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#first time writing tarry
mondaymelon · 10 months
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— 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝗱 !? ♥
:feat~ xiao, kazuha, scaramouche x gn!reader:
⤷ fluff. fluff to cure to soul.
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis
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Seems like someone is catching feelings... how do they hide them? (...or try to)
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XIAO is impossibly perplexed... both at himself, and you.
Because when it comes down to it, he's an immortal and you're merely a human, two contrasting types of beings that should never strive to coexist... alongside one... another...
...Yet, why does he wish for that possibility, with the few remnants of hope that still remain in his soul?
It's something unnatural, these emotions that are welling up in his body, but he can't bring himself to detest it. The feelings that arise when he's with you, the quickened rate of his heartbeat and the strange heat that's risen to his face... while all of it is unnervingly unfamiliar, somehow, it's comforting.
And he can't begin to explain why... but he's felt this warmth in his being before... albeit on a lesser scale. The way his eyes seem to light up, ever so slightly when you appear before him... yes, he's seen this before.
He recognizes it.
And it's what they call 'love.'
He wants to scoff at the very notion of such an outlandish topic. One that he could never even dream of experiencing... until, of course, now.
He's certainly not the most expressive in his emotions, so at first, it's almost like the atmosphere between the two of you hasn't even changed. But soon enough, it's growing more and more clear, from the way his usually unreadable facade has morphed into one of a flustered expression whenever you get too close, how he sometimes flinches when the two of you make contact... and how sometimes, he refuses to meet your eye, staying silent.
Maybe you don't notice it in the beginning, but as time goes on, it'll only become more and more apparent. More and more obvious, until...
"I think I'm in love with you." ♥
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KAZUHA has heard tales of such... emotions from the Crux's drunken sailors.
But to say that prepared him for confronting such feelings himself... that was a different topic entirely. The most he'd felt of such 'love' was when his past friend was still alive... but the affection he had experienced then was nothing compared to how passionate his adoration of you was.
Needless to say, he had found himself knee deep in such a predicament. Running through his mind all of those stories the sailors had spun... tales of a beloved...
Kazuha would be jesting if he claimed that he had never imagined himself in such rose-tinted fantasies. And now that he was in one himself, he's already far too entranced to deny it.
Ah... but working up the courage to confess is much too difficult... so for now, the wanderer will tarry with his time, writing poems of professing his adoration and daydreaming about the moment as the Crux's hull is gently lulled by the waves. Perhaps one day he'll sort himself out, perhaps one day he'll find himself speaking those three words that are spoken between lovers.
Kazuha is used to hiding, being a vagrant and a wanted criminal, however, cloaking his affection is another story. The male know's he's being painfully obvious, even when he's trying to act subtle... but he certainly can't help the way his cheeks flush whenever the two of you accidentally brush hands, or the way his mouth can't help but form a serene smile whenever you laugh. And every time those moments reoccur, time and time again, he gains just a slight more incentive.
In the moonlight, his beauty is striking, but all he can think of is you.
"...I have something important to tell you.
I'm in love with you." ♥
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SCARAMOUCHE denies it. His feelings for you, and no matter how easily you're able to fluster him.
Why? To be exact, he's not even sure...
Maybe it has to do with the fact that he's closed off his heart to people long before he even met you. He who killed his emotions, so that they wouldn't hinder him. In order for his past torments to end.
"Killed..." Yet somehow, he still... felt something towards you, and unfamiliar emotion that seemed to bubble up from inside him and developed quicker by the day. An affection... obsession towards you that he couldn't stop.
...Would he want to stop it at all?
Needless to say, he's head over heels... but still persists onwards like nothing has transpired within that head of his. Sure, he feels strangely attracted towards you and everything you do, but that doesn't mean anything. Means nothing at all.
Ah, but even someone as powerful as Scaramouche can't keep such pining bottled up for who knows how long... sooner or later, a confession will arrive... and he knows full well of it.
The very thought of it has him disgusted.
Is he even able to feel such an emotion as 'love'? Perhaps he's just imagining it, a delusion forged by his own mind to satiate his sole self... after all, he doesn't even have a heart. He doesn't have anything to prove that he has a single shred of 'humanity.'
Or perhaps, he did 'have' one, and you were the one who stole it.
Haha, if that's the case, perhaps he won't mind. He'll bide his time, clench the fabric over his chest, smiling to himself as he imagines his absent heart beating alongside yours.
And maybe one day, he'll understand what his love towards you means. ♥
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(a/n) once again, scaramouche is the only one who doesn't confess to it. (oops)
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huramuna · 4 months
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wine red, tears gold - chapter 1.
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king aegon II x baratheon ofc
a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.
word count: 4.6k
aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.
this is for my 100 followers poll. it was supposed to be a oneshot but will be a mini series in 3 or 4 parts. this is my first time writing aegon and it will also be somewhat of a character study.
thank you for 100 followers and everyone who participated in the poll. love <3 thank you @randomdragonfires for beta reading, mwah mwah.
content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn
its been so long - the living tombstone • nobody - mitski
chapter specific warnings: awkward sex, p in v, virginity loss
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Every day felt like a new restraint, a new button added to the collar choking around Aegon’s neck. He had done it– he had freed the realm of the false queen, his half-sister– and lost almost everything to do so. When did it end? When did he get to relax and run the realm as he saw fit, since they so intended to have them at the helm. He wore the conqueror’s crown, wielded his sword and bore his name and yet he couldn’t do as the conqueror actually did. Rule. He felt more like a dog than a dragon these days; but that was just a pattern in his life. They wanted him when they needed him and he was to shoulder their burdens as eldest son.
His grandsire kept breathing down his neck to secure another wife, another heir, another alliance brokered with another pompous house. 
“Listen to me, Aegon,” Otto began, his fingers laced together as he sat at his desk. He had summoned Aegon to the Tower of the Hand– he was summoning the King, rather than the King summoning him. Somehow, his council had let Otto weasel his way back into the position of Hand, Aegon’s mother in tears, pleading for it. There wasn’t anyone else fit for the job since Criston had died– and he was never really fit for it anyhow. “We must move quickly to provide you with a new wife. The realm won’t remain stable if we tarry in producing an heir for the throne.”
Aegon sat in the seat across from him, feeling more like a child than a King. He twisted the signet ring on his pinky finger. “It’s too soon. It would be an insult to Helaena.” he replied, not looking up at Otto. Helaena had only passed a few moons earlier and the wound was still fresh for all of them. Aegon never loved her like a wife– how could he, they were too different, too young– but he cared deeply for her as his sister and the mother of his children. Even thinking about taking another wife this soon felt like a betrayal. He would be like his father then.
A small huff and a rustling of papers was heard– Aegon was still too distracted by his signet ring, the thin light filtering through the half drawn blinds, causing a small glint off of the bronzed metal. He didn’t want to look up to see the expression on his grandsire’s face, he knew it was one of disappointment. Aegon couldn’t remember the last time that someone hadn’t looked at him with contempt, disappointment, melancholy. 
“You must understand. You have a duty to the realm–” 
“Fucking duty– don’t speak to me of it. I’ve done my duty for enough lifetimes. I let you put me on the throne and usurp my sister and look where that’s gotten us? Everyone is fucking dead, Otto. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Helaena, Aemond,” he paused for a moment, lifting his head up to meet the Hand’s gaze head on, “Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey– do I need to proceed? The majority of our bloodline is wiped out because of you and your ambition.”
Otto snorted, standing up from his desk slowly. He grabbed a decanter of wine, pouring them both a goblet. “You misunderstand. Everything I’ve done has been… for our family’s legacy– for the realm,” he placed the glass stopped back into the carafe, “Don’t you dare act as if I am not hurting for the loss of family– but war is war, boy. People die. It is unfortunate that… the ones close to us did. But we can’t live with our head in the clouds any longer, there is a realm to run and the crown comes with responsibilities. A wife and heir are one of those paramount responsibilities.”
“I have an heir. I still have one remaining child– Jaehaera is my heir. I deem it.” he spoke quickly, staring at the goblet of wine. He had reduced his intake of alcohol since the war ended– but the need for it was always there, always aching. He suddenly felt parched. Giving Otto a haughty stare, he took a sip from the glass, feeling his muscles instantly relax.
“Don’t be daft– have you so quickly forgotten what happened when the King last named a female heir?”
“It wasn’t that Rhaenyra was a woman, Otto. People would’ve learned to adjust if…” Aegon took another sip, clearing his throat, “If she hadn’t been infatuated with her freak of an uncle, you would’ve been able to control her easier, hm? It's always been you and mother behind the crown these past two decades– not me, nor my father.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Otto griped back, gripping his glass, “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about. Rhaenyra–” he stopped, taking a breath, “Rhaenyra is dead. They’re all dead, you’re right. But there is still the whole of the Seven Kingdoms requiring a leader, especially now. A leader with a united front with a queen and babe. I won’t argue further on this matter.”
Aegon acquiesced. He would rather deal with Otto’s venomous viper tongue talking him into things he didn’t want to do now instead of his mother visiting him hours later in hysterics– he couldn’t bear it. Alicent was more of a mess now than ever. “Fine. I leave this in your very capable hands,” he stood up, swiping the whole jug of wine, “At least find me a pretty one.”
She was plain, unbelievably plain. Long, curled brown hair desperately in need of a trim, a poorly tailored dress that needed to be more fitted at the waist, stature too small and unremarkable to stand up to anyone of importance. Oh, and picked cuticles, the spots of red eking out from her nail beds. Mayhaps she and his mother would get along just jolly, then. She was to be his prospective wife and bear him more heirs. He wanted to shove it back in the council’s face and say he has an heir, his only living child, Jaehaera. Melancholy and withdrawn as she was, she was his heir.
The council disagreed, allowing Borros Baratheon to shove his last unwed daughter at him like a piece of meat that no one wanted.
Her eyes wafted up to glance at him, every move of hers uncertain, cautious. She was so deathly aware of each minute gesture, her posture having to be adjusted to straighten every few minutes. 
Lyanna Baratheon wasn’t of prominent knowledge and reputation like her sisters, aptly named ‘the Four Storms’ – she didn’t remind Aegon at all of a stag or a doe, but rather something more diminutive and easily killed, like a prey animal. Mayhaps a rabbit– it would be an apt description, as she had giant eyes, brown –almost black– in their hue, a shiny glaze over them as she stared at the ground. Every so often, their eyes would meet, brown to violet, and she would look apt as Aegon thought she was.
A rabbit begging for its life.
Borros Baratheon stood beside her, murmuring something into her ear. He was a boorish oaf of a man who couldn’t even read– Aegon wasn’t the brightest star in the sky when it came to matters of literature, that’d always been his brother’s realm, but atleast he could fucking read. He thought it quite hysterical that his house sigil was that of a Stag when Lord Borros reminded him more of a boar. Mayhaps he should change it. 
As he continued to whisper to his daughter, her expression went from sordid to panicked, then back to sordid. She wasn’t very good at masking her emotions– she would need to learn if she were to survive at the Keep. The tips of her fingers twitched slightly and she was obviously holding herself back from tearing into her nail beds. 
“Lord Borros,” Aegon broke the tension, “Perhaps I should show your daughter around the gardens while you speak with my grandsire. We have the most beautiful gardens here and I’d imagine that Storm’s End wouldn’t have something quite as grand,” he glazed over Borros’ blank stare, “due to the storms, of course.” 
Lord Baratheon adjusted his doublet, which was far too small for him— did the Stormlands not have a proper fucking tailor? — and nodded, “Yes, that would be amicable. It would do some good to familiarize yourself with one another before the wedding in a week’s time.” 
Aegon’s throat felt parched. He knew that they were speeding things along but he didn’t anticipate it to be this fast. Grabbing a bottle of wine from a nearby servant, he descended back to Lyanna, intent on whisking her away as quickly as possible. Not because he found her particularly interesting, rather the opposite, but he needed an excuse to get out of the room. The insistent thrum of his pulse in his neck was all too loud. His arm looped under Lyanna’s, “Come, my lady,” he hummed, trying to seem like he was somewhat collected and kingly and not on the edge of chugging the entire carafe of wine and smashing it over the next poor fucker’s head. “To the gardens.” 
He practically strung along the poor girl, who hurriedly agreed and tried her best to keep up. “Y-yes, your grace,” she mewled, her feet tapping on the ground at irregular rhythms as she hung onto Aegon’s arm, bouncing against the stone walkway toward the gardens, “King’s Landing is… very beautiful, my king– your subject must be very pleased.”
As they descended the cobbled steps down to the garden, Aegon eyed her warily, “Did your father tell you to say that?”
“N-no, not exactly–” 
“He did. Anyone with half of a brain and a working nose knows that this accursed city smells of shit. You shouldn’t lie, my lady. You’re quite bad at it,” he took a small breath as he looked at her expression– the poor thing was on the verge of tears. “You will get better in time,” he continued with a slightly softer tone, “This Keep is full of great liars and you don’t seem… too much like your father. I am sure you will pick up quickly. How old are you?”
“Nineteen, your grace.” 
Aegon resisted giving a derisive snort, instead uncorking the wine bottle and tossing the stopper into the grass, “You’re quite young, then,” he took a swig, feeling the bitter tasting liquid coat his mouth, “All the better for heirs. Or so I’m sure that we’ve both been told.” 
In truth, some would consider her a bit late in age to be married– but Aegon didn’t care as long as he wasn’t robbing the cradle like his father did to his mother, or Daemon to Rhaenyra. He was twenty-six himself and tried to remember what he was like when he was nineteen; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint an exact memory. It was mostly a blur.
“I am… hopeful to provide you with many healthy heirs, my king,” she replied, her words sounding rehearsed. She is as poor of an actress as she is a liar, then. She paused for a moment, looking at her hands, “I… do not wish to replace the late queen, her grace, Helaena– I merely wish to fulfill my duty to the realm and my family– I am terribly… sorry to hear about Helaena, my king. As well as your prince brothers. War is a terrible thing.”
Aegon blinked profusely a few times. Her words after her pause sounded genuine– mayhaps she is capable of thinking for herself. She seemed… softhearted, even if a bit naive. He regarded the bottle in his hand for a moment, swishing it around. No one had really apologized to him for his losses– the enumerable amount of them he’s gone through these past few years. They all bowed their heads and wouldn’t meet his gaze, as if their blood was all on his hands. Mayhaps it was. He swallowed, his mouth pursed in a thin line, “... War is indeed a terrible thing, my lady.”
They walked for a few hours around the garden, talking about various things. Aegon still found her quite boring and uninteresting to look at– she wasn’t ugly by any means, and could be considered pretty, but she was just so terribly plain that it bored him to tears. Her speech was all faux and he tried to eek out any genuineness to her words through different subjects– all to no avail. It seemed the sore subject of Aegon’s family was the only thing to break her from her carefully crafted script.
Eventually, they parted ways– for the better, he thought. She was a fine match, a fine age, a fine vessel for his seed to produce a royal heir and whatever other innocuous thing his grandsire needed from him. 
What a terribly dreadful life he’s let himself sink into.
That night, he drained two bottles of Dornish Red, falling much into the same state of mind he had when he was nineteen. Wandering to the Street of Silk, he whored and drank himself into a state of sloven mania.
In the midst of his drunken ramblings, he wondered if he could ever find someone who would truly love him or if his opportunity had already passed.
– 
The wedding followed in the timeline that Borros and Otto had set– as quickly as possible. The council dipped into the coffers to make it happen, it was to be an extravagant event, a new beginning for the realm. Artisans, fine bakers and cooks were all hired to make the wedding a facet, stringing up red, green, yellow and black banners, making dozens of delicate pastries and even cooking six turduckens to line the tables.
