#caro reads salt kiss

[mermaidsirennikita]

just gonna liveblog salt kiss since it’s out anyway and my god the way sierra simone went “mark trevena wanted a baby ash colchester but submissive and he’s gonna get one”

[icollectyoursins]

Leone Abbacchio Relationship HCs

🐉 anon asked for: “Abbacchio relationship hcs?? -🐉”

These are just SFW headcanons, so I went a little overboard to compensate for the lack of NSFW although, I’ll no doubt do some in the future. Tried to make these kind of organized so it’s easier to read. This will all be under the cut And, yes, reader is a stand user and can see Moody Blues.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: SFW, brief mentions of nightmares, trauma.

Word Count: 2226

General

Abbacchio is a tough cookie to crack when it comes to romance and forms of affection. He just doesn’t think he’s super into it. Until you gently caress his face while he’s falling asleep or maybe it was the time you curled up next to him while watching a movie. Or the time you casually laced your fingers with his while walking down the street. 

Okay, fine, he’s soft, but he would never admit it! Unless he’s been drinking a little too much. Then he’ll tell you how much you mean to him. Or when you’re feeling like shit and super down on yourself.

His nicknames/pet names for you are usually dear, cara/caro (darling/dear), but mostly he just uses your name. He likes the way it sounds! And, honestly, you like the way he says it too.

After you’ve been together for a while, he starts to notice changes in his personality and habits. He’s calmer, doesn’t lash out as much as he used to; he’s less on edge about everything. As well, he noticed that he was drinking less and when he was drinking, it was healthier. It wasn’t long binges in the middle of the night anymore, it was just one or two with friends or for a celebration. He didn’t really realize how much you helped him and how much you meant to him until then. He knew he loved you, of course, but that was really where it clicked in.

You notice the change too. He starts getting more playful in a weird Abbacchio way. It’s small things like poking your side or behind while you’re focused on something. Occasionally, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist from behind and whisper something sweet in your ear that makes you giggle. 

When Abbacchio isn’t reading, he’s listening to someone reading. He frequently listens to podcasts, audiobooks, etc. while doing his chores or driving. He thinks it’s a good way to educate himself on current topics or things he’s just interested in. With his whole past, I don’t think he would be interested in true crime or anything like that. Too triggering for him and with you, he really doesn’t want to fall back into old habits.

Now, he’s not perfect and he’s obviously a very hurt individual, so I think it would take someone with a lot of patience to help him get over some of his trauma (and yes, it is trauma). He has his rough days where he’s angrier and more on edge and this makes him more likely to yell or lash out. If you can avoid this, great, but talk to him about it later when he’s calmed down. He needs someone who is good with tense situations who can either calm him down or be able to walk away from the situation and come back later. That being said, you are not his therapist, you are not anyone’s therapist (unless that’s your job). You are their partner. A partner can help with some, but usually, you’re not trained enough to properly deal with something like this.

Dates

He enjoys taking long walks with you, especially near the water. The water is extremely relaxing to him and you’re relaxing to him, so it’s the best of both worlds. 

Not overly into picnics, but if you offer, he would be more than happy to indulge you by packing a basket with some nice red wine and a charcuterie board with some sandwiches. Sincerely loves the beach and sitting next to you on a blanket, enjoying the sun on the warmer days just makes him feel so human again.

His favourite dates with you are the ones where you two are on the couch at home together watching a movie. He enjoys the closeness, the relaxed state you’re both in and, of course, the popcorn. Eats it plain to be healthier, but when you’re not looking, he’ll add salt and butter to his. But, then one day one of the boyz introduce him to adding chocolatey things to popcorn (like M&M’s) and that’s it. His loose diet is out the window.

     The microwave beeped in the background while you plopped down, flicking through different disks in your hand. You had picked out a classic, cheesy werewolf horror movie by the time Abbacchio sat down with two bowls in hand. He handed him the movie while sneaking a handful of his popcorn into your mouth.

     “Mmph!” You let out a muffled sound of shock as warm chocolate squished into your hand. You dropped the chocolate into your bowl, looking at the mess you had just made. “What did you put in your bowl?”

     He chucked. “Mn’M’s.”

     “Why?”

     “Narancia told me to.” The DVD was in and starting up just as he was walking back, shaking the couch as he sat down with a grunt. He pulled a tissue out of the box next to him, handing it to you, then he grabbed his bowl, picking out a piece of warm M&M and sucking it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. He licked his fingers while you cleaned your palm, frustrated with how little it was cleaning up. 

     “Ugh, whatever!” You began licking up the remnants earning you another chuckle from Leone. One of you presses play on the remote and settle into each other. You’re curled up into his arm for most of the movie, head leaning on his collar bone. He occasionally kisses the top of your head or pops a piece of popcorn in your mouth. 

     Soon, the bowls are empty and you’re practically sitting in his lap, holding each other close. He’s so warm, so comfortable. You find yourself starting to nod into sleep. He hums as he feels your breathing slow to a steady rhythm. Yeah, that movie was pretty boring, wasn’t it?

     He chuckles, carefully pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, pulling it around you while he got himself comfortable. There was no way he was getting up from this spot, so he might as well join you.

When Abbacchio is feeling fancy or bougie, he’ll take you out to restaurants or tourist attractions. If anyone tries to swindle you out of something, you can guarantee he’s going to at least insult them in some way or maybe just straight up kick them in the face. Regardless, he’ll protect you.

Affection

When in public, he still likes to keep you close, but tones it down a little bit. Usually, he’s got his hand on your back or you’re holding hands, hovering close to each other. 

