#why are skirts with transparent fabric so difficult | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thehistoriangirl · 4 months

Text

If You Hadn't Left (Me) [Chapter 1]

I thought I would start posting in the first of February but oh well better now than never lol

I'm gonna post the other fic's masterlist tomorrow I think :3

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----2.9K----SFW*

// M A S T E R L I S T

Next ->

Synopsis:Viktor was never supposed to see you again, just like you had promised that evening when you both ended up heartbroken and bitter toward destiny and all its twisted ways. So twisted as to put you back into his life not only as a temporal working partner to cover Jayce’s absences, but also as the maid of honor in the wedding where he’ll be the best man. Hypothetically, it doesn’t have to be that difficult to find a way around the river of memories flowing between you both. Though, of course, hypotheses are flawed. Just like that part of him that still craves another ending to this story.

Taglist c: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @blissfulip

That goodbye became a broken promise, cracked over the sound of your voice ever since he heard it at the Council assembly.

Sure, you had spat out the words fueled by betrayal and hatred, but Viktor took them like an oath to put in peace his stormy mind.

First coated in a lie so fragile Viktor was surprised it hadn’t fragmented before, and now this—he was sure he shouldn’t take another glass of wine from the walking waiters zigzagging across the opulent hall—but he had avoided you all night, and he knew Jayce wouldn’t let him go before arranging the “formal meeting” between both of you.

If only he knew...

We congratulate Miss Favred for winning the design contest for the new hall construction inside the Museum of Sciences and Technologies. Graduated from Piltover’s Academy with honors, you're the proof that progress and art are held hand in hand in this city.

Almost the same speech Heimerdinger delivered during your graduation ceremony, only that this time you were all alone on the stage, Viktor's hand grabbing his cane to not feel the growing sensation of emptiness.

Part of him thought it was mere shock. After all, you haven't seen each other in almost ten years; and a petty part of him was surprised he even remembered you, how the image of you was locked in the depths of his subconsciousness that only needed the ring of your greeting to resurface.

But now? Hours after the reencounter? He was so, so weak…

With a sigh, Viktor finally admitted it: stealing glimpses of your purple dress flowing against the gentle breeze was a weakness, though if the excuse lay in masochist interest or avid curiosity, Viktor wasn’t ready to clear his mind. Why would he, anyway? It was a couple of wine glasses too late.

Funny how some things defied the City of Progress where everyone was eagerly grasping the tomorrow.

Viktor just felt stuck in the past, down a path he wasn’t so sure how to slip through.

Your hair was the same, richly stylized and decorated with a geometrical headpiece that looked like a crown from Viktor’s angle. Your time in Shurima had replaced the Piltovan style built by several layers of clothes like vests and corsets for simple, airy fabrics that played with transparencies. The deep shade of violet pooled in continuous drapes ironed in the long skirt falling freely around your hips and down your legs, a gold-threaded corset hugged your waist and framed your bosom, the fabric slowly fading into a lavender tone held like loose sleeves with golden bracelets.

You were covering your mouth while your eyes closed in amused crinkles for whatever the young merchant Mauriel Garfen was telling you as his expert hand twirled you around the ballroom. It didn’t matter much, as Viktor could paint it just fine: with the vivid dark pink adorning your lips, though he knew your favorite color was more of a burnt brown, or maybe even red—

"That's enough for today," Viktor mumbled, eyes looking intently at the crimson liquid as he swirled the stem around his fingers before settling it down against the nearby windowsill.

Suddenly, he heard your happy squeal as you went to hug another young woman dressed in a vivid teal, halter dress. Her curly black hair bounced as you two swayed. Viktor didn’t remember her vividly, but she had been one of your friends ever since your undergraduate years.

If only… Though he knew he didn’t have any right to be greeted as warmly. If even he had any right to be greeted at all. Only because you had returned. Because of course, you did. Once you had told him that despite the high number of students inside the Academy, you'd find each other in one way or another.

“No, not like fate,” you have told him, voice groggy with slumber as you laid against his chest, hands pointing at his dorm's ceiling where she had stuck luminescence cut-outs of stars. "Entropy."

You were right, from all his perfectly calculated plans tumbling into a state of chaos, one he surprisingly wasn’t against.

Until he was.

Garfen twirled the both of you, giggles bubbling like the nearby tray of drinks a waiter was carrying toward the Councilors discussing on a corner of the hall.

You looked like that photograph he kept in the bottom drawer of his tattered closet, only that the sepia tones eating it away had been repaired with the tone of your skin, the void he left behind replaced with you looking like a fairy queen with your golden crown and dashing company.

Someone more fitting. But Viktor was now the co-creator of Hextech, wasn’t that enough?

His fingers tangled around the glass’ steam, barely feeling the hot sensation of the alcohol down his throat as he gulped it all.

You’re so pathetic, Viktor. Get over it. Why haven’t you done that already?

“Vik! There you are!” He almost dropped the glass with the impromptu voice of Jayce chiming in his roaming thoughts. “I’ve been looking for you all night.”

"You know I'm not… eh, akin to this kind of party," he said, only half a lie. He'd been hiding inside a balcony and then, when Jayce passed by, Viktor slipped between a corner and a column. Now, he'd been too distracted to notice. "I've been unwinding."

“For a moment I thought you were already gone!” He patted his shoulder. “I’ve wanted to introduce you to Miss Favred since morning, but I suppose you had duties to take care of after the meeting.” He had bolted out of there as soon as Councilor Medarda called the session off.

His jar tightened, just as the grasp on his formal cane, naked metal replaced by a coat of black marble and polished wood on its handle. “Jayce, I don’t think this idea about the Hextech Wing would be… good,” he started, pouring in all the thoughts that had flown inside his head ever since the morning meeting. “This isn’t what I imagined when you told me we would celebrate the first decade of Hextech’s creation.”

“Viktor—”

“No, listen to me,” he replied, almost through gritted teeth. How pitiless of him he couldn’t even manage his feelings in public. “We want to help people in need, not to gloat about a fancy exhibit at the Science and Technology Museum. This is just another excuse for the Council to gloat about their grandness. What would the exhibit do for the people who believe in us, hmm? For us as scientists, even? Are you listening to me?” His friend had shifted to his embarrassed posture, where his tall body was trying to shrink into a ball, with hands tightly grabbed against his stomach, gazing at the floor. "Jayce—?"

“We’ve arranged that part of the Museum’s entrance fee is going to be destined to fund upcoming Hextech projects. That way you won’t need as many sponsorships,” Mel interjected behind him. Viktor turned to look at the Councilor, frozen to see the figure tailing close behind. “I believe we talked about it in the past meeting.”

Surely. Not that he would admit he had been too distracted by the nervous movements of your hands gesturing away to explain your design to oblige his mind to follow the Councilor’s debate sprinkled in between.

“Perhaps what he’s referring to is about how much time will it take to seize a positive quantity to fund a project,” you said to save his embarrassing stunned silence, poking your head from behind Jayce’s wide back. Your eyebrows arched slightly, head tilted toward Viktor.

The movement is so familiar from when you helped him through the boring, long seminars with haughty professors and even mouthier classmates. A head tilt and a slow gaze once you had laid the counterargument, ready for him to lock the possibility of a reply with his conclusion.

“I… That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, surprised by his cold tone.

You blinked at him for a moment, a frown slightly forming between your beautiful eyes. He didn’t dare to back out from it, he didn’t have a reason why.

Jayce cleared his throat. “Um… well, Vik, this is Miss Favred, she’s going to be the designer of the Museum ampliation…” He said, and you stepped next to Jayce, lips in a neutral yet mocking smile, with the curves of your lips turned up.

“It’s been quite some time, Miss Favred,” Viktor mustered, a smile plastering on his mouth that was too wide and toothy to be considered polite.

“Likewise, Viktor,” you said, tone sweetly as you extended your hand toward him.

Viktor almost wanted to yank it away once he felt a surge of electricity tingling up his arm once your long and elegant fingers wrapped the reverse of his palm. You giggled, nails digging into his skin with discreet violence.

His lips pressed in a thin line that couldn’t be faked as a smile even as he continued shaking your hand for a minute too long, wanting your eyes to decode the hidden message in his. What are you doing here?

“Oh, do you know each other?” Mel said after calling your name, which made you yank your hand away from his grasp.

“We were acquaintances at the Academy,” you said, gesturing away.

Classmates, the word slipped with an acid aftertaste when Viktor tried to back you up. "Very close classmates." Because of course, this was the perfect time for his brain to break under pressure. Yes, so close you slept against his chest every other night, so, so close that he even burrowed inside of you—

Mel turned to you, with an almost accusatory air. “What a surprise!”

“That was many years ago.” Your gaze swept from Mel’s to his, if only for a second. “I had forgotten about it.”

Oh, so that’s how you wanted to play?

"Well, I'm glad you two can reconnect after so many years!" Jayce said a big grin on his face. The sweet oblivious Jayce. “It’ll be good for Vik to have another friend! It’s… slightly difficult for him to open up and get new ones.”

Viktor glared at him. “Why are you talking about me as if I weren’t here?” he replied, while you mumbled:

“I wonder why that is.”

His head turned toward you in a movement so quick that some of his pushed backward-styled hair fell over his forehead. "Pardon?"

You smiled at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

Oh, you—

"Why don't we leave you two to talk?" Mel said, ignoring the pleading look you sent her when Jayce nodded, saying that there must be a lot to tell between the both of you. “Councilor Talis, let’s go for another drink. There’s something I need to talk about with you.” Probably about the wedding. Not that Viktor was interested in the matter when he had you in front of him.

From all the stolen glances, he had pieced you whole like a puzzle, filling in the missing pieces eaten away by time with the new image, though he knew some things wouldn't change. Like the way you smelled like hyacinth and mangoes, your favorite fruit. All that freckles and moles and scars dotted around your body like those two small ones peeking over the square neckline on the left of your collarbone, which he knew balanced out with the two tiny moles under your right breast.

Surely your skin was just as heavenly soft as back then despite the occasional roughness of your fingers from working so much. Your palms were always warm against his cold fingers during winter.

“Viktor," you called him. And he frowned to conceal what he had been thinking all the damn night.

“What?”

“Why don’t we strike a deal?” you said, arms crossed, disrupting what would have been his doom if he continued.

“Do I look like someone that would strike a deal with a devil, Miss Favred?” Viktor said, arching an eyebrow almost in a flirty way. Just amused enough to push you to the edge of your years-trained composure. You certainly played the part, with all the allure and the deep gaze of your eyes.

“I suppose this must be awkward for you, too.”

“It isn’t awkward for me,” he lied. “You should worry about your work instead.”

“So ready for me to leave?” You chuckled. “I think you should know that I applied to this contest because I need the spotless curriculum if I want to be the new Interior Design teacher at the Architecture Faculty.”

“You’re just trying to annoy me. You said you would leave and never return.” Better put, Viktor cornered you to say so, but he wasn’t going to let his mouth run free.

"And you said we were going to get married," you replied, and Viktor felt himself trip backward if it weren’t for the support of his cane. “So I guess we’re even.”

Viktor stood there, stunned golden eyes wide open. He started calling your name, but you had your hand raised.

“You’re right, my bad. That was unnecessary.” Your hand arranged a loose lock of hair poking your cheek. “Anyhow, I’m not going to mention anything about the… past. So you don’t have to worry about me running out my tongue—despite how close classmates we’ve been.”

“Now you’re just being…” improperly brash, dangerously cheeky. Almost as if you’d been pushing him over the edge of his decorum to see if he’d cornered you against a wall to seal your endless rebukes with a kiss. Or many. “…insufferable.”

"Don't worry." You waved away. "I'll finish my job as fast as humanely possible, and then we won't have to see each other again. Because I know you aren't fond of assisting the Progress Day's party."

He crossed his arms, letting the handle of his cane hook on the curve of his elbow. "I'm not sorry to disappoint you—but I'm very fond of Progress Days. I've changed," Viktor said, but it was only a half-truth. He wasn't sure how he could change a feeling that lay hidden deep inside, frozen in time instead of giving them a real burial. You only had to dig to start seeing the uneven silhouette of the memory boxes where nothing should be more than black earth.

“Anyway,” you replied, your tone bleeding with sarcasm. “That’s my peace treaty. I know Mel and Jayce will feel awkward if they ever discover that they’ve arranged old flames as partners, so let’s just forget it. I assure you it’s nothing that could endanger the quality of this project.”

Let’s just forget it. You were right, as you had always been, and yet…

I've already forgotten you, Viktor, you said inside his mind, a smile that once had left him breathless now hurting him in the unspoken truth that now you were better without him.

Of course, you were better without him.

Yet, Viktor couldn’t help but seek your left hand accommodating the deep V line of your dress for the poignant sight of a band on your finger.

“I’m not a passionate teenager, Miss Favred," he said, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I assure you I'm not interested in dwelling in the past. So rest assured, I won't embarrass you." It was totally unconscious that his voice dripped with contempt.

You curled your upper lip. “You’re such a fusspot, always the victim.”

Viktor inhaled sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you spat, taking your skirt with your fists as you were ready to stalk away.

The parallels made his heart squeeze in a painful grip. Was history about to repeat itself?

Before his brain could recollect the action, Viktor had called your name, hand extended open as if wanting to touch you. “Wait—” As if he had something to tell you.

You ignored him, stopping when Jayce approached you both from the complete opposite direction Mel and he had gone at first. Also, you couldn't point out if the dark marks of brown smeared on his face were just a plaything of the lightning or marks of kisses.

“Are you leaving so soon?” Jayce told you, hand over your shoulder.

“Yes,” you told him with a smile, completely ignoring Viktor. “My feet hurt and I’m afraid I haven’t recovered my sleep schedule since my return.”

"Well, maybe Viktor can walk you home?" he offered. "For what Mel told me, you live near his apartment." Not that he had moved a lot since you left, but seeing the surprise in your eyes felt like a little victory.

“No,” Viktor and you said at the same time.

“I mean—,” you started.

“I want to stay a little longer,” Viktor said. "As I should be open to enjoying these celebrations more. Hextech anniversary only arrives once a year!" He tried to laugh, but Jayce looked at him with such a concerned frown it was hard to keep his act. Your contained snort wasn't helping.

“Vik… I think you’ve had far too many drinks.”

He glared at Jayce for what felt like the thousandth time. "I'm fine, Jayce—”

"Well, goodbye!" you chirped, getting on your tippy toes to kiss Jayce's cheek, and then, forcefully, approach Viktor and give him a goodbye kiss, too. More like a rude smack, with how forceful you were.

"Tomorrow, eight sharp," Jayce told you, poking your side with his elbow. "Viktor doesn't like it when I arrive late."

“I can’t wait,” you beamed, eyes boring into Viktor’s. As if daring him to say something.

"Me either," Viktor lied.

If you wanna get into the taglist lemme a comment below! 🤗

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor fanfic #arcane fanfic #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #arcane x female reader

54 notes · View notes

diodellet · 11 months

Text

walking lie detector (platonic hcs ft. the angels)

Summary: "It's no use trying to lie to an angel, we see right through it." (Luke, Ruri Tunes 8-4). This is what lying to the angels looks like and how it makes them feel. content warnings: -the relationship depicted for all three angels in this set of hcs is platonic -implied threats of physical violence towards you, the reader. word count: 1.08k words

Luke

When you lie to him, his face scrunches up immediately. Like he tasted something sour or smelled something bad.

Insert 🎶Why the fuck you lyin’, Why you always lyin’🎶 Kidz Bop Ver. here

Which causes two reactions in you: 1) it makes your heart squeeze from how adorable it makes him look and 2) it makes your stomach sink in guilt

Because he was the first one who told you that lying to an angel is pointless.

To Luke, hearing you lie feels like a sunny day suddenly becoming overcast. It feels like unfurling a piece of fabric and immediately spotting a dark stain on it. Either the fact that he’s a young angel or the fact that he used to work directly under Michael could be the reason why his lie detector senses are so strong.

More than that, it feels sort of like tinnitus, a ringing in his ears that tells him what you were saying was wrong.

Not that it physically hurts, but for an angel as transparent as Luke, his reaction to the sensation would immediately show on his face.

No matter who’s around, he’ll immediately call you out.

If you double down on your fib, he’ll get annoyed and tell you off (🎶Hmmm oh my god, Stop fuckin lyin’!🎶)

To the others (especially the demon brothers), it’s kind of funny seeing you being lectured by a young angel.

(But what really hurts is afterwards, when he sulks and ignores you for lying to him. Or worse, when he talks to a third person in the room to pass messages to you even if you’re right there.)

“Solomon, could you ask them to pass me the TV remote?” “Simeon, will you tell them that we’ll be dismissed late tomorrow?”

—and so on, all while sending huffy glances in your direction. (No! He doesn’t feel guilty about getting angry, he’s waiting for you to apologize and own up to your mistake.)

If you backtrack and admit the truth (the correct decision), he’ll still admonish you for still lying in the first place but he’ll bounce back to his usual excitable self.

Raphael

His face doesn’t show it, but he knows.

(If he had his wings out, it’s a whole different story. They’re the best mood/reaction guide.)

(Correction: If you are a soul brave enough to stare at Raphael’s resting bitch face while lying to him, you can see his brows furrow juuust a teensy bit more than usual.)

Lying is futile. Give it up, you amateur fibber.

He’s just like Luke lmao, #2 in Immediately Calling You Out™️

But the interesting part for Raphael is that the sensation depends on the degree of the lie you told.

If it’s a little white lie or if you’re gently skirting around the subject, then it feels like a faint shiver down his back. Similar to the slight chill from a nighttime breeze, the brief moment before you get static shock. It is a slightly bothersome sensation, but one that isn’t a complete hindrance.

“Why did you say that? You’re completely free for the entire weekend.” “Hm? Then just say that you want to rest at home, it’s not that difficult.”

(Being honest and dealing with the consequences is fucking hard, Raphael!)

However, if it’s an outright denial of the truth, then it feels like a hollow pang in his chest. It’s similar to the scent of ozone right before lightning strikes.

Except there’s no lightning, just his nerves standing on edge, that moment of complete vigilance stretching on and on until Raphael knows for sure that he’s facing the complete truth.

And Raphael will get the truth out of you.

Either by pestering you repeatedly or threatening you, you don’t get to choose. The correct answer was that you shouldn’t have lied to Michael’s errand boy in the first place.

Not that he’ll run you through with a spear, he’s working to fix his use of violence as a crutch.

It’s just that divine beings as a whole have either remained pitifully gullible or developed unhealthy coping methods in response to being taken advantage of.

And Raphael refuses to have the wool pulled over his eyes again.

Simeon

Maybe it’s because he’s been around Lucifer and the other demons for longer, but he’s pretty unbothered at being lied to.

Don’t worry, he won’t call you out for it. A part of him is aware that you don’t have to bare all your intentions, and additionally, different factors can affect how much you’d want to share with him. It’s as simple as that.

(But he will take note and remember this for later. And it’s only fair that he uses his own methods in revealing the truth, is it not?)

Just like Raphael, he’s a pro at hiding the fact that he knows.

He could just go, “Oh, okay!” and pair it with an innocent smile. And if you’re easily affected by your guilty conscience like me, that simple acceptance is enough to push you into admitting the truth.

(And oh how he loves catching you red-handed.)

