#creakiest

[getthestarstrades]

Julian Ovenden - This Nearly Was Mine My Favorite Things: The Rodgers & Hammerstein 80th Anniversary Concert

[hopetorun]

i'm sure there's some physics explanation for why upstairs neighbors sound like that but my god why do upstairs neighbors sound like that

[dandyshucks]

four hours of sleep....... i guess im taking it easy today,,, [collapses]

[tanadrin]

So one of the things that can apparently contribute to kidney issues in cats is if they eat too much dry food and don't drink enough water; cats are adapted to get a lot of their water from their food since they're originally desert animals, and might not get enough water if they don't eat wet food. Unfortunately, Dozy won't eat wet food no matter what; she categorically refuses to touch the stuff. So a few months ago, we were looking for ways to get Dozy more fluids, and my wife noticed at the pet store a cat drink--basically meat broth with some floaty bits in--that was low-protein and meant for cats with kidney issues. So we figured, worth a try, right?

Great news: she loved it. Super tasty apparently. Great success. Along with the kidney-sensitive treats we found, it was a nice way to supplement her diet. Unforseen long-term consequence though: she loved it so much she began demanding it throughout the day. Like, would come up to us and meow, and meow, and meow, and not stop, until we got up, went to the kitchen, and got her some cat drink.

And by doing so on demand, we have unfortunately created a monster: no matter what we are doing at home, Dozy knows that if she sits next to you and meows, 1) you know what she wants, and 2) you know that she will not stop until you get it for her now. And when you do get it, she gets extremely excited. She will bum rush the kitchen door as you enter. She will run around your feet as you open the can. She will let out the creakiest, crunchiest, most nails-on-the-chalkboard meow you've ever heard if she thinks you're not going fast enough.

I do not begrudge her this. It is gratifying to care for a creature whose most ardent desires are so simple that it is this easy to fulfill them. But I am a little sad, because I know in my heart that I have never loved any comestible as much as she loves this cat drink. She has a pleasure of a purity and intensity that I will never know.

[the creacher in question]

[hearties-circus]

When the hell did I fall back asleep ?

[ahordeofwasps]

For the bit I'm currently editing for "Please Contact Your Administrator," the Mission Impossible theme played on a kazoo would be very suitable background music

[poopheadnarutofan69]

starting to get into stretching in the mornings again. just to see how many of my creaking bones i can pop.

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 2.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 2.7k

aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

who wants to live forever - sarah brightman • nothing's new - rio romeo

chapter specific warnings: non-descript smut, blood

Sleep was easy to find that night for Lyanna– her body and mind were exhausted from the events of the day. She felt sore everywhere, especially between her legs. It ached like she had ridden a horse hard for days and she would most certainly need to be drawn a bath in the morn.

It was easy for her to fall into a state of unconsciousness, but it wasn’t a true sleep. It felt very much like being ill with a fever, flitting in and out of being awake, dreams and nightmares dancing behind her lids. Sweat skimmed her brow as she tossed and turned.

Squeak, squeak.

 The Red Keep was the noisiest, creakiest building she’d ever slept in– not even comparable to Storm’s End, which stood tall for generations against the most ferocious of storms, waves crashing against the weathered bricks.

Squeak, squeak.

Lyanna’s eyes fluttered open, light illuminating behind the curtain. She turned to the side, seeing that Aegon was gone, feeling better for it. She couldn’t quite shake how he looked at her last night after they coupled– something akin to disgust and pity, as if she was no more than an inconvenience for him. Mayhaps she was. She rubbed her eyes, wiping away the errant hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, sitting up. A gnawing pain gathered at her lower belly, as if she’d lost something precious to her. 

Stepping onto the stone floor, she slipped on her house slippers. A flash of red caught her eye– blood was on the bed. It wasn’t much, a spattering spit inked into the cotton sheets and it was reminiscent of when her moon’s blood would catch her off guard at times. But this wasn’t her moon’s blood. Her pulse hammered in her neck, remembering Aegon’s words from the night before, her eyes leading to the now dry, stiff cloth on her nightstand, which was also stained with blood. It was a reminder of what she lost– a part of her innocence, a chapter of her life closed. She was no longer a girl, fretting with girlish thoughts and girlish problems– she was a woman, a wife– she was the Queen. 

