#Fade poetry journal

[rayvomit]

the joy of change, hope in the present, and the fear of the future

[kamosh-asmaan]

I am not sure how I have arrived here.

But here I am.

I have so much to say but every time I feel the words forming on my tongue, they slip right back inside my throat.

My heart pounds, pounds, pounds, then it starts to slow.

Life has become so small so fast. The years, just gone and now I have gray hairs, thin skin, and I've become miniscule in this world. I didn't even see anything as it all passed.

Who is this person whose body I live in? She's so sad but she can't speak about it. She's so hurt but she can't think about it. Where does she hide these immense feelings? And what do I do with them?

I'm running out of people who I can show the black hole that's starting to collapse in on itself. I don't want to be a bother and I don't want anyone to worry.

I am not sure how I have arrived here.

But here I am.

[fromthemindofacancermoon]

Frien

[bloodmoonmuses]

time lapse | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, established relationship, fluff, experimental prose??? warnings: none!

summary: one day, mark finds out you write poetry about him.

Mark was beautiful in a way that evoked poetry out of you. Not the kind of poetry you’d write in a class, or to a rubric, or written to please that snooty professor whose opinion you unfortunately care about. Not stuffy poetry, nor the kind that’s overindulgent in its prose. Not forced devotion.

He evoked the kind of poetry that only exists in the mundane. Snippets of domesticity like just-cooled tempered glass: fragility strengthened by warmth. Remnants of heat hissing faintly amidst silence… The ghost-like sensation of fingertips that once grazed your abdomen, moved to brush tendrils of hair away from your face, and ultimately cradled your blazing cheeks. Warmth like when you steal his hoodie and the body heat is still living in the garment. Warmth like recognition pooling in Mark’s eyes as he wakes to you each morning.

It’s the mundanity of Mark you were obsessed with.

His eyes hold multitudes. You’ve become fluent in their language: the sheen that floods them when he talks about his friends. The haze that clouds them after a particularly exhausting day. Their absence when his eyes crinkle with laughter. Everything about him was poetry, worthy of being chronicled in sonnet form. There’s a sort of rigid lyricalness that encompasses Mark. The tact and efficacy with which he executes choreography, contrasted against his feather-light vocal timbre. You especially liked when he sang, breathy melodies escaping like playground secrets. 

His voice is gravely, yet youthful. Buoyant but hearty. Full and bright. His terms of endearment ring like a question, like he’s confirming that his feelings are in fact reciprocated each time he proclaims his love to you.

Mark says, “Love you, baby.” but “baby” has an upward lilt to it. The affection is caught at his throat. You feel it too. When he leaves and says, “Be back soon, my love,” you nod. Because he will be back, and you will be waiting, and it’s cute that he still needs confirmation of such considering you’ve been together so long. “Stay healthy,” he says. You tell him to do the same, shoving a cup of tea in his hands as he bounds out the door. This is your way of saying “stay warm” as well, though time doesn’t allow you to actually verbalize this. 

Mark’s perpetually running late.

When you wrote about this, the idea would show up in lines like: “Time decays faster in his wake- eroding at the edges like a distorted strip of film. But when he’s in your eye line, the background of time bleeds into watercolor- faded blues and denim grays swirling in the now frozen frame.” When Mark enters, time stops. 

One day, Mark stumbled upon your journal. “I sing about you, it’s only fair!” he exclaimed as he noted the sheepish look overtaking your features. It felt like being torn open. You’d rather read the poetry to him than endure the silence that blanketed the room as he read. But he insisted.

“How do you feel?” You had asked in a breathless whisper, eyes shut tightly to rid yourself of the embarrassment that settled in the flush of your face.

Mark smiles. “Seen,” he said.

[stalkerofthegods]

Lady Nyx/Nox deep dive, straight to the point info

Lady Nyx is wonderful, her beauty even ascends the stars, May we respect and adore Lady Nyx as a goddess and as a wonderful mother.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Herbs • Dahlias, Cannas, Some lobelia, Night-blooming jasmine, Moonflowers, Datura, Tuberose, Evening primrose, Queen of the Night epiphyllum, Herbs that only grow at night, black leaves, black flowers, Blackthorn, Cypress, Holly, Juniper, Locust, Pomegranate, Witch Hazel, Comfrey, Honeysuckle, Ivy, Lavender, Mugwort, Patchouli, Primrose, Vervain, Nectarines, Dragon Fruit, Morning Glory, Nightshade, Roses, Lilies, Poppies

Animals• Horses, Owl, dogs, bats, black bulls, Blue Jay, Crow, Sparrow, Snake, Turtle, cat

Zodiac • your moon sign. 

Colors • Black, Dark blue, Dark green, Dark Purple

Crystal• Obisidian, Morion, Jet, Hematite, Onyx, Black tourmaline, Black Sapphire, Black moonstone, Black agate, Shungite, Black calcite, Eye Agate, Amethyst, Andalusite, Apophyllite, Cat's Eye, Hematite, Moss Agate, Moonstone, Petrified Wood, Smokey Quartz

Symbols•  Black wings, Dark clouds, Black fog, Egg, New Moon, Stars, key, veil, poppy, serpents, owls.

you can wear in their honor• you can veil in their honor, PJs 

Deity of• Night, she is the personification of it

Patron of• Night, Sleep, Death, the Fates, Nemesis, Old Age, Darkness, Light, Motherhood, Magic, Mystery, and the unknown;

Offerings•  Black candles, Poetry or songs related to the night, Images of the night sky, Beef, Milk, Black flowers, Black fruits, Dark red wine, Black animal votives, Dew (the one that gathers after sunset), Dark feathers, Dark liquors/beers. Black Tea/Coffee, Symbols of Her children (ex-torch, skull, scissors), Black fabric/veil/cloak, Dark chocolate, Honey/molasses, Viniq (shimmery liqueur that looks like a galaxy in a bottle)

Devotional• Go star gazing, donate to owl shelters, go to the zoo to see her animals, draw her, listen to a playlist for her, go camping under the stars, go glamping to look at the stars, Take a night time walk, Get a good night’s rest, Learn a new star or constellation each week, Stay up late, do something you enjoy without fearing the dark, Sleep with your windows open, Burn a candle that represents the stars, Sleep in every once and a while, Watch an astronomy documentary, Be extra polite to those who have to work the night shift, Wear dark colors, Learn about which animals are active at night in your area, Go for a night drive, Do divination at night, Listen to music with your headphones in, Use silver, black, and gold glitter, Plant some flowers that only bloom at night, Use a star/constellation app, Read the House of Night series, Watch the evening light fade away into darkness (you can do this in your window, or watch a lapse on YouTube of it), Wear more things with the stars or planets on them, Defend someone who is vulnerableble, Turn your electronics off a couple hours before bed each night, Drink an herbal tea with cinnamon before bed, If you’re staying up late already, make your night productive. (Ex- Complete some homework, tidy up your room), Keep a dream journal, Learn how to identify owls by their calls, Make the night sky your screensaver/home screen, Wear scents that remind you of the night, watch a video of the stars, and sleep with stars in the background.

Ephithets• Bringer of Night, Mother of Daimones, Mother of the Cosmos, Subduer of Gods and Men, Mother of Mysteries, The Dark and Shining, The Winged, of the Great Shadows, Dressed in Stars, Dew Bringer, of the Witching Hour, 

of the Deep and Silent Dark.

Equivalents (alike but not the same)• Nótt (Norse), Selene (Greek), Hecate (Greek), Nox (Roman), Nyx (Greek), Al-Qaum (Arabian), Nabatean (Arabain), Itzpapalotl (Aztec), Metztli (Aztec), Tezcatlipoca (Aztec), Khonsu (Egyptian), Nut (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• Sudden fascination with stars, seeing her Symbols and attributes all of the sudden, a pull to her and the night.

Vows/omans• None, maybe wedding vows, but many say she just has Erebus as a boyfriend, not a husband.

Morals• Unkown, but most suspect Morally grey.

Courting• Erebus (darkness)

Personality• She is motherly and protective of her children, 

Home• Tartruas 

Mortal or immortal • immortal 

Fact• The first Deity to exist, 

Roots• Gaia, Birthed at the beginning of time, lived in Tartarus. 

Parentage• Chaos 

Siblings• Gaia (goddess of the Earth/mother nature), Erebus (god of darkness), Uranus/Ouranos (god of the heavens), and Tartarus (god of the underworld).

Pet• The two/four horses pulling her chariot 

Children • Aether and Hemera (Day) by Erebus (Darkness), Thanatos (gentle death), Hypnos (sleep), she also made the spirits - the Fates, Sleep, Death, Strife, and Pain. Aether, Moros, Apate, Dolos, the Keres, the Moirai, the Hesperides, Oizys, Momus, Philotes, Geras, Eris

Appearance in astral or gen• In ancient art Nyx was depicted as either a winged goddess or charioteer, sometimes crowned with dark mists.

Festivals • Wiccan Yule, Wiccan Samhain, Winter solstice, you can do a ritual for her on the full and dark moon, but there is a feast you can hold in her honor, which is called Lemuralia.

Day • her time is Twilight, Dusk, and Midnight, and her day is Monday  

Season• winter 

Direction• north 

Status• Primordial Goddess of night, even Zeus fears her, one of the first primordial beings alive, she was there for the creation of the universe.

Planet• Moon

Her Tarot cards• Death, Temperance

Scents/Inscene • Myrtle, Camphor, Patchouli, Lavender, watery, musky, earthy

My opinion • She is a very hard divine being to find information on, I hope this helps, but I've never met her before, I assume she's great, my friend says she is kind and calls her ‘Mother’ 

Prayers• 

In general

Beautiful, black-eyed Nyx, cloaked in darkness, older than old, daughter of misty Chaos, mother of great and mighty spirits, I call to you. Ever-present one, you live in the shadows; we know you in the dusk, in the comfort of the night. Broad-winged Nyx, you clasp the hand of bright Hemera, each eve and morn, you greet her with love and sorrow for only in those moments may you embrace your child. Goddess, awesome one, in your realm are we all unblemished, in your realm do lovers’ promises ring true, in your realm are all things possible, if only until daybreak. Nyx, I honor you.