It was all lavish and opulent– and Lyanna could not feel more out of place. The past week at the Keep had been a whirlwind of planning, gown fittings, flower picking. Her sisters were there in attendance, speaking up more than she on what to pick. It was fine with her, as she couldn’t bring herself to care for it. The gaudiness of it all made her feel ill. 
She had only met with Aegon the one time, the first time. Lyanna felt she made a terrible impression— she was so nervous that day that she’d vomited twice that morning, all while her father screamed at her to get it right, to say exactly as he told her to. For the most part, she had done just that— played the perfect little puppet for him and said all those empty words that meant nothing. 
She was meant to see Aegon at least three more times before the wedding, as there were a few dinners arranged between their two families. He had been absent for all, his mother citing that he was unable to attend for various reasons but nothing overtly specific.
Alicent Hightower was a nice lady— she was warm to Lyanna, talking to her at the dinners when no one else had bothered. She was the person who Lyanna felt most comfortable with in the Keep and was grateful that she was to be her good-mother. Alicent was a bit frayed at the ends from the loss of her other children; she was haunted, her eyes constantly red-rimmed and murmuring prayers under her breath. 
The morning of the wedding, Lyanna was summoned to Alicent’s solar to get ready. 
She knocked on the door, “Your grace— it’s Lyanna.”
“Come in, my dear,” she called out, a maid opening the door to let her in. “How are you feeling this morn?” Alicent was perched on the settee when Lyanna came in, and immediately rushed over to her, taking the young girl’s hands in hers. 
“Quite nervous,” Lyanna responded, her hands quivering ever so slightly, even under the warm touch of Alicent. “May I speak plainly, your grace?” 
“Of course,” she ushered Lyanna to the loveseat and had the maid pour them both tea, then promptly shooed her out. “It’s just us now, speak your mind, sweetling.” 
“I-I am afraid that… Aegon will not like me. I fear I didn’t make a good first impression— he seemed quite bored of me.” 
Alicent took a sip of her tea, giving a small sigh. “I will do you the favor of not sugarcoating words and speak plainly like you have done with me. Aegon will not like you,” she pursed her lips into a thin line, twisting the signet ring on her finger, “Aegon is a creature of debauchery and sin— and you are a good, pious girl. You are like oil and water.” her brown eyes met Lyanna’s, her expression softening. The two women had a fast camaraderie, praying together each morning in the Sept. “You… may not love him, or even like him— but there is a duty upon you to fulfill. It is a burden we carry as women, my dear. We are always behest to the men in our lives,” she stopped, her eyes glazing over with a far-away look, “I don’t mean to be discouraging. You are a… good hearted young woman and I believe you can channel that into something positive as the Queen.” 
Lyanna felt her stomach quivering at Alicent’s words, her skin flushing. “I… appreciate your plain speech, your grace. I just… do not wish to displease him.”
Alicent’s mouth twitched at each end as if she were mulling something over. “It will be hard to please him, my dear. You are nothing like the women that usually please him,” she wiped a hand down her face, “You remind me so much of myself, Lyanna. Pushed into something you are… ill-suited for. You’re a sweet and kindhearted girl and I don’t wish for you to tear yourself apart on the inside and feel as if you’re not good enough for him– you are, you are too good for him, too pure, too-” Alicent took a measured breath, “You are not what he wants and you never will be, my dear. It will do you well to know that now rather than years later. There is always someone else in their eyes– women like you and I do what we can. I pray you will find things that keep you happy.”
Lyanna picked up her tea cup with trembling hands, taking a sip. There seemed to be more to Alicent’s words than them just being about Aegon– but she didn’t want to push it. Dipping her head, she thanked her good-mother-to-be once more.
– 
“Wake up, wake up!” a voice boomed, rousing Aegon from his haze as a carafe of cold water was poured on him. The girl latched to his cock like a leech let out a shrill scream and scrambled away.
“Fucking hell– who the fuck?” Aegon slurred, blinking profusely half a dozen times before his vision came into focus. It was one of the Kingsguard, one more behest to his grandsire than him– and his grandsire, Otto, who had the now empty container of water in hand.
“Wake up, you ingrate,” Otto growled, grabbing his grandson by his collar, hoisting him up onto his feet, smacking his cheek gently. “Your wedding is in two hours and you’re passed out in a whorehouse. You’re the king, for the Seven’s sake– I thought you left this debauchery behind, atleast have your whores at the keep instead of being in these pits of sin.” 
“You can put a number of different hats on a bear, you know,” Aegon slumped against the wall, “Many kinds of hats; a hood, a felted dante, a linen coif, a cowl, a straw hat, a jester’s garb– heh, that’d be quite funny–” 
“Is there a point to your drunken babbling, Aegon?”
“Yes, ah– you can put many types of hats on a bear and change its look but at the end of the day, its still just a fucking bear,” he straightened out his stained tunic, “Point being– you can stick a crown on my head, put a sword in my hand and put me through a war to keep me on that fucking throne but guess what, grandsire, I am still just a bear at the end of the day.”
Otto stared at him, brow furrowed. “You aren’t a bear, you’re a dragon and a king, so act like it. You are getting married in two hours and you look like a sloven mess. You’re lucky that Borros is as blind for power and recognition as he is or he would take his daughter back to Storm’s End and you’ll be stuck with the next best choice.” 
“That boring rube of a girl was my best choice? I must be fucked, then, either way.”
Otto and his Kingsguard dog dragged Aegon back to the keep, and observed while maids scrubbed him clean, red and raw. He was put in a nicely fit green suit, his House cloak strapped to his shoulders. It was a whirlwind of events that led up to the doors of the Sept being opened and Aegon ushered in.
His stomach churned and he felt sixteen again, forced to wed his sister. He remembered being hardly conscious throughout the ceremony, fumbling over his cloak and practically smothering Helaena in it.
He looked down the aisle at Lyanna, who was dressed in a pale yellow dress with long, flowing sleeves. She had a high collar with black lining and antler embroidery all over the garment. It was actually well fitted this time, likely thanks to his mother, and it turned out she actually had a figure, with plush hips and a well-endowed chest. Her brown hair was half up, half down with an assortment of intricate braids– it reminded him of how Rhaenyra used to wear her hair and he wondered who thought to style it like that, and he wondered if he was the only one who noticed.
As he walked down the aisle, he saw his mother in the front row– she was crying, thumbing a pendant in the shape of a Seven Pointed Star. 
The ceremony was a blur to him, as he put the cloak over her shoulders and sealed their union with a kiss– a chaste one. She tasted like lavender tea. As he pulled back, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed with tears, and he felt the familiar sting of tears in his own eyes.
The feast was much the same, as he drank himself into a numbing stupor. He only had one moment of clarity, as some of the rowdy guests began to poke and prod at Lyanna, talking about the bedding ceremony. She looked visibly uncomfortable, picking at her nail beds under the table. Something about the sight of her discomfort and pain stirred something in Aegon that he couldn’t name– maybe he was feeling sentimental from the alcohol, but a surge of possessiveness flowed through him. He wasn’t known to be possessive, much the opposite in fact. But the egregious actions of these men pawing at his wife– their fucking queen, mind them– making disgusting insinuations. If she were a whore, it’d be different– but she was so… innocent, so coerced in all of this just as he was, it felt wrong. 
Aegon snapped, slamming his cup down, “There won’t be any fucking bedding ceremony,” he growled, “My wife and I will be retiring to our chambers– alone. And if… any one of you lays another paw on her, you will lose it.”
Lyanna stared at Aegon, those huge brown eyes wide. Her lips were parted slightly as he once again strung her along the halls to his– no, their– chambers. She was shaking.
Once in their chambers, he let go of her, uncorking another bottle of wine and taking a swig. “I presume you think that this is where I will fuck you, hm? Stick my prick in you and make an heir and we will all live happily ever after like a child’s storybook.”
Lyanna stared down at her feet. “It… it would be… the duty of husband and wife to consummate–”
“Fuck duty! I’m not going to fuck some weepy eyed maiden because my old fuck grandsire said so. I don’t have need of you in that way.”
Her hands were trembling as she unlaced the back of her dress, her movements autonomous– she was doing what she thought she should be doing in this situation. She began to undress, slipping her gown off and leaving her in her silken shift, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. The sight of her body, soft, stirred something within him for a moment, like a spark trying to ignite kindling.
“We don’t have to do this, Lyanna,” he murmured, using her name for the first time. He put down the wine bottle. “We can wait.”
“N-no! Please, I want to– please,” Lyanna whispered, practically pleading for it, as if she wanted to get it over with. “Please.”
Aegon rubbed a hand down his face. “Get on the bed then. Lie on your stomach.”
She did as she was told, laying flat on the bed on her stomach. She clutched some pillows as a lifeline.
He knew he should warm her up, he knew that they should want to touch one another, he should want to see her face– but he didn’t. He couldn’t bear to look at her face, or touch her for longer than was necessary. He barely shimmied down his trousers before he began poking at her entrance with a half-hard cock, partially trying to give her a moment to get used to the sensations, and partially trying to find where he was supposed to stick it– he knew, of course, he’d fucked his way through King’s Landing and then some, but he hadn’t fucked many maidens, and especially not when he was blind drunk.
Eventually, he hit home and slid into her, his movements slow at first. He could hear her whimpers and knew they weren’t of pleasure. It reminded him of his wedding night with Helaena where they’d both cried– all the memories of that night came flooding back, causing him to falter.
Lyanna looked back at him, her eyes puffy and red, “I-Is it over?” 
Aegon swallowed sharply, cringing as he stared at her. The moment of arousal he had– purely from stimulation alone– was gone now, his half-hard erection deflating completely. “Fuck– yes, it’s over.” he didn’t have the heart to tell her that it in fact had hardly started before it was over– and not in the good way. He pulled out of her, taking in a deep breath as he walked to the water basin and soaked a cloth with warm water, offering it to her. “Wipe yourself– it will help with the… pain… and blood.” 
She took the cloth, wiping away the remnants of their half-fulfilled consummation. “I-I’m… sorry,” Lyanna whispered, sniffling, “I know I am not what you want.” 
His mouth was pulled into a thin line as he turned away. “You’re right. You aren’t.”
They fell into bed next to each other and Aegon’s mind was swimming as he tried to sleep. He didn’t know what he wanted. He never wanted any of this– he just wanted to be a kid again with no responsibilities, with all of his siblings, even Rhaenyra– he would’ve… he would’ve been nicer to all of them, he wouldn’t of picked on Aemond, he would’ve gotten to know Rhaenyra better, he would’ve played with Helaena’s bugs, he would’ve taught Daeron all of the secrets of the castle. He would’ve told his grandsire to fuck off when they were to crown him and had Sunfyre char him to a crisp and given the crown to Rhaenyra.
He would’ve been loved then.
He just wanted to be loved.
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brewstersbru · 5 months
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Uh oh I'm writing again... have some wyllstarion
Wyll likes to act like the most straightforward guy in the party- and perhaps, with what strange characters have coalesced here, he may very well be. Although, Astarion thinks to himself, pots and kettles are still black, at the end of the day- no matter what they call themselves or each other.
The vampire is not usually one to dwell on others for too long, simply because he has more than enough to worry about on his own. But something about Wyll, his righteous façade, his dedication to remaining insufferably well-meaning, even in the face of becoming an actual, literal, devil from the hells. It’s off-putting. Not quite right. Something about Wyll is just not quite right.  
He becomes transfixed- gaze unwittingly wandering to the warlock whenever he’s been idle for too long. Gale notices, but he thinks it’s because Astarion has a crush on Wyll, and is too stubborn to admit it. Sometimes he’ll try to engineer a way for the two of them to be alone together, steering Tav further ahead into a crypt, or pretending to be asleep when they’re all huddled around the fire. Astarion is too embarrassed at being caught staring to properly threaten the wizard for even thinking such a thing.
His fixation is not amorous. It’s curious. What in the world could such a seemingly candid, straightforward fellow have to hide? The things that drift to mind are equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Perhaps he’s secretly some twisted murderer- although, it’s not like Astarion’s not one of those- or perhaps he has a tragic, uncomfortable rash somewhere inconvenient. That would be funny. Astarion wonders if his new devilish-ness has come with any awkward skin conditions. Horns simply cannot be comfortable on a head so used to not having them.
He’s getting into the weeds now- the point is, Wyll is strange. And Astarion has absolutely no idea how to deal with him. A fact that has become increasingly apparent, as the man- currently sweating bullets in the middle of a watership they’d commandeered- falters and stumbles over his words for the first time since they’ve known each other.
The others are tending their wounds, and those of the other prisoners they’d managed to free in the short time they’d been in Gortash’s underwater prison. Shadowheart stands over a beaten Omeluum and rests a glowing hand gently against his forehead. Halsin is kneeled on the floor of the ship, inspecting injuries and distributing salve and bandages to the Gondians gathered around him.
Wyll is staring at his father’s furrowed brow, mouth choking around pleasantries. Astarion tilts his head at the display, considering. He and Wyll aren’t that close, but the other man had insisted that they save his father. Had begged Tav to let him go; went against Mizora, knowing full-well what she is capable of.  And all he can choke out, when they finally reunite, is a short, stunted hello?
Then, he catches a glimpse of the Duke’s face. The disgust is so apparent that Astarion almost recoils with the force of it. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is struggling so much.
He tarries for a moment, two, but cannot stay idle when the gruff older man opens his mouth to respond. There’s no doubt in Astarion’s mind that whatever is about to come out of his mouth will break Wyll’s heart, and for some godsforsaken reason, he doesn’t want to let that happen.
“A Grand Duke! My my, Wyll, who knew you had such lofty connections?” Astarion sidles up next to his friend, sliding a cool hand up his back to grasp at his shoulder in steady reassurance. His body moves of its own accord, without his permission, but he cannot find it within himself to regret the action when Wyll’s shoulders relax just so underneath his hand, when his brow smooths.
“Ah, well. It’s been a while.” His smile is a rueful, broken thing hanging off of its hinges. The laugh that follows creaks hollowly. Astarion cannot stand the sight of it. He turns his sharpened gaze to the Duke, smiles wide so as to showcase his sharp, pearly fangs.
“Oh, that’s too bad, my dear. That your father has not had the chance to know what a devilishly good fellow you’ve grown into.” The Duke coughs at the word ‘devilishly’ but that’s why Astarion had used it. Good. Be uncomfortable. He laughs something mirthless and sharp before continuing, “No matter. You did just save him, now you’ve got all the time in the world to catch up.”
Wyll looks at him for a moment, eyes clouded, calculating. He huffs a ghost of a laugh but shakes his head. “I appreciate your optimism, my friend, but perhaps-“
The Duke’s forceful, indignant interruption drowns out the rest of whatever he was about to say, “First you cleave my heart in twain, and now you shatter it to pieces! My son, a monster, twisted almost beyond recognition.” He stares at Wyll as if he was no better than the dirt beneath his feet, then scoffs to the side. “To think… my blood flows through those veins.” The words are forced past his lips, almost as if he’s about to be sick.
Astarion sneers at the display. Wyll only shakes his head, dispassionately at his feet.
“It’s not what you think, it never was.” His voice is small, but firm. Astarion’s long-dead heart aches in his chest. Who could possibly deny that, deny him? The Duke snarls his response, “It is exactly what I think.”
And that’s quite enough, Astarion decides. He doesn’t know where all of this animalistic protectiveness is coming from, but it’s as if a beast has been awakened inside of him, sitting on its haunches, ready to pounce at any moment. Wyll’s expression has only sunken further into despair, his eyes duller than they’ve ever been. It’s unnatural, to watch as the usual spark of life within them flickers out into a deep, yawning pain.
