#ashen poetry

[the-ashenstreaked-doctor]

13, 14 and 15 for the oc ask 👀

13. Do they enjoy poetry?

He does, sometimes! He finds it fun to read the way the words wind together and find some sort of meaning from them, like finding a clear path through troubled waters. He approaches poetry as a riddle to be solved, something whose core is hidden within the spiral and must be picked out.

However. Sometimes, poetry is written.. overly flowery, lacking any depth. The word choices are confusing, the text circles and ties itself in meaningless knots that look pretty, but can’t hold anything. The text presents itself in a way that his literal-tending mind can only take as literal, seeming to leave no room to practice interpretation. These, he is not fond of.

14. Do they have a hard time opening up to people?

Yes, even if it may not seem like it sometimes. Doc tends to be more open in letters than in person; the act of writing with no one there to ‘pressure’ him gives him time to think out what he’d like to say, weigh the risks of what he puts to writing. Plus, he can word things in such a way that make it seem like he’s being more open than he is… In person, he struggles to even speak with most of his acquaintances.

Even with friends, he doesn’t always open up. He has exactly two close friends he can think of that know some of his deeper secrets, and everyone else is left with the surface level. He simply doesn’t trust what others will do with what he says. Secrets are a currency here, after all.

15. What kind of sense of humor do they have? Or do they have one at all?

Despite his stern expression and dour-seeming disposition, he actually does have a sense of humour! He enjoys clever wordplay (and, admittedly, not-so-clever wordplay can give him a chuckle), and he can laugh at something unexpected but funny happening. With closer friends, he’ll jokingly flirt back and forth since he knows nothing will come of it. He’s surprisingly good at one-liners without intending to be, and he appreciates good comedic timing from others as well.

[ask meme]

[wickedzeevyln]

Paper Window

Must have seen you in a field,the trampled grass your bed,your eyes fixed on the sky,and the sky hanging on blooming fireand leaves of ashes eloping with autumn–tainted summer.You didn’t stir,if not for the fence time drove into the paper soil in between us the song of chaos will probably sing it’s ominous song in my ears.Not an inch, did you move. Your thoughts might have been that of your…

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: Things will start to get interesting now, let me know your thoughts. <3

Word count: 4,9k

Masterlist | Previous chapter (prologue)

You breathed in deeply, closing your eyes and leaning your head back with both arms open lazily beside your body, wind flowing quickly in between your fingers. The skies were clear, morning sunlight reflecting against ashen blue scales as your dragon's wings stretched to their full size.

Dancing and gliding in between clouds, the sky was yours.

As you opened your eyes, you were greeted with a sight that would always leave you breathless, no matter how many times you'd be privileged to witness it. The lands below seemed small, castles, houses, and fields afar dwarfed by how far up you were flying. You could see beyond walls and mountains, as far as the horizon allowed. The back of your dragon's head stretched forward in a relaxed manner, seemingly taking in the view just as much as you; the patch of fur in between her long grey horns flew and flowed with the strong breeze.

You reached your arm past your saddle, the palm of your hand laying flat against her warm scales in a loving caress. She cooed, a low groan coming from the back of her throat as she turned her head slightly so her deep blue eyes met yours for only a moment. You smiled. Khamira had grown to be just as big as Meleys, she was all raw power and formidable wildness, and yet, ever so gentle in your hands.

It would never cease to amaze you, how a beast as strong and majestic as a dragon—wings and legs supported by pure muscle, teeth and horns as sharp as daggers, and fire as hot as the hells—could at the same time be this graceful, this agile, and elegant.

Her wings swished with precision, creating ripples in the clouds as if painting a canvas; her long tail kept her body straight and balanced; multiple shades of dark and pale blue shone under the sunlight with each movement of her body. She was poetry in motion, carrying you through the morning sky on her back.

The feeling, the pleasure, of riding on dragonback was incomparable; a mixture of being invincible, untouchable, and yet completely at peace.

You leaned forward at last, uttering a soft command for her to pick up speed and the adrenaline was quick to kiss your cheeks in the form of a heavy wind. Your dragon bomb-dived suddenly, bringing her wings close to her body and her muzzle downwards. An ecstatic laugh escaped your lips as you felt the power of her body moving beneath you, taking you through the air.

She only opened her wings again when you were short of hitting the roof of a tall church, returning to a steady height as you flew fast above King's Landing. The dragon addicted to the rush just as much as you.

If people looked up, they would see nothing but a flash of blue, the silhouette of massive wings and a long tail vanishing just as fast as it came.

For the first time in seven years, you were finally heading back to the Red Keep. Vaemond had called into question Luke's legitimacy of birth, as he was to be Driftmark's heir, prompting you and your family to meet him for the discussion in King's Landing. While the rest of your family came by ship, you chose to ride over on dragonback and meet them there. The swaying of a ship on the ocean's water could make you nauseous, but flying in between clouds always cleared your head and filled your lungs with the fresh air of unabashed freedom.

After bidding goodbye to your loyal dragon as she was guided into the Dragonpit to rest, a carriage took you to the main gates of the Keep. The guards welcomed you with salutes and curtsies, something you were yet to get used to, even with being born into the royal family.

You were headed to the doors of the castle when they were pushed open by an older, bald man. He walked up to you and bowed his head. "Welcome home, my lady. Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra are already inside, they've gone to speak with the King."

Greeting him back with a nod, you smiled softly; "Thank you..." You dragged the word, raking your head to remember who exactly this was.

"Caswell, my lady," he kindly finished for you.

"Thank you, Lord Caswell."

The castle itself was still as grand and majestic as you remembered it to be, in some ways it didn't even feel like the last time you were here was so many years ago. The torches flickered softly along the grand hallways, casting a warm, golden glow on the stone walls as you walked aimlessly. Although you already had a designed room for your stay here, you refrained from changing out of your riding clothes, choosing to stay in black breeches and a long overcoat rather than a silken dress.

You eventually got hold of Jace and Luke who were also wandering about the castle and reminiscing on their childhood here. Despite your differences and disagreements during early childhood, you'd grown closer with both boys during your time at Dragonstone. Quickly enough, between dragon rides at sunset and playing together day in and day out, they became almost like brothers to you.

"It's so cool to be back here," Luke spoke, excitedly walking ahead of you and Jace, "I wonder why we haven't visited more."

"You know why, Luke," Jace raised a brow, his voice holding a smidge of warning to it. "It's not like we parted on the best of terms."

Immediately you knew what he was talking about. You recalled it as if it had been yesterday. Laena's funeral, the commotion in the dead of night, the red of blood, stitches piercing the skin of the prince who'd lost an eye. Your heart sped up then, hands feeling clammy and cold at the same time.

Aemond. He'd be here too, surely. It's been far too long since you've seen him, yet not long enough for you to stop counting the years. Part of you wondered if he did so too.

Something like guilt started weighing down on your stomach, because there had been letters exchanged over the years, mostly holding empty promises that you'd see each other again soon. A young hope that was snuffed out as you got older and wiser; it never happened, it was out of your reach. And for many seasons now, there had been no letters at all. You weren't sure who stopped first, there just came a day when you knew not to send another letter his way, because you wouldn't be getting any back either.

"Why don't we check out the training yard?" You suggested with a grin, "To remember the times when I kicked your butts there." With a giggle, you pushed Jace's shoulder halfheartedly.

"Hey, hey, I don't remember any of that," Jace countered, holding back a smile of his own, whilst Luke was already chuckling with a hand over his mouth.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

The sound of swords clashing was already loud and sharp as you descended the stairs to the training yard; many people were there, some sparring with each other as others watched and clapped and gossiped.

"Looks smaller than I remembered," Luke commented as he glanced around.

"It looks exactly the same," Jace concluded, skipping the last few steps of the stairs and landing on the gravel grounds of the yard. "Come on, you two."

The older of the brothers ran forth to check a dent in the stone walls, a mark of their old training days here. You, on the other hand, stopped to check out the weapons displayed for choice on the tables; maces, morningstars, swords, and daggers.