He’s very protective and if the gang’s jokes go too far, he’ll let them know. 

In private, he’s obviously more relaxed. He doesn’t need to put on a mask around you, so he just lets it all go. He’ll come up while you’re doing chores and either hug you from behind or spin you around for a kiss before letting you continue whatever it was you were doing with no explanation. 

Very rarely lets you do his makeup, but when he does, he’s a little cheeky about it and kind of anal all at the same time. The easiest way for you to do his make up is sitting in his lap, so already he’s cocky about it, but then you start getting to the eyeliner and he gets picky.

   You perched yourself on Leone’s lap, carefully buffing out a natural-looking eyeshadow with a brush. Occasionally, he would crack open an eye, looking up to see the concentration on your face as you avoided any fall out from the shadow. He squeezed your thighs pleasantly then massaged circles into the soft flesh. You looked into his open eye with a coy smirk before returning to your work.

    You dipped the brush into the pallet again, this time a lighter shade for the inner corner of his eyes. Gently, you pressed the pigment in from the edge of the lid to the corner, then, like before, you buffed it out back into the lid. His hands began to wander, sliding up and down your thighs. You gave him another look, but he wasn’t paying attention this time, eyes closed. You scoffed.

    Finally, you finished, moving onto the eyeliner, picking out a sleek black You started with the outer corner, going for a winged look. Before you were able to press a line in, he grabbed your hand quickly, pushing it back so he could open his eyes.

    “You’re doing it wrong,” he said. You sat back, exasperated.

    “I haven’t even done anything!”

    The two of you got into a small playful argument of “oh, I’ll do it,” “no, I’ll do it.” Until eventually you settled with him doing your makeup in exchange.

    “Thank you, now.” You reached for two shades of lipstick, one purple and one black. “Which one do you want?” He rolled his eyes, grabbing the black as well as a handheld mirror.

    “No, no, no. You get to do your eyeliner, not your lipstick! The lipstick is mine.” You playfully kissed his lips before pulling everything from his hands, earning you a groan from Abbacchio.

Seeing as we’re talking about sitting on his lap! He loves it. Just, any physical touch from you makes him feel so loved, especially when alone at home. He particularly enjoys when you’re pressed up against him while reading a book or watching a movie with his arm around you. Alternatively, he enjoys your legs tossed over his thighs or his over yours.

Around the House

Now, chores. Abbacchio doesn’t like chores. He’ll do them if you ask, but he’s not gonna like it. Least favourite is laundry. He just kind of chucks his clothes on the floor in a pile until you tell him to move it or do it yourself. You can’t tell the difference between his clean clothes and dirty clothes, so you mostly let him deal with it when the pile gets big enough or he runs out of clothes.

Doesn’t hate doing the dishes, so he actually gets stuck with that since you’re doing almost everything else. If you’ve recently had the rest of the Bucci gang over, he’s less inclined to do it. Narancia and Mista both tend to be slobs, so their plates are always nasty, but he does it anyway, just complains a lot later. Nastiness aside, doing the dishes slowly becomes a therapy moment for him. Just his music, a bunch of clean dishes and pure peace.

Much like with dishes, he doesn’t hate vacuuming or dusting and will do it when asked, but doesn’t like it. Honestly, he’s not the best at vacuuming, he always misses corners and forgets to do one place, so you do most of it. 

Look, I’m not saying he’s a slob, he’s not, but he can get a little lazy, especially on his rougher days. That being said, if it’s a special day or he’s feeling a little romantic and has something planned, he’ll do everything. It won’t be perfect, but the sentiment is there. 

Sleeping

He has a very cute snore. It’s not loud or obnoxious, it’s soft and relaxed. Honestly, kind of soothing. That is IF you’re able to hear it. He usually doesn’t sleep until you do, but it’s very precious. 

Prefers being big spoon or ‘the pillow’ where you sleep on some body part of his (his thighs are exceptionally comfy and, of course, his pecs). He usually wraps one arm around you if he can, rubbing his thumb against your shoulder or forearm. 

But, one night, you got in bed late and he was already asleep, so you came up behind him, wrapping your arm around his waist then stroking his stomach softly. He’ll never let you know, but he was awake. That was the day he discovered he loved being a little spoon. He won’t fight if you happen to do it again.

Regardless, Abbacchio is clingy when he sleeps. Not bear hug, but always has an arm around you to make sure you’re there and safe. 

He gets some nightmares, of course. Doesn’t scream, just jolts awake and goes to grab a glass of water, then comes back, so it’s unlikely he’d wake you up from a deep sleep. If you are awake, ask him what he needs. Sometimes he needs you to hold him, other times he needs just some time alone, but remind him you are there for anything. If you’ve already got a glass of water next to his bed, he’s head over heels. So thankful. Might make you breakfast the next morning as a proper thank you.

Stand

What does Moody Blues think? Well, much like its user, it’s very analytical and almost cold when it comes to you, though if Abbacchio is away from you for a little longer than usual, but still in range (like being kept in a meeting too long while you’re in the car waiting) he’ll send his stand to you and help you relax a bit by letting you cuddle “Abbacchio” (the stand copying it’s user), or just let you relax with the stand itself! 

Actually, if he’s busy at home and you’re tired, MB will replay a time where you were cuddling in bed, or on the couch so you can snuggle with someone at least. 

[lluvguts]

☆.｡.:*you blush like an ocean in love.｡.:*☆

☆ read it on ao3 ; comment or feel my wrath >:3

☆ teen rating ! they're aged up. there's kissing. they're idiots. yeah.