Small prayer 

“Nyx, mother of the night, mother of sleep, mother of death: Might your darkness embrace me Might your energy caress me Might you be mine and Might I be yours Blessed be.“

In general 

O ancient Goddess, born of Chaos and steeped in shadow, I honor you now and always. With eyes which have watched the beginnings of all that is, see us now embracing your sleep and mystery. With power that strikes fear into the hearts of the most revered of Gods,

I remember your strength when I am searching for my own. In the starless night where light shines not i will give my thanks to your Greatness, And surrender to the dark.

Links/websites/sources • Nyx - Greek-Goddesses Wiki - Fandomhttps://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Nyx.html mystical-sleepy-musings <a href="https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/nyx/">Nyx – Greek Goddess of The Night: https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net</a> - Greek Gods & Goddesses, June 10, 2018 https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nyx https://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Nyx.htmlhttps://www.britannica.com/topic/Hypnoshttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/nyx/https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends-europe/nyx-goddess-0017255 https://www.worldhistory.org/Nyx/https://gods-and-demons.fandom.com/wiki/Nyx https://www.moonfallmetaphysical.com/s/stories/nyx-greek-goddess#google_vignette https://www.moonfallmetaphysical.com/s/stories/nyx-greek-goddess#google_vignette https://mythopedia.com/topics/nyx https://oldworldgods.com/greeks/nyx-greek-goddess-of-the-night/https://www.vintageisthenewold.com/game-pedia/what-does-nyx-goddess-look-like https://aminoapps.com/c/hellenistic-polytheism/page/item/nyx/Vn7V_bmCvIP7XMLvlKzJJbl2lGY55JLxDZhttps://thebacchichuntress.tumblr.com/post/127160005123/offerings-to-nyx/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/161308460295/nyxhttps://tuiliel.tumblr.com/post/139053552874/epithets-of-nyx/amphttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_night_deities https://greekpagan.com/category/prayers-2/nyx/#:~:text=older%20than%20old%2C%20daughter%20of,the%20comfort%20of%20the%20night.Magickal Spothttps://magickalspot.com › nyxGoddess Nyx: Prayers, Symbols, Books & More [Guide]https://www.tumblr.com/moonlitmagic/189775766368/prayer-for-nyx

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

This post is payment to my friend @briislame

May Nyx cover you with the calmness of night.

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[jeanbie]

SHARKBAIT ★ masterlist.

pairing: tolya x reader

warnings: long distance relationships, set after s2 | wc: 6.9k

note: i'm pining over tolya right now. also i know a loooot of fans view tolya as aroace so hopefully this reaches the right audience (and if the show runners or leigh ever confirm this then pls tell me)!!

⏤ Tolya can go months without seeing your face, but he can make out your shape in the darkness of the ship when you steal your visits, fleeing when the sun begins to light up the decks.

Tolya knew what it meant to long, to pine, to wonder and yearn for something you couldn't have. He saw it a thousand times with his poems, between the lines and in each stanza where a romance formed with metaphors and analogies; he saw it in his crew as they busied themselves across an unsteady ocean, searching for purpose and meaning in the vastness of blue and brown. He even saw it in his sister and passing maidens, in his captain and his need to be seen as something more than an amplifier, and he saw it in his own life- with his faith and his resilience, with his own novice works of poetry tucked into journals in his bunk, and in the whispers of silence between the two of you whenever he saw you again, and especially in the stretches of days where he didn't see you at all.

On board the Volkvolny, for what felt like years on end, Tolya had nothing but time to become familiar with what it meant to long. He'd stare out across the expanse of the sea, outlining your body in the clouds as they dipped below the horizon, in the waves rippling under the ship as it sailed away from Os Kervo to Kerch. Sometimes he thought he could make out your shape in the darkness of his bunk, a thin ghostly outline come to haunt him in his sleep, to torment his dreams. Often he woke up to a fading outline of body just to the side of his hammock, remembering that you weren't there, and wouldn't be for some time.

He supposed that he was lucky to be on this ship, with the world at his hands. There were days where he was so caught up in the passion of his work, alongside his never-faltering faith, that he didn't have time to think of you, instead only stumbling into your body through dreams, where you came to him as easily as the sea to the shore. Today hadn't been one of those days, and he feared that the crew on board the Volkvolny knew it too well.

It started off with his last nightmare. Taking steps together on a shoreline that looked like it belonged to a dip of earth in Shu Han, Tolya met you on the sands, his hand slotted into your own as he followed behind you, stepping into your sunken footprints. Tolya had been inches from your mouth before he was ripped away with the sound of horns and laughter, drops of water leaking through the deck overhead. Work was demanding his consciousness, and the image of you remained only on his eyelids as he groaned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He'd gone about his day relatively normally after that, or about as normally as he could stomach it. Tamar had seen the worst of his mood- she watched him heave himself up the stairs to the deck with a frown deep on his face, an ache at the corner of his lips tugging down. The front he performed of happiness did little to arouse his crewmates, although they joined the spectacle, letting him think he was giving a performance of a lifetime.

For a while, his mood had settled. He'd only counted seeing you in hallucinations maybe three times, but he'd stopped counting after the third, and couldn't be sure if his mind was allowing him to stick with three for the sake of his own sanity. He'd spotted you in the twist of water under the bowsprit, once in the ripple of the sails and again in the clouds. After the third, his mood was so sour that he opted to be silent for the day's voyage. People never thought they'd miss the sound of his poetry until he took his pitiful vows of silence.

Saints, how he missed you. Each time you were gone, Tolya regretted every second of silence between the two of you, every time he passed up the chance to tell you how much he loved you. And each time you were here, back with him in his arms, he couldn't seem to find the words. You weren't part of the crew on voyage with the Volkvolny, although you were never not welcome as far as Sturmhond was concerned. It was just that you preferred being on land, seeking out thrills and leads and injustice, trying to piece together the gaps in your history. Tolya knew that was what held you to the Crows, and what Inej often said was your lifeline away from him. Still, Tolya yearned for the days you were back with him, however short and fleeting. Months could pass at sea and when he saw you again, it would be like no time had passed at all.

Kerch loomed in the distance. From the crow's nest, he was told that through the spyglass, the oblong shapes of Ketterdam ports could be seen, the buildings packed together tightly and the smoke rising in the air, thick and dark like fires were blooming in the streets. It would be about two days of sailing, if the winds kept up, but if they were lucky, they might arrive ahead of schedule. Tolya couldn't count the moments quick enough- two days would be agonising until he saw you again.

"Yeesh. I kinda miss your poetry right now." Tamar crept up from behind Tolya on the hull of the ship. Not far from where Tolya was standing, with his elbows holding his body up on the side of the beams, was Jacob's ladder, hitting the side of the vessel with irritating small clicks.

Tolya glanced at her, a smile naturally falling into place. As foul as his mood might have been, there was always room in his heart for his sister. "That's something I'll never hear you say again."

His sister grinned. "I'm serious! Go on, give me something?"

Tolya replied with quiet laughter, and Tamar did the same. The twins shared their laughter for a moment before finishing in silence, and Tamar stole a glance as her brother cast his gaze to the water, curving like ribbons around the underbelly of the ship.

"Missing her?" she asked softly.

Tolya rolled his eyes, but saying nothing was as good as admitting it. 

"You know," Tamar continued, spinning so her back was pressed against the beams, "you could always just ask her to come with you." She gestured to the prow, "come with us."

"She wouldn't want to do that," Tolya said, shaking his head.

"Oh, so you asked her already?"

"Well— no."

"Then how'd you know?" 

Tolya sighed, twisting his head. He knew that you were as good as a Crow— although not exactly affiliated in whatever Kaz did or did not do, anybody who knew you knew that you did work for Kaz that filled the gap Inej made on the quest to find her brother. Even before that, you'd told Tolya that Kaz occasionally found himself asking for your help with requests that extended outside of his immediate access. You had been of some help to him finding the name of the slaver ships and traders, of which the Volkvolny was sailing back to Kerch to deliver rescued shipment (one lacking Inej's brother in tow, and the slaver who sold them). 

Your place was on land, on high ground. A bird could fly at sea, yes, but he feared you'd grow restless with little purpose on the ship. Everybody had a place and a role—he knew that simply being there for him wouldn't be a good enough reason for you to abandon whatever work you had unfinished on dry land, which is why he'd never asked you to come in the first place.

Tolya turned to face Tamar, eyeing her side-profile as she meticulously assessed the state of the ship. Many crewmates were down below, rifling through Shu poker cards and coins and sharing ghost stories with cups of ale and wine. 

"Have you ever been so scared of losing something good?" he asked suddenly, making Tamar look back at him. 

"All the time," she replied. 

Tolya dared a glance back at the ocean, relieved that he didn't find you there. "Every time I see her again, it's like magic. Bigger and grander than any kind of Saint-like act. She becomes the most important thing in the room." He blinked. "I don't want that feeling to go away."

Tamar tilted her head, as if to say, 'Go on'. There was a comfort in their twinnish bond, but even with that, Tolya struggled to find the words. Writing poetry was easy—every embarrassing thought could be passed off as fictional prose, but in a conversation it wasn't quite as easy to put on a façade. At the best of times, Tolya was as cool as a sea-cucumber, with an easy going air that put people at ease. Just another performance of a lifetime, but he didn't have to pretend sometimes when he was with his sister.

"We're just very different," Tolya said cautiously, almost like he didn't believe it were true as he said it. "I'm worried she might grow too used to me. Might get restless."

"Bored, you mean?" Tamar interrupted. When Tolya said nothing, she threw herself into extended conversation, "Brother, she adores you. That kind of love is special. And if she didn't love you more when you were doing what you do best- as in, meandering around this beast with your poetry and stupid jokes-" He looked at her with a rising smile- "-then you'd be better off for it."

