#dusky grey

[antiqueanimals]

Mammals of the San Francisco Bay Region. Written by William and Elizabeth Berry. Illustrated by William Berry. 1959.

Internet Archive

[spearxwind]

I think it's sad that most people always think of bottlenoses as the "classic dolphin" since its the one that's always used for shows, and always think of dolphins as just straight grey when in reality there's so many varieties with so many different amazing patterns

Look at the common dolphin! They have a gorgeous X pattern and even some dull yellow/gold!!

Hourglass dolphins have gorgeous white streaks

Spinner dolphins have really pretty banding as well, AND they have a really sleek cute silhouette!

The atlantic spotted dolphin!!! Theyre spotted!!!!!!

and the pantropical spotted too!!

Dusky dolphins have a gorgeous airbrush look going on like straight out of a 2000s fantasy illustration

Striped dolphins sure have stripes!! How cool!!

And these I've shown you aren't even all of them at all, there are so many of them:

There's so so so many different types of dolphins people dont know about this isnt even all of them and some are SO gorgeous and underrated because people just dont know they exist so I'm here to fix that

[extinctionstories]

It was never a common species, the blue-grey warbler that locals called the jack pine bird. A belated discovery among American birds, it was undescribed by science until the mid 19th century—and then, known only on the basis of a single specimen. The bird's wintering grounds in the Caribbean would eventually fulfill the demands of collectors and museums, but the intricacies of its lifecycle remained a mystery for decades, the first nest only found in 1903. As the already-rare bird became rarer, people could only guess at why. There were just so few birds to look for, their breeding habitat inscrutable amidst the dense, impassable woodland of their Midwestern home. The one clue was the most apparent thing about the bird: its affinity with the jack pine (Pinus banksiana).

Over time, more nests were found—not in the eponymous trees, as might be expected for a songbird, but on the ground at their feet. Data points converged, leading to the realization that not only did the bird nest almost exclusively in proximity to the scrubby pines, but only utilized trees that fell within a specific range: new growth, between five and fifteen feet tall, with branches that swept shelteringly close to the ground. Subsequently, it would be noticed that the greatest volume of specimen collection for the bird had corresponded with years in which historically significant wildfires had impacted the Midwest—fires that, for decades afterwards, had been staunchly suppressed. The pieces fell into place, like jack pine seeds, whose cones open only under the heat of a blaze.

With the bird's total population having dwindled to the low hundreds, a program of prescribed burns, clearcutting, and replanting was instituted, with many acres of land purchased and devoted to the preservation and maintenance of suitable breeding habitat. Concurrently, efforts were made to protect the vulnerable bird against brood parasitism by the brown-headed cowbird.

When the first federal list of protected species was put forward in 1966, the name of the small grey warbler was inscribed beside birds such as the Kauai ʻōʻō and the Dusky Seaside Sparrow.

The ʻōʻō, last of the genus Moho, would be removed from the list in 2023 due to extinction, after thirty-six years without a sighting.

The endling Dusky Seaside Sparrow, a male named Orange Band, would die of old age in captivity in 1987, with his species being delisted three years later.

in 2019, fifty-two years after the creation of the Endangered Species Protection Act, the name of Kirtland's warbler, too, was removed from the list: it had been determined that, with a population now numbering nearly 5000, the jack pine bird could be considered safely stable.

Conservationists continue to work to preserve the breeding habitat of Kirtland's Warbler in the midwestern US, as well as its winter roosts in the Bahamas and neighboring islands (though selective logging has replaced actual burning in recent years, due to the dangers posed by unpredictable fires). It's the kind of effort that it takes to undo the damage we've caused to the planet and its creatures—the kind of hope that we need, to not give up on them, or on ourselves.

-

The title of this piece is Prescribed Burn (Kirtland's Warbler). It is traditional gouache on 18x24" watercolor paper, and is part of my series Conservation Pieces, which focuses on efforts made to save critically endangered birds from extinction.

[jolapeno]

do me yourself masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

key themes: meet cute. romcom vibes (your girl is back). fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. idiots falling in love. smut (eventually - check individual chapters for details). frankie is a boy!dad (will highlight when child will be mentioned in individual chapters warnings)

COMPLETE

CHAPTER ONE - BUTTERSCOTCH ORANGE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER TWO - LEMON TWIST

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THREE - HEATHER PURPLE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER FOUR - GREEN SMOKE

CHAPTER FIVE - PEPPER RED (S)

CHAPTER SIX - MORNING COFFEE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER SEVEN - HONEY CREAM

CHAPTER EIGHT - DARK OLIVE

CHAPTER NINE - BREATH OF FRESH AIR

CHAPTER TEN - CRANBERRY COCKTAIL (S)

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER ELEVEN - DUSKY PINK

CHAPTER TWELVE - STORMY SKY

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - HELLO YELLOW

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - SOFT PERIWINKLE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - RASPBERRY TRUFFLE (S)

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - APPLE GREEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - TANGERINE DREAMS

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - CALMING PEACH

CHAPTER NINETEEN - CHARMING BLUE

CHAPTER TWENTY - RAINIER GREY

gifted moodboard by @eupheme

gifted moodboard by @sawymredfox

house layout by @cherubispunk

leaflet for harold’s by me

dedication: none of this would be possible without @secretelephanttattoo who i owe my heart to for not just persuading me to write this, but egging me on all week. el, you're a fantastic friend, thank you for all the giggles, the catfish picture and for just letting me distract you all goddamn week. ily, and i hope one day i can show how much. shoutout to @hellishjoel for the title, and to @thetriumphantpanda for listening to me talk about this pair for a solid ten minutes when we was booking train tickets.

[c0smonox]

My ghoul lineup!! i’ve been meaning to do this for like two years but it’s done!!!

headcannons for the ghouls under the cut!

Ok so based on element

Quintessence- They have tiger like markings that darken with age and glow when they use their powers. They’re usually some sort of purple hue and have a medium amount of body fur and a medium sized tail. Their tail is stronger enough to grasp and hold objects but not strong enough to support their bodies. They have shorter and rounder ears.

Fire- fire ghouls are usually red hued, they usually have black marks that resemble volcanic rock scattered across their bodies. Dewdrop in particular has red lines resembling magma across his body resulting from his transformation. They have whip thin tails, which can really only loosely grasp objects, and long pointed ears. Fire ghouls have little to no fur bc of how hot they are, if they have any fur they look like those sphinx cats.

Water- water ghouls are usually some sort of blue hue, with bioluminescence patterns scattered across their bodies which glow in the dark. They have thick tails with fins and fins on their arms and webbed fingers to help them swim. They have seal like flippered feet which aid in swimming as well. They also have gills on their neck and chest and “webbed” ears. Their fur is short and feels like a seals.

Earth- earth ghouls are usually green or brown hued. Stronger earth ghouls can grow flowers from their hair and horns. Many times their horns, ears, and body patterns resemble those of forest creatures. Instead of paws, they have cloven hooves. They have the strongest tails, which can support their whole body weight (imagine like a possum). Their fur thickness changes with the season, being thinnest in the summer and thickest in the winter.

Air- air ghouls are usually a dusky blue/grey color. They have bright white freckles all across their bodies and their hair usually represents something cloudlike. They have the thickest fur out of any ghouls. They have short fluffy ears and thin tails like fire ghouls. They typically also have white hair. They can use the breeze to float and/or have wings that can fold into their backs and like to hang out in the rafters of the abbey or trees in the forest. They’re lighter than other ghouls bc of this feature

Multi- multi ghouls are kind of a wild card. They typically have a mixture of their elements typical traits, like quint markings or air freckles. Aurora, being an air and quint ghoulette, has both of these. Swiss, being a true multi ghoul, has most of these traits, but less noticeable than other ghouls of those elements.

idk if this was obvious but Auroras hair is meant to resemble the Aurora Borealis, she really just went crazy with hair dye lmao

[fic-over-cannon]

the gloaming

jason todd x gn!reader

Do you know me in the gloaming, Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming? Flower Gathering, Robert Frost

Something sweet dances on the wind, cuts through the grime and exhaust of the city’s usual odour. Flowers, maybe, blooming in the park two blocks east. For Jason Todd, it feels like a Gotham summer, the kind he used to love as a kid. The breeze just caressing his skin before moving on, sticky heat finally letting up as Fall looms on the horizon. The setting sun catches on the windows of the high rises, transforming the whole street into technicoloured fiery hues. 

He’s got a bag of pastries clutched between his teeth, a surprise gift from the bakery on 3rd for helping them with their vandalism problem. Reaching into his back pocket, Jason juggles his phone and wallet looking for his keys. It’s a struggle, but he’s used to it. You tease him for it every time and every time he manages the lock on his own, Jason crows with triumph. Today though, with the risk of dropping his bounty, he keeps his victory to himself.

Silence greets him, punctuated only by the door closing behind him. Cautious, Jason toes off his boots and goes searching. Keys finding their home on the hook and pastries getting deposited on the  countertop still prompt no response. He’s not worried, not yet. You’d sent him a text when you’d gotten home after all. The kitchen is dark in the wake of sunset, the first tendrils of blue grey shadow reaching long fingers across the cabinets. The water from the tap is cold as he gulps it down. Stray drops cling to the glass as he presses it to his forehead. 

Light shines faintly from under the closed door of the bedroom. Pale gold cutting across the plush fibers of the carpet. Jason pushes the door gently, stops it from bouncing off the wall the way it’s prone to doing with just a shade too much enthusiasm. You’re there, curled up on top of the blankets of the bed and gilded by the low light. 

“Hey,” he calls out softly.

You pat the bed beside you and Jason crawls in beside you, mattress sinking under his weight.  With a sigh, your head comes to rest on his stomach, arms coming around him. Jason shivers as your pinky brushes bare skin, T-shirt riding up. Face first, you nuzzle in to him and he holds you tighter. Presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’s going on, chickadee?” Jason asks, inhaling the faded scent of shampoo and sweat. Silence stretches out between you, filling the room as the windows grow darker. It’s that quiet hour where the sun has said its farewells but the moon hasn’t quite risen it’s head in greeting, something magical and still filling the night with a dusky blue hue.

“Sometimes the world just has a way of making me feel small, you know?” you say, folding the silence away with your words. Jason feels the rumble of them across his belly. “S’nothing in particular, not really. A door that closed too fast for me, a word that felt loaded, a hand that didn’t help. Just the sense that I’m invisible, like I don’t fully exist.”

It’s a fear that rises its head every once in a while, rolls over you as suddenly as a rogue wave and disappears just as quickly. The drowning sensation of being inconsequential in the eyes of everyone around you, a non-entity. As thin and insubstantial as air with nothing so necessary to offer.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks. Jason feels more than sees you nod. “Sometimes you’re the only thing I can focus on, the world just fades away. I go blind, deaf, and dumb to everything else. You’re it for me, chickadee,” he whispers into the crown of your head.

“I know,” you answer simply, and you do. He’s the destination you’ve spent your life looking for. “Can we just– can we just stay like this a bit until I’m a bit less see through?” 

“We’ll stay here as long as you like. I got no where else I’d rather be.”

Later, when inky darkness covers the city and the streetlamps have long been lit, you will stretch up to place a kiss on Jason’s stubbly cheek. He will smile, and lead you by the hand to the kitchen. Jason will surprise you with the bolo de coco long gone to room temperature in it’s crumpled paper bag, and the two of you will laugh and eat your dessert before your dinners. He will cook for you, asking you questions and catering to your whims until you feel a little less raw.

But that is later. For now, the two of you sit in soft silence, the evening stretching on around you.

[akiragatr]

Bonus challenge: Draw the creature that hatches from the egg you chose.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 5: Turn Off The Lights And Turn Off The Shyness]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, Otto being the worst (per usual), violence, serious injury, cryptic Helaena prophecies, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content including noncon (18+), dragons, demented flirting, a late-night surprise, Larys Strong returns. 😞

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Of All The Gin Joints In All The World” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.3k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

The sun would burn him, but moonlight is kind. You’re on the balcony of Aegon’s bedchamber, two chairs, two cups of wine, another full pitcher on the table between you, a glass bottle of warm rose oil like amber, like gold, freckled with curled ruby petals. You’re dressed in your usual attire, simple designs and neutral colors, greys and creams and dusky pinks; tonight your gown is a flat, inky blue that matches the night sky. Aegon is wearing his unpretentious cotton trousers—stained with splotches of pomegranate juice, his recompense before you allowed him the wine—and a tiny braid in his shaggy, silver hair.

