#aubade thoughs

[aubadeempress]

Every time I do grad school application preparation work whether it is the statements or sending emails to professors, I always somehow go “just do it— pull the trigger already!!!” in terms of my expectation for rejection

[feral-ballad]

Ama Codjoe, from Bluest Nude: Poems; “Aubade”

[Text ID: “I love how softly / he touches me, though all I want / is to be left, to spend a morning in bed / alone with the images of dream.”]

[lost-at-534]

The art gods possessed me and I finished three (3) reference sheets in a day. I am afraid.

Anyway yall can get one a day because I don't want to dump them all at once <3

My designs for my Siren AU "Starlight Aubade"

(yet to be written, I will start it soon though👀)

He's a very sparkly boy. Not as sparkly as Moon, but still sparkly.

[raineyraven]

Looking down at the ruptured earth, a thrill of triumph came to the boy. He had escaped the darkness. And though he did not know it, he had defied the law of life, and given the lie to death itself.

He raised his gaze to the gravestone that stood resolutely behind the hole from which he had emerged. It proudly proclaimed: Here lies JASON TODD. Beloved friend, brother, and son.

---

A character study of Jason Todd, detailing all he had done, thought and felt since he first awoke in his own grave, until he at last joins his family again.

the dcu was not a fandom i ever expected to get into but here we are. come hither all ye jason todd fans

[avonne-writes]

i love how in ur fic (the first one of compositions) u write a difference in how buck and bucky give head, where bucky kind of holds buck’s hips down and does as he wishes whereas buck lets bucky thrust into his mouth. what made u write it like that?

Hi 😊 I see we're going back to the roots haha. This was my first Mota fic, Nocturne.

"Under his hands, Gale's muscles tense and relax in rhythm. It's a heady thrill to have control over his pleasure, to dole it out at the pace he wants, and Gale takes it so readily, quietly."

I haven't thought of this aspect too deeply at the time, but I always thought Gale would let himself be controlled if he was with the right person. Plus, Gale is almost a virgin in this fic, he has never had sex with a man and only a few times with Marge, while Bucky is quite experienced. So I imagine Gale would welcome some extra guidance until he gains some experience.

It’s impossible not to move towards his touch. Bucky tries, but his control slips, and his hips twitch up, feeding Gale another inch in one desperate thrust.

Then, when Gale is the one giving head, Bucky can’t stay still. Gale doesn’t hold him down though - because this is his first time trying this, so he doesn’t want to take control completely. He wants Bucky to show him what he likes and what's good. Well, Bucky likes to thrust. And Gale is happy to take it.

Edit: This is slightly different from how Gale behaves in Aubade, and that's because Gale is not afraid of giving head at all but he is a little bit afraid of bottoming. Gale's way of handling fear is wanting control.

[whisperthatruns]

Aubade

The world was very large. Then the world was small. O very small, small enough to fit in a brain. It had no color, it was all interior space: nothing got in or out. But time seeped in anyway, that was the tragic dimension. I took time very seriously in those years, if I remember accurately. A room with a chair, a window. A small window, filled with the patterns light makes. In its emptiness the world was whole always, not a chip of something, with the self at the center. And at the center of the self, grief I thought I couldn't survive. A room with a bed, a table. Flashes of light on the naked surfaces. I had two desires: desire to be safe and desire to feel. As though the world were making a decision against white because it disdained potential and wanted in its place substance: panels of gold where the light struck. In the window, reddish leaves of the copper beech tree. Out of the stasis, facts, objects blurred or knitted together: somewhere time stirring, time crying to be touched, to be palpable, the polished wood shimmering with distinctions--- and then I was once more a child in the presence of riches and I didn't know what the riches were made of.

Louise Glück, Vita Nova (1999), reprinted in Poems 1962–2012 (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2012)

[scarredlove]

✨ 700+ Followers Event~ ✨

Thank you all so much. I am no master with words, but I sincerely appreciate all the attention, time and support you all have given to me. It just fuels my hyperfixation joy when drawing or writing whatever comes to my mind.

So, as I am not working for the next 3 days, my ask box is open for any questions or prompts directed straight to any of my blorbos~

If you'd still like to ask me things, then you're more than welcome, but I thought to have a lil fun and actually doodle/respond as them answering the asks, though some may take me time to get to!