His stomach churned. He didn't want to be better off without you. 

"Besides," Tamar offered her last words of comfort before pushing herself up and away from him, "there are thousands of men and women in the world for her to see each passing day, and yet she still falls into those arms of yours when we arrive in Ketterdam. If she can love you from a hundred miles away, then I think she'll manage loving you and your quirks on the open sea."

There was an insufferable ache in Tolya's chest whenever he thought back to his conversation with Tamar. 

He'd busied himself the next day, throwing himself into heavy work around the ship as it sailed nearer to the coastline. His crewmates were thankful to see him in reasonably good spirits— Sturmhond had been particularly put off by his lack of comedic timing the day before, and had tried to think back to his own experiences with Alina back in Ravka, putting the pieces together in his own time— but they knew it was bought time with Tolya's pleasantries. Tolya wouldn't be at ease until they docked and only then could his mind be put at ease. It was always the days before returning to Ketterdam where Tolya seemed at his darkest, and it had happened enough times that they should all be used to it, but the sight of his downturned face never got any easier to process.

Night ensued, the moon casting a fickle light to the ocean as it lulled to a cool and calm tempo. The winds were kind tonight, not carrying the wind in an angry gust, and the waves were short and fluid. No storms hid behind thick flurries of clouds, and the creatures below whipped their fins and tails in harmony— no trouble would come tonight, he thought, and glad of it.

Tolya lay in his hammock, staring at the wooden boards above his head. Around him, his crew slept in peaceful slumbers, and to the far side of the room he could see the auburn light of Sturmhond's—now Mal, now that the charade was over— little black lamp sheltered next to a book he'd inherited with his title, now reading to fall asleep. Tolya sighed, his gaze back above. 

The glow of light to his left allowed room for your shape to slowly appear, just an outline that got more hazy in his memory as the months went by. He gulped, the lump in his throat hard and sour tasting, and he closed his eyes quickly to throw away the image of you. Yet you remained, imprinted on his eyelids, smiling as he found sleep to take him away into the night.

When he awoke, he could hear the caw of gulls and loud voices beyond the ship, louder than what he knew his crew to be capable of. Tolya stirred for a moment before coming to his senses, his eyes honing in on the same spot he'd last seen you in above his slumbering form. The forecastle was bathed with yellow light, with the sun at an angle pouring down through the hatch to the upper deck, and as he awoke, Tolya could smell the distinct scent of crab hooks and wet moss, the lingering scent of oil and sewage and copper. Strange, he thought.

Balancing on the hammock, Tolya raised himself with his elbow and stole a glance around the forecastle. Two men lay snoring, too drunk the night before, and he noticed a third figure at the foot of his hammock, their back to him but hiding nothing about their identity. His heart lurched, he baulked, and the hammock twisted beneath him with a sudden jolt and his body was sent to the floor with a thud and a grunt.

"Easy, sharkbait."

Tolya's head whipped up quickly, the click in his neck aching. It was you- Y/N, his beloved Y/N, dressed in a blue coat that looked like Mal's. Underneath you wore a dark brown shirt tucked into your trousers—today the attire was more casual, for when you were at work you wore black and black alone. Inej told him it was to blend in with the night, but Tolya reckoned it was also because it flattered you.

You smiled at him warmly, laughing when he didn't move from the floor.

"Come on. Don't tell me after a few months you've forgotten this face?"

Tolya's mouth opened and closed. "What—no! How could I—wait, is that Mal's coat?"

He heard your laugh again as you drew near, pulling his bicep to pick him up off the floor. You were more than capable of pulling his weight, but you still found fun in pretending you couldn't. Tolya rose from the floor, both of his salt-soaked hands gently wrapping around your wrists as he faced you. A smile dawned on his lips as he drank in the image of you; fully fleshed out, solid, real, not a figment of his desperate imagination.

"I saw him up top," you told him. "He looks good as Sturmhond, right? I was almost charmed." You said it with a grin that made Tolya think otherwise, and you shuffled closer towards his torso, the action welcomed as his grip fastened slightly around your arms. 

"Charmed enough to take his clothes?" Tolya asked. He knew that there would never be anything there with Mal—Saints, everybody knew that. Mal was too busy having his own mental quarrels with Alina to entertain the thought of somebody else, and well, you seemed perfectly content being charmed by a different captain below deck, smiling at you with sleep still hanging in his eyes.

"I always did look good in blue," you said.

Tolya hummed. "Yeah."

Falling into a silence, Tolya's eyes flickered across your face, soaking up the sight of you, making a mental note of what had changed while he'd been away. Not much, he found, bar a few scratches across your left cheek flanking down to your chin, and a greenish bruise under your eye. He frowned, moving his hand to ghost his fingers across the painted skin. Meanwhile, you did the same, observing changes in his appearance, concluding every detail: the richer tan across his skin, the stubbly pricks of hair around his jawline and the appearance of a new mark under his right nostril. Drunk on the image of him, you fixed your eyes back on his, surprised to see him already looking.

"What're you doing down here anyway, sharkbait?" you asked. Your voice was lower, quieter and softer, but he knew it had nothing to do with a shift in mood. Instead, you were just simply close enough for him to hear you without strain, close enough to hear you whisper, to hear you breathing. 

Tolya offered a boyish smile. "You know."

"Had a long night?"

"Terribly long."

"What, enjoying someone's company til sunrise?" you teased, entertaining what could be signs of an insecurity in the bilge of your belly. Tolya pretended to ignore it, yet his heart sank nonetheless. 

"Come on, you know me better than that," he laughed, bringing you in closer to him. Tolya nestled his nose against yours, moving it across your face to your cheekbone and closing you in with his arms around your shoulders. He sighed, comfortable. He'd missed this, the way your body felt against his, the way your arms felt around him. Saints, he'd missed this. Tolya took in a breath, his nose above your ear. "I've missed you."

Tolya heard a hum near his sternum, rumbling with a small vibration. It made his body bristle slightly but he warmed to your touch, his arms tightening around you.

"Me too, moi sol ye tselai," you replied, feeling his nose twitch as a smile grew on his face. 

For a moment you stayed like that, entangled in the quiet of the forecastle. Tolya didn't waste a single second of it, not after the torment he'd given himself just hours before. After some time, Tolya felt you wiggling in his arms and he relaxed, opening the distance between you as he leaned back to look at your face. You looked back at him with a smile, head angled up to marvel at him, and Tolya's eyes shifted into crescent moons as he brought his head down to kiss you. 

His one hand cradled the side of your face, the other at the back of your neck, and you made no resists to his advancements. Tolya kissed you deeply, lost in the familiar taste of your lips, sweet like the breakfast you must have ate before coming down here. He felt you kiss him back, the pressures combined, your hands up around his wrists. Your head leaned back slightly, his dominance slightly more assertive, as he captured your lips once, twice, thrice, never allowing a minute of rest.

When he did pull back, he was met with your widened eyes, shining in the light, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and refrain from a smile. He saw it anyway, kissing you once more in a swift gesture and bringing himself back in what he thought was a commendable act of self restraint.

"I take it we are in Ketterdam," he asked, more of like a statement. It had to be true, since you were here. Unless he was dreaming, which he had a sinking feeling that he could be, perhaps trapped in a powerful lucid dream, some kind of sleep paralysis that had him smooching something akin to a squid on the prow. Unlikely, but not impossible, given his mood these days.

"How else would I be here?" you replied with a gentle laugh. 

He held you by your waist as you turned, observing the forecastle he sometimes called home. Tolya freed his grasp with reluctance, holding your fingers til the last second and he fell forward a few steps trying to grab you back. You moved around the hammocks, ducking under a lamp with a feigned interest in the bunks. Tolya didn't like to use his heartrending on you, but he could hear your hammering heartbeat even without using his talents. He smiled in private, watching you with adoration.

"I arrived here as soon as you docked," you explained, still looking around. Tolya hummed with interest, leaning his weight against a support beam. "I was having breakfast with Nina when Jesper told me that your Volkvolny was coming to the harbour. I finished, paid and came here as fast as I could. You didn't meet me at the deck, but it was so early, I figured you'd be sleeping. I greeted your crew, shook hands with your new captain, hugged Tamar, stole a coat and then came down here." You smiled, spinning back to look at him. Your bravado was complete. "To answer your question—yes. Welcome back to Ketterdam."

Tolya loved when you launched into explanations like this. He had a series of entries in a journal you shared where you'd given full detailed accounts of your adventures, but the ink never did justice to the words as you said them. Tolya's grin widened. 

"Kaz wanted to speak with you, too," you added, stepping back towards him and stretching out your hand. Tolya's stomach churned again when he took it with his own, feeling the small blisters across your skin from all your ropework and midnight affairs as an unofficial Crow. Like his own, actually, littered with chafes and burns from the ropes to the masts, sea salted splits across his hands whenever he got too heavy handed around the deck or in other ports. 

"Let's go up, then."

You led the way, all the way to the stairs where Tolya enjoyed watching you ascend before following. It'd been a minute, he'd take whatever he could to feel like everything was good again. Once he stepped up out of the dappled light of the forecastle, he cringed in the brightness of the sun. It was never very bright in Ketterdam, but anything was brighter than the lamplight below. The harbour was alive with noise and merchants. He never missed the smell of Ketterdam, although he admitted that it was a stench that one really did grow accustomed to, as it were with any foreign harbour.

From the deck, he could see the stretch of sea behind him and back ahead, a small cluster of faces across the way. He knew them all already, each by both name and face, and he stepped towards his sister-in-command with you close in tow. His body shivered when your hands smoothed around his middle to manoeuvre around him and Tolya watched you meet your hip with Inej's. Tolya spared another hungry glance at you and then looked back at Kaz expectantly, as he launched into an explanation on affairs in Ketterdam.