The realization came to her like a ton of bricks falling on her and her legs wobbled under her like a newborn fawn’s– she was the Queen. People would look to her for guidance, for an example– she felt underprepared for it all and her insides continued to swirl like a storm off in the distance, ever looming, ever there.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Lyanna’s eyes narrowed, the incessant squeaking noise that had woken her up was still going– there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, no pattern. Walking to the window, she drew back the curtain and looked outside. It was a perfectly calm, tepid, sunny day– clear skies.

Fetching her house coat, she wrapped it taut around her body, snuggling into it and covering her silken sleeping shift– she didn’t know if Aegon would be out in the solar and didn’t want to chance it. She felt ill at the thought of being… exposed to him in broad daylight. 

Squeak, squeak. Bump. Bump.

The noise was rampant now, irritating Lyanna. She wished to find the source of the disturbance, mayhaps it was something simple, like a window left open or a rat. She had hoped it wasn’t a rat.

The solar was empty upon investigation, the curtains half-open. The noise, now speeding up in its frequency, appeared to be coming from the washroom on the far side of the chamber. The door was ajar by an inch or two. Huffing, she padded over to the door and peeked in.

In hindsight, she very much wished it had been a rat. A big, fat, disgusting rat with protruding teeth and a hundred babies scattered around it. Anything would’ve been better than what she saw.

Aegon, she surmised– his backside to her, a few errant scars and burns littered around his torso. He was naked as the day he was born, his muscles taut as he drilled into a woman– she was littered in jewels and pearls in her matching outfit with Aegon, nude. She had dark brown hair and fair skin, her body undulating and shivering against each thrust Aegon made– Lyanna came to the quick conclusion that she was a whore. Lyanna’s husband was fucking a whore. Fucking a whore in their chambers, with all the vigor and fervor of a dragon, panting up a storm and whispering to her, even smacking her ass and praising her. 

She was going to be sick. She was going to vomit on the floor, cry, scream, confront him, claw the whore’s eyes out– she had to get away. A small gasp escaped her lips unwittingly as she fled back to their bedroom. Her hands were shaking as the image replayed in her mind– she never expected her and Aegon to love one another, she couldn’t ask that of him, of anyone. But he seemed pained to even touch her the night before, to lay with her– he couldn’t even look at her fucking face. Was she so hideous that her own husband couldn’t… she grabbed a pair of embroidery scissors, her body moving faster than her mind. The squeaking noises of Aegon and his whore coupling was going on for well over thirty minutes, when he could barely be inside of Lyanna for three the night before. 

The sound of his voice, the little she had heard, as he whispered to the woman, citing her as beautiful, lovely, sweet– Lyanna clutched her skirt with one hand, the scissors in the other as she began her descent. 

Her hand stabbed into the bed, cutting and slashing around the stained sheet, the edges frayed into a jagged mess. Once the twisted fragment of cloth was free, she discarded the scissors as she slammed through every door she could– out of the bedroom, out of the solar– she didn’t know what to feel, she felt too much. 

The bloody token was clenched in her fist, her knuckles white as she knocked fervently on the door of the Queen mother. 

One of her handmaidens answered, her head bowing, “Your grace–”

“Lyanna?” Alicent’s voice called. She was sitting at a table near the open window balcony of her solar, tea cup in hand. She was still in her nightgown, hair down and flowing behind her. She took one look at her good-daughter’s face and eyed her handmaiden, “Leave us, Talya.”

“This– this is proof,” Lyanna whispered, holding out the stained sheet, “This is proof that I… have done my duty– I tried, I am trying–” she sniffed, tears running down her face as her hands shook violently. 

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her face soft, “Oh, dear girl,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around Lyanna, all encapsulating and warm, “I know, I know. You’ve done so well– did… did he hurt you?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was almost unheard.

Lyanna shook her head as she dropped the sheet, slotting herself against Alicent’s chest, sobbing her heart out. 