Again, thank you all for your time and support! I only hope to keep producing things that'll brighten ya days!

Imma put a list of my blorbos just to help anyone out~

King of Fools: Fool Moon and King Sun

Sea Slug Attendants: Sunny, Moony and Eclipse (Clippy) Slug

WIP SuperStar RockShop: @trixxstrawberry Drummer Sun and Guitarist Moon

WIP Mafioso AU: Aubade and Vesper

[evilmageclub]

guy who is gonna be annoying and repost some of my art from twitter just to have it on here. sorry, at least its all in one post

[ID: Six digital drawings of characters from Seasons of Hieron.

1: A waist-up portrait of Samot in Aubade, with long blonde hair, a sheer blue robe, and Spring plants growing out of his scars. Behind him is a grey-white wolf with golden eyes, similarlly scarred. In the background the sun rises over some dark woods and a castle.

2: A portrait-orientated painting with a frame resembling a crumbling triple-arched window. In the foreground, Samol strums his guitar and looks up at Maelgwyn, who is driving a sword through Samothes’ chest in front of a bleeding gold sun. Samot looks on from above, with Aubrey at his side. Both Samot and Maelgwyn are crying, though Samot looks otherwise composed. In the background, storm clouds gather in the night sky over Marielda and leafy red vines threaten to swallow various parts of the frame.

3: A loose, golden-lit portrait of Samot and Samothes holding a grinning toddler Maelgwyn, who is sitting on Samothes’ shoulders. The framed picture is nestled among Samot’s belongings from his room at the Last University: a white fur cloak, a necklace, a promise ring, a quill, a sealed letter.

4: A waist-up line drawing of Samot and Samothes embracing in Aubade, both wearing sheer, open robes. Samothes has a serious but amorous expression and has one hand half-buried in Samot’s stomach, which is a void full of sprouting Spring vines. Samot is smiling slightly and cupping the side of Samothes’ face, while Samothes’ other hand holds the back of Samot’s head, supporting him as he leans back as though for a kiss.

5: A bright, gold-lit drawing of a young Samot and Samothes lying on the grass beneath flowering wisteria, seen from an aerial perspective. Samothes wears a golden robe and crown and is holding a miniature sun in one hand. Samot wears a low-cut teal-blue dress with white fur around his shoulders and has just taken a ring off his right hand, causing another miniature sun to appear above his collarbone. Several other suns drift around them. Samothes’ left arm is around Samot’s shoulders and their faces are very close.

6: A drawing of Hadrian, wearing shining silver armour and a white cloak, standing in a boat and raising a golden sword to bring it down on the damaged Blade in the Dark. A smiling Maelothes, drawn from the shoulders up, holds the tip of Hadrian’s blade, which is surrounded by the purple-black Heat and Dark. Barbello is in the boat behind Hadrian, while a few other figures are visible near Samol’s house on an island in the background. The Heat and the Dark encroaches on every side of the drawing. /end ID]

[freckleslikestars]

aubade

aubade noun a poem or piece of music appropriate to the dawn or early morning.

IWTB era fluffy-ish ficlet inspired by this post

565 words, read here on AO3

5:30. It was always when her alarm was set to five-fucking-thirty that he hated it most, when its insistent beeping seemed most obtrusive, rudely dragging him from the little sleep he got. Of course, she never even stirred for it. He was certain that she would sleep through the apocalypse if he let her.

‘Babe, alarm’s going,’ he muttered in her ear, voice gravely from sleep, eyes still shut tight against the impending day.

She grunted and burrowed further into her pillow, humming contently when he finally peeled his eyes open and reached over to slam his hand down on the top of the clock to get it to shut up, the little red numbers flashing angrily at him. ‘Come on, Scully. You’ve got to get up.’

‘No.’

‘You’ve got work.’

‘Mm. Five more minutes.’

‘No. You’ll hate yourself if you do,’ he sighed, slumping back against his pillow. He counted in his head, fifty-seven seconds before she groaned and sat up, combing her hand haphazardly through sleep-tangled hair and yawning noisily, before she swung herself out of bed, grumbling the whole time about the unfairness of him getting to lay in. He knew she didn’t mean it, knew that if he got up with her, she’d roll her eyes at him and tell him there was no point in him getting up just because she was when he might as well at least wait until the sun had crested the horizon. But still, she grumbled, and allowing his eyes to slip shut again after taking a quick moment to admire the sweet curve of her ass cheeks in the little shorts she’d taken to wearing to bed, he murmured a quiet: ‘perks of being a fugitive.’

