#Burn The City Verse

[adelha-mathilde]

Continuation of this visit with @despairforme here:

Wesson immediately went to the couch to hop up onto it and watch the two humans with that tail just wagging away. Adelha openly smiling when Nnoitra just heads right for the crock pot. Which contained beef stew with vegetables. The chunks of beef looking savory and well cooked as the steam rose into the air. So Adelha sets down the bread rolls for her to chuckle in amusement. "Why deny the truth when we both know it, Nnoitra. So yes. I am calling you moody and allergic to laundry. You may be the pristine of clean right now. But your clothes scream otherwise. Especially when the deodorant is your cologne."

Adelha pauses to then openly sigh. "You also still have damp hair. Silly handsome boy you are. It might help for you to actually wrap the towel around your hair and head. Like a turban style. It looks silly when I do it. But it is very effective to dry your hair and keep it out of your way."

With slow movements, Adelha gently reaches up to take the towel around Nnoitra's neck and set it atop his head. Her gloved hands oh so carefully massaging his scalp and hair to help get at the clinging moisture. Her smile beaming as she does so to tell him sweetly, "Think of this as my price for the stew and bread rolls. Even if it feels like you are a mighty tree and I'm a small puffy squirrel at the moment. Your hair is so luxurious, though. I may just try to find out your secrets to how you keep your hair so nice."

[despairforme]

Nobody has donated cinnamon rolls to him.

[gammija]

some more 'Zavelverzen' localisations, for fun

Sid Wright - Sid de Wit

High Katabasian Mason - Hoogkatabasein Mulder

Glottage - Voldrecht

The Wither Tide - De Schraalvloed

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Out of curiosity - you've written Dreams au for Prompto and Ardyn kickstarting the Reunion, plus the Gladio version that became canon.

But what about Ignis? How would the verse where he finds Noctis first look like?

Not gonna lie. This one had me stumped. I never considered that Ignis might be the first to find Noctis (my mistake) and so didn't even have an incling about how it might happen. Until about half an hour ago, that is, when an idea fell from the sky. Or my shower head. Depending on the point of view.

(I wrote this really fast, so it doesn't fit stylistically into the Deep City verse. When I have time, I'll try to write a 'proper' version.)

***

You could say this starts around Noctis's 17th birthday. Ignis hasn't been doing well. Not at all. His friendship with Gladio is splintering like rotten wood and his uncle as been... distant lately.

Ignis does his best to bury his worries with work, but that's only helping so much. What with his work now being a glorified secretary for whatever ministry, board or committee will have him at the time. Still, Ignis does his best. What else can he do?

So, that one fateful day, on Noctis's 17th birthday, when the hurt is rubbed fresh and raw again and there is no work for him to do...

Ignis bakes.

He tries, once again his best, to recreate that one sweet pastry from Tenebrae Noctis liked so much and Ignis could never get right. Once he's done, he goes outside and somehow finds himself in a park in a working class area. Later, he will think is has been fate.

Right now, he doesn't care, strangely glad for being outside his usual haunts, and unpacks the pastries he has brought.

Their taste is warm and creamy and so sweet Ignis can practically feel his teeth rotting in his mouth. Was that the right taste? he wonders and hates that he will not get an answer.

"Yer usin' the wrong types of berry," an old, creaky voice says behind him.

Ignis whirls around and whom he finds fits the voice very well. It's an old woman, bent and with wrinkles deeper than he has ever seen. Her hands are bony and full of spots. Her dress looks more like it's been made from patches than proper fabric. The smell of freshly baked bread hits Ignis's nose.

"Excuse me?" he asks.

"Tha' pastry o' yer's," she says in the strangest accent Ignis has ever heard. "Them berries're too sweet. Yer'll need them from northern Ulwaat. T's colder there, so they need ta be more hardy. 'Too sweet' tha' prince o' yers would say."

Ignis feels ice cold dread creep up his spine. Does this woman know Noctis? Does she have soemthing to do with his disappearance?

"Now, now laddie. Get those thoughts outta yer head. Ah'm simply following the fire to where it'll lead me."

"What...?"

"Fire, laddie. It knows ye got to play a part in the storm ta come, and it likes ye. So Ah'll make sure ye know wha' ta do once the time is right."

"I'm afraid I do not know what you are talking about, Maselle. Excuse me, I have work to do."

Ignis turns around, intend to leave the obviously mentally unstable old crone behind him, but her next words make him stop.

"None o' tha', Ignis Scientia. There's no work waitin' for ye today. Yer uncle is teachin' yer cousin Paxil in the hopes he'll not be a disappointment, an' yer friend'll not get a diagnosis fer his sister t'day."

Slowly Ignis turns around. "Are you threatening me?" he asks, low and dangerous. One hand his inconspicuously reaching for the dagger he never goes without these days.

"Ye can leave tha' dagger where it is, laddie. Ah'm not threatening ye, simply sayin' things how they are."