☆ word count ; 1101

/ / /

The rainy evening was a time to celebrate, to watch the train smoke disappear into the thick clouds above, to grab Luca's hand and breathe in the salty Portorosso air, now infinitely better with his warm fingers twined with his own. Luca finally home, finally for good, forever.

"Dolcezza, let's swim, yeah?" Alberto took Luca's hand tighter and pointed to the waves, rippling and grey from the stormy wind.

"But," Luca pondered at the overcast, his cheeks burning at the name he had called him. Alberto tucked a wind-blown curl of hair back behind his ear, and Luca blushed harder. "It's going to rain."

He chuckled softly and pulled Luca into his side, away from the gusts of wind. "Like it's ever stopped us before."

"Well what of the others?"

"What about them?" Alberto teased, looking down at Luca. "I'm sure Giuletta has grown tired of seeing your bel volto in her Mama's bathtub, hmm? Dinner is at sunset. Come on, Lu. It'll be nice."

The other boy nodded, moving with tentative steps across the piazza, still in his school shoes that clicked along the dark cobblestones, still wearing his navy blue coat and loose button-up blouse. His backpack slung to one side, brushing Alberto's chilled arm. While they walked, Luca's face fixed down on the ground now collecting droplets of light rain, staring with a fond smile at Alberto's bare feet, the bruise on his kneecap (from falling out of the hideout while trying to fix a loose board, he'd written it furiously in one crumpled letter) and, with rain falling into his hair, letting his fingertips graze the fabric of his long skirt.

"It's cool here, It's nice..." Luca murmured to himself. He put his full weight--which really wasn't much to Alberto, all sun-tanned muscles and long sweaty days working as the town's lifeguard had made him strong--against Alberto's shoulder, stopping and tilting his hot cheek into his collarbone. "I missed you, tesoro."

"I kept all of your letters," He continued, blurting out. The steady crash of the waves only inches from their feet, mixed with the murmuring wind made Luca's voice catch. Or, as he held onto the front of Alberto's pull-over jacket with such urgency and need, it was perhaps his own tears that spilled down his cheeks that made such a sad, pitiful sound slip past pink, flushed lips. "All of them. I- I kept them in a drawer, by my bedside. Then, when we had to keep this--questo amore--to ourselves, they went under my pillow at night. They're all wrinkled now. I didn't sleep well then."

Alberto turned Luca so he was facing him, chest to trembling, shivering chest, and hugged him. Seafoam tickled their heels, turning Alberto's feet to muted purple scales in the moody weather. "I missed you too, but there is no need for these tears, amore."

"I k-know! But, ... but," Luca lifted his head up and let Alberto rub his thumb across his cheeks, wiping the salty tracks and blushing scales. "I'm just...I'm upset that we were apart for so long."

He shed his backpack at the shore, sitting in a sandy puddle of water, but not seeming to care for the books and other things inside. When Luca looked back up with hazel eyes, they were bright with sadness, but full of hope and feeling. Alberto's heart gasped, a writhing little thing inside of his sore chest, seeing the beautiful palette of blue and green scales bubbling along Luca's neck, his cheeks, his eyelashes long and wet with dewy water. Alberto loved seeing Luca like this, how careful he considered his own changing and the mediated glance as he looked with broken longing at his love.

"I could count the days, the minutes I waited for you. But I don't think this would help," Alberto kissed the rain-flecked front of Luca's hair, leading him further into the awaiting water. The salty spray made their clothes stick to their tired limbs, Alberto's skirt kissed his knees and the front of his legs and wouldn't let go. Luca held on, rain and all, kissing Alberto's throat tenderly, cold lips to cold neck.

"Your scales..." Luca whispered, hardly audible, against Alberto's cool skin. He kissed him again, still soft and gentle, oh so gentle, tracing just the edge of his bottom lip along the hollow of his throat. "I've memorized them. I'll never, ever forget them."

"You'll never have a reason to."

Alberto's stance in the water faltered at that, his body swaying slightly with the tide. He squeezed Luca's shoulders, peeling off the thick coat. He relished in seeing his pale human skin shimmer, the scales lightened from many Summers, a glowing honeydew. "Mio piccolo luna. Mio Luca, caro Luca. Mio luna. I missed you so." He babbled into Luca's head of fins, kissing each and every one.

Luca laughed, warm breath on his neck making him shudder. He gladly abandoned the coat and let it float along the foam of the water. "You said that already, love."

"I'll say it again." Alberto cradled his face with both hands, smearing rain droplets over Luca's dark blush, a sign of his love brimming beneath the surface. He pulled Luca up into a kiss, speaking into his lips. "I missed you."

"I missed you more."

"There's no way."

He hummed in reply, on his eager lips. "No more Summers to keep you from me," Luca murmured over the kiss, locking his arms around Alberto's waist, just before tugging off the taller boy's coat too. Another kiss. "No more studying, no more quiet nights in Giulia's guest bedroom. I can hold you here with me instead. We can learn together, we can even fall asleep in the hideout. I just want to be close to you again. Not let it be a dream anymore." He ended it with a tiny sniffle, a whisper on the skin.

"We can have all that, amore. We can have all of that," Alberto pressed, the rain drowning his words, so he spoke them again and again into Luca's ear.

"I love you, Alberto."

The faint ebb and flow of the water pushed Luca fully into his front, and he pulled him as close to his chest as they could get, two interlocked bodies, just salt and tears and rain separating them--or drawing them ever closer.

[superleeleehipster]

10x16 thoughts/theories

After reading up on the finale, and watching the gifs/videos of that lovely Caryl moment (thank you peeps!), I’ve got some feelings to process. Mainly about two specific things about what the episode showed and what that means for the future.