“I’m beginning to think we should have let you drown, Duke,” He spits the word like it’s a curse, “if this is how you’re going to treat your savior. He’s risked his life, his godsdamned soul to save yours. The least you could do is show a little fucking gratitude.” Astarion’s teeth are gritted as he speaks, his voice low and grating in ways it’s only been in the midst of battle. Wyll is looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. He’s frowning, but his eyes are shining again so Astarion takes it as a success.
Before anything else can be said, both Wyll and his father groan and hunch over themselves. Astarion’s own tadpole twitches at the psychic disturbance. They’re sharing memories. It’s but a few moments later that they’re shaking themselves out of it, Astarion clutches tightly at Wyll’s waist, supporting his weight as he recovers. It doesn’t hurt that he’s so warm, and fit, either.
Silence reigns for a moment, two, three as the Duke parses through whatever’s Wyll’s just chosen to show him. Astarion’s thumb moves of its own accord against the sharp jut of Wyll’s hipbone through his robe. The other man relaxes minutely, and as much as Astarion is loathe to admit it, his body knows what it’s doing better than his mind does, right now. Because his mind has not really stopped repeating whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckareyoudoingidiot for the past half hour.  
The Duke nods, after a minute or so. “I… I apologize, my son. You have suffered much for your people.”
Wyll nods, his voice is just slightly wet as he speaks, “Everything I did, I did for Baldur’s Gate. I did for you.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Astarion’s heart with it. He pulls Wyll tighter against him before releasing his grip. The Duke’s eyes shine, a little bit like Wyll’s always seem to. Astarion is beginning to see the resemblance.
“You sold your soul to save Baldur’s Gate- and I cast you out for it. You gave yourself to the hells eternal fires so I might walk free. By the gods! Can you ever forgive me?” He seems close to tears himself. Good. Astarion thinks, and only feels a little bad about it when Wyll responds in kind.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Astarion disagrees but remains quiet, they’re having a moment. “You only wanted to protect the city, and I only ever wanted the same.” Wyll is a much better man than Astarion could ever hope to be, he would have said ‘I told you so’ and spit at his feet. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is the Blade of Frontiers and Astarion is not. The Duke seems to concur.
“You are a better man than I. A better son than I deserve.” A few seconds pass as the two take a moment to look at each other, for all that they are, and all that they wish they were, before drawing in and crushing together into a violent, giddy hug. Astarion sighs to himself, contented.
Both of them are crying and Astarion pretends like he doesn’t notice. He makes to walk away after a bit, but before he can make it very far the Duke is calling him back. “Wait, vampire!” Oh hells. Not this again. If the fucking Bitch-Duke tries to stake him after he’d just helped save his ass, he’s going to be quite cross. And Wyll just might have to reconcile with not having a father. Oh, who is he kidding. He’d die before being the reason the other man’s eyes were dulled. Still, it’d be extremely inconvenient.
Astarion sighs, but turns on his heel. “What could you possibly need from me, your Duke-ness. I thought you and doe-eyes here were having father-son bonding time?” Wyll recoils a bit at the description, as if no one’s told him how large and shiny his eyes are. Pity, that.
The Duke looks at him like he’s an especially tricky puzzle. Good. He likes being difficult.
“I wanted to thank you. For setting me straight.” Astarion sighs and inspects his nails, trying not to let the thanks sink in. They always feel strange and hot in his gut. Bubbly and uncomfortable.
“Well, someone had to and little miss martyr here wasn’t going to do it.” Wyll smiles and offers a similar thanks. Striding forward and pulling Astarion into a gentle embrace.
“Thank you, Astarion. You truly are a gift.” He whispers the words, low and sincere into his ear as he clasps a warm hand tenderly across the back of his neck. Astarion hates and loves it. He’s so fucking glad to be dead and hungry right now, because there’s not enough blood to show the warmth blossoming across his cheeks and onto the tips of his ears. He coughs.
“Yes, well, aren’t I always. I’ll leave you two to it!” And with that, he scurries away. Perhaps more confused and intrigued than ever, but understanding more about Wyll than he ever has.
What a strange, strange man. But gods, he is cute.
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airplanned · 10 months
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TotK Mini Fic
Do not read unless you’ve gotten all the memories and done the Tarry Town stuff.  For real.  Scroll on.
I’m this far into the game, so please don’t tell me more in the comments.
I’ve seen some people write angst, and--y’all--no.  This is the BEST.
Maybe it’s Rhondson’s own melancholy, but Link looks down.  He is not as excited as a man about to buy a dream home should be.  Distractedly, he stares off into the sky behind her as if searching for something, as if thinking really hard.
“So what do you think?” she chirps, trying to put enough excitement for both of them into her sales pitch. (It’s so rude of him to make her do that.  Doesn’t he realize that she’s having a hard day, sending her baby off?)
“I already have a…It’s complicated.”
“Look, I’ll give you’re a discount for all your help.  This could be your dream home!  Completely customizable!  And everyone could do with more space!”
He freezes.  He blinks rapidly a few times, and she can see the gears turn, see him come back to himself.  His face seems to light up as he finally looks her in the eye.
“How much space?”
 #
 Link’s house looks like a pagoda.  Tall and open.  He’s put some ramps on top to give a bad illusion of a slanted roof.
And…well…to each their own. That is the beauty of the Hudson Dream Home: if you can dream it, they can build it.
The first floor is a big square of normal house things. His bedroom tucked behind the stairs, a display of swords that…well, no one knows how he got swords that look untouched by decay, but there they are.  A prominent kitchen where he’ll show off that latest fruitcake he’s made for his girl. “We play this game where I try to throw bites into her mouth.”
There are piles of giant glowing scales and what look like shining monster claws. They look like they were neatly sorted at one point, but now there are just too many.   What are they? And why does it feel like they sing? For potions, he says.  And sometimes he fuses them to weapons.  
If anyone notices the tiny study he has tucked away, he gets bashful, rubbing the back of his head and saying that his girl likes quiet when she’s working.  If she ever…well, if she…he wanted to have a space ready for her.
“One time she asked if I would still love her if she turned into a wyrm.”  Then he laughs.
There are paintings. One of him and the princess and some other people all smooshed together for a group shoot.  One of Link and four glowing ghostly figures, all of them smiling.
Then there’s the one of the dragon.  It takes up the whole wall and is nearly life sized.  Link holds his slate out at arm’s length to catch his beaming face and one, giant, dragon eye framed with gold lashes.
If anyone comments on the dragon, he gets excited and says something like, “Isn’t she pretty?” or “Her face is very soft,” or “Do you see her antlers?  Aren’t they neat?”
Honestly, asking about anything Link gets up to just leads to more questions.  It’s not worth it.
The second floor is open to the air like a gazebo.  Around that, on the roof of the first floor, he’s put flower beds, which he tends with care, frowning over journals and botany books.  After a few weeks, the flower bloom, lighting up at night with a blue-white light you can see from Tarry Town.  Sometimes they’ll catch him carrying a bouquet.  “Bringing them to my girl.  I think I can braid them into her hair.”
As he plants his hands on his hips and surveys his construction with pride and hope, he explains, “She takes up a lot of space.  I imagine she’ll kind of…spread.”  He waves his hands a bit to express that she would presumably leave stuff everywhere.
He seems delighted by the prospect.
“If I can get her to visit, I think she’ll like this.  Yeah,” he sighs.  “She’ll like this.”
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PURLY FLUFF ANYTHING PLEASE!!!
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Workin' On A Project
A/N: This was pretty self-indulgent, so I'm gonna put these two together and hope that y'all enjoy this as much as I did. I really love writing these two and look forward to being able to write for them more often in the future! If you a smidge of Tarry at the end...well maybe you see something, maybe you don't. Who knows?
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Pony shuffled his feet, waiting for the door to the Shepard house to open. He squeezed the strap to his backpack, tossed haphazardly over his shoulder and filled with everything he’d need for the History project, and looked down at the porch. The sound of muffled yelling and footsteps came from inside and Pony looked up as the door began to open, only to be met with Tim Shepard instead of Curly.
Tim raised an unamused brow and leaned up against the door frame, looking over Ponyboy through the screen door. He took a long drag of his cigarette. “You want something, Curtis?”
Pony cleared his throat and spun a little to show Tim his backpack. “Curly and I got a project to work on. He said I could come over today and we’d work on it.”
“He said that?” Tim echoed in a mocking tone, blinking owlishly and not moving from the doorway. “Well, shoot, I guess if Curly said so.”
“Tim! I said I’d get it!”
Curly’s voice was accompanied by his footsteps thundering down the stairs and he came into view only a moment later, with bare feet and ungreased hair, shoving his brother away from the front door and opening the screen door. Tim muttered something in Spanish Pony couldn’t quite catch before he walked away and Curly snapped back in Spanish as he dragged Pony inside by his sleeve.
“If now’s a bad time,” Pony started, looking between Curly and Tim’s retreating figure, “I can come back later or we can just work on this at school.”
“It ain’t a bad time, Tim’s just being an’ asshole,” Curly said. He raised his voice at the end and Pony could hear Tim muttering quietly as Curly pulled him toward the staircase.
Curly went up first, keeping one hand on Ponyboy’s sleeve as he led him upstairs, taking the familiar path back to his bedroom. The Shepard house wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination, none of the houses in greaser neighborhoods were, but it had two floors and three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a big living room. Angela had her own room, but the two boys shared a bedroom, all three of them choosing to avoid their parents’ old room.
Angela’s door was closed as Curly tugged Pony along, but Curly gave three sharp raps anyway and Angela shouted out something else in Spanish that Pony didn’t catch.
“Why can't y'all ever talk in English? Do you have to talk in Spanish all the time?” Pony muttered as he pulled away from Curly’s grip and adjusted his backpack over his shoulders.
Curly grinned wolfishly. “Por supuesto, muñeco. Es mas divertido.”
Ponyboy rolled his eyes. Curly, undeterred, continued down the hallway and pushed open his bedroom door, ducking inside without waiting for Pony. The youngest Curtis followed anyway and shook his head as Curly flopped down onto his bed. Pony took a seat on the floor and tugged out his textbooks, spreading them out on the floor in front of himself.
“What are you doin’?” Curly asked from above him.
“Gettin’ our project stuff together,” Ponyboy reminded without looking back. “It’s due by the end of the week and it’s already Tuesday.”
Curly’s fingers brushed over the side of Ponyboy’s neck and he only jumped a little bit, startled by the gentle touch as he glanced back at the greaser to find him smirking.
“You didn’t think I invited you over to really work on that project, did you, Ponybabe?”
Of course not. Ponyboy wasn’t that stupid. But this project had to get done and Ponyboy was going to get it done, regardless of whether or not Curly helped out. He batted away Curly’s hand as the hood started to trace the shell of his ear and began to flip through the bulky history textbook.
“We’ve gotta read these pages,” Ponyboy said pointedly, tapping at the assigned passages and reaching for his notebook. “Then we gotta answer all the questions she put up on the board. You remember those?”
“You’re jokin’.”
“She talked about ‘em for twenty minutes, Curls, you’re tellin’ me you don’t remember them?”
“I remember you were wearin’ that one green shirt you got, made your eyes look greener than they normally do.”
“Shut up.”
“What? I’m tellin’ you what I remember!”
Ponyboy sighed and pulled his textbook closer. He scanned the two pages quickly before scrawling his name across the top of a fresh page in his notebook.
“You’re not gonna add my name?” Curly asked, poking at the back of Ponyboy’s head.
“Are you gonna keep botherin’ me?”
Curly huffed and withdrew his hand. Ponyboy waited a moment before adding Curly’s name to the header.
They sat in silence for a minute, Pony starting to answer the questions they’d been assigned and Curly staring at the ceiling, sprawled out in his bed. The peace only lasted a minute. Curly ran his fingers over Pony’s neck again and toyed with the collar of his shirt, slipping his fingers beneath it and reaching for Pony’s collarbones.
“Curly,” Pony chided, shoving the middle Shepard’s hand away. “We’re workin’ on the project.”
“You’re workin’ on the project,” Curly corrected. He slid his hand back and brushed his thumb over the spot beneath Pony’s ear, nudging at his chin. “I’m workin’ on gettin’ you up here with me.”
Ponyboy, to his credit, kept back the shudder of excitement as Curly tipped his head back, forcing Ponyboy to turn and face him. Dark cobalt met green-gray and Curly smiled, lazy and pleased.
“You wanna sit up here with me?” Curly offered, running his thumb back and forth over Pony’s jaw rhythmically. “We can work on that project later.”
“Your sister’s across the hall,” Pony murmured. He didn’t pull away. “Your brother’s downstairs.”
Curly raised his eyebrow and Pony realized just how similar he and his brother looked. “And?”
“They already don’t like me, Curly, you know that. I don’t need to give them anythin’ else to hate me for.”
Squeezing Pony’s chin once, Curly let go and shifted on the bed. “Get up here, ya idiot.”
Pony did as he was told. As he stood, Curly shifted to sit up against the headboard, leaving plenty of space for Ponyboy to take a seat. Pony sat by Curly’s feet, but after one look at the pouty look on Curly’s face, checked that the door was closed before sliding into the hood’s lap.
“Better,” Curly murmured. He reached up and cupped Pony’s face in his hands before pulling Ponyboy down into an uncharacteristically sweet kiss. Pony’s hands found Curly’s middle, resting over his stomach as he leaned into the kiss. When they broke apart, Curly gave Pony’s jaw another soft squeeze. “My brother an’ sister like you just fine, I promise you.”
“They got a funny way of showing it,” Pony mumbled. He tipped his face into Curly’s hands, pressing a kiss to the hood’s palm.
“They’re funny people,” Curly replied easily. “They don’t hate you. Honest.”
Ponyboy let out a small huff and closed his eyes for a moment, tucking his nose to the warm inside of Curly’s hand. He stayed there, breathing gently before he opened his eyes again and glanced at Curly through his eyelashes.
“Pony,” Curly whispered, voice low and soft. “For somebody who’s been actin’ like he don’t wanna do nothin’ with me, you’re lookin’ at me like you really wanna do somethin’.”
With a quiet laugh, Ponyboy leaned in to give Curly another kiss. An hour or two later, as it was getting close to dinner time, Ponyboy pulled himself away from Curly, causing the hood to let out a bothered whine. While they had spent the majority of their time in Curly’s bed, exchanging kisses and holding onto each other, Ponyboy had managed to get the majority of the project done. After bribing Curly with a few kisses, the hood allowed Ponyboy to continue working on the history assignment, provided that Curly could hold onto him and press the occasional kiss to his neck.
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“Where do you think you’re going?” Curly asked as Pony climbed out of his bed. Curly’s voice was rough and he blinked in confusion as Pony started to shove the books on the floor back into his backpack.
“Home, Curls,” Ponyboy replied in an equally rough voice. “Darry wants me home by dinner and I don’t wanna get screamed at for comin’ home late.”
“You want me to walk you home?” Curly asked, pushing up onto his elbows and swinging his legs off the bed.
Pony shook his head and swung his backpack over his shoulder, eyes scanning the floor to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “You don’t have to. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ jumped on the way back cause it’ll probably be dark by then. Ain’t like I got to walk far anyway, we only live a few blocks over.”
Curly flashed a smug smile. “Anybody who tries jumpin’ me’ll get exactly what they deserve.”
Snorting, Pony pushed weakly at Curly’s chest, smiling when the hood flopped dramatically onto his back. “Easy, killer. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at school, alright?”
“Alright,” Curly replied, smiling back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Pony bent to give him one more quick kiss before he turned to leave, waving quickly before slipping into the hallway and hopping down the stairs. He headed for the door, shifting his backpack over his shoulder when Tim’s voice sounded from somewhere out of sight.
“Curtis, hold up.”
Not having a death wish, Ponyboy stopped and turned, looking for the eldest Shepard. Tim appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, another cigarette between his lips.
“Yeah?”