"How do you know all this?" Ignis finds himself asking through the fog in his mind.

"The fire, laddie. Once ye know how ta listen, it'll never stop tellin' ye things," the crone says and waves her hand in a way that makes it clear that she wishes for him to follow. "Come," she says. "Ah'll show ye."

And against his better judgement - and the usually so large, but now tiny rational voice in his head baring warnings at him - he follows.

Nearly three years later, he stares at the fire burning between his fingers, and follows it's call deep into the ancient bowels of the city.

[firehcart]

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 + 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒. — this list will continue to be added to pending what media i consume / what muses follow me. generally i will be happy to add to this list even if your verse is not written on here, so please don't hesitate to reach out. the only verses i will not write in include aging down/up characters, and hp.

note for general fantasy verses : unless there is a specific verse plotted, i am happy to mostly prescribe to a canon where our own continents/countries co-exist within the same world for crossovers and alliances.

modern.

born into a very wealthy family, aelin's upbringing was blessed, with her parents joint CEOs of a company responsible for vast technological developments ( terrasen inc. ). at eight years old she witnesses her parents murdered via a hit arranged by her biological aunt maeve, who stood to inherit the company until aelin turned eighteen years old. barely managing to escape with her own life, she was rendered homeless and on the streets until she was found by arobynn hamel, who had made a shelter for homeless children under the guise of a gentle heart. over time, he used this influence over the children to encourage them to commit crimes on his behalf - first small scale thievery, and eventually training them to murder.

continuing in this life until reaching teenage years, falling in love with one of the other boys living there ( sam cortland ), aelin and sam had tentatively plotted to run away when ordered on one last mission where sam did not survive. aelin was found by police with his corpse and arrested for his murder, presumably set up by arobynn.

most plots in this verse will begin after aelin's release from jail one year later, when new evidence proved her innocence - she is living in a luxurious apartment purchased with her earnings from her crimes, and struggling to reintegrate into society. note, in this verse, her primary name is celaena sardothien.

a court of thorns and roses.

this verse exists in two forms - parallel worlds, where we embrace the canon of aelin falling through worlds and interacting with this world as an au one to her own ( which requires some sort of crossover basis plotting ), or neighbouring continents. in the latter, efforts to maintain political peace and a tentative alliance would see either aelin travelling to the night court, or members of the night court travelling to terrasen as emissary. this verse would be post koa.

crescent city.

essentially runs off the same premise as modern verse in relation to her childhood and being offered shelter by arobynn hamel, with the notable exception that aelin is half-fae and works as a bounty hunter post her time in prison, and is very much equipped to slaughter.

note: this verse was heavily au plotted with @stareternals / @ehlane in a world where feyre was aelin's roommate. taking the drop with aelin as both enforcer and anchor to bring feyre back.

a song of ice and fire.

born and inherited from one of the original families in old valyria, who fled after the doom, aelin was orphaned at a young age after her parents were murdered and her home ransacked. found by the faceless men within the free city of braavos, aelin was trained within their arts of assassination. after freeing a large amount of slaves within essos out of sympathy, whilst she had been tasked a high scale murder, the faceless man cast her out - she was promptly captured and forced into the fighting pits in meereen. note, in this verse, she has no dragon affinity despite her valyrian background, only a particular potency for fire.

house of the dragon.

much like her asoiaf verse, aelin was born and inherited from an old valyrian bloodline, but her parents were murdered when she was only a child. taken to be sold to the highest bidder, aelin made her escape and found her way to the faceless men, to be trained within their arts and make a name for herself. making a name for herself within westeros ( living within kings landing ), she becomes one of the most sought after assassins in the city.

fourth wing.

gryphon bonded, aelin agrees to go undercover within basgiath to provide intel on a base level to the other side. deliberately falling under the radar and unable to bond a dragon, she is "forced" to repeat her first year, using whatever opportunity she can to feed information back to the other side. displays a rare and powerful gift from her gryphon, one not witnessed by the other fliers before - fire proficiency, usually reserved for dragons and their riders.

bridgerton.

orphaned at a young age, aelin has been raised as the ward of the wealthy arobynn hamel, a man well known to offer his home to orphaned women in exchange for the financial benefit of marrying them into wealthy and powerful families when they come of age. finally of age for the marriage mart, new to the ton after their relocation from northern ireland, aelin is desperate to find a good match before arobynn decides to propose to her himself.

dungeons & dragons / bg3.

coming.

[bee-in-a-box]

Listening to soldier poet king and trying to figure which in the Cricketsville trio (Steph, Jonah, Pynn) is which,,, and!!! They're all interchangeable I'm losing it.

[fishofthewoods]

Hey! Idk if you’re still doing that ask game but if you are:

1: are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

5: how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

21: their favorite place to be?

23: how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

33: if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

34: how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

Answering these for my oc Stela! I don't think I've ever posted about here before but i rotate her in my brain constantly. CONSTANTLY.