Obviously, some spoilers ahead for 10x16

Disclaimer: Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, this is just my own. I’m not telling anyone to feel a certain way and everyone’s emotions are valid. You can happily agree or disagree as much as you want. 

So first thing I want to talk about is that hug scene from the finale. From what I’m seeing so far, there are a ton of mixed reviews about it in the Caryl fandom. Some folks loved it and thought it was sweet, while others were disappointed b/c they were expecting something like the “No Sanctuary” hug based on the spoilers we got.

Speaking of. Spoilers. I appreciate the people who are able to give us content before the episode (to curb my anxiety if anything), but I also try my best to take what they say with a grain of salt, and the hug is a perfect example. We were told it rivaled the “No Sanctuary” hug and they had a heart to heart, but those statements are a bit arbitrary. I definitely think the person who said that thought those things, but we might not agree with their opinion. 

The opposite has happened before too, where we were given spoilers that didn’t sound very good and it wound up being a better episode for Caryl than we thought. Like when we heard that Carol and Zeke were going to shag during the episode “Morning Star” and she confronts Daryl later and asks him to not hate her, and he says “he would never hate her” but doesn’t look at her and walks away... But what actually happened was Carol went to Daryl’s place in the woods and Zeke found her b/c he knew she “needed some comfort” and the shag was more or less one last hoorah for their relationship and when Carol asked Daryl to not hate her he looked straight into her beautiful eyes and said with conviction “I’m never gonna hate you”... that episode was an amazing surprise for everyone b/c we thought it would be much worse. Bottom line is, we just need to be careful about what spoilers say, b/c they can leave stuff out or make their own opinions on it. 

My personal opinion on the hug: I thought it was a very sweet moment between the two. No, it wasn’t the same as the “No Sanctuary” hug, but I don’t even think that type of unbridled desperation and relief would’ve been appropriate for the current situation. And the current situation is that Caryl’s relationship had hit hard times recently, and Daryl is still upset with her with her actions. When saw her at the end of the episode and looked her up and down to make sure she was ok, but stayed guarded at first, that made sense to me. B/c neither of them are in the right headspace for any kind of relationship right now, especially Carol, and Daryl is a bit guarded still b/c of her recent actions. But when they acknowledge that it’s over, and Carol openly admits that she’ll never get what she wants and he says she has him and she gives that pitiful whimper of “yeah?” to him (AGAIN, we didn’t know about that in the spoilers!) and he comes in and gives her such a freaking warm hug. It was a hug that reassured Carol he was still on her side, and reassured Daryl that she was physically there and ok, and that the war was over. Also that part where she whimpered and wiggled a little and he wouldn’t budge at letting her go. Ugh the feels! 

Seriously, I was kind of jealous b/c I haven’t been hugged that warmly in a long time... 

Point is, I thought the hug was nice and sweet, and appropriate for the current situation. We just need to watch our own expectations when spoilers come out, b/c they can make us feel underwhelmed or pleasantly surprised when we see the scenes on our own. I definitely understand that ppl are tired of waiting. We’ve had 10 years of this and we’re tired of waiting for canon. But I definitely believe it’s coming soon, I really do...

Second thing I wanted to mention is that Connie is alive. I know there are some folks who are not exactly excited about that b/c we were pretty certain she had been killed. For some carylers, having Connie gone meant no real chance of Donnie happening, b/c we’ve been burned by TWD before and there’s always that chance no matter how slim. But for most, having Connie dead would cause the Donnie shippers (the nasty ones at least) to riot before likely leaving. 

Personally, I’m actually glad she’s alive because of two big reasons:

1). Ignoring the abc shippers for a second, quite a few general audience members were really starting to hate Carol after her actions this season. No matter how much we had tried to speak reasons, and highlighting the fact that she just lost yet another kid, a lot of them ignore the turmoil she’s going through and just focus on the actions she’s done. Having Connie alive will at least quench some of the GAs negative feelings over Carol. Yeah she still messed up, but Connie’s alive so the blame will ease off on Carol...

2). This one’s a big one. Ever since Angela Kang began as the showrunner, I’ve noticed big differences between how she writes relationships and how it was before she came along. Quite a few differences if we’re being honest, but the biggest one is that she is more direct with character’s relationships with each other, and she’s not using the current situation to escape from having to be direct with them. There’s no extreme subtle glances or talking in a weird language that doesn’t always make sense (looking at you Gimple). She has been pretty upfront with a lot of the relationships during the last two seasons, and she hasn’t had to use fate/deaths to end ships or start others. For example:

- Carol/Ezekiel - A lot of folks were upset over the fact that Henry was going to take Ezekiel’s place on the pike scene, mainly b/c it wouldn’t be fair for Carol to lose another kid. But ignoring that reason for a moment, another reason is that it would've ended Carzekiel, so Daryl could possibly have a chance again. However, what happened was even better, in that Carol chose to end the relationship herself, instead of circumstances doing it for her. 

- Eugene/Rosita - Instead of constantly having a “will they/won’t they” situation, Rosita had flat out told Eugene that they were never going to happen, and he admitted he mainly created the friendship in the hopes of being with her one day. Then, when he tried kissing Rosita, he realized he wanted Stephanie instead. Again, direct development in the relationship, even if the relationship itself would never happen. 

- Daryl/Connie - The season 10 premiere, Kelly teased Connie with an eyebrow look after Daryl waved at her, but Connie gave her a “stop right now” glance. And when Carol asked him about it, he repeatedly said there was nothing going on between them. 