“So, would you mind telling me why you were at Madam Devian’s with Beelzebub? I seem to recall that you had remedial lessons.” “Oh, I won’t tell Lucifer, I can imagine how that would turn out. Just… try not to hide that from me next time, alright?”

Also, depending on how big of a lie you’re telling him, the sensations also differ for Simeon.

White lies feel ticklish, that’s why they’re so amusing to Simeon. That’s why his first reaction is to fucking smile in the face of a lie. Like, he knows Luke told you that angels can see through dishonesty but you’re still trying and it’s so endearing.

Sidenote: for some reason, Simeon tends to feel them along his upper arms and shoulder area.

More serious falsehoods feel worse. Sort of like a hot itch under his skin. Something vile and gross bubbling under the surface. Something threatening to claw itself out.

But he could count the number of times that has happened to him on one hand and he plans on keeping it that way.

All in all, the occasional white lie to Simeon isn’t a big deal so long as the truth eventually comes out. He trusts you, after all.

If anyone would have told him how horrible it was to lie to a loved one, it still wouldn’t be enough to prepare him for the burden of hiding his sins.

A/N: I'd first like to thank @jessamine-rose for betaing this short spontaneous draft😭thanks girl ur dabest betareader😭as someone who's too weak to progress through the main story of obey me and as someone who knows 0% of raphael's charac litrally everyth i know is from ms. maam jessamine, i wasn't able to do my usual amount of research. but as long as the writing's bearable enough to read then thats good enough for me ig huhuhuu in other news, im thinking of writing a 2nd part to this but in a romantic💕💕 context with simeon and raphael (because OF COURSE my brain would have taken this revelation in That™️ direction) but it won't be posted any time soon, i only have scraps of a scene in mind so far, soo ig this won't be the end-end of me milking this wonderful angel lorebit

#dellet-writings #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me raphael #g/n reader #platonic

205 notes · View notes

thoselethalarts · 3 years

Note

Thank you SOOOO much for your ignihyde dorm tutorial...!! you saved me so much pain and agony 😭 Out of curiosity tho which of the twst dorm uniforms would you say are the hardest to draw?

Of course, fam! Anything to help a fellow artist! As far as the dorms altogether go though uhhh I guess I'll just rank them in order of easiest (in my opinion) to hardest to draw

7. Octavinelle. It's just a 3 piece suit and tie, really, nothing super unique or complex about it. The worst part of this uniform is just the hats and Azul's overcoat but tbh if you struggle with drawing suits there's so many tutorials and resources you can find to help that I think this is objectively the easiest of the seven.

6. Savanaclaw. Not super complex by any means since it's just a T-shirt, jeans, biker vest and boots, and optional assless chaps, but the patterns and beads and whatever the fuck all that is that they have hanging on their waists puts this slightly higher than the number 7 spot.

5. Ignihyde. I know a lot of people hate the Ignihyde uniform but honestly... it isn't all that bad. At least considering how complex some of the other dorms are. Ignihyde suffers in that it's super daunting at first glance but once you kinda wrap your head around how to simplify the top's pattern's it's really not that bad. Shading it is a bit of a pain, but again, could be so much worse.

4. Scarabia. Now we're getting into the unfair bullshit that is patterns. fucking. everywhere. As a personal rule of thumb the more patterns an outfit has and the more ornate they are in design the harder it gets for me to draw, and Scarabia's outfit is the perfect example of where that comes into play. It's not terrible for the most part but then you get to that belt. And that skirt around the back. Also I still struggle to figure out how the fuck the pants work with the crotch all the way to the knees and honestly... the sandals are just the worst. Putting my twstsona in Scarabia was the worst decision I've ever made but... it can still be worse.

3. Heartslabyul. Heartslabyul's uniforms have some areas where you can kinda simplify the patterns (like the checkerboard sleeve and caution tape belt) which helps a lot when you're drawing it, but it's still not easy. There's patterns on the vests and the roses suck too because flowers are naturally just hard to draw. Though that said this dorm actually would be lower on the list if it wasn't for the fucking dorm head uniform. I never in my life want to draw Riddle in his dorm uniform because WOW is it a nightmare. Patterns everywhere, lots of loose, flowing fabric and lots of how do the pieces even work physically I cannot figure it out for the life of me. Heartslabyul's gonna give me a Heartslab-heartattack.

2. Pomefiore. Oh how I loathe the day I'll inevitably have to draw the Pomefiore uniform. This dorm has everything I hate most when it comes to drawing outfits: there's tons of different length layers that make up the top which all have different textures and transparencies, giant, shiny, complex patterns everywhere, on the top and on the boots, the ends of the gloves have lace which means even MORE details to work on, and as if all that isn't bad enough you have Vil's stupid fucking tiara which honestly looks like a gold-plated nightmare. In short: FUCK the pomefiore uniform. It's beautiful, no doubt, but that beauty has a price and LORD is it a steep one. The ONLY saving grace for this uniform is you can pre-draw the decals and copy-paste them on, but it doesn't mean I don't still hate it.

1. Diasomnia. This outfit.... sucks. There's just no easy way to say it. There's not a lot of patterns that muddle up the design, thank god, but there's instead a LOT of layers that make up the top and oh my god are there so many extra details to focus on. Lots of zippers, lots of overlapping leather straps and belts and chains, the leather wings on the shoulders, the spindles of thread and wheels wrapped around the waist, and the stupid little hats that have no business being so hard for me to draw properly, and this isn't even touching on whatever the fuck that thick metal spine on the back is. Seriously, why is that there except to make my life difficult. Malleus's cape and gloves have some weird pattern on it too that I'm in NO way interested in figuring out how it works, so yeah. I am no interested in the Diasomnia uniform whatsoever.

#soul speaks #asks

6 notes · View notes

illneverrecover · 5 years

Text

fade into you | kth (m)

➛pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader ➛genre: CEO!Taehyung, Boss!Taehyung, smut, fluff, pwp. ➛word count: 2084 ➛rating: explicit/mature ➛warnings: cursing, slight exhibition, fingering, very light choking, marking, unprotected sex, sex with feelings because Tae is a big softie. ➛summary: You were already sleeping with your boss (at the office, no less). Why not marry him as well? ➛notes: This is dedicated to the sweet & always lovely @la-vie-en-tae in celebration of her birthday. Happy birthday, Cara! I hope you enjoy <3 Thank you for always being so sweet & supportive! Also, this can be read as a continuation of a previous drabble of mine, Golden, but it’s not necessary to read it first. This is just basically porn with very minimal plot, just like mama likes it. ➛song: What is Love - EXO // Fade Into You - Sam Palladio and Clare Bowen

Meetings were the absolute worst.

They were always so dull, everyone shuffling around the table just to faux interest in whatever the topic may be and sneak glances at their cell phones under the table. The best part of yours was usually staring at your otherworldly attractive boss; the way his large hands would engulf the edge of the dark wood table, the tight strain of white crisp button down against the expanse of his golden chest, his intense amber stare as he scrutinized and took in every word shared.

You would get lost in him for the entirety of the meeting, eyes never leaving his lean form as he prowled around the room in his perfectly cut suit. He was a sight to be seen, and it was one of the best excuses to stare at him for 60 to 90 consecutive minutes without having to worry about any judgement.

However, today, your little game was different.

Because now when you looked at him, all you could think about what happened the day before. The way he had grasped at your thighs before sliding you up onto his desk, dropping to his knees. The way he nipped and bit at your inner thigh until you were muffling moans with your hand, the other tangled deep into midnight tresses. All you could see in your minds eye as you tried to focus on the man before you was the look on his face when he asked you to marry him, when he slid himself into you so hard that his teeth clattered before he lost himself to the pleasure and the crook of your neck.

Groaning, you cross and uncross your legs, trying to give yourself any form of relief - trying, and failing. This man had just fucked you so hard that your vision was still blurry days later, and yet you were still enraptured with all of the ways he could push you up onto this very table, claim you as his own in front of God and everyone.

Taehyung narrows his eyes at the slight movement, gaze dragging from your calves up to your apex slowly, licking his lips when he finally lands on your eyes. Arousal swims low in your belly, and you’re positive that you’re already so fucking wet that he would be able to just slide right inside of you with a single thrust.

Why did he have this power over you? What kind of demon was he?

Well that answer you did know. He was your personal demon. He was yours.

You hadn’t believed him when he first uttered the words, soft and needy against the column of your throat. Why would you? He was the CEO of this company, and you were just some nobody. Sure, a nobody he had been seeing for a few months, but that’s it. Nothing special, no grand titles or lofty aspirations. Just white hot chemistry and a deeper connection than you had anticipated with your boss.

And yet you knew, he wanted you. He only wanted you.

Letting your tongue dart out to wet your lips, you chance a look up at him as he continues his languid pace, a caged tiger in a glass case. His molten stare was on yours, on every single rise of your chest, and you could feel yourself drenching the thin fabric of your panties. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You’d take him right here, company be damned-

“That’s all for today. Thank you all for coming, you’re dismissed - with the exception of Miss Y/N. Do you mind staying behind?”

You don’t bother answering, instead smiling with a quick bow, scanning the crowd as they filed out of the room.

Once you were alone, you wait for his next move, eyes watching his sultry stroll around the empty room.

“Was there something you needed from me, Mr. Kim?”

His answering growl had you shivering, and soon he was above you, palm cupping your jaw to tilt your gaze to his own. “There’s always something I need from you, love.”

His pupils were lust blown wide, impossibly black as he peered down at you. It had your throat tightening, swallowing difficult as air left your lungs like a summer breeze. “Oh yeah?” you simper, voice delicate and soft. “Like what?”

A tap at your chin had you rising before him, his arms snaking around your waist to press you hard against his chest. He nosed at your neck, breath hot as it ghosted your ear. “Well first, I need you to say yes to my proposal,”

You hum, eyes rolling back in your head as he nips at the lobe. “Then, I need you to marry me, to be my wife. Be by my side.”

A groan leaves your lips as he glides his way down to your chest, a small part of your brain reminding you that you were still in the conference room, surrounded by transparent walls in your place of employment. Even sleeping with the boss wouldn’t keep you safe from the rumors that would spread if you happened to be caught like this, yet somehow Taehyung always made you forget the risks.

“I already said yes to your proposal, you dork.” Head lolling forward, your hands clasp his cheeks and pull his face back in front of your own. “You have me, Taehyung. I’m yours,” you breathe, affection pouring from each word before your lips collide.

Taehyung always kissed you like he was starving, like sanctuary was only found alongside your tongue, soft and pliant and ready for him. Your knees shake at his passion, collapsing against his form and tugging at his collar so you could feel more, taste him deeper.

You whine when he pulls away, resisting the urge to yank him back to your mouth. A mischievous smirk was awaiting you when your eyes open.

“What, why did you stop? Is there something more?”

He chuckles, the sound gravelly and low, eyes dancing with mirth. “It just so happens there is. Are you willing to hear my proposition?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but nod anyway. When he still doesn’t continue, you sigh. “Yes, Mr. Kim.”

A cocky grin was the last thing you saw before your back was pressed to the chilled top of the table, legs dangling over the side. You gasp, moving to sit up until he was stepping between your thighs, letting them fall open to accommodate his form. His hands start tracing patterns down your ribs, landing on the border of your skirt.

He leans forward, mouth inches from your own. “I want you to let me take you right here, in this room. Let me claim you where anyone could see or hear,” he drawls, lips skimming the skin of your jaw. “Let me show them all that you are mine.”

Any protests die in your throat when he latches to your collarbone, nipping and biting until the skin bloomed beneath his ministrations. You knew you should tell him no, that this was not the time nor the place, but you were weak. Weak, enraptured, and completely in love with the man who was unraveling you in a conference room on a Wednesday.

“Yes,” you moan, hands digging into the hair at his nape. “Yes, please.”

You feel him smile against your chest, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse so you were exposed to his greedy mouth. Too impatient to completely undress you, he pushes the cups of your bra down until each pebbled nipple revealed. You squeal when his heated tongue laps at one, fingers expertly rolling the other until your back is arching and your cunt throbbing.

Throwing your head to the side, you notice something through the haze of your lust. “Taehyung,” you whimper, tugging at his hair until he meets your eyes. “Taehyung, what about the glass-”

“Don’t worry, love. At a press of a button, we can make the world disappear.”

Reaching into his suit pocket, he grabs a small remote, clicking it once before tossing it onto a nearby chair, the jacket soon following. The glass quickly fogs into an opaque white, leaving you hidden.

“When were you going to tell me that you could do that?” you pout, pulling yourself up to rest on your elbows. The man before you just gives you a shit eating grin, hands tugging to loosen his belt.

“When the time was right,” he murmurs, undoing his slacks until you could see his length straining against the black of his briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight, legs rising to circle his hips and pull him back towards you.

“You’re insufferable.”

He pushes you flat against the table, large palm pressing against the tender skin of your throat lightly before trailing down your body, leaving heat in his wake before his hands snake up your skirt. “You’re beautiful. And mine,”

He slides off your ruined panties quickly, like it pained him to be away from your center any longer than necessary. Trailing his fingers up your slit, he groans at the slick of your arousal. “I need to be inside you.”

His voice spurs you into action, your hands grasping to free his hardened length, giving the tip a gentle sweep of your thumb. “I need you too, Taehyung.”

You cry out his name when he finally pushes himself inside your heat, nails digging into his golden shoulders as you flush his body to yours. The burn of the stretch has you simpering, his cock splitting you wide as he slid home. He pauses, letting the pain ebb into pleasure, before slamming into you once more, pace feverish. His thrusts were ruthless, hips snapping into yours until the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin on skin under a cacophony of moans.

Despite the assault, all you could think was that you wanted more, wanted him deeper. He was the sweetest poison, his body the most seductive weapon. His eyes never left your own, reverent and dripping with emotion as he watched your reactions to his touch; drinking them in. He was in your heart, in your arms, inside of you. Taehyung was completely under your skin and you weren’t sure where you end and where he begins - and yet you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Teeth sinking into his lip, you whine into his mouth when he brushes the tender spot inside of you, veins engulfing into flame when he continues to fuck into it until it forces your eyes close.

“Look at me.”

It was an order - or it was meant to be, but the softness of the words contradict the bite. You meet his gaze, all depthless amber, the band low in your gut poised to snap. “Look at me when you come on my cock.”

With a poignant grind of his pelvis, his words have you teetering over the edge, his name spilling out as you reach your peak. He fucks you through it, undulating slowly until your body slows its shivering and your walls stop squeezing against him.

Humming, he leans down to press his lips against yours before picking up his pace, murmuring praise through your over sensitivity. He was close and you could tell, and the idea of him giving into his desires to finish inside of you had you clenching.

“I love you,” you whisper, leaning forward to suckle at the juncture of his shoulder, wanting to leave something of yourself visible on him, too. “Come for me.”

His fingers are bruising when they grasp your hips, steadying so he could slam into you harder. Curses mix with broken sounds of your name as he finally spills inside your aching core, forehead pressed to your own. He stutters through a few more pumps, making sure every drop of his seed remained deep inside before stopping, collapsing against you.

Automatically your hands raise to card through his sweat tinged locks, pulling him until he was nuzzled tightly against you. As the lust wore off, you feel the sharp edges of glass digging into your thighs, the way your ribs ached against the unforgiving wood of the conference table - but with Taehyung, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You never could.

“So,” he pants, tongue wetting his lips. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

You laugh then, chest heaving until you could feel the low rumbles of him joining you, plump lips grinning against flushed skin.

“Of course, Mr. Kim.”

1K notes · View notes

himbowelsh · 4 years

Text

gene / renée, “things we said when we were happiest”

2400+ words

“snowflakes in the honey-drenched breeze”

After the war — after Bastogne — Eugene would be happy to never see another snowfall.

Thankfully, in Bayou Chene, a dozen things are more likely to fall out of the sky, starting with rain and ending with a hail of frogs. No snow down here to force a chill into your bones, even in the chilliest months. Nothing freezes down here — so he tells Renée, handing her a glass of lemonade with an apologetic wince. The sorry excuses for ice cubes clink in the glass, dancing in the pink liquid. If Renée minds, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, the corners of her lips tug back in a muted smile, and she pulls the drink close to her chest.

“It is beautiful,” she declares, for the fifth time since getting here. “Such a beautiful place.”

Bastogne must be beautiful too, at the right time of year. In her letters, Renée described the forests in full bloom, a canopy of green and gold stretching high into the air. She and her sisters used to have picnics there, eating cakes from the local bakery and picking wildflowers to bring home to their mother. The way she wrote, Gene could almost see it; his memories of the forest are nothing like the fairytale playground Renée once knew, but it’s nice to imagine it a different way. In another time, another world, he thinks, things could have been different.

In another world, Renée wouldn’t have been driven to run as soon as the weather turned cold, fleeing across an entire ocean just to escape Belgium’s chill. Gene wouldn’t have received warning just two days before she arrived, and been left to scramble to make things hospitable. They wouldn’t both greet each other at the train station for the first time in a year, awkward in spite of the letters they’ve been exchanging through the war and its end.

Then again, in another life, Gene might’ve never met Renée at all. He certainly wouldn’t be sitting here with her now, watching the Louisiana air turn her cheeks pink, or summon droplets of sweat to her brow.

Her hair is curled in a style he recognizes, but has never seen on her; she has it done up in pins instead of a scarf now. Even weeks of travel couldn’t ruffle her. This was the same woman who held steady as the town around her was being shelled to hell and back; of course she wouldn’t be daunted by a long journey. Renée shines brighter now than he ever remembers before, even when she was a glowing light in the pitch darkness of Bastogne. Her eyes are more animated than they used to be. Her smile isn’t so tired at the edges. She doesn’t wear grief like a familiar shawl, separating her from the rest of the world.

Actually, she’s wearing lipstick.

In a lot of ways, Gene is sitting across from a stranger. He’s never seen this woman before, not without blood under her fingernails and exhaustion shadowing her face. Even so, it feels like he’s known Renée forever.

“Your home is beautiful,” Renée declares, breaking the comfortable silence between them. When she glances over her shoulder, her curls bounce. “When you described it to me, I didn’t imagine somewhere so...”

“Small?” Gene tries.

The corners or her mouth twitch. “Cozy.”

It’s a small house on the edge of the bayou, not too far from his family home... but far enough to give Gene the space he needs. Moving back in with the family was good for a few weeks... then it slowly became unbearable. He couldn’t handle his mother’s pity, his siblings well-meaning questions, his father’s understanding — that was the worst part, because Papa survived his own war. Of course he knows. But he doesn’t at the same time, because he didn’t live Normandy or Bastogne... and no one who wasn’t there can ever truly understand.

As the curtain between lived and unlived, memories and reality, grew more transparent with each passing day, Gene was seized with his own urge to run. He found an old house half-collapsing into the bayou, and bought it cheap with the promise of fixing it up. He’s always been good with his hands, after all... and having a project to focus on helped the open wounds scar over, much as putting distance between himself and anyone who wanted to poke at them did.

Gene’s house is comfortable and private, but definitely ain’t charming. If she wanted, Renée could easily find a better hotel in town. When Gene suggested it, she turned her nose up at the idea.

