through-fire-and-flame

[through-fire-and-flame]

❀ ˚｡ WHO IS THE MUN MOST LIKE?

pick four of your favourite characters and let your mutuals decide which one you’re most like, as the mun!

tagged by: @swordluck <3

tagging: @hawksblooded, @sunmad, @vernades, @yellowfingcr, @of-forossa

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"That is a lifelong lesson, I've found," he manages, as the manner of her response sparks an internal war that would have fascinated Carim's most conflicted clerics.

In truth the question had simply been volleyed back at its asker, as a way of polite conversation as they walk.

It isn't that he fails to notice how pretty Anri is, or how her voice lilts in his ears and rolls through his chest with a faint but insistent tug at his heartstrings, a song in a song. It's that he regards her, initially, in the same way a man regards a star - beautiful, fiery, and utterly untouchable. She's Astoran, for whatever that might mean in this new and strange time, and the idea she might want anything beyond a traveling companion might as well have been complex arithmetic, for all he understands it.

But it's the tremble - almost imperceptible - in her voice, something vaguely plaintive, that seems to pull the aforementioned star inexorably closer. A part of him aches to hear the distance in her voice when she speaks of love; to know that someone hasn't come along and given her the smiles and warmth and joy she seems to so richly deserve. (And she does deserve it - twice today she's slipped into the battle the same way she must slip into her armor, assured by duty where courage might otherwise have failed them both. She's devoted herself to his safety as though it had always been her mission. He cannot help but marvel, nor can he help the desperate urge to protect her in return.)

Still, his conscience protests, say you entertain this ridiculous notion that a knight like Anri would want anything to do with you past this crossing. Say you skip merrily past the gulf of probability and stare out into the vast expanse of utter fantasy, and discover some minute chance that, were you to share with her the way she seems to have taken root in your bastard heart, she might return the sentiment. What then? Would you see to it that her first experience of affection was a swarthy fellow, half-mud and half-heresy?

Near-panic sends him searching after the previous ghost - the woman he remembered when she asked him about heartbreak. No; in the wake of this of new sensation, this glittering and fragile possibility, the prior ghost has absconded, if only to spite him. Now there's just her, walking beside him, and himself, keenly aware of how this entire internal conversation stemmed from a perceived tremble in her voice.

Stop being silly, conjurator, his conscience mutters.

"Still - it's worth it," he ventures, finally, having claimed temporary victory over his wandering mind. "Knowing someone that way, I mean. It can get complicated, and sometimes very painful, but I think it's worth it, all the same."

He gives her a lop-sided smile as they walk.

"You'll find someone worth knowing, sooner or later," Laurentius concludes. "Promise."

⚘ @through-fire-and-flame // cont.

The question itself was a draught of strange wine, something she was unaccustomed to letting touch her lips. Fire crackled between them, spitting and hissing in the hush of the ruins that housed them, as though voicing its displeasure at such an intimate turn of speech.

“I?” Anri felt the word hover between them, light as frost, and for a moment she thought of refusing him. Silence was a softer garment, one she had wrapped herself in for years. Yet Laurentius had asked gently, simply returning the question, and there was a solemnity in his gaze that compelled her. Cornflower eyes fell to her hands, pale fingers gloved in worn leather, clasped upon her knees.

“There has never been such a thing for me,” she confessed, the words brittle. “My mentor, Sir Ryland, he tried to see me settled once or twice – match me with the sons of lesser houses, with yeomen. I was meant to be grateful, yet the thought chilled me. To be handed like a sword to a stranger’s grip…”

Mercifully, no transaction was ever agreed. Her throat tightened, a confession rising, long withheld.

“Oftentimes, Ryland and Horace left me with our horse when they sought their diversions. The taverns, the brothels – worlds barred from me and I was glad enough, though I felt the exclusion keenly. In truth, I thought I was safer with the beast than with men who had no use for a girl beyond her dowry or her body.”

Anri looked at him then and, in the flames, her eyes were lit to an almost unnatural brilliance, as though her soul pressed itself forward, seeking to be seen. The admission left her lighter, yet trembling, like a church bell shivering after being struck.

“I have never loved, nor been loved. Not in that way.”

The words hung in the air, fragile as the wings of a moon-dusted moth, doomed to the flame. A blush crept across her cheeks, for to speak them aloud was to make them monstrous, too large, too real. Still, she held his gaze. She wondered – was he disappointed, or relieved? Her experiences had not prepared her for the tender weaving of intimacy, only for the tearing of combat and the slow, dry agony of solitude.