A faint smile came to your lips. The smell of smoke and sweat, the clash of metal, the grunts and cheering of the soldiers—it all reminded you of cherished memories. Firstly, of the first lessons your father had ever given you, sword all too big and heavy in your small hands, you were only five, yet he insisted that regardless if you were a boy or girl, you should learn how to fight; you still remember the first time you were finally able to best him in combat, you were ten, it took you five years but you had done it; Daemon smiled the biggest on that day, telling everyone how his daughter was a born fighter. And secondly, came the memory of your sparring sessions with Aemond when you were young, he'd refused to put up a fight in the beginning, afraid he'd hurt you; but he started to give you a fair fight when you'd bested him the second time around; you still remember how he'd run around the castle, searching for you and then holding onto your hand to lead you to the training yard, "You're too slow," he used to say with a smile, "If I don't drag you around we won't be there on time."

Part of you wished those moments were infinite.

By the time your mind returned to the present, Luke and Jace had joined you. Jace began picking up the weapons on the table with an excited grin; yet Luke seemed on edge, glancing around himself and at the piercing gazes on your backs from the people here. You felt it too, the judgment and the whispers.

"What's wrong, Luke?" You asked, one hand reaching up to touch his arm comfortingly.

The boy furrowed his brows in discomfort, head hanging low. "Everyone's staring at us."

A soft grimace passed over your features as you tilted your head at him, eyes glinting with silent understanding. In part, you knew what he was feeling, you'd received your fair share of odd glances when at court as well; you were a royal prince's daughter yet had hair in the shade of the warmest grey that almost resembled brown in certain lights, and eyes as dark as the night sky, so of course, people would talk.

"No one would question me being heir to Driftmark," Luke spoke, his tone a mix of frustrated and defeated as he still avoided your gaze, "If... if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon, than Ser Harwin Strong."

"It doesn't matter what they think," Jace at last spoke up, ducking his head to meet his brother's eyes.

"He's right, Luke," you reassured, "Don't mind them."

A sudden crash of something heavy hitting a wooden shield caught your attention then, and all three of you turned around to watch as a small crowd gathered around two people sparring. Luke and Jace ran toward it to watch, so you followed close behind, squeezing yourself past and between a few people so you didn't have to stand on your tiptoes to catch glimpses of the fight.

One of the two you recognized almost instantly, Ser Criston Cole, you had never particularly been too fond of him. The other, who still had his back to you, you hadn't recognized, even if there was something familiar about the way he moved. His long silver hair bounced over his shoulders as he dodged Cole's attacks quite expertly; his movements swift, calculated, and still somehow elegant. The shield held by the mysterious man broke and he threw it aside without a second thought, going in for another attack. The sword cut through the air, Cole's morningstar slammed into the ground, and finally, the silver-haired man turned in your direction.

A teasing grin and an eyepatch framed the sharp features of the young man, his single bright eye glinting under the hazy sunlight as he held the sword with a firm grip, ready for another attack.

You felt as if all air suddenly left your lungs and refused to come back, your lips hanging open as your gaze was all but locked onto him. Aemond. You'd recognize him anywhere, in any lifetime, you feared. He looked so different yet somehow still the same; his hair was much longer, features older and sharper as he'd grown over the years; his harsh scar, you noticed, was now fully healed, and yet still evident as a reminder of the fateful night he'd claimed Vhagar and lost his eye; but his smile seemed to be the same you were used to, that mischievous tilt of lips he'd wear against his opponents.

A smile of your own began to stretch your lips and you took half a step toward him before stopping yourself, your heart beat painfully against your ribs and in your ears, bringing a nearly nauseous twist to your guts. It felt as if your body had trouble picking an emotion upon seeing Aemond again after all these years.

You'd wished, prayed even, for the day you'd finally be able to meet one of your best friends again; the lonely, outcast boy you had grown so fond of over the course of mere months. The one you had shared most of your afternoons in the Red Keep with, the one who'd steal you away to the library to share tales of the old dragons. Yet seeing him now, after so many seasons of pure silence, you had no idea where you stood with him.

The fight ended with Aemond holding the sharp end of his sword against Cole's neck, staring him down as a dragon would with its prey.

"Well done, my prince," Ser Criston spoke, rather breathless from the exertion, "You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys," Aemond answered back without pause, his tone filled with finality and eye holding a piercing stare. "My lady," he said then, voice just a tad softer, whether he meant for it or not. Twisting the hilt in his hand, Aemond lowered his sword, his gaze now landing on you. "Have you come to train?"

You were unable to hold back a small gasp as he addressed you so directly. Your whole body tensed up, part of you wanted to answer yet any and all words were completely tangled in your tongue. You could faintly feel Jace's hand on your shoulder yet you barely registered the touch, unable to tear your eyes away from Aemond. And he held your gaze with his unwavering one, almost challenging you to break the connection.

It felt all kinds of wrong, for this to be your reunion and first words to each other after so long, for Aemond's words and gaze to be this... cold. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

You were saved by the sudden opening of the heavy doors of the gate behind you. Soldiers marched through with proud strides as they escorted Vaemond Velaryon into the castle.

Even as you turned around to watch their entrance, you could feel how Aemond's gaze didn't leave you even for a moment.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

A storm raged outside during your first night back in the Keep, you didn't sleep much, tossing and turning in bed and pacing around the spacious room they'd given you. Part of you almost wanted to step outside into the dark hallways of the castle and head to Aemond's room. It would be improper of you, but that's not why you did not go.

When the morrow came at last with the sun rising on the horizon of King's Landing, it was time to head into the throne room to discuss what you had come here for, the succession of Driftmark.

A small crowd of lords and ladies had already gathered in the large room, with Otto Hightower standing before the grim Iron Throne. The image of the seat of swords, being highlighted by the sunlight coming through the tall windows, would always make a shiver run down your spine.

You walked in with steady steps, sensing a few eyes land on you as you smoothed the fabric of your dress—hardly your preferred choice of attire, but Rhaenyra might just have your head if you showed up in your riding clothes. She, her sons, and your father were already here as well.

Daemon spotted you from the corner of his eyes, he squeezed Rhaenyra's hand once before stepping away from her to walk toward you.

"Father," you spoke in a low voice when he met you halfway. Over his shoulder, you caught sight of Aemond, who stood near the Iron Throne with his family; for a small moment, you held his gaze, even if you couldn't possibly read it.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up," Daemon raised his brows at you, a rather amused grin playing on his lips.

"Oh, you know me," you chuckled quietly, shrugging your shoulders as you continued walking to where Rhaenyra waited, "I wouldn't miss court drama for anything."

Daemon snorted, uncaring if his laugh would attract the attention of the nearby lords, "Yeah, tell me about it." He brought a hand up to rest between your shoulder blades, guiding you through the remaining steps. "It's like they look for reasons to break any resemblance of peace we might have."

You hummed at his words, biting back a laugh of your own, "Se iēdrosa, Rhaenyra ivestretan nyke ao gaomagon naejot mōris se lyks aōla gō īlen āzma." ('And yet, Rhaenyra tells me you used to raise quite the trouble yourself before I was born.')

"Kessa, sȳrī, īlen drējī tolī kirimves skori paktot zirȳ, mērī." Daemon defended halfheartedly. ('Yes, well, I was admittedly more fun than these people, at least.')

"Hen rhinka," you mumbled, stopping beside Rhaenyra and greeting her with a warm smile. ('Of course')

From the other side of the room, the one-eyed prince watched. He'd kept his eye fixed on you as soon as you stepped through the throne room doors. His hands clasped behind his back tightened their grip with each step you took. And for each of your steps, his heart beat twice as hard, heavy and hurting for an escape.

It was true that you had grown into a stunning young woman over the years; enticing curves, soft hair falling over your shoulders, freckles still dusting your cheeks and nose, delicate hands holding onto the fabric of your dress. Many gazes turned your way whenever you walked into a room, it came as no surprise to Aemond, even if it bothered him.