1: are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

Everyone in the OC 'verse Stela comes from is associated with a color for fun narrative reasons both in-universe and out-of-universe; Stela is associated with blue! She wears mostly blue clothes, though she's got a soft spot for orange and yellow as those were her favorite colors as a kid.

5: how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

She doesn't put a ton of thought into her clothes; for most of her life she didn't have a choice in what she wore so it's not something she's used to thinking about. Her wardrobe is definitely more practical, though over the course of the story she branches out more and starts to experiment with her clothing. The story is very vaguely Edwardian-era in terms of clothing though there is no real historical accuracy in anyone's designs because I don't actually care.

21: their favorite place to be?

Some necessary context: all the main characters of this 'verse live together in this big house that doubles as the secret base for the... resistance organization? Guild? Guerilla army? Not sure how to describe it, what matters is it's a big house with a secret basement. Her favorite place is the kitchen; it's where her best friend Sam spends most of their time, and it makes her feel safe.

23: how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

Stela is actually mostly nonverbal; she mainly communicates via sign language! She doesn't sing, but she does hum some.

Skipping 33 because i don't know how to make it sound normal without providing far too much plot context

34: how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

She'd say she likes drawing, and that she probably isn't a good person. No i will not elaborate.

[sxlverhxnd]

@scmuraimerc // Cont. HERE

While on some level Johnny was indeed hungry and craving a grilled cheese, V often forgot that they were now sharing a body. So, one could say Johnny's cravings were V's and vice versa. Point was, it wasn't entirely Johnny's fault that V was hungry, all the gigs they'd been doing took a toll on their stomach. And as it often was, the Rockerboy had to remind his little merc to take care of their body.

Johnny rolled his eyes and took a drag from the digital cigarrete. Their back and forths had become a daily thing and even though the old rocker wouldn't say it out loud, he enjoyed and appreciated V's comments.

"Yeah yeah, maybe it's you who's cravin' a grilled cheese. So how 'bout you shut your cakehole and get us to that diner, huh? I don't wanna have to take control 'cause you forgot to eat." In general, Johnny didn't like being on the drivers seat without V's explicit permission. Still, Johnny loved annoying V. And he knew that the last thing the merc wanted was for Johnny's voice to ring out, not in challenge but in song. "I'll give you this, it's a very fuckin' specific thing, that's for sure."

[shexplode]

Some tag dumps I need to make here for my ships and verses ! Just so everyone knows , my Bambietta survives the war and has a home away from shinigamis and such so Zombie ! Bambietta won't be happening here .

♛. secondary verse. ( survival. ) 「 i have done bad things; done them to good people. 」

♛. bambietta basterbine & äs nödt. ( tatarfora ) 「 the way i'm drinking you down like i wanna drown; like i wanna end me. 」

♛. bambietta basterbine & oerba yun fang. ( yunhuntress ) 「 the city looks so pretty do you wanna burn it with me? 」

[adelha-mathilde]

Continuation of this surprise grocery delivery with @despairforme here:

"Indeed. These groceries are all for you. They are also a perfect distraction for you as I do my customary older sister inspection. So as you put away your groceries into the fridge and pantry, I will be going through your apartment to make sure you aren't neglecting your chores. We will then do those said chores together so you might get things done."

Adelha first moves to check on the house plants to openly grin in delight. Since they look well cared for and have no browning leaves. "These look very happy and cared for. I give you an A on plant care, Nnoi. And yes. You did hear me. I am here to help with your chores. I figured you only get motivated to do things like laundry and cleaning if someone kicks your ass into gear."

The lady turns to Nnoitra to give him a rather fiendish grin. "My cousins absolutely hate when I do so to them. But they do appreciate my cracking of the cleaning whip once we finish. I am the oldest of us and so must be the strict big sister of responsibility and annoying tasks."

// Does this mean Nnoitra has been adopted? You bet it does. //

[despairforme]

The temperature today really is...

[ma1dita]

A Luke and Trouble smut in the car

a/n: she's back.... and with a trouble!verse smut gasp. anyways if you haven't read the series all you need to know is luke calls her trouble. if you do wanna check it out, read 'partners in crime' here!

luke castellan x fem!dionysus!reader

wc: 1.1k

“We’re gonna be late,” you grumble under your breath. The sun is setting on Long Island faster than you and your boyfriend thought it would with the old hatchback slowly inching through Queens traffic. 

There’s only an hour left before curfew. 

And Luke Castellan drives like someone’s blind grandpa.

“Relax, babe—once we get onto the expressway, we’ll be straight sailing from there!” Luke says, with a hint of a smile prodding at his cheek. You were never a patient person, fidgeting in the passenger seat next to him, sweaty thighs stuck to worn leather. The air vents are tired, sounding like gasping coughs, and every car in New York City seems to be inching forward and unable to pick up the breeze.

“You said that forty minutes ago.”