- Daryl/Carol - She had Michonne mention to “make sure she says goodbye this time” to Daryl without Daryl even telling her he was about to meet up with Carol. The pure excitement and love between Caryl when they first reunited was adorable, and Carol’s joy on his bike was just amazing. To save some reading time, Daryl had basically put his heart on his sleeve for Carol this season, trying his best to keep her safe and help her through the situation. All the while, AK gave subtle/not so subtle hints of what their relationship was and very likely will become. Calling Caryl soulmates in interviews, admitting this season was really about their story. Having Carol sleep on a bedspread with ships on it, or have Daryl standing next to a ship wheel hanging in the hallway while he waited for Carol to answer the door. Having Carol find a double capped acorn and then Daryl staring longingly at it while he was in his room. I really could go on...

Point is, AK has been direct when it comes to dealing with relationships, so I have a feeling that she’s going to be direct when it comes to the Donnie ship. She already has, but I feel like there’s going to be a moment where it’ll end once and for all. 

AK loves reading our fanfics, so I can definitely see it where, at the end of Season 11, when Carol decides she’d like to go on a trip. She’s in a better headspace than she was before, and just wants to go on an adventure. She was hoping to take Daryl up on his offer for New Mexico, but then Connie returns and she and Daryl have a really nice reunion that everyone witnesses. Carol thinks Daryl wouldn’t leave after that, so she plans as if she’s going alone, but then he finds her packing and asks when are they leaving. She gets confused because she thought he would build a life with Connie, but he might say something like “already told ya, there’s nothing going on there... my place is with you, no matter where that might be”...

Or maybe Connie tries to or even kisses Daryl, and Carol witnesses it, so she scurries away and makes plans to leave. But she doesn’t see Daryl turning away and telling Connie that it’s not like that. And then he goes to Carol right after and tells her that he’s going with her...

Those are just examples, but I can honestly see AK doing this, b/c she hasn’t shied away with being blunt with relationships before, why would she shy away from this now?

At the end of the day, I’m not perturbed by the finale. I wasn’t expecting anything drastic in regards to Caryl. But Carol has reached her bottom, both personally and with her relationship with Daryl, and now there’s no way to go but upward. The finale has already solidified the fact that she still has Daryl on her side, and that will be of immense help to her guilt about the recent events. So the next bit of their journey is Carol climbing out of the hole she was in, and with Daryl at her side. That sounds a lot like one of our fanfics doesn’t it? XD

PS: AK, if you’re reading, I fully expect that the next time in the future, when there’s a hug that actually rivals the no sanctuary hug, I hope it’s Carol and Daryl hugging desperately and trying to swallow each other’s faces... cause you know, I have wants.

Have a good evening loves! (gifs are not mine!!)

[eyeofmud]

my holiday exchange gift to @shadesyste​ <3 happy wintersend! 

My dear Reina, 

I do hope this letter finds you quickly, seeing as you are now a remarkably hard woman to track down. It has been too long without hearing you, seeing you, so I find myself compelled to send this. I say so long, it has hardly been a month since I left Ferelden behind and I while I can still feel the chill of its winter under my skin I find my thoughts wandering to warm nights. Fortunately, there are other things to occupy my time than cleaning my dagger. 

Spring has arrived in Antiva, finally, and the streets bustle with far more activity than your Ferelden cities. I cannot say I miss the quiet there but I can say I have missed some of your noise. The docks are the loudest, with the waves and the shouting sailors vying for attention with street market hawkers. One day I shall bring you here, the port of Antiva City is a sight everyone should see at least once. It shines in the sunlight, but it is the shadows I am interested in, but you know this. The city is alive in more ways than one, though if I am successful it will not be quite so lively for long. But that is for the future and today all I wish to tell you is I have arrived back in my city and already I find myself yearning for the place I just left. 

I have missed many things, in truth. I have missed the warm sun of my Antiva more than I can describe to you but it pales in comparison to how my arms ache to hold you. I have missed the sound of your breathing next to me and the softness of your hair between my fingers. When you wake do you do so with my name on your lips as I do yours? 

Ah, pretty words are they not? I found them in a book of poetry an urchin left in an old weapon stache I should have known would be pilfered. But they are true of a sort, and if I were to add my own words they would fall short. Maybe I will keep the book, and read from it to you when I see you again. 

Until we next meet,

-Z

My dear Reina, 

Yesterday I found myself slipping through a festival held in a city square. I wasn’t on festival business of course, but one cannot find themselves in a dance without joining in no? Even before I could see it I could hear the music and smell the flowers, light bouncy melodies and red carnations littered the streets far ahead of the celebration. In summer the cities often reek of rotting fish and leather but today the only thing in the air is the scent of soft petals. Even the backstreets held an air of anticipation for the festivities. I admit I stopped and lingered for a moment, hidden in an alley near the main square. There is nothing better than listening to dancers just around the corner. Except being a dancer I suppose. Would you ever want to dance in a square surrounded by flowers and music? I doubt in the Circle you had much reason to dance, I could teach you. Just imagine in, my hands on your hips and your body close to mine and my lips by your ear. 

Can you picture it caro? Sweet carnations on your tongue, the music bright and swinging, my fingers brushing your skin as we dance. The summer sun would not be able to keep up with you, mi amor. I took a flower, one of the far too many to be missed carnations, and hopefully, by the time this letter reaches you, it will be sufficiently dried out. But who knows, I have never sent a pressed flower before. There are many things I have never done before meeting you. Perhaps you can say the same, and we can keep teaching each other. 