“Do me a favor, kid,” Tim said, blowing smoke out from the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Next time you come over, bring your brother.”
Pony blinked. “Which- which one?”
Tim huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes like the answer to Pony’s question was obvious. “The big one.”
“Darry?” Ponyboy asked. “Why?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Tim took another long drag of his cigarette. “Now get outta here ‘fore that brother o’ yours comes down here lookin’ for you.”
Pony nodded jerkily and continued to go for the door, closing the heavy one behind him and letting the screen door slam shut on top of that. Whatever was going on between Tim and Dare…Pony didn’t want to know. He shook the thought from his head and started down the sidewalk, heading for home.
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broomsick · 5 months
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Hi, I just wanted to say that you have a lovely blog! I just bought a house(!!!) and I'm curious if you have any ideas for house blessings and land blessings?Thanks!
Hi there! That is a great question, I think you might find the answer quite fascinating!
First of all, congratulations on moving in! And thank you so much for taking the time to read my content, it really means a lot to me when people tell me they enjoy it. Now, house blessing is a broad topic when it comes to witchcraft and other such practices, and the possibilities are endless.
I'll start off with just a few personal tips, and then get down to more specific, detailed rituals! The first step I would suggest is to cleanse this new space that you'll be living in for years to come. This can be done using incense, resin smoke, or even simmer pots. If I were in your situation, I would probably light a few incense sticks and parade them around the house so as to cleanse every single room using its smoke. Another common cleansing method when it comes to the home is to sweep a broom around, cleaning the floors symbolically. It's also possible for you to recite a chant/song as you do so, asking for the home spirits to welcome you in this new house! You could look one up online or write one down, so as to tailor it specifically to your own wishes. This is an example of a great house blessing chant, which I found on this page! (If you open the link, you'll also find a very interesting house blessing ritual to go along with it):
Touch the lintel and touch the wall, Nothing but blessings here befall! Bless the candle that stands by itself, Bless the book on the mantle shelf, Bless the pillow for the tired head, Bless the hearth and the light shed. Friends who tarry here, let them know A three fold blessing before they go. Sleep for weariness - peace for sorrow Faith in yesterday and tomorrow. Friends who go from here, let them bear The blessing of hope, wherever they fare. Lintel and windows, sill and wall, Nothing but good, this place befall.
As a witch, something I like to do during ritual sweeping is to tie bundles of protective herbs as well as bells to the broom. Bells are a common cleansing tool.
The author Arin Murphy-Hiscock, who wrote The House Witch, advises new homeowners to take a moment to contemplate which part of their house feels like the heart of the home. The spiritual "center" of the house, so to speak. Oftentimes, people will choose the hearth or the kitchen, which provided heat to the household throughout history. But you could choose any room, or even any object which truly feels like the heart of the house. Once you've determined this "spiritual hearth", you can bless it using Murphy's method, which requires you to prepare: a bowl of salt, a bowl of water, a bowl of oil, a bowl filled with a blend of spices, a candle, and the means to light one.
Standing before this spiritual hearth, take 3 deep and slow breaths in order to calm your body and mind and to focus solely on the present moment."
Open your eyes and hold your hands out to the "hearth" you've chosen and say: Heart of my home, I recognize you. My spirit feels your warmth. My soul feels your wisdom. Sacred hearth, I recognize you.
Bow to the heart of the home.
Dip your fingers into a bowl of salt and say: Sacred hearth, the earth of my home recogizes your sanctity. Flick your fingers to scatter salt toward and over the hearth area.
Repeat using water, and say: Sacred hearth, the water of my home recognizes your sanctity.
Dip your fingers in a blend of spices and stir so as to release their scent, then say: Sacred hearth, the air of my home recognizes your sanctity. Waft your hand over the bowl of spices to move the scented air towards the hearth.
Light the candle and hold it toward the hearth, saying: Sacred hearth, the fire of my home recognizes you.
Place the candle on, or next to the spiritual hearth, and recite: Sacred hearth, I honor the sacred fire that burns within you. I thank you for the wisdom, knowledge and power that you will bring to this new home. May your sacred flame burn forever, and may my home ever be blessed by it.
Dip a finger into the oil, saying: Sacred hearth, with this oil I mark you as a symbol of our recognition of your sanctity and our gratitude for your many gifts and blessing. Lightly touch your oil-damp fingertip to the hearth.
Bow to the hearth one last time, and leave the candle burning if you mean to work in the room afterwards. Otherwis, snuff it out.
This just an example of what a house blessing may look like. I will now list a few good pages for you to browse more ideas!
The Pagan Library
Learning Witchcraft
Llewellyn
Sacred Hands Coven
Otherworldly Oracle
Learn Religions
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gingerlee-holds · 5 months
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March 13, 1745.
The next chapter! Featuring some new characters heehee (Don't worry, there will be more of them in the future!) I'm afraid that this chapter suffers from severe TWNFSTS (They Would Not Fucking Say That Syndrome), which I blame purely on the fact that I wanted my little Mr. Fernsby flustered and tworded a little. Is that a crime? But yeah, strangers irl don't act like this unfortunately, I just want everyone to adore my little scientist Anyways, I hope you all are enjoying these so far! They're very very fun to write. I just hope it's not too anachronistic.
Word Count: 2282 (holy crap i really let that get away from me huh) Reading Time: ~17.5 minutes Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, un-proofread ofc
I am most certainly now on the right track. I arrived in the little Welsh town two days ago, and immediately, the quaint charm of this place struck me. Really, calling it a town is a bit of a mischaracterization of the location. It is more of a village. Llandeilo, the village in question, is quite, quite picturesque. The streets are cobbled and flanked by brick buildings which show their age. There is not a library here, to my chagrin - this village’s proximity to Talley Abbey, I had hoped, would grant me access to more documents, some of which might have helped in my search. However, it does have a market square, a tavern, and a coffeehouse, each of which may have some inhabitant willing to share their knowledge on the subject. 
Cousin Barnaby's guest house is very fitting for my needs! The brute of a man does not truly understand what I am studying, and in his defense, I don't truly know either. Still, the house he has lent me is small, but with a spacious interior. Cousin Barnaby is the high constable for the village, and the poor man does not find intellectual pursuits in the least fascinating. Nevertheless, he has provided me with ample food and firewood for my little cabin, and if there is anything else I require, he has made it known that he is more than happy to provide for my needs. 
By that time, I still did not know what was causing the featherflakes, and I was determined, yesterday, to find out what they were, and if it were possible to become exposed to them again - purely for research purposes of course.
That morning, I had decided to first try my luck at the market square. There were merchants from all over, coming to and fro, shouting their wares. The air was filled with many smells - spices, fish, cheese, and various medicinal herbs (which I had perhaps tarried too long in perusing). 
The sounds of the market square were far more foreign than the smells. There were words shouted in Welsh, English, French, Irish - all of which I knew, of course, yet the combination of them all had a powerful effect on me. I believe I even heard singing from far off. There were numerous stalls filled with bartering and haggling townsfolk and merchants eager to swindle. I had walked up to one such tradesman at an empty stall, whose curly blonde hair, broad shoulders, and gap-toothed smile made him… quite appealing to the eyes. He seemed young and spoke in a smooth tone.
I straightened my tie and walked up closer. “Good morning, my good sir!” I had said to him, smiling confidently as I rested my hands on his stall, trying to emulate with every fiber of my being that I knew what I was doing. I did not in the slightest know what I was doing.
The tradesman chuckled softly, and spoke with a silky voice that, I admit, had a significant effect on my heartstrings. “Why, what do I have here! A university boy, come to pay a visit to my stall~!” He rested his chin on his elbow and looked me in the eye, almost smugly. “What can I do for you, stranger~?”
The confident, almost flirtatious, tone with which the man spoke put me at once off guard. Despite my best efforts, a blush found its way onto my face, and I found I could not meet his eye without a giggle. My hands fidgeted with the edges of my coat. “W-well!” I had said, “I’ve come to study a p-particular phemonenon- phenomemom- phenomenon!” 
The man chuckled and motioned for me to continue with his eyebrows.
“Ah-! You see, I had encountered what seemed to be- a storm of feathers last year at around this time, and I had read accounts that it may have been an event more common around here- I was wondering if-”
“Heh heh… a storm of feathers, huh~?” 
His voice stopped me and I looked back up at him. He was smiling smugly, as if he had known something about me that I did not. 
“No, sir! I mean- yes, sir!” I stood up at attention, trying to organize my frazzled mind. How was I failing to speak to this man so wholly?
Another alluring giggle escaped his lips. “Well, I don’t think I know much about feathers, and far less about storms of feathers. I’m a traveler, you see - I don’t stay in one place for long. Perhaps you,” he emphasized that word with a single finger-tap on the tip of my nose, “might find better information at a place where the locals reside, hm~? The tavern, perhaps?”
The blush on my cheeks grew hotter, I knew it for a fact without needing a looking-glass. I nodded, eagerly wanting to escape his eyesight to retain my dignity. “Yes, sir! Thank you very much, sir!” I turned my back and began walking quickly away, pushing past a few others who had stopped to watch the conversation.
I heard a few giggles from the tradesman. “Ohohoh, so formal~! Well, I shall see you again soon! I am in town all this week, dearest~!” At those words, a squeak escaped my lips and I broke into a run, wanting nothing more than to escape from the giggles of that quite handsome and flustering man. 
I went to some other shopkeepers, but none of them could provide any more information. The market square was clearly a poor start to this investigation. I just hope that word doesn’t spread around town too much about my… disposition.
I had planned on traveling to the tavern next, with or without that merchant’s advice. As I arrived, the sun had arisen over its peak and began sinking into the afternoon. 
The tavern was a small one, but it was crowded when I entered. The room was filled with people larger than myself, a scenario with which I was, by that time in my life, thoroughly familiar. There was an out-of-tune fiddle being played raucously in an adjacent room, and other such sounds of frivolity were abundant. 
Walking up to the bar, I noticed that the only two inhabitants were a woman and the bartender himself. The woman had a rough look about her, clearly someone used to hard work, if her muscles showed anything. She had her dark brown hair in a bun over her head, and wore a dark leather overcoat. The bartender was cleaning a wine glass with a rag, smiling at a joke the woman must have just told. He had an easy smile and his suave tuxedo suggested he was brought up in more high-class society than this.
I walked up and sat down at the bar next to the woman, motioning for the bartender to come over. “A glass of sherry, if you’d please, my friend!” I smiled at him, nodding when he looked at me with an arched eyebrow. 
The woman next to me chuckled and turned to me in her seat. “You new here? I think I would have remembered you if I’d seen you here before.”
The bartender brought me my glass and I set down a shilling for his troubles. He took it happily and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat, smoothing his pomaded black hair. “He certainly seems new. That sherry had been collecting dust.”
“Yes, well, you see, I have a particular quandary, and I was hoping one of you fine people could help!”
The two of them looked at each other, smiled with their eyes, then turned back to me. The woman said, “Why, we’d be happy to help!” 
I happily took a sip of my drink, finding it very delicious to taste. “Oh, splendid! All right, it goes like this. Last year, I had an encounter with a flurry of feathers. They had blown in and covered the house I was living in. They were a nuisance, but they caught my interest and held it.”
The gentleman behind the counter hummed, tapping his fingers on the counter as he listened and nodded. The woman, however, seemed uninterested. 
“So, you came here trying to find out more? You came all this way to find a bunch of feathers?” She grinned at me and did the same as the bartender, tapping her fingers on the counter.
Trying my best to ignore the finger-tapping and simply focus on the question, I said in reply, “Well, these were no ordinary feathers! They clumped up and invaded my home, and there was an uncountable supply of them!” My speech was stopped by a quick poke to my side. I squeaked and looked down, but saw nobody’s hand.
“Of feathers~?” That was the gentleman behind the bar, now sharing the smile the woman had. They looked at me like two hungry dogs would look at a lambchop. Their finger tapping had increased in speed.
At this point, my face was beginning to heat up again, and I nervously drank the rest of my glass to avoid thinking about it. “Yes, do you…  know where I might find these?” I felt a quick poke to my side again and jumped, gripping onto the counter to keep from falling, but when I looked back, there wasn’t a hand there.
The woman smiled and put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, I think I know where we may find some!”
I smiled eagerly at her, ignoring the hand on my shoulder giving a gentle squeeze. “Where? I’d be delighted to know!”
“Why, outside! There’s a tree right next to here. There’s a rook’s nest up there, it should have some feathers.” With that, she gave me a quick poke to my side, which, with a rather embarrassing yelp, sent me off my stool and onto the floor. I flew to my feet in a huff, looking at her indignantly to hide the blush that had reached my ears.
“Madam! Never before in my life-”
The bartender interrupted my sentence with a chuckle, ruffling my hair. “Why don’t you run along, university boy? …Or else we’ll have to keep you here a while longer~.” His eyes narrowed as his smile grew wider. His finger-tapping on the counter had reached an almost scribbling-speed, making my blush grow wider as I looked at the woman a final time, then fled out of the tavern.
The woman and bartender laughed, the woman bringing her mug to her lips. “What an adorable little morsel. Hope he’s not leaving town soon.”
The market square was unhelpful, as was the tavern, but I was determined not to give up. In a last-ditch effort, I walked over to the coffeehouse. It was evening by then, and I hoped, perhaps naively, that I could still find some information on the featherflakes.
The coffeehouse had a warm glow, and a piano was being softly played in a corner. The landlord was stoking the fire from his seat next to it. I walked in, but upon seeing that there weren’t many people there, I sighed, and was about to leave. Then, however, I spotted a figure slumped over in a booth. Their head face-down on the table seemed… familiar. 
I approached and sat down next to them, tilting my head in curiosity. Finally, with a gentle tap on the shoulder, I mumbled, “Hullo?”
The figure shot up with a start, mumbling about Suffolk in delirium before looking at me, and her eyes adjusted in recognition. I gasped softly.
“Clara?” I whispered. Her face erupted into a happy smile and she threw her arms around my shoulders.
“EREN! How have you been, my dear, dear friend!”
With a squeak, I pushed on her shoulders as much as I could. “Uh-! Mr. Fernsby, if you please-!”
“Nonsense! You are and forever shall be my little Eren!” 
I growled a little and heaved her off, straightening my coat. “Mr. Fernsby, Clara.”
My old university roommate smiled her easy smile and pinched my cheek. “Whatever you say, Eren~!”
“Why does nobody in this accursed town take me seriously! I am on an investigation!”
“I believe it may be because you’re one of the cutest people ever born?”
“No, do not be ridiculous, Clara.”
She giggled and leaned back in the booth. “You just caught me on my mid-evening nap!” 
I hummed an affirmative. “Tell me, which one is that? The fifth nap of the day of the sixth?”
She giggled and winked. “The sixth! You have a good memory, Eren!”
“Mr. Fernsby. Now, you wouldn’t perhaps know of any feathers around here?”
Clara put a finger to her chin and thought. “Well, there are those feather things that look like snowflakes. You mean those?”
I jumped and turned, wide-eyed, and exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, those! What do you know of them?”
She sighed, smiling, and pressed me back down into the seat. “I’ve been researching them for a bit. I could tell you what I know, if you’d like?” She yawned and wrapped her arm around me, pulling me close to her. “On second thought, maybe tomorrow.”
“No, no you-” I tried to protest, but the soft lighting and music, along with that glass of sherry were having a profound effect on my mind. I yawned after she did, and I nestled close to her - for warmth, though, and nothing else. She told me afterward that I was “a good cuddler,” despite the fact that it absolutely was not cuddling. 
I fell asleep next to her rather swiftly, unfortunately, leaving the conversation about the featherflakes for the following day. I must admit… it wasn’t the most unpleasant end to the day.
Read the previous entry in The Fernsby Journals! Read the following entry in The Fernsby Journals!