“I know it hurts, my sweet girl,” Alicent breathed, “It won’t always hurt. Eventually… you become numb." She moved the two of them to the couch and simply held the poor girl while she shook and sobbed for the better part of an hour. Alicent petted her head softly, not saying anything more until Lyanna’s sobs quieted to simple sniffs. “Mayhaps– we should have you move into your own chambers. It isn’t uncommon for husband and wife to be in separate chambers. King Viserys and I did not… sleep in the same bed for the better part of our marriage. I’m all the grateful for it– you need your own space to curate, to make your own. You are the Queen now, mayhaps we shall set up luncheons with the ladies in your new chambers, hm? We shall break fast together every morn before we go to the Sept, and we should even charter a weekly trip to the Grand Sept– but let me not get carried away with plans so soon. Let us focus on getting you into your own solar, your own bed,” she put her hand under Lyanna’s chin and tilted her head upward, “It gets better, I promise.”

– 

Lyanna returned to their– no, it was Aegon’s alone now– chambers a few hours later, after calming down and breaking her fast with Alicent. It was completely empty now, she checked the washroom, just to make sure.

After properly dressing for the day in a simple blue gown, tying her hair up in a braided bun. A quick peek in the mirror disappointed her slightly– she didn’t look queenly yet, merely a little girl trying to play the part. But it would have to be worked on.

Slowly, she gathered her things– mostly just one or two things to carry, and the rest for the servants to take down to her new chambers. Sometime during her organization, she heard the door close. Expecting it to be a servant, as they’d been in and out for the past hour taking her things, she didn’t turn around. “Please, don’t forget the chest near the door– it has all of my cloaks in it.”

“What’s going on here?” A voice, Aegon’s she quickly surmised, spoke.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the scene from earlier in the morn plagued her mind. His voice to her now sounded to cold, versus the warm, husky drawl to which he praised the whore with. She took a breath and stood up straight, smoothing out her skirts. “I am moving my things to my chambers.”

“Your chambers? Is this not your chambers?” he spoke with a sarcasm that made her blood boil, his brow raised.

“It is yours. Husband and wife have separate chambers all the time.”

“Did my mother tell you that? It sounds like her words,” he scoffed, walking a bit closer to her. He smelled of musk and fire, something deep and animalistic she couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I must say, it’s quite a record. A mere day it took for my mother to poison your mind against me. Tell me, did she use her infamous line about me being a sinner? Talk about my voracious, impure appetites?” 

Lyanna’s brow knit in irritation, hands clenched onto a half-finished embroidery piece. It was of Sunfyre, Aegon’s dragon, whom she’d never seen, but had heard of. She started it when the betrothal was announced and it was to be a gift for him. The wood of the hoop cracked under her fingers. “Was she good to you, dear husband?” 

He was confused now, tilting his head. “Whom? My mother?”

“Did you purchase her those pearls? Or was that a gift from one of her other suitors?”

Aegon’s face blanched slightly as he cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you expected.”

“What I expected?” Lyanna’s voice quivered.

“Yes, what you expected,” Aegon countered as he clenched and unclenched his fist, “My… proclivities aren’t exactly a secret. You knew what you were getting into–” 

“Don’t– don’t! I expected to marry a king– and yes, I’d heard… rumors. I thought mayhaps you… might’ve turned a new leaf after the war.”

“Fucking hell, you sound like my grandsire. Is that what you expected then? Batting your lashes and exchanging a few words between us and I’ll swear off of other women’s cunts for the rest of my life? Mayhaps if you weren’t so…” 

“So what? Say it, so I know where I stand.” 

“You’re plain looking. You aren’t some great beauty that they write songs about, that men go to war for, hm?”

Lyanna stopped then, her throat going dry. Her finger tips felt numb as an aching feeling spread through her body in waves, emanating from her chest. 

“When my grandsire told me I was to marry one of the Baratheon girls, I’d hoped it to be one of your sisters. Cassandra, or mayhaps Floris. Now that is a woman! Blue eyes always were a favorite of mine. Mayhaps when they come to visit again I’ll stick my cock in one of them– I doubt their husbands are satisfying them as well as they could be.”

It felt as if her blood was on fire, her hands twitching. She could feel her pulse in her neck, her head spinning. She could hardly believe the words she was hearing– it felt as if he had stabbed her and each word was another twist of his knife in her gut. 