She disappeared off into the en suite, and he rolled over, nestling into the warm gap she’d left behind, allowing the familiar sounds of her readying for the day to soothe him into a light slumber – he wasn’t going to fall back asleep properly now, but he could doze for an hour or so. Maybe, if he had the energy, he might tackle the repainting of the porch swing today, should the weather hold. Or fix the leaky roof in the mud room. If he had the energy, that was. He should probably see what he could rustle up for her dinner, too. Write a grocery list for her to get – they were running low on things he could make half-decent meals out of. He’d check the message boards first, though. There was a debate he’d been having with TruthSayer121212 that he wanted to continue if they’d responded.

‘’m off,’ she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple and running a hand through his unruly hair. It was almost as long as her’s had been when they started sleeping together all those many moons ago. ‘Needs cutting. I can do that on the weekend for you if you want.’ He nodded and gave a non-committal grunt, and he heard her sigh quietly. ‘Mulder?’

‘Hm?’

‘Why do you always end up on my side of the bed?’

He shrugged, buried his nose deeper into the crisp white cotton of her pillowcase, ‘smells like you.’

He could feel the soft smile pulling at her mouth as she pressed one more kiss to his lips, leaving him with a minty taste and the sound of her tires on the gravel.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[cithaerons]

The buildings half-knocked down are still inhabited by women who beat the rugs in the morning with battered brooms, who peel the bananas with a wrist flick that speaks of necessity and its hard blood taste a blooming at the back of the tongue. What is the world but a mouth that demands feeding? Peonies explode from a store front: carmine, acid yellow, the tender white of oblivion. Love is the secret dew folded inside the envelope of a leaf which is battered by many feet walking across the unspeakable bridge that leads to the tunnel of the twelve-hour journey. Imagine a people who refuse to believe in death, choosing instead to valorize the charge of the one molecule speeding forever though a blank screen of space. Here is where the burning occurs. Morning: you lift your dark cup, and we drink.

Sheila Black, Aubade for the City that Never Sleeps

[a-ramblinrose]

Few now and faint the stars that shone all night so bright above you. The sun must rise, and I be gone. I leave you, though I love you.

We have lived well, my love, and so let not this parting grieve you. Sure as the sunrise you must know I love you, though I leave you.

― Ursula K. Le Guin, ‘Aubade’

[bells-of-black-sunday]

@witchcraftandburialdirt asked:

Upon the dock they stood, the nightly tresses of his benefactor seemed to frolic amongst the salt soaked wind, flavored by the very sea whose waves seemed to bow before his beauty, though no pleasure crossed his features as he gazed outwards in the direction of home. Home which now felt so foreign and far as the promise of unfulfilled joy consumed his very being, a bitter fate which he had paid for marked into reality by plank falling onto timber. The gulls' aubade to the morning sun resounded in the man's ears as screams, as if to weep upon the agony of passion below them, a sweet poison coursing within the man's veins which was placed upon him throughout the passage of time-- one where the fury of the field was the only place solace existed. Yet in the silence of the slain and the intimacy inside woven walls, the man found only the whispers of Tarhos' voice; deep and rumbling like thunder over wheat, and yet…so tender in his words. As though each was entreating for the grace and mercy the knight had never received within his life span, a hushed cry meant solely for him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to imagine the night without that voice, without being held so comfortably, without his blue eyes to stare into and lips to kiss. 

The vision reminded him of the Hell priests would warn of. How could he ever be happy again without having him by his side to hold and cherish?