“I look like your house’s sigil,” Aegon says as he massages rose oil onto his forearms, his palms moving in large sloppy circles over a patchwork of scar tissue; you would do a better job, but he says he wants to learn how to care for his wounds on his own. His dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—gleams in the cool, ghostly moonshine. His words are teasing, but his tone is dark, troubled, weary. “Some red, some white. All ugly.”

You smile. You aren’t agreeing, just playing along. “Our motto is better than our flag.”

“I might have been inebriated during that lesson.”

“Perpetual Resurrection.”

Aegon looks at you, confounded. “Quite the mouthful.”

“Crabs molt throughout their lifetime. They crack their own skins open and climb out. If they get stuck, they die. If they get attacked before their new shell hardens, they die. But if they live…they’re a brand new version of themselves. Larger, wiser, more powerful.”

“Spiders,” Aegon says. “You’re trying to placate me with some rousing metaphor about what are essentially aquatic spiders.”

“They’re tasty too,” you say, grinning. “Especially when their shells are still soft. The cooks would serve them fried and us kids would sit around the table ripping the legs free and throwing them at each other.”

“What, you can eat the crab whole?!”

“Yes. Once the faces are cut off and the organs scooped out.”

He pretends to be repulsed by you. “Harrowing. Revolting. This is why Targaryens have always refused to breed with your kind.”

It’s funny, but it isn’t, because it’s a little too close to what you’re both thinking. Under the moonlight, you watch Aegon with the words caged behind your teeth: What do you want most? Who are you in your bones? Where would we be if the world wasn’t crashing down around us?

He slathers rose oil on his scarred right cheek—carelessly, distractedly—and accidentally pokes himself in the eye. “Ow.”

You ask: “Why do you want to do that yourself now?”

“To prove I can. To feel ever so slightly less like an invalid.” He takes a swig of his wine and gazes out over the nightscape ocean, stars in the sky, stars reflected on waves. “I am a study in irony. I spent my whole life waiting for it to be over. I poisoned myself, wasted years, resisted any semblance of usefulness. And now I finally have things I want to accomplish, I finally have reasons to live…and I’m trapped in the flesh of some pathetic, deformed, calamitously weak stranger.” He shakes his head, despondent, still not looking at you. “I can have a body that works. I can have a soul. But I can’t have both at the same time. It’s so fucking unfair.”

“I like you exactly as you are. Body and soul.”

“Everything I own, everything I’m given…” He stares down at his palms, open and empty. “It is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I think I’m going to be ruined either way. I’d rather you be the one responsible.”

“Angel,” he says, low and serious. And now his gaze comes back to meet yours. “Who are you supposed to marry?”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want it to be true. Your voice is a whisper, almost lost in the night wind. “Cregan Stark.”

His eyes shoot wide, not just startled but terrified. “Stark?!”

You nod miserably. “My father took me and my sisters to Winterfell as part of a trade mission. Cregan decided he wanted me. I never encouraged it, I never desired it, I swear I didn’t—”

“No, I believe you,” Aegon says. He swallows a gulp of wine noisily, his hand shaking. “You were right. I can’t touch him. I can’t stop it. Not unless I win.”

“You don’t want the Iron Throne,” you tell Aegon, already knowing it’s true.

He snorts, a harsh derisive sound. “Who would?”

“Lots of people, I think. But not you or Rhaenyra.”

This intrigues him. “She doesn’t want it either?”

“Not from what I’ve seen and heard. Or, at least, she didn’t until Luke was killed. It changed her. I’m still not convinced she wants to be the queen, but she wants vengeance. And absolute power is a sure path to it.” And so the suffering continues, it goes around and around like a wheel, it is a debt that is never satisfied but only spread like plague.

“I don’t understand why Aemond did that,” Aegon says. His words are hushed, like he’s never spoken them to anyone but you and never will. “When he returned from Storm’s End, I held a feast for him. I had to, someone had to, someone had to pretend it was a victory instead of a murder. But it didn’t make any sense. Arrax was an inconvenience, not a threat. Luke was far more valuable as a hostage than a corpse. Aemond has always been the disciplined brother, the strategic one. I won’t claim to be clever. But I can’t find any strategy in what happened there.”

“Aemond has a temper. He is haunted, I believe. He is not above reckless fury.”

“No, evidently not.” Aegon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair; again, his dragon ring glints under the moonlight, silver reflected off gold. “I’ll try to win,” he says. “For my family. For you.” Then he smirks, a grim attempt at humor. “Though I pity Cregan Stark for the paradise I will deprive him of.”

You do not return Aegon’s smile. “Don’t have too much pity for him. I have no expertise and I’m scared to death of it. I’d probably end up hiding under his bed, gripping the legs for dear life. He’d have to drag me out and tie me down.”

Aegon is alarmed; his storm-blue eyes are now focused, seeking. He is aware that he has wandered into a quagmire. He treads carefully. “When you say no expertise, you mean…none at all?”

“None.”

“But what about all of those anatomically-correct cock illustrations in your medical books?”

Another joke you can’t bring yourself to laugh at. You drink your wine to stop your lips from quivering, smooth the silk of your gown with a trembling hand. You see it no matter where you look: the pool of red on Theodora’s bedsheets, the dawning and inescapable realization on her face. This is her life now. This will always be her life.

Aegon says gently: “You have no expectation of pleasure.”

“It seems…inherently violent. For the woman. Even if it isn’t meant to be. Being overpowered, being invaded. The man decides when and how it happens. The woman endures.”

Aegon stares at you—biting his full lower lip, deeply somber—but doesn’t speak. He gives you the impression of someone with so many thoughts swimming around in his skull he is struggling to choose just one.

You smile dimly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”

“I’m, um…” Aegon pauses to collect himself; he drains his wine cup and sets it back on the table. He is uncharacteristically cautious, like he thinks one unwise word will break the spell of whatever exists between you, this temptation, this need. “I’m saddened by the fact that you think of it that way. Because it doesn’t have to be…distasteful. Frightening. Coerced. It shouldn’t be, in fact.”

“I suppose I’ll find out if the Blacks win this war and Cregan Stark comes to claim me.”

Again, Aegon is exceptionally circumspect. “You’ve never wanted any man?”

“No. Never. Not in that way. Until…” You look at him, willing him to understand. I want you, but I’m so goddamn afraid to. I’m afraid of this world, I’m afraid there’s no hope left in it.

Slowly, Aegon smiles, soft and warm. And without any grasping, animalistic greed, he reaches over to rest a palm on your thigh, night-dark silk draped over skin that doesn’t flinch away from him, doesn’t even have to fight the instinct to. You place a hand on his. Your fingertips trace the gold wings of the green-eyed dragon ring he never takes off. And it is sealed like a covenant under the stars, this allegiance that neither of you could begin to explain to anyone else.

Footsteps are coming through Aegon’s bedchamber, heavy and purposeful. Otto Hightower appears in the balcony doorway. He fills the space like storm clouds flood a clear sky, like blood saturates linen. “You’re getting fat,” he tells Aegon gruffly.

“You’re getting ever more wrinkly and close to the afterlife.”

Otto glances to where Aegon’s hand still rests on your thigh and snaps: “If you’re well enough for that, perhaps you would deign to join us in the council chamber. You could shock everyone by actually acting like a king.”

Then he’s gone, taking those last echoes of the moment with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“They know she’s here,” Larys Strong says. His audience is gathered around the table: Otto, Criston, Daeron, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, the knights of the Kingsguard, Aegon slumped way down in his seat and you beside him feeling his forehead worriedly for fever. Because Aegon and Daeron are in attendance, the council chamber is one chair short. Aemond has elected to be the person to stand; he lurks, severe and silent, in a corner of the room half-lit by torchlight. Daeron is dressed in a vibrant teal, Aegon in black; Aemond wears green, dark and brooding like envy.

Criston Cole asks: “How is that possible?”

Otto sighs irritably, rubbing his forehead. “We have spies. I’m sure Rhaenyra does as well.”

“Someone apparently glimpsed the prince regent…um…” Larys searches for the diplomatic word. “Escorting her through the streets of King’s Landing.”

“Dragging is what he did,” Aegon says, glaring at Aemond. “Abducting. Attacking. Imprisoning.” Aemond, arms crossed over his chest, studies his boots and pretends not to have heard him.

Larys continues: “The Blacks don’t believe that she is here of her own volition.”

Otto’s eyes narrow. “What, they think we’ve detained her as some sort of…healer? Hostage?”

“No, my lord,” Larys says, hesitantly, awkwardly. “They don’t imagine the king’s motivations to be that honorable.”

Otto is losing his patience. “Meaning?”

Larys toys with his restless, rodentlike hands. “They think she is being…violated.”

A stilted, scandalized hush falls over the table. “Good,” Aegon says, invoking gasps and gapes. “If Green supporters believe her to be my captive, they won’t harm her. And if the Blacks think she is being held here against her will, she would be safe with them as well. No matter who wins, she is not in danger.”

“That is hardly beneficial for your own reputation, Your Grace,” Tyland Lannister says.

Aegon grins beneath cold eyes; he shows his teeth like a wolf, like a dragon. “Was my reputation so pristine to begin with, Lord Lannister?”

“No, perhaps not,” Tyland mumbles. Still, he should not have said it aloud. Otto huffs another sigh and rolls his eyes.

“So you intend to keep a Celtigar daughter in your service?” Otto says to Aegon.

“I have no doubts concerning her loyalty.”

Larys adds: “My lord, I must say, I cannot see a tactical advantage in her saving the king’s life if she retains any loyalty to Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Then why save him at all? Why bother? He was lying there half-dead, soon to be properly dead, and she brought him back practically singlehandedly. Why?”

“Mercy,” Aemond says quietly from the corner, and everyone turns to look at him. “Many people have none of it. She perhaps has too much. And now they have grown…” He gestures vaguely, perhaps bashfully. “Attached to each other.”

Jasper Wylde is dismayed. “But the king has a wife.”

Daeron snickers. “Yes, and that has always proved to be such a deterrent in the past.”

“Daeron,” Aegon cautions mildly.

The youngest Targaryen brother obediently sobers and shows the palms of his hands in contrition. “My apologies.” He hides his face with a slurp of his wine cup.

“And what about Cregan Stark?!” Otto exclaims. “You’d encourage his outrage, his Northerner savagery? Seven hells, he thinks you’re spending your days raping his betrothed, do you imagine that will not invoke fiercer wrath, put all of us at greater risk?!”

“Lord Stark was never a reachable ally to our cause, in my estimation,” Larys says calmly.

“That’s not the point, Larys! The point is—!”

“I can offer you something in return for the heightened danger you have assumed,” you interrupt, and these men stare at you as if suddenly remembering that you are here in the room with them, not a phantom or a myth or a cautionary tale but someone real. Aegon glances over, one eyebrow raised on his drawn, perspiring face. He doesn’t know what you’re going to say either.

Otto peers menacingly across the table. “What could you possibly have to barter with? The king is well enough now. He will live with or without you.”

“I have information. I know the workings of Rhaenyra’s council in the leadup to Rook’s Rest.”

“You attended her council meetings?”

“No, but I spent evenings with my father and brothers as they discussed them.”

Otto sits back in his chair, pondering you. After a moment, he nods. “Go on then.”

“I want one concession before I reveal what I know.”

“Besides being permitted indefinite room and board in the Red Keep, which you are in no way entitled to?”

“Not negotiable,” Aegon says.

Otto chuckles, humorless, incredulous, shaking his head. “Fucking insane. Alright. What is it you want, girl?”

“If any member of House Celtigar is taken captive, I want them to be given the opportunity to swear fealty to King Aegon and receive a full pardon for their sins. If they refuse, they are to go to the Night’s Watch, not the scaffold.”