“Cat got your tongue, wife?” 

She felt her blood pumping through her body whilst feeling like her body was devoid of blood at the same time. A blank stare came over her, her eyes glazing over. Her mouth was taut in a line. Was it possible for the numbness to hurt? It rolled through her in waves like a sickness and she felt bile rise in her throat. It was acrid, stinging her mouth and poisoning her tongue. 

Her movements were a blur, she could hardly see a few feet in front of her, her body was autonomous as she left Aegon standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face, as if putting her down was some great feat, as if he’d conquered her already fragile disposition and proven himself better.

She locked herself in her new chambers for three days after that, only taking Alicent as a visitor. She didn’t cry– she just hid. She had the mirrors removed temporarily, thinking herself so ugly she couldn’t bear to see her own face, just as Aegon couldn’t even look at her face. 

–

“Have you no shame, son? Where did I go wrong in raising you that you could be such a brute, a monstrous cad to your wife?!” Alicent continued on, going on for the second hour of yelling at him.

“My ability to feel shame was ripped away from me at a young age, mother. You and grandsire should know best about that.” he replied dryly, swirling his wine in his goblet.

“She is a sweet girl, Aegon! A bit naive, yes, but so was I when I married your father.”

“Is that what this is about, mother? You see a small version of yourself in that girl? Is that why you so valiantly protect her– would that make me my father then?” He took a sip. “That is a new insult, quite creative you are with that one.”

“You are hopeless, Aegon.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. We are all fucking hopeless.”

Alicent left, slamming the door behind her.

Aegon stared at his half-empty cup of wine, staring into the red, swirling liquid. He was a vicious, monstrous cad. Not like his brother was, at least he was useful in his monstrousness, bringing half the realm to heel on that geriatric dragon of his.

 Aegon was more akin to a dog than a dragon, feeling the yank of his chain once more. Mayhaps he was a bad dog– he bit the hand that tried to feed him, leaving him starving and alone.

He got up from the settee and moved to refill his glass when he saw a flash of gold in the corner of his eye. Bending down, he picked up an embroidery hoop. The edges were cracked, splinters of dark wood jutting out. The thread weaved in it was golden and pink, in the shape of a dragon– half of one, anyhow. He could spot the likeness of his proudest achievement half a mile away. It was a depiction of Sunfyre, half finished. It was quite good.

He put down the bottle, discarding his goblet for the time being. He wondered who did this– mayhaps Helaena or Jaehaera. 

Then it dawned upon him– he had seen Lyanna holding it when she was gathering her things days before.

Just before he said those things. Hurtful, awful things. His fingertips traced the stitches of the embroidery, amazed that she was able to portray Sunfyre so accurately without ever having seen him.

Aegon’s lip wobbled slightly as he felt tears well up in his eyes. He wasn’t a bad dog– he doesn’t know why he bites. He just does.

taglist: @mariahossain @zillahvathek

[ouroborosorder]

Got woken up this morning by the sound of the construction workers outside crushing rusty metal, and for some reason, instead of being angry about this, the only thing that ran through my broken head was “What’s up guys it’s DJ Rusty Pipe, bringing you only the creakiest of beats”

[orange-catsidy]

over the shoulder shot of roderick "glass bones and paper skin" strong sloooooooooowly raising the creakiest hospital bed in the universe to dramatically passive aggressively tell adam cole to go is literally the pinnacle of cinema

[ourfag]

good morning im thinking abt ed spending an entire day going “fuck off im not sick im just tired” even though hes got a headache and a scratchy throat anf then that night he calls to stede from the bathroom in the creakiest croakiest little voice to ask maybe could stede take a look into his throat to see if its red and stede is so sweet and graceful about it with not a single i-told-you-so

[sheafrotherdon]

It’s dark outside, and Nicky stares contentedly out of the window into the comforting nothingness of night. His elbow is propped against the arm of his chair, an empty mug on the table beside him, and his fingers pull absently at his bottom lip. There’s a fulsome quiet to the house, a silence filled gently with the soft creaks of wood and stone settling into slumber. He sits and does not think, preferring instead to simply exist in warmth and solitude, vaguely aware that his toes are growing colder in his socks as the fire dies down. 