The paralians were swift to cut the ropes, releasing sails which eagerly caught the tempest within their canvas. Before this time…long ago, those great sails would have been the victory banner of Christ, stitched together with angel's raiments as they were hoisted into the beautiful azure of the morning sky. Yet this covenant of hope was embittered, what would have once brought him joy had burned into ash on his tongue. Freedom and home…did they truly mean anything now with this burning fire within the cavern of his chest which only cried for one thing? One simple, lovely thing that would be ripped from his hands the moment his foot stepped onto that ship. That single movement would throw Tarhos into his past with only a marbled face carved from memory to be his bride. How foolish could one be, to toss a life of sunshine and quiet meadows away if only to be beside one man who brought such brutality and anguish? To stand so close to that which he had longed for, only to now feel half-hearted and bereft about such a blessing; it could never amount to the whispered prayers placed against his neck within the nights' hours.

Not when blood soaked hands cradled his hips as though holding communion, a reverent touch remarked by the essence of fluttering desire brought to life by the breathy refrains which left their lips after each shared kiss. How the Knights' breath and voice filled his spirit with the tolling of death bells and the song of church choirs; a cacophony of dread and brilliance wrapped into a singular man which held his heart tightly–as if ready to feast upon it. By now that carnivorous carnal hunger was less a blanket over them both and moreso a red threaded border which swaddled this newfound emotion. That which vexes all men, what it meant— and how that feeling would doom him, but alas…Tarhos was the one thing he would never repent for. He swallowed the pit of misery in his throat, feeling it build into a slowly filling pool of dread ── He couldn't do it - he wouldn't, and so, his plush lips parted to speak:

“I … I don’t want to go. I want to stay here with you, like this, forever. Even after life.

── Medieval Verse

There was something always so solemn about the coast, it's beautiful blue waves lapping against the pale beaches with hundreds of ships some trading bodies like they were cattle put to auction. He was no stranger to cages like that. Huddled together with other men and women passing disease between each other like the very air they were breathing was caustic to their lungs. The same venom held even now when he knew what the plan was, what the maiden had asked of him so long ago. The ache in his chest wasn't the air this time as much as he would pretend it was. No. Haruko had swiftly become his entire world.

Every scream from the gulls sounded like a murder and the unfurling of sales like the wings of a great beast ready to snatch him from his grasp, but he had no right to demand the other to stay. While the knight knew cages and long roads very well, the maiden knew the sea and the shackles below deck. Passed between lords like a prized canary to sing for their amusement his wings had been clipped every time they grew back. He knew the snarling cornered animal in his tent when they first met far better than most. He was just a bed warmer to the captain, a piece of flesh to keep his rabid dog satisfied and yet... he never touched him.

The silence was deafening, but all he could do was watch. For all his faults he would never force someone to stay near him. Haru was his own person just like he was even if most wouldn't see it that way. He watched the wool of the maiden's dress flutter in the wind and the last call for boarding overtook the gulls screams before the maiden's voice pierced the silence and a wave of relief like he had never known washed over him, "...I want you to stay too." A quiet admission, but relief flooded every word. The knight helped the maiden down from the dock and back into his arms.

If there was divinity he had found it in every fiber that made up the warmth of the man in his arms as if he were the rib plucked from Adam to make Eve. He was everything he never wanted to let go of.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Aubade: A Love Song Which is Sung At Dawn

Simeon x gender neutral reader :)

AN: The song that I used is World of Our Own ~ Between Kings, it just felt so Simeon y'know?

TW: None

The loud, persistent ringing of your alarm jolted you out of your peaceful slumber. Tired eyes cracked open and a hand fumbled from out of the warm sheets that surrounded you in an attempt to shut off the noise coming from your D.D.D. 

The screen illuminated the dark room, the display reading 6 am. Too early for your liking, but you had cooking duty, which means breakfast was on you this morning. You didn’t want to incur the wrath of the Avatar of Pride, so you made sure to set your alarm early enough to give yourself time to get dressed and to prepare extra for Beel. 

After begrudgingly getting up, you eventually find a rhythm and your morning routine goes smoothly. Brushing your teeth, washing your face, and setting out your RAD uniform for the day. 

Returning from the bathroom, you make your way over to the clothes you had laid out earlier and attempt to undress, when a tap on your window shifts your focus. Turning your attention to the curtains that cover the window, you still and listen for another tap. 

Even though you were listening for it, you jumped when the second tap sounded against your window. Approaching slowly and peeking out of the curtains, you look for the source of the sound. The thought that some troublesome demon may be trying to lure the human exchange student out for a morning snack crossed your mind. It is the Devildom after all, not all demons want to befriend you. But then again who would be stupid enough to make their way to the House of Lamentation where the seven demon lords lived? 