And yet it wasn't just that, no; he could see so far beyond, that same spark in your eyes lingered, the one he'd see each time he'd ask you to tell him the story of how you found your dragon; that same smile that was so contagious still had the same sway to it; your mere presence still made his heart race and hands itch to touch you, as it always did.

Aemond thought, perhaps wished, he would have forgotten all about you over the years. You had abandoned him, after all. You had abandoned him, maybe at a time when he needed you the most. His only friend, and you never came back.

The prince had waited, for nights and days on end, he'd stare out the windows to the horizon and past the sea, hoping with all he had that one day he'd spot the blue hue of your dragon's scales in the distance. And he knew he'd cry, and run to you, and hold you close no matter who was watching. But it never happened, you never came. And the years kept on going by, years of which he kept a close count. By year three, he decided he wouldn't feel within the right to hug you anymore. By year four, he decided he wouldn't cry anymore. By year six, he decided it would be best you didn't come back anymore.

Alas, perhaps he could have gone to you. But he hesitated, he knew he wouldn't be welcomed in Dragonstone; and after a few years went by, as much as Aemond would never admit it, he lacked the courage to go after you. In the most fragile parts of his heart, he feared you'd react as all ladies of the court did when they looked at him; with wide-eyed gazes and poorly concealed whispers about his ugly scar and 'off-putting demeanor', as they'd say.

Yet he had missed you, oh he missed you. In a way that he'd walk into every room hoping to find you there. And now, it finally happened. You came back to King's Landing, but you didn't come back for him.

Aemond watched as you walked into the room, your father meeting you halfway and guiding you to your family. The prince felt a tightness build in his throat, he tried to gulp it back, squaring his shoulders. Even after all these years, all it took was one look at you, and Aemond's resolve crumbled. All his attempts at putting you behind him were suddenly futile, if the speed at which his heart was racing was any indication.

Yesterday, when Aemond spotted you in the small crowd of the training yard, he nearly lost his balance, nearly lost the fight. Seeing you again after so long brought an onslaught of confusing feelings to his chest—one of them being petty bitterness, perhaps even betrayal, despite not having the right to feel so, for seeing you stand beside Jace and Luke so amicably—he hardly knew what to think or do; all he knew was that he was angry that you'd abandoned him. Or perhaps just hurt, but broken things tend to have sharp edges.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You held back a scream as the severed head of Vaemond Velaryon fell from his body, staining the floor of the throne room with deep crimson blood. Your father had unceremoniously beheaded the Velaryon knight after he accused Rhaenyra's sons of being bastards. You watched the gruesome scene with wide eyes, goosebumps on your skin, and a hand clasped over your mouth.

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower screamed to the guards, who readily took to their weapons and surrounded Daemon.

"No need," the Rogue Prince uttered all too calmly, cleaning the blood off the blade of his sword with the hem of his clothing. He then extended said sword to you, without bothering to look in your direction.

You hesitated for only a second before taking Dark Sister from him, and once you did so, Daemon raised both hands in surrender; yet a smug smirk still played on his lips.

You held tight onto the hilt of his sword, until your knuckles turned white, watching as the room filled with fearful whispers and terrified gazes of everyone around you. All eyes were seemingly glued to the pool of blood on the floor that only got larger by the second.

"We are done here," Viserys spoke with finality to the best of his ability, before falling back on his throne as the pain of his wounds filled his decaying body.

Slowly and hesitantly, people began leaving the room, a certain eeriness lingered in the air. From afar, you met your father's gaze, and he simply gave you a curt nod, which meant you'd be giving him his sword back in private, later. He'd told you once; "People don't usually fear women with swords, even if they should. Therein lies your advantage."

Beside the Iron Throne, a few steps away from you, Alicent ran to help her husband, Aegon followed after the guards who began removing the lifeless body, Helaena skipped to the main doors with her hands covering her ears, and Aemond... Aemond had his eye burning a hole in the back of your head.

You would be able to feel the weight of his gaze on you from a mile away, you had been feeling it since you took the first step into this room. Part of you hoped he'd have come to you already, you weren't sure what you were expecting exactly, but so far the words he'd spoken to you in the training yard had been the only ones he'd spoken at all. And you were starting to think that, if you didn't go to him, you'd remain forever far apart.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, and then another, and one more, tapping the hilt of Dark Sister with your pointer finger until you built up the courage or until your palms grew sweaty. A sorrowful feeling still lingered deep within your chest, because this was Aemond, the same Aemond you spent nearly entire days with during your childhood, be it training together, sharing stories, or hiding away in the library. You shouldn't be feeling hesitant to face him.

It felt almost as if he had been waiting for you, because as soon as you turned around to face him, Aemond raised his chin a tad, blinking slowly as he watched you walk over to him.

All you could hear was the beating of your heart as you came to stop in front of him, holding tight onto the sword in your hands, its end resting on the floor as you kept it between you and him. "Hello... Aemond." It was the best you could do, voice still too unsure for your liking.

For a moment, Aemond seemed to be hesitating just as much as you. His eye flicked with an emotion you couldn't name, but it was quick and gone as soon as it came. "My lady."

The formality felt wrong and unwanted, like taking a thousand steps backward from what you had once been to each other. Your lips parted but you didn't quite know what to say, so for a moment, you just looked at him, at the new him. The long hair fell over his shoulders, eyepatch covering the deep scar, his perfectly straight posture, and tense shoulders. You saw then, that there was an undeniable wall between you, that Aemond had his guard up and was keeping you at a safe, far distance. It hurt, more than you had the right to feel.

"I'm- It's good to see you again," you stumbled over the words, trying a smile.

Aemond hummed, giving you an almost imperceptible nod in return. For long beats, that was all. He refused to look you in the eyes. "It's been a long time," he chose to say eventually, voice devoid of too much emotion.

Distantly, you felt the back of your eyes burn. "Seven years," you said in nothing but a whisper, as if you could only admit the unfairness of it at a certain decibel level.

"And four months," Aemond finished, his voice just a tad tighter and strained, breath running shallow as he strived to keep his face impassive.

His words took you by surprise, you couldn't help the way your lips parted and the way your heartbeat quickened. He'd kept count, too.

Aemond pursed his lips with something resembling a small pout, he glanced at you briefly as he slowly started walking towards the doors of the throne room, silently beckoning you to follow, his hands still tightly clasped behind his back.

You kept at his side, choosing your words carefully; "I hope... you've been faring well, my prince?"

A low hum came from Aemond again, "As well as a half blind man can be, yes." He stole another glance at you, feeling his heart swell at the fact you'd kept in mind to stay on his good eye's side. "I assume your time at Dragonstone has been a most joyful one?"

You caught the bite at his words then, the concealed hurt. A sigh fell past your lips, the sound of Valyrian steel against stone each time you took a step and tapped Dark Sister on the floors now becoming sharp and loud, as the room was empty, save for you and Aemond. "It was, at times, yes. But I also missed the liveliness of the Keep... on most days." I missed you, you refrained from saying.

Another hum, another beat of silence, as you neared the doors. "I hear you came on dragonback." Aemond observed.

A small smile tugged at your lips; "I did. I've always favored the skies over the seas."

If you looked at Aemond, you'd see him mimicking your soft smile for once. "On that we agree."

Once you reached the main entrance, Aemond stopped, and you had a feeling that regardless of which way you were headed, he'd be going the opposite direction.

He held his stance, chin high, shoulders tensed, hands behind his back. His breath ran shallow and shaky, however, hanging on by a thread under the weight and warmth of your presence; so close.

And you looked up at him, with big and vulnerable eyes. Part of Aemond had always admired how you had a habit of wearing your heart on your sleeve. And he was well aware that if he held your gaze much longer, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together.

"I will see you again soon then, my prince." You spoke with a tight lipped smile.

Yet what were simple words to you, brought back the memories of the last time you'd promised to see him soon, and instead left him alone for seven years. Aemond's sight grew blurry at the edges, and before you could see the tears collecting in the bottom lid of his eye, he cleared his throat and made his way around you.