“Why would I do that when I’ve come here to see you? To stay with you?” she demanded. In the middle of the Lafayette train station, they drew looks from curious passersby— either at Renée’s shocked voice or her pristine European French. When she realized that he wasn’t joking, the surprise faded from her face, replaced by fond exasperation. “You mustn’t be silly, Eugene. After all you’ve written about your house, would you really not let me see it?”

As Gene’s Maman would say, he made his own bed. Now, he’s got to lie on the floor, because Renée’s the guest, and she gets the only bed in the house.

None of that seems to matter now, though, with the bayou’s nightlife slowly stirring awake around them. To Gene, the symphony is familiar as an old friend; he could time his pulse with the bugs’ chirping, and the soft sounds of water rippling a ways away barely register as background noise. To Renée, though, it’s all new. He watches her drink it all in, blue eyes wide; one hand braces on the wooden porch rail as she leans forward in her seat, nearly spilling her drink. She peers into the darkening forests around them, as though trying to make out the source of each noise and rustle. Gene knows better — for his own piece of mind — but Renée doesn’t think like a native. To her, Gene’s world is foreign, maybe a little frightening… but nothing about the brightness in her eyes, or the soft huff of laughter on her lips, suggests she’s daunted.

“It must be so difficult to feel alone here,” she declares after a long silence. “The world is alive here. As though… it knows you, and wants to keep you company.”

The Bois Jacques’ deathly silence still rings in Gene’s ears. He’ll take the bayou’s racket any day.

“Knows you too,” he says, deciding to humor her. “Or wants to know you, at least. Think the crickets are putting on a special show tonight, just cause you’re here.”

Renée laughs, soft and bright. Her eyes flutter shut, head dipping. In the dimming light, she still manages to glow like a firefly. Gene couldn't look away if he tried.

“It’s so beautiful,” she declares again, slumping back in her seat. While not a man to turn down a compliment to his home any day, this is the sixth time Renée’s said it. The Bayou’s beautiful in its own way, sure... but Gene can’t help wondering if she’s really talking about it.

“Can I ask you—” he starts, cutting off when she turns to look at him. The words die in his throat. She’s happier than he’s ever seen her. To take that smile from her lips, that brightness from her eyes, might kill him.

Renée notices his hesitation, of course. “Anything,” she says softly, coral lips caressing the word. Gene swallows past a dry throat.

“Can I ask... why you came all this way?” Before she can answer, he rushes on. “There’s a thousand warmer places closer to home. Why here?”

To his relief, Renée’s light doesn’t dim. She keeps her gaze trained on him, weighing the question for a long moment. Her fingers graze the hem of her skirt, making the fabric ripple. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, Gene fights the irrational urge to take her hand.

“You’re here,” she finally says, and turns back to the bayou.

As though it’s really that simple. Gene can’t think past it. For a moment, it’s hard to even breathe. Why me? he wants to ask. Why, out of everyone else on earth, everyone else who can’t help loving you? Why’d you come across the ocean just to visit me?

Sitting still is more than he can bear. Gene springs to his feet, turning to the open doorway. A heavy mosquito net blocks the inside from the out, but the screen will let sound through. That’s his only thought as he slips inside, fumbling for the cheap radio on his hall table. Fill the silence somehow, some way.

A melody fills the hall — something with plenty of strings, and a woman crooning in a velvety mezzo tone. Some love song or other. Gene’s never paid much attention to them before, not enough to name this one offhand, but something about the longing in this woman’s voice gives him pause before he can flick the dial to something different.

When he turns back around, Renée is watching him. She’s swiveled, arm braced against the back of Gene’s deck chair; a smile plays on her lips. “Music, too?”

“You didn’t want the hotel,” Gene replies. “Might as well give you the whole hotel experience.”

“Will you have waiters serving champagne next? Or a chandelier put up in your living room?”

“I think the hotels in Lafayette are a lot different than where you come from.”

She’s on the verge of laughing as she rises from her seat. Renée pauses in the doorway, watching him with those kind, clever eyes. Against the twilight, she cuts a dark silhouette, fading at the edges like something out of a dream. When she steps forward, Gene doesn’t know what to expect.

“Dance with me,” she says, reaching for his hand.

The words reverberate in Gene’s head. They bounce off the sides like a bullet in a steel drum, from French to English and back again, as though a different language will make them make more sense. Danse avec moi. Can he? Should he?

The choice isn’t left up to him. Renée’s hand catches his, fingers lacing together… and some instinct Gene didn’t even know he had stirs to life. His hand finds her waist, gently pulling her closer; their feet fall into rhythm, not daring tread upon each other, as they begin to gently sway to the rhythm.

No one in their right mind would call Eugene Roe a dancer. It’s not his first time dancing with a woman… but never alone, never in the middle of his own foyer.

He knows where all the creaky floorboards are, knows the part of the carpet that’s always rumpled and easy to trip over. These dangers, he guides Renée smoothly past. It’s more than he could do for her in Bastogne. There, they could only press light bandages of sympathy over each others’ wounds, stemming the blood flow for a short time. Here — in Gene’s home, with the air sweet on their tongues and warm against their skin — he can do so much more. He can look after her, keep her safe from that chill… and as Gene’s head lowers, enough for his temple to brush against Renée’s own, it’s all he wants to do.

“Eugene…” She murmurs his name like a prayer. He exhales against her neck, ruffling the golden hairs settled there. Renée shudders in his arms, as though she’s caught an old chill, and Eugene unconsciously pulls her closer.

“I am so happy,” she whispers. “Being here with you… it is like remembering how to breathe again. Since the war’s end…”

Her hand has found a place on the back of his neck, fingers playing with his collar. Every so often, they tease the side of Gene’s jaw, and his nerves spark and shiver. “It’s like trying to relearn something that used to come easy,” he affirms, for he understands — he’s felt it too. “Like there’s a weight on your chest, and it’ll crush you if you let it…”

“But it’s gone now,” she sighs. “For the first time, it’s gone. I can breathe.”

Gene inhales, and all he tastes is her. Renée’s perfume, Renée’s presence — like lavender in the summer, sweet and soothing. When she lowers her head against his shoulder, he feels each breath exhaled against him. They continue to sway in the middle of Gene’s foyer; their shadows, backlit against the fading twilight, look like a single being, instead of two people joined together. I could stay like this forever, Agnew realizes, an odd thrill coursing through his veins. It’s the first time he’s felt like this since the war, and maybe before it too — the first time he’s ever understood what peace means, and how precious it is to have and hold. He never wants to let it go.

He never wants to let her go. To lose her now… after everything… dieu au-dessus, he couldn’t stand it.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against her ear. Renée shifts against him, pulling back just enough to regard him quizzically. The word is her own, but Gene certainly isn't echoing it now in regards to his own home.

“What is?”

A smile tugs at Gene’s lips. Renée catches it, and understanding dawns across her face... followed by a grin that lights up the room, warming Gene up from the inside out.

“You have a beautiful soul, Eugene Roe.”

“You—“ He cuts himself off, a blush taking over his cheeks — not helped by the way Renée’s grin grows. Never before has he wanted to say so many things, or had so few words to say them. Every emotion trapped within his chest flutters like a mercurial thing, flickering between one state of existence and another. If he could put voice to at least one of them, all the rest would surely come… like a flood, rushing out with no hope of stopping the flow. The idea terrifies him.

Instead, Gene only exhales and shakes his head, his own grin tugging at his lips. “I’m happy you’re here,” he says. “Happier than I’ve been… for as long as I can remember.”

When Renée leans in, it’s easier than dancing, easier than breathing. Her soft sigh rings in his ears, even as their lips find each other. Gene’s heart picks up a new rhythm in his chest.

Some churning emotion turns to stone inside of him. Finally, it’s tangible. He can feel it. He knows it, as well as he knows the back of his own hand, or the taste of Renée’s mouth.

Beautiful, he thinks. Yeah, sure is.

#renee lemaire #eugene roe #band of brothers #hbo war #my writing #gene/renee #told you i'd get to it anon!!!

12 notes · View notes

dimitrescuswhore · 5 years

Text

Smoke and Mirrors

Pairing: PriyaxMc

Summary: Being a muse comes with more than a few unspoken perks. (Slight au, the events of book one still happened.)

Warnings: Slight nsfw, Priya is Priya.

It had been a long week.

In between having her best friend die and then get brought back to life, and then swaying counsel votes in favor of her not dying again. Amy was incredibly exhausted.

And that was without mentioning the extended amounts of time she’d been around Sayeed. Who she admits (begrudgingly) isn’t that bad (for the most part.) in fact she could be fun (although for the most part she was a stick in the mud.)Regardless, she hadn’t been at Priya’s studio or her apartment. It had been Kamilah’s idea. Surprisingly, (or maybe unsurprisingly, the woman was bright, but living a millennia will do that she guessed.)

The door opens without her touching the knob and really she should be shocked but at this point she looks at the houseboy with a small, tired smile. “Hi, Sergio.”

“Good evening, Amy. Priya’s been expecting you.”

She sighed, her smile falling as she peeled off her coat, handing it to him gently. Her eyes taking in the houseboy. He didn’t look worse for wear. There were no bruises. No blatant marks. Her gaze passed over his neck and she glanced at the small pinpricks left just above his jugular. Or maybe she spoke too soon.

She stepped into the apartment and glanced around. “She’s in the room I take it?” Sergio nods and she can tell just by him looking away that somethings wrong.

“She hasn’t been in the best of moods. Maybe you can soothe her?” Amy smiled again, resting a hand on his bicep.

“Of course.” She gave it a light squeeze and jerked her head towards the kitchen. “Why don’t you and the boys cook up whatever you’d like. I’ll make sure to keep her occupied.”

“Thank you, Amy.” She nods, determined suddenly and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin before walking up the stairs.

The room is dark, but she isn’t too surprised. It usually is. Something about “ambience” and “too much light destroying my creative vision, my pet.”

Amy just found it difficult to read anything and eventually talked her into investing on more than just the extravagant chandelier she had off the ceiling. They’d been fairy lights, red, because that was the compromise but even those were off. Amy frowned, taking a few steps inside. “Priya?”

She hardly gets her lover’s name out before she feels lean arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back against a svelte figure. The brush of lips against her ear makes her shiver as she glides her fingers over the cool, pulseless wrists. “You smell different.” Her voice is low, husky, and dangerous. Completely offsetting the scent of vanilla and amber that seemed to seep off of the vampire. She doesn’t move, simply holding her breath as she feels the taller woman nestle her face against her hair. “You smell like Sayeed.” She feels her arms move slightly, long, slender fingers digging finely manicured nails into the hollow of her hips. “Just what have you been up to, my pet?” She lets out a small gasp as Priya’s grip suddenly turns hard, and in a voice syrupy sweet she asks “don’t you know who you belong to?”

Her head is swimming for an instant, but she shakes her head, scowling slightly as glances up at the taller woman. “Yes Lacroix, I belong to myself.”

“It’s cute how you think that Princess.” Her breath is hot on her ear and she can feel herself trembling just slightly as cool hands slide up the hem of her shirt, strumming up along her ribs as though they were the strings of the guitar and she whimpers as they slide up. She knows, even without seeing it that Priya’s nails are leaving blood-red lines in their wake and isn’t that just like her. Being overtly possessive. “I guess I’ll just have to remind you then.”

She gasps as she’s pushed up against the door, the old wood cool against her heated skin as the other woman pushes her shirt up, pulling it off and throwing it to the side, the air on her back is even colder and she’s not sure if it’s the temperature or the small edge of fear that makes her tremble. Priya isn’t gentle, not by any means, but even she knew enough to not completely break her during their...playtime. But she also knew that Priya was volatile, unpredictable to an extreme at times and she had made the egregious mistake of going missing for a few days.

Of coming back smelling like jasmine and something sharp that she can’t quite place.

She doesn’t get to dwell on her thoughts long though. (And she thinks, for a split second, that it’s better that way.)

Priya is a hot, solid weight against her back, her lips pressing messy, open mouthed kisses to the side of her neck as her nails drag back up, over her stomach, the tips gliding faintly along her skin before the vampire circles them deftly around her nipples. “This is mine, you know.” Slender hips press her tighter against the door and Amy swallows another gasp and grinds back against her, drawing a low, throaty chuckle from the other woman. “I wonder what Sayeed would say if the next time she saw you, it was with my mark on your neck.” Fangs skitter lightly against her pulse, a faint promise of something Amy knows she shouldn’t be this desperate for, but god it feels good, felt good, the one time she feed from her. “I think it’d make a rather fetching accessory,” Amy warmth pool deep in her stomach, her thighs pressing together, her head swimming as she tries to keep her breath even, “don’t you?”

Her body is hot, so hot, Priya’s breath is sticky sweet against the shell of her ear and she can’t think, can’t think of anything about how much she’s missed this, missed just letting go and letting someone else take control. She gasps as one of Priya’s hands reach up, grabbing a fistful of her hair before tugging her head back, exposing the front of her throat. “I asked you a question, Princess.” She pulls tighter and Amy whines as heat slithers from her stomach to pool at her center. Her other hand continues to pluck and pull, nails running slow, almost lazy circles before they pinch down and Amy lets out a strangled groan, and suddenly her teasing hand is sliding down, gripping her hips to keep her from grinding back. Pinning her harder against the door, the hand clenching her hair lets go, before cool fingers curl against her throat, squeezing just enough for her vision to blur. “You should answer me.”

“Y....Yes.” She feels her teeth nip at the tender skin of her neck, sucking just hard enough to bruise but not enough to break the skin. It’s almost enough to distract her from the palm sliding down over her sternum, brushing against the flat plane of her stomach. Her head is spinning and she’s drowning, she swears she’s drowning and if she doesn’t get Priya right where she wants her she might die.

“Yes what?” Her voice is all silk, and she flinches just slightly as her hand dips below the waistline of her skirt, her nails press down hard against the soaked fabric covering her folds and Amy bites her lip, resting her cheek against the cool, wooden door as her hips buck slightly against the growing pressure between her thighs.

“M...mark me.” She moans low in her throat as Priya tears the fabric away, expensive lace being tossed aside like paper. “Make me yours.”

She can practically feel the smirk as it curls it’s way across her face.

——————————————————————

Amy doesn’t really know how they made it to the bed. She’s sure somewhere between the fifth and sixth time she gave in, her legs gave out.

But it’s nice, she thinks, as she melts into blood red silk sheets, being back.

She stretches just slightly and glances up to see Priya, propped up on an arm. She’s incredibly warm and deliciously naked, watching her with something unreadable masked behind her cold, dark eyes. “Welcome back.” She half expects a smirk, and when she realizes the woman’s face is still a mask of stoicism she starts to worry.

‘Oh jesus, oh god, what if she’s actually Kamilah. Oh god, vampires can shape shift right? Oh god Ohgodohgod.’ Her thoughts stop, if only for a moment as she feels fingers slide through her hair, playing with the messy strands thoughtlessly.

“I’ve been thinking.” She blinks back up at the vampire and she watches the other woman’s face scrunch up when she says it. ‘Yeah, okay. It’s not Kamilah. Okay. Oh god. Oh thank god’

“Yeah? That’s new for you. What about?” There’s a flicker of a slick smile and she feels the fingers in her hair tighten just slightly, a playful reprimand before they go back to mussing up the strands.

“You.” She raises an eyebrow and Priya continues. “You’re mine you know.”

Amy laughs, easily because of course she is, if the ache between her legs and the fact that she’s sure her neck and chest are covered in dark purple marks and wine red lip stains are anything to go off of. She winces slightly. And the fact that she probably wouldn’t be able to walk properly for a week. “In a way.”

Priya hums and stares at her, for a moment she thinks she’s leering, getting ready for round nine or ten but her eyes are only focused on her face. It takes her a moment, but suddenly it clicks. She was studying her.

“You’re my muse, at the very least.” The vampire’s fingers stop twisting her hair and her eyes narrow just slightly. Amy gulps, for a moment. She’s not too sure where this is going and if there’s one thing she had to hand to Adrian and Kamilah it was that they had always been transparent. Or as transparent as they could be.

With Priya, she always accepted the fact that she only operated through smoke and mirrors.

“I received an invitation to be apart of Milan’s fashion week.” The woman pauses for a moment and Amy props herself up on her elbows. “I want you to come with me, I have a feeling I’ll be needing” Amy almost grins as Priya’s lips curl back up into her trademark smirk “...inspiration.”

———————————————————————

HEY GAYS. HOPE YA LIKED YA JUICE

@dannimogen @countessannabelle

#playchoices #bloodbound #priya lacroix

61 notes · View notes

caandlle · 5 years

Text

NALU Witch AU pt. 1: “Unleashed.”

Lucy is risking her life to complete the task assigned to her through her bloodline, but the ritual goes awry, and a dangerous entity is unleashed from its bindings.

Lucy shoots a cautious look over her shoulder and tightens her grip on the outline of her keys hanging off her belt, covered by her thick, black coat. There was nothing - and nobody - there but over the years, some of the more observant locals would no doubt remember a hooded figure who only appeared on one, singular day every year. That sort of attention could (and would) cost her life.

Nobody liked witches, after all.

The warmth of her keys against her thigh, although covered by her skirt’s fabric, was a reassuring sensation that helped soothe some of her anxiety. It wasn’t much, considering Lucy had willingly entered Fiore’s most prominent witch-hunting town - Hargeon.

Lucy kept to the shadows, hurrying through the alleyway as close to the stone wall as the space would allow. The candlelight from a window overheard flickered as she swept past, the fire reacting to the power under her skin. It burned brighter, the element pulling on her magic greedily, and Lucy hastily severed the connection.

Her mind had been so occupied with her thoughts that she’d let her magic flow free. A rookie mistake. Lucy could hear her coven's elders scoldings ring in her ears as she tugged her coat tighter around her body in an attempt to ward off the chill permeating in the air.

Lucy spared the candle one last glance as she turned the corner. Hopefully, the owners hadn’t seen the brief change because she’d be in trouble otherwise… All the locals in this town were educated on how to spot any form of magic, whether it was a faint link or otherwise.

This was something Lucy knew very, very well.

Lucy made sure to keep her magic under lock and key as she slipped into another alleyway, scurrying past the main road quickly. It may be nearing midnight and the townsfolk were tucked safely in their beds, but the main roads were still dangerous. Hargeon was a suspicious town filled to the brim with superstitions and stories of witches cackling in the night. Lucy didn’t want to take even take the risk for fear of being spotted.

A hooded figure rushing through the town late at night screamed witch, according to Hargeon’s logic.

Lucy hastened her pace as the edge of the forest came into view, relief flooding every cell in her body. She’d be much safer in the forest and be able to move more freely, compared to the way she had to sneak through the town.

The forest would protect her.

Her magic pulsed under her skin as she sidestepped a wayward crate, pace close to an almost-sprint, ready to let the thick branches and greenery envelop her.

If anyone did spot her, Lucy would be safe once she crossed over the edge. She just needed to get there. C’mon, c'mon...

A strange sense of foreboding filled her as her magic started to crawl within her body, whispering in her ear as gusts of wind grabbed hold of her hood and pushed it down.

“HEY!”

Lucy started, tripping over herself in surprise. She snapped her head towards the angry voice, pushing herself up from the concrete. The wind, although aggravated, gently caressed her golden hair so that the strands created a sort of halo-looking effect around her pale face.