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e-louise-bates · 4 months
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The recent conversations that have been sparked about the LM Montgomery fanfiction I used to write has made me think I ought to share a link to my old ff.net profile in case anyone is curious about the various stories I wrote: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/859760/
The first LMM story arc I wrote consists of Shirley of Avonlea, Diana of the Island, Meggie of Green Gables, Weeping May Tarry, The Sound of the Sea, and Christmas Memories (which should be read after all the rest, as there are massive spoilers in it for the other stories).
The second arc, entirely unrelated to the first, consists of Season of Song and The Summer Between. (I keep thinking that one was also a trilogy, but nope, only two. I think I must have intended to write a third, but by 2011 I had two toddlers and was also writing Magic Most Deadly (the first version), and simply ran out of time and creative energy for fanfiction, and so the door gradually and gracefully closed on that part of my writing life.)
Then there's Cup of Joy, a Jane of Lantern Hill sequel, and Marigold of Misty Hollow, a Magic for Marigold sequel (though honestly I don't recommend that one--I was trying to convey something with story that I did not, at that point in time, have the skill for, and it ended up suuuuper "messagey." I sometimes think about deleting it, but I know there are a few readers who were able to look past the preachiness and enjoy the characters, and it doesn't feel right to rob them of the chance to re-read something they liked just because I wish I'd written it better). (The Jane story, however, is one of my favorites out of all my stories I've ever written.)
I also dabbled in some Narnia fic, some Lloyd Alexander fic, and even a couple of unfinished Jane Austen fics, but the LMM stories were my first entry into the world of fanfiction, and that's where my main focus always remained.
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ruiniel · 1 year
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In bloom
Characters: Glorfindel, f!Reader
Relationship: Glorfindel/f!Reader
Rating: Explicit 🔞
Count: 2.6k
Tags: oneshot, Imladris, post-LOTR, human!reader, f!reader, reunion, feels, intimacy, light smut, yearning, AFAB reader, vaginal sex
Summary:
A friend and I had this writing exchange where we'd give each other a set of characters + a word/sentence in Quenya or Sindarin as prompts, and build around those.
So last year I wrote this short oneshot for @pickingfightswithsprites, who gave the prompt for some 🔥 Glorfindel x (human) f!Reader, which I'm posting here
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The great courtyard bustles with movement. There is a shift in the wind, carrying with it the clopping of hooves and the whinnying of horses. Travelers speed through the gates as the household of Imladris—what little remains of it—rushes to meet the returning company and aid with their wares.
This marks the end of another expedition in the far southern lands, and judging by the letters, it will not be the last, with many joining the King in his efforts after the War.
A mild breeze gushes in the air, infused with the fragrance of gardens in bloom. You watch the Elves before you—lingerers, not yet having taken the journey to their Undying Lands; some are not ready to abandon the shores they know, others stay for reasons you cannot understand. They tarry here, in a changing world free of shadow for the first time in Ages.
You search the arrivals, craning your neck to see better; shoulders squared, restless fingers worrying at the loose thread of your sleeve. It would be a lie to say the past months were anything other than constant, agonizing loneliness; that time didn’t sludge and crawl through its days. You see the black-haired twins dismount, worn and battle-weary, their eyes like quicksilver. There are none wounded from what you can tell, and that is a measure of comfort. Your eyes skim over the gathering again and at last, you see him.
The weight of his gaze on you proves too much, and all sounds fade to the errant beat in your chest. Welcoming arms hide him from you but you keep staring, choking on your own relief. 
You feel the fool standing here like this and before you know it, you’re slowly turning on your heel, walking in the opposite direction away from the rising cheer. 
The stable entrance strikes your sides as you rush through, the smell of fresh hay and horses a balm to your stupor. Come to an abrupt halt you clutch the rails of one stall, taking deep breaths; the air will not reach; you’ve overwrought yourself again.
The wooden doors creak and soft footfalls draw near, attuned to the drum of your heart; the subtle rustle of chainmaille joins in, both a blessing and a damning to you. In your sudden fit of cowardice, you remain still, staring emptily ahead.
Pressure tightens around your shoulders, gently, drawing you into familiar warmth. Your chin tips down to the vambrace adorning a forearm, to the gilded rayed sun upon it. You fall against his armored chest, the cool plate hard on your back.
“As careless with yourself as ever,” comes the soft rebuke. His voice, how you missed it. It is the same—vibrant, grounding, with a warm undertone. 
You grip at his forearm with shaking fingers, tracing the carvings. “I worried.” You have questions, but your last shred of strength is dwindling fast, and words are scarce. “When no missives reached us in the past months, I thought...”
His other arm wraps around you. “They forced a change in our strategy. There was no time to send word.”
The stable doors open anew, and commotion fills the silence, like bursting mayhem to your ears. Your body softens against him, until he is all but supporting you. Sleep. Rest becomes a dire need as your head lolls to the side, all your worries having spent you.
“I must see the others. Promise me you will go rest?” he asks. 
Soft gold brushes your cheek and nose. You’re dizzy; it’s been so long since you held him, felt him, smelled him, had him. “I… promise.”
His fingers tighten on your shoulder like a silent vow and then his warmth is gone, leaving you bare and cold, but relieved.
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Sunlight sifts through the stained glass window. Seated on the edge of the bath amid rising wafts of steam, you watch the rays of green and red dancing on the water’s surface. You awoke recently to birdsong and the sweetness of lilac and butterfly bushes outside. Your wayward thoughts rise and crash in uneven order, settling on the memory of his promise.
You hear him enter soon enough, and at the sound of his light tread, you gain your feet and seek him with eager steps, just in time to see him discard his sullied cloak, casting it aside. His bright eyes alight on you, and as before, your body sees fit to rebel—heavy like lead. Perhaps you must still accept this is reality, and not a figment of your yearning or the torment of your pining. You take quick strides, closer.
Glorfindel stands before you with the ghost of a smile on his face, as dusted with travel as his clothes. His plate armor is gone. There is a tightness in his stance, present whenever he returns from these overlong trips. His boots are caked in mud and your gaze sweeps over him, finding a healing bruise or two upon his temple and cheek; his long hair is unkempt, windswept from the ride.
“You look...” you dare take a step, then another, until you’re close enough to see the warm pulse at his neck.
A faded smirk, revealing impish dimples. “Filthy?”
You scoff—or sob, you cannot tell—falling against him in your struggle for purchase. “You said it, not I,” you rustle, breathing in his scent, gasping at the sudden vice of his hold; you’d forgotten his strength. “Come,” you urge, but he does not move; nor can you, with his fingers hooked into your back. Gently, you pry yourself free and bind a hand around his wrist, leading a slow retreat to the bath chamber. Once there, you face him, reaching for the stiff collar of his tunic, your fingers circling and undoing the coppery studs one by one.
His hands twine in your hair as your touch drifts to his chest, lower, working until the garment comes undone, and you ease it off his shoulders. When you seek his gaze, you notice how he follows your every move, lips parting when your trembling fingers reach the waist belt of his trousers to undo the fastening at the front. Your hands slip easily beneath the fitted material, over warm skin and hard muscle; his palm finds your inner thigh, trailing upward. You lift your head to him, sighing as his thumb finds your center, drawing small circles through the wispy silks of your robe. The closeness, his lips on yours, all skew your balance like a blade shearing through bone and sinew; you whimper and he releases you only to shed his boots and trousers before crushing you to him again, whispering in your hair words in every language he knows. Struggling in his hold with some success, you lead him to sit on the heated marble edge.
Yet standing, rapt, you wallow in the beauty of him: the heave of his chest, his strong thighs. His skin, warm freckled gold from months spent training in the burning sun. His strong-veined hands, settling heavily on your waist.  
“Á helta.”
“What… what does that mean?” you ask, bemused at his use of those alluring, ancient shards of High Elven, always like forgotten spells falling from his lips.
Glorfindel hums and his gaze softens, a patient hunter in wait. His smile becomes crooked. “Strip.”
You grin, an eyebrow raised in derision and eager fretting, but you’re already tugging at your robe. You want him to see you, want to remember his face as he looks and lingers on every fleeting, imperfect part.
When the cloth slips down your shoulders Glorfindel wordlessly reaches for the unfastened sash at your middle and wraps each end around his fists, and pulls, ordering you down to him. You cross your bare legs around him and he turns, stepping inside the bath and sinking to his knees with you held fast in his arms. 
He sighs, leaning back, immersing you both in liquid warmth as you press your lips to his forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth. “I want to help.”
He frowns, hand sleeking over your rear. “I’d say you already are.” He holds your hips down, and you feel the truth he speaks.
“Before that,” you murmur, a palm to his cheek.
Glorfindel tilts his head so he can nibble on your shoulder. He strains up against you once.
“That’s torturous,” you murmur even as he releases you. 
“Believe me, I know,” he returns with half a grin. Then, “Show me.” 
It has been so long, your words feel awkward and strange in sharing. But the bond you share, that blazes for something, anything of each other. His uncontrollable shudders are your own; you’re just as weak. You glide to the other end of the bath, propped against the edge, a tapping hand to your chest in bidding.
Glorfindel follows, turning and resting in your arms with his golden head over your heart. There are the reassuring breaths beneath your skin as your palms slide over him, moving to his shoulders, remembering. Your touch eases along his arms, kneading and unraveling knots of tension. In no time at all his body feels heavier against you, his head lolls to one side. “Is this good?” you ask. 
“Ná...” he coos, hands skimming along your thighs in the water. 
You settle in your shared silence for a while. It is always like this; you’ve gotten used to it by now.
“Do they rankle?…” you ask after some time. 
No answer, and with his face turned away, you wonder if he’s actually fallen asleep.
“What is it you are asking?” 
You bite on your lip. You dare not ask what he’d done, what he’d had to do all those times, and Glorfindel never spoke of it, for which you assume there are principled reasons. “The places. The people, the memories.”
He sighs as you take his left hand in both of yours and gently press along its length. Your chin rests on the crown of his head. He wrote to you often during those first months away, but his letters only ever covered mundane topics, mentioning nothing else; and you, you never asked but always wished you had.
“Estel does what he must,” Glorfindel says. “There will be yet more unrest before his rule is settled.” He turns his head, his cheek pressed to your naked breast, murmuring: “He will call his banners again come autumn.”
Your hands freeze for a breath before resuming their task.
“I am not going.”
Pure, unmatched relief. “How so?” you ask weakly.
Glorfindel is silent for a long while. You keep to your pleasant toil, lifting his other hand, massaging his palm, circling his knuckles with slow movements.
“The nights...” He gently stirs, rises and turns to face you, his wet hair a deeper gold streaking down his chest, shining rivulets pouring from its tendrils. “The nights were the hardest.”
“How did you make do?” 
He brings you in, and cool air meets your skin as you stand in the bath together. “I thought of you,” Glorfindel says and lifts your wrist, pressing an open-mouthed kiss inside your palm. “Of this.” He lifts you easily in his arms.
The longing of ten long months breaks you like a wave crashing against the stones. Your head rests on his chest, eyes closed to the thrum within, and you soon feel the soft sheets beneath you—then him, trapping you with his body. His touch feels rougher now, prowling up your legs, around your waist, cupping your breasts. Harsh fingers, coarse from wielding deadly blades; now they wield you, strong and feverish on your skin. He grabs your chin and takes your mouth and though his kiss melts you it soon becomes painful, and drawing scarce breaths you break away, palms pressing against his chest.
In sudden clarity Glorfindel pauses; his weight is less on yours, his labored breathing hot on your neck as he hides his face into you. “Too much too soon… Forgive me.”
The last you want is a retreat. “No.” You need him back. “... I like it this way. I like you this way.” He takes his time, usually, but now this rush and the fervor and his febrile touch are in themselves a thrill leaving you powerless, hopeless with need.
The Elf slowly raises his head, smiling—he was always dangerous that way. The sun fades beyond the tall windows, dimming your surroundings to layers of twilight. His forehead rests on yours as you run a hand through his wet hair, feel the tip of an ear. His arm reaches under you, locks around your middle, his other hand cupping your head. Soft lips press to your ear. “I want inside you.”
A violent shiver races through your every nerve, where you crave him to the point of breaking apart. Before you can speak he reaches to feel you, wetting his fingers on your slick, and you cannot stifle your moan in time. “It seems you do as well,” he adds, sounding so very pleased.
“I missed you,” you choke and with a graceful arch of his back you feel him, the head of his arousal hard against your mound. With a shift of his hips, he finds you; his breath catches, and you gasp. Pleasurable flickers arrow up your body and your hand runs down fine skin, settling on firm muscle, leading him deeper, reveling in the irate rhythm of his heart against yours. He slips halfway in, hips swaying left and right, stretching you a little, attuning to your sighs, his kiss soft and tender.
“You cannot imagine the things I’d do to you,” Glorfindel whispers. “But slowly,” he rises propped on his arms, and the first long, unhurried thrust proves his intent. Your trembling thighs clench around him, your palms frantic down his chest, and you look to where your bodies are joined before your head falls sharply back against the pillows from another thrust. He leans over you, mouth alighting on your chin, movements building to a pace. 
You taste the sun on him. He breaks away to glance at you briefly before his lashes flutter closed, a slight frown on his face; his thrusts follow your moans, stopping each time moments before you peak to steal a kiss, to nip at your skin. You raise your hips, changing the angle as a firm hand to your shoulder holds you down. You’re seldom in your right mind in these moments, and he’s learned to read you so well—every sigh, every breath and moan and what they mean, what they beg for.
Suddenly Glorfindel lifts you to him, turning with you both until you straddle him and he’s on his back, hands on your hips; thrusting upward once, twice, again and again, his unyielding grasp anchored in your flesh as you ride him to oblivion, moaning shamelessly into his smile. He takes over when you tire, ceasing only when you arch your back drowning in shudders of delight, shivering and falling over him, panting and stunned by the scent of heated skin.
His slow teasing resumes, his hands running soothingly along your back. “Took you longer than I recall,” Glorfindel whispers breathlessly, settling into languid movements, grinning through his abandon.
You hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Too much for you, my lord Glorfindel?” In the gloom, you kiss his cheek, lick his lips, suck on his playful tongue.
A low rumble rises in his throat, his hand drifting to your lower back. “Have a care,” he warns, and you feel him pulsing inside you, hard and unspent. “The night is still young.”
“Unlike you—”
Your teasing ends in a yelp when your world shifts and tilts, and you’re trapped beneath him again. You gaze up at a soft smile, in contrast to the fiendish light in his eyes. “Remember,” Glorfindel murmurs against your lips, a thumb caressing your temple, “You started this.”
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*terms in Elvish (Q) from realelvish.net
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feastfic · 8 months
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This one goes out to my homie @sneefer-beaw I LOVE YOU and I hope that ages of not writing doesn't show with this (/lh)!!! A Rush × Reader for all to enjoy :)!
Rain fell off the sides of the twisting mansion — hotel? What it was seemed irrelevant nowadays, however long you've been here. The walls were damp with the musk of rain and mildew permeated by the everlasting water. No matter what time it was, it always seemed to at least be drizzling outside. Outside...a place you haven't been to in a long, long time. All that you were familiar with for what felt like weeks now were rooms and halls that looked the exact same as the last one you stumbled across. You didn't know if you were getting anywhere, or if you were trapped in some loop.
Creatures stalked about, making floorboards creak and lights flicker, tripping faulty wires and sending entire rooms into darkness because of it. Your mind became accustomed to being wary, and your body rigidly tensed at every moment, ready to run. Every strange and unearthly new sound to curse your ears made your heart freeze and your blood run cold. And yet, it felt like a ritual now. Every now and again you just knew something would happen. You knew how to avoid the beasts that dominated this plane, the demons that have probably preyed on countless others just like you.