You watched, with a heavy heart, as he walked away from you, one hand reaching up to his face as his steps quickened.

Your stomach dropped with a mix of guilt and longing, wondering if the distance between you had become one too big to ever be mended.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter

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[toribookworm22]

Final Thoughts On 2023

I know I have a very dysfunctional sense of time, but this year seems extra short and long to me. But such is the way it goes. Vague recap time!

Shut Down published! I went to my first therapy session. I toured apartments with my roommate. I traveled for the first time with just a friend. I got to meet the voice actors for The Animaniacs Pinky and The Brain. I celebrated my first Aro week. I wrote my first pilot episode. I got on TikTok for class and ended up not hating it. I volunteered to help at an student Oscar event and for student plays. I lost my best friend. I finally joined my school's writing club. My parents accidentally read my poetry collection and loved it. I moved into my very own apartment. I went on a family vacation to New York and got to see my almost little sister for the first time in 4 years. I hosted my very first book signing! I published Reprogrammed. I learned how to live by myself. I took a pottery class. I started a movie script. I let go of my best friend for good. I became the secretary for the writing club. I found a little bit more of myself in my fashion sense. I hosted a Halloween party. I met the producer of Me Before You. I made more friends and learned how best to love some of my others.

And in what has been one of the greatest decisions I've ever made, I stayed incredibly active on this lovely site and I got to meet, know, and love all of you. You guys are my diary and my joke book and a safe place for everything I am and love. I can be 100% myself on here without a single worry and you guys will never understand what that means to me.

My love list will just have to continue to grow, but that's okay. I love each and every one of you and I cannot wait to spend another year alongside you. Happy New Year! 🥂

All my love,

~ toribookworm ♥️

Love List pt. I

@angryaromantics @minutiaewriter @pluromantic @christiew @candlelightkissess @lady-of-himring @asteroidtroglodyte @panic-in-the-attic @elizaellwrites @writing-and-trying @eli-writes-sometimes @thatndginger @hyuccubus @chargeaznable @master-of-the-pigeon-religion @lividdreamz @ashen-crest @saphoblin @akiwitch @wearfinethingsalltoowell @daisywords @the-orangeauthor @arigalefantasynovels @brianamorganbooks @bluejay-in-write @elijahrichardwrites @alittlewarlord @apocalypsewriters @bookmarks-reviews @pure-solomon @xtakeitisisx @alnaperera @all-my-dreams-and-ambitions @porchswingstories @jlilycorbie @rsdan @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @litbylightning @lyssentome @theunboundwriter @writingforevren @regalserpent @axl-ul @likegemstone

[crowleys-hips]

Child Of The Cosmos

a Crowley pov poem

Child of the cosmos

you were born to paint with starlight

but you are forced to paint with the blood

that oozes from your wounds

using the trickle of time as your canvas

where you splatter swirls of brightness

that cut through the ashen sky

like claw marks that tear into the fabric of

reality and cling onto the flesh of the Earth,

desperately seeking the warmth of another

who won't let go

And you'll swim in the flames of your own stars

and burn until your charred remains

become the charcoal that you use

to sketch your life with

When your essence is born anew

in a body that begs to be known

beyond flesh and bone and sinews

beyond time, beyond reason

and the world demands a new name from you

who will you chose to be?

the doomed, crippled fiend

with no control of his own destiny?

that creeping sense of malaise

that follows your every move

through dirt, water, ice, and sulfur?

or

the desire that consumes you?

the stubborn hope that the universe

never managed to snuff out?

the idiotic optimism that despite all your agony,

has survived on sheer headstrong willpower?

you know very well who you are.

you just have to admit it to yourself.

now go. give them hell, kid

(originally posted in my poetry blog)

tag list under the cut

@wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @feiandart @crowleys-curl @im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @halcyonnnn

i made this list at random. if you wanna be added/removed from the list let me knowww

[sscamanderr]

Gods Above, Devils Below

Raphael x reader

Warnings: smut, fingering, bit of dub/con

Near-blistering air carried with it smoldering embers and the faintest hint of cherries. The House was his domain, the very pores in the rock filled with his scent, meant to overwhelm and lay claim to all those who enter and all those who would never leave. Despite this control Raphael had over his hellish home, it was steadily dwindling in the presence of the creature before him. Her scent was all that surrounded him. Her face that clouded his dreams. Her, the darling who bartered her soul so that her friends could be heroes and save her home of Baldur’s Gate. An honorable act had earned her a fool’s fate.

How the gods above should see her now, playing servant at his side on one of his castle’s many balconies with stoicism etched into her expressions, stray hairs whipped about her face by hell-wind. A golden tray with an ancient bottle of wine and a single goblet rested atop her upturned palms. Her eyes were frozen at a point ahead on the jagged and ashen landscape of his palace safely tucked away in his slice of Avernus. The darling dared not look at him—dared not spare him a glance that would hold him over through the night.

His lips curled in annoyance and he swore the woman braced herself. The slightest puff of her chest, the stiffening of her back already pin-straight. Raphael could not deny the swell of devious pride that just his change in attention caused such a reaction in her. She had been seeing him even without looking.

“Do pretend to be happy, little mouse. I could have you scoured away in my dungeons in Hope’s place, should you keep up your display of disrespect,”

He reveled in the way the delicate muscle under her eye twitched.

“Hope is a much better prize than I, devil, but do what you wish.”

Raphael let out a spirited sound from his chest. “Ha! What I wish for is a little appreciation for your current arrangement,” his eyes trailed down the woman’s body, the gossamer gown the color of the surrounding barren landscape leaving little to the imagination if he were to squint, “I allow you almost entirely free reign of the palace, meals, baths, music—“

“And endless poetry from yours truly?” She quipped. Her stoney stature finally broke. Raphael’s way to rejoice was to grace her with a slowly creeping smile.

“You’re such wonderful inspiration. Prayers ignored by the gods, forgotten by friends you risked your soul for,” the devil clenched a fist, “A little darling in the clutches of a fiend forevermore,”

Her gaze soured. The tray in her hands wobbled dangerously. “I know what I’ve done. That does not mean I have to enjoy it,”

“Ah, but it’s such a delight to try. Who knew lending fine treatment only leads to your torture instead?”

“‘Fine treatment’? I’m a servant,”

“My servant, yes,” Raphael stood, noting the way her eyes followed his form. He wondered if it would always be fear behind her fierce gaze or if he could see it change to awe. Or desire. Then he wondered again if he preferred the fear a little too much. “That’s what your contract says, dear one,”

“I know what it says!” She snapped. With a breath strained with anger she set the tray with his wine down on the small round side table nearby before it toppled completely. She stormed away from him, towards devils know where. Raphael remained quiet as he followed close behind—Oh how he loved to rile his little pet. He admired the glimpse of supple thigh as the material of her dress whipped around her legs in her movements of fury.

“Something burdens you,” Raphael gave no warning as his hand shot out to grip her wrist. The woman came to an abrupt halt at the threshold of his balcony. The golden bracer adorning her wrist clinked softly. “I gave your friends the solution they’d been fighting for, the happy ending you felt they so deserved. Yet you feel they don’t deserve it, right?”

Her jaw worked around her stuttered reply. “O-Of course they do.”

“Then what still burns so harshly in that brave heart of yours?” Raphael’s insides sang at the roll of her eyes.

“Do I really have to answer that?” She asked the air in front of her. Raphael gave but a small tug that had her spinning to face him.

His voice took a darker pitch. “Oh, I command it,”

This glorious creature of his stood shorter than he but perfected the act of looking down her nose at him nonetheless.

“Release me, devil,”

“That was not negotiable,” his grip tightened and the woman winced. She looked into his eyes, looking upon how they blazed in her presence. “And do call me Raphael,”

“Just yesterday you told me ‘it’s master to you’,”

“Answer,” he warned, and the woman squirmed. Her nostrils flared, that fire in her heart spread; Raphael basked in the heat.

