#the things I could say here. no. I shan’t.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Blood or Contract

aemond x wife!reader

A/N: writing this made me a tad bit sad but I hope the requester enjoys😭 request is here

summary: your husband finds humour in harsh words spewed at your family

TW: angst

word count: 762 words

When Vaemond Velaryon spoke that filth about your mother, about you and your siblings, you had of course expected your husband to support you in your rage. All Aemond did was smile. You even believe that he would have laughed if it wasn’t so improper. He had always cared for propriety and his family much more than yours. But you thought he favoured you more than that. You thought you were important to him.

“You’re upset.” He states when you enter your private chambers. “You’ve been quiet since the succession claims. I would have thought you would be pleased.”

You turn to look at him, even more hurt when he can’t understand why you feel this way. “You were amused.”

He clearly doesn’t know what you’re referring to. How can he not know what you’re referring to?

“About what?”

“Vaemond Velaryon called my mother a whore and you practically laughed!” You raise your voice at him. “He called my brothers bastards! He called me a bastard.”

“I was amused by his audacity.” He says coolly.

“That sentence amuses me.”

“Don’t accuse me. I would protect your honour with my life.” You want to think he means it but you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you take his head yourself?” It is perhaps a silly question but you’re angry and you want him to feel it.

He scoffs. “I’m not so reckless as Daemon.”

“You could have had the decency to look angry about it.” You sigh. “A whore, Aemond. He called my mother a whore.” There’s hardly much worse for a woman to be called. All sorts of demeaning repression bundled up into a single adjective.

“You are my family. I am eternally defensive of you.”

“My family is yours as well.”

He almost seems to cringe at the concept of that.

“He called me a bastard.” Such a strong word, a disparaging remark that you haven’t been able to escape your entire life. It’s sticky on the soles of your feet, a stain on your dress that you can’t remove. It’s in the colour of your hair and your eyes and it follows and draws attention like a shadow that has decided to glow bright.

“You’re different.”

There couldn’t have been a worse response.

“I am the same as them and there is nobody I would want to be more binded to.” He wants you to speak these words about him; he's your husband. There shouldn’t be another person in all of fucking Westeros that you speak about this way.

“You are more than them.” He says. It’s supposed to be a compliment.

“Why, because you can fuck me? Because I shall carry your heirs? Your children, if they will grow in my womb, will be just as damned as I am. Their blood will be just as tainted.” The words are full of such venom that it angers him. He adores you and yet he despises the blood that’s in your veins.

“Nothing made by you could ever be damned.” Oh, the blasphemy. You wonder if he would ever say such a thing in the presence of a septon, or perhaps in the presence of his mother. “I won’t have you speak of yourself in such a way.”

“I can’t, but you can? The word ‘bastard’ used to tumble from your lips like prayers.”

“I have apologized for that. I swore I would never use such a word to describe you or your brothers again and I haven’t.” He defends himself, perhaps it is a fair defence.

“In my presence, you have not.” It’s a half agreement.

“I won’t be called a liar by my own wife.” His jaw clenches.

“I don’t recall using that word.” You say as you give him an innocent look. He sighs again, rubbing his temples.

“What does it matter now? We are wed. You are royalty and a Targaryen.”

“By blood or by marriage?”

“My love-“ He starts. He wants to talk you down.

“Am I worthy of you only because I am married to you?”

Is it some fucked paradox?

“I shan’t warrant such a silly question with an answer.”

Is that all you are? A silly girl?

“I’m going to my chambers.” You whisper out and what an off putting sentence it is. You practically live in Aemond’s chambers. Everyone considers them yours as well. The other ones are only kept for propriety’s sake. And now you’re leaving them.

“I don’t want that.” Is all he can say.

“Will you command me to stay?”

He doesn’t. He wouldn’t.

You walk out the door.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

#aemond targaryen #aemond angst #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd aemond #house of the dragon

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Clematis - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Clematis (Clematis) - Meaning: Ingenuity, cleverness

Summary: Anthony's lover comes up with a way to see him after the ball.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count: 1504

Warnings: SMUT, probably poorly written cunnilingus (F receiving), reader has female anatomy, Regency era gender politics, Anthony loves giving head

Day 15 and not sure how I feel about this one. Getting it in under the wire, it's almost midnight where I'm at. I just want a man to come in through my window and eat my 😼 okay???

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated! ❤️

If this was how Anthony Bridgerton kissed, you couldn’t imagine how else he could make you feel. His lips were firm against yours, but gentle, coaxing, his large hands tracing down your neck and along the line of your decollete which made your breath hitch. 

Part of the intoxication was the danger of the situation — you were the daughter of an Earl, a respectable lady of the Ton, and if you were discovered with Anthony Bridgerton’s hands and lips all over you, you would be ruined. 

You broke the kiss, needing an influx of air or you would surely faint. Anthony rested his forehead against yours. 

“I need you,” you breathed out, “Anthony, I need you.” 

He ran a delicate finger down your chest, “Not here, dearest.” 

“Then where? When?” You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as you pressed your pliant body against his firm one. 

He sighed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “If only I could whisk you away from here without drawing suspicion.” 

An idea came to mind — it was risky, but if he agreed you could continue feeling like you were on fire, and oh, how you wanted to burn. 

“Come to my home, tonight,” you whispered, gasping a little as his lips pressed against your neck, licking over your jeweled necklace. “There’s a trellis just under my window, you can climb right up.” 

“You wish for me to defile you in your own bedroom?” Anthony growled against your neck, “Naughty girl.” 

He agreed to the plan nonetheless, and you straightened yourself before heading back to your parents, claiming a headache and asking for the carriage. 

“But dear, you haven’t danced with Lord Hollingsworth yet!” your Mama declared, having selected the oh-so-boring yet oh-so-available man as your best hope for marriage at the beginning of the season. 

“Now, now Cecelia,” your Papa chimed in, “if the girl is unwell we shan’t force her to dance. I’ll call the carriage, dears, you two gather your things and say your goodbyes.” He nodded at you and ducked away, eager to get home as usual. 

From across the ballroom, you caught Anthony’s eye and nodded slightly. He winked, sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. He was to give you ninety minutes to make sure your parents were asleep, then scale your trellis like a hero in a romantic novel. 

Immediately upon your return home, you excused yourself upstairs. Your maid helped you undress, but you dismissed her quickly, claiming you could handle taking the pins out of your hair on your own. Over the next hour, you listened as your father retired to his study and your mother to her bedroom. 

Once you were sure your parents were in for the night, you placed a candle in your window — his signal that the coast was clear. Unable to remain still, you started pacing your room. Would he show up or leave you twisting in the wind like this? 

Only a few minutes of pacing later a knock came from your window. You dashed over, unlatching it and moving the candle for Anthony to pull himself up. He did so athletically, like letting a tiger into your bedroom. When he was inside, you closed the window and he was on you in a heartbeat, hot kisses along the back of your neck while his hands slid around your waist. 

Your hand came up to grip the back of his head, your fingers lacing through his silken hair. You pressed back against him, turning your head to meet his lips with your own. He tasted like whiskey and sin. He spun you around in his grasp and tugged you close to him by your hips. 

You gasped as you felt his cock pressing into your lower tummy — he was large. For a moment you hesitated, wondering how something so large would fit inside you, but Anthony’s insistent grip on your hips turned into him grabbing handfuls of your nightgown and pulling the cool silk up, up, up. 

“You came,” you gasped breathlessly.

“You didn’t think I would? Tsk, tsk,” he joked, clicking his tongue at you. “My dear, now that I’ve had a taste, I cannot get enough.” 

He emphasized his point by kissing your lips once again, licking his tongue into your mouth. You responded with a soft moan, which only seemed to spur him on. 

Before you knew what was happening, Anthony had tossed you back onto your bed and was  crawling over you, bringing the hem of your nightgown with him. Your breath hitched as you felt his warm, large fingers tracing trails of fire up your legs, teasing your wetness through your undergarments. 

“May I taste you,” he asked, and you moaned your response which prompted him to stop his fingers only an inch from where you needed him most. Opening your eyes, you looked down at him and whined. He rose to meet your lips with his. “I need you to remain quiet, otherwise I will stop. And we don’t want that, sweet one, do we?” 

Anything. Anything he wanted as long as he kept touching you. When he saw you nod, he hooked a finger beneath your gusset and ripped it, baring your wetness to him. With eyes dark as obsidian in the light of the single candle burning, he gazed up at you with such heat as you had never known. 

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, then licked a long stripe into you, sending a lightning bolt up your spine. His lips curled around your clit and you shuddered. A moan threatened to slip past your lips but you clamped your hand over your mouth to stop it. The noise was caught in your throat, fluttering like a canary in a cage. 

Anthony hummed a, “good girl,” against you, making you clench around nothing. 

You moved your hands, making an effort to keep your tone low, “More, please!”

You felt him smirk against you before he redoubled his efforts, this time breaching your entrance with a thick finger. Moaning at the intrusion, Anthony took this as an invitation to add another finger, stretching you deliciously. 

You were close, so close, his fingers pumping and hitting a spot within you that you couldn’t reach, his tongue flicking against your clit. Each movement made the knot in your lower tummy tighten, threatening to snap at any moment. 

“Anthony, please,” you whined, unable to control your volume.

He slowed his fingers and removed his mouth from you. “Quiet,” he hissed, “Or do you wish for your parents to find me here?” 

Unconsciously, you clenched around his fingers. The danger of being caught added something you couldn’t name to the situation. Anthony smiled. “Mmm, does my sweet want to get caught?” He teased, and you clenched again, “I think she does. Such a wanton little strumpet, tempting me into a dark corner to kiss me, then inviting me to her bedchambers in the middle of the night, and squeezing my fingers at the thought of someone coming in…”

His words, said in his tantalizing baritone, were pushing you closer and closer to the edge. If only he would put his mouth to better use and—

As if reading your mind, his lips landed back on your clit and his fingers picked up their pace once more, again finding the spot within you that made you see stars with every pass. 

You clamped your hands over your mouth again and moaned his name, which only spurred him on. He drove into you, his tongue and lips reciting an ode against you, dedicating it to you and your pleasure. Having the entire focus of this season’s most eligible bachelor was intoxicating to say the least — and inevitably what pushed you straight into your climax. 

You writhed against him, held in place by his strong forearm as he worked you through your orgasm, the aftershocks lasting much longer than they normally did. Anthony remained between your legs and cleaned up every drop of your release before withdrawing. 

The clock in the hall chimed thrice. Anthony joined you when you reached for him, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You let your hand drift to the front of his trousers, palming his length until he guided your wrist away. 

“As much as I wish for it, I have an early appointment and must be on my way.” 

You pouted up at him, but he placed a sweet kiss to your forehead before slipping off the end of your bed with a promise to see you again soon. 

You watched as he made his way back down the trellis. When he got to the bottom, he blew you a kiss before disappearing into the dark Mayfair night.

The early appointment Anthony had, you would find out later, was to meet with your father. He asked for your hand that afternoon. And, knowing what awaited you in your marital bed, you happily said yes.

#writing challenge #in bloom #fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #smut #bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton smut

[rehfan]

The Boy Is Mine (Amy’s edition)

From @carolmunson ‘s prompt found HERE

The scene: a romantic night at the trailer

Props included/mentioned: a throw pillow; vanilla frosting; a small notebook

Dialogue included:

“I ran out of like, nice cups. Is this okay?”

”Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true.”

”And you like that?”

”If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Tags/Warnings: Rated PG; reader has self-image issues; light spanking (Eddie receiving - nothing harsh); fluff and then more fluff

Words: 1.2K

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

“So uh… we ran out of nice cups,” said Eddie, “Is this okay?” He held up two glass jam jars without lids, clearly part of the hodge-podge of cups in the back of the cupboard at the Munson trailer.

You snickered. “Sure thing, handsome. Just bring the liter of pop over here to the coffee table with you.” As he came around the kitchen counter toward you, you couldn’t help but ask: “What’s a matter? Did you fire the dishwasher again?”

He sighed as he set the glasses down and poured pop in each one. “What can I say? Can’t find good help these days. You know how it is. You fired that maid of yours last week, didn’t you?”

”Yep. She had to go. Caught her helping herself to the sherry.”

“Shame,” he said, passing you a slice of pizza before heading to the television to start the movie. He affected a posh British accent saying: “I daresay, darling, we shan’t have much to look forward to in the coming weeks and months without decent help around the mansion.” He drew himself up and lowered his eyelids, contorting his face into an exaggerated overbite.

You grabbed behind you and threw a throw pillow at his chest, laughing. “Sit down and eat before the pizza gets cold.”

He scooted next to you on the floor, your backs up against the couch, sitting on the pillow you just shied at him. The pizza was good, the movie was great, the kisses during the cleanup were the best.

But, as it always was, you began to doubt your place in this relationship. You had been together for a month now and you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that Eddie was as gone on you as he apparently was. Something inside you kept eating away at your confidence, never letting it truly build and allow you a solid enough foundation to build your relationship on. Instead, there was always a niggling voice telling you that he was too good for you. Too kind. Too nice. Far too handsome. Soon he would figure out how boring and ugly you were.

Which was probably why you hadn’t had sex yet.

Not that Eddie was pushing. He never would. He wanted to have sex — of course he did! He had a pulse, didn’t he? But he would never ever push you to do something you weren’t comfortable doing. He never wanted to see you cry, much less be the cause of your tears. He had told you that a long time ago now.

So it was kisses and soft touching and stopping when you said so. And you were convinced it was because he would think you were ugly. Uncoordinated. What if you kissed him so passionately there was too much spit? What if your teeth clacked together? What if you raised your knee and caught him right in the nuts accidentally? It was all too embarrassing to contemplate.