Your body shivered fiercely as you carefully stepped about the wooden floor; one wrong move and you'd be creaking on a board that hadn't been maintained in possibly millennia, alerting something to your presence. A window to your right was your only source of light as of currently — you made sure not to take the lack of lamplight as nothing to worry about. It could bring forth one of two beasts, possibly three. The screaming one that followed you, the one that makes several rounds around your location, hoping to track you down and strike...or the big one. The big one was the most terrifying one in your opinion. It was loud, it was fast, and it quite literally left you shaken even if you're rooms away from the trail it burns through the halls.
Your eyes drift to the window, then to the wall opposite it. Your shadow was barely visible in the meager light, tiny raindrops encompassing your silhouette. Then suddenly your vision goes white, and a thunderous boom roars through the hall. It shakes the walls, dissipating off into the distance. It was just thunder. Just thunder...
Yet the sound was so similar to the tarry creature's trailblazing cry that it set your heart ablaze, racing a mile a minute. Without even thinking, you dart away from the window to search for a room, anything to take cover inside or behind. Your throat was tight, many terrified cries gathered from days past locked inside. Sounds like those would get you killed, and your instincts demanded you survive this prison.
Nothing proved fruitful; the beds you found in decorated rooms were too low to crawl under. And every place you went, there were no lights. The air got chillier as well, one degree by another, sending goosebumps down your skin in an attempt to keep yourself warm. The chill made your breath shivery, as you rubbed your arms to try and produce some friction. It was impossible to see. No light switch worked, and there wasn't a single flashlight or similar helpful item in sight.
All you had to rely on was your other senses, primarily sound. Your ears strained at every little tink, creak, and groan, determining if it were just the natural state of the hotel, or if it was something approaching. And when you weren't hugging yourself trying to keep yourself warm enough to stay awake and alert, you brushed your hands and fingers along the nearest surface you could feel. Walls, drawers, doorframes.
Lightning flashed by a window you didn't know was behind you, several rooms down from where the first one had struck the earth. Despite yourself, you whelped with shock and terror, every inch of your body jolting and cascading you in icy-hot adrenaline. And then came the crack of thunder, much louder this time. It rattled your teeth in your skull and made you wince, your heart feeling like it was being crushed by the sheer volume of the sound. It felt like it lasted minutes, hours, until it finally died down in the distance.
Your body felt much warmer suddenly, like your muscles blazed anew with vigor and the desire to get you out of there. Yet when you tried to run, you felt stuck in place. Not a single fiber twitched; you were paralyzed by your fear while your body was desperate to escape.
You tried harder, as if the force of your will would make your legs move. Nothing. Your eyes darted in the darkness, your breathing hastening, before a warm gust brushed against your hair, hot against your face. It was ragged, rough; like the thing was constantly yet only slightly congested. The chill crawled through you again, and you toppled back. Finally you could move again, and yet before you could even attempt to escape, a hand large enough to cover your entire torso pinned you to the floor.
It was your worst fear: the big one; the one that rushed. It had you right beneath its claws, its enormous fingers unmoving as you pushed and pleaded to be let go. As if it would listen to you.
You tried to cry out, but your throat gave out. All that came out was a pitiful squeak, as the beast lowered its head, two tiny and malevolent pinpricks of light — its eyes, the ones you only ever saw when it was honed in on something — staring you down from within the sockets of the skeletal face you were lucky you couldn't see. You flinched back from its breath, shivering not from the cold now, but from pure fear.
Its face drew closer to yours, its body shockingly hot — so much so that the heat radiated off of it and onto you. Again you tried to free yourself, shoving your hands upwards, attempting feebly to remove yourself from the eyes peering down at you. Yet it was unfazed, the uneven, nasally expirations heating your skin, until you could feel its head pressed against your chest. It...it was smelling you, like you were nothing more than an interesting object it captured for further investigation.
A dull thought crossed your mind then: maybe, if you didn't move, it would lose interest and leave you alone. Or maybe it at least wouldn't realize what you were (but if it already did, did it toy with its prey first? What would the benefit of that be?) You remained still, praying for any divine intervention or being to bless you and keep you alive one more day. All while its hot breath snuffled against you, the hand that had captured you lifting slightly. But then lifting you, as well. You held your breath, trembling as the embrace of the floor was snatched away from you. The air felt much colder, but less so because of the heat of the demon that held you, felt at you with a curved knuckle, the pinlight eyes never leaving you. Its gaze betrayed its intelligence; it was a smart thing, it knew you were nothing more than human. It was dead, empty, devoid of any emotion, yet nonetheless enraptured with you. Aware of your fragility, your vulnerability. Two of its hands cupped themselves around you like a dome, entrapping its body heat in with you.
It was keeping you warm. The only question in your mind now was why?
Your bewilderment was invisible to it, for even in this pitch darkness it could not see clearly, but its gesture was unmistakably, enigmatically gentle. No matter which angle you looked at it, why it wasn't tearing into you was beyond you; it was so capable of doing so, and seemed intent on that goal every other time. Now seemed no different.
But...you were still alive, and you were in the hands of a beast that terrified you. So despite the warmth, and the way it held you, you couldn't bring yourself to feel safe. Perhaps grateful, in a strange, roundabout way, even when you were still scared out of your wits. A large thumb pressed against your chest, like an attempt at a caress, and the motion made you flinch and push back. The heat helped to clear your mind (or perhaps clouded it further; who still had their sanity and just let this thing touch them?) and a feeling of...it not actively trying to hurt you crept up your spine.
That feeling was almost as uncomfortable as your fear, due to how alien it was. But as you pushed the thumb away, your hands lingered on its skin. Beneath your palms it felt like taut leather, oily yet firm, and not quite like it was hard to grasp. However, it made you feel like your hands would be greasy once you pulled them back. The beast grunted at your reaction, huffing and violently tussling your hair as a result. Its thumb pressed back against you, and this time you didn't struggle. It made another sound, some sort of rumbling noise, low yet deep enough to send ripples through your ribs. You removed your hands from its finger, earning a growl that shook you to your core — placing them back on brought forth the rumbling again.
Okay, so it...liked? was satisfied? with this. Swallowing down a fraction of your fear, you managed to find just enough of your voice to make a few words; "What do you want?" From me, the words you wanted to add on evaded you. You got no response, just the cold lights in those dead eyes staring down at you. Could it understand you?
"What do you want...from me." You spoke again, more of your voice coming back to you. It shook and wavered horribly, but you were legible. One of your hands balled into an anxious fist, trembling as the hands surrounding you closed in slightly. The beast gave no answer, only moved, lifting itself and trudging along, with you still held in a hand. Well, you were closer to its chest now, and the two hands domed over you were no longer there. You don't know where it was taking you, but you didn't move a muscle, listening intently. To its rough breath, the strange pulsing feeling beneath its skin. It wasn't a heartbeat, it wasn't nearly as centralized or strong enough to be that — it was like its entire body beat as one, solid, strong, and steady.
The rhythm of its walking and the pulsing of its body became something you counted your breaths to. How many steps it took, how many times it thrummed with energy — you tried to figure out where it was taking you, but after enough turns around corners, you were left lost and wondering. The entire time, you were held between its chest and hand.
What felt like out of nowhere, you were lowered back onto the floor, your legs almost instantly giving out from under you. The beast made no effort to catch you, instead nudging you so that you were sitting and off your knees, settling itself beside you. It was close enough that you could still feel its warmth, warding off the cold of the hotel.
You fumbled around a little, unsure if you wanted to act like this was a normal situation, like you weren't scared, and so many other things. Eventually you settled on hugging your knees to yourself, ready to bolt at a moment's notice, yet begrudgingly remaining close to the side of the one who had brought you here. Seeming to notice your behavior, it released a low growl, and you went tense as you felt its claws pull you against itself. But that was all; it kept its hand close, yet made no further move. You were left to your own devices now.
And your devices weren't very diverse right now. You concluded you had no real choice in the matter, and relented in leaning towards the palm at your side. Tentatively you clear your throat; "You're not going to hurt me, are you?"
Who asks that question to something like this? You, apparently. And apparently, it responds. It uttered another growl, yet you couldn't tell what that meant, or even if it understood you. You had to assume it did, even if it was still a guessing game as to what it was trying to say.
"You...aren't?" The growl was replaced with that thrumming sound again, gently vibrating against the floor. Oddly this released some of the tension in your shoulders. You let out a soft and shaking sigh, your shoulders falling. "Thanks...I think."
Its breath roused your skin and hair again as its head settled near you, eyes watching you again while it kept its hand around you. It was lax, its body moving only in time to the inhales and exhales it took, a smooth and rhythmic motion. Nothing about it really expressed an ulterior motive, and so many questions died on your tongue as you surmised that asking it many things would only land you in a tricky spot.
Slowly, you leaned into its palm, shuddering at the initial contact before forcing yourself to ease up a little. All it did was watch, motionless, before only slightly curling its fingers around you. You sighed again before sucking in a breath, leaning your full weight against it, as it seemed to curl itself around you.
You were no longer cold. All you felt was its heat that it mysteriously shared with you, the gentle pulsating of its heartbeat without a heart, and the vibrating of its strange rumbling against the floor. Not even the rain crept its way through its sounds — it was all around you, all your senses could pick up on. It drowned everything else out, and you felt something odd about that. As if that wasn't a terrible thing. And maybe it wasn't.
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herecirmsims · 11 months
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15 Questions Tag Game
Thank you @alpine-lapine​​ for the tag! I’ll put the questions and answers below a cut so as not to clog the timeline. Random story screenshot above, just because.
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Are you named after anyone? Yeah, a person my mum met while backpacking during her gap year.
When was the last time you cried? I stabbed myself in the eye a few weeks ago on some rush grass, I cried then. It left an ulceration across my cornea (which apparently has the most nerves in the eye?) and was UNBELIEVABLY painful. I spent a couple days unable to see because moving the damaged eye (which I couldn’t open anyway) meant it rubbed against my eyelid and hurt like hell, and I had to keep my good eye closed to avoid the temptation to move my eyes to look at things. I don’t recommend, tbh.
Do you have kids? Absolutely not.  😅
Do you use sarcasm a lot? Not really. I s’pose I might be peak British and say “Oh yeah it was fucking amazing” if someone asks how a bad situation went.  🤔 I enjoy sarcasm when I understand it/know the person using it, but otherwise it stresses me out when people say things they don’t mean.
What sports do you play/have you played? None competitively, I don’t really enjoy them.
What’s the first thing you notice about other people? Their energy, which is the most hippyish response I could’ve said.  🤣
Eye colour? Blue-grey, somewhere in between.
Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings! I enjoy a lot of angst on the way there, though. The angst makes the happy ending sweeter, I think, but I like to know that it will end well. Nothing worse than investing myself in a story only to be left feeling sad and empty at the end of it.
Any special talents? Hmm... no. I’m quite good at finding things - noticing small insects or interesting things amongst the stones at the beach, stuff like that.
Where were you born? In the UK.
What are your hobbies? The vast majority of my hobbies are Sims related - storytelling, posemaking, playing. I also enjoy looking for old bottles in Victorian dumps (a lot of farms have them round here), looking for cool things on the beach, bug-hunting, growing vegetables, archery, writing fantasy, hiking.
Do you have any pets? Yes! I have a cat (an ex feral kitten) called Belleraphon or Bel for short, two ponies called Cash and Joey (though they’re really my partners. One was bought because he was going through sales, and with his issues my partner knew he’d have a bad outcome - he’s not ridden and lives in retirement with us. The other was given to us for free by a roofer we had in, and we took him because he’d been living on his own for four years - equines absolutely need company), and two mules called Marty and Xato who are mine (my own! My precious! I bought one for £1 and the other was given to me. I don’t talk about them much in my Sims community circles but I’m obsessed with them... mules are absolutely my number one special interest).
How tall are you? 5′3″
Fave subject in school? English and Media Studies
Dream job? I'd still say author, though whether I’ll ever get over my perfectionist trait and publish anything is another issue. I enjoy writing drabbles for myself, and I enjoy my Sims story which is god-awful but I embrace that - it’s been really freeing just to put down whatever I want to read, and share without overthinking anything. It would be nice to earn money from things I enjoy, but that then puts pressure on them.
I’m not tagging anyone because I tarried and I think everyone who I would’ve tagged has done this already, so if you see this then it’s an open invitation. 
And because I think people might ask, and I can’t resist talking about them a teeny tiny bit... here are my mules. Marty, on the left, was photographed here on his way to the shops; Xato, on the right, was helping me carry sacks of pulled hemlock up to the bonfire. Marty is my going out and about mule (he also does litter-picking, takes bottles to the recycling centre, carries food and luggage on long hikes), and Xato is the work-on-the-farm mule. Though neither have done much at all for a while because sometimes I’m not very good at walking.  😅 
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braxix · 3 months
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My 2023 AO3 works. I posted 20,832 words last year! That isn't counting the 20k fic I didn't post or the works that got lost when my writing program decided to give up and stop opening. That is why Through a Coffee Shop Window actually abruptly stopped being updated. I lost the story and then lost motivation to rewrite it.
The full list is after the break. Decided it was too long to do a full post without a break for those who don't want to read through the list. If you want to look up the stories they are on AO3 under Qorianth. You will have to sift through the older fics first if you don't just go straight to my profile.
Monster (or Not)
653 words
Rated G
Series: Silence is Deafening
It's a fluff eldritch!Peredhel fic where Maedhros and Maglor have to convince the twins that they(the twins) are not monsters.
Do make sure to read the tags even though its rated G
Customs of the Living do Not Effect the Dead
759 words
Rated T
Series: The Dead Know Not Where the Living Dwell
They talk about customs of the burial and mourning for the deceased.
Read the tags! It talks about some pretty dark things and is part of an overall rated M series.
Doubting Minds Tarry Long in the World
633 words
Rated M
Series: The Dead Know Not Where the Living Dwell
Maglor's view on some dietary... supplements.
Sometimes
1,335 words
Rated G
Series: N/A
Elrond slowly realizing how many of his traits he got from Maedhros.
KIDNAP FAM!
The End
247 words
Rated T
Series: N/A
It's a poem I wrote drawing up the similarities to the Apocalypse in the Bible and Dagor Dagorath.
Predators of the Battlefield, A Survivors Tale
799 words
Rated M
Series: The Dead Know Not Where the Living Dwell
Celeborn stumbles upon the Noldor acting strangely after a battle, he quickly finds out why.
Upon Those Pearly Shores
213 words
Rated T
Series: To See the Trees
Artanis and Findaráto come upon the First Kinslaying.
I Bow to No One
610 words
Rated M
Series: Evil Elrond
Elrond finally snaps and decides he isn't going to settle for what he's got.
Hey look, it's my Evil Elrond series! This was actually pretty popular for awhile.
Memories
506 words
Rated G
Series: N/A
Elrond doesn't want to remember, Maglor can only remember, and Galadriel is so done with them.
Of Countless Whispers and Ceaseless Screams
4,098 words
Rated M
Series: The Dead Know Not Where the Living Dwell and Evil Elrond
There's been many strange disappearances around Lindon. Galadriel is set on figuring this out even though she's on vacation.
The Art of Love
878 words
Rated G
Series: N/A... (Yet)
How many times can something break your heart? As long as you love it.
A Trio of Stars
1,098 words
Rated T
Series: What If...?
What if the twins were willing given over to Maedhros by Elwing?
Through a Coffee Shop Window
5,166 words
Rates G
Series: N/A
Maglor just wants a coffee. Elwing just wants a bit of fun.
Sometimes the Unplanned is the Best Plan of All
1,306 words
Rated G
Series: Amidst the Vold Mountains
A fluffy generic kidnap fan fic where Maedhros is upset that Maglor took the twins, Maglor is unrepentant, and the twins just want to help.