Yours,

-Z

My dear Reina, 

I hear you have been busy making a name for yourself after I left, saving cities from darkspawn and rebuilding the Wardens from the ground up. Dangerous business for anyone else. Tell me you do not sleep with any windows open, though if you do I am sure you are never defenseless. You are a remarkable woman, amor, and I am proud of what you have accomplished even if I cannot yet tell you myself. But, soon, I think I will. What passes for autumn here is beginning to arrive and it finds only empty darkness with its chilly winds. When I am done here I will return to you before anything else. I can think of nothing else I wish for once this is over, and yet I also find myself wondering of all the places I could show you here in Antiva. A busy, beautiful woman such as yourself deserves a hard-won vacation do you agree? 

I still have the poetry book, if you are curious. Most nights I would read one or two, comparing them and thinking about which ones would make you laugh so the corners of your eyes crinkle up or the ones which would curl your lips like you do when you’re trying not to laugh or the ones you would genuinely enjoy. When I read them to you you must tell me which ones I got right. 

Soon I will see you again, hold you again. Reina, amor, it has been a long time without you but now there is no shadow over us. No darkness between us. You are a busy woman, even from Antiva I can see the tension in your shoulders. When I return  will you allow me to ease them? Have you missed me as I have missed you? It is far too late at night for me to be writing this, my candle burns low even as I try to put my thoughts into words fast enough. 

Soon,

-Z

Smoothing out the last of Zevran’s letters Reina places a hand against the heavy parchment. It only arrived yesterday but he must have written it well over a week ago. Cold air sighs gently across Reina’s ankles as she retrieves her own parchment and pen, raising goosebumps on her skin. Shivering she adjusts the shawl she’d grabbed to go over her nightgown, glancing towards her now open window. When did this happen, she could have sworn she closed it when night fell. Reina stands, she needed a new ink well anyways, and crosses her bedroom quietly. 

Outside the stars shine brightly over Vigil’s Keep and the chilly breeze whistles across the scaffolding holding the tower together. Looking out Reina can’t make out much beyond the shadows of night falling across the stone and wood, must have just been the wind blowing the window open. 

“Amor, I told you to lock your windows at night.” 

In her chest, Reina’s heart stops. The letter had read soon but she never thought- And yet his voice is in her ear and hands she’s dreamt about for a year are wrapping around her waist from behind and there’s no air, no air in her lungs because Zevran has stolen it from her in a breathless kiss. He tastes like forgotten memories and starlight and Reina throws herself into the kiss, wraps her own arms around him and holds him to her like she thought she might never again. But it doesn’t matter now, how often she read his letters or how much she missed him, because Zevran returned to her. Just like he promised. 

A kiss tasting of salt, starlight falling on a pressed carnation. 

[jawsandbones]

for @lynngo-art. NSFW under the cut.

While he reads, he wanders. Pacing back and forth through the room, around his desk. Papers in one hand, the other moving touch at his jaw. A concentrated frown in his brows, the thin line of his mouth. So caught in what he’s doing, he doesn’t realize he has an audience. Zevran sits up slowly in the bed, surrounded by pillows and lush blankets, and it’s not these luxuries which make Amaranthine feel like home. It’s Rémi. Pacing still, lips moving as he quietly reads to himself. Sunlight spills through the windows, highlights hair still mussed from sleep. Stray strands that wisp about him, curl down his back. Wearing one of his robes, only half buttoned. A sleeve slips from his shoulder, and Zevran quietly makes his way out of the bed.

Carefully placed footsteps, avoiding the floorboards he knows will creak. Rémi pauses in his pacing, looking towards the desk, and Zevran pauses as well. He watches as Rémi reaches behind him, gathering his hair in one go, sweeping it over his shoulder. It exposes the nape of his neck, and as that robe hangs down low, it reveals the scars bright against his skin. Lightning made, unkindly given. A pattern that etches its way across his skin, this way and that, and it’s not the scars themselves which are beautiful. It’s how Rémi carries them.

He startles, for a moment, lowering the papers when he feels the hands at his waist. “Do you have any idea,” Zevran says hoarsely, roughly, “what you do to me?” He pulls him tight against him, Rémi’s back against his chest. He puts his mouth against his shoulder, cool from being away from the bed for so long, warmed by his breath. Zevran bares the kindest bite – teeth against skin, the plead of want. His hands move over him, past button and hem, for fingertips to trace against his collarbone.

“Good morning to you as well,” Rémi says with a smile, biting his bottom lip. His head tipping back, eyes closing, as Zevran wears a path of kisses across his shoulder. He’s tracing a circling pattern against the goblet of his throat, his other hand wrapping around him, slipping into the robe. Moving down his belly, barely brushing against the hair that trails underneath his navel. Rémi’s hand grasps against Zevran’s thigh, and he can’t stop the sharp inhale, the lowest gasp, as Zevran’s lips find the nape of his neck. His head tips forward, and he trembles, but Zevran holds him tightly.

That breath again, warm and haunting, against his skin. Lips that do not kiss, simply follow scarred lines. When the kiss does come, it comes suddenly. Lightning all the same, lovingly bestowed. At the junction of his neck and his shoulder, and he can feel the soft brush of Zevran’s eyelashes. Fluttering slightly as the kiss moves, travels upwards. Just above the first bump of his spine, and his hand moves from Rémi’s belly to brush away his hair once again. “Zevran.” The only thing he can manage, given on the exhale, just before the groan.

“Mi amor,” he says, his hand moving over his collarbone still, the other moving through his hair, “mi hermoso amor.” He speaks it against his nape, words traveling over his skin. His hands move downwards, find the first button of the robe. Undoing it, and the next, and the next. He steps back only slightly, so that it may fall between them. He ghosts touch over Rémi’s hips, his waist, his chest, and the goosebumps follow him as he goes. The slightest shiver, and Rémi’s biting his bottom lip again, and the frown between his brows is replaced with one of want.