So here you stayed: a comfortable swim in warm romantic waters without losing sight of shore and with every imaginable flotation device attached to your body.

You watched his profile as he was telling you about the engine rebuild he was doing at work while you idly dried the dishes and he washed. He had the best mouth. You could still feel it on you the day you had the guts enough to go swimming with him last week at Lover’s Lake. His touch had been so tight, so warm. Strong arms wrapped around you, holding you up in the water, keeping your toes out of the muck of the bottom. And then he was kissing you. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first one that left you dizzy. And you had wanted more. But on the shore, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the van’s window looking like a drowned rat and you couldn’t.

Just one of many disappointments for you both.

”Hey. Where’d you go?” he asked, waving a hand in front of your face. “You with me, sweetheart?”

”Yeah,” you said, laughing it off and drying yet another cup, “just went down the rabbit hole again.”

”Still thinking you don’t belong here with me?” His warm arms were around your waist again. Safe. Comforting. The long line of him a buffer against the evils of your own brain. He planted a gentle kiss on your nodding head. “Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true.” He wrapped you up even tighter and swayed back and forth. He hummed an idle tune and slow-danced you around the kitchen.

Slowly, the tight hold your doubts had on you drifted off and away, out of the trailer and high up over Indiana off with the stars in their revolutions around the galaxy. Your hands flat against his back, your ear against his heart, he rested his head on yours and you let your mind go blank.

He stopped humming and pulled you away to look at you. “Better?” His evaluating gaze saw clean into your soul.

You couldn’t help but be honest with him. The alternative would be to see doubt - or worse, hurt - in those eyes. “A bit better. So kind of you to dance with me, darling. Journeys to the ballroom always soothe me.” He huffed a laugh. “But I feel we need a better orchestra.” You moved to the transistor radio on the kitchen table and turned the light rock station. As if on cue, a perfect slow song started playing.

His forehead creased. “And you like that? This… schmaltz?”

”Oh shut up and dance with me, Edward,” you said, holding out your arms.

As if he could turn you down. He scooped you up and swung you, pulling you off the floor with a giggle and a shriek. Setting you down gently, he nuzzled his nose into your hair and you into his neck. “Happy, baby?” he asked.

”Ecstatic,” you replied. And it was true. He had this gift for quieting the loud parts of you that grated against your peace. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was utterly gorgeous and eternally patient.

”Good,” he said. “And now, if you don’t mind, my lovely, I beg of you a favor.”

”Hmm?”

”Keep talking to me because this saccharine sweet song is killing my soul by degrees.”

You slapped him on the ass and laughed at him.

”E-e-easy, you,” he said with an extra squeeze.

”What? You like that?” you asked and smacked his plump ass again.

”Uh,” he started and you stared at him. “If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.”

”Whoa. You really do like that?”

”You have no idea what you do to me, sugar,” he said. “Not that I’m pushing for anything! Don’t think that!”

”I don’t,” you said. “Only you have waited for a while now and I’ve barely let you—“

”Shh,” he said. “Shut up about that. I don’t want to talk about that tonight. I just want to eat pizza with you, watch movies with you, and dance to schmaltzy music with you in our ballroom. Okay?” He brushed your hair away from your face.

“How are you real?”

”Sweetheart, that’s what I’ve been asking myself about you this whole time.”

#fanfic #writing #joseph quinn #joe quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #my eddie #blurb

[writing-intheundercroft]

Tried and True - O. Gaunt

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x M!MC

Word Count: 4,460

Rating: T

Summary: Days after the events in the Scriptorium, Ominis can tell something is up with the new fifth year.

A/N: Back from my one shot drought! @darch7995 sent me a prompt for Ominis x M!MC, listen to the audio here. Inspired by the Boygenius song True Blue. This is also my first stab at writing a male mc!

“I don’t want to learn the curse, but I can handle the pain.  Cast the cruciatus curse on me.”

Ominis shut his eyes tightly, hands balling up into fists as he listened to Sebastian and their new friend pace in front of the blasted entryway.  He felt the bile rising in his throat as he thought about their situation–stuck in a hallway, with only the worst torture known to wizardkind as the solution.  Either Ominis would have to defy everything he ever believed in, his own personal principles to cast the cruciatus curse on one of his friends, or become a pile of bones on the floor like his Aunt Noctua.

Ominis dry heaved at the thought of his sweet, loving aunt’s body nearby. He’d doubled over, gasping with his hands on his knees as he listened to the boys formulate their plan.  He wanted to scream when their new friend offered to take the cruciatus curse, to claw at Sebastian for even suggesting it.  

“I shan’t forget this,” Sebastian said, his voice a touch too relieved to not have to take the brunt of the pain.

Ominis kept his eyes shut, trying to think of happier things as he heard Sebastian cry out the curse.  It sounded like their new friend had been struck by electricity, his grunts and groans frazzled and choked. Ominis raised his wand; he could sense him on the floor, lurched forward in pain on his knees while Sebastian ran through the now clear doorway like an excitable crup puppy.

“Are you alright?” Ominis squeaked out.

“The pain was excruciating, but I’ll manage,” he gasped, voice throaty and distressed. 

“Take a wiggenweld,” Ominis urged. “Please,” he said, fumbling in his pockets for a vial. He could hear Sebastian gasping with delight a few feet ahead, like a child in a candy shop.  He was exalting all the old textbooks and artifacts in Slytherin’s secret office.

“You guys!” Sebastian yelled out. “Hurry up!”

“I’ll be fine, Ominis.” he said, a bit steadier now.

“Are you sure–”

“That’s enough.” the boy shuddered. “Come, Ominis. Let’s go.”

On shaky, unsure feet, Ominis followed.

“Do you have the answers to the astronomy homework?”  Sebastian asked absentmindedly, flicking through the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table.

Ominis could hear their friend slurping his coffee. “Did you not study?”

Sebastian snorted. “I was busy studying other more important things.”

Things had returned to normal…well, as normal as they could be.  Ominis would never forget the events that led up to their discovery of the scriptorium, and things had been quite terse with Sebastian in the dormitory.  Their new friend insisted on keeping the peace, brokering somewhat of a truce between the friends.  

“That book is not schoolwork, Sebastian.” Ominis scolded him, pouring out more tea. 

“Don’t baby him, Ominis.” Their new friend argued, reaching across to grab at something.  With the heavy, hot teapot in hand, Ominis worried he might burn him.

“Be careful,” Ominis warned, pushing his hand out of the way.

He jolted, pulling his hand from underneath Ominis’s rather quickly.  Ominis wouldn’t normally have noticed, except he’d heard the quick strangled gasp his new friend made upon their contact.  

“What’s wrong?” Ominis narrowed his unseeing eyes.

“Nothing.” the boy said hastily. “Nothing at all.”

“Say, what’s that on your arm?” Sebastian asked, his tone shifting to curiosity. “Did you get a tattoo?”

Ominis could hear their friend slapping Sebastian’s hands away. Sebastian yelped in return.

“What is that on your wrist?” Sebastian demanded once more.

“It’s nothing,” their friend insisted.  Ominis could hear him tugging on his robes. “Honestly Sebastian, you’re so annoying.”  He shoved away from the table, quick footsteps making their way out of the Great Hall.

“Dunno what his problem is,” Sebastian grumbled, moving back to his breakfast. “Say, do you have the answers to the astronomy homework?”

Ominis clenched his jaw. “Of course I don’t, Sebastian. I’m not in astronomy–it's a bit difficult to chart the stars if you can’t see them.” he fumbled with the handle of his wand. “Do you think something is wrong with him?”

“With who?”

“With him,” Ominis clarified. “Who else?”

Ominis could feel the bench move as Sebastian shuffled in his seat. “He has been rather odd lately.  Just yesterday, he was being weird in beasts class with Poppy–she nudged him with her elbow and I nearly thought he would yell at her for it.”  Sebastian took a bite of his food, ruminating further on their friend. “Oh, and I heard Everett say he asked Kogawa if he could sit out flying lessons for the week.”

“That’s not like him.” Ominis frowned. “He loves flying.”

“I know,” Sebastian said matter-of-factly.  “I thought it was weird too, but when I asked, he said he just felt like sitting in the grass for a bit, enjoying the weather while he still could.  I can’t say I blame him, it’s rather comfy out there next to the summoner’s court field…” he trailed off, going back to his chatter on astronomy lessons.

Ominis ignored him, chewing on his bottom lip. He has an idea of what might be afflicting their friend, but it seemed intrusive to ask.  He, being blind, had never seen the marks the cruciatus curse left behind, but he could remember the pain, and the way that it had lingered for days.  He felt goosebumps rising on the back of his neck as he recalled his own experience.  He’d laid in bed, frozen for days after his older sister had carelessly cast the cruciatus curse on him. 

“I’m going to check on him,” Ominis said, abruptly pushing away from the table.  He could hear Sebastian calling out for him, telling him to come back to the table, but he couldn’t.

Not if his new friend was suffering the way he once had.

Finding him was going to be a challenge, that was certain.  Forsaking his classes, Ominis meandered through the castle, wand glowing red as he tried with little success to locate the boy.  The greenhouses were empty, save for a few first years trying to steal some Chinese chomping cabbages; their favorite spot in the library was empty.  The Undercroft was silent.

There was no way he’d be in bed, Ominis thought.  He’d just been complaining the other day about the lack of privacy, lamenting over Hogwarts’s shared dormitories.  He preferred to keep himself busy, only ever falling into bed late at night.  

“Where the bloody hell is he,” Ominis muttered.  He turned the corner by the Charms classroom, eyes widening as a body crashed into him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Ominis.” Amit Thakkar gasped. 

“No worries, Amit.” Ominis grunted, adjusting his robes. “My fault entirely.”

“I do get so engrossed in my star charts,” the Ravenclaw boy said. “I was just telling…” he trailed off, saying the boy’s name.  

“You’ve seen him?” Ominis asked, ears perked.

“Yes, I have.” Amit shared. “He was just on his way up the stairs to the astronomy tower.”

Ominis took off, apologizing to Amit over his shoulder as he charged towards the staircase.  He really did think it was crass to run in the hallways; he always rolled his eyes when the younger students did so.  He couldn’t understand the urgency behind running. He much preferred a gentle, slow pace, which worked much better with his echolocation spells. 

Yet Ominis ran.  He took the stairs, two at a time sometimes, wand bobbing in his hand as he made his way up the stairs. His eyebrows furrowed; his echolocation spell seemed fuzzier and fainter.  He could only sense his own feet hitting the wooden steps, which made running into a solid body at the top of the stairs an even bigger shock.

“Ominis!” his friend shrieked.  He grabbed him at the shoulders to keep the blind boy from flailing backwards and tumbling down the spiral steps. “What on earth–”

“I was looking for you,” Ominis said breathily, gasping for air. 

“Why?”  

“I need to know if it hurts.” Ominis said sternly.  He held his wand up; now still, he could sense his friend standing in front of him.  The boy’s heart was pattering, pulse thumping under Ominis’s interrogation.

“If what hurts?” His friend asked, feigning innocence.  

“I can tell you’re lying to me,” Ominis crossed his arms. “Your heartbeat quickened just now. I want to know if it still hurts from when Sebastian cast–”

His friend shushed him; there were footsteps coming up the stairs behind them. “Come on, follow me. I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but we shouldn’t talk about this out in the open.”

“But where?” Ominis asked, tilting his head as the boy tugged on his robe sleeve. “There’s no room on this floor.”

“There is,” his friend said quietly.  He pulled Ominis to the center of the floor; he could hear the footsteps, the giggling from the stairs.  It was likely some third years, heading up to an astronomy tutoring session.

After a few seconds, Ominis heard stones shifting. He raised his wand; something was materializing on the wall in front of them.  Without a second thought, his new friend pulled him towards it–a door–and shoved him inside.  Ominis stumbled down a few steps before finding purchase against some bookshelves.  Twirling his wand by the handle, he descended into a large room.  

It couldn’t possibly be right–he’d walked the castle hundreds of times in his years at Hogwarts, and he’d never heard of a room in this part of the castle.  Especially not one this large–from what he could identify with his wand, the room stretched out to two other chambers.  Even more perturbing, he thought he could hear the neigh from a unicorn coming from nearby.

“Where the hell are we?” Ominis gasped.

His friend laughed. “A bit tough to explain. Come on,” he said, hand ghosting over Ominis’s back to push him further into the room. “This is the Room of Requirement.  Professor Weasley showed it to me so I could study uninterrupted.”

“By Sebastian,” Ominis offered.

“One might say,” his friend chuckled, his breath catching towards the end of his laugh.

“There it is again,” Ominis accused. “You’re wheezing.  You’ve been wheezing ever since we found the Scriptorium.”

“So?” he scoffed. “The castle is dusty.”

“You won’t fly,” Ominis began pacing back and forth. “And you love flying.  It’s too painful sitting on a broom right now, isn’t it?”

“What if I just wanted to skip flying class?” 

“It’s not like you,” Ominis noted. “You won’t let anyone touch you either.  I heard you snipped at Poppy in beasts class.”

His friend shuffled uncomfortably. “I am sorry about that. I owe her an apology. But why are you bringing it up now?”

Ominis stomped his foot, a bit like a petulant child. “Like I said, you’re not being yourself, and I’ve noticed.  You won’t let anyone touch you, you’ve been shivering all week, you sound like you’re in pain half the time.  Tell me the truth–does it hurt?”

He heard the boy take in a sharp breath. “The cruciatus curse, you mean?”

“Yes,” Ominis barked. “I know what it’s like. When my sister cast it on me, I crawled into my bed and stayed there for days. I know what that pain is like, and I’m certain it’s why you’re not being yourself lately.”

His new friend was silent for a moment, eventually clearing his throat. “Did you know about the marks?”

Ominis furrowed his brow. “The marks?”