“That’s your price? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Otto is amused. “Nothing for you? No gold, no land?”

“No.” The prospect hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Not very self-serving. So unlike a Celtigar.” Otto grins, not kindly at all. “Your terms are accepted.”

You begin. “The Greens possess great wealth, now split for safekeeping between Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and the Iron Bank of Braavos. But Rhaenyra’s funds are far more finite. My father has enriched her coffers in part with taxes placed upon houses of the Crownlands. You are always seeking new allies, people you can turn from her side to yours, Corlys Velaryon, the Dragonseeds. Thus far, you have been unsuccessful.” Otto frowns, but he is listening. “I know there are families who have compelling grievances concerning my father’s taxes. Families who have become disenchanted with Rhaenyra’s leadership…or lack thereof, they might say. Rosby, Stokeworth, Cave, Langward, Bourney, Boggs, Hardy, Chyttering. Probably others as well now. They occupy a tactically significant position, being so near to Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I believe if you wrote to them, they would answer.”

“I’ll send ravens,” Otto says. He marvels at you, like a puzzlingly strange creature, a luminescent fang-toothed fish from the depths of the ocean, a direwolf from beyond the Wall. “You don’t want your side to win this war?”

“I want the killing to stop. For both sides.”

“Well, you won’t get that. The bitch will never surrender. That hope died with little Luke Strong.” Otto glowers bitterly at where Aemond stands in the shadowy corner, but he addresses you. “That is your impression as well? She was entertaining the possibility of a truce before he died at Storm’s End?”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond, and you are struck by an unexpected stab of sympathy for him, compassion that feels like a betrayal of your knowledge of the torture he had planned for you. But what is there to say but the truth? “Rhaenyra was considering it very seriously. She and Daemon quarreled over the subject.”

“Of course they did.” Otto looks at Criston, then back to Aemond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Criston answers for the prince regent. “Very soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Otto spits like venom, and everyone else averts their eyes.

“My lord,” Larys intercedes. “There is one more matter to discuss, and I believe it will be of great interest to His Grace the king.”

Aegon is struggling to concentrate. He blinks groggily at the Master of Whisperers, his brow creased with pain. You smooth his damp, white-blond hair back from his face, threading his braid through your fingertips; you refill his wine cup and give it to him. When Aegon lifts it to his lips, his hands shake so badly he spills scarlet beads like blood down his chin. He wipes them away with his sleeve. Grand Maester Orwyle offers him a small glass bottle of milk of the poppy, but Aegon refuses it.

“Is he alright?” Daeron mutters to you.

“He’s fine. He’s tired, that’s all.”

“Waste no time, Lord Larys,” Aegon says. “I fear Grandsire’s ire has exhausted me. He’s more ferocious than a dragon. We should find a saddle that fits, perhaps Criston could ride him to the Riverlands.”

“Keep guzzling wine, I’m sure that will improve your condition,” Otto bites back.

Larys continues: “It concerns Rook’s Rest.”

Now he has everyone’s attention. “What about Rook’s Rest?” Aegon says. Instinctively, he’s begun twisting the golden dragon ring on his left hand.

“I received word one hour ago that the Blacks have retaken it.”

“What?!” Otto shouts; the rest of the table is in uproar. Criston stands and goes to conspire with Aemond in the corner of the council chamber, urgent indecipherable whispers.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon says frantically. “I have to go to him, I have to get him out—”

“He is already gone, Your Grace,” Larys replies.

“Gone…?”

“Lord Walys Mooton went down to the beach to slay the dragon once his men had taken the castle. He was burned alive.”

“Perfect,” Daeron says, beaming radiantly.

“Lord Mooton’s men fled for their lives, and when they returned, Sunfyre had disappeared. He could not be found anywhere in the vicinity of Rook’s Rest. Moreover, his footprints in the sand stopped abruptly. Which means he must have departed—”

“Into the water…?” Tyland Lannister says, perplexed.

“No,” Larys corrects him. “Into the sky.”

“Sunfyre is flying again?” Aegon asks, his face childlike, astonished.

“That’s impossible,” Criston says. “His wing was broken, I saw it.”

Larys drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I cannot conceive of any other explanation.”

“Then he’ll find me.” Aegon smiles. Sweat snakes down his temples; his face is white, bloodless, barren like the moon. “When Sunfyre is ready, he’ll find me and we’ll be together again.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Otto exhales. “The Old, the New, that ghastly Drowned one…” He waves a hand at you. “And do you have any to add, Lady Celtigar? Some crab deity your traitorous people worship?”

“I regret to disappoint you, my lord. To my knowledge we have none.”

“Three useable dragons,” Otto says, mostly to himself. “Three is good. With three, we have a chance. And if I can recruit Vermithor or Silverwing…”

“I should go with you when you and Criston march north,” Daeron tells Aemond.

“No,” Aemond returns immediately.

“If you’re going after Daemon, you could use me,” Daeron insists. “Tessarion and I can help.”

“You are needed in the Reach with Lord Ormund Hightower.”

“You just want him all to yourself,” Daeron realizes, exasperated. “You want to be able to say that you were the person to neutralize the Blacks’ greatest asset, that you won the war—!”

Criston says: “He’s not going on some suicide mission chasing Daemon and Caraxes all over the Riverlands. He’s staying with me and the army. He’s using Vhagar logically, responsibly. Right, Aemond?”

“Of course,” Aemond answers, entirely toneless.

Otto whirls to Aegon. “And when will you be able to fight again? Soon, I hope. Surely the culmination of your existence is not one single instance of utility before lapsing back into being some drunken, idiot degenerate.”

In reply, Aegon moans and crumples to the floor. Grand Maester Orwyle and the men of the Kingsguard rush to him, but Criston gets there first; when you cannot rouse the king, Criston throws him over one shoulder—increasingly difficult with each pound Aegon gains, softness and health that you consider a great victory—and ferries him back to bed. As you follow after them, you hesitate in the doorway of the council chamber. Now that Criston is gone, Otto has crossed the room and pinned Aemond to the wall. His large hands, heavy with rings, are pressed to Aemond’s chest; his face is snarling, wicked, callous.

“You have to fix this. You have to end it.”

“I know,” Aemond replies softly.

“Everything that’s happened is your fault.”

“I know,” Aemond says again, then rips free from Otto’s grasp and flees the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Criston leads his army out of the city. They will meet reinforcements on the road between the capital and the Riverlands. There is infantry on foot and cavalry on horses; above them in a blue sky cluttered with vast, cottony clouds are Aemond and Vhagar. As they head north, Daeron and Tessarion fly south towards the Reach to rejoin Ormund Hightower and his men. In Winterfell, Cregan Stark is receiving word of where (and with whom) his betrothed currently resides. At Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are kindling rumors like dry wood in a fire. On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra is nursing her rage and paranoia like a hungry child, like a wounded man who has milk of the poppy poured down his throat. And you remain static here in King’s Landing, anchored, steadfast, something immoveable like the ocean or the shore it meets.

You can see Aegon’s bedchamber windows from the beach. You keep glancing up at them, though you know he won’t be there; the sunlight is too harsh today, the potential damage to his skin too great. In a month, he may be able to venture outside as he used to. In two or three, he might be able to fight again. He might be able to kill more than just one errant Norcross boy who dared to touch you.

“Helaena wouldn’t come down to join us?” you ask Autumn. You’re walking with her in the surf, the hems of your held aloft so the froth of the waves can wash over your ankles. Perhaps ten yards away and out of earshot, Alicent is kneeling in the sand and playing with Jaehaera and Maelor. They are her great comfort now; they are not the only purpose she has left, but they are the kindest. Their tiny hands are preoccupied with building a sandcastle and adorning it with seashells, pebbles, shards of driftwood, strings of seaweed like green ribbons. You’ve started to notice how much Jaehaera resembles Aegon, his murky blue eyes and his high cheekbones and his gentleness that no one else seems to recognize. You’ve started to see him everywhere you look.

Autumn shrugs, her face apologetic. Her hair is more than just copper in the afternoon daylight; it is fire, it is blood. “I really tried. You know how she is.”

“I’ll visit her afterwards.”

“She unnerves me,” Autumn says, stroking her round belly and shuddering. She earns her keep here by helping to look after Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Aegon treats Autumn the same way he treats his wife and children, which is to say he generally ignores her; on the rare occasion he is subjected to her presence for more than a fleeting moment, he becomes uneasy, irritable. Autumn does not appear to be offended. She says this is the best job she’s ever had. “She’s always muttering the strangest things. Caterpillars and crabs and dragons and only the gods know what else. Yesterday she told me not to dance with the half-year queen. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Helaena’s a bit different,” you admit.

“She’s inbred, that’s what she is. I can’t imagine what those kids are going to grow up to be like. A brother and sister for parents? It’s a wonder they don’t have feathers or tails.” Autumn taps the swell of her belly. “At least this one—if it’s a Targaryen after all—has had its bloodline thoroughly diluted.”

You watch her standing there in the fiery late-afternoon light, this body that has comforted, consoled, satisfied, suffered, known so many men. “What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

“What? Being with child?”

“No, the…um…the act that led to it.”

“Oh, yes.” Autumn stretches with her hands on the small of her back and smiles vaguely, nostalgically. “That’s the strange thing. It can feel like heaven or hell or nothing at all. If the man knows what he’s doing, and cares enough to try, he can make it better for you.”

“Better how?”

She furrows her brow, shoots you a skeptical sideways glance. She is aware that you are inexperienced, but the extent of your blind spots continuously shock her. It occurs to you that perhaps naivety is a privilege; some cannot recall a time before they were acquainted with truths of the world that others consider forbidden. “You know. He’ll use his hands or his mouth to get you ready. Or better yet, both at once.”

“Ready,” you repeat, not understanding.

“Well, you see…” Autumn takes a moment to decide how best to explain. “Men change when they are aroused, yes? Women do the same. It takes longer, and it is not always so obvious. But it is vital. The more ready you are, the more comfortably he will fit inside you.”

“And what if he doesn’t get you ready? If he doesn’t have the skill, or he doesn’t believe it’s necessary, or he doesn’t even know that’s something women require?” Or he just wants to hurt you. He just wants to watch you bleed like something he goes into the woods to kill and gut and devour.

Autumn smirks cynically. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“The sizes involved. Some men are bigger than others, and women have different dimensions as well. Couples can be well-matched or not. Sometimes it isn’t too bad. Sometimes it feels like you’re being ripped apart. And that doesn’t necessarily stop after the first time either.”

“And you can’t say no.”

“You can say no all you want. But he doesn’t have to listen.”

You peer out over Blackwater Bay, sunbeams flashing on wave crests and gulls swooping in the reddening sky. But you don’t really see it. What you see are fingerprints of dirt or ash on your thighs, snow in your hair, books laden with dust, fur coats and evergreen trees, rust-stains of blood on bedsheets.

“I’ve heard that Lord Stark is a very large man,” Autumn nudges. She knows, everyone knows.

“He’s massive,” you say forlornly. “He’s taller than Aemond and twice as broad.”

“The king isn’t so big,” she says, pretending that the thought has just popped into her mind, as if she hasn’t noticed the way you and Aegon look at each other, speak to each other, find excuses to touch each other.

“No,” you agree in a whisper.

“And he’s not a brute. I can’t fairly speak to his skill, I never had him anywhere close to sober. But he has no appetite for women’s pain. That’s a valuable gem in a man, it’s like stumbling across a ruby or a pearl.”

You nod; but you don’t want to think about Autumn lying with Aegon. You don’t want to think about the child they might share. In a world so dark, it seems cruel to begrudge people creating life where none existed before. But when you picture Aegon touching someone else, that darkness seeps in through your skin like rain soaks the earth and can’t find its way out. “We’re going to the library together tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Autumn groans. “Did I agree to that? I don’t believe I did.”

She did not, this is true; you badgered, she deflected. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I am illiterate.”

“I told you. I’ll teach you how to read.”

“Why would I want to stare at ink marks in a book all day when I could be outside in the sunshine listening to the ocean and herding inbred little freaks like sheep?”

“Because books can take you anywhere,” you say.

“I like where I am. I’ve never seen anyplace better.”