“C’mon, it’s not all that bad, trouble. We get to have some extra time together. And be alone,” his voice is as smooth as the rumbling engine, taking his fingertips to the soft of your thigh. You’d find him sweet if you didn’t feel like ripping all your clothes off right now. “You know how rare that is for us.”

“M’just so hot, babe. I feel like I’m fucking dying,” you groan, exaggeratedly flopping over the console and onto his shoulder. He doesn’t mind being stuck to you like this, wet skin and shiny lips nuzzling against his neck and he licks a drop of sweat from his cupid’s bow. Your gentle kisses sear onto his skin and he has to inhale deeply, almost eyeing the horizon and daring for it to darken slower.  Foot tapping on the brake a little too harshly, the car is a toe away from rolling into the one in front of you.

“You’re not going to die. Would be lame if you did.”

“But baby, it’s like I’m about to explode,” you whine louder, “feels like we’re sitting on the surface of the sun!” Even at his wits’ end, your boyfriend can’t find the gall to get mad at you. Especially when your tank top flies into his lap, right over the growing bulge in his shorts that’s keeping him hot and bothered. Luke almost goes nonverbal at the goosebumps that rise—and you haven’t even touched him yet. You’re fumbling with something, knocking around in your seat as he shakes his head and tries to focus on the road.

“Don’t.”

The car behind you honks slightly and he swallows dryly, running his hand through the wet mop of curls as he rolls forward. Fuck New Jersey drivers, he thinks, this guy shouldn’t have gotten a license—what!

“You should’ve just let me drive,” your voice disrupts his inner monologue, and he doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re grinning, “Would’ve gotten there faster than you, speedster.”

You know exactly what you’re doing.

“We’re gonna be late.” Hand flexing over the gear shift, his eyes dart across the road, quickly mapping out a path to the next exit. Your panties fall over his fist, a flash of black lace and damp with something other than just sweat.

“Aren’t you a son of Hermes? Make it work.”

Horns honking like a symphony, he weaves through traffic almost dangerously fast and not being able to do anything else but bite his lip when he hears you laugh through the chaos of it all.

—

“Sh–Shit! We’re gonna…” 

Luke’s the one laughing now as he slaps a hand over your throat, pistoning deeper into your warmth, and fuck, everything about you feels like fire. It’s the type of burn that licks at you from the inside out—but Luke tends to it with vigor, feeling you with every inch of his being. Your hands slap onto his wrist to hold him there, eyes rolling back into your head with wispy breaths of bliss. 

It’s dark now, and you’ve both somewhat safely stopped the car in a wooded area—Luke ripping off the rest of your clothes and his own before taking you belly-up in the backseat and your calves sitting pretty against his shoulders. 

“Be late? You weren’t worried about that earlier,” he teases.

The illegal fireworks and other illicit goods you’re trying to smuggle back to camp jostle in a box on the ground, digging painfully into his shins but he’s too busy stamping his hands into the shape of your breasts, rubbing you down with the mixture of both of your sweat that rolls with the momentum of your bodies.

“Fuck, Luke!”

Looking down at you with heat in his gaze, his thumb prods at your swollen lips, tapping lightly for you to open up. You do without a single complaint. He loves you, yes—even when you’re mouthy, but you look extra pretty when he gets to fuck you dumb and there’s no one around to bother you two. Grunting, you can feel and hear your skin slap against his when he leans forward to delve deeper if it’s even possible. All of you is red-hot from his passion, cock thrusting harshly so much that you can feel it slam against your insides.

For a moment you think he must hate you—dancing on the line of hot and hurt. 

Your eyes lock and you both grin.

“Let me take care of it. Gonna let me take care of you, right pretty girl?” He spits, a straight shot into your waiting mouth and an inhuman noise crawls up from your caged throat.

Leaning up to kiss him and grappling at his shoulders, he smiles into your pout, smeared lipgloss and runny mascara transferring onto his tanned skin. He loves it, knowing that you’re all over him and feeling branded by you even in the dark of the night.

A light flashes in your peripherals and you pull off him with a gasp.

“Is that a car?”

“We’re fine,” he grits, locking your legs around his waist and trying to focus—you’re so soft and soaking all over. His hands slip to your ass, clapping your cheek as he jerks his cock into you harder, making you whine. “They’re not… going this direction. Stop getting distracted.”

The heat builds from your core, pussy pulsing, and tears almost sizzling off your cheeks, so shiny and tempting that he licks a trail up to your ear. 

“I don’t want you to stop. Don’t… you dare, Luke. Fuck!”

Light filters through the darkness behind your eyelids as you grind yourself on his lap rapidly, chasing your high until the end. In a few hours from now, it’s back to business—but Luke has always been one to remind you of your mischievous side.

“Shit, trouble,” he sighs in bliss.

A blip of a siren goes off from outside, followed by quickly approaching footsteps towards your foggy windows.

“Shit,” you repeat back to him with wide eyes, untangling your legs and quickly trying to find your magic Zippo lighter through the mess of clothes at your feet.