The Volkvolny would stay in Ketterdam just shy of a day, giving Tolya more anxiety than it did comfort. There wouldn't be enough time for him to remind you of how much he missed you, and there was certainly no privacy for him to put it into actions instead of words. But business needed to be swift, that was if they wanted a good chance at catching the ships that both you and Kaz felt could hold the secrets to Inej's brothers' whereabouts. The Crow Club was magnificent, but no place for a love-filled reunion, and he couldn't see either of you feeling particularly romantic in the streets. With the Volkvolny being groomed for their next sail, Tolya resorted to holding you close at all times, with meaningful stares and listening with colourful interest about your life over a table in the club, while Kaz oversaw his business and friends reunited once more. Tolya ate up what he could learn about your life during the three months he was at sea.

You had been working with Kaz to crack down harder on slavery leads, finding nothing much about your own family and little to nothing about anybody else's. Inej had been given a much narrower list of names thanks to your good work on the streets, and Tolya heard from Jesper that you'd been a useful asset to the Crow's, although always declined the hospitality of their affiliation for some reason. Meanwhile Tolya offered what he thought might interest you the most about his time away; battles against rough waves, giant squids and krakens lurching from below, sharks and dolphins scratching the surface of the water with their fins chased by swirling serpents; funny tales from travellers in different ports, a retelling of Mal's first night getting drunk at sea. 

Tolya thought, as you mused and laughed opposite him at the table with your friends and found-family, that you were most beautiful when you were off guard. As he stared at you, he felt his heart tug once more. In just a few hours, there'd be nothing left to look at, just shadows in the dark, voices in the wind mimicked by sirens as they fondled the underbelly of the boat, enticing deaf ears to the water as the crew grumbled and sang over their call. The thought of leaving you made him feel sick.

He briefly thought about what Tamar had said. It was true that Tolya had never asked you to join him at sea, but he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be. There would always be something keeping you here, keeping you both apart.

"How long this time?" you asked, when you both managed to steal some time alone to walk along the dark streets of Ketterdam. With Rollins in prison and with Kaz taking command of a smidge of the barrel, you figured it would be safe out here. Besides, Tolya was tall enough to tower over even Fjerdans, and that was no easy feat. Anyone dumb enough to pick a fight with a man his size could break a few bones trying, even if you both knew that out of the two of you, you had more practice taking down the big guys.

Tolya dipped his head. "If we're lucky, then a month or so." He paused, thinking, "You said that list you gave to Inej was accurate, right?"

"I think so. Every lead I had took me right back to those three names," you replied. Inej had flinched at the sight of them, meaning your hunch was accurate enough to give Tolya the hope of coming back soon. 

"If the winds are kind, and the journey is good, we can be back before it starts getting cold here," Tolya said, almost like he was making a wish at a well or a plea to a Saint. "Without any luck on our side, it could be longer..."

You frown, looking over at Tolya and tightening your grasp on his hand. "We'll manage."

"I hope so, milaya," Tolya said, kissing the back of your hand. 

Once you both reached a bright streetlight, you turned to face him. "Do you think it will ever end?"

Tolya paused. "What do you mean?"

"As in…this search. Once you find Inej's brother, what comes next?" you ask. You turn away slightly, Tolya's gaze tight on your movements. "Suppose you'll go sailing to wherever next, right? Or…will you stay a while?"

Tolya knew what you were asking, obvious in what you didn't say. There had been countless times where Tolya had imagined himself throwing his life on the Volkvolny away just to be with you, to retire with you to some peaceful town with no worries, nothing at all but peace gifted by Alina tearing down the fold and enough money and shelter to settle down, explore the world, fall deeper in love. But the Volkvolny was his life, his meaning when he didn't fall into his faith. You were his love, his beloved, but neither one could expect the other to give up their identity to be somebody they weren't.

"I'm not sure," Tolya said truthfully. "And yourself? You're so busy with Kaz here, you may well be a Crow by the next time I see you. Your work seems to spring up like fleas."

Your mouth tilted downwards. He was right. Tolya was the love of your life but there would always be the issue of work. Without your demand with the Crows, what were you? Nothing but a shadow skulking around the city, tailing crooks, locating slaves? You supposed you could be more—you'd thought about it a few times, getting up and going with Tolya wherever he asked you to go. But those were dreams, frightening dreams you weren't sure Tolya saw eye to eye with. His voyages felt to you like escapes.

"Well—" Tolya broke through the silence, using his index finger to pick up your head by your chin. When your eyes met, he smiled warmly, kissing you. "Whatever comes next, I'll be there waiting for you."

Tamar stood beside Kaz and Mal as Tolya heaved himself up the ramp and onto the ship. You were close behind, shadowing his steps, cautious about even a step of distance. Tamar sighed loudly, and Kaz looked over at her and followed her gaze.

"What is it?" he asked. Kaz thought he already knew, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

"Oh, a lovers parting," she said dramatically. 

Mal smiled, not quite reaching his eyes. "If they're trying to be subtle about things, they're doing a terrible job."

Kaz observed the couple. Kaz knew you well enough to respect you, perhaps even call you a friend, and he had no obvious qualms with Tolya. He'd never forget his loyalty before Alina tore down the fold, and had no concerns about him being a weakness to who might just be his next Crow. He stared at the back of Inej's head for a second too long as she helped someone heave some shipment to a different compartment of the ship, and then he looked back to Tolya and yourself with a funny feeling twist in his stomach.

"Why grovel?" Kaz asked. "Y/N can leave at any time if she wishes."

Tamar glanced over quickly, as if the news was surprising to her. "She's not working?"

"Her work is done," Kaz said plainly. Tamar and Mal's look of confusion made him twitch with slight annoyance, but he otherwise elaborated on what they didn't know: "I told Y/N to find leads on the slavers. She supplied the list of three and now you will be on your way to locate them. Her task has been completed, and she is free to go."

"Yeesh," Tamar said, "way to make her sound expendable."

"Everybody is."

Kaz looked back at Tolya, holding you in his arms. "I have Nina on a lead already. Until I have something for Y/N to do, she is free to do whatever she pleases." He added as an afterthought, "After all, she's not under my employment."

Hm. Tamar and Mal exchanged a look, but said nothing.

"Will you be here? When we come back?" Tolya asked you. From afar, he could sense his sister's lingering gaze, and he spared a look, alarmed when he saw her, Mal and Kaz watching the pair of you.

"Most likely," you said. You followed his gaze and nodded your head in their direction, Tolya leading you by the waist back to the step-down where Kaz stood at the top, like a bouncer guarding the way. Tolya greeted each one with a glance and a smile before looking back at you.

There wasn't enough time this time around. Tolya's heart wrenched as he looked at you, trying to remember every detail before he had to leave. Their stops in Ketterdam were never very long, but how he longed for a day more by your side, simply one more hour in your company. The thought of leaving you made his throat harden, tears springing behind his eyes. A blink would surely set them free, but he knew the ways to keep them hidden until he was safe in the darkness, not until you came to him in a premonition like a sick joke.

Tamar and Mal—Sturmhond, now he was back on the wood of the ship— gave a look to Kaz in farewell and stepped around the back of you to move further on the deck. Tolya's heart quickened and you watched them go with a rapid look, glancing back at Tolya with twinkling eyes, twinkles he knew were tears and not reflections of light.

"None of that," he said quietly, with a small smile and he reached out to cup your face. Tolya guided you close for a kiss, and a bell rang from somewhere in the harbour and his heart leaped to his throat. He tugged you closer, kissing you harder. Kaz looked away, fixated on Inej but giving you at least the luxury of some privacy. Tolya lost himself in your kiss, his fingertips brushing your hairline and he swore he could taste the salt of your tears between his lips. Tolya pulled away from you slightly, his eyes slightly wide and breath raspy and all of a sudden: "Come with me."

There was a beat of silence.

If other crewmates heard, they didn't give much away. Kaz had torn his eyes from Inej in a painful defeat, with no option but to assess the lovers before him, and truth be told, Tamar and Sturmhond never stopped watching. Tolya didn't allow the silence to kill his courage. If he didn't say it now, he never would.

"I love you," Tolya said. "I love you so much—eya fyela chi, hm? And I know that your heart is here, with the city and the Crows and your life but, Saints, Y/N I see you in my dreams, I see you in the water and the sky and hear you in the ocean breeze. When I close my eyes, I see you in flashes. You have bewitched me, you are in my soul. I love you. Whenever we are apart, it's like a torment." He gulped. He sounded a lot like some of the amateur poetry he wrote when he felt lonely, poetry he sometimes recited to his crew if he got drunk enough. "So, please, please come with me. See the ocean, go across the sea. Be with me, stay with me—come with me."

His eyes searched your face for a sign, something—anything. You blinked, bewildered, holding his hands as they cupped your face.

"But…" you began to shake your head, and his heart sank deeper, "but my work…"

You spared a glance to Kaz. He could act like he hadn't been listening, but it wouldn't do anybody any good. You were almost startled to see him already observing you. 

"I don't need you," Kaz said simply. "I just owe you a debt."

"But, the slaves—"

"You did your job," he repeated. "So you're free to go."

Tolya was just as surprised as you were. He looked at Kaz with round eyes and met yours in a simultaneous turn. He wasn't quite sure what to say about any of it. Was Kaz telling you to go? Was he giving you permission, saying go, leave, or were you now useless to the Crows? Was it only because he had asked? Maybe you didn't want to leave.

"Am I fired?" you asked dumbly.

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of a smirk on Kaz's face. "I expect your contract will need renewing upon your arrival. There are many things to do in Ketterdam, just not now. Not for you, at least."

You blinked. Processing his words felt like an eternity—you were free to go. Kaz had made it clear that you'd still have a life on shore when you arrived, if you even left in the first place. Marvelling at the thought, you looked back at Tolya. Travelling the oceans with him; being in his arms each night, getting to know the parts of him reserved to his crew, his faith and his poetry and his talents on the deck, seeing what caused the scars on his hands, what caused the creases in his skin; what he ate and drank, what he wore on different days, how his hair fell in the mornings when it wasn't fastened out of his face. All of that for the taking, and you just had to say the words.