Simeon. Even though the Devildom stayed in perpetual darkness, the moon illuminated the pure, white clothing that the angel always wore. His dark skin was also bathed in the light of the moon, as his fluffy hair gently moved with the breeze. He was ethereal. 

Damn him. 

Upon seeing you in the window he waves slightly, a soft smile gracing his features. 

You, on the other hand, are not so gracefully yanking the curtains fully apart and lifting the window up to stick your head out into the same Devildom breeze that swirled around the angel below. 

“Simeon! What are you doing here? And how did you know this was my room?” 

“Lucky guess?” The angel sheepishly looked up at you, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. You giggled slightly as you rolled your eyes.

“You are lucky that this was my room and not Lucifer’s.” You could only imagine Lucifer’s reaction to finding Simeon standing outside of the dorm at 6 in the morning. You watch as Simeon tosses his last piece of “ammunition” to the ground, returning his gaze to yours. 

“Well, I wouldn’t have minded serenading him as well.” Simeon remarks with a chuckle. “Though I intended to serenade you.”

Your face heats at the angel’s words. He wanted to serenade you? Where did he get an idea like that? It’s not like you minded. You had grown fond of Simeon and eventually your fondness evolved into strong feelings. 

Aside from the brothers, you spent time with Simeon frequently. You often studied together either at RAD or at Purgatory Hall, and on occasion he let you read his writings and asked for your feedback. A few times, he had invited you to go to Cafe Lament, it was usually as an after school treat, and nothing more. Though he was always the perfect gentleman, insisting on paying for both of your orders, no matter how much you protested. 

Once, you both had decided to pick out drinks for each other, both of you ordered one at a time without the other so that the drinks would come out as a surprise. You certainly were surprised, seeing latte art of an arrow piercing through a heart floating in your mug. You raised an eyebrow at Simeon, who feigned ignorance and commented on how talented one must be to be able to draw little images in foam. You dropped it there, assuming no bigger intent than him just being his sweet self. 

But here in the present, he had woken up extra early to come and serenade you first thing in the morning. If that wasn’t a love confession in and of itself, you didn’t know what was. You rest your arms on the window sill, leaning forward slightly. 

“Well then, the floor is yours, Sinatra.” Simeon smiled widely at your quip. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves as he began. 

“I’ve laid myself bare

Too scared to feel at night.

Can’t take this anymore

As my heart hits the floor.

Why can’t I stop 

The fall from grace?

This loneliness will devour me

And I’ll fade away.”

You recognize the song Simeon sings. It's a song you’ve played in the background of one of your study sessions. He had commented that he hasn’t really listened to human world music, but he really liked this one, asking for the title and artist for him to look up (with Luke’s help) in his spare time. Becoming familiar with it, Simeon would often hum along lightly when it came on. 

But now here he stands below you, in all his angelic glory, singing from the heart as he softly gazes up at you. 

“Don’t tell me I can’t, I’ll show you I will.

Out in the cold to prove this is real.

What will it take to show you we can

Just disappear in a world of our own?”

Simeon finishes the chorus, bright blue eyes anxiously locked on yours as he watches for your reaction. 

The soft smile that you had during the song broke out into a wide grin, a light blush accentuating your features. 

“That was beautiful, Simeon.” You call out. Simeon feels his face heat, he hopes that the darkness is enough to hide that fact, as he smiles bashfully. 

The wind picks up and you fold your arms close to your body. It’s then that you realize you are still in your sleep wear with a slight bedhead to match. You grow embarrassed at the thought of Simeon seeing you like this. 

“Though I wish I looked a little better to receive such a performance.” You remark with a chuckle. 

“You’re perfect.” Sincerity dripping from the words he spoke. You fluster at his sweet praise as an idea comes to mind, believing this to be the perfect opportunity to talk to Simeon about what this means for the both of you moving forward. You calm your nerves to the best of your ability as you ask, 

“Would you like to help me make breakfast? After I make myself a little more presentable, of course.” 

“I would love to.” 

[avonne-writes]

Aubade

Pairing: Buck Cleven / Bucky Egan

Rating, word count: E, 7.1k

Summary: A few weeks after Buck and Bucky became lovers, they have an opportunity to spend another leave together and take the next step in their relationship. Desire is only one thing though - the matters of the heart are much harder to express.