—

Lessons were learned, and Connor and Travis were elected to go on supply runs from then on.

[spncvr]

hi! i love your writing!! wanted to ask if i could request a small blurb or sth of reader and spencer waking up in the morning?? really cute and fluffy hahah... take your time! :DD

mornings | s.reid

summary: waking up with spencer

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: um it's not smut ?? as in not, "he trhusted into her and growled when she called him daddy"-smut. but. like. u can tell they fucked. i think. kissing and my bad english ANYWAYS

a/n: hi pookie sprry it took me forever to answer this,, i spent the entire day soing math today this is my break. so its not that great pls bear w me crying emoji

masterlist

THE SUN ROSE behind the leaves that hung lazily on the branches. Through the voile curtains, tendrils of the sun rays bled against your skin, that brushed against his. The voile, no longer as pure and lush as it once was, twists and turns against the wind like a dance. The low hum of the city’s heartbeat echoes around the room in a chaotic symphony—and within the room was calm. You smile because for once, he was not somehow tied within this chaos.

Then, a whisper of a touch—his fingers were grazing your hips, uttering a verse only you’d understand.  

Last night, he had kissed you—and maybe, because you thought he wouldn’t stop, because you thought he’d disappear, you pulled him closer, and closer; unwanting to let go. His whispers, pliant to your ears, had never been so soft. He held you; fingers against your waist and skin. His fingers had burned like wildfire; you felt it first against your cheek, your arms, then your hips. He held your heart by his soft fingertips, unscarred and gentle; his words were sugar-coated, leaving teeth rotting and hearts yearning. He kissed you, kissed you and kissed you. And the entire time, you were kissing him back.

You feel his smile against your shoulder, slightly dragging your shirt upwards, and you only hum in acknowledgement, too tired to reply with words. You feel your name against your skin. 

“Hi,” he says, lips kissing your shoulder. 

“Hey,” you manage to reply, and you turn your body so you’re facing him fully—and, when he pries the strands of hair out of your face you smile. “Morning.” 

“Morning,” he replies. Then, “you’re beautiful.”

You bury your face in his chest, groaning quietly, he laughs. “What?”

“You can’t just say things like that,” you protest, your voice a whisper against his warmth.

“I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he says, entirely unapologetic.

You take it though, slowly sneaking a glance at him as you lift your head, to see him smiling down at you (a kind, lazy thing). His hand cups your cheek and he’s kissing you again. There are so many things you need to do today, you think; the paperwork at your desk, and the errands lined up on your to-do list in your phone that you never bother to update. But you were so tired, and Spencer’s lips were so soft. When his nose nudges against yours, your mouth lazily falls open. His fingers are on your waist, his thumbs painting shapes against your skin.

When he pulls away you tell him you love him, and you don’t need to wait for him to tell you that he loves you too.

guys reqs r open but its gonna take me a decade to actually write them so be warned LMAOOO (+ for the people asking for pt.2 to waiting room ITS BEING MADE!!! so excited to share sakjnskfjb)

[droidtective]

tag drop !!

[galedekarios]

references in gale's banter on selection

just thought i'd go through a few of his selection lines that stuck out to me.

Oh, what a tangled Weave we web!

reference to: "oh what a tangled web we weave" from a poem by sir walter scott:

"Like so very many of Shakespeare’s lasting observations, it’s  a beautifully expressed aphorism that uses just a few words to describe one life experience so perfectly, and is so true, that it enters into the English language and becomes one of its most powerful idioms – one that will last forever. ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave/When first we practice to deceive’ means that when you lie or act dishonestly you are initiating problems and a domino structure of complications which eventually run out of control. The quote is from Scott’s epic poem, Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field.  It’s an historical romance in verse, published in 1808."

the next one is is a play on a line from a shakespeare play:

All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.

the play is titled 'as you like it' and the line appears in the following monologue:

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely Players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His Acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

the next one appears to reference a poem:

The path less travelled.

i think this is in reference to the well-known poem by robert frost, 'the road not taken':

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

i think this ties in well with gale's wanderlust, his wish to explore different worlds and planes of existence.

the next one is a waterdhavian saying, which i already took a closer look at in one of my metas:

'Doth thy mirror crack?' Apparently not.