Tolya's face didn't waver, giving nothing away as you said nothing to him. For a while, he thought he knew what you'd say. Tolya, I'm sorry, but I just can't—

"But where would I sleep?"

He hadn't expected that.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. "I think there's room for you in my hammock, if you'd like." He caught your look of doubt and grinned, "Aw, come on. I'm not that big."

"What would I do?"

Slowly but surely, Tolya thought he could sense hope building inside of him. You hadn't yet declined. Your piqued interest gave food for thought as Tolya studied your expressions.

"Well," he said, thinking about it. Actually he'd already thought about it, more than ten times out at sea, twice within the few hours they were in Ketterdam, "you could do anything you wanted. Gaze out at the seas. Play card games—in no time, you'll be a better player than Tamar. You could paint the decks, climb the masts, sit in the nest all day for all I care. I just want you to be with me, for longer than just a few hours." 

Tolya's eyes were almost pleading. You gazed into them. There was no need to think, you already knew what you wanted to say. Chewing the skin of your inner cheek, your eyes flickered to Mal. As Sturmhond, you figured whatever he said went. Tolya followed your gaze and laughed when he spotted the source of your interest.

Mal's eyes flickered, like he'd been alerted back to the present. He looked around innocently, refraining from smiling when he caught the glimmer in Tamar's eyes next to him. 

"Don't look at me," Mal said to you, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands, "I'm not in charge."

When you next looked at Tolya, you were smiling. From the corner of your eye, Tamar clapped Mal on the shoulder and disappeared into the crew, helping Nadia unload cargo to a different spot below deck. For a second, Mal looked as though he didn't know what to do with himself, until he shuffled further towards the bow, scanning the horizon. Kaz was no longer on the ship when you turned to acknowledge him. You saw the shape of his coat disappear back into the masses in the harbour, and Jesper extended his hat in a farewell and turned to follow. Nina would understand, you hoped, as you were sure she'd still be occupied with freeing her 'hunk of meat'.

"What do you say, lapushka?" Tolya asked. He knew he was cheating by using the Ravkan tongue on you. You'd mentioned it was your mother language only once in passing, and he'd never wasted a second on charming you with it. He ran his hands up and down your arms, arching to look into your eyes with a wide smile on his face. Tolya grinned as he moved with your shyness, a laugh huffing through his lips. "Hm? Will you come with me?"

You laughed, giggled in his arms, as he brought you closer with a kiss under your eye. Squirming, you faked revolt, wrestling out of his grasp. Your smile told him your answer—the rest was roleplay. 

"I know we're going far from home," he said, watching as someone stepped close to pull up the ramp from the harbour. The distinct clink of the anchor filled his ears, departure would be soon and if you wanted to say no, then now was the time. You never did. "But I promise I'll take care of you."

You gazed at him fondly, reaching up to steal a kiss from his lips. He lingered, his face warm in the rising sun. "You can focus on your business, and I'll keep you safe from harm."

Tolya gasped teasingly. "You know the way to a man's heart, I see."

He pulled himself away, with some reluctance, with a grin and shuffled to aid his mates with assembling the ship. Before he could stray too far, you hooked your finger around the strap over his shoulders, used to hold his ensemble of guns and weapons. Tolya looked back as he felt the pull, the adoration in his gaze never faltering.

"Only the hearts of men I love," you told him, and he smiled, bigger and brighter, tilting his head as his eyes folded into Cheshire smiles before he winked, dipping his head back to look at his crew.

You watched him retreat along the deck, his assertion cool and respectful, commanding the attention of the crew as they fell into their formations. Figuring you had time to find your place, you stood rooted where you had been standing this time, casting one final look at the harbour; you bid silent farewell to the streetlights and carts, to the horses snuffling as they loaded merchandise and travellers into the carriages pulled by their strength, to the place you lovingly called home, until a new one found its way to you in the shape of a man named Tolya, who wherever you were together became your new anchor, the new place you fell to for comfort and safety. The man you loved, yours for the taking, for a life stretching past the horizon across that plane of endless sea.

[blanche-elizabeth-devereaux]

Ayo , what's your headcanons for Arthur x Molly?

PLEASE!! oooh I have so many thoughts!! I love them in spite of everything (I have a very bad habit of falling in love with rarepairs 😩). these are canon timeline headcanons, but I kinda have separate modern au ones too lol

like most loves, theirs started out as a friendship.

they initially bonded over art - Molly with her poetry and Arthur with his drawings

it's also how they got to know each other (bc it's so much easier to be open up when talking isn't completely necessary)

it all started with them sitting quietly by the cliffs at Horseshoe Overlook when Molly asked him what he was drawing. Arthur was hesitant, but he told her it was a portrait of his mother, long passed. in an unspoken exchange of vulnerability, molly decided to share a poem she wrote while incredibly upset and homesick.

sometimes Arthur draws little illustrations for Molly's poems in the corner of her journal pages when she's not looking

(she puts up a front of being upset but they both know she loves it)

Molly! can! sing!! tho she's surprisingly shy about it, so she only allows Arthur to hear her when they're on the outskirts of camp

these are some of Arthur's favorite moments.

when he's nodding off against a tree to the sound of Molly's soft singing, for a brief moment he's allowed to imagine a different life (one where they're sitting on porch overlooking the sunset, with the horrors of the outlaw life far behind them and a simple one ahead).

they're always looking for reasons to spend time together! so Arthur offers to teach her his (admittedly limited) herbalist knowledge and they're always looking for excuses to go foraging together.

Molly may or may not have screamed the first, but Arthur was mostly able to stop himself from laughing)

with each moment they spend together, Molly forgets more and more about her feelings for Dutch

Hosea can see how Arthur & Molly are sweet on each other but still keeps it to himself, in spite of his guilt for not telling Dutch

it's nothing compared to the guilt and anger Arthur feels for wanting to run away with his mentor's lover

Mary-Beth is also able to see everything very clearly, but she finds it romantic rather than sordid (& she may or may not have started writing a story entirely based on them)

even though they know Molly's relationship with Dutch is fading, neither of them can bring themselves to act on anything

UNTIL!!!

until Arthur is kidnapped by the O'Driscolls.

Molly has never been more afraid in her entire life, not even when they were trapped in Colter and surrounded by death

once he's escaped and back in camp, Molly sneaks into Arthur's tent every night to sit by his side during his recovery, whether he's conscious or not

unfortunately for Molly, Dutch doesn't really notice her absence during this time.

everyone else around camp pretends not to hear the beautiful, almost whispered singing coming from inside

they share their first kiss almost immediately after Arthur wakes up for the first time in the quiet of his closed tent (his brush with death a painful reminder that what they have is so painfully temporary)

all in all I adore them please and thank you 😌

[frozenharmonica]

I've been pursuing poetry a little so I made Sadie a journal just like Arthur!!

The faded parts are intentional because I wanted to make a worn out effect! my choice of words aren't too too perfect but I still tried

[haydenigmatic]

Doria/n Muriel

Meet Doria/Dorian, a figure of striking allure and concealed complexities. Disowned by their noble lineage, their past is marred by a mother's tragic death, a resentful father, and a treacherous kidnapping by pirates.

Their face claim, for a M!Dorian is a mix between Can Yaman and Ian Somerhalder, for a F!Doria I'm not entirely sure but Alessandra Ambrosio could work. the voice is Carmilla (Jaime Murray) and Adam Driver.

Family Dynamics:

Duke Walranus - Father's Resentment: Doria/Dorian's relationship with their father is strained due to the blame unjustly placed upon them for their mother's death during childbirth. The father's resentment and emotional distance have fuelled Doria/Dorian's desire for revenge.

Duchess Katriona - Mother's Legacy: The memory of their mother is shrouded in sorrow and mystery. Doria/Dorian clings to the silver locket containing her portrait, the only tangible connection to a woman whose presence was overshadowed by tragedy.

Sour New Family Ties: The younger wife of their father, that used to be his paid companion, gave him a son, a half-brother Doria/n has never met, yet has taken everything away from him.

Some details about them:

Memorable Quote: "Trust no one, and you'll never be disappointed."

Has a particular fondness for the sea, and the sound of crashing waves can evoke both nostalgia and a haunting sense of loss.

There's an air of ruthlessness about Doria/Dorian, a demeanour that remains unwavering, even when facing moral dilemmas or causing harm.

Doria/Dorian is an insomniac, haunted by restless nights filled with vivid dreams that often blur the lines between past and present.

One of Doria/Dorian's guilty pleasures is indulging in poetry. They keep a hidden journal filled with verses that explore the complexities of their own emotions.

Possesses a distinctive silver locket containing a small, faded portrait of their mother, the only tangible connection to a past filled with loss.

The easiest way to ignite Doria/Dorian's wrath is to harm a child, a trigger that transforms their usual composure into a tempest of fury.

In their role as quartermaster, Doria/Dorian is known for making ruthless decisions, ensuring the ship runs efficiently, even if it means sacrificing sentiment.

Their trust issues run deep; they've learned that betrayal often comes from those closest to them, making it challenging for anyone to earn their genuine trust.

Their father, the Duke, painted them as the cause of their mother's death.

Doria/Dorian's taste for vengeance against their father simmers beneath the surface, a flame fuelled by years of perceived betrayal.

[hairlessgoblin]

II. Passively Possessive

Part 2 of:

A/N: Im excited to have you guys read this second part. I took a while and it might not be grammatically correct but I did my best. I hope you enjoy it!

CREDITS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

@saradika for the beautiful dividers

@galesleftearring for being my first galemancer and tumblr mutual

@the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep @yolo-swaginz @beeblisss for reblogging part 1 and being absolute sweethearts 🥹

The next literacy class had come around quicker than expected. Not to mention how paranoid you were about bumping into Gale again. You had made an effort to keep your mind away from your last awkward interaction. Sadly, every time you sat in a classroom, you painfully cringed at the memory.