“There are marks all over my body.” His friend said slowly.  Ominis could hear his robes fall to the ground, him unbuttoning his cuff to roll up his sleeves. “Like electricity–certainly feels that way whenever the wind brushes me the wrong way.” he shuddered.

Ominis took a step towards him, gingerly taking hold of his friend’s limp wrist.

“Does it hurt badly?” he asked, hand ghosting over the boy’s arm.  He couldn’t see them, but he could feel the outline of the marks trailing up his forearm. They resembled veins of lightning–likely what Sebastian had seen at the breakfast table before he’d tugged his cuffs down.

He let out a low, steady hiss of breath through his nose as Ominis’s slender fingers touched the pain points. “I’ll be fine,” he swore. “I’ve seen worse.  They were much darker right after we left the scriptorium, but now they’re getting lighter.  Bet they'll be gone by next week.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Ominis said sharply. “Does it hurt?  Still?”

He let out a loud sigh. “It does, okay?  It hurts, it’s hurt every day since we found the damn scriptorium, and I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d throttle Sebastian.  Things are hard enough as it is for him, you know he’s struggling right now to help Anne–”

Ominis let go of his friend’s wrist. “Is that why you let Sebastian cast it on you?” his voice trembled. “Because you care about him?”

“Ominis, wait,” his friend whined, now grabbing his hand in return. He could hear his friend’s sharp inhale. “It wasn’t just for Sebastian. It was for you.”

“For me?” Ominis asked incredulously.

“I know how you feel about the spell, Ominis.  You think I haven’t listened to you?  I could never learn the spell that caused you so much pain.” he said shakily. “We had no choice–either Sebastian had to cast it on me, or we’d die in there.”

Ominis pursed his lips. “You care that much?” he tilted his head, realizing just how blunt his question had been.

“I care.” he swallowed thickly, thumb running over Ominis’s knuckles. “I care a great deal, you see.” he confessed, his voice sounding watery. “I didn’t want you to worry over me, and that’s why I didn’t tell you how badly it hurts.”

“Come,” Ominis sighed, tilting his head towards the corner.  He’d sensed a large armchair by the fireplace; with a featherlight touch, Ominis pushed his friend’s lower back towards the chair. “Take a seat.”

The boy curiously sat as Ominis flitted around the room. “You keep a potion stand around here, I assume?” 

“Yes, center of the room.” his friend advised. “What are you doing?”

Ominis stood in front of the cauldron, familiarizing himself with the table and all of his friend’s supplies. “Making a brew Noctua used to make for me,” he said, unbothered, pulling an integral ingredient out of his cloak pocket. “Now, where do you keep your mallowsweet?”

“Drawer on the left,” the boy said, slumping into the chair. “I can’t believe you’re willingly making a potion.  Sharp would be floored right now,” he snorted.

Ominis felt his cheeks burn.  “There’s that sense of humor,” he deflected. “Already getting back to your normal self.”

“If I’m being honest, it’s good to talk about the pain, get it out.” He breathed. “Been hell keeping it a secret all week.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me just because you thought I’d be tough on Sebastian,” Ominis rolled his eyes, grinding the mallowsweet as the station came to life, bubbling slowly. “I’m always tough on him.”

“I know you are,” he laughed, trailing off into a cough. “But I know you love him. He’s like a brother to you, and I’ve already mucked with your friendship so much…”

“Don’t say that.” Ominis bit his lower lip, letting the now powdered leaves fall into the pot. “Your presence is greatly appreciated, I hope you know that.  It’s already hard to remember what Hogwarts was like before you.”

“I’m touched, Ominis.” his friend said; even with his back turned, wand set on the desk, Ominis knew he was smiling. “I should’ve known you could tell–you’re the most perceptive out of all of us.”

Ominis picked up his wand again, observing the brew.  “Can you tell me what color this is?” he asked.

The boy stood, padding over to Ominis.  He was slightly shorter than Ominis; he’d reached up to put a hand on Ominis’s shoulder. “Dark brown,” he observed the bubbling beverage, sniffing over the cauldron. “What is it?”

Ominis smiled, conjuring two cups. “Aunt Noctua’s renewing hot chocolate.”

The boy snorted. “You made me hot chocolate?”

“Oh, don’t laugh. It has mallowsweet in it, which will relax your muscles.” Ominis pointed out as he ladeled the concoction into a cup. “Dittany, for healing purposes. A pinch of powdered mandrake root as well to help with the pain.” He handed the cup to his friend, ladling one for himself as well. “All of that, plus an entire chocolate bar from Honeydukes.”

“Let’s go back down by the fire,” He suggested. Ominis followed him dutifully; instead of the armchair, he settled onto the plush carpet. “Sit next to me.”

Ominis awkwardly folded to the ground, his knees knocking into the boy’s. “I’m sorry,” he blushed, lifting his cup again. “Cheers.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their hot chocolates.

“I feel better already,” his friend confessed. “Is this the only known remedy for the Cruciatus curse?”

Ominis snorted. “A remedy for all, we used to call it–I just remember Aunt Noctua making me this drink whenever my siblings cursed me.” he shut his unseeing eyes, shaking a little at the memories. “She always said a hot chocolate brewed with care and a few healing herbs could do the trick.” His smile faltered as he thought of Noctua, her bones still in the passageway.

“I am sorry, Ominis.” his friend said quietly.  

“For what?” Ominis asked, sipping his drink.

“For everything,” he confessed. “For pushing Sebastian, for Noctua, for lying to you about the pain.  I just don’t want you to worry about me.” The boy sighed, stretching out a leg.  His foot knocked into Ominis’s. “You’ve been through enough as it is, and I’m just sorry to add more for you to worry about.”

“I worry about the people I love,” Ominis reminded him. “You’ve never done me wrong before–well, besides last week, but we can blame that on Sebastian.”

“I wouldn’t blame him,” his friend mused. “He’s got a one track mind, that one.  He’ll do anything to save Anne.”

“I would too,” Ominis grunted. “But I draw the line at unforgivable curses.” he started drumming his fingers against the edge of the cup. “I’m not a violent person by any means, but hearing you in pain…Merlin, Sebastian is lucky to still have both kneecaps.”

He laughed; Ominis flushed as he laid his head against his shoulder. “I admire that about you, Ominis.  Your love is tough, tried, and true.”

“I hope I’m not too tough,” Ominis slowly tilted his head, letting it fall against the top of his companion’s head. 

“Never,” he murmured. “You care enough about me that you noticed I was hurting.  You know me. I know it hasn’t been long, Ominis, but I’ve…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I’ve made friends here at Hogwarts, but none as caring and kind as you.”

Friends, Ominis cringed. He was sure his face was crimson by now, setting his half-empty cup on the floor. “I’m sure that’s not true.” he stuttered, wringing his hands together. “There are plenty of nice people–”

“No one like you,” the boy echoed. “You could have anything you want in the world if you truly wanted it, with all your family connections.  But you choose to be better than them, to rise above it all.  I admire that about you; how strong you are.”

“I’ve never been called strong before in my life,” Ominis admitted.

“Well, you are.” his friend assured him. “It takes a great deal of strength to stand up to your folks.  That, and your friends–you always do seem to set Sebastian on the right path.”

“You’ve picked up quite a bit about me,” Ominis observed, relishing the way he leaned his weight against him. “Nice to know there’s more to me than my devilish good looks.” He joked.

“You’re more than just a pretty face. Like I said, I care a great deal about you.” he murmured. 

“The way you care about Sebastian?” Ominis asked. His voice was higher than he would’ve liked, stomach twisting in knots as he contemplated the weight of his question.

After a moment of silence, Ominis heard his companion set down his cup. “No, I don’t think.” his lips were closer to Ominis’s ear now. “Different. More.”

“I was hoping so.” Ominis said breathlessly, turning to press a kiss against the top of his head.  He hadn’t realized the boy had moved his face, tilting it up towards him; he found his lips pressed against the corner of his mouth.

Drawing back slightly, his companion chuckled. “Try again?”

Ominis smiled softly, letting him lean upwards this time.  His lips pressed lightly against Ominis’s, the sweet taste of chocolate and the tang of mallowsweet still lingering on his mouth.  Ominis lamented the absence of his mouth the moment he drew back, holding back a shaky whine.  He was immediately assuaged by the feeling of him leaning against him again, this time more heavily.

There would be time, Ominis thought, when he wasn’t in pain.  Time where he could hold him, touch his hand without worrying about the aftershocks of the curse.  More time for them to be alone, to explore their feelings and the newness of his touch. To discuss what this meant for the future…

Ominis decided to not let his mind wander off too far, choosing to slouch into the boy beneath him again. This time, he did not protest the contact; his hand snaked towards Ominis’s, fingers tangling together.

“Still hurts?” Ominis whispered.

“Was better after you kissed me,” he said, voice muffled by Ominis’s shirt.

Ominis bit his lower lip. “Well, a remedy is a remedy.” he joked, shifting his body to face him. Without his wand, Ominis could only go off the stuttered, uneven breaths of his companion.  He slid his free hand up his neck, stopping when his fingers met his chin.  Leaning forward, his companion closed the distance, lips gently crushing against his. 

Ominis felt his heart fluttering.  The kiss was gentle; he could no longer tell if the boy was trembling from the lingering side effects of the cruciatus curse, or from the way Ominis’s tongue slid against his lower lip. Ominis leaned forward, cradling the back of his neck as they laid against the carpet, cups of hot chocolate spilled against the plush rug beneath them.  The pair fell onto their sides, legs tangled, slightly panting as they finally separated.  Ominis rested his forehead against his, their noses brushing.

“Sorry about the rug.” Ominis murmured. “Feeling better now?”

“Getting better by the second,” he whispered back. “I always do when I’m with you.”

Ominis let out one of his rare, toothy grins. “We should stay here until you feel fully well.”

“We could be here a while,” he mused, tugging Ominis closer.  He held the front of Ominis’s sweater in a tight fist, thumb running over the soft cashmere. “If you don’t mind.”

“Perfectly fine by me,” Ominis whispered against his lips.

They stayed there, for Merlin knows how long, cuddled in front of the fire.  Classes were skipped, dinner was missed, and Ominis was sure they’d find Sebastian stalking the entrance to the dungeons, ranting and raving either about whatever he’d learned from the spellbook that afternoon or about being left out.

It didn’t matter, Ominis thought.  He walked down the stairs of the Astronomy tower in lock step with his friend. He wasn’t really sure if he should still call him a friend–Merlin knew whatever they’d done that afternoon had breached the fine line of friendship and relationship.  But as their fingers entwined, hands swinging back and forth as they walked, Ominis knew things could never be the same as before. 

He was perfectly fine with that.

Just as Ominis had predicted, Sebastian had been pacing in front of the Slytherin common room.  He turned to the two boys, arms crossed against his chest quite sternly. 

“Where the hell have you two been?” Ominis could sense Sebastian’s scowl. “I had to sit by myself at dinner.”

“Ominis has been taking care of me,” he said, clutching Ominis’s hand a bit tighter. “No thanks to you.”

Sebastian huffed. “Well, if you would have told me, I could’ve helped–”

“I think you’ve done enough, Sebastian.” Ominis raised a brow. “You should know him well enough by now, he’s our best friend.”

Sebastian hesitated; Ominis knew he was staring at their joined hands, the way they were standing closely. 

“So, this is happening, isn’t it?” Sebastian asked.

Ominis blushed; he was sure the boy next to him was grinning. 

“Yeah,” he said, thumb brushing over the back of Ominis’s hand. “I think it is.”

It took Sebastian a second to comprehend, quickly collecting himself. “It’s about time,” Sebastian drawled. “Honestly, I’ve felt like the third wheel around you two for quite some time now.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that then.” the boy said, squeezing Ominis. “We’ll figure out a cure for Anne. Then, it’ll be the four of us.  A proper gang.”

“Really?” Sebastian perked. “You–after all that, you still want to help?”

“Of course, Sebastian.” Ominis said gently. 

Sebastian went off on a tangent, something he’d researched that afternoon in his solitude. Ominis knew he should have been listening, but all he could focus on was the way the boy next to him shifted closer, slinging his arm around his waist. Ominis followed suit, putting his arm around his shoulder.  They slotted next to each other, fitting quite nicely.

“Let’s go to the Undercroft then?” Sebastian asked hopefully.

“To the Undercroft–but first, you have to snag us dinner from the kitchens.” The boy instructed. “It’s the least you could do.”

“Right,” Sebastian said quickly. “I’ll get some sandwiches and meet you two down there.”  His footsteps pittered off into the distance, muttering excitedly to himself about his readings.

There was a gentle squeeze at Ominis’s waist; he tilted his head down, leaning against the shorter boy. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough?” Ominis murmured as they walked the empty hallways towards the DADA tower.

“Don’t baby me now,” he huffed. “But yes, I’m feeling fine.  I’ll feel even better with some dinner, and perhaps some alone time with you.”

Ominis snorted. “Is that why you sent Sebastian to the kitchens?”

Ominis could feel his companion’s heated cheeks against his shoulder. “Maybe,” he said coyly. “Worked, didn’t it?  Bought us some time.” His head jerked, likely inspecting the hallways to make sure they were alone, before rising up on the tips of his toes to kiss Ominis’s cheek.

Ominis licked his lips, biting down a smile. “Yes, I think it did.” 

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x m!mc #ominis gaunt x you #i can't help writing ominis gaunt love stories

[newtonsheffield]

can we see married Anthony being a big old softened watching Kate interact with his siblings? Well that or Kate and Benny teaming up to make the viscount miserable lol I don't care what happens in the rest of the show, Kate and v Benny love to dunk on Anthony together. That's my head canon.