“Okay, Autumn,” you concede, smiling. “I’ll ask again tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll change your mind.”

“Say hello to Helaena for me,” she says, meandering back towards Alicent and the children. Her footprints in the sand are erased when the gurgling waves roll over them. “Maybe one of those fancy books can help you translate lunacy into the Common Tongue.”

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Helaena is standing in front of an open window. It doesn’t offer a view of the ocean; it is positioned over a courtyard of sandstone and chatting courtiers. Helaena does not seem to hear them. She gazes out into the sunset, celestial rage on her impassive face.

“He’s leaving soon,” she says, not turning to look at you.

“Who, Helaena? Aemond? He left days ago. He’s already gone, he’s on his way to the Riverlands. But he’ll be back soon.” You don’t know if that’s true—it probably isn’t, in fact—but you’re certain that Helaena misses him. Her children do too; he is more of a father to them than Aegon has ever been, not in body but in soul.

She only repeats: “He’s leaving soon.”

“Helaena, what—?”

“He’ll leave you. Then you’ll leave him. He’ll make you.”

At last, and very slowly, she revolves like the stripe of shadow across a sundial. In her cupped palms is a butterfly, shimmering gold wings and spiderlike black legs. It takes flight, flutters aimlessly through the vermillion air, escapes out the open window.

~~~~~~~~~~

A peculiar twist of fate: his palm on your forehead, his whispers through your hair. Now he is the one who has stolen into your bed when the moon and stars hang high in the darkness outside. There is a noise somewhere beyond him, disembodied and hazy, that reminds you of torrential rain: omnipresent, thunderous.

“Angel,” Aegon is saying. “Wake up. Please wake up. I have to go.”

Go? Go where? You murmur, still half-asleep: “You can’t leave.” He isn’t strong enough yet. He can’t fight, he can’t run.

“I have to. They’re here.”

“Who…?”

The answer comes from the sounds that you are only now awake enough to understand: screaming, pounding boots, slamming doors, the ravenous crackling of fire, the shrieking of dragons. You have learned all of their unearthly voices. That’s not Vhagar or Tessarion or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre… It flashes by your windows, a comet of gold and flames.

You bolt out of bed. “Rhaenyra—?!”

“Rhaenyra, Syrax, Daemon, Caraxes.”

Daemon shouldn’t be here. He should be losing battles to Aemond and Criston. “But he’s at Harrenhal!”

“Not anymore.” Aegon takes your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, the hem of your nightgown billowing around your legs, his short silver hair flying behind him. There are servants and guards rushing by you, weeping, shouting, searching for places to hide. Grand Maester Orwyle ambles towards the rookery to send out ravens. Several rooms away, you can hear Helaena wailing and Autumn trying to soothe her. Larys Strong intercepts Aegon and gives him a hooded cloak; Aegon yanks it over his bare, mutilated chest, whimpering as the rapid movement strains the red-and-ivory disarray of scar tissue that used to be his skin. “You have everything?” he asks Larys hoarsely. You notice now that the Master of Whisperers has a satchel slung over one shoulder.

“Yes, Your Grace. Milk of the poppy, rose oil, the crown.”

“Wine?”

Larys produces a bottle. Aegon gulps down half of it, then passes the rest to you. You hesitate before finishing the wine, red like the sigil of House Celtigar, like fire, like blood. “They are closing all roads out of the city,” Larys tells Aegon, speaking swiftly. “King’s Landing will be taken. We will surrender. We cannot fight a dragon, let alone two.”

“Aemond and Criston—?”

“Daemon must have outflanked them.”

Aegon grabs your hand again and does not let go as he trails Larys through corridors and down claustrophobically tight spiral staircases. “The roads are blocked,” Aegon explains to you breathlessly. “But there are secret passageways beneath the castle. I know them. Larys knows them. Daemon probably knows them too, but he has other places to be.”

And through a window of a staircase, you see him: Caraxes spiraled around the apex of the Tower of the Hand, screaming fire into the sky before descending the length of the tower towards the hoards of hysterical courtiers fleeing below, his claws jostling loose bricks that rain down on them.

The bottom of the stairwell opens up into a large, dusty, dirt-floored chamber with stone tunnels leading in every direction like spokes of a wheel. Alicent is there, sobbing wildly, and so is Otto. Otto is telling Jaehaera that she must be a brave little girl and go with Sir Willis Fell. Alicent is giving Maelor over to Sir Rickard Thorne, your once-alleged-kinfolk. The child is panicked and crying, flushed face and white hair. Aegon glances at the scene and then keeps moving, towing you along with him.

“Princess Jaehaera will go to Storm’s End,” Larys says. “Prince Maelor will go to Oldtown. They face execution if they stay. We must risk smuggling them out of the city.”

“What about Aegon?” you ask as the three of you hasten into a corridor thick with cobwebs and illuminated by torchlight. The stone ceiling is arched and perhaps seven feet tall; faintly, you can still hear the muffled turmoil of King’s Landing falling to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“I’m going Dragonstone.” And it does not elude you that he didn’t say we. “If Rhaenyra is here, that likely means Dragonstone is vacant. I will go to the Crownlands families that you believe to be willing to betray her and beg them for support. I will take Dragonstone and prepare a counterassault from there. Hopefully Sunfyre will find me. Hopefully I’m not killed on the way.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m going too.”

“You’re staying in King’s Landing.”

“No.” You stop dead, wrenching your hand out of Aegon’s. “No, what if you get hurt, or sick, or what if you get really bad again—?!”

“Listen!” he shouts with dire intensity, his eyes wide and pleading in the torchlight. “I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself. There could be bandits on the road, there could be Black soldiers, there could be animals, there could be fucking anything. I can’t take you with me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to Dragonstone. But I know if I stay here Rhaenyra will murder me. I don’t have a choice. I have one option, and it’s not good. But you’ll be safe in King’s Landing.”

“Aegon, no—”

“The Blacks don’t think you’re here by choice. They think I’ve imprisoned you. Tell them that’s what happened and they will welcome you back. Your family will protect you.”

“Aegon, please don’t—”

His palm on your cheek, his braid coming unraveled in his hair. “You will wait out the war with them. And when it’s over I’ll find you.” Tears glistening in his eyes, his voice going soft and tender. “If I’m still alive, I’ll find you. I swear to all the gods I will.”

He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. “What can I do?” you ask, your words strangled; your throat is burning, your eyes wet. “What can I do to help you?”

And you expect him to say things you already know: Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard in the Greens’ council meetings. Instead, Aegon grins as he says: “Try to get one of your three superfluous sisters to seduce Cregan Stark.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off ancient, filthy stones.

“My mother and Otto are waiting for you. You will be with them when they are taken to Rhaenyra. They are high-ranking prisoners of war, they will be spared the brutality of the Black soldiers and so will you. They will corroborate that you were my captive.”

“I understand.”

“I have to go now,” Aegon says like an apology, swiping tears from your face with his thumbs. He breaks away from you and follows Larys Strong down the tunnel. They are shadows under the torchlight, cloaks and whispers.

“Aegon,” you call after him, and he stops. I never told you what I wanted. I never told you what I feel for you. “What if I never see you again?”

You don’t know what you want him to do or say. There’s nothing that could make this right. But he soars back to you, takes you roughly and desperately, buries his hands in your hair and kisses you deeply, tasting like wine and heat and the smoke filling the world outside. He means for it to be quick, but he can’t stop. His tongue darts between your lips, his hips press to yours, you arch into him wanting more, infinitely more.

What was I so afraid of? you think dizzily. How could I be afraid of anything with him?

“Your Grace,” Larys appeals regretfully. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

Aegon twists off his dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—and slips it onto your left hand. And you’re still staring down at it, mystified, as Aegon disentangles himself from you and vanishes into the darkness.

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

I've had a really rough end of July so if possible could you share some happy things about snakes?

Sorry you're having a rough time. I'm a similar spot but hey, we got this! And one thing you can always count on, no matter how tough things get? Awesome snake facts. 😎

Some of my favorite feel-good snake facts:

Did you know snakes can have friends? Garter snakes are very social by snake standards, and they have complex social relationships! They form friendships and consistently choose to hang out with their buddies!

Boomslangs are gorgeous, highly venomous colubrids. They're beautiful, charismatic snakes!

And when they're babies, they look like bobbleheads. Definitely some of the cutest babies in the snake world!

Did you know that snakes save millions of lives every year? Snake venom collected at venom labs is used in the production of life-saving medications, especially cardiac and anti-convulsive drugs!

Saw-scaled vipers. Highly venomous, very grumpy...and absolutely adorable!

Broad-headed snakes are currently some of the most endangered snakes in Australia, suffering from the effects of habitat loss. However, we're hearing lots of good news about them lately - zoo breeding programs are helping to increase genetic diversity in the captive population with hopes to release snakes into the wild, and plans to restore their lost habitats in the Sydney Basin are underway.

This isn't necessarily a fact but I really love this picture of an egg-eating snake who is so happy to have found a yummy egg.

Snakes can have heterochromia! It's most often seen in leucistic snakes, and they have one blue eye and one black eye. Almost every single one I've heard of (and the only one I've ever seen in person) have been leucistic Colombian rainbow boas.

Black-tailed rattlesnakes are so beautiful, they always make me happy! They come in an incredible range of colors, from dark browns to dusky greys.

Speaking of beautiful rattlers, speckled rattlesnakes can look like cookie dough ice cream!

Hope things look up for you soon! Take care.

[dontbelasagnax]

OMG CAN I DO A PROMPT FOR THE KISS ROULETTE???

No pressure BUT I number 35. Kiss against a wall would make me go FERAL.

Bonus points if it's in some hidden corner and they're trying to sneak away after a hard won battle because the codywan brain rot has GOT ME. I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING BUT THEM

Please pretend like you sent this ask recently and I haven't been sitting on it for months waiting for my eggs to hatch @why-cant-turtles-fly 😂 As requested, here is codywan kissing against a wall... though it's actually a pillar (oops). I was inspired by this artwork I did!

Pairing: CC-22224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,330

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Tenderness, Making Out, Introspection, and by that I mean Obi-Wan is mentally ill and thinks too much, Implied Sexual Content, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summary:

    "Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters.

    "More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies.

    [ OR: Obi-Wan and Cody steal away some precious time after a victorious battle which of course results in a makeout session against a pillar. ]

(fic under the cut if you wish to read here on tumblr)

This morning Obi-Wan finds himself in the ruins of a long ago abandoned castle, high in the mountainous region of Bestoon's northernmost continent. However difficult the altitude makes it to breathe unassisted, it's worth it for the view. There isn't much he loves looking at more than a sunrise in the clouds.

The sunrise after a well earned victory in battle has become one of Obi-Wan's favorite moments to find peace these last few months or... has it been years? Time has melted together through this dreary drudge of a war.

He's watched this sky transition from dusky purples splashed with rays of golden sunlight to a pale blue canvas with clouds shadowed with purples leaning grey and highlights of soft pinks and yellows.

"Sir," a very familiar voice calls from behind. 

Obi-Wan turns towards the voice. 

'Ah,' Obi-Wan thinks, a smile already beginning to emerge on his features, 'my dearest commander.'

The light of the sky washes Cody in diffused golds and pinks. He is delightfully dressed down, forgoing his armour from the waist up. The tight, ribbed fabric does his physique all the favors the way it clings. A stray curl drops onto his forehead. The lighting does wonders for his complexion. It's as if he's glowing.

Yes, Cody bathed in the light of a new day is the most breathtaking, glorious view of them all.

"Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters. 

"More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies as he takes the lightsaber held out to him. The metal is heated from the rare touch of Cody's bare hand. Energy thrums from the kyber, a slow pulse that nearly sparkles, sending the residual heat of skin and life up Obi-Wan's arm, straight to his ever beating heart. 

So helpful his kyber crystal is, giving fuel to the flame of his infatuation that, once a slow burn, is steadily alight.

Cody leans back against the pillar, looks at him with those warm, big brown eyes of his and oh…

Obi-Wan steps into Cody's space.

Cody's sharp inhale and the way his hand comes up to touch Obi-Wan's belly is exactly what he wanted. 