The Open Hand of God
2,056 words
Rated G
Series: Of Power Unforetold
The elves feel the the Valar abandoned them. Good thing there's another closer being to protect them. Elrond is so tired of this
An Eldritch Elrond fic
I'd Die for You
745 words
Rated T
Series: What If...?
Elrond has a nightmare of the night Sauron returned and destroyed Eregion.
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fortheloveofhylia · 3 months
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The Knight and the Blacksmith
My first attempt at writing a gay smutty fanfic, though I'm pretty pleased with it.
Male character uses he/him pronouns | Aged up Botw Link | MLM | Gay sex | fluffy
ADULT CONTENT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Telyn was a young Hylian who had left a small forge in a village in the middle of nowhere in the Hebra hills, to take his skill as a blacksmith to Tarry Town. The journey had been long, traversing the northern paths of Hyrule, through the lava fields of Eldin, to reach Akkala.
He carried little with him, only his trusty tools, a few rupies and enough food for the journey. Telyn plucked an apple from a nearby tree as he walked the road past the old fortress towards the town. There were plenty of signs pointing the way and since the efforts to rebuild Hyrule continued, the roads were better maintained. He paused as he crested a small rise and took in the view. Telyn blinked against the midday sun, shielding his eyes with his free hand while hoisting his pack onto his shoulder with the other.
The expanse of Tarry town lay before him. The original dwellings on top of the island, as well as the newer buildings spreading out into the countryside. Telyn's heart fluttered. At last he was almost there. He was aching to find a stable or inn to stay at, having camped mostly in the wild on his journey.
Something in the sky caught his attention. Telyn turned his head to where the skyview tower dwarfed the surroundings. A bright blue flash light up at its base then a few moments later a small object took off and began to glide down towards the town. Telyn tracked its decent as it gently landed in the older section of Tarry Town. It clearly wasn't a bird, no bird he had ever seen could glide like that. And it wasn't big enough to have been a Rito. Telyn shrugged, adjusted his pack again and continued on his way.
The gates of Tarry Town loomed over him as Telyn made his way across the land bridge. Excitement started to grow within him as he took on the new sights. People went here and there from building to building, chatting or carrying supplies. The Goddess fountain glowed with Holy Light, catching the sun's rays as they danced across the water. For a moment Telyn was transfixed. The statues eyes gazed down at him. Her benevolent smile lifting his spirits. Something moved in the corner of his vision, drawing his attention away from the statue.
A figure moved from the corner of the nearest building and walked towards the Inn. Had they been watching him. Telyn didn't think that was too out of the ordinary. He was a new face and there was new people arriving in Tarry Town all the time. People had probably grown used to seeing new faces all the time.
The sight of the Inn was a welcome one and Telyn waisted no time in making his way to the door and entering the bright warm lobby. A fire was burning in a hearth on the other side of the room, tables were filled with people chatting and drinking together, while a waitress flitted here and there collecting empty mugs and replacing them with full ones from her trey. A group of people was gathered near the middle of the room. It seemed they were all talking at the figure who had entered ahead of Telyn. He turned his attention to the front desk and set to work booking a room and an evening meal. His bag was soon taken away to his room and he was told to find a seat and food would be brought to him soon.
While Telyn waited at his lone table, the group in the middle began to separate. He gathered from overhearing their chatter that the figure was none other than Link, the Hero of Hyrule himself. Now without his hooded cloak, Telyn noticed the shaggy golden hair and bright blue eyes he had heard about. He had to admit it, Link was quite attractive. He was slim but well built, and his scarring was clearly visible on the left side of his face.
Telyn found himself wondering exactly how far down the hero's body the scars went.
He shook his head as a waitress brought him some supper and a mug of ale. He thanked her and eagerly dug into the stew and fresh seeded roll on his plate. With a full stomach and a drowsy head Telyn made for the stairs and bed. He was surprised however to bump into someone coming the other way down the corridor. To his mortification it was Link.
"L, Sir Link!" He stammered, "I'm sorry."
"No please don't be. I wasn't watching where I was going. Just looking for my room and got turned around. Also just Link is fine. The Sir isn't important." Link reassured him.
Telyn was once again amazed by Link's features, in the candlelit hallway his messy fringe cast shadows across his face. The evidence of his past life painted across his cheek and his left ear. Telyn also noticed they were oldy similar in height, though his own shoulders were broader from years spent at the forge.
For a moment he was unsure what to do next. Though stepping out of the way would have been a good start.
"Sorry, er Link." Why was he suddenly feeling so bashful? Was it because Link's rather dazzling blue eyes looked back at him with such little concern. Such calm was held within those eyes, and yet if what little was known about the hero's life was to be believed, then a terrible and painful history lay behind.
"I should (cough) let you get to your room."
"Actually I think this is mine here," he said, nodding to the door to his left.
"Ah, well I think that one is mine," Telyn replied, nodding to the next door along.
Link smiled and let out a snort of laughter. "Well, I guess we should bid each other goodnight."
The two stepped aside and walked towards their respective doors. Telyn unlocked his room and stepped inside. Unaware that Link had paused outside his own room, a question poised on his lips.
Telyn was a big hit in Tarry Town, the forge had only been running for a year or so. Everything they had needed had been brought in from elsewhere up until that point. But now they had two smiths more could be produced and quicker.
It was hot, backbreaking work, but it was work Telyn loved. His mother always said he had been born to swing a hammer. That and play the violin but somehow that one had never happened. During the day he fulfilled many orders for knives, utensils, tools and repairs. Until the day was almost over. The sun began to dip towards the west and the other smith laid down his hammer and started to close up his end of the forge for the night. Telyn was almost ready to call it a day as well when he saw Link approaching.
"Sir, I mean Link. What can I do for you?"
"Well I'm hoping you can help me with this." He held out two pieces of a broken spear in each hand. Talyn stared down at the broken shaft for a moment, then blinked once.
"It's a spear?"
"Yes, I broke it a few days ago and haven't had a chance to get it mended." Link explained.
Telyn was a little confused. He was a blacksmith and Link could clearly see he was a blacksmith. However the shaft of the spear was made of wood.
"Erm, I'm not sure you realise but blacksmiths don't tend to work with wood. You need a weapons specialist or a carpenter to fix that one for you."
An imperceptible blush spread out from the tips of Link's ears. He looked down at the two halves of his broken weapon. After a moment he chuckled nervously to himself.
"Ah, of course. How silly of me. You know I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders! Zelda tells me constantly."
"Though I do know there's a carpenter in the lower village. He may have closed up shop for the day but its always worth a try. I'm just sorry it wasn't something I could help you with." Telyn suggested. He couldn't help but notice Link's pink cheeks and felt warmth start to rise in his own face.
"No I'm sorry for bothering you. Erm, have a good evening."
Turning on the spot, Link put the broken weapon back inside his slate and walked a little hurriedly towards the other side of town. Telyn shook his head, silently wishing Link a good evening as well.
I'm the days that followed, Link brought several more items for Telyn to fix. This time he had clearly realised his mistake and only brought items made of metal. A cracked pauldron, a sword with a missing pomel, requests for arrow tips, then most recently some bent cutlery Telyn had a sneaking suspicion had in fact come from the Inn.
"I borrowed them to fix something else, but ended up almost breaking these too." Link explained, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke and avoiding eye contact with Telyn the whole time.
Telyn was starting to suspect Link's reasons for so many broken objects weren't completely true. But who was he to judge the man. After all he always paid in advance, he tipped well and Telyn had to admit he liked seeing Link on an almost daily basis. He smiled, reaching out a soot stained hand, catching Link's hesitant eye.
"I'll see what I can do with these now. Hopefully we can get them back to the kitchen before the staff notice they're missing!"
Link's face brightened and his nervous smile became more genuine lighting up his eyes. He handed over the fistful of cutlery and Telyn set to work heating and reshaping the bent knives and forks. It was quick and easy work and not for the first time Link stayed and watched Telyn work. He could feel the Hero's eyes on him at all times, as he pumped the bellows, as he warmed the metal. With each hammer blow and bead of sweat which ran down his face and arms, Telyn felt Link's gaze on him. He knew he should feel embarrassed or observed, but something about the warmth with which Link watched him make him feel comfortable.
At last the cutlery was fixed and it was time for Telyn to close up and head back to the Inn. Since they were both headed in the same direction Link waited for Telyn to finish before accompanying him across the square to the Inn.
"We should probably make sure no one notices you returning these," Telyn mused.
"I'm sure it'll be alright," Link replied, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.
"Well I wouldn't want you to get in trouble."
They decided to go round to the kitchen entrance and put the things back where they had come from. The sun had almost completely set behind the mountains and the outside lamps were waiting to be lit. They had the cover of darkness to hide them. Link lead Telyn to the back door and pushed it open for him. Fortunately no one was around at the moment so they slipped inside unnoticed. They made quick work of finding the right drawer and replacing the repaired cutlery, looking just like new beside the rest.
Just as quickly and silently as they had entered, the two men left the kitchen and closed the door behind them. The ridiculous rush of their silly adventure overtook them and they laughed together. Though quietly, they chuckled and Telyn leaned his back against the building.
"Thank you for your help," Link remarked, regaining his composure.
"It's my pleasure."
"Oh! I haven't paid you yet!" Link gasped, patting himself down for his pouch of rupies.
"Don't worry about it. This one's on me," Telyn insisted.
"Don't be ridiculous. I paid you to fix the other things."
"I'm serious, forget about it."
Link paused, clearly thinking. Then he faced Telyn again. A hint of mischief in his smile.
"Well, if you won't let me pay you. Then at least let me thank you."
Telyn was unsure what he meant, Link had already thanked him. Ridiculous as this day was turning out to be, Link was being stranger still. Then Telyn became aware that Link was approaching him. There were only a few feet between them and Telyn had his back against the wooden building. A small breeze ruffled his hair and tugged at the hero's tunic as he stepped closer, closing the distance between them until only a few inches remained. Link's eyes found Telyn's locking them in a gentle gaze. Telyn felt Link place his hand on the wall beside his head then lean in a little closer. Telyn's heart skipped, he realised he had stopped breathing and gasped involuntarily. Link brushed a little hair out of Telyn's face and let his fingers trail down his cheek.
"Will you let me thank you," Link breathed, barely a whisper audible only to Telyn. It was all he could do to nod in response. Slowly, maintaining that mesmerising eye contact Link closed the gap and pressed his lips against Telyn's.
A symphony of sparks lit up inside Telyn's chest. His heart beating so loud he was afraid Link might hear. Hylia! He was afraid someone else might hear!
Link's lips were softer than Telyn had imagined (yes he had imagined, but never dared dream) though the fingers caressing his cheek were coarse, not dissimilar to his own. The kiss lingered, then just as Telyn felt Link was about to pull away, he slid a hand up behind his head and pulled him back. A moan escaped Link's lips at the surprise pressure. Telyn felt the hero smile against his lips as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid out and left a wet trail across Telyn's lower lip. Telyn replied in kind and an instant later their tongues were dancing, wet lips sliding over each other.
Their bodies pressed against each other's, Link pushing Telyn into the wall ever so slightly. One hand firmly planted beside his head, the other snaking up his torso and onto his chest, leaving little trails of heat as they went. After what could either have been minutes or hours, Link drew back. Telyn felt his absense immediately, the chill of evening filling in the space where Link's body had been.
"We should probably head inside," Link suggested. Though his expression betrayed his thoughts. He didn't want to go anywhere. But it would soon grow colder and the heat of their bodies alone wouldn't be enough to keep them warm. Besides, they were both growing hungry and Telyn had done a full day's work.
Telyn nodded as they both made their way back to the front door. For an instant Link's hand was in Telyn's, but by the time they were inside it was gone. Telyn resumed his usual seat and Link took a trey of food up to his room. This wasn't unusual, Telyn had noticed that link preferred to eat alone. He didn't blame him, the poor man got too much unsolicited attention at supper time.
Attention. Telyn's mind reeled with the fresh memory of Link's kisses. The sensation of his tongue sliding over his, the pressure of his body crashing into his. He closed his eyes for a moment and relived it all over and over, trying to remember every detail.
After supper he was soon standing at his own door, wondering why he was hesitating. He glanced to his right at Link's closed door and sighed. Opening the door to his room Telyn was met with an unexpected sight. Link stood leaning against the window sill which was open, timidly staring at the floor in front of him.
"Your um, your window was open, so I climbed out and around. I hope you don't mind." Link said sheepishly.
"I er, I don't mind." Telyn stammered. He closed the door and took off his jacket, hanging it on a peg on the wall. "But I really need to wash, I'm covered in soot and dirt."
Link nodded but it seemed to dawn on them both what this meant. There was a wash basin on a stand in each room, a pitcher full of hot water waited for Talyn and a bar of soap. He eyed it longingly, then looked back at Link, his expression hardly shifting.
"I'm intruding. I can leave..." Link was about to swing his leg over the windowsill when Telyn put up a grubby hand to stop him.
"No, please. Stay. I um... I won't be long." Telyn insisted. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" he suggested, almost about to gesture to the bed. Link nodded wordlessly, moving back into the room and walking to the end of the bed where he gingerly sat down.
Heart pounding and his ears now a deep red, Telyn turned to the basin and poured half a pitcher into it. He took a little deep breath before pulling his tunic and his undershirt up over his head and letting them drop to the floor. There was a small mirror on the wall and behind him Telyn could see link watching him. His eyes roamed over his wide shoulders and down his back to the top of his trousers. Telyn could see the blush on his own cheeks and the heat had returned to his core.
He washed as quickly as he could without seeming to be in a hurry. Scrubbed his hands until they were pink then ran a soapy cloth over his body before washing away the suds. Movement behind him caught his attention. Link had got to his feet and was walking up behind Telyn. He froze, his hands on the edges of the table.
"You're incredibly handsome, you know that?" Link uttered, his eyes hooded as he stared at Telyn's back. Their eyes met in the mirror for a second then Link returned his gaze. Droplets of water were running down Telyn's back. Link reached forward and brushed one with his hand. Telyn shuddered at the sensation, but to his relief Link didn't stop. He began to slide his hands over Telyn's wet back and down his arms, pulling him closer until they were touching again. Telyn sighed and closed his eyes. He felt Link's hair brush his shoulder as he dipped his chin close to Telyn's neck.
"I can leave if you want me to. But if you would like me to stay. I would like that very much." Link whispered in his ear.
The hairs on the back of Telyn's neck stood on end and a gentle throb made its way down his torso to his groin. By the gods he wanted Link to stay. At this point he wanted to tear both of their clothes off and see if Link was a master between the sheets as well as on the battlefield. (Oh he should be so lucky)
"I want you to stay," Telyn replied, running his hand through links hair. "Link, I want you to stay."
With Telyn's permission, Link lowered his face and planted a kiss on Telyn's neck, heat blooming at the spot. Link started to trail kisses around Telyn's neck and shoulders, his hands moving to his hips, just above the waist of his trousers. Telyn leaned back into Link's kisses a little. At that moment a wave of desire hit him as he felt the pressure pushing into his arse from within Link's trousers.
Link's hands worked themselves beneath Telyn's trousers so that he could rub circles into his hips, gradually getting closer and closer to his groin. Telyn rolled his hips reflexively, accidentally grinding against Link's growing erection, elisciting a sultry grown from the man.
"I want you Telyn," Link breathed, still massaging his hips with his hands.
"I want you too," Telyn replied, desperate to turn around and capture link in a passionate kiss. But he was surprisingly strong for his size and he had pinned Telyn to the table.
At his response, Link bucked his hips forward, the force almost knocking the pitcher over.
"Link!" Telyn gasped.