Hmmmm why not both

Anthony was actively trying not to stare at his wife. It should have been an easy task, given they now spent the greater part of every day together, even when he had to work in his office he found her, sat on the window seat with a book and her tea in front of her staring expectantly up at him.

“There you are, Darling.” She smiled at him over the cup, her eyes dancing with the joke she was about to tell. “You’ve rather kept me waiting this afternoon. I was lead to believe I had married a very important viscount, but here you are: hiding from your work.”

Anthony dropped into his chair, flicking the tails of his coat officiously, “Well, let’s just see if one of us doesn’t get distracted from their task.”

“It won’t be me.” Kate rolled her eyes.

“Well, it shan’t be me. I’m immune to you now, love. I barely think about the smell of your soap anymore.”

But it was a lie. Every second of the day he was thinking about Kate. More than once he’d found himself sat in White’s not listening to a single thing the man across from him was saying while his mind wandered back to his wife. He wondered what she was doing, now. Whether she was walking Newton in the park or visiting her mother. His mind wandered to the days when they stayed hidden at Aubrey Hall, her hair unbound as they lay by the lake, on the lawn where he’d once laughed properly for what felt like the first time in forever. He thinks about how her hand is gentle on his cheek when she tilts his lips to meet hers slowly, languidly, as though they have all the time in the world to be together now. As though neither of them knew how a life could be cut short. He thought about how her lips were soft and warm on his and how her hands felt when they tugged at the buttons on his shirt and he thought how she swallowed his moan when she reached for his breeches and his hands tugged at her dress, rucking it up around her waist as he settled between her legs and she was so beautiful it stole the breath from his chest.

Eventually he always set his drink down on the table with a loud Clack, and the man across from him cut off awkwardly with a questioning look.

“I’m afraid there’s somewhere else I need to be. My wife requires my attention.”

She was just so… damned distracting, his wife. Everything about her called to him. Every moment of his life he was so goddamned aware of her. His skin prickled when they were in the same building, let alone the same room. He should have put all this behind him. And yet here he was. Two hours into trying to read the same damned newspaper because he couldn’t stop staring at his wife.

“You’re staring.”

Anthony tutted at his brother and turned his attention pointedly back to his newspaper, “And you’re still lurking about my house, I see.”

Benedict wasn’t bothered, tossing a walnut into the air and catching it in his mouth. “What’s the article about?”

A flicker of irritation shot through Anthony at having been caught out, “Something very important.”

Kate’s laugh rang loudly through the room and his head shot up to watch her, his heart fluttering in his chest.

She was sat in the middle of the floor, Gregory and Hyacinth around her, marbles spread all over the floor. She had Augie on her lap, clapping his hands together as Hyacinth crowed with triumph and Gregory huffed and Anthony’s stomach dropped. Longing rose in his chest as Kate smiled at the children. She was so good with them, so gentle with their eagerness to know her. She knew how important they were to him, his family. She’d understood it without him needing to explain it at all. She’d simply turned to him one morning and smiled.

“Darling, I’ve made arrangements for Gregory to go with you to the tailor this week.” Anthony blinked, at her and she’d continued, “His trousers are getting too short and your mother and I agree that… this is the sort of thing that-”

“A father would normally do.” Anthony agreed, “My father used to take me, when I didn’t want the other boys to think I was tied to my mother’s apron strings. Of course I should take him. Francesca’s debut isn’t so very far away, He’ll need something appropriate to wear.” He winked at her, “Men’s business.”

“Oh, but you’re fine to be tied to me, are you?” Kate chuckled, tugging him against her chest, “You let me accompany you.”

“Well, that’s because many of my attributes appear at best advantage when I’m only partially dressed.”

He loved watching her with his family, he loved watching her stand with his sisters and gossip, he loved watching her with Daphne, cooing over his nephew and niece, but it made him want. It made him long to see her with their child. A child with tiny hands, and dark curly hair and his eyes. He wanted a child of their own.

“It must be very important.” Benedict mused, nudging Anthony with his foot. “You’ve been reading it for quite a while.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, “I’m merely trying to take it in properly.”

“Of course.” Benedict chuckled and were he actually paying attention, and not staring at his wife across the room, Anthony might have noticed the smirk that crossed his brother’s lips. “Oh, Lady Bridgerton.”

Anthony startled, as Kate sighed, raising one eyebrow “Me, or your mother, Benedict?”

Their mother sighed across the room, sat beside Daphne “Not me, surely. They’re your problem now.”

Benedict chuckled, leaning over, “Kate, I think darling might need glasses.”

Anthony stared at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

Kate’s eyes flicked between them, “Do you need glasses?”

Anthony shook his head, “I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. Best not to listen to him, Love.”

Benedict sighed, “He’s spent two hours on this one article. I don’t think he can read the writing.”

“Oh for god’s-”

“After all,” Benedict grinned at him, “What other possible reason could you have for not turning the page in so long. I mean, he’s not as young as he used to be. You’ve bought the cow past its prime, Kate.”

Kate blinked at him, holding up her fingers, “How many?”

He rolled his eyes, “Three. I can see very well thank you!”

“Are you sure?”

Anthony sighed, swatting at his brother, “Yes, if we all must know I was staring at my wife. Which I’m perfectly within my rights to do now, thank you!”

“To be fair, darling.” Benedict grinned, not at all bothered by Anthony’s attempt to hit him for the use of Kate’s nickname, “I don’t think you fought very hard not to before she was your wife either.”

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

[annoyinglandmagazine]

@silmarillionepistolary Lord Maedhros of Himring

Prince Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol of The Noldor

I’ve sent my latest ledger alongside this and I believe you know by now that there is no chance of you finding a fault with it so let’s not shall we? You will not be able to prove anything with any group of accountants you can cobble together from those battle fixated imbeciles in your employ and it’s not as if I intend to withhold aught from you.

I agree begrudgingly that we must approach things from a united perspective, why I even agreed to give Celegorm a loan recently, for military matters apparently though I have my doubts, and I certainly won’t see a coin of it returned without having to write him much more persistently than I like to. He’ll yield eventually, he always does. Though it would be faster if you applied some pressure as well I’m close to getting Ambarussa on side and he’s always been putty in their hands so your assistance isn’t strictly necessary this time.

I am aware that when you talk about the risks of fighting amongst ourselves you are including the Arafinwean and Nolofinwean elements but I am simply electing to ignore that excessively ambitious request. The only ‘us’ that matters to any extent here is the seven of us and our followers and I think, considering I would say those relationships are all in a relatively good place presently, you should cut your losses and accept the win on that front.

You can’t fix all the Noldor, Maedhros, and the sooner you manage to accept that the better as far as I’m concerned. Besides, from what I hear of your own particular diplomatic skills in regards to a certain Nolofinwean you should have an in there no matter what the rest of us do. Curufin and I think you don’t take advantage of it anyone near regularly enough when all of Beleriand knows he would not refuse you any favour you may ask of him but I suppose that’s your own prerogative; we can count on his support on the more dire situations for your sake which is something in any case.

I trust my last shipment of wool will have reached you by the time you receive this; which is all for the better considering I have heard from reliable sources (Maglor but even so) that the weather has taken a sharp turn into an early winter. It was your decision to settle so far north when you could have shunted it on to those Arafinwean brats so you shan’t get my sympathy on that matter but it wouldn’t do for us to lose our mannish recruits to the cold, without all the soldiers we can get our position in the north will quickly become untenable.

In reference to your last letter I do wish that you would stop nagging me about said Arafinwean brats, Nelyo, I have been entirely well behaved in my dealings with them in recent months and am entitled to place whatever taxes I wish on my own exports. If they are unhappy with this they can go elsewhere, they certainly shouldn’t go whining to my older brother to get a discount on my perfectly standard rates.

The disparity you pointed out between their rates and your own was entirely unfounded as I am naturally giving you a discount as head of the house of Feanor and my boneheaded older brother who decided he’d like to freeze to death while fighting off Morgoth armed only with fury. So really you should be thanking me but I am used to receiving no gratitude for my efforts with this family so I shall let it slide.

As for the comparisons you drew between other rates and their’s, if you had time to peruse them I have a list of criteria for which I give lower prices and why they apply to specific groups, ledgers upon ledgers of meticulous, complex calculations, Nelyo dear. Dorothion just happens to meet none of them by pure chance.

On the matter of my trade to the west I think the plan you detailed in your last letter sounded quite satisfactory. I assume you have already begun on having the diplomatic groundwork laid down so we receive ample credit as the benevolent saviours of their economy for the deal I ran by you?

It’s rather ingenious I have to say, I’m sure your end of it will work perfectly and you needn’t worry about the wording of the deal itself, it’s quite brilliant if I do say so myself. Irreproachable really, Fingolfin won’t be able to find any justification to turn it down without looking hopelessly petty. Maybe have Maglor spread a bit of propaganda, some catchy song with subliminal messaging and the like, he’s quite useful for that I suppose. It’s a pleasure doing business with you as always.

I should pay a visit to Himring next summer if all goes to plan, I would only be staying about three months mind; it’s looking to be a busy year and I’ve already got two important trade deals lined up for the autumn that I should be east for at the final stages. I warn you this far in advance because I know your Fingon tends to travel north in the warmer months and I’m sure you would like to avoid any overlap after last time with Curufin.

I recommend you issue an official invitation for a state visit soon, it makes it simpler to write things off as diplomatic expenses on my payments to Fingolfin and it is going to be a hard winter after all. I look forward to it, I haven’t seen you in quite some time now, I miss you. Keep an eye on Maglor, his expenditure has been lower than usual recently and while it hasn’t crossed the threshold of a concerning change best watch for anything out of the ordinary.

No I am not giving you a source for my information on his accounts, I have my ways and I’ll leave it there. On an entirely unrelated note now would be an excellent time to see if Belegost may be more open to a military agreement with Himring than it was previously. I have my ways.

The Lord Caranthir of Thargelion

Prince Morifinwë Carnistir of The Noldor

#silmarillion #tolkien #silmarillionepistolary #caranthir and maedhros #caranthir #maedhros #sons of feanor #feanorians #Background Russingon

[vibingandsimping]

it saddens me how little Minthara content there is out there at the moment :c I'm a big fan of her and I'm wondering how she would be with a partner that's really gentle and who always reminds her that she's beautiful (totally not because that's what I would do..!) so if you could write a couple lines on that I would be overjoyed, or redirect me to somebody who would be willing to :)

Holding your face gently. I understand, that’s why i’m here.

It’s whiplash from what you did with the grove. That act was ruthless- and she commended you for it. Slept with you and followed you on your journey. Somehow, you proved to be so… kind. Why? To her, of all people, who helped govern a goblin camp and is one of the most devoted followers of the Absolute. When you first start saying such things she pointedly ignores them. Changing the conversation or directs your attention to your adventure.

You prove persistent after realizing her behavior. When she changes the subject you turn right back to it. Leaving her lips parted as she sat puzzled. How is she supposed to respond? Your such was so soft and you often showered her with praise. Her skin turning a darker hue as she finally begins to process the words. You genuinely think that she’s beautiful and that, for some reason, is a hard pill to swallow. Once she gets past the discomfort of such a prospect she actually finds it quite sweet. She responds more fluidly and often flirts back. In her… often dry and out-of-date way. Still, you find it humorous and flattering.

She holds your hand more often and even brushes stray hair from your face. Letting you touch her alike and grows used to more tender moments. Your actions with others versus your behavior with her will always be a mystery. Still, she shan’t take what you give her for granted. She could grow used to a live of such pampering. As long as you’d have patience and allow her to adjust.

#my asks #anon asks #my writing #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldur’s gate 3 x reader #minthara x reader #minthara #minthara x tav #minthara bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 minthara #the drow lady needs more love #if only we didn’t have to slaughter all the tieflings for her

[disasterofastory]

The pretty little actress of Rogers + Script (Steve Rogers x Reader)

The pretty little actress of Rogers + Script // Extra chapter for The pretty little actress of Rogers Steve Rogers x Reader Mafia AU Warnings: smut

Summary: Steve helps you with your lines.

A/N: The script part is from here. And this is the third chapter I post today because my kinktober will be busy with another fandom. Enjoy!

"What are you doing?" Steve asks you from behind. Soon, his chest is pressed against your back, and his warm breath fans over the curve of your neck as he leans closer to see the papers in your hands. You let yourself fall back against his body, and he keeps you steady on the chair with his arms around your middle. "I try to learn my lines," you reply, eyes still on the black ink. "And how is it going?" he hums questioningly. You shrug. "I hoped it would go better." "I could help," he suggests after a few seconds. Surprise shows on your face as you lean away from him to look back over your shoulder. "You would?" You ask. "Of course," Steve smiles. "I can try."

"Are you ready?" You ask Steve when you are in the living room, your papers now in his hands. Both of your stand in front of each other in the middle of the room. "Yes," he nods, running over the lines one more time before his eyes find yours.