 

Now again, on your way to class, you decided to stop by the bathrooms. You fixed your hair in the mirror and placed your glasses back on your face. Coming out, you bump forcefully into someone.

 

“Watch it! What in the hell has got you in a hurry?” the person on the other side of the door complains. You step out, and a tall half-orc looks down at you. "Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He steps forward, closing the space between both of you. Your back is pressed against the textured wall. “Step back now, or I will make your face burn.” You warn them, feeling the hot breath of their smirk on your face. "Mmm, I can tell you’re fiery. The tips of your elf ears are almost glowing.” He laughs. You waste no time in conjuring a fireball into your fingertip and pointing it bellow his chin.

 

“You are lucky. I value my education over incinerating your thick skull. Get out of my way or burn.” The half-orc is taken aback and opens the way for you to get out. You swiftly turn the corner and bump chest to chest with the one and only Gale. Your complexion was a shade of raging red and your pupils dilated with the full concentration of your spells. The warm residual arcana flows through your body.

 

Gale looks into your eyes, trying to bring you back from the anger and wrath boiling in your blood. “Don’t let him get to you. Such a dimwitted sorcerer doesn’t deserve your attention or your gaze.” He places his hands on your shoulders. He was angry that someone had the audacity to treat you this way. You feel your muscles start to relax with his words. You take a deep breath.

 

"...and I would have to get a new desk partner. That would certainly be a hassle; I haven’t found anyone as competent as you for the position.” You let out a laugh. His eyes are bright, and he feels accomplished to have lightened up the mood.

 

“Thank you.” You feel the stinging of your body dissipate and transform into butterflies in the depths of your belly button.

 

“You are most welcome. Shall we continue with our academic duties?” He offers his arm, knowing your body had produced a copious amount of energy that faded as quickly as it was summoned. You nod, resting your hand on his forearm. You walk slowly to the classroom.

 

 

You were astonished to see the size of his house. Gale had invited you over to study in his tower. The place felt endless, most walls covered from the floor to the ceiling in books. The salty air from the ocean coming in from the open windows. The sun was soon to set but Gale had already prepared a lamp on the desk for you both.

 

“I was thinking, maybe we could try our protection spells on a notebook first?” You ask.

 

You had been tasked with creating a “Pushback Literature Protection spell” for your favorite book. You had chosen ‘The Annals of Romance’ it was a bit embarrassing. A novel of romance, betrayal, and undying love. With insight into man's most troubling questions about life and himself.

 

“I’ll volunteer my journal; it's filled with exceptional poetry and a few mediocre illustrations of Tara.” Gale chuckled as Tara slept peacefully on top of a bookshelf next to the library window.

 

You stand next to him and watch him recite the incantation from your notebook. His hands expertly flick and swish in the air. You shiver at the thought of his hands on your body but quickly push the thought away so as not to cause yourself any embarrassment by blushing. Lights and symbols seemed to fall from his palms onto the notebook. “That shall do. Should we test it?” He asks.

 

“Allow me; you already offered your notebook.” You take the leather book in your hands and unclasp the bronze buckle keeping it locked. You open his notebook, and a gust of wind throws you into the nearest tower of arranged books. You hit your head against something hard. You hiss and open your eyes. A statue of Mystra seems to look down on you mockingly when you hear Gale running to you. “Gods, I apologize I think it was overpowered. Are you alright? Did you hit yourself?” His voice almost cracked, worried he had caused you any harm. “Don’t worry, you did great. Im honored.” You laugh and touch your head. There is a wet spot on your crown, you press through your hair with your fingertips. Blood. Looking back at your hand, you feel dizzy. You didn’t do well with blood, and the hit from the protective spell wasn’t helpful.

 

Strong arms pick you up from the floor. You want so badly to sleep the pain off. “Stay awake, love. Whatever you do, don't close your eyes, alright? I will set you down on the bed and get something to heal you.” You listen to Gales dancing voice. His accent thick from the strength of carrying you up the stairs. You just look at him, his nose, and the curve of his lips. You reach out to touch his beard, and his eyes meet yours. His frown turns into somewhat sad puppy eyes, worried but enjoying this bit of contact before setting you on the bed and running out of the room. “TARA!” You hear him call out down the hallway.

 

The bed sheets are made of beautiful silk, a deep shade of purple. The pillow under your head was soft and smelled of rosemary and peppermint. Looking up, you see a sheer canopy with a small blue light floating down. You shut your eyes, feeling your head pulsating. You feel someone touch your hand—a cold and small hand. A woman sits beside you on the bed; her glowing aura seems unreal , her slick black hair almost touches the bed; and her blue eyes search into you. “As beautiful and powerful as you are, you can't be a distraction. He is meant for far more. He is meant for me.” She turns translucent until you can't feel her presence.

 

You hear Gales heavy steps come from the door. "I'm sorry to have taken so long.” He presses a damp towel on top of your head. You try sitting up, but your strength fails you. You feel yourself getting pale. Gale grabs you around your waist from above and pushes you up. He brings a small vial to your mouth, signaling for you to tilt your head. You think back to the mysterious woman and her convincing argument.

 

‘Distraction? Are they trying to get rid of me?’

 

You turn your head away from the vial and wince at the movement. Gale seems to read your hesitant gesture. "Andromeda,” he whispers to you. Your eyes are watering; you don't want to believe he could hurt you, but he could. “This is a brew of ashes of balsam and salt. Please trust that I want only what is best for you.” You look at him; his big brown eyes are watering too. You put your lips on the vial and tilt your head. He places a hand behind your head, keeping the towel in place.

 

“Please rest, I swear no harm will come to you. Tara will sleep here in case you need anything. Just let her know, alright?” You hum in agreeance. You wish you had the courage to touch his face again and let him know you trust him, but your body feels sore and the words seem to have left your mouth. You lay down, and Gale pulls the silk blanket from under you to tuck you in. Before he turns to leave, you grab his wrist and hold the edge of his hand. “Thank you." you whisper, falling into the darkness behind your eyelids.

 

“You are most welcome." You feel a kiss pressing on your forehead. You fall into a deep slumber.

 

 

“Come see.” You hear a faint whisper inside your head. You wake up and it's still dark outside. The room was cold, and Gales beloved Tara slept comfortably on a padded chair next to the bed. You slip onto the floor quietly, following the hums calling out to you.

 

The hallway was glowing with the pearly light of the moon shining through the mosaic window. One of the last doors creaked open, the hums becoming moans.

“Come see, he is meant for me. He is meant for the weave." The voice whispers externally. You look through the small space of the open door—a small prayer room. Your breathing gets caught up in your chest, and your pulse quickens. You have never seen someone like this.

 

Gale was suspended midair, completely naked. His strong back faces the door which you hid behind. He was in a trance, his eyes glowing white, and his lips parted. He moaned and threw his head back in pleasure. You shut the door, feeling deep guilt for imposing.

 

It seems you have angered his goddess, and she is threatening you away from the wizard. Why? Why you? You have met Gale three times and haven’t shared a moment of passion together. But she knew more. She saw the force bringing both of you together. She saw the unbreakable connection you would have if she let your relationship run its course. It would ruin her plans completely; she saw the priority you could become for him and how she would remain but a figure on an obsolete altar.

 

She was willing to do anything to stop that from happening.

[jesmalestiel]

Writers Guild Presents: A mockery of poetry (for lack of a better term, it is love I feel for you)

Writers of After Dark Community ( @goodomensafterdark )

A mockery of poetry (for lack of a better term, it is love I feel for you)

CW: None, unless you count bad poetry as something that needs a CW

Summary: A love poem from the journals of A. Z. Fell, Heaven's new supreme Archangel.

What are words? But promises we intend to keep Our love lost and buried in the deep, Building the foundations of this we call our home Lonely and apart though we have roamed.

Like crystal glass simmering in a lake, My longing for you never fades in its ache. What is love, if not an open door, leading my heart to join with yours?

Thanks to @astropheles for reading the unhinged handwritten version of this and encouraging me to actually post it!

[sorceresssundries]

Hello!! I’ve been wanting to ask for a poem as part of Gale’s Poetry Book for a while but I only just now landed on what I’d like to ask for. Can you write a poem for my Tav Dani? She is a tiefling bard who sings and plays the fiddle, and who sometimes enjoys writing her own poems and songs. Perhaps Gale’s poem can be something he writes for her, or to give to her? She’s got a quick smile and a quicker wit, enjoys helping others who are down on their luck, but is also down to plan to take part in a good, ridiculous heist when the situation calls for it.

To help inspire the poem, I can share a thing I wrote a while back, part of a scene I never finished. Feel free to use it as inspiration, if you like!

She had an enchanting effect on him. Not the enthralling allure of Mystra, but something else that nevertheless grabbed his attention and made him want to keep his gaze on her at all times. Her bright smile. Her sparkling golden eyes. Her little movements, tossing one braid from her shoulder or idly tapping her leg in time with a tune only she could hear. He wanted to be poetic and say she was like an ancient arcane tome, tempting him with her secrets, endlessly rich and deep and fascinating. But she was more like music itself, impossible to fully ignore, enchanting and changeable and not always to his taste, but hovering always at the edge of his mind and turning his head whenever he sensed it—her—drawing nearer. Like a song that was perpetually stuck in his head.

Thank you so much 🙏🏻💛

I thought a sonnet would be most fitting for Dani the bard, I hope you like it! <3

Your writing is beautiful, I can't wait to read more if you finish it :)

Gale's Poetry Journal - A Sonnet for the Bard

Till now I was lost, sound-starved by sorrow, Future left quiet by unholy choice. Gods have no songs for the end of tomorrow, All I could hear was the trace of her voice. Ancient magic fills soft calls of songbirds, Sweet secrets only us mortals can share. You are a lyric, echoing outwards, Bones have been healed with melodious care. I am bewitched with the delicate hope, That life carries on in the fading of spring. I was near drowned, and you sang me a rope, I can hear clear, what tomorrow could bring.

