridescent fabric of her skirt fluttered around her thighs as she twirled. Her nimble fingertips plucked berries, as red and ripe as her parted lips. She filled the woven basket hanging from the crook of her bent arm, singing softly to herself. A few rosy ringlets peak out of the front of her kerchief, framing her bespeckled cheeks. A smile tugged at Astarion’s lips, she looked like a storybook character come to life right off the page.

Silently, he crept further into the meadow watching her sway to her slivery, birdsong melody. Closer and closer until Dafni unknowingly spun herself into his embrace. Astarion pulled her into his chest, a baby pink flush spreading across the bridge of her freckled nose. Dafni glanced up at him, doe-eyed through her long, fluttering lashes. Daffodil cups unfurled themselves throughout the sea of curls flowing from her lacy kerchief. Their vibrant colors painting a sunset of yellow, cream, and peachy-pink in her tresses.

“It seems I’ve caught myself a faerie! ” Astarion murmured against her ear, toying with a stray tendril, twisting the curl around his index finger.

Dafni let out a chime of silver laughter before responding in an airy voice, “And what do you mean to do with me, good sir?”

“I mean to take you into my arms.” He said with a low chuckle, turning her so her chest was pressed to his own, “To kiss you and hold you.” He tilted her face upwards, finding her berry-stained lips with his own. Pulling away for a single torturous moment, he spoke once more, “I mean to make you mine.” 

He could taste the sweet tang of raspberry juice and honey on her tongue as he coaxed her deeper into the kiss. A contented sigh slipped from Dafni’s lungs. She nestled herself closer to his body, her full breasts pressed against his chest. He brought a hand to the base of her skull, gently cradling her head in his palm. He felt her lips curl into a smile under his kiss. 

He’d found himself rather enchanted by this little game of flirtatious make-believe. He’d perused the dog eared pages of her books out of equal parts boredom and curiosity. She’d only had the single faded pink leather volume in her bag when she’d been snatched, but over a few days, she’d been able to track down a trove of smutty literature. Through his investigation of the many, many volumes of romance and debauchery, Astarion had gathered some insight into the romantic workings of her mind. 

She dreamt of being swept off her feet. She wanted illicit midnight rendezvous. She longed for stolen kisses and tender words whispered between waltzes. To sneak away from a ballroom to some hidden alcove. He could picture it perfectly, her frilly skirts thrown over her back. His hand climbing its way up her stocking clad caves as she was bent over the nearest piece of furniture and tupped to oblivion.

What was the harm in indulging her whimsy for a little while? It would be easy enough to play the dashing rapscallion to her wayward debutante. 

 “I’ll happily surrender myself to you if you promise to kiss me like that again,” She said, her chest rising and falling with short breaths. A lopsided, sunny smile flashing across her mouth.

Dafni stood on her tiptoes as she threw her arms around his neck, drawing his lips to her own again and again and once more for good measure. Her hand cupped his face, her thumb stroking softly against the sharp line of his cheek. 

A shiver ran through her as he dragged the tips of his middle and index fingers down the sensitive flesh of her inner arm. His touch wandered along her bicep, carefully tracing the delicate outline of the hardy muscle beneath the trimmings of girlish fat. His hand wrapped around the outside of her arm next, giving her a gentle squeeze before continuing his exportation of the shaking limb. His thumb glided along the line of her vena amoris, strumming a soundless melody that reverberated against the walls of her heart. 

He followed the vein to the pulse point hammering at her wrist. Her breath caught in her throat as the warmth of his kiss slipped away. Dafni made a sour expression of protest but Astarion paid her no mind. Gingerly, he brought her wrist to his lips. A feather-light peck tickled her skin before he clasped her dainty hand in his own. The corners of his lips quirked up in a spellbinding grin. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side sending a singular ivory ringlet loose from that splendid head of hair. His left hand came to rest just above the small of her back. She leaned forward in a fruitless attempt to restore the kiss, but she was only able to catch the very corner of his roguish mouth.

“What happened to holding, and kissing and making me yours?” Dafni inquired in a playful mockery of his cadence.

“I am still holding you,” He reminded the hand on her back, pushing her closer for emphasis, “and I did kiss you. As for making you mine...All in good time, dear.” He purred, lips brushing the long line of her ear, “Tell me, sweet girl, do you know how to dance?”

“I- Yes, I know how to dance...”

“I thought so,” Astarion nodded thoughtfully. The hand on her back traveled up to the base of her shoulder blade. He gently nudged her arm upwards until to rest atop his. “ A pretty creature like you must be the star of all sorts of quaint fetes. I want to be certain that at the next little soirée you attend, you’ll spend the evening scanning the crowd for my face. And every time some brave young lord or lady plucks up the courage to ask for a dance, those perfect lips will turn ever so slightly upwards as you decline. Because every time you hear a waltz all you’ll be able to think of is the man in the glen and the passionate, consummate sex you had with him.” 

Dafni’s heart threatened to burst. There she was, Dafni Ríwen, Thesmia’s sheltered, unexceptional daughter of controversial paternity. The girl who sat on the sideline of every formal gathering she’d ever attended with an empty dance card and a sullen pout, seen as an unquestionable first water by the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on! She felt her footing wobble but Astarion’s confidence held her steady and sure. She knew it was only a bit of fun but she’d spent decades dreaming of finding herself in a situation very much like this one and by the hells she was going to enjoy it! 

Astarion was clearly versed in the art of ballroom seduction. He led her through the waltz as sure-footed as anything. Though there was no music, his rhythm never faulted. Moreover, he held her much closer than was proper. His hand had fallen to the curve of her waist rather than her shoulder. Her body felt as if it had been set alight at each point of contact. 

If they were truly in a ballroom some overzealous chaperone would have certainly made a fuss. While the fey were certainly creatures of revelry and carnal pleasure, they held a certain fondness for priority and decorum that seemed to outsiders rather contradictory. But, to the people of Faerie, it all made perfect sense. A chaperone scolds a young couple for improperly and perhaps the attention would incite a reaction from a rival suitor leading to a dispute of honor. Perhaps they proved the final push for a public delectation of love. Or, at the very least, the blushing lovers might seek out some secret place to continue their dalliance now colored with the excitement of rebellion.

The wicked curve of his smile and her previous encounter with him in these very woods, lead Dafni to believe that Astarion was exactly the sort of libertine who was all too thrilled to be given an excuse to sneak off for a bit of secret bedsport. A yearning sigh fell from her chest as she pictured herself laid for him in one of the Summer Queen’s manicured hedge mazes. She bit back a lewd noise as she pictured some hapless party goer stumbling across them still in the throes of amorous relations. 

All in good time, She repeated to herself as she picked her thighs together.

___

When I make a new OC, I always include a tiny piece of myself, a hobby, skill, or habit. It's always something small but acts as the proverbial  "baby's first laugh"  à la the fairies of Neverland for characters.  I don't usually share what that spark is, but rather keep them as little in-jokes for myself and those closest to me. As a little peek behind the curtain, I will share that Dafni inherited my love of romance novels. I'm sure it's no surprise to anyone who follows my tumblr I am a lover of smutty, historical, and fantasy literature. This fic is my love letter to Tessa Dare, Lisa Kleypas, and all of the other women whose stories provide me with a much-needed escape during an awful year as well as inspiring me to write once more. Part two coming soon! (Also yes, the vena amoris is an old wives tale BUT it's very romantic, and who's to say elves don't have the fictitious heart vein?)