"God knows what he'll say, Jim," You sigh. Your voice is different. There is a slight despair and sadness in your tone. Steve grunts his answer. "Let 'im. He's come too late, that's all." "He couldn't come before." You shake your head. "I'm frightened. He was fond of me." "And aren't I fond of you?" His arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his body. It's not in the script, but you don't say a word. "I ought to 'a waited, Jim; with 'im in the fightin'." You continue. Your hand rests on his chest. You can feel the beating of his heart under your palm. Steve's voice gets passionate with a hint of anger. His arm around you tightens. "And what about me? Aren't I been in the fightin'—earned all I could get?" Your hand moves up to his face as you gasp. "Did you—?" You shake your head. "Not like you, Jim—not like you." Steve grunts again. "Have a spirit, then." "I promised him." "One man's luck, another's poison." "I ought to 'a waited. I never thought he'd come back from the fightin'." "Maybe 'e'd better not 'ave." He replies grimly. You find it hard to do your part of the scene. Steve's arm around you is firm, and his face is hard and fits into the role perfectly. "Daisy, don't you never go back on me, or I should kill you, and 'im too." Her threat makes you gasp again as you start to tremble. Cupping his face, you kiss him. It's short and soft, but enough to light the fire in your lower belly. "I never could," you breathe out. "Will you run for it? 'E'd never find us!" You shake your head. "What's the good o' stayin'? The world's wide." His blue eyes go back and forth between you and the paper he holds in his other hand. The lines roll off his tongue easily with the right tone at the right time. "Jim, do you love me true?" He pulls you even closer after your question. Your whole body is pressed against his. Your nipples harden at the feeling of his hard chest. "I ain't ashamed—I ain't ashamed. If 'e could see me 'eart." "Daisy! If I'd known you out there, I never could 'a stuck it. They'd 'a got me for a deserter. That's how I love you!" "Jim, don't lift your hand to 'im! Promise!" You are loud and desperate as you beg. "That's according." "Promise!" You beg. You have to force yourself not to smile the whole time you play your roles. Steve is really talented, even though you can feel the hardness in his pants pressing against your hipbone. It's not really professional, but you don't complain. "No fear! Shan't 'ave no need for it like as not. All right, little Daisy; you can't be expected to see things like what we do. What's life, anyway? I've seen a thousand lives taken in five minutes. I've seen dead men on the wires like flies on a flypaper. I've been as good as dead meself a hundred times. I've killed a dozen men. It's nothin'. He's safe, if 'e don't get my blood up. If he does, nobody's safe; not 'im, nor anybody else; not even you. I'm speakin' sober." Your voice softens again. Your hand slips down around his neck. "Jim, you won't go fightin' in the sun, with the birds all callin'?" He grunts. "That depends on 'im."

And with his last line, he drops the papers to cage you against him entirely. He kisses you vehemently and roughly. He bites into your lower lip, demanding entrance to lick into your mouth when you moan at the light sting. "It's not in the script," you state against him as you gasp for air. Your lips are already swollen and burning. "I think it should," he pants, leaning back to you again. "Oh," you grin teasingly between his kisses. "You think someone else should kiss me like this?" Both of you know it's a joke. Whatever happens on the stage stays on the stage, but Steve still growls with disapproval. "Hell no," he replies. His large hands slip down to your ass, groping the soft flesh before hauling you up to curl your legs around his thin waist. "You should only kiss me," he rasps. "These lips," he continues, biting your lower lip again to pull on it, "are mine." "Yours," you hum. "And these tits are mine to play with." He let you fall on the kitchen counter. Legs spread open. His thumb ghosts over your nipple through your shirt. You nod and mewl the whole time. Steve makes you dizzy and desperate for more. "And this pussy..." His expression is firm and determined. You have to hold onto the counter as he frees you from your jeans and panties. The fabrics fall to the ground carelessly. His dark gaze is already between your legs. Your wetness is smeared on your inner thighs and glints under the lights. "This sweet, tight cunt is mine to taste and fuck." "Yes," you moan. His hands slide from your knees to your hip to pull you to the edge. The marble is cold under your bare bottom. "Tell me, Sugar," Steve orders. "Tell me whose pussy this is." "It's yours, Steve," you reply immediately. You would say and do everything he wants. "And don't forget it."

Steve falls on his knees in front of you, putting your legs over his broad shoulders with ease. The new position gives him a great view of your slick center. Your clit throbs and aches with need and impatience. "Please, Steve," you cry. Your hips push up on their own accord. "I need you." He doesn't answer. His long fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you in place, and without any warning, he dives into your pussy. He feasts on your wetness while his home is filled with his grunts and your moans. Every lick and swirl of his tongue makes the coal in your stomach burn more. Your thighs around his head tighten, but Steve doesn't complain. If he has to go like this, he will go as a happy man. His plump lips seal around your clit, sucking it as if his life depends on it. The sudden, almost painful feeling sucks every air from your lungs and every coherent thought from your mind. You moan and wail under his attack. "Steve," you cry out his name. Your arms shake as you try to keep yourself sitting. "SteveSteveSteve." He growls in approval, licking a long stripe on your burning pussy. "Cum for me, Sugar," he says. "Make a mess on my face." And you do. The moment his attention is back on your clit, you cum. Your eyes close shut, your lips fall open, and your throat is hoarse from screaming and chanting his name without pause.

Your hands find Steve's shoulders when he stands up between your legs. His face is wet with your juices. His eyes are still dark and ready for another round. "What," you pant. "What happened to you?" The words are slurry and barely louder than a whisper. Your whole body trembles and twitches from the remains of pleasure striking through you.

Steve smirks at your airy question. The confession of him getting a hard-on every time he sees you play is for another time.

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mafia au #mafia!steve rogers #marvel smut #avengers smut

[spencerreidswhore187]

Mon Horloge

It was 11:52pm when he started praying. 

“Aphrodite,” Cogsworth pleaded to the moon hung high in the night sky, “tell me, I beg of you, if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who chose it?” 

Cogsworth rested his head against the cold granite wall; the palace balconies were his favourite place to hide. All Cogsworth did was hide. 

It made no sense, not really, how life was easier as a clock than as a man. He could love so freely, he could love…no. He could not think of him.

From somewhere beyond the stars, Cogsworth swore he heard the goddess laugh and he knew.

Perhaps one day they could be more than fleeting glances, fleeting touches and fleeting whispers. 

Before the spell had broken, perhaps, they would have been. But now? 

Cogsworth knew better than to hope. 

“Mon horloge?” 

The grandfather clock from somewhere deep inside struck midnight. 

“Leave Lumiere.” Cogsworth hadn’t meant it to sound so harsh. 

“What has you wound so tightly?” Lumiere mocked, stretching out opposite Cogsworth - like a cat in the afternoon sun. 

“Enough with the clock jokes.” Cogsworth ran a hand through his hair. “You’re supposed to be in bed.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Prince Adam asked me to be here.” 

“Such a rule follower, mon horloge.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Lumiere grinned, “why not, mon horloge?”

“Enough Lumiere.” Cogsworth’s fingernails dug into his palms. He couldn’t do this, not now. Not with him. 

“So boring, mo-”

“Stop Lumiere.”

“Or what?” Lumiere sat up, staring Cogsworth in the eyes. He loved those eyes. “What are you going to do? Tell on me?”

“I said stop it, Lu!”

A loud, longing-filled silence hung in the air. Cogsworth thought he saw the stars wink. 

“What did you just call me?”

Cogsworth felt his face warm, “Just leave me-”

“I liked it.” 

“This isn’t a game,” Cogsworth warned, “I won’t let you act like it is.” 

“What isn’t?”

“You know what.” He refused to look at Lumiere, choosing to watch the sky instead.

Lumiere dragged his index finger down from Cogsworth’s cheek to his chin. His touch lingered, causing Cogsworth’s heart to race, before tilting his face to look at him. 

“Why can’t it be a game? Is that not all love is?” 

Love. Cogsworth allowed himself to dream, just for one second. 

“Hush. You cannot say things like that, it’s not allowed.”

“Says who, Cogsworth? Who cares what the rest of France believes - hell, the rest of the world. Break the rules for once.”

“I can’t, Lu, I just…oh mon Dieu.” How was Cogsworth supposed to explain it to someone like Lumiere? Lumiere was a free spirit, he was not confined by space or time. He did what he wanted when he wanted and Cogsworth, Cogsworth would watch and dream. 

“You would spend your life loving from a distance? I am not a candle any longer, mon horloge, you shan’t be burned if you move closer.”

Cogsworth was not sure why he did it, perhaps Lumiere was a bad influence. Perhaps Cogsworth was tired of doing what was expected of him. Perhaps Aphrodite had finally allowed it to be their turn. Face glowing in the moonlight, Cogsworth moved towards Lumiere. He moved closer and closer until their faces were inches apart. 

“I think…I think I love you.” A lone tear trailed down Cogsworth’s cheek; it hurt him to admit it. He wished it didn’t. 

Lumiere wiped away the tear, leaning his forehead against Cogsworth’s.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. 

It’s not, Cogsworth wanted to say, but he was torn. He could not help who he loved even if his brain was shouting it was wrong, that he should find some woman in Paris and marry her. But that was not what he wanted, no matter how much he wished he did. 

It’s okay to love a man. It’s okay to love me. We are allowed to love each other, mon horloge.”

It was 12:30am when Aphrodite began to smile. 

It was 12:30am when Cogsworth took Lumiere’s face in his hands and pressed his lips against his. 

A/N: I wrote this when I was fourteen years old and very confused about my own sexuality. I also promised a certain best friend that I'd let her read it for her birthday so happy late birthday @sackofpissandshit

#beauty and the beast #lumiere #cogsworth #lumiworth #lumiworth fanfic #cogsworth x lumiere #forbidden love #gay #my favourite gays

[vwritesaus]

TSC WIP snippets pt. 2

pt. 1

as promised, here's pt. 2 of some more snippets from my wips—this time, from dear christopher and timeless!!! what i failed to mention in my last post is that yes, while i'm still writing, those chances to do so are few and far between bc work has seriously been kicking me in the arse :)

this is another long post, so all the goods hopefully are under the cut! hope you enjoy and please know that i appreciate your patience so much ♡

dear christopher

ch2:

      ‘Be quiet, the pair of you,’ Thomas hisses weakly. ‘You’re ridiculous—’       ‘But to be fair, Jamie, they need to be engaged first,’ Matthew tells his parabatai conversationally, as if he hasn’t just interrupted Thomas. ‘In which I fear Alastair will be the one to propose first lest our darling Thomas stammers himself into oblivion and hides behind a lady’s brise fan to save face!’       ‘That’s oddly specific, Math… and yet I can see it happening just as you describe,’ James muses while rubbing at his chin. ‘Alastair is sensible enough and good at keeping a neutral expression—and he’ll be able to keep calm should Thomas start crying in pure joy.’       ‘You’re awful!’ Thomas exclaims. He’s now utterly certain his face no longer resembles an apple, but rather a beetroot. ‘Both of you—absolutely awful!’       Undeterred by the insults, Matthew gazes seriously at Thomas.‘I’ll be honest with you, Tom,’ he says. ‘It still baffles me how the whole situation between you two occurred, but… oh, you silly sod, I’m happy for you.’       Thomas smiles shyly. ‘Thank you.’       ‘Even Alastair?’ James pipes up.       Matthew scowls, though there is no heat behind it. ‘Yes, yes, even Carstairs,’ he moans, ‘the little bastard.’       ‘Hang on, easy,’ James says, ‘that’s Thomas’s future husband you’re slandering.’       ‘James!’ Thomas protests. ‘Stop it!’       ‘I shan’t, because the thought alone makes you happy, doesn’t it? And besides,’ James adds in a murmur, ‘we could all do with some happiness.’

ch3:

      ‘Whoever decides to be the owner of your heart, Thomas,’ Eugenia whispers, her tone serious, ‘I hope they’ll make you the happiest man alive.’       ‘A wish I also hold for you,’ Thomas tells her earnestly, ‘and not of the likes as those of Augustus bloody Pounceby. You deserve better.’       ‘Augustus was a moment of weakness. I know better than to seek out rats like him,’ Eugenia says heatedly, and then sighs. ‘I never thought he’d do such a thing—but then, I suppose, I have been wrong before. I should have seen it coming, really.’       ‘None of that was your fault, Genia. Don’t ever think that. He’s a smarmy little so-and-so with an ego, and if he ever comes within five feet of you, I’ll do what James did and throw him into the Thames.’       Despite the serious mood, Eugenia cackles heartily.       ‘I don’t doubt that in the slightest, Tom.’ She sniffs loudly and adds with utmost seriousness, ‘But you needn’t worry, for I will not step out with another man for as long as I shall live. I’ll cater to my many cats once I acquire them, and will bother you and your beau until we’re all old and grey.’ ...       ‘Tell me, mijo,’ Gideon starts. ‘How are you?’       Thomas cannot help the soft snort that leaves him.       ‘Dear Papa, I hope this is not an attempt at small talk,’ he says cheekily. ‘You do know how I cannot partake in it, nor can you.’       Gideon laughs and shakes his head. ‘Not as such. I would say it’s more of an initiation into a deeper topic of conversation.’

ch4:

      ‘Thomas,’ she gasps. ‘Bach, I need Gabriel. I need—please—’       He doesn’t hesitate, getting to his feet in a rather ungainly fashion, and launches himself at the door frame. He yells for his uncle, propriety be damned, and doesn’t stop until he hears hurrying footsteps coming up the stairs.       Gabriel flies into the room not even a minute later, his hair a mess and his eyes round in concern. His gaze glides to Thomas, alight with confusion, and Thomas merely glances over at Cecily by way of an explanation. It seems to be enough for he hears his uncle suck in a sharp breath and the softest rendition of his wife’s name passes his lips.       At the sound, Cecily turns her head, and chokes back a sob when she sees her husband. She holds her arms out to him beseechingly, begging to be held, and her cheeks are streaked with fast-falling tears.       ‘Gabriel… cariad—’       The rest of the sentence is pure Welsh, too fast and broken and indistinct for Thomas to understand a single phrase.

ch5:

      ‘Has anyone told you that you are perhaps a little too kind?’       ‘Only every third day,’ Thomas jests dryly, and Grace’s lips curve upwards a touch at that. His voice turns serious then, quiet, contemplative. ‘Look, I’m not here to fight, and I don’t want to fight. I’m not here to forgive you, either. That’s not my place. But today we remember Christopher. We… we tell him goodbye, and we do that together.’       There’s a moment’s pause in which they simply look at each other. Wind blows between them, ruffling the edges of Thomas’s coat and the hem of Grace’s dress. Smoke continues to curl from the stubby remains of the pyre, wispy and faint, like the aftermath of one of Christopher’s former explosions.       ‘Together…’ Grace echoes softly.       A single tear rolls down her cheek. She makes no move to wipe it away, much to Thomas’s surprise. After a second, Grace draws in a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly.       ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ she says politely—a picture-perfect image of a well brought-up young lady; a very small piece of Thomas pangs in sympathy at that thought. ‘I accept it… for Christopher.’       Thomas nods. ‘For Christopher,’ he agrees.

timeless

ch2:

      ‘He’s… attractive, sure,’ she finishes lamely, ‘but to be fair, I don’t even know him!’       Alastair tacks on immediately. ‘Just attractive?’       Hating the evil edge to his smirk, Cordelia scowls. Prick!       She sniffs. Two can play at that game.       ‘What do you want me to say?’ Raising her voice to a higher, mocking pitch, she cries, ‘“Oh my god, he’s sooo hot, I wanna throw him against the wall and have my way with him”?’       Alastair’s face twists in displeasure. ‘Ew, no.’       ‘Then what?’       ‘All I’m saying is people have gone straight to Base Two without exchanging names,’ he declares matter-of-factly. ‘So you not even knowing him is a rather redundant argument you’re making for your defence.’       Cordelia gawks at him. ‘What, are you saying you and Charles…?’       ‘Absolutely not,’ Alastair rebuts. ‘I learnt his name first. I’m just saying that it happens. Therefore…’       He waves his hand in a way that says, rather bluntly, my previous statement still applies. …       ‘He’s so funny,’ Cordelia says through a chuckle. ‘He was funny when I met him in person, too.’       ‘He can be, yeah,’ Lucie agrees with a good roll of her eyes. ‘But good god, he can be a moody, surly bastard sometimes. I’m telling you, Daisy, you’re lucky you’ve met him now. You did not want to know him two years ago.’       Cordelia’s expression turns startled. ‘Oh? Why do you say that?’       Lucie opens her mouth to answer but then quickly closes it. It’s not exactly her story to tell, let alone to someone James has only properly met once. But it’s not as though it’s a state secret… Everyone knows what happened and who James had been on the wrong side of sixteen… but even so…       ‘You don’t have to tell me why,’ Cordelia says, drawing Lucie out of her own head.        Clearly the conflict is bright as day on Lucie’s face.       ‘No, it’s alright.’ Chewing on her bottom lip for a second, Lucie sighs and reveals in a low voice, ‘I won’t go into too much detail, but James had his heart broken really badly in high school. After that, he had a nasty streak. He went wild, and none of us knew what to do. It got so bad even Matthew threatened to stop being friends with him if he didn’t get his shit together, and they’ve been friends since we were all kids.’       ‘Oh, my god?’       ‘Hm… though to be fair, Matthew wasn’t much better. He kept getting into trouble with the teachers because of this and that. But in a way, I’m grateful to them both.’ She reaches across the table and grips Cordelia’s hand tightly. ‘Because if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have had the need to bury my nose in my books or the internet to take a mental break, and I certainly would not have gotten the chance to meet you.’ …       Matthew purses his lips at the less than courteous message, thinking of all the possible responses he can send to preserve his honour so James doesn’t have to, as he has done many times before. But they all fly out of his head when both of Mina’s hands land on his calf with a loud smack. She smiles gummily up at him, and his heart melts at the sight.       ‘Does Mina wanna go on an adventure?’ he asks her, already picking her up and pressing her close to his chest. His phone lays forgotten on the floor. ‘But how shall we get there? Hmm… Oh! I know. Are you ready?’       Mina blinks and then raucous, contagious giggles escape her as Matthew—holding her by her middle with both hands—directs her through the air as if she’s an aeroplane while making engine noises. Somewhere behind him, James laughs wholeheartedly and cries, ‘Up and away we go!’ The three of them fly through the Herondale-Carstairs household, James and Matthew providing commentary on all the fascinating sights to Pilot Mina, and Mina’s giggles become louder and louder.       Mediocre dates, be damned.

tagging people who might be interested: @drunkonimagination @astriefer @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone @cant-think-of-anything @alastaircarstairsismybff @what-ho-christopher-put-in

let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

#the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #the last hours #tlh #thomas lightwood #james herondale #matthew fairchild #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs #eugenia lightwood #gideon lightwood #gabriel lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #grace blackthorn #cordelia carstairs #lucie herondale #mina carstairs #thomastair #gabrily #fanfiction preview #dear christopher #timeless #how can i wait when queue are so beautiful?

[yellowfingcr]

"Tell me, is there one that you carry close in your heart?"

A gentle question, her thumb carefully rolled over the knuckles of the hand she carefully held, "Is there a name that comes to mind when I invoke the thought? You, with your heart so full that it must ache. And should you have no wish to tell me, I will not fault you. Instead I simply inquire; tell me what love is to you, what does it mean to love so much? To be so full that you're bursting with it?"

(Feel free to treat this as more ask rather than thread, if this does not work for you then def let me know and I'll rework something for you! I got you I got you)

Heysel blinked. Heysel, her fingers half-buried in the cold grave of Helena’s ashen palm, lifted an eyebrow. Heysel, a snort later, burst into a laughter so full it startled birds, and tilted her head back and back and trembled her shoulders like plucked string.

“Oh, come on now, warfield confessor! A finesse for peeling peaches put into proffering this question and it’s something you already know!” she said, once the mirth had left enough space for language. “I am almost certain- almost!- you are aware and if you’re not then you at least suspect a name. As for the rest: you flatter me. I must reply that your mentioned fullness is not unlikely to be an alloy with a shocking density of bad ideas and worse puns, however.”

A light tilt of her hooded head, left, right, considering, smiling a jester’s self-aware sort of smile.

“Love is… quite the enormous word! I love a great deal of things. I love life. I love being alive. I love that I am an animal of many tiny lenses, made to experience. I find that the notion never fails to render me speechless. You and I are here right now upon this sliver of spacetime, wet with organs and rife with the filaments necessary to detect the world- electrical inputs are right now swimming minnow-quick up my limbs saying ah! cold!, and saying person! Black hair, grey eyes! Person just like me composite of the very same instruments of navigating and learning what is around oneself. I was made to understand you. Do you get it? Isn’t it grand?” Her free hand, reaching out, drawing a light quick line from the middle of her friend’s brow to the tip of her nose. Contact! What were the chances that you and I would be two things that ever collided in the endless oceans of history? “I guess what I was about to say was sort of said already. I love, deeply love, humanity. Which is- perhaps absurd, coming from a killer, but that’s quite the thing, isn’t it? We’re capable of so many vile and wonderful things. We cherish and want and hurt each other. We need each other. We desperately do not wish to forget each other. I am just… in awe.”

And the sigh that followed! An unending map of fondness. That she could splay herself across the whole of it, heartbeat to concept, not even her ribs between them, not even her skin. Grassplains and hills of love drawn from the epicenter of a little nothing-woman, yet behold, at one place convergence, like a capital underlined red- 

“...Still. Well. All this universality in my words, yet there is he, isn’t it? He who you either know or suspect. Mountain-cut, fire-strong. I have been called in the past a clay-and-marrow figurine in moments of deserved unkindness- he stands so tall at the opposite side of that definition, realer than real, a concentration of brightness like the pinhole end of a black hole, where all caught light knots. I’m aware that given the opportunity he would outline himself by his capability for destruction first and though he is magnificent in battle and I shan’t speak of how exquisite he looks when cloaked in the blood of his foes it is his kindness that I must mention to the world first. How else can someone so willing to build something out of thin straws of hope, if not for himself then for others, be called? Someone so willing to see fellow human beings as something just as true as himself and to suffer for them. I have never witnessed a heart such as his. I do not think I will ever witness it again.” A pause. “I will be candid. I do not know what he sees in me. But that too is part of loving, I think. To not try to understand and just… consign yourself to gravity, trusting you’ll be caught. I know he will catch me, always. And I will do the same for him. There is nothing I wouldn't do for him, because he is worth all. This spectacularly precious man. My knight beautiful, my sweeter half. My lodestar. My Brom.”

#hexenjagd #er au #// thank you for the ask! and sorry for the delay #she rambles a lot!

[frodo-cinnamonroll]

Hi, I am also a Frodo lover and would like to know if you could write an imagine about dating Frodo and thank you for taking the time to read this.

Here Always

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: nothin' but fluff here

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've had a bit of a busy week. I hope you enjoy it. Hopefully the content will make up for my tardiness.

__________________________________

“Y/N. Y/N.”

You started awake. You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep. Gandalf stood above you, a hand on your shoulder.

“Gandalf!” you cried, standing. “Oh dear I fell asleep! Is Frodo alright? Has anything happened?”

Gandalf smiled down at you. “Frodo is alright. Elrond has cured him of the wound from the Nazgûl blade. He will be out of his room in a minute.”

You jumped up and gave Gandalf a hug. “Thank you for looking after him. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

Gandalf smiled down at you. “Of course, of course. I must talk with Elrond now, so I will see you later.”

“Alright then. Good day.”

Gandalf nodded and walked off. You paced the floor, looking over the balcony nearby at Rivendell, breathing in the free air. When Frodo had been stabbed by the Nazgûl, Arwen, an elf you had bonded with almost immediately, had taken him to Rivendell in much haste. You had been left behind, since Arwen’s horse couldn’t carry multiple hobbits and an elf. You had been very distraught since then, not attempting to hold back your fear. Strider had led you, Sam, Merry, and Pippin as quickly as you could manage to Rivendell. Ever since you had arrived, you and Sam had hardly slept. You had stayed right by Frodo’s side as long as Elrond would let you. Finally, though, he had asked you to stand out of the way so you had taken a seat on a soft recamier that sat right outside Frodo’s room and, apparently, you had fallen asleep. 

But you were awake now, and all was well now that Frodo was healed. For the first time since your arrival, you were able to take in the beauty of the Hidden Valley. You felt wholly at peace. You rested your chin and arms on the balcony’s edge, closing your eyes and listening to the song of a waterfall not far away.

“Y/N,” a soft voice behind you called.

You whirled around. Frodo stood there, alive and well. A smile was on his face and in his eyes.

“Frodo!” You leapt into his open arms, hugging him as tight as you could without hurting him. “Frodo! I was so frightened when you left! I thought . . . I thought . . .” You could not finish the sentence for you were so overwhelmed with joy that it spilled out of your heart and eyes.

“I am here,” Frodo said, stroking your head. “I shan’t leave you. I will not.”

For a few sweet moments, the two of you held each other in the golden sunlight of the day, not saying anything because nothing needed to be said. Then Sam, Merry, and Pippin ran up and there was much joy in the reunion. Everyone was talking at once, full of merriment and delight. You couldn’t describe how glad you were to see a smile on Frodo’s face again and life in his lovely eyes. His laugh was priceless and endlessly pleasant to listen to. It healed any remnants of fear and doubt that lingered in your heart, filling it (if it was possible) with even more joy. It was then that Frodo spotted Bilbo sitting not far away on a stone bench.

“Bilbo!” Frodo cried, running up to give him a hug.

“Frodo, my lad!” Bilbo said, returning the gesture. “And you too, Y/N. Come on!” He beckoned you to join the hug. You didn’t object.

You had been quite close to Bilbo ever since you and Frodo had started courting. You had loved the old hobbit dearly and you had helped him a lot with his book. You were fascinated by his tales of his adventures and, like Frodo, had secretly wished to go on an adventure of your own some day. That day had come sooner than you had thought, but you weren’t going to complain. Everything was alright and you were happy.

“Come,” Bilbo said at last, “I have things to show you both.” And he led the two of you off.

⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘

You and Frodo spent most of the day with Bilbo. He had made much progress in his book and you were quite delighted to see the beautiful thing. Bilbo also showed you around Rivendell a bit. You saw stunning waterfalls, exquisite marble buildings, and ancient trees. The elves were all very nice but also mysterious, not in a bad way necessarily. You could see some deep meaning in their eyes that seemed beyond your reach of thought, something sad and wise. You didn’t bother much about it though, for you thought it would possibly be thought rude to ask about it if ever you could put it into words.

Towards sunset as the day bid farewell, painting the sky stunning colors, Bilbo left you and Frodo to talk to Gandalf a bit, wherever he might have been. Frodo then offered you his arm and you walked slowly down the paths Bilbo had shown you earlier.

“It has been quite a day,” Frodo said, laying his head on yours which rested on his shoulder.

“Indeed it has,” you said, closing your eyes. “I’m just glad I got to spend it with you.”

“As am I.” Frodo smiled at you, something that filled you with warmth no matter what, and kissed your head so gently you barely felt it.

You reached out your hand and caressed his cheek with the utmost care and then brushed back a rouge hair from his face.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“And I love you, Y/N. More than I can say.” Frodo tenderly pressed his forehead against yours.

“Mr. Frodo!”

You and Frodo suddenly let go and you turned to face Sam who had appeared now in front of you. Frodo’s face flushed and you avoided Sam’s gaze and scuffed a leaf that lay on the ground, smiling.

“Oh . . .” Sam said, scratching his head. “Sorry Mr. Frodo. Begging your pardon, and you too Miss Y/N. I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“What is it, Sam?” Frodo asked.

“Well, I was just going to say that Pippin told me that Bilbo told him that tonight the elves are hosting a feast in your honor. There’s going to be singing and dancing and lots of food. It’ll be a jolly good time! I best get ready now.” With that Sam went off and disappeared.

“Singing and dancing,” you said, looking at Frodo. “Sounds to me like a good time. I wonder how elvish parties compare to our hobbit ones?”