Lucy cursed, snatched her hood over her head and scrambled back to her feet. “OI!” The man hobbling over to her shouted, raising his fist in the air. “Do ya realise what time of night it is? Who are ya -”

Lucy sprinted towards the forest, who had its branches already open to welcome her. The man shouted once more but over the roar of the wind against her ears, his words were drowned out. Her heart pounded loudly against her chest, her legs burning with the effort of her sprint.

Why now? When she was so close? He’d also seen her face. Lucy tried to stamp it down but the panic continued to bubble up, her throat starting to close up and making difficult to breathe.

Lucy’s hold over her magic quickly spiralled, mind too full of fear and run, run, run to maintain the concentration. The wind around her slapped against her skin, sending mini tornadoes created of dust, dirt, and leaves, empowered through her magic’s tether.

She could just hear her pursuers’ alarmed shout as he realised that magic had just taken place. Lucy heard heavy thuds of boots hitting concrete, sounding the arrival of more men woken from the frenzied shouts of witch! witch! witch! over the roaring wind.

Panic seized her heart as the ding of the bell in town square echoed throughout Hargeon. It rang and rang, causing the whole town to wake from its deep slumber and form an angry, raging mob.

There were screaming and shouting and Lucy knew that numerous torches had been lit by the way the element searched out her magic and pulled. The heavy hold that Lucy generally had on her magic was almost non-existent – letting the power go wild – due to her panic.

The fire drained her and the wind was violent around her, both intoxicated by the pulsing of the magic running through her veins. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and the sharp bite of the wind but the witch just blinked the pain away.

Lucy ignored the burn in her legs as she pushed herself to go faster. C’mon, c’mon. The forest was just a couple more steps away...

A hand snagged on her ankle and pulled hard.

Lucy fell with a cry, temple knocking against the soft earth while her ankle screamed from being yanked nearly out of its socket. She was certain something had been damaged. Her head pounded as she pushed herself up by her elbows, kicking at the hand still latched onto her ankle with her uninjured foot.

Her heel hit flesh with a resounding crack and the person who had grabbed her let go with a shout of pain. Not one to waste any time, Lucy scrambled to her feet once more, wincing at the sharp pain that shot up her leg. Thankfully, the man who had managed to grab her was still reeling from the feisty kick to his nose, so even whilst half limping she managed to get away.

Lucy almost cried when the branches swallowed her frame, protecting her from the angry mob aching to put her head on a spike.

The townsfolk wouldn’t dare venture into Flamevien forest. It was considered a dark blight against Hargeon’s reputation, a place wrought with evil and magic. Not even the bravest of men would risk stepping a single toe over the edge, for fear of being dragged into its depths and swallowed whole.

Flamevien was alive with magic, yes, but not evil. Never evil... although many considered the two to go hand-in-hand.

Lucy rested her palm against a burly tree trunk, ignoring her throbbing ankle as she tried to catch her breath. The forest was silent around her, its magic gently caressing her skin as comfort. Her own magic was vibrating under her skin and she furiously stamped it down.

Oh, how disappointed her master would be. She’d lost control so easily – it was like she had been reduced to a mere fledging once again – blinded by her panic and fear. She was nearly finished with her apprenticeship but no doubt this mess would force her progress back. A witch should never, under any circumstances, let her magic run rampant. A witch’s control must be like iron shackles, binding down the power until it is allowed to draw on the elements.

Her supposed ‘iron shackles’ had been reduced to mere string bindings, tearing apart with a single tug. Some witch she was...

Lucy had also caused the whole town to erupt into a frenzied, witch-hunting rage.

When word got back to the coven, Lucy would be in deep trouble. She’d be peeling the special moss for herb lessons for months. Lucy mourned the future of her currently clean fingernails - they’d be stained for long after that punishment ended.

The forest shielded her from the mob outside but did not keep their vengeful cries from her ears. The air reeked of smoke and she could still feel the element trying to reach her, although it was a fruitless effort, since Lucy had her control back. There was no way she was going to let it slip through her fingers again.

The townsfolk cursed, raged, and threatened her. Lucy shivered at some of the insults they directed at her… Fortunately, she was safe as long as she resided in the forest.

The difficult part would be getting out of Hargeon. Flamevien was surrounded by water on the outskirts - a product of the power it held - and the way she came was a one-way ticket. The people of Hargeon knew that and so they would wait for her… The prospect of burning another witch at the stake? Hargoen relished in it. Burning witches were considered acts of glory and brought great honour upon those who had managed such a task.

Lucy held her head in her hands, crouching down and rested her elbows on her knees, a heavy cloud of despair hanging above her.

How was she going to get out of this mess?

Lucy focused on her breathing to re-centre her soul. Inhale, exhale. Eventually, her hands stopped shaking enough that she was fairly confident she could finally get to what she had come to this wretched town for.

Lucy stood up and dusted off her knees and the back of her coat, rolling her shoulders and stared ahead with determination. She’d figure out what to do later. Now, though, she had a witch duty to complete.

The forest buzzed to life in time with her new resolution. Lucy watched as a cat with blue fur ran past, smiling mischievously in her direction. It disappeared as quickly as it came, blue body faintly transparent and flickering.

A spirit.

Lucy watched its tail vanish into the shrubbery before making her way through the familiar path. To the untrained eye, it was just a collection of thick, intertwined trees and vines but to a witch who had travelled to Flamevien annually for about six years, it was as easy to spot as the path to her own home.

Her ankle throbbed painfully and Lucy let her magic gather around the wound, soothing some of the aches. It wouldn’t do much nor would it last for long – healing magic was more Wendy’s forte than hers – but it would do for now.

Lucy followed the path, climbing over the tangled roots and pushing aside thorny branches. She only had to walk for a few minutes before a clearing appeared, her destination located in the very center.

Lucy couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips when her eyes rested on the house. It was an old, rickety thing so bent out of shape that just looking at it sends alarm bells ringing. The walls were cracked, torn down in some areas, allowing a free view into the interior. It was leaning a little too much to the left to be entirely safe, and thick vines clung to the stone.

It was an ominous looking house, with an aura exuding danger, and Lucy couldn’t help but be immensely comforted by it.

The magic residing in the house spiked at her presence, making leaves near the broken porch fly up and greet her, swirling around her head. Lucy let out a giggle.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Lucy smiled and made her way up the porch, avoiding the loose step. The door swung open at her approach, sending a spider crafting a web on the handle tumbling to the floor.

The inside of the house was as decrepit as the exterior, if not worse. It reeked of dust and dirt, making Lucy crinkle her nose in protest of the stench. Lucy expertly dodged the cracks and openings in the floorboards without having to put too much thought to it, used to the house’s weak spots after so many years of walking upon these very boards.

She could feel the house’s anticipation palpitating as she neared what was once the living room. It was where she would reside for the next hour, channeling her magic.

The living room was admittedly the most intact area of the entire house, although not by much. Cobwebs hung from every crevice and Lucy winced at the sound of rats scurrying away, startled by her presence. There was a large magic circle on the floorboards, staining the wood due to the repeated use of Witch’s Chalk over the years. She’d have to redraw it...

The candles littering the floor spontaneously lit up as she stepped foot into the room, passing through the open arch doorway. They were in exactly the same place as Lucy had last left them the year before. She gave a little flick of her finger and every second candle shot up in the air, bobbing in place, the light illuminating the dark space.

Lucy took a breath and unbuttoned her coat, shrugging it off. She gently draped it over a dusty armchair (it would need a thorough wash once she got home) and grabbed hold of her keys.

Most of her coven didn’t understand why she risked being exposed as a witch, and in turn, her life. Her annual trip here was something Lucy didn’t have a choice in – something the witches back home would likely never understand.

A witch’s duty was sacred (they all knew that) but this was Lucy’s. Nobody but Lucy could complete this task, and she would do so until eventually, the magic toll became too much, effectively ending her life.

Like her ancestors before her.

Lucy understood the risks. The ritual took more from her magic, soul and body as the years went on. It would become harder to continue, the toll ultimately becoming too much for her to bear. The house and Flamevien would suck up her power like a greedy leech until she had nothing left.

But she would do it. Lucy had to do it.

This was the secret that she kept from her coven. They would forbid her from coming, angered by her ‘foolish desire to continue her family legacy’.

This duty was a death sentence and Lucy would see it done until the very end.

Lucy let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes tiredly as if the action could erase her thoughts. Now was not the time to slip down that road. Her focus needed to be strong, her magic stable, and her soul open.

Lucy knelt down next to the lone armchair, pushing the molding furniture back slightly. She grimaced at the feel of thick dust bunnies coating her fingers but continued to search for the weak spot in the wooden floorboard, listening for the tell-tale sound of hollow wood. With a triumphant cry, Lucy curled her fingers over the small hole, cracking open the hidden space.

The witch stuck her free hand down the opening, fumbling through the items she’d stashed within it over the years, feeling for a particular object.

Once she found it, Lucy pulled her hand back and let the floorboard fall back into place. She wiped her hand against her skirt and uncurled her first, revealing an (albeit dusty) elongated piece of white chalk. It was getting a little cracked due to use so she set a reminder for herself to go purchase another one for next year.

Lucy redrew the magic circle, eyes narrowed with concentration, grateful that her hands were no longer shaking. Each line had to be precise. Anything that didn’t connect or wasn’t shaped right would undo the entire process, and she’d have to erase it.

Luckily, Lucy’s hands knew this magic circle by pure muscle memory. Redrawing the symbol was methodical and somewhat relaxing, effectively easing any leftover tension coiled in her gut.

Once she was done, Lucy stood back to admire her handiwork and ensure there were no faults. Thankfully, it was exactly as it should be...

Lucy took a deep breath and folded her legs underneath her, sitting in the centre of the newly drawn circle.

It was time.

Lucy slowly cracked the lid on her magic, letting the power willingly flow through her veins. It wanted to rush out, eager to create havoc and spread like wildfire, but Lucy kept it to a mere trickle so the space wouldn’t be overwhelmed. Exhaustion lurked in her weary limbs, the out pour of magic combined with her earlier exertion, made it rather difficult to keep her eyes open. Lucy shook off the feeling. This was a difficult spell and being tired would only cause complications that she couldn’t afford.

The air around her was thick with the intensity of her magic paired with the house (and the forest by extension), causing her hair to float around her head. Her eyes began to glow golden while her skin adopted an ethereal hue.

When she spoke, her voice echoed with the sound of a hundred dead witches, all combining their power. “Spirit of old, let us beg for forgiveness. Let it be our blood that seals the first love.”

A gust wind began to pick up despite being inside, forming a transparent tornado that circled around her, sparking with golden strains of magic. The candles were fixated in place through magic and the flames refused to die out, undisturbed by the violent element.

“Of bounds and shackles, we tether thy to this plane. For our power shall entrance the King, of golden ties and a forgotten caress.” As Lucy chanted, the spirits of her ancestors began to take form just inside the rim of the magic circle. As each one took shape, they joined hands and began to chant. They flickered with each burst of magic, transparent, but held strong as they performed the ritual with her.

“Let us bind you. We tether thy to this plane.” A hundred and one witches’ voices shouted into the space, emotionless and fixated. The circle written in chalk began to glow underneath her, the magical properties reacting to the pure, unadulterated force crackling in the space.

“Demon of old, may you rest until the night where the stars intertwine.” Lucy’s mind was not her own. The magic tied her soul intricately with her ancestors, making her feel their pain. Their desperation. If not for the haze, Lucy would be writhing in torment at the sensation of her one hundred souls being crammed into her body.

Heat began to spread, the moisture in the air hissing with steam... That was new. The candle’s flames roared to life, expanding twice the size of a normal fire. Lucy felt a piece of herself break as fire travelled around the circle, growing hotter as each second passed. It was blocked by the rim, unable to cross over, so it only grew taller until it completely surrounded her, blocking her view of anything but the element.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The fire element had never reacted this way. The haze over her eyes began to crack due to the bubbling panic - this shouldn’t be happening. The spirits of her ancestors screamed at her, sensing the disturbance.

Pure agony ripped through her body as Lucy regained some of her awareness. “Stop,” she gasped. “Please stop.”

The witches only chanted louder, voices meshing with each other to create a mindless hum. Lucy’s hand twitched, the only visible sign of her pain. Her body was being controlled by the spirits.

“STOP!” The young witch screamed, voice hoarse from misuse. Her pleas went unanswered.

Lucy could only sob, unable do anything. Pain laced through her veins as more magic was drawn from her, making her soul writhe and shake. It was as if she was being torn apart by the very seams.

The fire slowed at the screams tearing from her throat, the tips reaching for her but was blocked by the magic circle’s barrier. It slammed against it in a desperate need to get to her, but the barrier was impenetrable, and the element became even angrier than before.

What was going on? Lucy had never seen anything like it. She’d been doing the ritual for years – and had been watching it be performed by her mother since she was a little girl. This was an entirely new development that had never occurred before. Had she done something wrong during the preparation – no, that couldn’t be it. She’d had gone through the ritual the same as she did every year.

The spirits around her continued to repeat the spell, withdrawing more magic at each spoken word. It didn’t matter that she no longer chanted alongside them and that terrified the young witch. Under no circumstances should the spell’s binding words halt, otherwise the ritual would render defective and volatile. That was the first lesson instilled in her by her mother. Her words were what gave her ancestors a tether to the living realm, allowing the connection to be formed through her magic. They weren’t supposed to be able to take control like this – they shouldn’t be able to take control.

Tears gathered in her eyes, dripping down her cheeks, the only other sign that she still had a tiny sliver of control over her body. Something had gone very, very wrong. Lucy tried to fight the spirits’ but one, young witch couldn’t stand her own against one hundred experienced witches whose only purpose was to see this duty completed, even in death.

One hundred pairs of glowing eyes bore into her and if Lucy’s body was her own once again, she would’ve shivered at the intensity. Her soul was flickering and that was shown as the witches’ visibility grew more transparent, the tether binding them to the realm stretching thin.

Lucy was running out of magic.

She would’ve collapsed in relief at this if she could. Under normal circumstances, Lucy would’ve been frantic, terrified out of her mind at how low her magic stores were becoming. A witch cannot survive without magic – the loss was going to kill her. However, Lucy couldn’t bring herself to care in this very moment. The pain igniting in every nerve in her body was pure agony, and she was so, so scared.

Lucy just wanted it to end.

The witches could sense how little magic she had left and continued the spell with more urgency. The fire element continued to circle around the rim, crackling and hissing as more magic poured into the space, pushing against the barrier.

Her limbs were straining with effort to rise but the young woman refused to let them, gathering all her strength to resist the spirit’s will. She had little strength left to begin with and after a few seconds of struggling, the battle was over. Lucy felt another piece of her break as her last shred of ownership over her body was given to the witches. Lucy could only watch in horror as the witches forced her arms to lift in front of her, palms upturned to the ceiling. A pinprick of blood appeared in the center of both her palms. An invisible entity cut a thin line across her skin from both sides of the original speck of blood, digging deeper as it went on. Once a substantial amount of blood was drawn, her fists clenched, letting the liquid drip down onto the magic circle.

Blood magic.

Lucy screamed but her voice no longer belonged to her so only the spell’s words escaped her throat, which only made her panic grow more intense. There was nothing she could do to stop this. Blood magic was prohibited, outlawed long before her time. It was a dangerous practice that had unseeable consequences – why were they making her do this? More blood splattered on the floorboards, drawn to the magical properties of the Witch’s Chalk. It travelled across the bare wood and reached each line, seeping into the white chalk and staining it red.

The magic buzzed in anticipation as the spell grew closer to the end. The entire room exploded in golden light, enveloping both her form and the witches circled around her. The light burned her eyes but she could not close them.

“Let it be our blood that seals you until the first love returns.”

Uttering the last verse drained her entirely. The candles in the air immediately went out and dropped, falling to the floor with a muted thud. The circle of fire vanished within mere seconds, and it would’ve been like the element was never there if not for the black scorch marks as a permanent reminder.

The spirits hold over her snapped and Lucy collapsed sideways, thoroughly spent by the ritual. Her head hit the floorboards with a thump and her entire body twitched as the spirits were severed from her soul one-by-one. Every single one of them looked relieved and worn out, but only a few gave her mournful gazes and guilty glances. Lucy watched them disappear until the very last spirit remained.

Mother.

The spirit of Layla Heartfilia looked upon her daughter, eyes shining with unshed tears. My precious star, her mother’s voice rang through her head, I knew it would be you that set us free. Lucy’s breath stopped at the familiar, loving tone that she had not heard for many years. Tears fell freely from Lucy’s eyes but she could not manage to open her mouth to call for her mother.

No, she wanted to shout as her mother’s form flickered. Please don’t leave me. Layla only shook her head, strands of hair falling from her bun. A sad, smile and a single tear trailing down her cheek were the last thing Lucy saw before her mother disappeared, soul floating towards the stars to join them.

Lucy openly sobbed, body shaking, as her own soul was drained of life. Everything hurt and Lucy just wanted to be back in her mother’s embrace, the familiar warmth to comfort her, as if she were a child again. Her eyes began to close, becoming half-lidded as Lucy slipped further into the hazy black.

A hint of steam rose from in front of her and her eyes were drawn to it, fighting off the sleep threatening to drag her under. What was happening? Magma soon replaced the steam, growing in size as her chest shuddered with each deep breath. It grew and grew, rising upwards. Lucy could only watch in her half-unconscious state as the substance began to take a humanoid form, hissing and gurgling.

Was this what the witches wanted?

The temperature spiked, waves of visible heat emanating off... whatever it was. Soon the matter began to crack, revealing tanned flesh, black specks of ash cascading towards the ground. A loud, deep groan sounded from the monster as pink lips were revealed. A pointed tongue swiped across the lips, revealing sharp, canine teeth. More cracks appeared but, from her angle, Lucy could not see above the being’s mouth.

Red scales glinted through the openings but they were only on one side of the being’s body, melting with its skin. There was a loud whoosh and a dark shadow hung behind it, but no matter how much she strained her eyes, Lucy couldn’t make out what the shadow was.

Lucy stopped breathing as the being crouched down, the transformation apparently finished, allowing her to see its face.

A shock of pink, messy hair appeared in her vision with a thick, sharp horn protruding out of one side of its head.

Demon.

Lucy’s heart seized as she registered what the spirits had just unleashed. Her vision began to blur as the face moved closer and Lucy tried to blink to clear it but it only worsened. His head tilted, the whites of his teeth baring at her through his elated grin. The demon rested his elbows on his knees as he stretched his neck, the motion making a loud crack.

“Ah,” the demon’s voice made goose bumps form on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. “Finally.”

Hi everyone! Once again, this was supposed to be a one-shot but I’m incapable of doing so... here’s part 1 of my newest Witch AU! HOWEVER, my Dragon AU takes precedence, so I’ll likely only release sneak peaks while I work on this behind the scenes. Once of golden connections is well under way, I’ll start posting this story!

If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out the rest of my NaLu fics here. I’ve got a Mermaid AU, a Dragon AU, a fluffy-oneshot, and a ‘Mate’ AU. More to come soon! :)

Thanks for reading everyone!