Obi-Wan rests his arm beside Cody's head on the stone, bringing his face close enough to just feel Cody's breath on the whiskers of his beard.

Thick, black lashes fluttering downwards then back up. The want in those gorgeous eyes is magnetizing.

Obeying Cody's gravitational pull, Obi-Wan kisses him. The catch of their lips slow and tender, just a hint of saliva and suction, loving the warm nudge of Cody's nose against his cheek, and the bloom of Cody's Force presence like flowers turning to the morning sun. 

"Well done," Obi-Wan murmurs as he pulls away, chasing the wounded noise Cody makes with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Your performance was stellar today, as always. Always."

Obi-Wan clips his lightsaber to his belt and cups his darling's jaw with his newly freed hand. He sighs into the meeting of their lips. The soft warm comfort of Cody's mouth is offset by the rigidity of his armour below the waist. It’s as accurate a representation of Cody’s true self as it gets: compassionate and sweet while still deadly and unwieldy.

Though, as much as Obi-Wan adores this version of Cody—so delectable in only his codpiece, cuisse, and greaves—he’d selfishly prefer him stripped even further. 

Alas, he's getting ahead of himself.

Cody's arms curl around him, hands clenching in his tabards. Their lips make smacking noises with the separation of each slow, deliberate kiss.

It's with a bittersweet ache in his chest that Obi-Wan cherishes these moments for he never knows what the next day will bring. The reality of war is that any second of any day he could lose Cody and he'll never know another day painted warm and vibrant by Cody's dry humor and barely-there smiles, the rare times when Obi-Wan can make him really laugh and hear joy spring from his soul, the quiet steady companionship of his presence, and the compassion he shows his brothers. One day he'll never know another kiss, another pleasure coated sigh of his own name, or feel the needy way Cody curves his entire body into Obi-Wan’s to get what he wants. 

It is possible that Obi-Wan would be the one to go first but… he knows deep down, and has accepted it with peace, that he's meant for infinite sadness. 

He already nearly lost him that first time- the time Cody first kissed him.

However long Cody is willing to share these hidden pockets of love with him, he will cherish every second they have together.

He emphasizes this thought with a purposeful tug and suck of Cody’s bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. The thinner air at this altitude has them panting against each other, lips grazing slightly, a sensitive tingly, ticklish tease.

Cody rubs their noses together, as if trying to grasp any sort of intimacy he can while recovering his breath.

Obi-Wan’s heart squeezes painfully.

Never let it be said lest Cody try to kill him in his sleep… but Cody is not just a sweet, sweet man but adorable.

 Natural as the mist of cloudy mornings, Obi-Wan kisses him again. 

Everything about this is intentional. From the way he slowly draws their mouths together again and again, pace languid and savoring, to the way they've chosen each other- chosen to find these moments to do nothing but love. It's not a choice, really, that they will choose duty over each other if that's what it comes to. That's simply the reality of their existences. Those priorities will never change, not with how the war has molded them into thinking. 

No, the choosing is in the love. 

He does love Cody and perhaps always will. It's not been said. Nor does he know with absolute certainty that Cody feels the same.

Cody's presence in the Force has always been a bit of a comfort for Obi-Wan since they met. Through all the uncertainty and pain in the galaxy, Cody is sturdy and shines. He's not certain when Cody’s signature began emanating a warmth that curls into his chest and makes him feel at home. It could be that with time and the development of Obi-Wan's own feelings, every aspect of Cody became beyond endearing.

Or… it could be the manifestation of Cody's own feelings for Obi-Wan.

He's not certain. And he's very well not going to ask.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't.

Still, he catches quick moments sometimes out the corner of his eye where Cody looks at him with an impossibly soft look on his face and Obi-Wan thinks, 'Maybe-’

Really. It doesn't matter. 

He has Cody so readily in the cradle of his arms, drinking up every milliliter of affection bestowed upon him.

And, well, his train of thought falls to the wayside when Cody moans into his mouth and tries to drag him even closer between the v of his legs. 

He's not sure exactly what he’s done to make Cody react so positively but he goes with the motion as heat burns deep in his abdomen.

He teases at Cody's lips with his tongue and realizes his fault when Cody instantly opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. The inside of Cody's mouth is hot and wet and his tongue- licking all those spots that make Obi-Wan shudder into him. 

Not that it's not lovely—because it is, really—but this is not how he intended things to go. 

Cody's insistent against him, pressing for more, hotter, faster, harder.

With difficulty, Obi-Wan pulls away, dodging Cody's attempts to meld their mouths together. 

“Cody, dearheart,” he says, out of breath, thumb gently stroking the skin by the corner of Cody's mouth, “you don't need to devour me.”

Cody doesn't quite pout but it's a near thing. The way his eyes are glued to Obi-Wan's lips make tooka-eyes impossible. “Remains to be seen.”

Obi-Wan huffs a laugh and kisses his cheek. “Please, my-” he catches himself almost saying ‘love’, “dear. Just for now. Let me treat you softly.”

Cody considers this solemnly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Good man.”

The bob of Cody's throat at his words is gratifying. 

He closes his eyes and leans back in to capture Cody's lips for a few slow, lingering kisses. 

“That’s it. Easy goes,” Obi-Wan murmurs between kisses. Cody melts underneath him, pliant and accepting. 

He'll take every rare opportune moment to treat Cody like the indulgence he is– truly savor him. Hot plush lips between his own, a smooth glide aided by saliva. Slow and steady. Discovering how electric and titillating the simplicity is. Just Cody's warm body against his own. Cody's lips. Cody's sighs. Cody…

He's the sweetest of luxuries. And he should be cherished accordingly. 

Obi-Wan plants a path of kisses up Cody's cheek, right to the end of his brow, following the raised skin of his facial scar.

He's wondered if anyone else has gotten to love Cody like he has or if he's the only one to ply him with tender affection. He's wondered if, in a kinder universe, Cody would be left free of the scars Obi-Wan has gotten to know so intimately. If there were a universe as such, would Obi-Wan be given the chance to love Cody all over again or if another is destined for him- someone closer to his age and able to devote their life to ensuring his happiness.

He's tied himself into knots over this. The hypotheticals. 

He loves Cody. He loves him easily, unhurried and unconditionally. He loves him with every breath he shares loving the Jedi Order—his family—and this wonderous Force-filled world they live in. 

It's just that. He does not love Cody more than the order, more than his faith and his family. Cody is a part of his life. Whatever comes next, may it be death or freedom or- well, Force knows what, Obi-Wan hopes Cody remains a constant. Selfishly. More than a little lovesick. He wants Cody in his life. But he will accept whatever comes their way, as it is the will of the Force. 

 And if that means-

“Where'd’ya keep going?” asks Cody, big brown eyes of his gazing into Obi-Wan's soulfully. A deep brown that melts into a warm, rich amber. Beautiful.

“Nowhere of consequence.” He rubs his nose along Cody’s cheek. Breathes him in. 

“You sure?”

Obi-Wan drags his lips down Cody's jaw, smiling to himself and settling in once Cody shudders and angles his head out of the way.

“Absolutely certain,” Obi-Wan murmurs against his pulse point then kisses that very same spot.

A sigh from Cody is just the encouragement Obi-Wan needs to continue on. 

It's a gift having Cody so sensitive and wanting under him. An entirely different side of his commander than the stern, regal demeanor their troopers see day in and out. 

He kisses and sucks and nips the column of Cody's neck, delighting in the small, pleased noises he draws from Cody with every pass of his mouth over salty skin. 

He only leaves a couple of marks by the time Cody tugs him upwards. He's not too dismayed to leave the warm crook of his love’s neck because the expression on Cody's face is nothing short of wanton, absolutely debauched. 

Cody’s lips are still plump and kiss bitten. 

Obi-Wan can't resist. He traces the pad of his thumb across Cody's bottom lip. Breath shakes onto skin and Cody's mouth closes around the digit, suctioning him in hot, wet heat. 

He draws in a sharp breath.

His gaze darts to Cody’s eyes where he meets pupils blown wide with desire. Cody stares unflinchingly, daring and, oh… 

Cody has bewitched him, utterly and completely. Try as he might to retain composure, Cody is his undoing in these moments. The fragile strings of his heart (and… other parts of his anatomy…) pulled taut and ready to spring forward.

He wanted to keep it slow and soft, but Cody knows just how to arm him into an arrow ready to spring forth.

He pops his thumb from Cody's mouth and fixes his mouth and lips there instead, letting him know just how affected he is. He tastes Cody’s own desire echoed back to him in his moans and tongue and the needy press of his body that Obi-Wan keeps caged to the pillar. The fists that grab at his tunic and hair to try and get him even closer.

The high altitude forces them apart to breathe sooner than either of them would like but they don't go far, nuzzling noses and panting against one another's lips. 

“We’d better take this back to The Negotiator,” Cody says quietly, still out of breath.

Obi-Wan nods his agreement, sure that if they stay here a minute longer he'll be on his knees.

Hand in hand, they hurry away and the sunrise grows only brighter, pink tones making way for the brilliance of the full sun. Clouds drift with the breeze and all is as it will be.

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XIX // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Apparently I don't know how to write summaries for this story anymore lmao. Anyway, Quinn and Ben are back, woo.

Chapter Word Count: 3.3K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

A/N: Welcome back my dudes 😛 Here's a lil chappy chap to get us all back into the swing of things. I know it's been a lifetime since this story went on hiatus, so please feel free to go to the series overview for the entire contents page if you need a little refresher. Thank you to everyone still here and supporting me & this story. 🤍

Join the Tag List Here*

The media always made dating a celebrity seem so appealing; the red carpets and designer gowns, romantic getaways in private jets and secret rendezvous' shrouded in luxury and mystique. But you were failing to see the glamour in hauling your overnight bag on a train to Kent in the middle of a rainstorm. Sitting in a cramped carriage that smelled of stale coffee and wet dog, surrounded by screaming toddlers and men with the inability to keep their legs together. 

You stared out of the window as the countryside passed in a blur of greens and greys, wondering when exactly the sparkle of being involved with an A-list actor would reveal itself. Would you find it in the dodgy train station sandwiches or the spotty phone signal? In the pockets of your rain-sodden parka or the man asking for spare change as he roamed the aisle? 

 You hadn't seen Ben in weeks since he'd began filming a new movie. And though he'd only been an hour outside of London the whole time, the long hours and his demanding schedule meant that he might as well have been on the other side of the world. You'd talked when you could; brief texts and quick calls that barely skimmed the surface of what you both really wanted to say. So when he invited you to visit him on location, you'd taken little persuading. Though boarding a busy train to Kent wasn't exactly akin to jetting off to some secluded beach resort. 

The train rolled to a stop at the station. You waited as the carriage emptied, passengers practically climbing over one another to get off, a new person blocking your way every time you attempted to slip out from your seat. When you finally saw an opening, you muscled your way into the aisle and reached for your bag in the overhead luggage rack. But it was caught on something, refusing to budge, even as you hung from the handle with your entire body weight like a child dangling from a monkey bar. You looked up at the extremely tall man waiting to get off behind you, glaring at him as he watched on impatiently without ever offering you a hand.

You finally got it free, hoisting it over your shoulder and stepping off the train onto a bleak platform; cracked pavement, a single lamppost flickering against the dusky sky, and an inexplicably large puddle that stretched across the entire exit. You tried to hop over it, but it was too wide, rainwater flooding your trainers and soaking the ankles of your jeans. 

"Fabulous," you muttered sarcastically to yourself. 

The rain hadn't yielded. If anything, it seemed to grow heavier as you stood beneath the shelter of the station, looking down at your phone and trying to make sense of the directions Ben sent you earlier.

Take a left out of the station, follow the main road and look for signs to The Mocketts. It's not too far.

Easy enough, you thought. Or at least it would have been if your feet weren't squelching in your shoes, if the main road didn't turn into a complex maze of winding lanes and hedgerows that all looked the same in the bad weather and diminishing daylight. You pulled up your hood, though it was an entirely futile act; the rain already bleeding through your coat, your hair clinging to your face as you squinted up at the faded road signs, none of which seemed to match the directions Ben had given you. 

As you trudged down the narrow, muddy road, you wondered why you'd agreed to this at all; why you hadn't just told him to make the drive back to London to visit you, why going to him seemed like such a good idea when all it had gotten you was a runny nose, ruined shoes and a spot on the missing persons' register when you inevitably disappeared down a ditch somewhere. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You took it out, wiping the rain away from the screen to read the message. 