Even in silence, my heart strums along, Tuned to the bard with a soul made of song.

[georgieluz]

HBOWAR OC MASTERLIST

OLIVER HARDWICK

intelligence officer, easy company (band of brothers)

ship: lewis nixon | tag: #oc: oliver hardwick

"you'll never fumigate the demons, no matter how much you smoke"

new yorker. former literature and latin student at university. mischievous. wealthy. playful. rakish, maybe even roguish, some might say, in a pretty boy kind of way. think: old money with a rebellious streak. massive ballrooms contrasted with secret parties in tiny apartments. flowing champagne. screaming drunkenly from the deck of a yacht. rage rage and more rage, so much rage. the subtle glare of disapproval from a calculating parent. a disdain for authority and taking orders. winter scarves in every colour, but especially red. kissing older men. dancing until you can't remember your family name. the simultaneous fascination and disappointment your friends and peers feel toward you. running away as a child and nobody even noticing you're gone. picking oranges in the mediterranean. freezing cold new york winters. spinning around in the rain. being too smart for your own good. self-sabotage. self-loathing. self-destruction.

playlist: tell me i'm an angel

TOMMY MONET

private first class, easy company (band of brothers)

ship: joseph liebgott | tag: #oc: tommy monet

"the silence that you're hearing is turning into a deafening, painful, shameful roar"

bostoner. from the wrong side of the tracks. barely got a high school diploma. former teenage nuisance. poet. fuelled by coffee and homeric similes. friends with every cat in the neighbourhood. talks to his cat badger more than other people. think: scrappy. argumentative. observant. smart but wishes he wasn't. hot black coffee running through his veins. flannel shirts. a backpack full of books. a hardshell exterior and deep, deep repression. running races down the railroad tracks until you're completely breathless. smoking because you don't know what else to do with your hands. irritable, but usually with a smile and a hefty dose of sarcasm. fuck the elite. no one can hurt me if they can't get near me. insecurities? what are those? who needs a father anyway.

playlist: let down and hanging around

CHARLIE SCOTT

private first class, how company (the pacific)

ship: bill "hoosier" smith | tag: #oc: charlie scott

"come ease my slumber, sink me into sleep"

mornings spent next to the river. cigarettes for breakfast. brushing the sand out of dark hair. journals filled to the brim. training as a car mechanic. hands coated with oil. overalls tied around your waist. a sarcasm-filled whisper in your ear. a hand gripping yours through the barrage of bombs every night. eyes searching for you as you cross every battlefield. dramatic readings of your stream of conscious poetry until something hits. adopting the dog that you found in the middle of battle. missing the diners you always claimed to hate. wanting nothing more than to run back to the mountains you hiked growing up. realising you never want to visit a beach again. longing for the quiet peacefulness of a lake.

playlist: i once warmed my hands

RHYS LLEWYD

corpsman, king company (the pacific)

ship: eddie jones | tag: #oc: rhys llewyd

"torn down, full of aching, somehow our youth will take the blame"

welsh born, new hampshire raised. gentle hands, sharp eyes. soft-spoken. welsh-lilted american accent. the messiest bedhead you'll ever see. enjoys watching people mispronounce his surname. touch-starved for something more than bleeding guts and bullet wounds. sage green and lavender. realising you never wanted to study medicine in the first place. cloudgazing. comic books shoved into pockets. an impeccable dancer who will never show it. can't handle his alcohol but drinks anyway. misses trees, and grass, and greenery. hands touching beneath the library table. a pile of books next to your bed. the scent of sugar and honey contrasted with the blood dripping from your hands.

playlist: fade me away

MAX JACOBS

platoon scout sniper, bravo company (gen kill)

ship: brad colbert | tag: #oc: max jacobs

"there's nothing wrong with me, this is how i'm supposed to be, in a land of make believe, that don't believe in me"

deadly aim, with a smile to match. skate parks and 7-11s. worn out chuck taylors. suburban fuckery. sneaking out of your bedroom window at 2am. driving out as far as you can because you've got nothing better to do. desperately wanting to escape your town at any cost. sony walkman cd player attached to your belt at all times. fuck the system (but you're in the system). laughing in the face of everything and anything. empty red bull cans littered across the room. kissing boys in empty car parks. getting your fists bloody when the homophobes arrive. taking on the world with nothing but bruised knees and a stick of gum.

playlist: and when we go, don't blame us

MATTHEW "MATTY" CARTER

corporal, bravo company (gen kill)

ship: ray person | tag: #oc: matty carter

"tracksuits and red wine, movies for two, we'll take off our phones, and we'll turn off our shoes. we'll play nintendo, though i always lose, 'cause you watch the tv, while i'm watching you. dumb conversation, we lose track of time, have i told you lately, i'm grateful you're mine. there's nothing like doing nothing with you"

missouri summers. friends who fall somewhere between platonic and something more. pizza nights. staying up until 4am playing uno. laughing so hard your ribs hurt. realising you're a little bit in love with your best friend. following him to the marine corps. losing far too much money playing pool. camping in the rain. smiles so wide. watching the lost boys so many times you can quote every line. sharing hoodies. the colour orange. instant messaging into the early hours. the sunrise laughing as you fall asleep. promises of running away together. fingers in soft wavy hair. ice cold lemonade. the ghost of a confession.

playlist: do you think of me?

CALEB DAWSON

architecture student, hacker, archer (band of brothers zombie au)

ship: ron speirs | tag: #oc: caleb dawson

"yes, it's you i welcome death with, as the world caves in"

sketching buildings from the window of hotel rooms. mugs of cold coffee left on every surface. counting to ten before you open a door. endless recurve vs compound pettiness. the fucking audacity of life. talking with your hands. sarcasm as a first language. stubborn and unyielding, but fiercely protective. clinging to a pencil and paper as a lifeline. realising it's easier to push your buttons than you thought. jokes. lots of jokes. witty one liners. deep, deep inner conflict. bitterness coating your tongue with every word. being suspicious of newcomers but bound to your own sense of loyalties and vulnerabilities. trying desperately to hide every aspect of your gentleness, but feeling it leak through in every moment. being ashamed of your dreams and ambitions. feeling the cracks break open every day, but bottling it up all the same. waiting alone in hotel rooms wondering if your dad will come back for you this time. being taught to hack at twelve years old. finally escaping the only life you've ever really known only to find that a virus outbreak has mutated and changed the world forever. unravelling dreams.

playlist: one wink at a time

ARCHIE SULLIVAN

RAF pilot / lancaster bomber (masters of the air)

ship: bucky egan | tag: #oc: archie sullivan

"wild lovers never get the blues"

flying too close to the moon, "you look pretty in blue", piles of unopened letters thrown in a corner, easy laughs, easier smiles, falling asleep on the wing of your plane, cycling to the pub with your best friend in the pouring rain, turning annoyance into endearment, a pint and a ginger beer please, escaping to the beaches of east anglia on a weekend pass, puppy dog eyes the size of jupiter, pettiness, so so much pettiness, challenging just about everyone you've ever met, thinking you might just be the greatest darts player in all of england, a good ol' dose of the great british repression, yet accidentally flirting with almost everyone you meet, running so far away from home that you ended up in the clouds

playlist: to the top of the big night sky

if you want to read about the ocs from my hbo war f1 au please head over to this post. the ocs there are all platonic ocs, but have a lot of presence in the world and narrative, and if you'd like to see my ocs for top gun, then you can find them on my sideblog here

[goodluckclove]

Migration Pattern Sneak Peek: Scott and Edgar

Is this spoilers? Kind of? I mean, if you don't want to know any cute developments in the relationship between Scott and Edgar you can skip this one. This does reveal a small element of their shared past, but if you don't consider spoilers to be literally any element of the story give it a shot.

I don't know, man. It's cute as fuck and I want to share it. Read more below!

Edgar’s mouth quivered in a hesitant smile. It broke free a while after that and he grinned fully, staring down at the bed. Scott willed himself to remember this moment and its entirety. The fading light of an early winter’s evening. The musky warmth of the room around them. His lover’s hands, still lightly squeezing his leg. If he had to crystallize one inch of the wild expanse of feeling he was capable of on an hourly basis it would be this one – the pride and affection, the shy hope like fresh-peeled oranges.

“What are you going to do with it?” Scott asked.

“Huh?” Edgar looked up at him, still blinking away the daze provoked by his praise. “Oh. Hah. You...You can have it. If you want.”

Scott smiled. “No. I mean – yes, obviously. But,” he looked down at the words again, almost as if confirming they were still there. “You’re going to submit it somewhere, right?”

“Submit –?” Edgar made a breathy scoff. “Come on, Scott. I haven’t written poetry in years, I’m not about to publish it.”

“There’s a birthright literary journal. Two of them, actually. I’ve only been checking the online one, but I think the magazine is still sold in Witch Town regions,” something occurred to him, and Scott perked up. “And the elders organize a yearly grant for emerging creatives! They used to, at least. When I was growing up.”

Edgar relaxed into curiosity. Maybe in hopes that he could change the subject. “Did you ever get it?”

“No. Yes – well,” Scott frowned, a little embarrassed. “They tried to, at least. I said no.”

“Seriously? Why?”

Scott allowed himself to drift into the grounding lucidity of Edgar’s presence. He thought of those snapshot moments – all he really had left of his past at the moment – where he woke up from sleep and immediately dove for his notebook to write the words fresh from his dreams. That time, alone in the silence of his small bedroom, was a completely different kind of inspiration than what he felt playing the piano. It felt like being cold and having someone who loves you wrap their coat around your shoulders.

The words weren’t his. He always knew that. When he tried to explain it to others they took it as the ravings of a muse-crazed artist. Scott didn’t know how to explain it any clearer than what he said. He had no idea how he arranged the lyrics that he did, but he knew with abject certainty that those were not his words.

“Can I show you something?” Scott asked.

Without waiting for an answer he shifted out of Edgar’s touch and went to his bookshelf. He knew in the back of his mind what he was looking for, but it took him a long while before he found where he left it before leaving home. Then it was there – the thick, battered composition book that contained every song he – or they – ever wrote.