Releasing his grip on the table and grabbing Link by the hips. This only spurred Link on. His hands roamed further until they reached the creases between Telyn's legs and hips. He searched until his fingers brushed the base of Telyn's erection. Telyn gasped again. Link's hands were calloused but by Hylia did they feel good against his throbbing dick. Part of his mind couldn't believe what was happening. The other half told the first to shut up and enjoy every second of this bliss.
"Oh Hylia!" Telyn swore, as Link wrapped one of his hands around his cock.
"I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me today," Link replied teasingly.
Slowly he started to move his fist up and down. His slightly damp hands sliding over Telyn's hardness. The Hero of the Wild was in his room pleasuring him. If anything he thought it should be the other way round. Hadn't Link already done enough for Hyrule, wasn't it his turn to give something back. This thought dominated Telyns mind so much so that he shifted out of Link's grip and turned around to face him. His trousers already half way to his knees, he shuffled out of them and kicked his boots off for good measure. Then he returned his attention to Link, who looked a little surprised but no less eager. Something crossed Telyns mind as he approached link, backing him towards the bed.
"Did you really break all those things by accident?" He asked slyly. The corner of Link's mouth twitched. He had been caught.
"Not quite so by accident no," he admitted, eyes hitting the floor as his legs hit the bed. He almost lost his footing, but put a hand back to steady himself.
Telyn chuckled. Link, the legendary hero, had purposefully broken things to bring to his forge in order to what? Watch him work? Spend time with him? Pluck up the courage to say what was really on his mind?
An animalistic urge came over Telyn and he pushed Link the rest of the way back down onto the bed. Link laughed and gasped, tilting his head to look back up at Telyn.
"Well," he began, eyeing the bulge in Link's trousers. "I think it's time I thanked you for being such a consistent customer."
Telyn climbed onto the bed after Link, pulling off his boots, unbuttoning his trousers and sliding his hands up and over his chest. Link shuddered and stiffened under Telyn's touch, his eyelids fluttering with each new sensation. Telyn pulled off Link's trousers and pants exposing him. Telyn couldn't help by smile.
"Look how happy you are to have me. You need me to take care of this for you?" He asked in a low tone which sent Link's mind reeling.
"I..." Link began, but Telyn didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence. He moved so his head was over Link and licked the tip of his cock. Link shuddered and gripped the sheets. Telyn took that as a good sign and continued. He grasped Link's cock in one hand and spread his lips over the tip, letting a long string of saliva drip down Link's length Telyn began to pump his fist up and down, gently at first but the more Link reacted the faster he wanted to go.
"Oh Telyn," Link uttered, eyes firmly closed, hands balled into fists beside him as Telyn worked away on him. Telyn was too busy to reply, most of Link's cock in his mouth as he sucked and licked Link coaxing out more groans and moans. When he took all of Link's length, Link gasped and almost tried to sit up, his body shook and the hot core of his being throbbed from the sensation. Telyn released Link and captured his lips in a deep passionate kiss. He slid his tongue inside Link's mouth so he could get a little of his own taste.
A moment later Link's heartbeat had slowed slightly, as he held Telyns shoulder above him. He smirked and in one quick movement he rolled them both over so that Link was now on top. He pulled his tunic over his head allowing Telyn's eyes to roam over his torso. Noticing the scars running up and down his body, Telyn reached out to stroke Link's abs.
"I uh, I don't suppose you have any lube on hand?" Link asked, the question sent Telyn's mind racing as his head hit the pillows. He kicked himself as he realised the answer.
"I'm, sorry. I wasn't really expecting..." He trailed off, disappointment creeping into his features.
"That's okay I have a little in my pouch, but it's on the floor with my trousers, and what's left of my composure!"
Both men laughed as Link heaved himself off of Telyn for a moment. While Link when to his things, Telyn played with himself for a moment. He closed his eyes waiting for his lover to return. Link was gone for less than five seconds, soon he was sitting on the mattress again, a small jar in one hand. He scooped out a slick looking white substance which smelled faintly of something musky before gently slathering his cock. Telyn's heart started skipping, his body tensed and untesnsed as anticipation wracked him. Link noticed Telyn's hand on his cock.
"Couldn't wait five seconds for me?" He teased, batting his hand away and replacing it with his own lube covered one. Oh its was a glorious feeling, Link's fist was strong and tight and the warm lube slid perfectly over his shaft.
"Please don't stop!" Tekyn managed to blurt out.
"Well, you took me so well earlier. Think you can handle a little more?" Link asked, his eyes finding Telyn's through his own mop of blond hair.
"More?" Telyn asked, but he knew Link's meaning and he buzzed with the anticipation of it. "But I thought you...?" He started.
"Shh, you'll have your turn with me later. Right now, I think I want to fill you up with my cock."
Telyn couldn't believe Hylia's chosen hero had uttered such a filthy sentence. But utter it he had and Telyn knew what his answer was.
"I want that more than anything, Link."
Link smiled, he liked hearing his own name, he almost purred at the sound of it on Telyn's quivering lips. Link pulled Telyn's legs either side of him and pushed himself forward until they were less than inches apart, Telyn tensed agin but relaxed as Link slid his middle finger over his balls and down towards his arse. He uttered a few incomprehensible sounds as Link probed his hole with his slick dick. He made sure to be slow and gently pushed a finger inside to begin with, slowly probing back and forth.
Telyn's tensions began to lossen at Link's touch. His rough finger inside him was spectacular, the lube felt amazing and so was Link. Nothing else mattered as Link withdrew his finger and lined himself up.
"You gonna take me?" He asked again, teasing Telyn just a little longer. By the goddess he had been waiting for this for days.
"Yes."
"You gonna take me good?"
"Yes, Link!"
Link thrust his hips forward and slid his cock inside an inch. Both men shuddered and moaned at the feeling. Telyn was tight and Link was firm. Gently but oh so eagerly he pushed a little more, rocking his hips slightly to enhance the sensation. Telyn's arse tightened for a second then relaxed, allowing Link to enter him further.
"You're taking me so well. Can you take just a little more? He asked, placing a hand down on Telyn's abdomen.
"Yes." Was all Telyn could manage to say.
Link thrust forward, filling Telyn until their pelviss met. Link allowed Telyn to rest for just a moment before bucking his hips forward and rolling into a steady rhythm.
Telyn's eyes fluttered to the ceiling but he kept looking back at Link. Beautiful Link with his slender but beautifully muscular body. His hair waved from side to side, occasion blocking his view of the man's face as he rocked back and forth. Shaking with pleasure and desire, Telyn reached up to cup Link's face with his hand. Link turned and kissed his palm before his eyes flashed wide and he kicked into another speed, ramming into Telyn until the two of them were chocking on breathless groans.
"Link!" Telyn gasped.
"You like it there?"
"Link...! I... I'm gonna cum!" Telyn stammered. His cock and his arse throbbed in unison as he felt Link rearranging his insides. The throp and the heat was so close to reaching its beautiful peak. He was close to release but he wanted something else.
"Link. I want you to cum inside me," he almost pleaded. Link grinned, Telyn kept saying his name and it kept almost sending him over the edge. He had come close a moment ago but held back ever so slightly. He was enjoying this far too much to end the first round prematurely. But Telyn's request took him by surprise. He slowed his pace a little, taking longer strokes but thrusting deeply each time. Gradually he picked up the pace, hammering Telyn until the man looked as though he was about to collapse.
A wave of warmth spilled over and released crashing over the two of them. Link's breathing was ragged and fast and he watched as white ropes spilled out of Telyn's cock, splashing them both. Link released with one final thrust. Telyn's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he felt Link cum. When he pulled out he could feel it drip down his arse and pool on the bed.
Both breathless, both shaking, Telyn helped Link down until he was laid beside him. Sweat poured down the hero's face and sticky rivers of their joint cum pointed his lower torso. Telyn thought then how truly beautiful Link was and also how human.
"Well," Telyn uttered. "I have to admit I didnt expect that when I came here!"
"Neither did I. I came to help out a friend. But I saw you the day I arrived and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I kept coming up with excises to see you. I just couldn't talk to you. I've had... problems with that before."
"You don't seem to have a problem now. Also, I didn't know you had a preference for this kind of thing." Telyn gestured to them both in a general manner.
"I wouldn't say preference. Those things don't really matter to me. If I like someone I like them, the ins and outs don't make a difference. I like people for who they are, not what they are or chose to be."
Telyn smiled. He felt as though he had been let in on a secret part of Link's life. A part few may have been privy to.
"Well, let me get my breath back and I can show you how I like my ins and outs," Telyn grinned seductively. Link wanted to laugh at the play on his words, but he was too blissed out to think straight. Also, he had stamina to last a few more rounds and the thought of Telyn's cock inside him was just too tempting.
"Alright, how do you want to fuck me blacksmith?"
***
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historias-multorum · 5 months
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famous first lines of poetry pt. 1: bold the ones that apply to your muse.
repost, don’t reblog.
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i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i // april is the cruelest month// pretty women wonder where my secret lies // there is a place where the sidewalk ends // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood, // whose woods these are i think i know // let us twain walk aside from the rest; // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my luve is like a red, red rose // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me, // it was many and many a year ago, // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire // some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveler from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if tarry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were steadfast as thou art— // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do I love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not at all a dream. // he clasps the ring with crooked hands.
Tagged by: Yoinked from @chaosworthy
Tagging: @thuganomxcs @thexsenjuxheirs @apocalypta-secundus @reddawnmultimuse @hana-akari @erthlyheavn @ervaurem and anyone who wants to give it a go!
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cassianus · 2 years
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I'LL DO IT TOMORROW: PROCRASTINATION - A COMMON AILMENT
St. Theophan the Recluse writes: The main problem with these thoughts about one's sinfulness is that they are left unfulfilled, and are put off day after day. Procrastination is a common ailment and the chief reason for incorrigibility. Everyone says: "I will have time later," and remains fixed in old habits of unvirtuous life. Thus, when the good thought comes to change, seize it, take it up — that is why it was sent to you. With this goal in mind, first of all drive away procrastination.
Drive away procrastination. Never permit yourself to say: "I will do it tomorrow or some other time," but begin your task this very hour. Take up the weapon of good judgment, and to its aid:
1) Clearly imagine the senselessness, folly and danger of procrastination. You say: "later," but later it will be even harder to do, because you will become even more accustomed to the sin, and your sinful situations and connections will become even more involved. But what point is there for one who is entangled to become more and more entangled, thinking all the while that it will be just as easy later as now to disentangle oneself? If you have already understood that you must not stay the way you are, then why tarry? After all, God may finally say: ye have become loathsome to me, I will no more pardon your sins (Is. 1:14), and you may pass beyond the point of no return. This is such a catastrophe that no labor can be justifiably stinted in order to avoid it. If care is conscientiously taken to imagine this clearly and energetically, then all those who labor over their souls will naturally turn away from procrastination, for procrastination will have no internal proponent. You will see that it is your enemy, and you will look at it with disdain.
2) We procrastinate because the beneficial thought that had visited us still remains in us as nothing more than a thought, not yet having attracted our sympathy; and it does not motivate us.
The thought has come to us amongst all our other interests, like a strange guest, beckoning from afar, and without making any impression on us. It is your business to lead it deeper into the soul and take note of its value and attraction. Thus you must place it in the forefront, picture its veracity and the joy and loftiness that it promises, assure yourself that it is easy to accomplish. A beneficial thought is feeble and does not attract the heart because the head contains different plans and more interesting subjects, according to the thoughts previously therein entertained. So call it all into account and differentiate dispassionately. Nothing can compare with what the beneficial thought represents — everything else finds itself far, far in the background. The beneficial thought will stand alone, and being singular and beautiful, it attracts.
3) We suffer from procrastination mostly because at that moment we allow our energies to wane, indulge our laziness, our slackness, sleepiness, and indecisiveness in our powers of thought and activity. You can take hold of yourself from the other side — energetically imagine how humiliating it is to allow this in everyday affairs. It is even more so in the matter of your salvation, for which you should always prove lively and quick to act. It is shameful to allow the opposite, shameful to put off until tomorrow what can and should be done today.
Use this and similar exercises to drive away procrastination. Whoever is able to do this, do it. If a beneficial thought has come, convince yourself to fulfill it, incline yourself and force yourself to do right away as it tells you to do. It is futile to offer any further advice to one who has put off the matter until another day."
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whereonceiwasfire · 2 years
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to do with as you please: dracula
OHO, HECK YES! I uhm, I did get a little carried away and think it turned out a bit niche, but I had so much fun with it anyway lol! Thanks for the request!  
Madeline Walker’s Journal 
Harriet has been in ill spirits since her restless fits of sleepwalking begun but a fortnight ago, and naught I have done to rest her anxious heart has seemed to make any difference. I worry for her, and though our idle conversations as we tarry along the cliffs offer fleeting distraction, I oft catch her gaze turning out toward the horizon, as though she is searching for something. At these times, I find, etched upon her features, something caught between yearning and fear.  
If I’m to write with complete candor, and why shouldn’t I, for who but I shall ever read the words inked upon these pages, I must confess it disquiets my soul. I fear there is something dark at work, something which my own comprehension cannot yet make sense of. 
Despite how it offends my sensibilities, sending cold threads of unease deep into my very marrow, I find my thoughts returning more and more to that first night when Harriet, within the throes of sleep, did wander out upon the moors. I found her in our favorite seat, where afternoons we passed trading fanciful exchanges; I, with dreamy sighing as I expectantly look toward nuptials with my beloved Jack—from whom I still have not received word—and Harriet, with delighted laughter as she recounted the very many suitors that await her back home. 
But that night, shadows cast upon the silvery moon, there was naught but dread within my chest as I looked down upon her. The gossamer threads of her laughter were nowhere to be found, just her ever-so-reclined posture on our seat upon the pier. It set something so unsettled within me when, at any other time, the sight of her there would have been such a comfort. 
It was then, though brackish, that the light broke through the cloud and revealed what seemed a form—man or beast, I could not be sure—hunched about Harriet’s delicate figure. 
The cry that escaped me could not have been much louder than the distant trill of birdsong, but the form started, turned a glance upward, as though it had heard. I saw, for but a moment, illuminated by the cool, unfeeling touch of moonlight, the perverted vision of a demon, masquerading as a man. His pallor was unnatural, like that of a corpse fished from the quietly lapping waters, his eyes a burning crimson where they seemed to train on me from so very far away. The white of his cloak billowed about Harriet’s vulnerable form, her half-lidded gaze staring up at him, as though in an enchanted rapture. It was this that woke me from my petrified state, the ever-pressing sense of danger suddenly pervasive. 
Just as my lips parted to cry for help, a dark cloud fell over the moon once more, obscuring the grounds in shadow. I could no longer see my dear, sweet Harriet; I could no longer be sure the creature hadn’t set upon her. 
I thought naught of my own safety as my feet carried me toward the pier, stumbling in my haste. But as I neared, a slash of silver lighting my path, I realized that Harriet waited upon our seat in solitude. 
My thoughts were a torrent of confusion, but I gently roused my friend from sleep once I had reached her. She awoke in disorientation, brow knitting while she drew her dressing gown more tightly about her throat, as though she’d caught a chill. Even so, she responded in good humor when I asked after her; she said that her mind had been caught within the most peculiar dream, but elaborated no further.       
I suspect it was a combination of the hour, the twisting shadows upon the pier, and my concern for my friend that painted such a nightmarish vision as I thought I saw. Nevertheless, I am seized with fits of trembling when I consider that perhaps it was not my own ill temper that caused the specter to appear. I cannot bear to think that he might be more than the product of a frightened imagination. I cannot bear to think that he might return, that—no, it is too horrible a thought. I mustn’t commit it to paper. 
And yet. 
I cannot help but feel as though the truest, kindest soul, my dearest companion Harriet, has been waiting for him to return…
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