#nalu #witch AU #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #natsu x lucy #fairy tail #ft fanfiction #nalu fanfiction #hope this was worth the wait!!#I had so much fun writing this y'all don't understand #I loved creating this #ashfksdjkfa #I hope you guys enjoyed this #some parts are still ehhh to me but I haven't figured a way to fix it #so I'll just leave it #ENJOY #demon natsu #caandle's works

113 notes · View notes

lolitain · 5 years

Text

There Is Always A Lolita Style For You

Maintaining a sweet style is crucial for modern people; a modern look helps you stand out in the crowded. Your taste and personality are expressed by the accessories you choose. On the other hand, an intelligent look ensures trust. It is generally accepted that the rich look does much for you. Something that cannot be achieved before it is made easy this time because of your new handsome style.

So how can you stay in handsome style? To pursue the mainstream of fashion is interesting and not really daunting. It does not matter if you have the financial means to buy branded goods. Even though the luxurious designs of famous artists are unattainable for you, you will find many replicas of attractive versions or charming ones. If you are not interested in a specific brand, it will be much easier too.

Lolita Fashion Styles Make Things Easier For You.

Lolita sounds pretty cute and romantic, right? This word comes from Spain. Presents a princess, blouse, skirt, pants, coat, jacket and of course, a dress, mostly sweet colors like blue, pink and purple are used. Also, bright colors like black and white are an eternal approach for artists and modern girls.

Where can you wear Lolita dresses? Honestly, it will be difficult to find an opportunity where these princess styles do not fit. Usually, a hot star is called the queen of the trend. This time almost all modern girls can take on the role of the sweet faction.

1. Sweet And Charming Style

I often think boys choose the cute girl because they are easy targets. But after all the jazz, why do you think the boy leaves in the end? I love it when a girl can be herself and not shit. It should not be rude and abrasive. She needs to know how to stand firm and be familiar with who she is. The sweet style girls do not represent this for me.

I feel I’ll get bored after a while. I’m not boring because it’s a sexual problem. I say boring because the sweet girls are too simple and way too shy for me, although I think that every sweet girl has the potential to be strong and interesting.

While in a certain nation, where the subculture originates, it’s easier to carry mountains of pink ruffles and petticoats, you may not know where to look for the perfect cupcake dress, for example;

Alicia Lolita Chandelier

A classic and timeless Lolita apron for every outfit! It’s made of cotton and is washable. Ideal for baking Lolita or if you want to use an Alice-style apron as an accessory.

The original pattern is a size that can be adjusted to a waistline of 34 “. Custom sizes can be made, and I have several options for lace embellishments. Do not hesitate to contact us if you have a specific look at it. As an alternative apron, other colors could be used, such as cream cotton, floral lace, and a longer skirt.

Doll Collar Ruffle Chiffon Sweet Lolita Long Sleeve Dress

This Lolita dress is like a Collar doll dress. The Collar is rounded and does not conform to you so you can move easily when you use it. The sleeves have a length of three quarters and will be very thin. You will always feel good wearing this doll collar ruffle chiffon sweet Lolita long sleeve dress as it is slim and comfortable. It will become one of your favorites in no time.

Black Chiffon Binding Strap Off-The-Shoulder Classic Lolita Dress

This very black chiffon binding strap off-the-shoulder classic Lolita dress is made of soft, black fabric and vegan leather (100% polyester). The handsome style dress is pleated in the chest and the abdomen and hips so that it perfectly covers all imperfections. The main part of this sexy style dress is a pentagram. The lower part is connected to a ring between brasses. The sides are connected with adjustable straps.

2. Fairy Style

The Lolita skirt, the Lolita sweet style skirt has a kind of fairy. The transparency of the lace and crocheted flowers gives a feeling of fairies.

Embroidery Little High Waist Classic Lolita Long Dress

A wavy skirt like the classic Lolita high-waisted dress with floral embroidery has been in place since the beginning of the movement. Specializing in the beautiful sweet style, it is the dream of a rising princess who becomes a reality with the classic high-waisted dress, embellishments, and ribbons. Here you will find a variety of styles, including elaborate dresses or more casual clothing.

Fairy Princess Printing (FPP) Little High Waist Classic Lolita Skirt

The Fairy Princess Printing color is very vibrant that you instantly fell in love with it out there, and the resolution of the print is excellent. Again, this fairy style skirt looks very pretty at a distance. Fairy Princess Printing Waist fit very well.

3. Sexy Style

Sexy style dress type is the beauty when you show a part of your very own body, as a split skirt, from the shoulder, a naval costume. They all show the charm of women, but these do not make anyone feel uncomfortable and uncontrollable. These Sexy style dresses include:

Gothic Black Sling Sexy Tearing Sleeveless Garment

The black gothic sling is 100% new and of high quality, made with high-quality black Open The Shoulder Tight Waist Lolita Skirt gauze, soft, comfortable, medium thickness and with good air permeability. The perfect handsome style for women and girls is great for the night party, everyday life, travel, the beach, etc. Fashionable as well as cool pattern, wonderful with stylish Pop design; great fashion looks Teen’s outfit!

Black Open The Shoulder Tight Waist Lolita Skirt

Black Open the Shoulder Tight Waist Lolita Skirt is the best for any girl that wants to show a bit of sensory system out there but not in excesses. Black Open the Shoulder Tight Waist Lolita Skirt is hot and would make you hot too.

And again, you can switch from head to toe “Loli” if you want. Here you will find many ornaments and lace, but also rivets and skulls.

Cotton Backless Sexy Gothic Lolita Sling Dress

Sexy Lolita dress skirt in high-quality gothic style for Lolita fans. You can use it for work or join a Lolita Cosplay Party. To get the size information: You should check the image of the website well, as some of these Gothic Lolita Sling Dresses are always available online. This very gothic dress by Lolita Sling is one of the hot Lolita Sling dresses of 2019.

Purple Lace Perspective Backless Sexy Slim Gothic

The purple lace can be complicated sometimes. I like to avoid lace trimmings on camisoles and worry that they look like lingerie that you should not see. The sexy black lace dress with long, narrow, Gothic sleeves is often perceived too elegant for the office.

For some, the top is suitable for the office if it is to be seen and it does not invite one to the bedroom. Therefore, Purple Lace Perspective Backless Sexy Slim Gothic Long Sleeve Long Dress is great everywhere and you can dare it now.

4. Handsome Style

Exaggerated colors, cool shapes, and handsome hairstyles! It’s about putting clothes together to make you look good. I’ll show you something below

Gothic Black Flare Sleeve Off-Shoulder Short Sleeve Shirt

Impressive gothic upper with flared sleeves, open shoulders, transparent material! Impressive and famous among the ladies of the new era also older women fall in love with this dress Off-shoulder. The handsome style Gothic Black Flare Sleeve Off-shoulder Short Sleeve Shirt is particularly impressive when worn outside with fashionable wigs.

Short Black Hair Handsome Cosplay Lolita Wig

This Lolita Wig size by Hair Handsome Cosplay is adjustable and should fit most people. All you have to do is set the hooks in the lid to the correct size to fit your head.

Short Black Hair Handsome Cosplay Lolita Wig looks very natural, feels soft, breathable and has a perfect closure. Easy to use and remove. This wig has a high-quality leather top, which gives the wig an appearance of naturalness and reality.

Classic Style: The Classic Is Not Old.

The classic Lolita dresses can be perfectly balanced and are the best choice. The classic Lolita dress (CLD) is conceivably the most gorgeous, elegant as well as feminine of the Lolita sweet styles. The classic fashion of Lolita sexy style is never old; it’s more fashionable and close to the lifestyle you ever wanted.

You Can Have One Of The Following Options:

Corolla Rabbit Series Square Collar Classic

Bronzing Constellation Chiffon Bowknot Classic

Star Dream Magic Array* Series JSK Classic

Do you still follow other people’s Lolita methods? Or do you want to have your sexy style in the Lolita game? The above tips are some useful ways to coordinate your own Lolita outfits. If you are a fan of Lolita’s clothing sweet style and want to have your own classic style, you can get a reference here today.

#lolita dress #classic lolita #sweet lolita #lolita wigs #lolita shirt #gothic lolita

8 notes · View notes

ajoraverse · 5 years

Text

I should probably post things I’ve been working on, so here: an excerpt from Rhapsody (teens and up, FF5, Faris and Alexander, Ghost Festival fic). It’s a follow-up to The Island and will have a cover illustration.

It's for Lenna, and for her own soul, that she's here to summon the dead. Faris needs advice that she refuses to go to anyone else for; if she has to get her hands dirty, she'd rather no one know about it so as to better shield Lenna from any backlash.

He turns up around midnight. The spirit of her father looks old, worn-out the way he did just before his death. It takes him a moment to get his bearings and figure out that he's in the family mausoleum. When the recognition finally strikes, Faris raises her glass.

"Mornin', Dad."

Her father's eyebrows go up at what she's sure is an unusual tableau: a couple of chairs hauled from the castle, a table between them with a bottle of wine and two glasses, lit candles and incense that some Istorian shaman assured her would help her raise the dead, her cello propped between her knees and its bow unceremoniously stuck in the bass-side f-hole, and his final resting place right behind her. And she's in her king's garb. That always makes people look twice.

With a grin, she stands and steps out from behind her cello to make a sweeping bow. The white trousers aren't so different from what she used to wear as a captain, though the silk certainly feels nicer against her skin than the wool ever did. She still favors boots to the shoes that are in fashion; these are just nicer than her old pair. The waistcoat works as just as well as the binder did to hold her breasts in, and embroidered silver sea dragons swim up and down the edges and stand out brightly against the pale blue-grey, wave-patterned damask fabric. The ivory and gold brocade coat is probably her favorite part of the ensemble: the brocade is in a subtle dragonscale pattern with stylized wings in the back, the gold satin lining flashes when she strides through the castle and the long skirt-like tail in the back flares out like the one on her captain's greatcoat, red stitches decorate along the seams as an acknowledgment of her role as the Light Warrior of Fire. The white satin sash with its embroidered gold band and gold sky dragon brooch might have been purloined from a portrait of her father at her age, though the white lace cravat and its Syldra-shaped pin is all her.

"You've appointed yourself king?" The tone of his voice is mild curiosity, but the crinkling at the corners of his eyes betray his amusement at her gall.

"'Twas a concession, I'm afraid. I'll not wear a dress and the minister refused to let me attend official functions in my preferred attire. Lenna's still the ruling queen. She can keep her throne." Frankly, the very notion of undertaking Lenna's workload and responsibilities drives Faris up the wall. Anyone who would want to be a ruler of a nation has no idea what it takes to be a good one.

At her gesture of invitation, he joins her on the other chair; she sits back down shortly after he does, sets aside her glass, and drapes herself over her cello like some dragon sunning on a warm rock.

Fine, so maybe she did want to reconnect. This silence of theirs is comfortable; she has her own death to thank for that. She knows now, in a way she didn't before, that he accepts her as she is. For some reason he's never explained, he even seems proud of her. It's not something she needed--she came to terms with not having a proper family long ago--but both acceptance and pride from her father are nice to have.

"When did you take up the cello?" he asks at last, once his form fully shifts from transparent shade to solid and almost alive.

"Oh, well, funny story, that." Faris pulls her bow out of the sound hole and tucks it frog-end into her palm so she can get to it quickly when she needs to. She plucks out a simple tune that goes up and down scales, altering the beginning note each time. It's meant to evoke the thought of the Crystals spinning idly over their daises, light catching and reflecting off their facets. "We lost most of the skills the Crystal shards taught us when they put themselves back together. The ones we kept were those from the Crystals that chose us. Butz still makes a good fighter, with sword or without. Lenna's still our best mage. Krile's a nightmare with her katana and a wizard with potions. Me, I sneak around better than ever, I've still got a good ear and a knack with timing, and," her eyes might sparkle when she says it and her fingers pause for the moment, "any dragon I talk to talks back."

Her father perks up and his eyes sparkle just as much as hers. "Wild ones, too?"

"Aye. Wild and domesticated. Any variety of dragon. Mind, some of that I got from you. Fire Crystal just... enhanced it, I reckon." And that was an exciting discovery, being hit with a wave of malice just before some demon dragon leapt out at them from a treasure chest. Her head still aches sometimes from Shinryuu's mental assault.

"You were always sensitive to them," her father says slowly as he works through some memory or other. "Notos said he heard you when you were born. It's why I wanted you to ride him as soon as your mother allowed it."

Admittedly, she doesn't recall much of that time. At most she has snatches of half-remembered feelings and maybe some images. She does remember her father's dragon introducing himself for the first time and running, screaming, to the nearest watchtower because his voice sounded in her head and not from outside her like human voices.

Sometimes Faris suspects that this sensitivity is why she heard Syldra in that whirlpool he kicked up when she was fifteen, just before she dived in and they bonded. Nowadays it's just a matter of course, especially once Krile helped her hone her ability, and the dragons she encounters just mentally curl up in her head until she shoo's them out. Something about them recognizing her as kin.

She sets the bow on the D string and close enough to the G string for it to resonate and starts--the notes short and spirited and low-voiced, the bow strokes short, strong, and made down-bow. It's her, strutting around her ship. Or, rather, wishing she could strut around her ship--she ties the notes together under longer bow-strokes and rounds out the sharp notes, adding a bit of wistfulness to the composition. "Turns out I can't go back to piracy. Everyone knows my face as both Sarisa and the captain."

"The price of being a public figure," her father says dryly, though he's not unsympathetic.

With a nod, the composition changes. She shifts to the A string and starts on Lenna's theme: open, clear notes and long, measured bow-strokes. Elegant but unpretentious. "I can visit my crew and offer advice to my replacement. Can't do a thing elsewise that might endanger Lenna or her political standing." Her theme joins with Lenna's for the moment and her motif turns almost martial, an acknowledgement of her protectiveness towards her little sister, before she breaks away from Lenna's notes and goes back to her own.

Her motif grows sharper, louder, quicker, the notes disconnecting as the bow bounces along the string and almost growling as she runs the bow over both D and G strings at the same time. It sounds like she was growing unhinged. Which she was. "So I'm stuck most of the time at Tycoon with the ministers hounding me about being a proper princess. Drives me up the fucking wall."

Her father, to his credit, says nothing. She shifts over to second position on the G string for Butz's theme: light, quick notes and long bow-strokes. "Butz comes along to the rescue and hauls me out for an expedition to rout out the bandits camping in Kuza Castle." Okay, maybe he didn't haul her out; she was practically out the door the moment he said "expedition". Her motif brightens as it joins him on the way to Kuza. "Found shielddragons, didn't find bandits." With that, she introduces a slow, shambling bowing along the C and G strings with languid notes in a minor key. "Undead dragons, difficult to defeat but easy to control. And since we'd already gone all that way, why not have some fun?"

This part gets tricky, the joining of her motif with the shielddragons; she has to shift her finger placement further up on the G string to avoid awkward bowing. The tune grows playful--the shielddragons liked her, and she suspects that half the reason for that is that she'd been dead once. They were mostly mindless, but what little mind they did have left propelled them to listen to her. They responded well to simple commands, and she and Butz weren't above exploiting that. "So we played with them and headed back."

Her father's face goes peculiar; likely he's trying and failing to picture frolicking undead horrors. Faris tries not to grin as she plays her and Butz returning to Tycoon and running into Lenna. Sure they'd left a message, but Lenna prefers to be personally informed and her motif grows a bit snippy for being left behind again. "Lenna gets Butz to snitch about playing fetch with the undead, because she's magic that way."

That does it. A fond smile splits his face, likely at the thought of Lenna getting into a larger man's face to glare him down until he caves. She'd probably done it to dear old Father plenty of times. Heavens knew Faris got that particular glare often enough, and frankly she prefers it to the disappointment.

"Now, my dear little sister knows me better than I know myself. The minx." It's said with all the love in the world, of course. She expands on Lenna's theme, turning it into a full song. "Knows I need to keep busy and knows to keep me separate from the nobles. Gave me this to better manage me."

It was framed as a birthday gift and gesture of appreciation from a master craftsman for helping to save the world, but Faris has no illusions. Lenna is a canny manipulator when she sets her mind to it and the gift has her fingerprints all over it: the painting on the cello's back of her lost ship and Syldra near the bluffs of her former hide-away is too intimate a detail for a stranger to just come up with on his own. Lenna denies all knowledge of masterminding its commission, but there's always a twinkle in her eye that betrays her whenever Faris brings up the issue. She did well and she knows it.

To be fair to Lenna, it was a clever scheme. Anyone Faris practices swordplay with will let her win on account of her being the queen's feral sister. The only ones who won't are the other Light Warriors, who came away from the whole save-the-world quest with enough skill to present Faris with a challenge. Problem with that is that the queen can't always make the time for Faris and her restlessness, Krile heads the excavation of Lonkan ruins and spends all her time studying them, and who the hell knows where Butz disappears to half the time. After a few lessons in playing it right, the cello got to be an outlet. It takes well to the fast pace and high energies of scherzos, she finds its range more pleasing and more like her than other instruments, and she usually manages to burn herself out enough to not be completely unbearable at supper.

"I'm surprised you let her," her father admits.

"Oh, there's no 'let her' with Lenna. She'll get her way, and she's so sweet about it that it's impossible to say no." It's difficult not to laugh before she gets out what she wants to say, and the insistent tugging at the corners of her lips are probably betraying her. Focus, you idiot. "'Sides, I figure if she gets annoying, I'll...throw a frog down her dress or somethin'."

"Faris." Her father looks like he's torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to scold her.

"Hey, I've been good," she starts off with feigned innocence. "Haven't even started making up for the years of lost pranking opportunities. Only pranked her once in all these years."

His eyes, dragon-green like theirs, widen in growing horror. "Faris--"

"Spiders in her hair," she continues, eyes glinting, and she's sure the broad spread of her grin can be misconstrued as wicked. "You shoulda heard the scream."

His sigh is long-suffering and he looks like he's tempted to plant his face in his hands. Good. He missed out on her shenanigans as a kid and this is as good a hint of what she was like as any. "Faris, you didn't--"

Finally she can't help but laugh. It's short, natural, and she might have tears she'll have to scrub out. "Maybe it wasn't spiders, per se. Just as impossible to get out of everything, though. Glitter and sequins. Lenna still finds shiny bits in her hairbrush sometimes."

#Faris Scherwiz #Alexander Highwind Tycoon #ff5 #ffv #ajora writes stuff

1 note · View note

thfrustration · 6 years

Text

Theology for Beginners follow-up: You’re Gonna Love Tomorrow (part 1)

TITLE OF STORY: You’re Gonna Love Tomorrow CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: 1 of 2 AUTHOR: missviolethunter / missviolethunterwrites WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki GENRE: Romance, Drama FIC SUMMARY: Loki and his Midgardian wife Leah are awaiting the day of their baby’s birth, but some business with a troll may be giving Loki a bit of trouble on a very delicate moment. This is the final installment (for now, only for now) of the adventures of Loki and Leah. RATING: T WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: Mention of hunting animals for food. FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Link to the main Theology for Beginners story

YOU’RE GONNA LOVE TOMORROW

You’re gonna love tomorrow. You’re gonna be with me. You’re gonna love tomorrow, I’m giving you my personal guarantee. Say toodle-oo to sorrow, And fare thee well, ennui. You’re gonna love tomorrow As long as your tomorrow is spent with me.

— Stephen Sondheim, Follies

Part 1: In Praise of Women

“Oh, fuck!”

Up until the moment he’d heard the expletive, Loki had been taking a well-deserved nap. Deserved because he had (in his own opinion) behaved like a saint during the last few weeks. And definitely needed, because Leah had been keeping him awake at night for several nights in a row.