It was so old. The spine was long ruined and held together by duct tape frayed along the edges. A lot of the black and white splotches on the cover were worn into soft, blank card stock. There was a mailing label stuck to the center where Tenzin drew a little doodle of him with his hair put up the way he liked it as a teen.

The shyness was odd. He was sure by now that he wasn’t showing Edgar anything he’d seen before, and yet his chest felt tight with anticipation. Because once Edgar would see this, he would know. He of all people would know. And even the thought of his understanding how Scott spent years weaving together their minds so intimately that he barely understood what he was doing...it brought a physical quality with it. A hand on his waist or the small of his back.

He took a deep breath and turned around. It was time they understood each other.

“Here,” he said.

Edgar didn’t look like he understood what was about to happen. Still, he took the book, and after smiling at the state of the outer cover he opened to the first page.

His smile didn’t fade. He wasn’t upset. Edgar’s expression did freeze in place for a while, and for a moment or two it was clear that he stopped breathing entirely. His eyes didn’t blink as he carefully flipped through the pages. A few times he stopped like he was about to read through a page, but then he would quickly swipe away.

After some time he closed the notebook and put it down on his lap. Edgar still stared down where it once laid open. He wasn’t upset. It just looked like he was thinking.

Scott felt naked. Skinless. Just bare, shamefully-pulsing meat shivering in the still air of his bedroom. It was unbearable.

“These are your songs?” Edgar said, quiet and a little vague.

“I know they’re…” Scott coughed softly into his hand and tried again. “I know they’re not…”

“Are these the only ones you wrote down?”

“No, I – I’d think of more. But…” he smiled weakly, even though Edgar wasn’t looking at him. “Those were my favorites. They were the ones that I could think of a good melody for.”

“Because you’d...sing them,” Edgar’s voice got even softer. “You would – would sing my...sing your…”

Edgar’s chest was beginning to rise and fall at a slightly faster rate. Scott wanted to touch his chest. He craved the heat of his bond’s skin warm against his cheek and the sound of his heart beat thumping in his ear. But if he did that now Scott would leave damp, sour-smelling stains on Edgar’s shirt, because at the moment he was still a pile of skinless meat.

“You…” Edgar let the word grow, bloom, ripen and fall in the air above their heads. “You liked it?”

“It meant everything to me,” Scott said.

A small smile touched Edgar’s face. “I-I’ve never – I mean, I never showed my poetry to anybody. But some of this…” he made a noise that was between a laugh and a sigh. “A lot of this are things I’d rip out and burn as soon as I finished them.”

“They’re so precious to me,” Scott whispered. “You’re so precious to me.”

Edgar lowered his head. He took one hand and ran the thumb up and down the inner crook of his opposite elbow. Scott remembered the first time he did that, right as they stood by Edgar’s open bedroom door on the night they meant. He could still feel the ghost of what he felt back then, but overlaid on top of that was the new determination of what he had to do next.

He crossed the small space between them and got down on his knees in front of Edgar. Just as his lover started to lift his hand, Scott carefully took his hand from off his arm and pressed it to his lips. He held it there, then cupped the palm against his cheek. Scott closed his eyes and felt the slight roughness of Edgar’s touch, the grazing of callouses, the raised line of his bond scar.

In the darkness of his closed eyes he head Edgar’s voice begin to tremble. “You’ve been waiting for so long…” he began.

“I’d do it again.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You survived,” Scott said.

Edgar huffed a derisive laugh through his nose. “Look at you, Scott. I’m nothing like you –”

“I know,” Scott breathed. “That’s my favorite part about all of this.”

He felt Edgar’s hand move on its own, fingers tracing down the side of Scott’s face. He opened his eyes when he felt Edgar tilt his head up to look at him.

“It isn’t fair,” he said. “It’s not fair to you. I’m pretty much a normal human being, and you’re this goddamned painting –”

“Then let’s be normal together.”

Edgar furrowed his brow. “What?”

In a sudden burst of passion Scott rose up higher and kissed Edgar, gentle and long with his lips relaxed. He pulled back enough to see nothing else of reality other than the vibrant brown of Edgar’s eyes. Scott smiled, immersed in the color.

“Teach me how to tie my shoes,” he said.

Edgar was torn between laughter and charm. “I – you know, I had a feeling…”

Scott kissed him again, moving forward until he had Edgar fully reclined across the middle of the bed. He felt Edgar’s hands on either side of him – not obstrusive, more stabilizing than anything else. Which only fueled his fire even more.

“Let’s go grocery shopping together,” he whispered in Edgar’s ear. “I want you to show me how to drive a car.”

He heard Edgar shudder a breath and tighten his grasp on Scott’s waist. Just weak – no, not weak. Not Edgar. Just surrendering.

Scott kissed his forehead. “I want to register to vote,” he said.

“Are you not..?” Edgar’s breath hitched as Scott kissed each of his cheeks. “Have you never voted?”

“Security measures.”

He started to kiss Edgar again when his bond stopped their faces from fully meeting. Edgar steadied his face about a foot above him and stared deeply into his eyes. Scott felt his fingers graze the bridge of his nose and run across his lips. Edgar took every part of him in, seeing with such clarity that Scott could almost use him as a mirror.

Scott let this happen. He let himself be seen.

“I don’t want to go back,” Edgar finally whispered.

“Okay,” Scott said. “Then you won’t go back.”

“I don’t know what else is out there,” Edgar lowered his hands and let them fall on the mattress above her head. “You’ve been all over the country, haven’t you? What’s it like?”

They were lying across the bed, Scott straddled over Edgar’s waist. In another life, and with another person, Scott would be stripped and in the middle of ravishing or being ravished by now. But Edgar was apparently open for a casual conversation. If the depths of Scott’s devotion for him in that moment had a physical presence it would be an ocean without a bottom.

He moved off from on top of Edgar and laid down beside him across the bed. They stared up a the ceiling. After a moment, Scott moved to interlace their fingers.

“Vermont’s nice,” he said.

[fearfylsymmetry]

less of an ask and more of a compliment i love the way your tags are organized…”decay as a commodity” “bodies shifting in narrow spaces” etc is it your own original work or quoting from a song/poem/or something?

helloo angel and welcomee to the show, its always such a joy when people appreciate my silly little tagging system. they're all just random sentences i thought up ages ago, , just to make sense of the mess in front of you etc y'know how it gets love. i couldn't really get behind tagging things as "art" "people, faces places things" etc. i needed to inject a bit of flavour to the whole thing (let this not be read as a subtle jab towards any new york based tumblrinas , we're above that c'mon now). i wouldn't say these little phrases are "personal" by any means but they have been motifs i wanted to actively explore in the art i make so no harm putting them up here i guess haha

for posterity's sake i thought i'd just copy an explanation of my tags from an old ask

decay as a commodity : okay so i envisioned this as a way to just summarize modern living? i think of a whole blueish neon color scheme with this one. my line of thinking was,, with the world slowly rotting away and living becoming so expensive and exhausting, whats the one commodity we all share? wouldn't it be decay? aren't we all slowly fading together etc etc. i use this for images with cooler muted tones and anything with a futuristic vibe,, along with some grimey, monochrome photography

the setting dawn: this is the polar opposite of decay, i think of it as "hope beyond hope" a la Prior Walter's line in Angels in America. i know "the setting sun " might sound more natural but i think of it as,, dawn , when the sun breaks through - in this short period the world starts to wake. qs the dawn sets the day kicks in, with all its routine misery. Dawn i think, is the only time the sun is kind to you, because its still hidden away at least slightly. But the day truly starts and itbeats down on you. And yet we continue to live, past the boredom and the pain, we live past hope, past the quiet comfort of dawn. I use this for pictures with earthy tones and things on the more uplifting side

bodies shifting in narrow spaces: this has some overlap with the decay tag, im not as organized as i need 2 be. i use this for figures & portraits ill want to draw or just really any photography i like that features a human presence. think of it as people so dependent on an outside gaze they constantly try to reinvent themselves, or just, everyday people, getting less and less time to live, having to work and forcing themselves into relationships with any real connection

original sin and other contingencies: im trying to fit this in for more risque photography and maybe things on the more gory side. how do i explain this.. okay so... when there's nothing left to do you'll always have sin to turn to just yo keep yourself occupied, along with other methods/contingencies u get the jist

linen that lingers: my fashion tag nothing more 2 it

the canvas as testimony: for art that is made for the gallery or art that is held in higher regard i guess, more high culture. it includes painting, sculptures,along with architecture,, but maybe i should make an architecture tag. i think of the things here as more personal efforts

motion on a still surface: for art that is energetic and really pops off the page. includes comics, manga, fanart, animation. stuff here may be more low culture but really its not. i just differentiate these art tags as ,,one is stuck to the canvas whatever that canvas may be, while the other leaps off the page

word on a wing let me soar: books, poetry, articles, journals , all words that i adore

a conversation with the self: i wanted this to be for things that are very personal to me but i just use my other tags

angels in descent: my little funny haha tag for yknow ,,, funny haha. yknow the "devil's rejects" the movie? like its a way of saying people so horrible no even the devil would take them. okay so i thought " god's rejects " but that's lame. so i landed on this, like idk...imagine angels falling from grace

arcade shuffle: for my little viddy games lol. sorry for being a #gamergirl but yes it happens sadly ,,moving on

jet jump jive: for songs

at the pictures: for movies,, like imagine im going "cant talk im at the pictures wheee ^_^"

there is such a great distance between now and later: to track my art and writing progress but i barely use it cause it barely draw or write these days i blame the wave of despair that washeth over me

proof of concept: photos i took but there's like almost nothing here

misc that are just funny 2 me like i do it 4 a little chuckle i deserve it:

screw it posting hole - for hole the band

bowies in spaaace - for bowie, after the flight of the concords song cmon its a little funny at least cmon now

twink speaks- for twin peaks lol