Are you close?  It read. 

Depends, you replied with wet, numb fingers. If by 'close' you mean standing in the middle of nowhere with no clue where I am then yes, I'm very close.

The phone began to ring a few seconds later. 

"Why didn't you call a cab?" he asked. 

"Because you said it wasn't far so I assumed I could walk," you replied, sniffing and wiping away the rain dripping off the end of your nose. "Now I'm so lost I wouldn't even know where to ask a cab to pick me up." 

"Right, just... stay where you are. I'll come and find you." 

You looked around, trying to find some kind of landmark. But all you saw were puddles, hedges and a single cow in a distant field. "I refuse to die in fucking Kent, Ben."

He chuckled down the phone, the sound providing you a slight comfort. "Did you make any turns off the main road?" 

"I don't think so." 

"Okay, don't move, I'll be as quick as I can." 

You stood on the side of the road for what felt like an eternity, teeth chattering, body tensing against the cold. Whenever a car would zoom past, you would hold your breath for a moment, letting it out again in a deflated sigh when it carried on past you. 

Eventually, a set of bright headlights appeared around the bend, a big 4x4 splashing through puddles with its huge tyres as it rolled to a stop beside you. The passenger window lowered, revealing Ben's concerned face peering out at you. 

"Get in!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the white noise of the storm. 

You yanked open the door and climbed in, soiling the pristine interior in mud and rain as you heaved your bag over your shoulder into the back seat. Ben leaned over to kiss you, but you were too busy peeling off your coat to respond, the warm air blowing from the grates in the dashboard onto your freezing skin. 

He watched you battle with the wet fabric, a blend of amusement and pity on his face. "Rough journey?" he asked, unable to hold back a smirk.

You glared at him as you finally freed yourself from the coat and threw it into the back with your bag, waiting for him to make a joke about your appearance, your lack of navigation skills. But instead he simply reached out, gently stroking the hair out of your face. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should've just come and picked you up from the station." 

You sighed, sinking back into the heated leather seat. "It's fine. I shouldn't have thought I could walk it." 

He smiled, tilting his head slightly to look at you. 

"What?" you asked. 

"Nothing. Just... Hi."

"Hi," you replied softly, finally allowing a smile of your own. 

He leaned in again, and this time you accepted his kiss; the warmth of his lips a stark contrast to the dreary, miserable day you'd endured. 

He was staying in a cottage on a stretch of vast, green farmland, and you couldn't help but frown as the Jeep rolled over the uneven ground towards it; more mud, wonderful. You looked around as he drove, searching for the set; the studio, trailers, cameras, crew. But there was nothing besides fields and trees, barns and cottages. 

"I'm not staying on the set," he said with a laugh, as though he'd read your mind. 

"Just thought it'd all be a bit less... rural," you replied with a shrug. 

"I like the privacy. Plus, we're only filming about ten minutes that way. You can come with me tomorrow if you'd like, I'll give you a little tour." 

He parked up and you climbed out, grimacing at the smell of manure and damp earth, wondering why he couldn't have taken a job somewhere like Fiji or The Seychelles instead. He grabbed your bag and coat from the back seat, ushering you out of the rain towards to the cottage. When he let you inside, you breathed a sigh of relief, the dry, warm house like a safe haven.

He put your things down near the door and switched on a light, turning to look down at you with his hands on his hips. You'd somehow failed to properly take in his appearance until now, as though the chaos and discomfort of your journey had clouded your perception. 

"Nice pornstache," you teased, reaching up and running a finger over the hair adorning his top lip.

He rolled his eyes. "Thanks. No, that's great, cheers." 

You giggled as he walked away from you. "What? I like you with facial hair." 

He gave a cynical hum, making his way towards the stairs. 

"Where are you going?" you asked. 

"To run you a bath." 

"Oh, you don't have to do that." 

He turned to look at you, his eyes slowly trailing you from head to toe.

You looked down at yourself, at the clothes sticking to your body like a second skin and trainers caked in mud, the puddle that had formed on the wooden floor beneath you. "Okay, fair enough." 

He breathed a soft laugh. "Come on." 

"Will you get in it with me?" you asked as he climbed a few steps.

He turned, looking down at you with a smirk. "Nice try." 

You huffed, bending down to take off your shoes and socks and leaving them by the door before following him upstairs. 

The cottage was bigger than it seemed from the outside, yet still cozy, with thick carpets and charming olde worlde features. You walked towards the sound of running water, a steamy warmth and clean, soapy aroma. You pushed the bathroom door open to find him leaning over a deep, clawfoot tub, pouring bubblebath into the stream as it flowed from the tap. And for the first time all day, you felt your muscles relax. 

He glanced up at you as you began to undress, letting your jeans fall to the floor and peeling your top over your head. His eyes lingered on your body, his gaze darkening as you unclipped your bra to reveal your breasts, hooked your thumbs into the elastic of your underwear and slid it down over your hips. It was satisfying to know that his desire still existed; that while he was staying strong in his refusal to go further than a kiss, the hunger remained. 

You stood naked in the doorway, watching as he rose to his full height and cleared his throat.

"I'll leave a towel out for you," he said. 

"You sure you don't want to join me?" you replied. 

He inhaled a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a slight smile. "I'm sure." 

"Because I've really missed you." You crossed the small bathroom, taking his wrists in your hands and sliding them around your waist. 

"I've missed you too." 

You reached up, weaving your fingers into the back of his hair and pressing your lips to his neck. "Don't you want to show me how much you've missed me?" 

"Quinn..." he warned, a soft growl in his voice. 

"What harm would it do?" You raised up onto your toes, moving your kisses to his jaw, his mouth. "To just do it... Once?" 

He was losing his resolve, you could feel it in the firmness of his grasp, how his fingers pressed into your skin as he began to return your kisses between heavy breaths. 

"It doesn't have to be purely... physical," you pressed, keeping your voice soft and enticing. "It can be slow, tender, intimate-"

"Quinn," he finally whispered against your lips. "Stop it." 

You huffed, letting go of him and dropping down off your tiptoes. "Fine."

You turned and walked back out onto the landing without bothering to redress, making your way towards the stairs.  

"Where are you going?" he called out to you.

"To get my vibrator out of my bag," you called back, hearing his quiet chuckle echo from the bathroom. 

You had never felt better; washed hair and warm, dry clothes, the musky scent of earth replaced by the clean, masculine scent of Ben's body wash. Your limbs buzzed from the wine you'd been sipping as you stood at the stove in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta and listening to music from a small speaker on the counter. 

The night sky was black as ink, the quiet countryside making the world outside seem nonexistent, as though the small cottage was the only place left on earth. And you were sure you wouldn't have minded if it was. Ben came up behind you, snaking his hand around your stomach to hold you close as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. You smiled, feeling your skin tingle beneath his lips, a slight tickle from his moustache. 

He picked up the bottle of wine from the counter beside you and topped up your glass. 

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"A little bit." 

You exhaled a soft laugh, picking it up and taking a sip. 

"I'm really glad you could come down," he said, filling his own glass and sitting at the dining table behind you. "It's been weird not talking to you every day."

"I know, I'm great." 

He chuckled. "You are." 

You turned around, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand. "Did you ever think after our first meeting you'd be saying that about me?" 

"After our first meeting? I knew I’d be saying something about you, though I assumed it would be to a lawyer."

Your lip curled with a smirk as you sipped your wine. "Now look at us, making dinner together in a little cottage in the countryside. Not a lawyer in sight." 

"Exactly. See, the no sex thing is working." 

"Oh, you think that's why we're getting along so well?" You raised an eyebrow, your smirk spreading.

He leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, it certainly hasn’t hurt. We’ve actually gotten to know each other. I mean, look at you - no knives in hand, no threats of bodily harm..." 

"Mm. I wouldn't completely credit the abstinence. Maybe I'm just too tired from all this non-sexual bonding to argue with you." 

"Or maybe you just enjoy my company." 

You paused, biting your lip as you looked down at him, before turning to save the pot from bubbling over on the stove. 

"Why's it so hard for you to just admit I was right about taking it slow?" he asked.

"I got a train to Kent for you. I think it's already quite clear." 

He laughed, and you listened as the legs of his chair scraped the floor, his footsteps approaching as you drained the pasta over the sink. 

"You've really never done this before, have you," he said. "Dating, courting." 

"Courting?" you scoffed. "Okay, granddad." 

He slid his arms around your waist, pressing his chest against your back as he spoke slow, quiet, his voice deep and intimate. "Just imagine, Quinn. All the waiting; the frustration, anticipation. Imagine how... incredible it's going to be when we finally do it." 

You felt a shiver run down your spine, desire bubbling deep in your stomach. He pressed his lips to the side of your head, the heat of his body making you melt against him. 

"I know I seem cruel," he continued. "Turning you down, making you feel like I don't want you. But trust me, I do. And I've been thinking about it a lot, how good it's going to feel." 

You inhaled through your nose in an attempt to compose yourself, to quell the growing ache between your legs. You continued what you were doing, tipping the steaming pasta into an empty pot. 

"I want to take my time with you," he murmured. "Reacquaint myself with every inch of your body." 

You felt his arms tighten around you, his hands gripping you more firmly. 

"When I finally touch you, really touch you, it's going to be slow, intense; I want to make sure you feel every brush of my fingertips, every kiss, every..." He trailed off, but you knew the picture he was painting. His voice like a dark, seductive promise, pouring his intentions directly into your ear. "I want to watch your face as I make you fall apart beneath me. Hear the sounds you make as I push you to the edge and pull you back, just so I can do it all over again."

Your legs felt weak, and you were grateful for his arms around you, holding you steady. It was impossible not to get lost in his words, in the way your stomach coiled, your core throbbing with need.

 "And when we finally come together," he continued, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I'm certain I will never be able to keep my hands off you again." 

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper. "You’re really not making it easy to be patient, you know."

He exhaled a laugh. "I just thought you might like to know I'm not finding this easy either. But there's reason behind it." 

"I know," you replied with a sigh, turning in his arms to face him. "I know I've been giving you a hard time about it but it's only because you're right - I don't date, I don't... court." 

"You don't court?" he teased.

"No, old man, I don't court." You laughed. "I've never wanted to. So I always just... skip to the physical stuff, ignore the rest." 

He stroked a stray lock of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. "But you're not ignoring it with me. Look, you're here, you're trying."

"Mm. I suppose I just never liked someone enough to make dinner and drink wine with them before. Never cared enough to nearly die in the Kent countryside for them." 

He gave a deep laugh in his throat. "You didn't nearly die." 

"We'll agree to disagree." 

He smiled, tilting your chin up with his fingers and kissing you softly. "I guess I should consider myself lucky then," he said. "That you're here, even though it’s not your usual thing.”

“I don’t know if it’s luck, Ben. Maybe it’s just... you.”

His eyes crinkled, the corners of his mouth curving into a gentle smile. “I’ll take that.”

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the flames licking in your core now dwindling to a comfortable smoulder. 

“You know,” he said after a moment. “We could make this our thing.”

"Make what our thing?" You raised an eyebrow. 

"This." He gestured to the space around you. "Every time I’m on location, you can brave the wilderness-"

“And risk my life,” you interjected.

"And risk your life,” he agreed with a grin. “Just to come cook dinner and drink wine with me. It’ll be like a... tradition." 

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it, before giving him a slow, teasing smile. “Throw in a few tropical countries and I might consider it." 

“I'll see what I can do." 

He kissed you again, deeper this time, pressing you gently against the edge of the sink before pulling back, resting his forehead on yours for a brief moment. You stood there as you watched him finish off the dinner, taking in the comfortable sight of him moving around the kitchen in domestic ease. He hummed to himself contently as he chopped and stirred, stopping every now and then to take a sip from his glass, twirling utensils between his fingers. 