“I regret every second,” she spat. “I called them friends. I held them. I even shared in their kisses. But they allow me to sell myself to help their cause. They left me down here to rot in a devil’s prison,”

Raphael inhaled deeply, audibly. “Your bitterness becomes you, darling. The taste of it is marvelous,”

The woman flinched, and he did not know if it came from his words or disbelief of her own. Raphael answered for her. “There it is. The truth you've been denying yourself of for all the time you’ve been in my domain,”

His little mouse’s fire doused. Raphael opened his fingers and she tucked her hand away. She hugged her arms across her chest, silky fabric catching gently on the gold bracer. “I did what I thought was right. I can only blame myself.”

“That is what I find most fascinating about you, dear one,” Raphael held her gaze and stepped closer, causing his delightful dear to maintain the distance with a hasty step backward.

“What’s fascinating?” Her question dripped with wariness though she refused to shrink away from him as he neared once again.

“Your loyalty to those most cruel to you. So-called friends wouldn’t leave you here this long without at least an attempt of rescue,” Raphael began, watching the woman’s nose crinkle, “The gods didn’t listen to you,”

“As you love to point out, devil,”

“Raphael,” he stated; a repeat reminder. “Let me finish now, pet.” He stalked forward until the woman had nowhere to run, nowhere to flee. Her back pressed against the stone railing behind her and her mouth pinched in helpless frustration. “The gods didn’t listen to you…” Raphael brought his knuckle under her chin and tipped it up so he could gaze upon the face that brought him such delicious turmoil, “but I will,”

Pretty lips parted and breath hitched. The struggle with realization danced behind her eyes. Her chin jerked back and away from his touch. What terrible games she played.

“There is nothing you can offer me,” she swallowed; Raphael watched her throat move and wanted to wrap his hand around it.

“On the contrary, my darling,” he pressed closer, sliding a leg between her own and finding now resistance. Her shock was evident, but she quickly gathered her wits and bared her teeth.

“You have Haarlep for your filthy needs,” The bite of her words left no marks.

“What of your filthy needs?” Raphael felt a smirk pull at his lips. “We are bound, dear one. I feel your loneliness—the ache it bears on you. You miss the affection of your companions. Look to me to remedy that,”

“I hate even looking upon your face, devil,” her palms pushed on his chest only to find him immovable. He took her hands in his and maneuvered her to face away. She yelped as her stomach pressed against the railing.

“Then don’t,” Raphael hissed in her ear from behind; he heard her swear in response. His hands released hers and they trailed up her arms. She dared not move. Gently as he wished, they slid over her trembling shoulders. Down her sides, to her hips.

Rage pooled around her, mixed with something else.

“You said you’d listen to me,” her statement sounded more like a question, asked with a sigh. Resignation. That’s what he detected.

“Yes, pet,”

Her hands gripped the stone she pressed against, “I want to see what my sacrifice helped,” she breathed unevenly, “That’s all I ask. I want to know exactly what I was worth,”

Raphael summoned a shimmering visage of the world above, of a healing Faerûn. Not free of conflict, but not at war; not under threat of the Elderbrain. Raphael felt the woman in his arms shake against his front but she held her head high.

“Thank you.” The statement was whispered but it echoed through him with all the strength it took her to say it.

“I am a man of my word, dear one,” he bowed his head and kissed the soft spot where her neck met her shoulder. Another shudder ran through her. This time she did not resist.

“Make it quick,” she said. Her words were edged with malice.

“You ask impossible things of me,” Raphael nipped at her earlobe. It earned him a growl. He drank it in as his hands crawled over the front of her thin gown. The piece draped in front lifted with weightless ease. His darling shifted, making the curve of her ass press against his hips.

She remained wordless as he grazed the bare plane of her belly with his fingertips. He brought himself closer against her, molding around her body and gliding his mouth over her neck. “I want to touch you, dear one. I will touch you, in all the ways we both need,” She inhaled sharply as his hand sank further down her torso and his middle finger found the slit of her. Heat pulsed from her swollen bud under the pad of his finger. Raphael let out a deep purr.

His darling bit back a moan. “Damn it, devil…”

He chuckled darkly as collected her wetness and began to rub rhythmic circles. Her jaw opened soundlessly beneath his lips. Raphael parted from her enough to watch her eyes flutter closed. Fingers joined together and applied more pressure. She whined. Music to his ears. The devil played her sensitive body like organ keys. Her back bowed. In arching her back she became a crescent moon. Glowing and pure in his world of darkness. Just a little sliver of her could make him howl. And he heard it.

“Raphael…” she pleaded. He could have crashed into his own climax with the brush of a hand. His name cried from her lips brought the old devil halfway to salvation.

His fingers curled and pumped inside her tight heat, slick dripping between them. She came undone with her head thrown back against his shoulder, knees weakening enough to make him hold her up with his own body. His darling collapsed into him, knuckles white from her grip around the stone railing. His chin nuzzled her hair and lips planted a kiss to her temple. Embers and cherries scented the air. Teeth grazed her neck, begging to sink in and claim her.

There was no need. Her soul already his. Now her body too. Maybe now she would come to welcome him enthusiastically, to let him make her forget the shared moments of intimacy with her companions. Maybe now she would look upon him without fuss, and with reverence as he tasted more and more of her. The possibilities made his fiendish heart race.

As he panted into her skin, he thought of the numerous deals he refused made by her friends for her release. Some more tempting than others: ascension, a throne, a crown. Raphael found it all too easy to resist. He’d gotten what he’d desired and he’d tell her one day about her friends’ attempts at being heroes again. Only when he was sure they could both laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it. Only when he was sure she would choose nothing else than to be at his side. Raphael could taste the delight of that future on his tongue. He would have it one day. They had eternity together, after all.

[cwritesfiction]

Five Lines Tag

Tagged by @ashen-crest!

Rules: find a line in your WIP (can be dialogue or not) that fits the parameters given by the person who tagged you. Then change one of the parameters and tag five or more people. Lines can be from multiple WIPs.

All my lines come from It's in the Cards :)

A line about warmth

Elliott took Adrian's hand, which was only slightly larger than theirs, just like he was only slightly taller. But he was considerably warmer, and after their brief handshake, Elliott's skin tingled.

An angry line

Then, he said, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

A line about darkness or light

And yes, a Google search told them it wasn’t safe to light a candle in a cracked jar, but it was a very small crack.

A line about a smile

He brushed a thumb against their lip, a dangerous smile crossing his face. “Let me take care of you.”

A sad line

They stopped. The magnetic poetry board. gentle sun what loneliness to taste you only for a season

Tagging @byjillianmaria @revenantlore @sleepyowlwrites

If you'd like to play, your lines are...

A line that asks a question

A line that includes a color

A line that makes you smile

A line that describes a character

A line that describes an object

[murmew]

Cafe 3 - Red Eye

"Ashes denote that fire was..." A steady cadence paired with arching pen strokes. The glowing letters floating in the air trembled, then dispersed into the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Another failure.

Sonetto calmly lowered her wand. Stationed in front of her book stand, she traced the poem on the open page again with her index finger, mouthing silently to herself with a deliberate beat.

"I thought you would be here."

Sonetto quickly straightened her back and turned around. Vertin had entered the study with two steaming porcelain cups.

"Timekeeper?" She checked the clock situated on the nearby wall and blushed in embarrassment. They were supposed to meet for lunch nearly half an hour ago. "Sorry."

Vertin shook her head and handed Sonetto her drink.

"Thank you." Sonetto accepted the cup with both hands, but even upon stepping back, it was clear her thoughts lay elsewhere.

Vertin followed her gaze to the open book. "Ashes denote that fire was - Revere the greyest pile." She glanced up at Sonetto who was taking a sip of her drink. "Were you trying to cast this verse?"

"Yes."

Sonetto's unique arcane skill was as powerful as her own imagination. A beautiful skill that brought poetry to life.

"The meaning of this verse..." Sonetto lowered her cup, eyes downcast. "I see... an ashen world, one that has lost the spark of life."