Zevran puts a hand at his back. The slightest press, and Rémi does as asked. He throws the papers on the desk before he places his palms flat against it. The papers are slightly crumpled from a suddenly tightened grasp. Rémi allows his head to dip forward, all his hair falling from his shoulders, beside him as though a veil. A momentary distraction, before he feels Zevran beginning to move. Hands tight over his ribs, down the curve of him. A palm flat, moving upwards over his spine. Curling touch at the clipped wings of his shoulder blades, a kiss to each birthmark that peppers against his skin.

Rémi shifts from foot to foot, his hands curling into fists. Zevran’s hands never stop moving. Massaging his shoulders, his thighs, watching how Rémi trembles for it. The rise and fall of his chest, the heavier breath. The small mewling when he touches there, the low groan when he presses here. Better still when Zevran wraps arms around him, bracing his back against his chest once again, and he calls his name. Pinching his nipple between his fingers, while the other pays consideration to the soft curling hair around his cock.

His mouth is against his neck once again. He wets his lips each time before he presses a kiss towards the forked ends of each lightning strike. He knows how to tease, how to draw it out, but Rémi wraps a hand around his wrist, pulls his hand toward his cock. Zevran knows what touching his nape does to him. Smiling as he rests his forehead against Rémi’s shoulder, and that grip around his wrist squeezes even tighter when Zevran takes his cock in hand. Aching and hard, wanting him so badly, and it only makes Zevran smile even more. Wrapping around the base of him, a slow pump outwards toward the head. Pulling back, still as slow as before, and out once again. A bead of salt at the tip, Zevran’s fingers moving over the head of him, smearing it down the underside of his cock.

Zevran’s own cock beats with a heavier heartbeat, pressing against Rémi’s ass. It’s not unlike him, to put Rémi’s pleasure before his own. Rémi’s hand slowly falls from Zevran’s wrist as the tempo increases, and even through the haze of it all, he still knows what he wants to do. Cupping his hand, he pulls the magic from deep inside him.

It pools in Rémi’s palm, clear and subtle. Reaching between his legs, finding Zevran’s cock. Pulling it into his hand, it twitches at his touch, and he’s warmed the grease slightly. Zevran’s eyelashes flutter at the feel of it. Lips parted, a moan at the back of his throat as Rémi coats him in it, then shifts his stance. Feet close together, thighs as well, Zevran’s cock caught between them, hard and slick. Zevran’s keeps a hand around Rémi’s cock, the other against his hip. His own hips begin move slowly, in and out, fucking between his thighs.  

The silence is broken by muted gasps and groans, the sound of skin against skin. Sunlight, still, through those windows, a line across Rémi’s shoulders. Zevran sinks his teeth into him once again, gentle and light, makes a mark, claims him as his. Rémi’s keeps his hand close, massages the head of Zevran’s cock with each forward thrust. “Caro, you, hahhh –” Zevran can only barely keep his eyes open, his gaze fixed on the earring. Since being given, Rémi has never once removed it. It glints in the sunlight, reflects perfectly so. Rémi’s ears are flat, but when Zevran twists his wrist in just the right way, they twitch slightly. They perk upwards when Zevran begins to touch his nape once again.

Were he blind, he would know the sight of him. Were he deaf, he would know the sound of him. Every inch of him is engrained upon him, both body and soul. Zevran holds him tightly, but it’s never tight enough. Close, but it’s never close enough. Separated so, by flesh, and it’s these moments he treasures most. When those separations seem to disappear, and they melt, into each other. A well placed kiss, the murmur of his name against his nape, and Rémi comes undone, into Zevran’s hand. Lightning struck, deeply felt. He shivers at the echo of it, the pulsing of release and relief, savors the sound of the guttural groan. His pleasure is always enough to pull Zevran with him, against his thighs, his palms.

Rémi leans against the desk, sits slightly against it, after. Zevran, on one knee, the towel in his hand. Gently brushing away the marks of their morning lovemaking. He smiles up at him before he leans forward, presses a kiss to the bone of his hip, the v of his belly. Rémi reaches down, threads a hand through his hair, and traces the shell of his ear. Curling fingers at his cheek, moving down the line of his nose, the swell of his lips. Zevran’s eyes are glittering gold, and he is treasure, far more precious, than anyone knows. Anyone except for Rémi.

“I love you,” Rémi says, and Zevran’s smile somehow grows. He turns his face against Rémi’s hand, presses the kiss against his palm.

“And I you, mi vida.” Zevran rises to his feet, and nose brushes against nose. “I wish for many more mornings such as these,” he says.

“I’d like that,” Rémi says, captures his smile with a kiss.

[musingmycelium]

Fin

Calm radiates from Ellanis. Where normally life fills his eyes there is now only determination. And regret. But this is battle and Zevran thinks nothing of it, he focuses instead on the sink of his blade in rotten darkspawn flesh. Death is all around them here in this final stand, from the bodies littering the streets to the memory of those they fight for. 

It’s not until they reach the castle when Ellanis sends Alistair away with a nod and sad smile that cold fear reaches in to claw at Zevran’s chest. Last night Ellanis had talked with Morrigan, and when he came back Zevran had just assumed the witch had talked him half to death. His eyes had been exhausted, resigned as they are now. What had they spoken about, and what was Ellanis keeping from him.

The archdemon roars before he does more than grab Ellanis’ arm, his amor glancing at him with a warm sadness before the dragon attacks. It’s a ruthless fight even with four of them. But with time even the greatest of demons fall. 