It was strange, how this easy, unremarkable moment was something you’d never quite known before. How you'd never taken heed of the quiet, subtler parts of another person. Yet here, in the warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by the clatter of pots and the aroma of garlic and basil, you felt a kind of intimacy you hadn’t expected to find.

It wasn’t the grand gestures or passionate moments you'd come to crave, but rather the simple act of sharing space, of being present together. The quiet companionship that came with just being in his company. It was a different kind of closeness; genuine, chaste, something you hadn’t even realised you’d been missing.

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[hijab-described]

This poll is for niqabis only.

I’m working on another dress up game with a focus on niqabs, so I want your input! I want you to be able to create yourself, so which colors do you prefer? You can add specifics in the notes and tags!

I’ll also reblog with a poll for hijabis. This one is for niqabis only, please! 🧕🏽

[olessan]

I'm also dying about Davrin's little gremlin griffon chick because I have been HOLDING ONTO the end of Last Flight this ENTIRE time and VINDICATIOOOON

It looks only a few years old as well, could well be from one of the eggs that got untainted.

Based on what we can see, it does look fairly similar to Crookytail, with white, grey and black, and possibly tan patches and floppy ears:

The odd griffon was not solid gray like most of his brethren. Crookytail's feathers were tinted with dusky brown; white patches decorated his chest and belly. One of his ears flopped forward, and he had a distinctive, bushy tail with a prominent kink in it - giving him his name.

[skyward-floored]

I am here to very politely beg for a wip or something of Lost 👉👈

I'll do you one better, here's this short thing that I might add to further at some point from after Zelda frees him :)

...

Link was silent nearly the entire ride to the castle, his hands faintly trembling where they were wrapped around Zelda's waist. She'd guided them there herself when he'd been hesitant to hold on, and he hadn't let go since, his head eventually falling to rest on her shoulder.

Zelda wasn't completely sure he was awake or not by the time the castle came into view, but he kept his head lowered as they rode across the drawbridge, the dusky grey quiet of early morning broken only by Epona's hoofbeats.

Zelda was rather glad it was so early-- nobody except a few servants and maybe Impa would be awake yet, which meant Link's arrival would stay quiet. Goddesses knew he wouldn't be able to handle a crowd right now, no less herself.

She honestly didn't know how she would have dealt with it on top of everything else.

“Link!”

Link’s head finally raised from her shoulder, and Zelda watched as his father limped frantically into the courtyard, faster than she'd seen him move in a long time. He must have been watching our approach.

She tugged Epona to a stop and began to help Link dismount, but his feet had barely touched the ground before his father was pulling him into his arms, clutching at him so desperately Link nearly fell over.

“Oh thank the goddesses, Link,” he breathed, voice breaking. “My boy, my baby boy...”

“I’m alright,” Link tried to reassure, voice barely a whisper. His voice broke as well though, and Zelda could see tears on his cheeks. “I’m alright father, I’m...”

He exhaled shakily, and Lucas held him tighter, quietly shushing him. Zelda couldn't help but feel a soft pang of longing as she watched Link's father hold him, not saying anything futher for several moments. He finally murmured something into Link's hair, then kissed his forehead, pulling back and holding his son's face with a hand.

“You’re hurt,” he said worriedly, and Link gave him a sort-of shrug.

“It’s nothing life-threatening,” Zelda offered gently, well aware she was intruding on the two. “Not... anymore. He could use some rest, though."

Lucas looked at her, taking in her dirtied clothing, tear tracks on her cheeks, blood and dirt encrusted on her skirts. Zelda tried to straighten her slumping posture, but she knew he saw right through her.

"Both of you should rest," he said softly, still holding Link. "I know me and Impa both would like to know what happened, but that can wait."

Zelda nodded, not really up to arguing. "Link can sleep upstairs in one of the guest rooms. It's... probably best we keep his arrival quiet for now. Is that okay, Link?"

He nodded silently, and Zelda took his hand in hers, giving it a squeze. He returned it, and Lucas let out a sigh that seemed rather weary to Zelda.

"I'll escort you up, then. Can you walk, Link?"

"Yes," Link whispered, and Lucas gave him a worried look, though he didn't argue.

And neither Link nor Zelda let go of the other's hand as they slowly walked inside.

[justfangirlstuffs]

rain showers from the cozy autumn prompts? either for sea slugs or enthralling you enthralling me? - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

GREY DAYS

Featuring @scarredlove's sea slug boys. <3

Wordcount: 3050

Grey. It dominated the mid-autumn skies, blotting out the sun with thick storm clouds and drizzly rain. You were home alone, hunkered under a thick blanket, still in your pajamas. You’d felt little urgency to get dressed since, according to the weather forecast, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. It wouldn’t be so bad if it hadn’t been like this for the past two days now. The monotony was getting to you.

Going over to your window, you pried the window open. A misting of rain carried on a light breeze was there to greet you. You closed your eyes and called out with your heart, picturing him in your mind’s eye before calling out his name.

“Sun? I’d really like to see you.”

Moon would likely be asleep, and Eclipse was always touch and go. Sun was typically the safest be, especially during the daytime. You waited for a minute or so, staring out into the gloom as raindrops misted across your front. Pretty soon you were starting to shiver from the chill.

You shut the window, leaving it open just a crack before moving towards your bed, intent on burrowing under your blankets until you warm up again. The squeak of sliding wood announced an arrival at your window. Your head whipped around, expecting to see a flourish of bright reds and yellows akin to a summer’s dawn. Instead, you were met with dusky maroons and pale gold across a backdrop of inky black.

“Oh… hey,” you greeted lamely.

Gold eyes surveyed you as Eclipse cocked his head to the side, the frills around his face twitching in what might have been irritation. “I wasn’t aware my company was that big of a disappointment.”

“No, not at all,” you said hurriedly. “I was just…”

You were cut off as Eclipse’s huge hand grasped the top of your head and playfully tousled your hair. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Don’t be so uptight.”

“To be fair, it’s hard to tell you’re joking when you look like you’re about to bite my face off,” you muttered.

Eclipse’s fingers grasped around your jaw and bent down so that his sharp smile was gleaming inches from your face. “I’ll only bite if you ask me to,” he said in a husky whisper that rolled through you with the force of an undertow threatening to pull you under. 

His low chuckle made you huff petulantly in the face of his antics. He wanted a reaction, and he got it. So, you wrapped your arms around him and bit into his shoulder. A low hiss sounded next to your ear, not of pain, but of surprise. 

“I see someone is feeling spritely today.” Amusement highlighted the otherwise dark tones dancing in your ears like a comforting melody. You gasped as you felt teeth dig into your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but firm enough to send a spark of thrill and contentment curling in your gut.

“I thought you said only if I asked,” you murmured teasingly.

“You didn’t need to use words for me to know, Angelfish.” His voice caressed your ear, his mouth ghosting over the sensitive flesh, making your skin heat.

Still, you wanted a reaction and you’d gotten it. You’d take the win. “So, where’s Sun?”

Eclipse drew away enough to meet your gaze. “Sunny sends his regards, but he isn’t feeling well. So I came in his stead.”

Concern pricked at your heart like an icepick. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be just fine,” Eclipse assured, his hand smoothing down over your hair to fix what he’d mussed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said brightly. “Today’s been… fine.”

Eclipse squinted at you. “Just ‘fine’?”

“Yeah, maybe a little lonely. Bit of cabin fever building up.”

“I can certainly help with that. If you think I make an adequate substitute,” Eclipse remarked wryly.

“I suppose I can suffer your company for a bit,” you returned with a grin.

“Shall I steal you away then?”

“You’re gonna have to catch me first.”

Eclipse’s eyes widened in surprise as you bolted to the door and fled the bedroom. At first, you didn’t think he was following you until you glanced over your shoulder and squeaked out an ‘oh shit’. The slug was surprisingly fast out of the water, and his flowing robes made it look like he was gliding across the floor like it was ice. You scrambled down the stairs three at a time, landing awkwardly but managing to avoid turning an ankle. Even with your efforts, you were barely keeping ahead, turning a corner just in time as Eclipse’s claws swiped for you.

Your downfall came when you fled to the living room, your foot sliding out from underneath you when you stepped on a pile of magazines your cousin had left lying on the floor. A yelp of surprise left you, but before you crashed into the wall, a pair of hands caught you, one cradling your head while the other was secured around your waist. Chest puffing, you stared up at Eclipse whose face was pinched up with concern.

“Thanks for that,” you mumbled.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he murmured, and you were helplessly lowered down onto the carpeted floor. “I’m still debating what to do with you, now that I’ve caught you.”

The words sent a shiver of delight rolling up your spine, causing you to squirm beneath him. In a single motion, Eclipse pinned both wrists above your head, securing them with a single hand while the other tapped a finger against your cheek. Your heart, already accelerated from the chase, went in twofold from the action. You struggled, more experimental than an actual bid for escape, your body pushing and pressing against the constraints that were his body and his hands. The motion seemed to excite him, and you couldn’t help but grin. Eclipse may be the ‘big’ brother, but he was still the baby. He liked having attention just as much as Sun and Moon, even if he was sometimes brusque about it.

“I’m still up for you stealing me away,” you said. Not that you were bothered by the positioning, but the floor was starting to become just a touch uncomfortable.

Eclipse seemed to sense this, as he relinquished pinning you in favor of scooping you up off the floor. “Let’s be off then.”

“Wait, I should probably change,” you suggested.

“There’s a change of clothes waiting for you there,” he told you. “From your last visit.”

“Oh, I was wondering where those went…”

Eclipse kissed your forehead, and you were quick to slide into unconsciousness. When you next awoke, you were in their sea cave, their home. Eclipse said it was a way to expedite travel but… you wondered if it was because they wanted to keep the location of their home a secret, even from you. Which… fair. Everyone was entitled to have a secret or two.

However, it wasn’t Eclipse whom you awoke to, but surprisingly Moon instead who had curled around you a cradled you in the folds of his cloak while you slept. “Hello, sea star,” he greeted with a wide grin.

“Ah, I got ditched,” you said with a mock sigh. “Tell Eclipse my heart is broken beyond repair, and I shant ever recover.”

Moon snickered. “He said he was sorry, but he wanted to look after Sun.”

“Is Sun going to be alright?” you asked.

“Just a stomach ache. Ate something he shouldn’t have. I’d take you to see him but he gets extra cranky on rainy days.”

“And he won’t get cranky knowing you’re hogging me to yourself tonight?”

“He’ll live.”

The cave had been strung with lanterns that glowed a soft sepia, and a woodfire housed in a circle of stones crackled merrily, providing warmth against the otherwise wet and chilly weather.

“Did you do all this?” you asked Moon in surprise.

“Most of it,” he said with a shy smile. “The others helped some.”

You sidled up to the fire to help dry you off. You were always soaking wet whenever they brought you to their home, so you at least suspected that they took you underwater through the ocean to get there.

“Moon, when you bring me here how do you… I mean how do I…” You paused, trying to figure out how to word your question.

He seemed to figure out what you were gunning for. “Breath spell,” he said simply. “Allows humans to breathe underwater for a time.”

“Wow, that’s incredible and super useful,” you murmured. 

It didn’t escape your notice that Moon was keeping a respectful distance from the fire. Probably afraid of drying out or his robes catching aflame. Moon once told you that it was their robes that allowed them to come and go from the sea, and should anything happen to them, they would be stuck on land forever, cut off from the sea, from their home. Thus, they safeguarded them and hardly ever took them off.

Once you were mostly dry and your clothes only slightly damp, you shuffled over to Moon who had been fidgeting restlessly as he waited for you. He happily invited you into his space, pulling you back into the crook of his lap.

“Missed you,” he murmured, nuzzling your ear.

“Missed you too, Moonie.” You bit your lip when you felt his teeth gently bite and nibble along your neck, occasionally pressing a gentle kiss over the skin.

“The sea salt tastes so good when it’s on you,” he purred.

“You always were the biter out of the three,” you remarked with a soft chuckle.

Back when they were just little slugs living in your aquarium, you used to stick your hand in the water and wait for them to swim close enough to touch. Moon was almost always the first to approach, and he would weave himself between your fingers and nibble on the tips. You found rubbing a spot just under his ‘chin’ caused him to lazily spin, allowing you to run your finger along the length of his body.