What a depressing image. It was clearly muddled, given that the verse refused to materialize. The intention of the author... The poem was one of reflection, not despair and loss.

"What about the fleeting beauty that fire has shown? The memories of what was."

"..."

"Revere the greyest pile... The remnants of fire that burned largest and brightest. The most precious memory."

Sonetto furrowed her brows, deep in thought. She was quiet for a long time, then she finally spoke, "What's lost is gone... But it is still a world bright with embers and flames, there will always be more to see and experience."

"Did that help?"

"Yes, very much. Thank you, Timekeeper."

Vertin smiled to herself, satisfied with the conclusion. "So, how's Red Eye?"

Sonetto seemed a bit confused by the question before remembering that she had a drink in her hand. "It's-"

"Good?"

It was her remark for the past two drinks by now. The pattern was too obvious by this point.

Sonetto nodded, but continued. "I think... I like this over the previous two drinks. The boldness is different from black coffee."

"It must because of the espresso shot."

"Espresso, the result of brewing coffee with high pressure..."

Vertin didn't think Sonetto of all people would like espresso, but it also wasn't too out of left field.

"If possible, I'd like to try espresso tomorrow."

"Sur- Wait, just espresso?"

[deldeldel90]

traitor Blaine au where he was always worse but in a wet cat sort of way. greyden vibes, where he's just like really mentally ill and just. Going Through It.

so he runs away after the final battle, lives in destitute, doesn't take care of himself AT ALL. he's basically just stewing in his own failures, becoming unhinged and generally unwell, doesn't sleep, doing Really Bad.

and he's trying to come up with a plan. to get revenge, because like,, he's lost everything. he's lost Father, and he still hasn't uncovered how much abuse his dad put on him bc he has zero (0) emotional awareness. he's coming up with revenge because it's the only thing that's keeping him stable and keeping him from absolutely breaking into a million pieces.

so… after a few months of planning, and not taking care of himself, becoming sick every few days and forgetting to eat and not sleeping, he has the Perfect idea. he pretends to be helpless in order to sneak into their club.

(he is helpless, but not like he’ll ever admit that.)

“i don't have a curse,” he tells them, pretending to be ashen-faced. there's blood on his fist from where he had to work his ass off in order to get a meal. it was the first one he'd eaten in about three days. “but.. i heard this place can help for more than that. is it okay if I…” he feels his throat stir. “if I can-” he stumbles over his words. his face burns in very real embarrassment.

“of course you can join,” prez says immediately. she takes his hands, cold to the touch, and puts them into her warm ones. “let's get you inside. you're all damp.”

blaine doesn't own anything better than about two pairs of outfits and a raggedy cloak. he doesn't have anything. everybody hates him, after all. he doesn't want anything. he just needs revenge.

this is what he needs… to make Father proud. to be loved again.

he tries to pry into their secrets. they force him to eat a hot meal instead. he tries to get curtis to tell him where he keeps different keys. curtis insists he gets a bath first—”and wash your hair,” he says, kindly, offering to help him do it, if he's unable to do it on his own.

“i’m fine,” blaine hisses, wondering why everyone's being so… nice to him. he ends up needing the help for his hair. his body feels so weak. his sharp mind has fog all around it.

“do you have the flu or something…?” syrah demands to know, rolling her eyes as she sets up a board game in blaine’s makeshift bedroom. “c'mon. this game’s called ‘fashion roll-two’. saff and abbi are getting the snacks.”

and more instances like this. they keep taking care of him, he keeps trying to get information and sabotage them. it won't stop.

blaine does not understand what's going on.

the cpc smile at him at every breakfast and offer him more of those sugary waffles.

here's the twist: THEY KNOW BLAINE IS LYING!!!! they know he's a trickster little bunny rabbit!!! a snake. a thieving cat, if you will. they know it all. they just see him and go, “damn bitch you live like this?”

but they see him– hurting, actively in pain, destroying himself, all while trying to hide it under a mask of pure hatred. but he cares too much.

(he always has.)

he teaches abbi the way of the sword- from what little he knows. he paints makeup onto syrah's face. he paints flower pots and gardens with saffron. he reads poetry with prez on the quiet nights. he helps curtis with the cleaning whenever he can. he plays requested songs at the piano for the club during the days where it's raining too hard outside to spend it by the campfire. he remembers all the names of the girls nobody else really looks to. he gives gwen his jacket after she made a mess of herself in the kitchen and can't help but understand why she's everyone’s little sister. aurelia and him have cat fights but he looks out for the younger girl, making sure her food is always chilled.

he tries to take revenge. tries to keep a distance and make himself hateable, tries to keep others away from him. tries to self destruct.

but they don't let him.

au name: “to befriend an enemy” or something like that :3

[jeffreystewart]

Norsery Rhymes from A to Z Fulla, The Wise and Bountiful Well here we are another Thor’s Day and another 20 min sketch of a Norse (and Germanic) mythological characters.  This week it’s Fulla / Volla. A Goddess Mentioned in the Poetic Edda, Prose Edda, and Skaldic Poetry.

Her name from the Proto Germanic "fullon" and translates to ‘full’, ‘plentiful', and 'bountiful’, and generally means she is thought of as 'The Goddess of Abundance"’, or 'The Goddess of the Bountiful Harvest’.

She is also called “The Wise”, and “The Wise Counselor”, and "The Secret Keeper" given her status as Friggs, te Queen of the Gods handmaiden and counsel. And is often thought to be her sister.

She's lastly known as 'The Maiden of the Flowing Hair' as she is forever a maid and has long flowing hair that reaches the ground.

She wears a golden headband and ring, or possibly they are the same thing. Fulla carries Friggs Ashen box and shoes, and assists her when weaving.

[ryebread-x]

Frigg’s Handmaidens pt 4/4

Pt 1

Pt 2

Pt 3

The final part is here! Anyways, here are my interpretations of the last two handmaidens, Eir and Fulla +the queen herself Frigg!

Eir (Goddess of Medicene and Healing)

General info: Eir is both recognized as an Aesir goddess and/or Valkyrie. But she described as having healing powers no matter her origin. In the Prose Edda, she appears in "The Lay of Svipdagr" as simply a handmaiden. But it is described by Snorri as being "the best of pschycians" and is listed among the 16 goddesses in Gylfaginning and a Valkyrie in Skaldskaparmal. But then, it is also later listed that she is an Aesir goddess.

Headcanons:

- Eir was a valkyrie in my retelling but was half aesir born she also was more of a war doctor than a warrior herself

-I headcanon Eir as Gna's mother (since Gna's parentage is unknown in the myths and Gna shares a commonality of with valkyries when it comes to flying horses)

-Eir raised Gna as a single mother, and Gna' father is unknown

-Eir is the same age as Frigg but doesn't often eat Idunn's apples to keep herself young after she retired as a valkyrie, and Gna grew up

-That being said, Eir is one of Frigg's closest friends

-Eir is Asgard's main doctor, but she has many handmaidens(midwives,nurses)that help her with her tasks if she can't tend to them herself

-She's the eldest of Frigg's handmaidens

Fulla (Goddess of Sercerts and abundance)

General info: Fulla is Frigg closest and most trusted handmaiden. She is listed in the poetic and prose Edda and Sklandic poetry. She is often depicted with a golden band and the keeper of an ashen box. She tends to Frigg's footwear. She's also the only handmaiden Frigg shares her sercerts with.

Headcanons:

-Fulla is the second eldest of Frigg's handmaidens

-All the jewelry she wears are various gifts from Frigg. Her and Frigg also have matching "friendship rings" 😉 or at least that's what the Aesir think they are

-Other then Syn ,Eir ,and Frigg ,Fulla is also a mother figure to the younger gods and goddesses

-Fulla is part Elf and was in Alfheim, though she is partially Aesir, like the majority of the gods

-Fulla helped raised Baldr, Hodr, Hermod ,and Saga

-For Fulla's dress for my interpretation, I made her dress color symbolize her devotion to Frigg by making it a softer blue but also symbolize her as an individual by making it a different shade

-I headcanon Fulla as Lesbian and in a forbidden/secert relationship with Frigg, which is one the sercerts Fulla keeps in the box

Frigg or Frigga (Goddess of Marriage and Motherhood)

General info:Frigg or Frigga is the wife of Odin and Queen of the gods. She's also the mother of Baldr ,Hodr,and Hermod. She is in many myths but is famously in the death of Baldr. She also often times merged with Freya. However, most of the time, they are two separate deities. She appears in Germanaic and Norse mythology.