Early on in his learning of magic, the long-dead and locally famous first Lord (revered in Waterdeep for his role in establishing the city as it is today) Ahghairon said, "I am no wizard. I am a dabbler but no master of magic; it seems no mastery burns within me." These are famous words in Waterdeep, still known by most Waterdhavian children and all adults, and are oft referenced, as in the dry comment "No mastery blazing forth yet," or "A dabbler but no master, eh?" (Comments applied to skill trades and crafts, not just to magic use.) Tuezaera Hallowhand was a famous "lone cat" thief of Waterdeep in the 1200s DR who disappeared suddenly and is thought to have come to a violent end. She once robbed a wizard, and wrote this on his wall with a fingertip dipped in his favorite red wine: "I take things. You take freedom with your spells. Which of us is the greater thief?" This statement, too, is well remembered, and usually echoed in Waterdhavian speech by someone using the last (questioning) sentence of Tuezara's inscription.  Laeral, Lady Mage of Waterdeep for some years (when married to Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun), once publicly rebuked an overambitious wizard of the Watchful Order of Magists & Protectors thus: "If I hurl spells but think not of consequences, I am nothing. If I take lives but count not the cost, I am nothing. If I steal in the night and see not the faces of the devastated come morning, I am nothing. If I make decrees like a ruler but undertake none of the responsibilities of the throne, I am nothing. And if I do all these things in the name of the Watchful Order, I am less than nothing. Doth thy mirror crack?" These scornful words are remembered and used almost daily in Waterdeep even a century later, though almost never as the full quotation. Rather, someone will ask scornfully, "Doth thy mirror crack?" or "Hurl but think not?" or "Take but not count cost? Be nothing, then!" [source: waterdeep: dragon heist]

i think this one is very neat:

No gloom, all doom.

because i believe it references xan of evereska from baldur's gate 1. xan is infamous for his gloomy nature, often talking about his doom, the folly of the quest, etc. some of his lines include the following:

"We're all doomed! Run while we're still able." "If we are doomed to fail, could we at least do it faster?!" "Eh. Onward, to futility!" "We're all doomed." "Life is so hollow."

i think it's not so unlikely because gale also references other characters from the baldur's gate series and the forgotten realms overall, like elminster:

Elminster's not around, so might as well.

as well as halaster blackcloak, a mad mage residing in the undermountain in waterdeep:

I hope Halaster takes good care of Tara while I'm away.

as well as another character from the games, edwin odeisseron:

Don't make me go all Edwin Odesseiron on you.

edwin, a red wizard of thay, was a companion in baldur's gate 1 and 2.

No rest for the wicked, I see.

a common idiom that originated from the bible:

No rest for the wicked begins as no peace for the wicked in a 1425 rendering of the Old Testament’s Book of Isaiah 48:22: “The Lord God said, peace is not to wicked men.” The sentiment is echoed in Isaiah 57:20, which in the King James Version reads: “But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt.”

another bible reference may be:

Seek and you shall find me.

You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart. 

from jeremiah 29:13.

more folklore than an idiom, but:

The witching hour.

Origins. The phrase "witching hour" began at least as early as 1775, in the poem "Night, an Ode." by Rev. Matthew West, though its origins may go further back to 1535 when the Catholic Church prohibited activities during the 3:00 am and 4:00 am timeframe due to emerging fears about witchcraft in Europe.

i couldn't find the poem in full, but i was able to find the line that references the witching hour:

Along whose banks at Midnight’s witching hour (So wayward Fancy dreams) aerial Beings pour!

another shakespeare reference is:

What fools these mortals be.

which is a line from a midsummer's nights dream:

“Lord, what fools these mortals be!” is used in Act III, Scene 2 of A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare. The line is spoken by one of the best-loved characters in the play–Puck. Here is the short quote in which the line appears in:  Captain of our fairy band,  Helena is here at hand,  And the youth, mistook by me,  Pleading for a lover’s fee.  Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be! Puck speaks this line to his king, Oberon, while the two are watching the four Athenian main characters lost in the forest. These four lovers, whose love affairs are at the center of the play, are behaving in a way that Puck finds foolish and amusing. It should be noted that Puck bears some of the responsibility for the complicated relations between Helena, Demetrius, Hermia, and Lysander. 

this one is, i believe, a dnd reference most likely:

May the dice roll in my favour.

i did however have the immediate association with alea iacta est:

Alea iacta est ("The die is cast") is a variation of a Latin phrase attributed by Suetonius to Julius Caesar on 10 January 49 BCE, as he led his army across the Rubicon river in Northern Italy. With this step, he entered Italy at the head of his army in defiance of the Senate and began his long civil war against Pompey and the Optimates. The phrase, either in the original Latin or in translation, is used in many languages to indicate that events have passed a point of no return. It is now most commonly cited with the word order changed ("Alea iacta est") rather than in the original phrasing. The same event inspired another idiom with the same meaning, "crossing the Rubicon".