Link to the story on AO3

Excerpt:

“Got you something for your birthday.” Gale says, his voice neutral as if he was talking about a stale chocolate cake and not filling Bucky's head with the filthiest of fantasies.

“My birthday was two weeks ago.” Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, playing. “And I seem to recall that you didn't give me the present that I wanted.”

[sacrificethemtothesquid]

Ssp top hits - AO3 era

Tagged by the lovely and talented @thebyrchentwigges, who is a gorgeous human being I adore.

The preamble: So, wanted to get some hiatus rec lists going and encourage some self promo in my friends so how about sharing your top fics no matter how big or small - give us the links to your wonderful words with the Most hits/Most kudos/Most comments/Most bookmarks/Most words/Least words.

Sadly it has been AGES since I've touched fic, but this is a good opportunity to go poke through unfinished projects. (She says, fully aware of the unfinished novel burning a hole in her browser tabs...)

Most Hits/Most Kudos/Most Comments: The Length and Breadth of Fury Road. Mad Max: Fury Road, Max/Furiosa.

Max leaves, and Furiosa stays.

I posted the first chapter of this exactly two weeks after the movie came out when there were like six other fics in existence anywhere, so I was very very lucky to catch the new-fandom wave of interest. (Why did you wait two whole weeks, you might ask? Chop chop, time's a-wasting. I was too busy seeing the movie four times in the theater, but after that fourth screening, my poor husband was like, "...can we maybe see something else?") This fic defined my entire life for three years, introduced me to some of the most amazing people I've ever met, and my life has never been the same.

Most Words: The Moth. Horizon: Zero Dawn, Aloy/Erend.

Moths seek out light, he thinks, and die for it. Maybe they know, but they still can’t stay away. He feels like that, a slow, inexorable urge to set himself on fire in the wild blaze of her hair.

I would have bet money that L&B would make a complete sweep of this, but apparently Moth edges it out by almost 4k. I'm not as proud of this one, because I don't think it's written as well. It spanned the year I was in a protracted bipolar breakdown, including the period where I was in an intensive outpatient program, so while it did a good job keeping me afloat, when I go back and reread it, it's very obvious (to my eye) I wasn't at the top of my game. It was great fun though.

Least Words, overall: DAI Drabbles. Dragon Age Inquisition, gen.

Random drabbles of my headcanon. I reserve the right to move them to other works as they fit.

Technically, these are not drabbles (not exactly 100 words, but ah well) and they're not technically their own fic, just fragments of the larger DAI epic that I never quite got into. (You can thank Fury Road for that abrupt pivot.) I have a ton more DAI that I never uploaded, so maybe at some point I'll get bored one day and tackle that disappointing mess.

Least Words, completed fic: The Things Left Behind. Dragon Age Inquisition, Blackwall/Female Trevelyan.

“Thom Rainier?” she hears herself say, her voice calm and collected and very, very far away. “No. I didn’t know him at all.”

I never would have let my Inquisitor have anything other than a happy ending, but some itches just need to be scratched.

Now, for the tagging! I am so shit at picking people, because I know SO MANY excellent fic writers and I have no idea who has already seen this meme. So, at complete random: @silver-dream89 @aubade @theherocomplex @fuckyeahisawthat and anyone else who is even vaguely interested. Love you all!

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

Aubade for the word prompt please! Also maybe angst for the genre?

Hope your day/night is going well! 💙

Okay so I didn’t know the meaning of this word (love learning about new words I don’t know!) so here’s the definition to help y’all out as well

Aubade: a song sung in the morning (dawn/daybreak) by a departing lover to their partner; also known as a song or poem about departing lovers at dawn

In modern times though, the word has shifted to just being a song/poem appropriate for the early morning (but that’s lame!! So I’m not doing that)

“-And when I finally get the chance

I’ll hold you close in a slow dance

And tear apart this cursed distance

With whispered vows and golden bands.”

Quinlan sung the last verse of the aubade to the love of his life, fiddling with a tiny black box. He opens it up and asks the question he’s been holding in for three long years; however, no response is given from the newly put headstone of Commander Fox.