“I guess we will find out,” Frodo said. You took his arm again and then you headed off. The sun lowered below the mountains just then, and many torches were lit simultaneously. You could see shapes of elves and other figures making their way towards the Hall of Fire, where the banquet was to be held.

⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘

It was a good time indeed. There were foods of the like which you had never seen before that had wonderful tastes. Everything was delicious. Elrond, Strider, Arwen, Gandalf, and all the hobbits were present along with many elves and even some people from other lands. You had heard whispers of some council being held the next day but Gandalf wouldn’t tell you anything. You didn’t fret too much and decided to enjoy the night. 

After the feast finished, everyone migrated to the central part of the Hall where many fires were lit. The walls glowed subtle orange like that of clay or rust with flickers of flashing yellow. Immediately, some of the elves started singing in their tongue a song of days long past. You and Frodo sat on a small couch-like seat along the wall and watched them. As they sang, though you knew not what they said, you could see in your mind oceans and mountains, plains and forests, elves dancing, beasts roaming, and silver stars lighting an endless night. For some reason you did not understand, it brought tears to your eyes and try as you might, you couldn’t hold them back. Frodo put his arm around you and you leaned into him, smiling. The elves sang many songs, some sad and sweet, some lively and filled with laughter.

A good while passed and you and Frodo were watching everything intently and full of wonder. Finally, Strider stood with Arwen and the elves formed a ring around them with their partners. The ones playing the instruments began a calm and happy song that started out slow at first. As Arwen and Strider gilded flawlessly over the floor, they beckoned you to join the company.

“Come,” Strider said as they passed by. “Come, both of you, and join the dance.”

“I do not prefer to dance in front of so many,” you said.

“It is a blessed dance,” Arwen replied. “You will be glad for it.”

“Would it be alright if we just sat here?” Frodo asked meekly.

“Come! Join us!” Strider beckoned again.

You looked at Frodo whose face was as indecisive as you felt. He met your gaze and Strider bade you both to join them again. Some of the other elves insisted too.

“Let us see how the halflings meet the music,” they said.

Finally, you gave way. Frodo stood and held out his hand and you took it. The ring of elves parted to allow the two of you into the middle. Frodo guided you to the middle where Strider and Arwen were swaying in perfect rhythm. They seemed to be anticipating a change in the song. Frodo held your hands in his own and glanced around unsure of what to do next.

“I am not entirely sure what we are doing, exactly,” Frodo whispered to you.

“Neither am I,” you whispered back.

“Follow where the music leads,” Arwen called. “Move your feet and the song will take care of the rest.”

You started out like Strider and Arwen, moving slowly and staying in step, but just as you had presumed, the music began to quicken. Arwen and Strider moved quicker but not less smoothly. You and Frodo followed, quickening your steps. The elves were happy that you had joined and were comfortable enough to do such a daring thing. They cared less whether or not your movement was pleasurable. Suddenly, the music took a leap and those around you started clapping in rhythm. The instruments sang louder and faster now.

“Let us show them how hobbits meet music,” Frodo said with a smile. He didn’t seem as nervous now. You weren’t either, only a little.

You grinned. “Shall we?”

All in one moment, you and Frodo picked up your pace, dancing in brilliant hobbit fashion. You both were rather used to moving with fast-paced music, as was tradition at most parties. The two of you skipped around and laughed as you did. Frodo twirled you and led you steadily through. All that were watching were delighted, but especially Sam, Merry, and Pippin who almost joined in themselves. More took part in the clapping and Arwen and Strider stepped out of the circle to give the two of you space. The song was ever heightening and quickening. Soon, you thought your feet barely touched the floor, but Frodo made sure neither of you fell. Finally, the song came to its end with a sudden leap and everyone clapped. Frodo laughed and you couldn’t stop smiling from the exuberance of it all.

“Halflings can meet the music indeed!” Aragorn said, patting Frodo on the shoulder.

“I hope we did not disappoint,” Frodo said.

“No, you went beyond expectation, Mr. Underhill. A fine couple the two of you make.”

You looked away bashfully and Frodo smiled, looking down. Frodo then gave you his arm and led you off the dancing floor.

“That was something,” you said at last, sitting down.

“Indeed. It wasn’t too much to ask, I hope?” Frodo said.

“Oh, no. In front of so many people is slightly uncomfortable, but someone once said that there are better things than being comfortable. I guess it is good to do something you normally wouldn’t every now and then, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Frodo looked at the arched doorway of the Hall of Fire. Night was full and the moon was high. “I would like to walk out there tonight. Would you like to come?”

“Of course,” you said, standing. “I don’t want to leave your side again.”

Frodo put his arm around you and the two of you disappeared unnoticed, at least, you thought you were unnoticed, but the others let you be, smiling at your tender affection. You and Frodo walked much like you had earlier that day, with your head on his shoulder, taking in the beauty of it all. And the night was beautiful indeed. Other than the elves singing, there were the waterfalls and crickets. Everything was brushed gently in the moon and starlight. Everything felt peaceful, as if nothing was wrong in the world. Of course, you knew that wasn’t true, but in Rivendell it was, and you were wholly content to be with Frodo. You wanted nothing else, and that much you made rather plain. You noticed now that Frodo was looking at you.

“Is . . . is something on your mind Y/N?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing much, really,” you said. “I love this place, Rivendell. Bilbo was right, it is magnificent. It is wonderful but more than that, I am glad you are here and are well. I’ve never known such fear and loneliness as when you left, but I also have never known such joy and gratitude as when you came back. You mean more to me than I could properly describe and I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Frodo said. “I do know it and I love you for it. I love you the same, though I am no poet. I wouldn’t ask for another, Y/N. I never would. Whether we go home after this, or something other, I want you to know that I am extremely thankful that you are here. I want you here always. I want to be here always.”

“And I will be here always,” you said, smiling. “I mean that as a promise, Mr. Underhill.”

“Then I double the promise,” Frodo said, holding you in his arms. “I shall be here always.”

#frodo x reader #frodo baggins #frodo x you #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #hobbit x reader #hobbits #lotr x reader #rivendell #fanfic #requested #requested fic #lotr fluff #fluffy fic

[arospecsyourblockdudes]

“Oh, woe is me! It’s so cold in this cavern….I shan’t make it the night! Oh, poor little pitiful me, what an awful mess.”

Fwhip instantly had regrets about locking the stranger up. For one, his sleep schedule was suffering for it. The man hadn’t stopped his monologuing except to dramatically wail and cry. Somehow he was making chain rattling noises.

And in the large Goblands cavern, it echoed.

“Oohhh, the draft here is chilling my bones……to think, such a big man like me….reduced to a mere rat……”

Maybe if Fwhip’s ears weren’t so large, it wouldn’t be such a problem. But as it stood, it was a problem.

A bout of chain-rattling lead into very loud and dramatic sobbing, and Fwhip sighed and got out of bed. He was going to have to get this guy to shut up. Or at least cry quietly if he had to.

He pulled on his boots and jacket and headed out to his rails, riding as close as he could get to the cage before he had to walk. Blessedly, the strange man quieted down as he approached and put together a scaffold tower.

He was sitting in the center of the cage when Fwhip got up to his level, seemingly waiting for him. He sniffles and wiped at his eyes.

“Why are you here? To torture me? Interrogate me? Oh, just break my aching heart even more, won’t you!”

“What? No!” Fwhip shook his head. “Nothing like that. I just wanted to tell you to keep the noise down. We goblins need our nine hours.”

The man stood and clutched both hands to his heart, almost a mockery of offense. He was almost eerie, this one, with his faint glow and exaggerated everything. “I can’t stop. I am heartbroken. Betrayed so cruelly by my old friend….you’ve wounded me.”

“I’m not your friend. I don’t know you.” Fwhip leapt onto the roof of the cage and then down to a nearby ledge.

The man furrowed his brows, in what was probably genuine confusion. “We’ve always remembered our past lives. Is it different now?”

“Past…what?” Fwhip crossed his arms and leaned toward him. “If this is some religion thing, I’m not interested.”

“No, no, it’s just….are you still mad that I killed you when I was a fish? Is that why you’re acting like this? I don’t know why Gem would be mad at me, I’ve always been lovely to her, but-“

“Ok, I’m pretty convinced this is a weird religion and I’m not into it. Stop scaring people by pretending you know them.”

“I do know you.” The man pointed to a spot on Fwhip’s chest and drew a circle in the air, smiling. “See, it’s a different body, clearly, but that’s not weird. Happened all the time. I’d know my boy Fwhip anywhere.”

A chill went down Fwhip‘s spine and he held back a shudder. “I’ve never told you my name. I don’t know why you were sent here or who told you what, but the Sheriff won’t be happy when I say you’re spooking everyone and that’s a man you want to keep happy.”

The man blinked and put his hands on his hips. “I’ve committed no crime. I’m sure I’ll be let free and I can scout out the rest of you. Is Sausage here or is he still, eh…..‘sleeping’?” He made air quotes on the last phrase.

“If you’re going to mess with Sausage, I’ll just keep you in here.”

That seemed to shut the man up. “I guess you all don’t remember Afterlife, then.” He sniffled again, but thankfully didn’t seem like he was about to cry. “It’s been a while. I’ve been alone on the Olipelago.”

“The what??”

“This is weird then! I guess now it makes sense that I’m in jail.” The man nodded, apparently settling some questions he’d had.

“Yes. Trespassing and all. Please keep quiet and stop being freaky.” Fwhip jumped back on the roof and then to his scaffold. He had had far too many spooky things said to him at far too late an hour.

The man nodded and waved as he climbed down. “I’ll see what I can do! Put in a good word about me to this sheriff, will you?”

Fwhip would certainly not.

#empires smp #anyway oli headcanon is he’s some sort of spirit or undead creature #little weird dude <3 #also because he came directly from afterlife he can recognize everyone’s souls but not their person #so automatically he knows who it is just that they look different which wasn’t weird for afterlife #Fwhip is just tired tbh

[anotherramblingfangirl]

Dresden Files fans book rec:

This one I have read along with its sequel and thoroughly enjoyed!

Imagine if someone set themself out to study the Nevernever, to document all of the creatures which resided in it and seek to map what they possibly could of its domains and doorways.

This is what Emily Wilde seeks to do, the premise of the book being an expedition to a far North village attempting to find evidence of some elusive folk said to exist there. The books being journalistic style of her time there, including some interesting world building footnotes. As for her herself -

“Emily Wilde is good at many things: she is the foremost expert on the study of faeries; she is a genius scholar and a meticulous researcher who is writing the world's first encylopaedia of faerie lore. But Emily Wilde is not good at people.”

Something that is no exaggeration, the no-nonsense woman having the same sort of disposition and grace to social contact as a feral cat. Don’t take no-nonsense as entirely “logical” however haha, she is absolutely one of those academics who would strive into a marsh or lick something questionable. Along with one of those people to get herself into a situation for motives, she doesn’t necessarily always reliably account to herself in their entirety.

Foil and contrast to the ineffible Wendell Bambelby, ever the charmer who has attached himself onto who also doubles as an absolute laze. Her one and only friend who has decided he is coming with her. That said while I cannot say much to avoid spoilers, I will say right from the start of the book Emily is convinced that…well perhaps I could strike somewhat of a comparison to DF’s Thomas and say no more there (I’ve seen other reviews strike a Howl comparison).

The book itself is described as quite charming and it definitely is in a good way - but don’t let that make it seem like this is an entirely light low stakes reading. The fae here are oft nasty, there are those who feast on humans, rob their children, steal and return people hollow. They are said to be elemental forces in themselves, bound to stories akin to the rules of the mantles in DF.

There are also various lingering supernatural mysteries to be solved, pieces coming together, but I shan’t say more there.

I know this is perhaps selling it way too high but I really loved it and look forward to the third one! So sharing this here in case anyone else may love it too.

#dresden files #the dresden files #emily wilde’s encyclopaedia of faeries #emily wilde #post by me

[lady-phasma]

Steadfast

Aemond x Helaena

Part 1 of 3

Warning: 18+, NSFW

Summary-ish: Aemond’s a badass with only one person he truly cares for. Helaena is lovely and slightly disarming. Plot in later chapters. 

Note: I'm not new to writing fan fiction, I'm new to posting it on Tumblr. Here goes... (I'm sure the tagging and warnings are all wrong but I'll get better at that.)

Aemond watched her hair flow out behind her as she danced. There was no music. Or if there were, only Helaena heard it. His long fingers spun his wine goblet slowly by the stem. His back was straight, his muscles constantly taut as if wound tight and ready to spring. He was always on his guard. Even more so when she was near. 

His brother, the Blonde Twat, was most likely drunkenly plowing some poor whore at this moment. He almost felt sorry for whoever she was. But if Aegon weren’t oblivious he would be fucking her and that was unacceptable. Aemond was relatively sure that Aegon’s heirs were truthfully Aegon’s but, he grinned to himself, their silver hair and violet eyes couldn’t prove anything. 

She spun and smiled as her dress flared out around her. She stumbled dizzily and he tensed but she regained her balance and giggled. That sound passed over him as if she had actually touched him. His jaw clenched. She paused, breathless, smoothed her skirts, and looked across the room at him. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing. She walked a crooked, childish path to the table and gulped her wine. 

 “The moon whispers, brother,” she didn’t look at him. “It whispers all manner of things.”

He leaned on the table, blocking out the other sounds of the room to hear her low voice. 

“It whispered that lesser dragons sleep while greater dragons keep watch,” her eyes flitted to meet his and immediately dropped back to her wine. “Perhaps there are great dragons still in the kingdoms.”

Everyone dismissed Helaena. Aemond did not. He was the exception. He saw her not in spite of her riddles and oddness but because of them. He leaned back in his chair as she sat at the table. She was still trying to catch her breath but softly laughing at something that wasn’t spoken. He relaxed a bit now that she was seated and the hall was beginning to empty. 