Like all intelligent men, Loki was patient. True, Leah’s pregnancy was a test to his patience some days, but he endured it out of love. Because he loved his wife, more than he had ever thought he could love a mortal woman… or any woman, mortal or not. He wanted her more every day, watching in fascination how her body changed, week after week. The extra weight and roundness of her body made him endlessly curious, without reducing his desire for her.

Sex wasn’t a problem. It had been the exact opposite of a problem since the early days of their relationship, and Leah’s pregnancy had not altered their night activities. The mechanics of sex had gotten difficult in the last month or so, because her increasing size limited the number of positions that were practical for both of them, but Loki always found a way for his wife to be comfortable… usually employing an inordinate amount of pillows. Besides, making love was one of the few things that helped her sleep at night when she was restless and fidgety, and thanks to that their marital life was made in the proverbial heaven.

No, the source of Loki’s lack of sleep was – always according to Leah – Loki’s fault. Or, to be more precise, his biology’s fault. His Frost Giant heritage, the part of himself he had fought so hard to repress for so many years, was making an unexpected return in the shape of the little creature that Leah was carrying inside, the little unnamed baby who was making a mess of their mother’s body temperature. She complained about the cold when the brazier was burning, tossed away all the blankets in the middle of the chilliest nights, started shivering or sweating for no reason… and Loki grew worried and restless day after day, because if Leah wasn’t able to sleep he didn’t allow himself to do it either.

That was why he was trying to take a nap right before noon, and why he jumped off the bed to the sound of a swear word and the smell of smoke across the room.

Still half asleep, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing: his heavily pregnant wife, standing beside the fireplace and patting at the skirt of her gown with a wet cloth, because apparently that’s where the burning smell came from.

Loki leaped from the bed and hurried to her side, trying not to smile.

“Again, my love?”

“Don’t you ‘again’ me, Loki. You know it’s hard for me to control this.”

“I asked Frigga to provide us with a fireplace so you would feel comfortable in this cell, but she won’t be happy if you set yourself on fire with it.”

Leah made a face at her husband and walked to the full-length mirror beside the bed to check the state of her clothes.

“Shit, another ruined dress”, she said, looking at the scorched mark on the black fabric.

Loki hugged her from behind, trying to keep her spirits up.

“You will have to abandon that language when the child arrives, my love. And it’s not your gown I am worried about, but your health. How do you feel?”

“Like an elephant, huge and clumsy. No, forget the elephant; a whale would be more accurate. I’m only twenty-six weeks along! How can I be this big?”

“Adis said your size was normal, and as a midwife she knows a thing or two about expecting women.”

She turned to face him and pouted. “Normal! I can’t sleep at night, I’m constantly craving foods that you don’t have in Asgard, and now my body temperature is all messed up again. Yesterday I burnt my tongue with the tea because I didn’t realize it was scalding, the teacup felt cold in my hand. How is that normal? And I know you’re scared that I will sleepwalk into the fireplace and set fire to myself. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Lovely Leah, you are much too clever for that”, he laughed. “And speaking of your cravings, I already asked my mother to get you some of that black chocolate you asked for.”

“Swiss chocolate? The one with cranberries in it?” she asked, hopeful.

“The same. My mother would do anything to make your life easier until the child is born.”

“And that’s another thing I hate: not knowing when it’s going to happen. If this was a fully human baby I would still have three more months to go, but I don’t think I’ll last that long without going insane!”

“I am sure it will be sooner than that”, Loki said, holding the agitated woman in his arms. He had lowered his voice to a low, soothing tone, and his mouth brushed Leah’s lips. Softly at first, and then in a persistent kiss.

She held on to his shoulders, moaning.

“If you’re trying to make me feel all hot and bothered, congratulations.”

“I always get what I want, woman.” Loki’s lips curled into a playful grin. “And what I want now more than anything is your happiness. And a healthy child.”

“What happened to ruling over Asgard? It’s gone down a few positions on the list, apparently.”

With infinite care, he placed his long hands on Leah’s belly, feeling her baby bump through the layers of clothes.

“Our child can rule over Asgard one day. Or any other realm he chooses, I will secure it for him.”

“Or her. Remember, Junior can be a girl. I dreamt it was a girl the other day.”

“Even better. An almighty Queen who will bow to no one.”

Leah laughed, putting her hands over his. “I think the reason the baby won’t come out is because of all those plans you’re making. Meanwhile, I feel like a broken thermostat.”

“If he’s half as stubborn as his mother, I expect no less. And he will be perfectly fine unless you let all those worries make you sick. It is all in your head.”

“You had zero complaints about my head last night”, she said in a sultry whisper.

“Minx. If we were not expecting company I would tell you exactly what I think of–”

A discreet cough interrupted their conversation. Adis, the Asgardian midwife, had been standing outside the cell’s transparent wall for a while, but she didn’t ask the Einherjar to lower the force field until Loki and Leah had acknowledged her presence.

“Good day to both of you. I came as soon as I got your message, my lady, I am here to check on you and the little one. How are we feeling today?” she asked with her perennial kind voice.

“Tired, worried, hot, cold, overexcited, sleepy and restless. Oh, and I just got too close to the fire again; didn’t you smell smoke? That was my dress, almost catching fire.”

“Everything normal, then. You are almost there, you know. I was not entirely sure of how long the pregnancy would last, but those hot and cold flashes indicate that your baby’s physiology is asserting itself. It will be any day now.”

“Good. It feels like I’ve been pregnant for years, and I’m so big that I’m almost afraid of moving without hitting something.”

Adis’s face went unexpectedly serious.

“That is the other reason why I am here. Queen Frigga has put me in charge of helping you move to Prince Loki’s old rooms, up in the palace, until the child is born. The Allfather thinks it’s not fitting for a lady of the realm to give birth to a future member of the Royal family in a cell. You will be more comfortable there; the queen will be able to visit you every day, and keep you company until–”

“No”, interrupted Leah.

“My lady?”

“I’m not going anywhere without Loki, and I suppose Frigga’s invitation doesn’t include him. I’m staying here, and if Odin wants his grandson to be born under a golden roof, he can free my husband anytime he wants.”

Loki and his former nursemaid looked at each other without saying anything. Leah’s stubborn (almost pigheaded) character and fierce loyalty to her husband was widely known, and that was the answer they both had feared. Loki went to sit beside Leah who, feeling a bit outnumbered, had taken refuge on the bed.

“Leah, it will be for the best if you follow Frigga’s advice.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you. That’s what we agreed on when I came here.”

“And it honors you. However, I am not partial to the idea of having you give birth in this place, away from my mother and from the healers’ rooms. If something went wrong you will need their help.”

Leah’s lip quivered. “But…”

“Remember I have ways of being there without being physically present”, Loki whispered. “I know you hate being told what to do, but this time my opinion stands. You will go with Adis to my old rooms until the child is born.”

Leah closed her eyes and groaned.

“My love, this is not the moment to be dramatic and make a scene. When the child has arrived, you have my permission to scream at me for a full day, if you want.”

“It’s not that”, she said. “It’s… my back, suddenly it hurts like a bitch.”

The midwife hurried to Leah’s side. “Your lower back? A piercing pain?”

“Yes. It’s the second time today… it happened early this morning, and then it went away. That’s why I sent you that message, to make sure everything was alright.”

“More than alright”, said the older woman with a smile. But we need to get moving, my lady. You are having a contraction. It’s started.”

The midwife’s announcement brought a sudden silence to the room.

Leah opened her mouth and closed it again, torn between her reluctance to leave her husband and her common sense, which indicated that she should go and give birth in a more convenient place. Loki was the one who finally spoke:

“Is it really time, Adis? Not too soon?”

“Alas, children are always unpredictable, and a child as… special as yours is not going to adhere to any pregnancy calendar.” She patted Leah’s hand, reassuring her. “But I can still see with my own eyes, and what I see is that you are carrying a big, healthy baby who wants to be born as soon as possible. The rest will sort itself out like it does for every mother. Now, I will help you prepare a basket with your things.”

“There’s an empty one under the bed. I have to get a change of clothes… and the baby’s clothes, and I have a list somewhere of all the things you told me I’ll need. Do we need to go right now?”

“As soon as you are packed”, answered the older woman, grabbing the basket from under the bed and making her way to Leah’s closet, which she opened with little ceremony, picking and discarding clothes from the shelves. “We would be risking a very uncomfortable move if we wait, child. You do not want to cross the palace and climb all those stairs when your contractions are a few minutes apart. There is no time for you to change clothes, this cloak will do. Put it on and–”

Adis raised her head and listened intently. Someone was hurrying down the prison corridor, faster than any underpaid soldier would run; Leah held on to Loki’s hand, worried. The steps got closer and closer to the cell, finally revealing a very agitated (and almost out of breath) Fandral. He exchanged a few brisk words with the sergeant of the Einherjar, showed him a piece of parchment and then turned some sort of lock outside the door.

The force field dropped and stayed off, but nobody on either side moved.

“Fandral. If this is a rescue, I have to say it is both clumsy and very ill-timed”, Loki spat.

The blond warrior laughed. “I’m afraid my errand is of a different nature, my friend. Thor has sent me here to ask for your help, on behalf of your brother, of the Allfather and maybe of the entire realm.”

“Help?” interrupted Leah. “After they locked him here and lost the key? Thor has some fucking nerve asking for help… or maybe not, since he sent you to do his dirty work.”

Fandral smiled at Leah and bowed, ignoring her crass language. “My lady Leah, I volunteered for the errand. If this was about Thor’s personal matters with Loki I would have told him to sort it out himself, but I’m afraid this problem is much more urgent and dangerous than a brother’s quarrel.”

“How dangerous?” asked Loki.

“How many times have you encountered a troll in battle?”

Loki frowned. “Only once. Years ago, when Thor and I went to Nornheim to rescue a group of ambushed soldiers. A tribe of Dark Elves had escaped from their realm had allied themselves with the native trolls; we defeated them at great cost and barely made it back to Asgard alive.”

“Well, someone has seen a very wild and aggressive troll this morning, here in Asgard. It attacked two lumberjacks who were working in the Myrkviðr forest, near the western farms. Fortunately the men are more frightened than hurt, but the next time we may not be that lucky.”

“That forest is only three miles away from here.”

“And now you know why we need your help, and quick.”

Loki sighed and turned to speak to Leah, who had listened to Fandral’s story with an incredulous expression, as if the man had been speaking Chinese.

“Now it has become absolutely necessary that you go with Adis at once, my love. This is important, and I will not leave you here alone.”

“But Loki, what’s all that talk about… trolls? I thought they didn’t exist! At least on Earth, they exist only in fairy tales.”

“All tales have a smidge of truth in them. Yes, they exist, and they’re some of the most dangerous creatures I’ve ever encountered. But don’t worry, if there’s only one of them we will defeat it.” He stepped close to the cell’s entrance, just in front of Fandral. “I will need my armor.”

“Done.”

“And my knives.”

The blond man raised an eyebrow, dubious. “Thor will never allow it.”

“Trolls are impervious to magic. My knives or nothing.”

“Fine, I will smuggle a few of them out of the armory for you. But we need to leave at once, Loki. If the night falls and there’s a troll on the loose near those farms…”

Loki raised a hand, bidding the other man silence, and returned beside Leah for a moment. He put a hand on her cheek, as delicately as he could.

“I will be back in a few hours, my love”, he whispered. “Adis and my mother will take care of you. Be brave.”

“I thought when the baby came you would be by my side, not away fighting some… mythological monster. Loki, I’m really scared”, she said, failing to keep the panic out of her voice. “Don’t you dare getting killed and not coming back, do you hear me?”

“Duly noted”, he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And now, won’t you send a warrior to battle with a kiss, woman?”

Leah looked around her to check that Adis and Fandral were not peeking, and then threw her arms around Loki’s neck.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The Myrkviðr forest was a vast extension of trees not far from the city. A quite convenient place for the Asgardians to get their firewood, and also the home of a large population of wolves, deer, foxes, birds… the usual fauna in any forest across the Nine Realms.

There were no animals in sight that day, though. As the three men crossed the stone bridge that separated the forest from the farmlands, all they could hear around them was a deadly silence. No birds chirping, no rabbits running, not even the buzzing of a bee. It was as if the entire forest had gone into hiding in fear of the trollish creature.

“This will be easy”, affirmed Thor, with Mjolnir in one hand and a heavy sword in the other. “We go in, you two attract the monster towards us, I slay it, and we’ll all be back home by dusk so Loki can be present when my nephew arrives.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “If it’s so simple, why are you keeping me away from my wife, precisely today?”

“I need your illusions to distract the monster, brother. You will have no trouble; they say trolls are tremendously stupid.”

“Many people of my acquaintance are tremendously stupid, present company included. That doesn’t mean I run around wasting my magic on them.”

Fandral interrupted him with an exaggerated (and fake) cough.

“As self-proclaimed keeper of the peace between you two, I must ask you to stop before you start fighting each other like always. Now, that place over there must be the clearing where the woodsmen were surprised by the beast, so if we cross that brook we will be right in its territory. Let’s try not to make any noise.”

The brothers nodded. Loki kneeled beside the little river, examining the mud for footprints; he found none, and they all waded the shallow water. Just as they reached the other side, Loki stopped in his tracks.

“What’s wrong? Did you see it?”

“Shhh. No, but someone – someone wearing boots – has trampled all over those bushes. Let me see.”

He surveyed the ground and the surrounding plants. It was already the middle of the afternoon, and the light was dwindling. After a moment, he emerged from the bushes, holding a wooden object in his hand.

“I have been away from Asgard for quite a while, but all my life I remember lumberjacks carrying axes to work, not crossbows.”

And a crossbow it was, an expensive one made of fine olive wood with silver and mother-of-pearl engravings. Loki examined it carefully and went back to the place where he had found it; a further search revealed a brown leather bag, full of bolts.

“That is not a peasant’s weapon”, observed Thor.

“Someone must have wanted a troll’s head in their trophy wall, and they ran into more trouble than they expected”, said Loki in a pointed tone. “When we get back, maybe you should exchange a word or two with those ‘woodsmen’… for all we know, the troll could have been pacific, and they were the ones harassing it.”

“A pacific troll”, laughed Thor. “And then what, carnivorous sheep? Brother, I fear your time in captivity has done things to your mind.”

“And I fear your lack of imagination has made you even duller than you already were. Didn’t your Midgardian wench teach you anything about keeping an open mind?”

“Peace, again, or I’ll bang both your heads against a tree!” interrupted Fandral, stepping in the middle of the Odinson brothers. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to two adult men, but… do not make me tell Queen Frigga.”

That put a temporary end to the hostilities, and the three men kept advancing thorough the forest. A bit further away they got to the foot of a grassy hill, where a group of big rocks on one side encased what looked like the entrance of a cave.

Nobody spoke, but Fandral drew his sword, and Thor made sure Mjolnir was still attached to his belt (it always was, but he had picked up that nervous habit during the time he’d been exiled on Midgard). Loki, who had no intention of letting go of his newly acquired crossbow, ran his fingers over the engravings on the weapon. Just as they were going to approach the entrance of the cave, they heard a noise… right behind them.

It was a troll, all right. A giant one, if Loki remembered correctly his visit to Nornheim many years before. At least eight foot tall, its grayish body covered in what seemed the furs of some animal, and adorned with a necklace made of bones and seashells. That little concession to civilization didn’t make it seem any less scary, especially when it let out a growl that would have chilled the blood of the most battle-scarred Asgardian warriors.

Thor grabbed Mjolnir and took a step towards the roaring creature, but Loki stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Brother, let me through or I will step over you.”

“Don’t move, you idiot!” said Loki in a shouting whisper. “The troll is looking at the cave, not at us. We are in its way, but I’m not sure it wants to hurt us.”

“Do you speak troll now? Maybe you can ask it if it’s enjoying its holidays in our beautiful realm!”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Fine, allow me to try one thing. If it doesn’t work, you can go ahead and charge like a brute, like you always do.”

Thor nodded and made a sign to Fandral, who was in the rearguard covering their backs. They both stepped aside, slowly retreating behind a group of trees.

Loki left the crossbow on the ground and raised his hands slowly, letting the creature see that he was unarmed. (He wasn’t. Apart from the two knives Fandral had stolen from the armory for him, he had three others hidden in his clothes. A routine safety measure, so to speak.).

“What is it you want in that cave? You are a forest troll, your kind does not like caves. Why is it so important for you to get in there?”

The troll grunted. It was looking at Loki intently, as if it understood what he was saying.

Step by step, Loki walked out of the creature’s way, not getting his eyes off it. There was a tense moment when Loki and the beast were less than two yards away, and he couldn’t help reaching inside his armor and grabbing the handle of a knife… just to be safe. However, the troll wasn’t paying any attention to him. It stopped at the entrance of the cave and let out a long wail, like a call. Then it disappeared into the dark.

“Well, that’s something one does not see every day”, said Fandral, relieved. “Did we manage to trap it inside the cave… or are we the ones trapped outside?

Loki looked pensive for a moment. “I think I am starting to realize what happened. That cave must be connected to the larger ones on the other side of the hill. There are passages between the realms there, but the terrain is unstable and dangerous. I tried to explore them once when I was a kid, and I almost fell down a gorge.”

“And that’s how it arrived?” asked Thor. “Then why didn’t it leave again, through the same passage?”

“The way may be blocked. Or maybe the troll is injured, there was blood on one of its legs”, observed Fandral. “Dried blood, so it has been here at least for a day.”

Thor turned towards Loki, who had recovered the crossbow and was attaching it to his back.

“You are very quiet all of a sudden, Loki. What’s on your mind?”

“I think there’s something in that cave that the troll didn’t want us to see, that’s why it was so agitated.”

“Something more important than the creature’s instinct to fight us?” asked Thor.

“This creature’s instincts may be different from the trolls we’ve fought in the past, brother.”

“I didn’t see any difference, except that this one is bigger than any other I’ve seen.”

“Exactly. Because our troll is a female.”

Thor made a face. “There are female trolls? And they are bigger than the males? I thought…”

“Did you really believe they’re born out of rocks? Even you are too clever to pay heed to those old wives’ tales, Thor.”

The blond Asgardian pictured the troll in his mind… and, now that Loki had mentioned, there had been a hint of feminine shape behind the furs, the matted hair and the nasty smell.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Fandral. “My usual way of dealing with ladies is to seduce them, but I’m not volunteering to do that with this one, lovely as she may be in troll standards.”

“I have an idea”, said Loki. “One that fortunately doesn’t involve me having to witness your deplorable flirting skills. Thor, have we brought any food?”

“I did not think we would stop for a picnic.”

“Very funny. In that case, I need you to go and hunt a rabbit.”

Meanwhile, back at the palace, Leah was busy regaining her breath.

“I think… oh, God… I think that’s it. Can I sit down now?” she asked Frigga, who was walking beside her up and down the vast bedroom.

The queen exchanged a glance with Adis, who was busy making tea on an kettle over the fire.

“Good job, child”, answered the midwife. “Your contractions are still widely spaced, you have plenty of time to rest before the next one. Come sit and have some of this tea, it will help with the pain.”

Almost out of breath, Leah let herself fall on a rocking chair. Frigga sat on a low bench, always by her side like she had been for the past couple of hours.