Headcanons:

- Frigg is often associated with a goose as her animal in the myth, so I based my interpretation of her slightly off of a Snow goose

-Frigg acts like a mother goose herself and is overprotective of all her children but not in an overbearing way

-Frigg is close friends with Eir ,Snotra ,and Fulla

-Frigg was friends with Sigyn and saw her as a little sister. However, they had a falling out and hadn't spoken after (she also wasn't really fan of the fact Sigyn went on to marry Loki)

-I headcanon Frigg as bi and in a relationship with Fulla

-Frigg has two rings, one from Fulla, the other from Odin, her necklace was a gift she received on her wedding day

[gently-decaying-flowers]

okay @bassguitarinablackt-shirt and @literatureisdying here’s some band name ideas i found 👁️👁️

- poetry falling

- if and when

- the dead plants

- lucid angels

- lies and lullabies

- empty echoes

- turn back the stars

- ashen eyes

those are just some that i liked hehe what do ya think?

[wickedzeevyln]

The Sky Comes in Two Colors

Blue, periwinkle, indigo, fuchsia saffron, but where we are the sky comes in two colors—Red or ashen. Now my tremoring hands,plump as they are,Cannot lift limp heads where theyhave been lain. And, there I have seen two thingsburning in those eyes,mostly love,now only pain. Though fear is eating away,I opted to stay and hold their hands,at least one more time,be decent enough to musterthe…

[alpydk]

The Circling Sky (Part 1)

New story. Gale x OC (F)

Summary: Lissa comes from a troubled background, an alcoholic father who's caused more problems for her than he's worth dragging her around Faerûn. After being in Waterdeep for a short while it's time for her to move again. Gale has been in Waterdeep since the defeat of the Netherbrain. He's lonely and restless. After receiving news of the death of a friend he decides to travel back to Baldur's Gate. The story follows their journey together and the connections the two outcasts build between each other.

Ao3 Link

“Mr. Dekarios?” She watched as the wizard approached the counter of the Blackstaff Academy library. She’d only been employed a short while and yet each day she had seen this same man enter, requesting various tomes on magic and the weave. She tucked her ashen blonde curls behind her pointed ears, making her face a little more visible to him. He was always such a flirt when he spoke with people, and though she had viewed him as arrogant, she couldn’t help but enjoy it a little when his dark brown eyes would fall on her. 

“My dear Lissa, you’re looking as beautiful as ever, one might say the picture of radiance.” His voice was smooth and elegant. She liked how he raised her spirits, even on the days when she’d rather have stayed in bed. She watched the way his clean-shaven jaw moved with each word, distracted by his soft lips. 

She handed over the stack of books, letting her hair fall to hide the reddening of her cheeks. “Um, your order, Mr. Dekarios.”

He smiled softly at her. “Gale will do, as I’ve told you before.” He placed a hand over hers as he took the books. She could feel the warmth of his palm, the soft pads of his fingertips as they stroked, taking the pile from her. 

Lissa composed herself. Her father had always told her to never trust a wizard. They were nothing but snobbery and unbridled ambition, always full of themselves and blind to the realities of the real world. They believed everything could be solved with one spell or another, choosing mind control over diplomacy, a fireball over flint and tinder. They’d lost their way and so they were not worth listening to. “Mr. Dekarios, just sign this, please.” She slid a sheet of paper across the counter. Her heart was pounding. She hated the effect he had on her.

He delicately signed his name on the page, placing the quill down next to it. “I don’t suppose you’ve decided on whether you’re willing to take me up on that offer of a drink, have you?”

She swallowed the nerves that built up. Of course, she’d thought over it; the idea of sipping wine with him discussing topics such as their love of poetry before inevitably leaving for somewhere more private, something she had heard used to happen often amongst the staff of the library when it came to Mr. Dekarios. But rumours also spoke of this not having happened in a long while. That a new woman had entered his life, his nighttime adventures becoming fewer and further between. “I’ve told you I’m not allowed, we can’t have relations with-”

Gale cut her off. “Not relations, my friend. Merely a drink. A chance to get to know one another.”

She sighed. Getting to know one another? That’s not how the others had described it at all; unless it was getting to know physical aspects of one another. She considered the latter before quickly pushing it aside. “I’m sorry, I will have to decline.”

“Well,” he spoke, and she saw a glimmer of disappointment on his face. “That’s quite alright. You cannot blame a man for trying.” He placed a palm on top of the books. “Until tomorrow then, Lissa.” He bowed his head slightly to her and left, leaving her to release the long-held breath she’d been carrying. 

***

“Well, I heard it had been going on for some time. Apparently when he was at the academy.”

“But she wouldn’t do that to him that young, would she?”

“Well, you know these deities, no concept of what age is when it comes to mortals.”

“But he was only seventeen!”

“Old enough for some, it seems.”

Lissa tried not to eavesdrop on the gossip whilst she drank her coffee. Normally it was about relationships between the staff, someone’s new haircut, and generally two-faced complaining. Today it was about Gale Dekarios. 

“Well, it certainly explains why he stopped coming around here and poaching on the staff. The last fling was a while ago with that young man from Daggerford.”

“The elf? I always wondered why he seemed so glum. To be used like that and tossed aside. What a horrible young man that Dekarios fellow was.”

“Well, it seems his year away from Waterdeep did him some good. Though I do think the beard suited him better.”

She placed her cup down and left, their comments getting under her skin more than she would have liked. What did she care who he was sleeping with? A relationship with a goddess? A year away from Waterdeep? No doubt to explore and find himself. So, he needed to explore a little more than others, what was wrong with that? She gritted her teeth and walked through the library knowing that in about thirty minutes he would come to collect his new order.  

***

Thirty minutes became an hour became the whole afternoon. For the first time in two months, Gale had not collected his books as he usually would. Lissa tapped her fingers impatiently on the counter, mindlessly looking to the main door and then back to the small pile of books at her side. 

The voice of her boss drew her out of her thoughts. “Lissa dear, your shift ended ten minutes ago.”

She turned and smiled at the elderly gentleman. “Oh, I know, but Mr. Dekarios has yet to pick up his order. I’m sure he will be here any moment.”

“Well, why don’t you just drop them off on your route home? You go past the docks, right? He has a room not far from there.”

***

Lissa stood in the rain. Her clothes were soaked through and though the books were safe in her bag, she’d been forced to pull it under her cloak meaning her one shoulder was now freezing with no protection from the elements. She’d banged on the door to the tower and was hoping for an answer soon, and yet time seemed to slow down. The longer she stood there, the more she considered just taking the books home with her and then he could collect them directly from the library. Something didn’t feel right though, every day he would pick them up at the same time without fail. She banged the door a little bit harder waiting for a reply.

The locks clicked and the door opened a fraction, Gale’s face peering through the crack. “Lissa?” He opened the door a little more, his normally smart robes unbuckled, revealing a section of his chest. 

She turned her eyes from him with a blush. “Mr. Dekarios…” A raindrop ran from her hairline down the back of her neck causing her to shiver involuntarily. She glanced over at him and fumbled with her bag, the cold making it difficult to grip the clasp.

“Don’t just stand on the doorstep, come in, come in.” He ushered her into the hallway of his tower, closing the door behind her. She felt the temperature change instantly, her shivering slowing a little. “Let me get you a towel”

She rubbed at her arms, trying to calm the goosebumps and tension in her system. “Oh, there’s no need. I’m just here to-” 

“Now, my dear. It’s quite alright. Let’s get you dried off before you catch your death of cold.” He started to unclip the cloak from around her neck and though she wanted to object she could do nothing but look at the way his eyes focussed on her, a soft smile emerging on her face. 