“You never seemed to mind,” Moon murmured, nuzzling against your neck.

“I didn’t,” you answered honestly.

With a mischievous grin, Moon took one of your hands and brought it towards his mouth. Your cheeks heated and your heart skipped when he took one of your fingers into his mouth and softly bit. It was a little unnerving, having your fingers in between teeth that looked like they could serrate through a cinder block. However, you trusted that Moon wouldn’t do something so vicious as to bite off your fingers. He was always sweet and gentle, even if he had a bit of an impish streak.

“I’d like to go swimming with you sometime.” The statement was more a request than anything.

“Mm, sounds like fun,” Moon chuckled. “I can chase you through the seaweed beds and kelps forests.”

“Not sure how much of a chase it’ll be considering you boys can easily outswim me,” you remarked with a laugh. “But yeah, I’d love that.” You reached under his chin and gave it a soft scritch.

Moon’s eyes dilated and he let loose a rumbling purr, flipping onto his back with you on top. You squeaked in surprise and he grinned up at you. “Do that again.”

—

At some point, during your cuddles with Moon, you passed out again. You hadn’t meant to, but whenever he started humming at doing his light show, you couldn’t help it. Considering you had a touch of insomnia the night before, the added sleep was nice and left you feeling more refreshed. Even though you didn’t hear the rain anymore, the low rumblings of thunder still reached your ears. Opening your eyes, you found that once more your partners had changed during your time in snoozeville.

“Did you have a nice nap?” a warm voice asked.

You lifted your head to find you’d been making a pillow of Sun’s lap. His long fingers were stroking through your hair, threatening to lull you back into a dozing state. The fire Moon built had burned down, leaving only smoldering embers desperate to hang on and stay alight. Judging by how dark the sky was, it was nearing the evening time. Just before Sun was usually due to start winding down in his activities.

“How are you?” you asked, your concern resurfacing. “They told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m doing better,” he said softly. Though looking at him, he definitely seemed off. His colors were far less lustrous than usual, and his eyes typically gleamed so brightly were dim. But he smiled that sweet smile at you. “Besides, I couldn’t let those brutes have you all to themselves. Do you like your gift, by the way?”

“My…” The question trailed off when you noticed that something dangled from your wrist that wasn’t there before. You stared in amazement as you found a chain of sea shells, pearls, and a sea star glimmering around your wrist, threaded by an elastic band.

“Did you make this?” you asked in astonishment.

“Yes,” Sun said proudly. “It took me a bit, but each piece of that is from a willing donor.”

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” you said, trying to find better words but failing miserably. “I love it.”

“I’m glad… and I’m sorry,” Sun murmured. “I wanted to see you. I just… didn’t want you to see me so…” He hummed, absently brushing a hand over the array of appendages surrounding his face. “I’m supposed to be your Sun. Your little ray of happiness, even when things are at their darkest.”

“Sun…” You reached out a hand but stopped. You grabbed your water bottle, spraying the water over your hands to clean them. “May I touch you?”

A faint smile passed over Sun’s mouth as he reached his hands out your clasp yours. “My precious pearl is so very thoughtful.”

You gently squeeze his long fingers. “It’s okay to have an off day. I have them all the time. You’ve helped me through a lot of them. So, I’ll gladly help you through yours.”

Sun effortlessly pulled you into his lap, enveloping you in soft folds of butter yellow and cherry red. He took one of your hands and brought them to one of his rays. “You can feel them… if you like.”

You carefully brushed your fingers over the delicate appendage, and it twitched against your touch. The texture was incredibly sleek and smooth and the more attention you gave it, you could hear a rumbling purr building within Sun’s chest. His large hands combed over your hair, rubbed over your back and brushed over the exposed skin of your arms and legs.

The explorative touches made you smile, once more thinking about Sun’s tank days. You had learned fairly quickly that you had to let Sun come to you, to let him be touched how he wanted. Then, once he felt like he was dominating the situation, he wouldn’t stop brushing and nuzzling your hand until you pulled it out of the tank and he would wriggle in his sluggy form of an indignant pout. Not a whole lot has changed on that front, but lately, Sun was getting better about letting you touch him. So long as your hands were clean first and you gave him fair warning. As for him, well… you basically gave him permission to touch as much as he pleased, so long as he was willing to back off when you became uncomfortable.

You shivered when his cool fingers snuck beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing over the curve of your stomach and the arch of your back. “You’re so warm,” he mrumured, his purrs thrumming through your body. You were turning into putty between his fingers as they fondled and caressed you in their gentle exploration. His hand splayed over the bare skin of your back as he hugged you flush against him. Your heart knocked loudly in your ribcage as you felt like you might disappear amongst the swaths of color that surrounded you.

“S-Sun…” You bit back a groan as his fingers gently pressed into your taut back muscles. As much as you wanted him to do it again, you weren’t quite ready for him to go any farther. “That’s a bit much.”

Sun hummed his disappointment, but his hands slipped out from beneath your shirt. “Apologies,” he said, keeping his hands busy by cradling your face. “I got a bit enthusiastic there.”

“I love your enthusiasm,” you told him, smiling in reassurance. Leaning up, you gave him a soft peck on his cheek.

The rays around his face twitched and almost seemed to curl towards you. Those eyes, they were gleaming again. So bright and endless, like the sea. You could swim in those eyes. Or drown in them. Titling your head back, Sun pressed his lips to yours. His usual eagerness was absent, instead chose to slowly savor your kiss. It wasn’t long before you felt that drunken giddiness and your hands grasped at the air, only for Sun to catch your hand in his and hold fast to you, keeping you from sinking too far too fast.

Your whole world tilted, and when your mouth was at last relinquished, you found Sun lying back on the sand with you lying atop his chest. “I’m tired,” he murmured.

“That’s okay,” you said, relaxing against him. “I’ll stay if you want.”

His fingers raked through your hair before rubbing lazy circles over your back. “I’d like that very much, pearl.”

The two of you lay there, just soaking up each other’s presence. Occasionally Sun would say something, and you would answer, but you knew it was just him trying to keep you entertained when he didn’t need to. You didn’t mind at all when he dozed off, trapping you in the folds of his arms in the process. So much for that change of clothes. 

As you lay there, you started to sing the ‘rain, rain, go away song’. Sun’s arms hugged you closer, a content sigh humming through him and through you, eliciting visions of sunlight rippling through water. Reminding you both that no matter how grey the days were, the sun would shine again.

[roselightfairy]

um if you’re still taking prompts then forehead kisses or kissing under the stars for gigolas please

anon, not only am I "still" taking prompts, you are my only prompt, and I love you for it! Why not both forehead kisses AND stars?

...

Night crept over their ship, a burning sunset and then a slow sweep of darkness over the sky. The waves beneath them, blue and gold-crested beneath the gleam of daylight, went grey and then dusky and then green-black, shifting and sliding like a cascade of tumbled jade. Like dragon scales.

The motion was not kind to Gimli’s bones, but he watched as long as he could, standing at the bow of the ship and gazing over the edge, fingers curled around the rail until he felt they must stiffen into claws and never loosen again. It was easier to look ahead, to where the last glow of the sun had finally faded over the line of the western horizon, than to look behind and see not even a trace of receding land in their wake.

This far out, the sea was quiet; waves rocked them gently, but did not break, with no shore to hurl themselves against. It felt, strangely, as though he had found himself displaced from the world.

And perhaps he had. Here, so far from everything he had ever known and equally far from everything yet to come, it was easy to believe in a space between one world and another.

Hands came to rest on his shoulders, light and slim but strong enough to cradle worlds, as Legolas alighted behind him like some oversized sea-bird. “Are you well, Gimli?”

“Well enough.” He leaned back, testing, and Legolas bore up beneath it with a strength that belied his frame – and a surety that rivaled the stone foundations of Gimli’s world. “I was merely – stargazing.”

For the stars were indeed something to behold. Brighter and closer than Gimli had ever seen them in the mountains or the plains of Middle-earth, here so far from any mortal lights, they gleamed above and around them as if ready to step out of the sky – to form a path for their ship to follow.

“Stargazing?” Legolas laughed lightly, and his hands swept from Gimli’s shoulders to his neck, fingers stroking at the frame of his beard in a way that made Gimli shiver. “We shall make an elf of you yet.”

His tone was playful – lighthearted in a way so far removed from his sorrow of recent years, from the heaviness of heart to which Gimli had almost accustomed himself. Legolas was different since they had embarked on this voyage – steadier, surer, than Gimli had seen him in years. As though the certainty of this voyage had become a buoy to his spirits, to his very being.

It was why Gimli had been willing to leave Middle-earth at all – why he had paid so little heed to the apprehension of his kinfolk and the questions about what such a voyage might entail. Because Legolas believed, with every part of him, that he would find something on the other end – and Gimli believed in Legolas.

And yet –

“Shall you?” he said, and the words came out with an edge he hadn’t meant.

Behind him, Legolas hesitated. Gimli could feel it, the slight tension in his hands and in his frame – and then he released Gimli, stepping around to stand beside him and meet Gimli’s gaze with his own.

“Do you fear it?” he said, and his soft words carried above the susurration of the waves.

“What is there to fear?” Gimli tried, and felt the words fall flat on his own tongue.

Legolas’s hands came to rest on the curl of Gimli’s fingers, warm against his knobbed knuckles. “Your hands are cold,” he said softly, and did not wait for an answer before prising them gently from the rail and piling them between his own. Gimli had not noticed the chill, but it swept through him now along with the warmth of Legolas’s touch. His husband’s eyes gleamed with reflected starlight, and Gimli could not look at him.

“I am not afraid,” he said, and he knew the words for a lie, although he did not know why. What was he concealing? What was the source of the untruth beneath his trepidation?

“I do not bring you across the sea to change you,” Legolas said. His gaze was steady still, and it put Gimli to shame. “I do not seek to make you into anything but what you are.”

“I know,” said Gimli, and he did. He did. What then was this worry, this heaviness that lodged in his throat? Why did he shiver, here on the open sea, between worlds, with nothing before or behind to which he could clutch?

“You have long been my anchor in a world where I did not belong,” said Legolas. “And it has been the greatest gift of my life – perhaps surpassed only by your willingness to accompany me on this journey now. I may not be worth the sacrifice, but it would be my greatest honor to be that for you now. If you will let me.”

His eyes were so wide, dark yet lit as if from within, so earnest that Gimli had to close his own. For somehow Legolas had seen him – had pierced to the heart of the fears he had not been able to voice even to himself.

Of course Legolas did not want to make him anything other than what he was. Gimli would never have doubted that; half a lifetime of love was enough to cure any fears before they could form. But they journeyed now to a world Gimli had never known – a world where he could not be sure he would be welcome. Legolas’s surety was enough to quell his fear of being allowed in – but perhaps there was a deeper worry there, one Gimli had not even begun to name: if he were to be welcomed, would it be as himself? Or would it be for the person the Lords of the West hoped he would become?

Dwarves were not meant to be changed. They were stubborn and solid as stone, birthed from and rooted to the deeps of Middle-earth, and they clung to their traditions and their selves in defiance of any change in the world. And yet Legolas had worked his way into Gimli’s heart, and in so doing changed him enough to forsake his homeland for this new world he had never believed in. What then might this journey yet do to him, that he could never have imagined?

Those were the fears – but Legolas had seen them, had countered them, before Gimli could even name them to himself. If Legolas had changed him, it was only to make him more himself: a truer, better version of Gimli. And now Legolas stood here beside him, warming his hands and gazing into his eyes and promising to anchor him not only to the world he had left behind, but to the self he feared abandoning as well.

“You are worth any sacrifice,” he said, and his voice was rough and choked with the love and relief of being so deeply known, so recognized and understood and held. “But – yes. Yes, I will let you.”

“Thank you,” Legolas whispered, and he leaned forward.

His lips were warm on Gimli’s forehead, a tender brush that swept through Gimli just like night across the sky, lit him up inside with the glow of a thousand stars. And when he pulled back, Gimli’s hands still clasped in his own, the smile on his face was brighter than the inevitable sunrise.