Eventually he stirs, and crosses to rake the coals of the fire across the grate. The lamps give a satisfying click as he turns each of them off, though he leaves one lit beside the window, a habit born of long years welcoming travelers back home. He pads into the kitchen and checks the heavy lock on the door; pads down the hallway and does the same at the front of the house. 

Nicky climbs the stairs, avoiding the creakiest steps by muscle memory alone, Two doorways stand wide open at the landing, showing neat bedrooms with duvets piled on fresh-made beds. Moonlight tumbles through the windows and onto the plain wooden floors, and Nicky smiles to see the simple welcome he and Joe have made for Andy and Nile. They’re expected, but not by the day, and if experience is anything to go by, will show up tired, bedraggled, and hungry. There’s already soup stowed in the fridge, and Nicky lifts a hand to sniff the faint scent of garlic that still clings to his fingertips.

He pushes open the last bedroom door and steps inside. Joe is fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach, one arm flung out onto Nicky’s side of the bed. His hair is already disheveled, a riot of curls, and one foot sticks out from under the duvet and twitches slightly as Nicky passes. It’s chilly now, away from the comfort of the fire, and Nicky makes short work of undressing so that he can slip under the covers and burrow into the warm cocoon Joe has made.

Joe grumbles slightly, but turns onto his side and gathers Nicky in. “Hmmmm,” he says softly, a question and an answer all in one.

“Shhhhh,” Nicky whispers, which earns him a disgruntled snort – fair, he thinks, since he disturbed Joe’s sleep.  He smiles and presses a soft kiss to Joe’s forehead, and even now, barely awake and with his eyes fast closed, Joe smiles clumsily in response. “Amore mio,” Nicky breathes, filled with a wash of warm affection. He closes his own eyes.  

Outside an owl hoots low, but neither Joe nor Nicky hears it.

[madwomanwithawarehouse]

i love that Sara and Ray both heard, "this is Star City in 2046" but still assumed that the Green Arrow was Oliver. they both went "yeah, I'd believe a 59 yo Oliver is stubborn enough to still be swinging around in leather with the creakiest of knees"

[grappel-writes]

Entirely indulgent Astarion cuddles.

Orion and Astarion share a night together, absolutely nothing happens, and it's wonderful. Happens some days after tiefling party, but before confession. No major spoilers. Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49728328/chapters/126922852

Getting out of bed without waking a partner is an art Astarion mastered over a century ago. He knows all manners of sleep patterns, how to tell when they're good and well out, and how to slowly slip his legs away first. He could slink out of even the heaviest blankets and creakiest beds unnoticed. So when Orion rouses with his clumsy attempt, he's left with the confronting truth that it was intentional. He could make excuses, half-elves were prone to light sleeping, after all. Cursed with both the exhaustion of a human and the flitting not-quite-dreams of an elf. But he knows that, really, he wanted this to happen.

The half elf in question props up onto an elbow, rubs an eye, and Astarion's expecting his sleep gravelled voice to ask where he's going or wish him good hunting. What he isn't expecting is the gentle, warm hold on his bicep. The tanned, bruised hand a stark contrast to the white fabric under it. "Do you have to go?" Orion mumbles, Astarion stays silent. "I wanted to wake up with you in the morning..."

The vampire freezes, heart stabbed through and aching. A recent affliction that's come with the new life and tenderness granted to it. Damnable thing. He places a hand over Orion's, meaning to gently push it off, explain that this was a sweet sentiment, but he can't do that. As soon as they touch, he loses all conviction. Why not? It's what he wants, to stay like this. Even if it's terrifying. To leave himself vulnerable in the night so he could indulge in this part of his freedom, too. His survival instinct tells him to run, but he can't bring himself to do it. Orion has given him an opportunity to surrender, safely, so he can be known. After the night earlier, with each second it seems easier to stay.

