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If I wed your sister, it will bind me and you together for eternity, and I will spend every day of my marriage wanting you, dreaming of you, dreading the day when my last thread of honor finally snaps. Is that the future that you want for us? For your sister?

BRIDGERTON 2.05 — An Unthinkable Fate

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just watering the plants - Alexander Anthony Mar

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Juliette Drouet, from a letter to Victor Hugo, featured in My Beloved Toto: Letters

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seeking, yearning, reaching hands

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V for Vendetta dir. James McTeigue | 2006

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C.S. Lewis once wrote,

"I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief"

And I think we all needed to hear that.

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“That’s my good girl”

“My pretty girl”

“My sweet girl”

“My precious little angel”

“My beautiful princess”

As she slowly falls asleep on my chest and in my arms

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Art.Carlos Blanco Artero,Hug

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Ada Limón, , from a poem titled "Banished Wonders," featured in The Hurting Kind: Poems

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The nerves of steel that Egalmoth swore he had always seemed to turn to molten metal in @springsdawn 's presence. Her eyes always caught him, wrecked his vocabulary upon those orbs that sank his heart so deeply within them. It had been that way since Sirion, and even though he had returned to life much stronger, she made him weak in all the right ways.

Many hours had he spent upon his writing table, wiling away evenings and candlelight as he described her every facet. She filled his head and his notebook, lines of devotion, she was his muse, the only story he was writing from first person. It was entirely self indulgent, likely never to be published, but one day put gently in her hands so she may read his heart in intimate detail. Lonely nights spent dreaming of her, desiring to sink deep within her soul.

Yet--- somehow--- none of that could easily come out of his mouth. It was utterly infuriating. All those words, and the best he could manage was a piecemeal sentence of flattery that every hero of his novels would have scoffed at. They were lucky they were all fictional. They weren't romancing Minuialwen. They did not understand how much he wanted to gawk and stare at her, how much he already did. They were lucky they were fictional, or they might just be losing all their ability to function like he did and become excited at the sound of her voice or the smile in her eyes. Lucky bastards. They could keep their voices level.

Or at least. . . That's what he thought.

The sight of her bookshelf, where he'd randomly chosen a book to busy himself while she got a piece of music together, had his heart absolutely stop. There, in scrawling elvish, was his penname. The pages were worn, well loved he could tell, and with blinking surprise he reached for the one beside it. Again, one of his, his breath caught and his eyes lifted to where she bustled about.

She read his work? He was honored. No, more than honored. He knew what lie in the pages, scenes portrayed that his heart raced to imagine her sighing to. He licked his lips, and since she was still distracted, found the book which had clearly been the most read. Egalmoth chuckled to himself. He had seduced her long before he knew he had. Had she touched herself to his words, pale throat extended as her fingers moved between her legs to images he painted for her? He leaned against the wall, settling into rereading the first chapters. He should revisit these, even though he knew each word by heart ( editing had been hell for this one he recalled ). . . It would have a new meaning now.

His eyes were on her again, and as he caught her gaze with an amused one of his own, he brought the book to his lips in thought. Beckoning her closer.

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Just in case I've only shared this HC with Nile. Egalmoth is a romance writer, specifically a smut book romance writer, (though he also writes the wholesome non smutty books for those innocent eyes and delicate constitutions )and due to this choice in a hobby not only has done much research, he's tested his smut to ensure accuracy. No foot long, mason jar widths here, he knows that's going nowhere reasonable, but this boy learned at the hand of Ilmarë herself everything that made a good romance ( aaand wrote a few stories she knew personally )

Aka literal book boyfriend. He invented the genre.

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" before you say anything, it wasn't me. " (From Ody)

Inbox Answered---

--- Ecthelions gaze slid to Odysseus' frame. Oh he said nothing, he didn't have to, his sapphire gaze spoke for him. A raised brow, a glint of amusement, a narrowed glint of judgement. His fountain was a mess, and he very much suspected it was all Odysseus' fault. Broken pavers, smashed up stone, not to mention the unearthly screech which had erupted from the water mere moments before.

And the fact that Odysseus was rather suspiciously soaked.

"Did you confuse Ulmo or one of his servants for your Poseidon by any chance?"

@torturedbrilliance

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Sylvia Plath, from a letter featured in The Letters of Sylvia Plath Vol. 1: 1940-1956

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“We found each other by accident - by which I mean every power in the universe made it so.”

— Nicholas A Browne

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Goblin Slayer | Ecthelion of the FountaIn