It’s dying. Wings bloody and torn, scales in pieces littering the castle top. Victory. Zevran looks to Ellanis, elated with their success as Ellanis shakes his head. His eyes, his tears. They’re not victorious. Zevran knows that look, he wore it himself when they first met, when he fought planning to lose. 

Ellanis is going to kill himself. 

No. No no no no no. Last night Ellanis said he wanted to see Antiva with him, had kissed Zevran with somber eyes and Zevran should have understood. He should have known. 

“I love you.” Zevran can’t hear him physically, Ellanis is still too far away even as Zevran runs toward him desperately. But he can hear Ellanis’ voice in his head as he reads his lips, soft and warm and so full of life. “I’m sorry.” 

Ellanis runs towards the archdemon, his staff ablaze with blue crackling light. When they connect the sky breaks -a thick column of light blazes towards the heavens and rends the air. Zevran is blasted backward by the force of the blast, the tears on his face drying from the heat to leave only trails of salt. 

“Ellanis-” He was at the center of that blast, whatever it had been. Hastily Zevran gets to his feet and runs, tripping over his feet before he reaches Ellanis. Heart in his throat, pounding a rhythm under his skin in time with the debilitating terror running through his veins. 

“Ellanis!” There, thrown at an odd angle just a handful of feet from the archdemon. Pale, ashen skin and closed eyes. Zevran’s heart stops beating. He drops to his knees before Ellanis, taking him up in his arms and bowing his head over Ellanis’. “Ellanis.” A broken voice for a broken body, the name of his amor torn from his very soul. A tear Zevran doesn’t remember crying falls onto Ellanis’ cheek. 

Why. Ellanis is cold under his hands, his arms limp as they fall to the ground beneath them. Why. “I love you. I’m sorry.” His words in Zevran’s head fresh as a wound. Why.

“Ti amo caro. Ti amo.” In his chest, Zevran’s heart shatters, and he knows the pieces will be too small to ever recover. “Nonsmetterò di amarti amor.”

[crvdence]

tears are only water

thlaise drabble | 678 words | read in ao3

Every time Theo cried, he curled in a ball, wrapped up in himself, like he wanted to turn into something smaller than he was, until he disappeared. His crying was quiet and silent, simply tears streaking down his cheeks, as he was terrified of uttering any sound, the tears pooling on his chin until they fell on his fisted hands, curled on the fabric of his clothes.

And Blaise hated the fact he cried like he should be ashamed of doing so, but he understood, nevertheless. He knew they were raised differently in more than one way. He was raised by the most emotional, raw and strongest woman, his mother; but Theo was taught that tears equalled weaknesses and the real men didn't cry rubbish, and with punishments that went beyond reason when tears finally spilled down Theo's cheeks.

The funny thing was, Theo was much more of an emotional person than Blaise was, more emphatic, pure was the only adjective Blaise truly found to describe him. He was damaged, as most of them were, but Theo could have taken all that hatred and hurt he had raised up with and turn it into something evil, selfish or heartless.

But instead, Theo did the contrary thing, and Blaise always marvelled at how he grew up to be so understanding, and kind and nice, when he was raised by the monster his father was. A monster that made him self-conscious and dubious of the very things that made Theo what Theo was. The things that Blaise loved the most about him.

He was tired, and angry at seeing Theo struggling about his feelings, not at Theo but at his father. Every time Theo apologised for something he didn't have to, every time Theo stopped himself at talking about something he liked, with that shine in his eyes Blaise could lose himself into; every time he winced and stiffened when he heard a scream, or the sound of shattering glass.

Blaise didn't think a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban was punishment enough, not when Theo woke up eaten alive by flashbacks and nightmares, shivering and chocking in his own breath, scared and teary, and even so, he still tried to hold himself back in the anticipation of something worse happening.

And while staring at the transparent streaks falling down his lover's face, Blaise's mother words echoed in the back of his mind. “Tears are like the showers of the soul, caro, they cleanse you inside out. They take all the dirt, all the sadness, the bad things, and they purify them in water, and salt. Do you understand? If someone is afraid of their own tears, or the tears of others, they are someone to be wary about.”

So Blaise always took Theo in his arms, rocking him as he would rock a child, and melting in the embrace of his lover, he could literally feel Theo relaxing around him. And with his head buried in the crook of his neck, he sobbed and sobbed until he just didn't have more tears left. Blaise would thread his long fingers through his black hair, stroking his scalp, whispering words of encouragement and solace against the shell of his ear.

And it took Theo a lot of time to calm down, to stop shivering, and crying and breathing heavily, to stop clinging to Blaise's body in pure fear. And he would always look up at Blaise when he was done, his eyes swollen, his long eyelashes damp and cluttered by the tears, looking between ashamed and exhausted, and thankful.

Blaise always kissed the last of his tears away, closed, chaste kisses against Theo's eyelids, and cheeks, and chin. The first times Blaise saw Theo cry, he used to apologise profusely when he was done, but these days, all he did was to look up to his lover with an expression of pure bliss, and gratefulness in his face, leaning his eyebrow bone against Blaise's forehead, mumbling a thank you he could feel more against the skin of his nose, than actually hear it.

[mermaidsirennikita]

a consistent through line in Salt Kiss is Tristan completely missing all innuendo or suggestion; like Mark is all “Isolde needs help RELAXING ALONE on my MASSIVE YACHT she is V TENSE” by which he means “go relax that pussy Tristan”

and Tristan is sitting there like grumble grumble everyone is getting married without ME grumble