“Is that right, sister?” he drank his wine as well. “I shan’t think there are many great ones though.”

She sat upright, dropping both elbows heavily on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. Her eyes gleamed conspiratorially.

“There is one at least Aemond!” She beamed at him. “Vigilant, steadfast, dark as night, and ever so fearsome.” 

“Oh? And which dragon might that be?” He had begun to feel the familiar ache that spread from his chest and he shifted his hips in his chair. 

“The moon didn’t say,” her smile fell. His eye darted around the room then back at her. He laid his long arm across the corner of the table, hand flat on the wood. She laid her hand on top of his. When he was sure that no one was observing them he turned his hand over and let her fingers rest in his palm. He stroked the inside of her wrist with his fingertips. 

Nothing in the seven kingdoms could warm his heart but her. Well perhaps Vhagar but in a different manner.

Aemond pulled his hand back as servants entered the hall to clear the table. The maid curtsied before removing their plates. He stood as she cleared the table.

“Princess?” he held out his arm to her. 

Helaena rose and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. He led her from the room and down the halls to one of her favorite places in the Keep. The Godswood was the closest thing to nature they had within the walls. The gardens were more public, not what he wanted, plus the Godswood was ethereal in the twilight, much like his sister. Their hair seemed to reflect the early moonlight.  

He stood like a sentry just inside the colonnade. She sat amongst the fallen red leaves and ran her fingers through the grass. She found something and held it in her palm, examining it in the moonlight. His eye rarely strayed from her except to survey their surroundings. He watched her place the object back in the grass. She laid back, her hair fanning out around her head. She gazed up at the stars. 

“Brother!” she called. She startled him but it was a lovely sound, joyful. “Come, look with me.”

His face was stony. He wouldn’t deny her anything but he could never be as free as her. He compromised with himself and sat down next to her. He rested his forearms on his bent knees and looked around the Godswood. She knew him well enough not to try and coax him into laying down. But she did reach out her hand to him. He took it in his. She rubbed tiny circles in his palm with her thumb. 

“Do you think anyone else hears it?” she asked him softly.

“No, sister,” he answered looking down at her sweet face. “The gods only gifted that to you. The rest of us aren’t favored by them as you are.”

“Hmmm,” she mused, running her fingers through his.

He risked a glance at the night sky. The moon was bright, almost full, and the stars paled in its light. He looked back down at Helaena. She was lost in thought. He let her absentmindedly stroke his hand as he watched the colonnade around them. 

* * *

Aemond didn’t know how long they had been in the Godswood but when Helaena finally sat up he was stiff. He stretched when he stood and offered his hand to her to help her up. She took it and let him pull her up to standing. She smiled at him. He gently removed a few leaves from her hair as she dusted off her skirts.

He could read her mood easily and what she had said to him in the hall reverberated in his mind. He waited for her invitation. She slipped her hand inside his elbow and began to walk back inside. They moved gracefully together. He walked as straight as he sat and she flowed through every movement like a small breeze. It should have been awkward but he was her anchor.   

The Blonde Twat had separate chambers precisely for nights like this. Aemond’s jaw tightened at the thought. They walked to her private chambers. The large room resembled a maester’s study. There were bugs pinned on boards, jars of live bugs, books and scrolls stacked on tables and the floor. Even curiosities like a giant armillary sphere. There was a pair of chairs by the fireplace and a few small tables but no other furniture. Her bed wasn’t exactly a bed as much as a nest of sumptuous pillows and rugs and furs. All of them as soft as her. 

He closed and locked the door behind them. She slid her hand down his arm and took his hand. She led him toward her bed. She stood on tiptoes and reached behind his head. He dipped down just enough for her to be able to unfasten the straps. She gently took the patch off. She let it hang by her side while her other hand traced his scar just above the skin, not touching him. Her fingers moved down his face finally touching his jaw, his chin. He looked up from his bow, his violet eye meeting hers. 

Aemond always let her lead in this dance of theirs. He controlled everything about his world except her. Protect her? Always. Do anything against her wishes? Never. He only kissed her when she drew his lips to hers with her fingertips under his chin. She ran both of her hands over his hair while he kissed her. She smiled against his lips, kissed him back, and rested her hands on his shoulders. His arms encircled her waist and lifted her with him as he stood up to his full height. 

Helaena laughed and showered his face with delicate kisses. She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he carried her onto the bed of pillows. She toed off her slippers before he set her down on the carpets. Her hands slid down to his chest and began to unhook the clasps on his jerkin. He unconsciously ran his hands up and down her sides.

She pushed his shirt open and he let it fall off his shoulders. Her hands flitted down his arms and across his chest like skipping stones on a pond. He pulled his tunic over his head. She touched him in no conscious pattern, moved across his skin in the same way she moved between thoughts. Aemond slowly reached for the laces of her dress while she occupied herself with the terrain of his chest and stomach. When his fingers started to pull at the knot she looked up at him and nodded. 

His fingers were adept and made quick work of the dress. He pulled it off her shoulders, down to her feet, held it while she stepped out of it, then laid it on a nearby pillow. As he stood up he grabbed the hem of her chemise and lifted it up. She raised her arms for him as she would her lady’s maids. He dropped it by her dress. He ran a hand down her side and hip, she shivered. Her body was always perfect to him. She was slight but her hips and belly were fuller after having borne children. He didn’t want to stop touching her but he stepped back.

Aemond took his boots off and moved back toward her. She starred at him with a gaze unlike any he ever saw on another person. Sometimes he felt he could read her thoughts and would never understand how the rest of the world couldn’t. She began to unlace his breeches, focused, intense. He watched her face, her hands. This was the first time he had let himself truly feel that deep ache for her this night. Her hands brushed against the silver hair on his stomach and he hissed. She smiled but didn’t look at him. 

He cupped her cheek in his hand. Helaena slid her hands onto his hips and stepped closer to him. She pressed against him and looked up. He held her face with both hands and kissed her so deeply that she sighed into him. He only let go of her long enough to step out of his breeches and scoop her up in his arms. He kissed her again and laid her down among the pillows. 

As he kissed her neck and shoulders she ran her hand through his hair, letting it fall over her fingers like silver water. She arched her back, pressing against him and let it slide against her chest. His fingers dug into her hip. He tried to be gentle, to go slowly. She was too precious to him. He kissed her breast, drug his lips across her nipple. She exhaled and pressed as much of her body against him as she could. 

“My brother, my dragon,” Helaena panted into his hair. He groaned and pressed his forehead into the space between her breasts.

“Aemond,” she whispered. He thought he would come undone. They had been together many times before but each encounter erased the world from his mind. He could think only of her and all the times before seemed so far away. 

He parted her legs with his knee and propped himself above her. She playfully pantomimed biting at his bottom lip and let out a breathy laugh. She did catch his lip in her teeth. He responded by pushing his other leg between hers. She tugged gently on his lip then kissed him, raising herself up to meet his lips. He parted her lips with his tongue and she let him. She stroked his face, his scar.

All he could think about any more was being inside her. He moved a hand between them. Smoothing his palm down her stomach he slid his fingers into her wetness. She moaned into his mouth and pushed against his hand. Her parted her legs wider with his knee against her thigh and she wrapped her leg around his hip as he did. His fingertips circled her clit. Her fingers tangled into his hair. She broke their kiss when he slipped two fingers inside her.

“Gods Helaena,” he groaned against her neck. She rocked against his fingers. She wrapped her other leg around him and pulled him toward her. She guided his face up to look at her. Her thumb caressed the line of his scar on his cheek. She felt how hard he was and stroked a hand against him, insistent. He pulled his fingers out and passed them across her clit again as she guided their hips together. 

He pushed completely into her. She nudged his hand away and he let her. He liked the feeling of her hand between them. Putting his weight on his hands on either side of her face he pulled out and pushed back in slowly. He watched her face unselfconsciously. She stared up at him. She slid her hand from his face to the back of his neck and pulled him down to her. She breathed heavily next to his ear. 

He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. He kissed her neck and the hollow of her collarbones. He slid his long fingers down her neck to her breast and circled her nipple with his thumb. He kissed his way back up to her mouth, cupping her breast in his hand. She pushed herself against his palm. The way she smelled, the way she sounded, the salt of her skin on his lips, all of it worked against his self-control. He couldn’t think anymore, only feel her, hear her. 

Aemond quickened his pace. She matched his rhythm with her hand and hips. He felt her tighten around him. She murmured his name into his ear and dug her nails into his neck. He could read her so easily. He knew she didn’t want to be precious and fragile tonight. He didn’t hold back. A low growling moan came up from his chest. He felt her begin to shudder and her breath hitched in her throat. 

As she clenched and tightened she bit down on his shoulder stifling the loud cry that had almost escaped her lips. Her teeth on him, the stinging of it, finished him. They peaked together. When he spilled into her he was silent but he shook all over. She ground her hips against his, feeling all of him as her spasms subsided. He groaned as her teeth left his skin. She moved her hand to his back and clutched at him with both hands until she stopped shaking. 

“Lovely,” he whispered in her ear. She relaxed under him. He kissed her softly. Her eyes were closed and her smile was blissful. 

He pulled away from her as she settled back on the pillows. When he lay down next to her he rested his unscarred cheek on her breast. He wrapped an arm around her and she tucked herself closely against him. He closed his eye as she smoothed his hair back from his temple. She knew his body by memory. He loved the way she could disarm him with just a touch. Laying there with her, her fingertips caressing his brow, his scar, his cheek, he didn’t have to be vigilant. Helaena kissed the top of his head. Her hand came to rest on his arm. 

“A very fearsome dragon is what I was told,” she murmured before she fell asleep. 

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #helaena targaryen #helaemond #helaena x aemond #aemond x helaena #aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic #helmond

[adhd-merlin]

merlin S1 rewatch: episode 6

it’s been a hot minute! today’s commentary is about episode 1x06, A Remedy to Cure All Ills. which I re-watched more than a month ago actually, but I’ve been busy.

just some random comments and thoughts (as usual), and not an actual review or analysis.

I think this episode is extremely underrated – I loved it the first time I watched it, and I still thoroughly enjoyed it on my rewatch. yes, it’s kind of a filler episode with a very traditional Villain of the Week format – but it's a great villain.

Julian Rhind-Tutt’s performance as Edwin is great and I love a suave, smooth-talking, scheming villain as much as the next person. The way he manipulates people, never suggesting anything outright but playing on people’s fears and biases, only saying just enough to make them reach the conclusion he wants. Something very Richard III about it. Very Iago.

EDWIN: “No… I shan’t say”

Another thing I love about this episode is the rare (unique?) instance of Merlin showing his magic to another sorcerer whom he isn't suspicious of (the audience knows Edwin is the Bad Guy, of course, but at this point Merlin doesn't).

I can’t think of another moment like this in the series. Freya didn’t actually have magic. There is Gilli, but when Merlin reveals his magic to him he already knows of the boy's intention to kill Uther, and it is a last attempt to stop Gilli from committing regicide without putting him in harm’s way. Merlin's relationship with Mordred and the Druids was always complicated by prophecies and by his role as Emrys.

But there’s none of that here. Edwin tells Merlin that magic can be used for good, and that it can be ENJOYED! which is all Merlin ever wanted to hear. And it’s a bit heartbreaking to see the hope on Merlin's face, knowing all that is going to happen later in the series.

I also loved the previous interaction between Merlin and Edwin:

“It can’t explain love”!! He’s a romantic. He loves love 🥺🥺🥺

I think the writers lost sight of Edwin’s motive a bit by the time they got to the ending. He’s not content with just killing Uther, he also wants to… rule the kingdom? And he tells Merlin they can do it together? (a concept revisited in the Cornelius Sigan episode). I don't think it works well.

I think Edwin’s final evil speech would have been way more impactful if he had tried to appeal to Merlin’s empathetic side, instead of his non-existent thirst for power, and reminded him of all the suffering Uther caused and why he deserved to die. I guess that would be a moral dilemma that deserves more than a few minutes of screen time to be resolved satisfactorily, and we’re already at the end of the episode at this point.

The series does dwell on it in To Kill the King, to be fair, but I think the “why not just let Uther die?” dilemma could have been presented before then. (Merlin's momentarily hesitation at healing Uther at the end is more to do with his fear of being seen using magic by Uther than by an actual reluctance to save the king.)

Anyway. I still think this is a very good episode overall, even with its relatively weak ending.

Other random thoughts:

The random-ass reference to alchemy. Something that wasn’t elaborated on, nor ever mentioned again (??) Missed opportunity imo.

Gaius is made "a free man of Camelot", whatever that means. (Does it mean that he, like Merlin, is not from Camelot? Or is it some kind of special privilege? We don’t know. I think maybe in Love at the Time of Dragons Gaius mentions something about he and Alice coming to Camelot but I can’t remember and I can’t be bothered to check now)

Some excellent display of brotherly concern from Arthur when Morgana falls sick. He's the one pushing for Uther to call for Edwin. We love to see it

Merlin and Gaius all but call each other father and son. DON’T TOUCH ME.

Gaius was 100% ready to let Uther die if it meant saving Merlin’s life. btw.

Gaius and Uther. WHAT ARE THEY

All the heavy hints at Gaius’s acting as a Category Traitor in the Great Purge + the only instance of Gaius talking to Kilgharrah (!!!) I am obsessed with it

The paralles between Uther & Gaius and Arthur & Merlin. I feel absolutely normal about it

“Now, open your eyes, My Lord. I want my face to be the last face you ever see.” -> I don’t care if it’s cliched, this line fucks

MERLIN CLAIMS ANOTHER VICTIM, AT LAST!! I was starting to worry but finally my baby is back to killing people :)

#rewatch1.jls #merlin's body count: 2