Leah sipped a bit of the herbal drink. It tasted like bay leaves and bitter aniseed, and she scrunched her nose before swallowing it.

“In all the classic movies I’ve seen, women give birth in bed”, she complained to Frigga. “Why do I have to walk and move so much?”

The queen smiled.

“Those ‘movies’ you mention were probably made by men, my dear. Walking during the contractions will help with the progression of the birth, and it will keep your mind away from the pain. Now relax and let your body prepare for the next time; it will be easier if you do not fight the process.”

Leah let out a loud sigh and looked around her. They had installed her in Loki’s former lodgings, which had turned out to be quite more than a simple room. In fact, it was a full apartment, complete with two bedrooms, a study, a giant bathroom and a huge living room, all of them decorated in green and gold. There was even a small kitchenette, tucked away behind a cleverly hidden panel. Both the main bedroom and the living room had French doors that led to a balcony; Leah had peeked outside during one of her strolls around the place, and she had seen a number of people congregated outside. They clapped and cheered when she approached the edge.

Private matters weren’t that private in Asgard, not when they concerned Odin’s family.

She had avoided the balcony since then; it was starting to get dark, and Adis had closed the curtains so she wouldn’t worry about the small crowd who was anxious to meet their new prince or princess.

“What time is it?” she asked, wondering what Loki would be up to, and how long it would take him to come back.

“No looking at the clock, dear”, answered Frigga. “It will not hurry things up and all it will do is make you nervous.”

“I’m already nervous. I feel like I’ve been in labor for ages!”

The queen walked to the fireplace and fanned the flames. Between her duties and Leah’s confinement, she hadn’t had many long conversations with her daughter-in-law since the day of her arrival, and now she was anxious to find a topic that would make the girl forget that her husband was away, battling a troll, perhaps in mortal danger.

“Why don’t you tell me what you were like as a child?” she finally asked. “Loki was so quiet and well-behaved that sometimes I could not believe my own luck. If he had been like Thor I would have gone mad before the first year.”

Thankful for the change of subject, Leah smiled.

“I was… I guess well-behaved would be a way of describing me, yes. My Nonna… my grandmother said I talked non-stop, and I remember a game I played all the time with my dolls… I was the host of a television show, and they were my guests. Of course I did all the talking, of course.”

“Sounds like you were a happy child.”

“Yes, at first I was. At least until my mother got sick”, Leah said, frowning.

Frigga raised an eyebrow in silence, and Adis left whatever she was doing with her herbs and came near the fire, listening intently.

Leah downed the rest of her tea, and spoke again.

“Shortly after I was born, my mother married a man called John Channing. He wasn’t my father, but I didn’t know it then… he adopted me, gave me his name, and he was the most wonderful dad any kid could dream. He drove a huge truck, and I loved it when he took me for a drive with him… One day when I was five, I told him I wanted to be a lady truck driver when I grew up. He laughed, but he got me a toy truck for my next birthday anyway. “

She stopped to catch her breath and went on.

“I had no idea, but my mother had started drinking when I was a baby. Dad… John was away a lot, because of his work, and I guess my mother felt lonely. Then she began drinking even when he was at home, and they fought more and more every day… until one day he left and didn’t come back.”

Frigga put a hand on Leah’s shoulder. “I did not mean for this to be painful for you, dear. If it is too much, let us talk about something else.”

“No, I have to tell this to someone or I will burst. Let me finish.” She ran her hands through her hair, loose now that her carefully braided bun had become undone with all the moving and walking around. “I was seven years old when my parents divorced, and from then on my mother’s drinking only got worse. My grandmother moved in with us for a few months, but it was one fight after another again, because my mother refused to get help. Any kind of help. One day they had a huge row, and my mother… she insulted Nonna so badly, and then she threw her out. My grandmother was a proud woman, and that was the last time she set foot in our house. I visited her almost every day, but she didn’t see her daughter again for several years.”

By then Frigga was cursing the moment she had started asking inconvenient questions. She looked at Adis, whose kind brown face was now serious and worried, and then at her daughter-in-law.

“How did you manage after that?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I had to take care of things”, she answered, fixing her steely gaze on the two women beside her. “I did the chores after school when my mother was too sick to get up. I got a cookbook from the school’s library and spent hours reading it… and then the following day I made mac and cheese. I remember my mother liked it… she even got out of bed to eat that day, and told me it was delicious. I guess that’s one of the reasons I like cooking.”

She reclined her head back, as if the long speech had exhausted her, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she squeezed Frigga’s hand and blinked to hold back a tear.

“And now you know why I’m so scared to have this kid. How am I going to raise a child… when it’s been so long since I knew how it feels to be one?”

Frigga smiled at her, making tiny wrinkles appear around her kind blue eyes.

“You have a new family now. A husband who loves you, a new brother… even a new father.”

“Odin doesn’t like me.”

“He does not know what to do with you… or with Loki, but that is a different problem, and we will address it at a different time. Moreover, you have me. I know I cannot replace your real mother and grandmother, but I will help you in any way I can.” She smiled at herself, like enjoying the visit of an old memory. “If I could handle raising a baby who turned blue every time he cried, I am sure helping you with my grandchild will be… how do they say it in Midgard? A piece of cake.”

The idiom seemed so out of place in Frigga’s voice that Leah had to laugh.

“I’m still hoping this one doesn’t give me frostbite when I hold him… oof!” She put her hands over her belly, feeling the familiar pain start again.

Adis put an arm behind Leah’s shoulder, supporting her back while she stood up.

“This one has arrived sooner than I expected. I will put the water to boil and get the bed ready.”

“You mean you’ll actually let me get on the bed now?” Leah asked, hopeful.

“Maybe for a while, when this contraction is over. Now, hold my arm and start walking, child.”

Leah did what she was told to, groaning.

“Oh, why did I let Loki do this to me? I swear, if he survives the troll I’m the one who’s going to kill him.”

The two women beside her laughed heartily, and Leah did all she could not to look offended.

“Now you are talking like a woman in labor”, Frigga said. “Come on, keep walking slowly and do not hold your breath.”

12 notes · View notes

17mounteens · 7 years

Text

CEO (Mingyu)

— papi, let’s go, cuz i kinda like it —

Smut.

» The sexual tension between you and your boss, the CEO of the company, Kim Mingyu, has been there for a long time. One day you’ve both had enough.

“We’re not done yet.”

Having someone as attractive as Kim Mingyu as your boss, running such a successful company, wasn’t easy, and it was only made more difficult with how flirty he was, especially with you.

He’d glance at you every now and again, and engage in conversations with you whenever he could, where his voice was a bit lower than normal, which was not just your imagination.

Whenever he was close to you, whether it was in the elevator, when you were getting coffee, or simply talking with you and some others, you felt a sense of excitement inside of you, and he could see that, which was why he wasn’t exactly subtle with his actions, at least when you were alone.

Eventually you’d start to give him some signs, too, and also seek his company and closeness. It was like you were playing with fire, and at a company party, it all felt oh, so clear when your gazes met across the room and you held it for multiple seconds, during which Mingyu’s lips slowly stretched into a smirk.

You wanted him, and there was no room for mistakes: he wanted you too.

The sexual tension between the two of you had been growing gradually throughout the months you had been working together, until one day he called you to his office before a meeting you were both meant to attend.

“You wanted to see me,” you said as you entered the room, your heart beating slightly faster than usual as you moved your eyes to Mingyu, standing by the window with his back facing you, sinfully good-looking in his tailored black suit. You could only imagine how luxurious it would feel under your touch.

“Close the door, please,” Mingyu said as he turned around, a small smile on his lips as he fixed his cuffs and loosened his tie a little. The action already nearly made you tremble. “How are the reports going?”

A playful grin spread to your lips as you began walking closer to him. “That’s not why you called me in, is it? You never ask about the reports.”

“Am I that transparent?” he asked with a low chuckle while shaking his head, and moved his gaze to you when you had gotten close to him. “What is this, Y/N? This, between the two of us.”

You knew immediately what he meant, and barely recognized your voice when you spoke. “Tension?”

“Mmh,” Mingyu hummed, slowly letting his eyes fall from your eyes to your lips, “Sexual tension would be more accurate, would it not?”

“If you feel the way I do, then yes,” you said in a mere breath, and it was within seconds that you had Mingyu’s lips pressed against yours and his hands desperate on your body, one underneath your ass and one on your waist.

You sighed contently into the kiss and giggled quietly when he guided you to his desk, where you sat on and pulled him close, feeling up his shoulders and arms through his suit while your tongues danced together and his hands kept roaming on your legs.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he mumbled against your lips and lifted the hem of your pencil skirt in a desperate attempt to touch more. You breathed heavily as you kissed him, intoxicated by his taste and feeling, and whimpered quietly when his thumb rubbed your inner thigh.

“Me, too,” you whispered and deepened the kisses some more, although the only thing you could think about with how skillfully his tongue was rubbing yours was just how amazing it could feel in your pussy.

As you made out, your kisses only growing hungrier as you finally let your bottled up lust for each other out in them, you could feel yourself getting wet, and from how Mingyu was starting to slowly grind against your thigh and from the feel of it, you easily figured out he was hard, too.

“Can we just--”

There was a knock on the door that had you pulling away from him in an instant.

“Mr. Kim, it’s time to go. We can’t find Y/N right now, but…”

“Y/N is here,” Mingyu interrupted his assistant and swallowed hard, licking his lips. “We’ll be right there.”

You panted, the pulsating between your legs almost unbearable, and placed your fingers on your temples. “Shit, the meeting.”

“It’ll be fine,” Mingyu chuckled lowly and fixed his tie and hair, while you pushed your skirt back down and made sure you weren’t too messy otherwise, either, trying not to appear too disappointed about not going all the way.

Before you could get off the desk, Mingyu took your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger and leaned in for a kiss that took your breath away, deep and sensual in a way that practically made you melt.

He pulled back slowly, your chin still between his fingers, and whispered with his lips brushing against yours. “We’re not done yet.”

All you could do was nod: you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak, not that any intelligent words would’ve come to your mind to begin with.

Once you were done and you had gotten your bag from your office, you and Mingyu took the elevator to the bottom of the tall building, hardly able to keep your hands off each other.

Outside, you got into the fairly big, black car, where the driver greeted the two of you. Mingyu smiled at him as he closed the door behind himself.

“How long is the drive?” he asked nonchalantly while the driver took off, and placed his hand on your thigh, moving it up and down it. You bit down on your lower lip - the hand on your skin only reminded you of the burning need between your legs.

“Around 30 minutes, sir.”

Mingyu smirked. “Good.”

With the press of a button, the black glass separating the front and back of the car came down, and Mingyu turned to you, his eyes hooded.

“What now, Mr. Kim?” you asked playfully, and held back a sigh when he slid his hand higher up your thigh. He leaned closer to you, his breath ghosting your face as his lips brushed against yours.

“You should remember,” he mumbled against your lips only a moment before fully kissing you, his hand immediately sliding underneath your skirt to grasp your thigh and ass and his tongue sliding into your mouth.

You moaned quietly and turned better to him, trying to wiggle out of your blazer while kissing Mingyu passionately. With the piece of clothing discarded, you slid your hand down Mingyu’s suit jacket - just as luxurious against your touch as you had thought - until you reached his crotch and could palm him through his suit pants.

“Fuck,” he grunted against your lips when you continued palming his erection, and squeezed your ass roughly before pulling his hand back to pop some of the buttons of your dress shirt open. “I want you so bad, Y/N.”

“I want you, too,” you breathed, your eyebrows furrowing a little with how awfully horny you were, your pussy throbbing and thoughts clouded by the hard cock you could feel through the fabric of Mingyu’s pants.

You had never thought you’d be the type to have sex with your boss, much less in his car, but at that moment all rationality was out of the window.

After months of lusting after him - now knowing that he wanted you, too - you were done fighting against it.

Once he had your shirt unbuttoned low enough, Mingyu wasted no time unhooking your bra, luckily one with the hooks at the front, and nearly moaned at the sight of your breasts. Soon he was bending down to kiss them, giving your sensitive skin the kind of attention that went straight between your legs, where his hands were headed, too, while his lips continued peppering kisses along your chest, his tongue licking your erect nipples eagerly.

While you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and -zipped his pants, Mingyu pushed your skirt higher up on you, and you lifted your bottom enough for him to get it up to your waist. He grunted quietly when he pulled back, leaving your nipples damp with his saliva, sensitive to the cool air, and looked down. “Black lace. If I didn’t know any better, I would guess you were planning this.”

“They just make me feel confident,” you said hastily, breathing heavily as you thought about the situation, all too eager to proceed. “Can I get up?”

Before Mingyu had even managed to ask what you meant, you moved so that you were standing on your knees above his lap, your knees on either side of his legs, and leaned down to kiss him deeply. He had no objections, and instead you could feel his fingers sliding underneath your panties, his fingers teasing your clit until you were bucking against his hand, at which point he eased a finger into you.

“Ah,” you moaned quietly, breaking away from the kiss to hide your face in his shoulder, the pleasant scent of his suit almost heavenly to your senses, especially coupled with how amazing his finger felt inside of you.

While Mingyu fingered you, soon adding a second finger, you slid one of your hands down and managed to drag his boxers down enough to get his cock out. It sat perfectly in your hand, and both the size and feeling had you clenching around his fingers: not too big nor too small, but exactly the size you knew would make you see stars.

And to be fair, from how he looked and was, your hopes regarding his skills were rather high, too, and you could only wish you wouldn’t be disappointed.

For a moment you merely stroked him while he fucked you with his fingers, rubbing your spot dead on with his lips hungry and demanding against yours, even with you holding his hair fairly tightly.

Eventually he broke away and pulled his fingers out of you swiftly. “We don’t have time to waste, do we?”

You could only shake your head, too horny to think straight anyway, and watched Mingyu eagerly suck his fingers clean while reaching for the small pocket on the door, from where he got a condom. You didn’t even question the location - that was just how far gone you were, just glad that there was a condom in the first place.

Without much further ado, Mingyu put the condom on himself before lifting his face to look into your hooded eyes, his just as much so, and placed one hand on your hip and one on the side of your neck, slowly pulling you down for a passionate kiss.

During the kiss you gradually lowered yourself, pushing your panties to the side, and took a hold of his cock, giving him a few strokes before aligning it with your entrance and finally sinking down on it. A guttural groan left Mingyu’s lips, followed by a curse word under his breath as he grabbed your ass and deepened your kisses.

“Holy shit,” you breathed when you had sat completely down on Mingyu, letting him fill you up - exactly what your soaked pussy needed. He grunted and squeezed your ass in his hands.

“Move,” he said against your lips, his voice authoritative and husky, which only turned you on more. With his hands on your ass and hips all the while, you began moving back and forth on his lap, gasping at the sensation of him moving inside of you.

Mingyu let his eyes fall shut and his head lean back, while you eyed him up and down as you moved on him. He was gorgeous, his tan skin flawless in your eyes and the dark suit only making it more so. His facial features were fairly soft and incredibly attractive - it was for a good reason that the running joke in the company was that everyone had a thing for him, whether they admitted it or not.

The more you thought about it, however, the less it seemed like a joke: chances were that more or less everyone actually did have a thing for Mingyu in his tall gorgeousness, good work ethics and friendly personality.

A part of you was infinitely grateful that in that moment, with you fucking on the backseat of his car, that friendly personality was somewhat out of the window and what was left was a hot, horny man who knew what he wanted, and that just happened to be you, and that you felt the same way.

While you were still lost in adoring him, Mingyu slowly opened his eyes again, his lips spreading to a small smirk when he saw you looking at him. “Do you like what you see?”

“Like you don’t know,” you chuckled quietly and shook your head, biting your lower lip as you began bouncing a little on his lap. “I think you know just how hot you are.”

Mingyu smirked, but hissed when you fell down on his cock. “I do, yeah. Do you know how hot you are?”

A bit surprised by his question, you could only swallow a moan when he thrust up into you, simultaneously pushing you down on himself.

“It’s been so difficult to control myself at times,” he grunted, and all you could do was cling onto his shoulders, trying to keep your moans as quiet as you could at each sharp thrust of his. “But a gentleman doesn’t advance without knowing it’s okay, hm?”

“Yeah,” you managed to sigh and hid your face in Mingyu’s neck while rolling your hips, which had both of you shuddering. “Fuck, you feel so good, I--”

“You, too,” he rasped, starting to get desperate in his actions. He was so close to the edge, and judging by everything he figured that you weren’t far, either. “Keep moving, baby.”

You did just that, and began slamming harder down on him, your breath hitching in your throat with how close to your orgasm you were and how sensitive you were getting.

”We’re fifteen minutes away, sir.”

“Okay,” Mingyu replied to his driver and turned to you with a small grin when you had pulled back enough to see him. “We’ve got ten minutes to finish this off.”

“We don’t need that long,” you smirked and leaned down to kiss his grunts away as you began working your magic with your hips, finding all the right angles that worked for both you and him, intentionally clenching around him every now and then.

Not much later, you were coming around his cock with a silent cry, and he was holding onto you desperately, grunting as he threw his head back, a long “Fuck” leaving his lips while he shot his seed into the condom. You continued moving on him slowly, riding out your orgasms, and finally got off him and sat next to him, trembling.

“Oh my god,” you panted, your pussy pulsating and your ears nearly ringing from the intensity of your release. Mingyu was breathing heavily, too, while getting the condom off himself and reaching for the pocket on the door again, this time retrieving a couple of tissues.

He handed one of them to you, grinning when you looked at him dazedly. “Thought you’d need that. Also… we really need to get you out of that daze before the meeting.”

You snorted and thanked him for the tissue, with which you got some excess juices off yourself, just to ensure that you wouldn’t get too uncomfortable in your panties. “Just give me a few minutes, okay.”

Mingyu chuckled and cleaned himself up before tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his clothes. Soon you could toss the tissue away, too, and looked down at yourself.

“I’m a mess,” you mumbled while clasping your bra and buttoning your shirt up, shaking your head. Mingyu chuckled again and looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“A hot mess,” he said, clearly proud of what he had come up with, and laughed when you nudged him lightly while continuing the buttoning up. When that was done, you tucked your shirt better into your skirt, which you then pushed back down, having already gotten your panties back how they were supposed to be rather than pushed aside.

You cleared your throat when Mingyu placed his hand on your thigh, hardly able to hide your smile. “I thought we were done.”

Mingyu pouted a little, which he was glad you didn’t see. “Do we have to be?”

“You’re my boss,” you said with a small shake of your head, and sighed.

He snickered. “As your boss I insist we’re not done yet.”

You quirked your eyebrow at him, unsure of how serious he was being, and laughed. “That’s not how it goes, Mr. Kim.”

“I know,” he grinned and removed his hand from your thigh, placing it on his lap instead. “I’m sorry.”

Giving it a moment of thought, you sighed and took his hand into yours, keeping them on his lap. “We’ll probably have dinner together tonight, right? You can tell what you want from me there, okay?”

He nodded and was about to say something when the door was opened - neither of you had noticed that the car had stopped.

“We’re here, sir.”

The two of you got out of the car, both of you praying that you didn’t look like you had just had sex.