Gone with the Weave.

this is a reach, but my mind always went to 'gone with the wind' (margaret mitchell's novel and the 1939 movie adaptation of said novel) when i heard it in the game.

nothing in depth here, i just wanted you all to know that, haha. (((':

A rough tempest I will raise.

this may be another shakespeare reference and this time it's from 'the tempest':

Prospero: Now does my project gather to a head: My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? Ariel: On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease. Prospero: I did say so, When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and's followers?

on researching, i found a reddit post that also discusses this likely reference.

the last one i want to end the post on is:

Your knight in magic armour.

this line is still bugged and thus i couldn't find it on the wiki, but it's an assist line for a romanced protag.

it obviously referenced the knight in shining armour:

The present-day use of this phrase is, of course, figurative and refers back to the notion of gallant knights saving fair maidens in distress. The reality behind that imagery is dubious and it no doubt owes much to the work of those Victorian novelists and painters who were captivated by the chivalrous ideal of an imagined court of Camelot. Nevertheless, knights did wear armour and that worn by royalty and the high nobility was highly polished and did in fact gleam and shine. The earliest reference that I’ve found to the phrase in print dates from the late 18th century – in The British journal The Monthly Review, 1790, in a poem called Amusement: A Poetical Essay, by Henry Pye: No more the knight, in shining armour dress’d Opposes to the pointed lance his breast

but it also features heavily in art, across various periods in time, like these from john william waterhouse:

i did see someone on reddit also discussing the creator and destroyer line in reference to various deities throughout history, which i thought was interesting as well.

anyhow, thank you for reading! i may have overlooked something so feel free to add your own thoughts!

🖤

[gildedkrone]

I'm the boy next door, let me come in🔞

Part 2 to this fic

Relationships: Ghost x verse!Male Reader Synopsis: You meet him years later and he still can't forget you. Master List

Simon doesn't text back anymore. You aren't so much surprised as disappointed to know it would end this way. He has a wife to go home to, and your next client wouldn't wait for you to get over the very one-sided heartbreak.

The chat ended on a single message from Simon.

["Take care, luv. Hope this helps you with your dream."]

A transfer of ten thousand pounds into your bank account. You don't want to know how he acquired said information, given he is a military man, you wouldn't put it pass him to have used his clearence to search you up. Would it have killed him to do it in person? No. But anything, is better than nothing from a man you should have never gotten attached to.

It's a bittersweet end and the end of your "relationship" with the man.

---

A cigarette between his lips and his moment of peace was interrupted by his secretary entering his office after two knocks.

"Mr Riley, you have an upcoming meeting at two with the Mr Decartes, should I arrange for him to wait in the conference room?"

He flicks two fingers (yes) and snuffs out the cigarette. The Riley family always had a name in the military business, and the newly retired lieutenant returned home to Manchester to hold the reins to his family empire. Post military life is mundane, he supposed. There's no threat of being knived or shot when out bumbling about the streets of the city and most people give him a wide berth of space, if nothing but fear of his size. The skull mask is gone, replaced by a simple black mask concealing the bottom part of his face.

---

The train to Edinburgh is packed to the brim and per his request, the entire business coach is booked out to give him some semblance of privacy. The online meeting is rotting his brain with the incessant business partners and their multitude of requests. Eventually, the meeting ends not before the train is slowing to stop.

"Dear ladies and gentlemen, due to a railway signalling fault, we are unable to proceed to Edinburgh and the train will be stopping at Carlisle. Please speak to a train attendant if you have questions about transfers and continuing your journey."

Fuckin' hell and now even the train is conspiring against him. The attendant is apologetic and informs him of his choices. Return to Manchester on the train in three hours or wait for an unspecified time for the next train to Edinburgh. Either way, he isn't reaching his destination within the same day.

---

He has hours to burn, and he begins with getting coffee. Carlisle isn't a big city and he spends some time walking about the place and looking at things. Whatever British people did for fun. His mindless walk brings him to a flower shop and before his mind could object, he was pushing past the doors and the sweet chime into the cool and empty shop. There is nobody at the counter and he rings the bell.

"Coming!"

Sounds of shuffling as a man returns from the rear of the shop and you stop behind the counter.

"Hey, is there anything I can do for you?" You flash him a smile and he is taken back by the sight. It's the man he's had a fling with five years ago but there is no recognition in your eyes. Was it the mask?

"I'm looking for something for a business deal."

"Oh, do you know what arrangement you would like?" He looks confused and you continue. "We can make it in different sizes and shapes if you have any in mind?"

"Not really. Do you have pictures?"

"Sure do." You grab the folder of pictures and flipped to the business section. When you looked up, the man has an unfathomable look on his face. He takes his time reviewing through the photos and asks several questions about the shop. How did it come to be etc. You tell him about the ten thousand dollars a man left for you once and he knows, confirms it is you.

"So I moved from London up north here to settle down and open my shop. Business is doing well and I've just received a giant order for a wedding. Might need to hire some people to help me out there."

He doesn't know what his traitorous mind was on when he mouth blurts out how willing he is to help. He is dressed in some formal attire and clearly not a contract worker but he is insistent, so you relent and tell him to meet you after dinner. Especially knowing how difficult and costly it is to hire rush work.

---

Edinburgh is the last thing on his mind when he shows up to your shop at eight in the evening. He opted for a large hoodie and some sweats and you usher him into the back of the store where the greenhouse is. His mask is still on and the hoodie is drawn over his head and you crack a joke about dressing correctly since it's cold in the greenhouse.