“Books…”

“Books? Ah, yes. My order today.” He took the cloak from her and carried it away with him. Lissa followed, trying to open her pack as she went. “Apologies for not collecting them. There was an unexpected interruption.” He flicked a wrist causing the fireplace to light up, the heat of the flames instantly providing comfort.

She placed the bag down and started to pull the books out but then felt the feeling of Gale’s hand upon her shoulder. Her body tensed ever so slightly and she looked up at him, his soft eyes staring down at her.

“Do not worry about the books just yet. Let's just get you warm and dry first.” 

She stood and he rubbed at her upper arms. She noticed how close he was to her, how gentle his touch was, how soft his lips were. Words were forgotten to her as his hand crept from her shoulder to around her ear, rubbing the tip gently with his thumb. Her heart pounded in her chest and for a brief moment, all logic and reason abandoned her. She wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel those soft lips upon hers. He leaned in slightly to her, a small creeping smile emerging.

Never trust a wizard. Her father’s words drifted through her mind at the worst moment, causing her to come to her senses and take a step back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dekarios.” Her voice trembled but she would hold her own. “I am just here to deliver your books.” 

She hurriedly picked up her bag without giving him any chance to apologise and turned for the door.

“Lissa, I didn’t mean…” He had no words for what he had wanted to do, instead letting her leave, her cloak still lying in front of the fireplace.

***

Gale had been intending to leave his tower for his regular walk along the docks to the library. He’d done this every day since he had returned to Waterdeep over two months ago, a mindless routine that got him outside into the fresh air and prevented him from secluding himself as he had previously done. 

Since the defeat of the Netherbrain, his travelling companions and he had all gone their separate ways and though he’d returned in good health, the orb quelled, and him back in good favour with Mystra, he often found himself feeling quite lonely. Most of his colleagues at Blackstaff had not even noticed his four-month absence and some had come to believe he had died much earlier than this during his 1 year seclusion. He couldn’t help but feel out of place again now that he had returned to the one place he had longed to be.

The library was his one place of solace, the many shelves of fiction he could lose himself in, adventures that compared little to what he had lived through himself; the books of magic and spells were almost completely memorised over his years of study. If anything he now attended for the various people, those who enjoyed the literary arts, those who were soft-spoken and knowledgeable. He ignored the whispers of the staff who worked there. Many had known him from his earlier years as a student when he was more rambunctious and eager to impress. He’d been an unfortunate soul desperate to connect with others, a young prodigy who at times felt alienated from his peers. Though his time since Mystra had rectified this, he was still known for his past misdeeds, especially amongst the younger of the personnel. 

The young half-drow Lissa was one that didn’t seem to listen to the gossip. Each day she was there with a smile, her light blue eyes bright at his approach, and often he was reminded of Tav. He’d tried several times to engage her in deeper conversation to get to know her more, but each time she stuck to her job, never calling him by his first name no matter how much he requested her to. He had noticed the blush though, the way that after a few weeks, she would tuck her blonde hair back just for him, normally letting it hang down for others. He wanted to get to know her better and each day had become a small mission just to interact with her.

The previous day she had turned him down for an evening together and although he’d been a little hurt he wasn’t going to let it affect him. His near death to the orb, to the Netherbrain, to almost everything during his time on the Sword Coast, had given him a lot more confidence in himself and he was slowly feeling like his old outcast self again. Yes, he didn’t fit in completely, but he accepted that now. He had his magic, his charisma, he liked himself, and that’s all that mattered. 

The letter lying on the table is what had been preventing his excursion today. He’d read it over several times trying to make sense of the words, trying to find out why someone would create such a lie and send it to him. 

Gale Dekarios,

This letter has been written on behalf of Duke Ravenguard. 

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologise for his lack of correspondence during these last few months but my duties towards Baldur’s Gate have kept me quite occupied. I’m sorry to hear about the passing of Tav, I know you both were close.

Enclosed is a copy of the book Magic of the Weave - An Introduction, they said you’d left it at camp one day by accident. I will try to visit Waterdeep during the spring providing I find the time. Look after yourself.

Yours sincerely

Wyll Ravenguard (Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate)

None of it made sense. Tav had been well when they parted, apparently wanting to continue adventuring, but to die so suddenly? Gale turned the paper over trying to find any sign of deception. The seal had been official, the paper and ink of high quality, and even the courier had been official from Baldur’s Gate. The banging at the door didn’t register the first time, the questions taking his attention. As they faded from his mind, he heard the noise and opened the door to find Lissa standing in the pouring rain.

His initial reaction had been to want to grab her and just be held by her, to have someone with whom he could mourn,  but he barely knew her and Lissa had always viewed him with complete professionalism meaning he could not burden her with such troubles. He invited her in with the hope that he would not feel lonely on this night, still questioning the contents of the letter, denying that Tav could even be gone. As he rubbed her shoulders to warm her, his emotions had gotten the better of him, making him long for an escape from the realities of his current situation. Lissa had smiled and blushed. She’d gazed up at him caringly in the same way Tav had all those months ago and for a moment he had believed that it was his friend with him again. It was only as she stepped back that he realised his mistake, losing himself in the moment with her. 

Gale hadn’t wanted to let her leave, his thoughts spiralling further down than they had in a long time. All he could do was stand and watch the flames of the fireplace, wishing that he just had one friend in this moment of loss.

[delusionaid]

I went on a longer walk and listened to this on repeat because it's been on my playlist again and it's possibly my favorite out of the accidental Guili soundtrack the artist made. It made me think about Zhongli and his interest in poetry, which I imagine him to still harbor alongside his interest in stories (both telling and hearing). (I say still because it's something Morax is hinted at having enjoyed and I like to imagine it endured.)

[...] Then, to the gentle sound of laughter and poetry from the God-Kings, sparkling, glaze-like, blue flowers began to burst into bloom [...]

Chinese poetry is something very special that I sadly cannot recreate but I find it very fitting for Zhongli - especially compared to the funnier bard-style poems/ballads I envision Venti casually spins. It's poetry that is based in the art of words and word combinations, word families and creating metaphors that pierce your heart in five different ways and create images of unspoilt snowy peaks in your mind as you read of white peach blossoms dancing in the wind.

I would love to write poetry like that but sadly I'm a Venti kind of poet, if at all, but I imagine Zhongli to be able to write a verse or two about things that are dear to him. Such as Guizhong - which leads me to my actual topic and what I wanted to write down so I don't forget: impressions of her he holds on to after her death, many of which still surround him even now and evoke her image as he walks through Liyue. [Since these are my hcs, no need to read them as Guizhong canon, obvs.]

The sound of honest laughter in the street, for you would always turn your head to see the cause of it. The scent of elder in early summer that clung to your hands after you helped the women in the village to wash them once. They looked lovely woven into your hair, the small blossoms like snowflakes against your ashen strands. It is the scent of things just born, eager to live with all their being until their time comes and they wither. The sun's warm touch on my face as it sinks behind the mountains, like your hand on my cheek. Now the mountains have risen too high or I am too late to catch the last rays of light before it settles for the night. The daunting task of counting the stars as they appeared one by one amidst the dusk, that some would see as futile. Not even gods as old as us could grasp each one and though each night they were the same you always cherished them anew. The sensation of putting one foot in front of the other, realizing each step as a potential to learn something new. Even on a road as familiar to you as your own hands a new day, a new step could change the direction of all things.

Might add to these in the future~

[bracketsoffear]

Darkness (Lord Byron) "

Written in the 'Year without a Summer' of 1816, Byron was inspired by the ashen darkness to compose this poem about the end of the world, and the gloom that would accompany it."

Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brontë) "As you read, the shadows get deeper and darker, and you start hearing noises from overhead. It sounds like it's coming from the attic? Do you have an attic? Why would anyone be up there if you did? No, you can't look! It's my attic! Anyway, secrets and shadows and the unknown."