During the dinner you talked things out, and despite what you had been thinking while in the car, you ended up booking a room at the hotel you were dining at, and had some more passionate, desperate sex that left you incredibly sated and Mingyu’s back with a few scratches and his libido happily satisfied.

Admin Scooter

#mingyu smut #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

895 notes · View notes

oltnews · 4 years

Link

It’s the 50th anniversary of Earth Day, but what is it about sustainable fashion and accessories designers in Los Angeles: how are they going to stay alive? With the coronavirus pandemic hitting the fashion industry hard, sustainable brands in the Los Angeles market are doing what they can to welcome customers and stay afloat. Here are some of their stories.Being innovative: Deborah Lindquist Los Angeles-based fashion designer Deborah Lindquist in her garden wears one of the eco-masks she has made and sold.(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) "We don't know how long this shutdown will last, we don't know who will be forced to leave business, and we wonder if our own restructuring ideas are right," said Deborah Lindquist, a clothing and accessories company. and interior designer who has designed for celebrities such as Sharon Stone, Pink, Jessica Alba, Christina Aguilera and Rihanna."Small businesses are the cornerstone of our country, just as important in big cities as in small communities," she said. Deborah Lindquist makes masks in her North Hollywood home.(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) Lindquist focused on creating masks in her North Hollywood home using the remaining pieces of her recycled denim jackets, which are embellished with appliques, studs and rhinestones. "For other models of woven masks, I use pieces of printed silk from my production of dresses, skirts and blouses in leopard, sari, vintage kimono," she said. "And I make a group of white masks with my friends and family in the health field, based on vintage table linen and napkins. “As an innovative designer, I have always found ways to use materials at my fingertips. Since we have to cover our faces, we might as well look cool. I think it's a good idea to have a mask wardrobe these days not only to have a new one on hand, but to keep it interesting. "Change of course: Dalia MacPhee Designer Dalia MacPhee.(Dalia MacPhee) In January, designer Dalia MacPhee was able to see the writing on the wall while watching the fashion scene in China. "I was on the phone with manufacturers who were stranded there," said MacPhee. “I knew it was only a matter of time before the industry was affected here. However, I never thought it would go so bad. " The veteran fashion designer, whose creations were worn by Mel B, Olivia Munn, Niecy Nash and Julianne Hough, began to manufacture certified personal protective equipment (KN95 masks, intensive care suits and isolation gowns) for the medical community a few weeks ago. Dalia MacPhee's Vintage Design Face Covering, $ 19.(Dalia MacPhee) "I went from evening gowns to hospital gowns like that," she said. “We also produce designer fabric masks with filters for the public. And because we may be working from home over the next few months, I also worked on an athletics line.“It's a scary time. Those of us in the fashion industry now have the task of taking the new standard and making it right. In my own line, I have created a new collection including matching mask-legging combos and PPE in the colors of this season. We must add a certain lightness and normality while directing the ship towards safety. It will take time for fashion to return. " Rolling with the punches: Alisun Franson Alisun Franson sells face masks on a stand in front of his company Amiga Wild in Venice.(Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) "With any challenge, you have to roll with your punches and think outside the box," said Alisun Franson, who owns the Amiga Wild store in Venice with independent jewelry designer Sadie Gilliam. “We have to keep paying the rents even when our doors are closed. Through brainstorming, we hope to lead customers to our online store, where customers can purchase and attend workshops in the safety of their homes. " Franson, which makes jewelry from recycled bicycle parts, has also co-created a pop-up store where consumers can purchase face masks on a donation basis. "We have hand sewn over 500 masks in the past few weeks and have provided masks to the nonprofit organization Worthy of Love, which helps children living on a skid track," she said. declared. “We want to do whatever it takes to help the community stay protected in the fight against COVID-19. Sadie Gilliam, left, and Alisun Franson sell face masks on a stand outside their store in Venice.(Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) "Sustainable fashion is the future - not a trend," she said. “It is a lifestyle that people adopt because they see the importance of preserving our earth. There are so many materials existing in the world. Why send them to the landfill when they can be reused and transformed into portable art? "Slow mode: Desiree Buchanan Founder of Poplinen Desiree Buchanan.(Michelle Mosqueda) Desiree Buchanan, founder of the Poplinen line for women, has tried to adapt to the massive decline in fashion due to the stoppages and delays of COVID-19."We face problems along the supply chain and do our best by making masks," said Buchanan. "We want to keep our production partners and local creative entrepreneurs in Los Angeles busy while being responsible for social distancing, which slows everything down." Due to the home stay order, all of the in-person events that Buchanan had scheduled were canceled until further notice, which was a huge upheaval. "With so much uncertainty, it is difficult to set targets for the next quarter, let alone 2020 as a whole," she said. "We use this time to create useful, high-quality content on topics that match our efforts for inclusion and sustainability. Our goal during this time is to be a vehicle for the good in the lives of our customers and our followers, doing what we can to stay true to our mission to celebrate women and meet their security and protection needs. ” If the on-site shelter continues, Buchanan said she hopes to find ways to get around this and help restore value to the fashion."For consumers, I think it will lead them to make conscious purchasing choices - buy clothes that bring value and longevity to their lives," she said. “If our teams can no longer work closely together for the foreseeable future, we will find ways to adapt. Being small and disjointed allows for resilience around obstacles. With modern technology, we have been able to go that far. It's just one day at a time; slowdown in production because our sewers practice social distancing and implement fewer hours to avoid spreading the pandemic. " Strengthening the brand: Isadora Alvarez Isadora Alvarez, founder and artistic director of Back Beat Co.(Johanna Siring) Isadora Alvarez, founder and creative director of the Back Beat Co. women's line, pushed all her efforts during the coronavirus epidemic towards promoting and strengthening her brand. "Online is our only revenue stream right now, so we really want to have an ongoing dialogue with our community," she said. “Normally, a large part of our business is wholesale, but with the closure of bricks and mortars, we devote all our time and resources to marketing. The next two months will be difficult because people will recover quite slowly. " Creating an eco-friendly fashion line was not easy for Alvarez, which has now made masks for hospitals and essential workers. The Spring-Summer 2020 collection of Back Beat Co. by artistic director Isadora Alvarez uses materials such as hemp, organic cotton, tencel and recycled cotton.(Brian Overend) "We have had problems with the fact that the industry is very outdated and resistant to change for a more sustainable future," she said. "We had to convince our suppliers to use better fibers like hemp, organic cotton, etc. There is also a problem of minimums where we have to do a lot, so there is a lot of waste. Fortunately, we found partners ready to work with us under these conditions after years of hard work.“As a woman of color, it's always difficult, because they never consider you the boss. I am always asked who my boss is. The clothing industry is still mostly made up of older men, so I just have to take a more direct approach when dealing with them. " Flexibility is the key: Mariah K. Lyons Designer Mariah K. Lyons at the Astara factory.(Leah Shiros) Being malleable in times of uncertainty is an integral part of the business plans of Mariah K. Lyons, founder of the Astara line of sustainable shoes. "We are trying to view this period as an opportunity for innovation, rather than just a break before resuming normal business," she said. When the pandemic hit, the brand had to cancel productions and new launches and work with very different schedules and "dramatically changed projections," said Lyons, who was once a publicist for the famous shoe brand Jimmy Choo. "We want to change our business model and significantly expand our offerings, [and] not only evolve with this massive current, but also to maintain cash flow and have the ability to create fully sustainable products and build a community. " Astara transparent quartz sandals, $ 325.(Oxen Studio) Lyon recently reduced the cost of its durable shoes. "We mainly ship directly to consumers right now," she said. “We wanted to change our retail model and reflect the new distribution structure throughout our pricing - with the ability to reach and help more people. Our goal has always been to create shoes that support the well-being of the body, mind, spirit and the planet. Hopefully this will allow for greater accessibility. "Strength in numbers: Rachel Temko Whimsy and Row owner and art director Rachel Temko. (She wears the Flora pants from her brand in natural and the Valentina top in white.)(Goldfaden MD) To cope with the effects of the pandemic, Rachel Temko, owner and creative director of Whimsy and Row, launched a small business alliance called Together Apart, which donates 5% of sales to Feeding America and a collective discount of 20% to customers. "Our Together Apart campaign includes many of our stores to help promote and develop them during this time," said Temko. "We felt it was much bigger than we are individually, but with like-minded small businesses, we will all increase."To date, the alliance has donated $ 990 to Feeding America and more than 1,400 masks to the Union Rescue Mission, Downtown Women’s Center and Midnight Mission.For designers, the challenge of having cash and having enough to cover their bills was daunting. "Many of our wholesale accounts do not accept orders because their stores are closed, so we are suffering [lack of] income and have an overstock problem, "said Temko. "I hope they can survive online and start taking orders soon." Having to let go of employees was "even more difficult," Temko said, but as sales increase, his staff will be called back to work. “Our production and development have come to a complete halt, because none of our subcontractors can work. We are concerned about meeting our deadlines. " Despite uncertain times, Temko remains hopeful. "It could be a blessing in disguise because the fashion industry has no choice but to change," she said. “We have already reduced our deliveries and plan to create only less seasonal and more versatile clothing. Fashion must be able to have a longer sales time and easily pass from one season to another. We have to evolve to survive. "The future of eco-fashion: Keri Lassalle Keri Lassalle, founder of Lulu Dharma.(Hermas Lassalle) Keri Lassalle, founder of the Lulu Dharma range of ecological accessories, sees the global spread of COVID-19 as a kind of “collective deep breathing” for the Earth. "It forced us all to take a break and really think about what is important to us," she said, "especially in the fashion industry because we are one of the main contributors to pollution and waste. " Lassalle believes that the industry will move quickly from sustainability to the idea of regenerative production - the use of agricultural waste, recycled materials and organic cotton grown responsibly and that take into account the health and well-being of people who cultivate and sew. "As soon as the cost of materials goes down for these materials, many more companies will be ready to use them," she said. "And when fashion brands really realize the impact of creation in an unsustainable way, the direct impact, people will realize that it is absolutely essential to change course."Do we really want to 'sustain' our momentum towards climate change, or do we want to start reversing the trend?" Asked Lassalle. “Education is over there. The signs are there, and fashion brands are taking note. Customers are definitely interested in shopping with transparent and responsible companies. We will all have to be responsible. " window.fbAsyncInit = function() FB.init( appId : '119932621434123', xfbml : true, version : 'v2.9' ); ; (function(d, s, id) var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); (document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')); https://oltnews.com/in-the-midst-of-the-coronavirus-the-pivot-of-los-angeles-sustainable-designers-los-angeles-times?_unique_id=5ea14db4803ec

0 notes

mrstevenbushus · 6 years

Text

How to Design a Home: 10 Tips to Remember

With so much to think about when designing a new home, it’s no surprise self builders can get overwhelmed. It’s easy to overlook key elements that could make a significant impact on the finished property. Below I highlight 10 things to remember when designing your home.

Budget beyond the construction work

Your design will be dictated considerably by your finances. While most people realise that they need to factor in the cost of the building work, it’s easy to forget about the other aspects that need to be accounted for on top of this.

Quite a lot of money has to be spent on things that seem minor on their own, but collectively can tot up to thousands of pounds.

Don’t forget to budget for:

landscaping

finance and insurance costs

professional and local authority fees

site surveys

access from the highway

service connections

The price of some elements can be fairly accurately predicted – such as planning fees and sewer connection charges – others have to be estimated.

You’ll also need a contingency on top.

Reducing noise

Soundscape is often overlooked in house plans. Unwanted noise is a common problem, not least because of all the gadgets we now have for our entertainment.

It’s important for the fabric of your home to be robust, well-sealed and as solid as possible.

Don’t forget to design a snug or separe living room when opting for open-plan layouts [Image: Alistair Nicholls]

The layout of the house also plays a key role in reducing disturbance. Children are noisy, so look into how to distance their bedrooms from others. You can try, for example, bathrooms or built-in wardrobes in-between the rooms.

Sound travels more easily to rooms below, which means a second floor or attic space is not always a good place for the loudest family members.

With open-plan living becoming commonplace, don’t forget to factor in a snug or living room isolated from the main areas of activity. This will provide an oasis of calm for quieter activities such as reading or homework.

Explore the house plans: Paul & Belinda Wilson designed a lounge separate from the kitchen-dining-living room

Storage solutions

A major gripe from owners of new homes is often the lack of storage space. In the early stages of a design it’s easy to underestimate how many possessions you own or are going to acquire in the future.

This is one reason why most garages are rarely filled with cars. Instead you are likely to find bikes, gym equipment, unwanted Christmas presents and other debris.

This nifty home office built under the stairs was designed by Neville Johnson

Lots of storage space can be incorporated at little extra cost or loss of floor area, but you’ll need to plan this at the beginning of the design process.

Built-in storage can extend the full height of rooms and also work to become a design feature, making it more efficient than free-standing chests of drawers and wardrobes.

Read more: Storage Design Ideas for your Home Interior

Another thing to consider is a pantry, for separate kitchen storage – sturdy shelves allow easy access to kitchenware and produce that might otherwise be awkwardly crammed into standard cupboards.

Home maintenance

Sooner or later every element of the construction of a house will need maintenance. Predicting your home’s upkeep should influence how materials and fittings are integrated into the design.

Roof tiles and bricks will last for many decades without attention, but other materials require work more frequently. For instance, plastic fascias and barge boards are popular, but have to be redecorated regularly atop a tall ladder.

This home designed by Scandia-Hus features self cleaning glazing

An open roof over a stairwell with skylights and a centrepiece chandelier looks dramatic; however, it also presents a challenge for whoever has to change the light bulbs or clean the glass.

Self-cleaning glazing and cables that allow the light fitting to be hooked across to the landing will solve these problems but redecoration may require scaffolding and is therefore a specialist job.

Unblocking gutters is another difficult chore, especially for high level valleys between pitched roofs. A lot of effort can be spared by putting roof windows in the attic, which will allow you to reach out safely with a rake.

Future proofing the home

If you’re planning to live in your self build home for decades to come, the layout needs to have built-in flexibility so it can evolve with you and your family.

Plan for increases in the size of your family, whether that’s more children, young adults boomeranging back home after college or older relatives moving in.

Consider getting planning approval for an extension to be constructed at a later date; you could put in foundations and capped-off drainage connections ready to be used.

Plan for future loft conversions [Image: Velux]

Create a loft with a clear space suitable for conversion, perhaps even a structural opening already in place for a future staircase.

It might be a good idea to future-proof in case family members and friends become infirm or disabled. Discrete features can make a big difference, such as keeping doors wider than standard and allowing space for a wheelchair to manoeuvre in a downstairs bathroom. You could even factor in space for a lift to be added at a later date.

The finish might not be perfect

Many self builders have a natural desire for their house to be as perfect as possible. However, individual people have different interpretations of what a high quality finish means, which can be a problem if what the client is really after is a pristine result.

Using natural materials with simple finishes can add interesting features to a building, particularly timber left unpainted on the outside or oiled with a clear finish on the inside. But if you put two pieces of the same wood from the same batch next to each other they don’t usually look identical and will weather differently, too.

Timber cladding will not weather evenly, some consider this to be added charm [Image: Vastern Timber]

Get the look: Jointed British Sweet Chestnut Cladding from Vastern Timber

It’s also worth remembering that architect sketches and illustrations may not communicate the final effect of this divergence.

I once had a client who was ready to send back a whole batch of oak skirting because each section had a slightly different shade and grain pattern from the next, rather than the uniform colour he was expecting. He wanted a transparent finish and had forgotten that nature is inherently irregular. It can be easy to lose perspective.

Windows and heat transfer

Having plenty of natural illumination pour inside through large expanses of glazing is a pleasant feature, hence the popularity of bifolds, sliding doors and double-height windows – plus these units can create an attractive modern aesthetic.

A glazing unit’s effect on thermal comfort depends on its orientation in relation to the sun; when this is badly positioned then a room can become unpleasantly hot, so be careful with the design.

The easiest way to avoid this problem is to work out how the sun passes over the plot and arrange the glazing in a way that will help to reduce solar gain when it’s not wanted.

If sizeable windows have to face towards the south (where the sun’s warmth is strongest), there are elements that can be built in to reduce the effects of heat gain.

Incorporate large overhangs overhead, for instance, or brise soleils, which are horizontal screens with slats angled to let some daylight through as well as providing shade.

Artificial lighting

Once nighttime has fallen, there are all sorts of possibilities to shape and change the character of your home with carefully considered lights. Plus, a single space may need to be put to many different uses, each enhanced by changing the artificial illumination.

This open-plan kitchen-dining area features a lighting scheme by Brilliant Lighting

A good example is a kitchen-dining-living room because it’s often the hub of the home. It will be used for grabbing breakfast in the morning, for cooking and chatting with friends during the day and later on as a space for homework, a shared family meal or time in front of the television.

There should be different ways of lighting the space to suit each of these activities. When building from scratch, it’s very easy to hide cables in the walls and fit programmable lighting controls if planned in advance.

Plan furniture arrangement

It’s rare for house plans to show any more than blank rectangles indicating the location, shape and size of rooms. Sometimes the house contents are only considered once the property is actually built.

More helpful designers will include standard furniture symbols on their drawings, but these are really only diagrammatic and bear little relation to what you own or are looking to buy.

The risk of your furniture not fitting in with the design of the rooms is quite high unless you’ve considered this from the start, especially if you want large open-plan spaces.

Factor in your furniture when designing new spaces

Lots of self builders want to keep family heirlooms, such as a dining table or chest of drawers, which must be accommodated. If furniture is an unusual shape or size it can have a major effect on the arrangement of other items and the proportions of the room.

Unlike modern furniture, which is designed to be disassembled to get through a standard door opening or up a cramped staircase, period pieces may prove difficult to move around the house.

Homes get messy

The well-known architect of a much-admired house recently admitted that his property had never properly been lived in. He used the home to promote his practice and felt it would have been spoiled if his family lived there.

What this tells us is that it’s important to remember that the process of living involves mess and clutter, even for the most streamlined of personalities.

We need to recognise that the unnaturally tidy homes seen in magazines and on architectural websites are misleading. A well-designed building should be strong enough to shine through the stresses, strains and abuse that happen when it’s being enjoyed as a home.

Top image: Magnet’s Newbury Midnight design features clean edges and minimalist appeal. The dark colour looks striking here paired alongside the duck egg cabinets

The post How to Design a Home: 10 Tips to Remember appeared first on Build It.

Article reference How to Design a Home: 10 Tips to Remember

0 notes

titoslondon-blog · 6 years

Text

New Post has been published on Titos London

#Blog New Post has been published on http://www.titoslondon.co.uk/the-making-of-diors-springsummer-2018-couture-collection/

The making of Dior’s spring/summer 2018 couture collection

It’s 1:45pm on a drizzly Saturday, just 48 hours before Dior will present its spring/summer 2018 haute couture collection to some of the world’s most powerful tastemakers on a makeshift runway at the Musée Rodin in Paris. A kilometre and a half away, Maria Grazia Chiuri is sitting in the spacious, mirror-lined ‘fitting room’ of Dior headquarters, scrutinising the back of a model in a delicate white dress. With a semi-transparent bodice sculpted in bande en crin and a skirt shaped like a tall water glass spun in feathers, it has all the commanding elegance of a late 19th-century society portrait and yet is unmistakably contemporary.

1/19 Dior couture spring/summer 2018

Image: Jonathan Daniel Pryce