You make the first of many bouqets and he examines the shape and quantity of flowers in it. The silence is amiable and the man is a fast worker. Precise and controlled, his first bouqet is beautiful and well made. You disappeared into greenhouse to get more flowers and he follows you back in. Midway through the gathering of some flowers and he speaks.

"You don't remember me."

You give him a puzzled look and set the flowers back down. Did you know him?

He sighs and pulls back his hoodie and removes the mask on his face. It's him. It's Simon.

---

"What are you doing here, Simon?"

He sips his coffee and the both of you are seated behind the counter.

"The train broke down and 'm was exploring the city. Stumbled upon your shop and …"

"Are you no longer in the military?"

"Left the job. Had to go home and run the business."

He is still an absolute looker even five years later and his fingers gently brush against yours where it stays.

"Simon, your wife--"

"We're divorced. She's no longer my wife." He elaborates something along the lines of a falling out between the two families over business.

"Oh."

His hands are rough and calloused, and they hold yours.

"It wasn't a possibility then, but … I--"

"Simon, we can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Did you really love me? We had a fling, not a real relationship. I am past the age of flings and I want a real relationship."

"I can give yer that. Only if you would let me."

"Si--" And the rest of the sentence was stolen by his lips against yours. He is insistent and all of the walls you imagined comes crashing down at the taste of him and the hand on your thigh.

"Luv, fuck, missed yer fuckin' lips." And your moan is breathy as his touch crept up your thighs.

---

You weren't sure how it happened, but the kiss ends with you and him in the greenhouse and his hands in your pants. He is pleasure incarnate and his hands move with an urgency to feel you. They roam across expanses of skin before digging into flesh and unbuttoning your jeans. Your mind is drunk on the pleasure and your dick is aching to be touched, with the way it bobs up and down.

The touches are something clandestine, and you used to be his illicit affairs. Now, you are his partner? Lover? The definition is irrelevant as he turns you around to face him before pushing you into the wall. His dick is freed from his joggers where they tented the garment obscenely and he hands rest at your hips.

"If yer asking how serious I am, 'm fuckin' serious about this." The whispers of past encounters are strong and he gives your dick a few strokes before he hugs you tight and your dick pokes against his ass.

"Fuck, Simon, you sure about this?" His response is a sloppy kiss and a muffled yes.

"Have you done this--"

"Nobody. There's nobody after you." Fuck, if that doesn't send your desires higher to know he saved himself for you all these years.

You finger him gently to loosen his rear and gently slide into him until he is moaning and spasming around your dick. He is impatient and tugs your hand but you refuse to fully bottom out, knowing this is likely foreign to him and unwilling to hurt him. Tight, warm heat hungrily swallows your length and you fight off the urge to slam your hips into him—to show him who controls his pleasure. Gruff and gravelly moans get louder with each thrust and with eyes lidded in pleasure, he takes dick so beautifully and you reward him with kisses and bites to his neck. He chokes at the feeling of skin breaking when you leave a hickey. The sudden imagery of domming him and making him beg to cum is fire in your veins and you slow your thrusts.

"C'mon, fuck, yer heathen, stop teasin'." He gets another kiss and he whines.

The great Simon whining like a pup and trying to get himself off on your dick after years of abstinence is making your head all muddy. His hips squirm and he grumbles when you pull out of him only to turn him around to face the wall. The smack of his hands against the wall is loud when you enter him without warning and he is practically clawing at the walls to remain standing under the onslaught of pleasure.

"Fuck, not gonna last if you keep doin' this," and true to his word, his greedy hole tightens around you as he tipped his head back into a moan. Your hand guides him through his orgasm as the wall is coated with pent up ball batter and you are finishing in him with a whine and whimper.

He felt as divine as ever, even when he is below you and twitching from the aftershocks of an orgasm. Mercifully, he doesn't fight your attempts to clean him up even if a clench of his core meant more of your cum is dripping down his thighs. Your dick jumps at the creamy sight but Simon is fully sated and you are content to wait.

Here in the shop, everything feels right. Hearts aligned in a bow drawn taut towards love are yours and his.

---

"Simon, the dog is fighting the mailman again."

"Fuckin', luvvie, its your decision to get a dog."

"You didn't say no when we were at the shelter."

He groans when you shift on his lap while keeping him warm and cozy as the dick in your ass pokes against your prostate. Pre spills from your dick and he swipes a finger through the milky substance for a taste.

"This is, all your damn fault," you choke out between pants when his dick juts into further into you.

"Can't blame a man for wantin' more, sweetheart. Now sing for me," and those hips are determined to be the death of you. Ah, the joy of pleasure and to die from it, you think you could die happy in the lap of your man.

Raspy growls and a man possessed to chase and seek pleasure after years of draught is a dangerous combination. Your head rests against his shoulder amdist thrusts jostling your body.

"Fuck it, he can deal with that damned dog while I make you cum, darling."