Still, she felt it now, that perilous closeness with him, as though the mere shape of her words bound her to him. His presence beside her – sooty, scarred, smelling faintly of singed cloth and alchemical oils – was suddenly unbearable in its gravity. She was drawn to him, as a bird to the window it will dash itself against.

Her lips parted, the smallest tremor escaping them:

“I suppose, Laurentius, that I am only learning what it means to live. To know another, as you say.”

[through-fire-and-flame]

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"the world isn't kind" ok??? Much more importantly are you?????

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[ i have written approx. 11,000 words so far this week at work.

i swear i will get back to writing when i have more proverbial ink available. ]

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"...I am positive I wasn't supposed to see that."

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Annika Tucksmith (American, 1995) - Untitled (2024)

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[ i have apparently enraged lady luck and have been hunkering down until i stop competing with lemony snicket for who's had the most unfortunate events

when normalcy resumes, so shall your regularly scheduled pyromancy, abysswalking, witchfinding, and sorry copping, promise ]

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Someday I'll burn this bed Only two feet wide, where I'll hide For the next 17 days I will ask myself, "How badly do I want this?" I really want this Well, I can hardly wait Until I get the sun and your lips Both pressing on my skin Well, I can hardly wait Until I feel that thrill in my heart That starts inside your eyes And a song in my head that Burns so good on my tongue Yes I will

--"blue carolina," alkaline trio

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reblog if it's okay for people to mention your muse(s) in their threads!

[through-fire-and-flame]

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐕  .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

→     𝐕 .    NSFW

❛   surprise .   send  an  unexpected  nsfw  image  to  my  muse . ❛   pin .   push  my  muse  against  a  [ wall,  table,  other ] . ❛   go down .   go  down  on  my  muse . ❛   choke .   intimately  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   belt loops .   pull  my  muse  closer  by  their  belt loops . ❛   skinny dipping .   go  skinny  dipping  with  my  muse . ❛   rip .   tear  a  piece  of  clothing  from  my  muse’s  body . ❛   mark .   leave  a  mark  on  my  muse’s  body  [ specify where ] .

[through-fire-and-flame]

dude i love how chill and selfless you are 😄 by any chance is your wildest fantasy to be Useful?

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"A Shirt Made of Fire", Vardges Petrosyan (translated by metamorphesque)

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"...she's so cute..."

@swordluck liked for a thing!

prism stone emoji

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"Show me how you do it." She snaps her fingers, once, twice, the way one does to summon flame from flint. A flickering warmth no larger than a candlefire whispers to life inside her palm. "Sorry. I forget manners. Please, show me how you do it."

He blinks. She's taken to this quickly. Of course, she would, he supposes - this is a woman to whom the world is, alternately, bed and bared throat, hearth and feasting table. He gets the impression she has never known a want that she hasn't soon seized in her hands, and that everything she has ever let go of has claw marks on it.

"You seem to have grasped" - strangled, his conscience supplies in the brief interstice - "the basics already," he manages. "From here, it's focus - it takes an immense amount of will to get the flame to appear, but it gets easier once you have it in hand, so to speak."

Leaning in, he cups his hands around her flame, and breathes out, as though expelling some long-held tension. The flame in her hand begins to bloom, brightening in color and growing in size.

"The sensation should feel like this - sharping that incredible amount of will into something focused, tightened around this single point in your palm," he murmurs. "At some point, this will all feel natural and simple, the way walking does - but getting there takes a lot of...careful...focus."

He pulls his hands away; the flame remains emboldened, hissing fitfully in the air above her palm.

"Like that," he says. "See? You're holding onto it already. You're a natural."

[through-fire-and-flame]

Light blooms gentle at his call,

A friend to creatures, great and small.

Up sparks swirl, yet none feel fright;

Red-gold embers warm the night.

Eyes of hazel, kind and wise,

Nimble fingers summon fires.

To the lost, his flames extend,

Inviting warmth where shadows bend.

Unseen friend of swamp and flame,

Stories cherish his precious name.

Nobody's ever written him a poem before. He runs one sooty thumb over the parchment again, mouths out the lines, feels and tastes the cadence on his tongue.

There is some strange and distant sensation of being loved. He finishes reading it again, and finds that the last few words are difficult to mouth properly when he can't stop smiling.

"Huh," he huffs, afterward. "What a kind thing."