When they came back to camp for the day, Orion had swapped out the single cot in his tent for a larger, sharable bedroll. A message not unnoticed when he hauled the thin futon out of the wagon they found it in and all but proudly paraded it across camp. But instead of asking Astarion for a repeat performance of their prior nights together, he merely asked if they could sleep together. And just sleep. Asked it like it was more scandalous than what they had already done, like a guilty pleasure he should be ashamed of. Not making eye contact, fidgeting with the clasp of his greaves as if he didn't know them like the back of his hand. It was… sweet. The expectation of denial was written all over Orion's face, and even though he knew it was a bad idea, opened too many complicated doors, Astarion acquiesced. How could he deny a man making a bed for him?

There was a suspicion that it was a ruse to get him undressed and alone, and then his partner would surely try to move the night to something more. But that didn't happen either. Instead Orion turned down the blanket for them both, was careful not to crowd Astarion when he leaned over to tie the tent shut for the evening, lantern was snuffed, and he even asked if there was anything Astarion needed before bedding down for the night. While Orion almost always slept without a shirt, tonight he did, and Astarion now saw that was to communicate his remarkably boring, but appreciated, intentions.

It was strange getting comfortable at first, and Astarion realized with a dark laugh at himself that it was because this was the first time he could recall he had ever gotten into bed with someone without one or the other pulling at clothes on the way in. He wouldn't admit that to Orion, of course, would lead to far too many compromising confessions. Thoughts of other nights, other beds tucked away, they maneuvered quietly. Orion was clearly too exhausted by the day to even make any pointed glances, flirty remarks, or accidental touches. Or maybe this was all he wanted, companionship. He took off his jewelry, stretched, and took his side of the bed with an uncharacteristically quiet routine. Astarion followed suit, not sure what to make of the comfortable silence between the two of them.

Orion sighed gratefully once he finally got the blanket pulled over them both, turned to the other, arm under his pillow. "Wish this could've been my bed at home… I miss it. Almost as big as this tent, and a hell of a lot softer." Astarion shifted a few times until he decided that mirroring Orion would be the most comfortable for now, and he could see if his bed partner moved in any way to touch or come closer.

"I wish it was, too. I envy you. My own was a touch smaller than this, and about as comfortable." His eyes scanned over Orion's open, tired expression. No teasing, no banter, just their near whispered voices. "Wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to share the room with at least four other spawns at a time. But, if we do this right, I'll never have to do that again." "Never again. Don't get used to this, got nothing but huge feather beds in your future." He said it as if it was so simple, so plain. Even stifled a yawn as he did. "Is it alright sharing with just one other person for now?" "I won't lie, having that giant bed of yours to myself some day would be nice, but lacking that. Yes. This is more than fine." Warmed by Orion's thoughtfulness or just with lowered defenses in this intimate setting, he pushed brown curls off of Orion's face, earned himself a one dimpled, sleepy smile in return. "Kicked out of my own bed? Fine, if that's what you want…" "Maybe. I might allow you back sometimes, if you're good." Orion's eyes are already drifting closed, "whatever you need."

Astarion watches him fight his exhaustion, promising him sweet nothings the entire time. Warmth glowed in his chest, unrelated to his earlier meal, and those compromising confessions became harder to ignore. "Go to sleep, Orion. Your bed will be one day closer." "Mhmm. You too. Good night, Astarion." Such a simple sentiment shook the vampire to his core, only left more perplexed when Orion proceeded to turn over and leave his back to him. Exposed, trusting. He laid there for a moment, watched the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, before pressing a kiss that carried more gratitude than Orion would ever know between the man's shoulder blades. "Good night, my sweet."

Then, he again mirrored the fighter, turning to face away from him. He stared blankly forward, unseeing. Nothing to look at but canvas. He was safe here. Surrounded by Orion's things, his scent, back to back with him, there was no duty or task to fulfill. It was daunting, a great wide void of choice loomed out in front of him. Now that he could decide, what did he want?

Even if the answer seemed obvious, he took his time to consider it, and decided he wanted more of whatever this was. So he pushed himself back, and when he just barely bumped Orion's shoulder with his own, the fighter moved back to meet him, too. Orion shuddered, even through the layers of clothes, Astarion's cold. But Orion reached behind him, a firm touch on Astarion’s side kept him there. "We'll warm up…" He mumbled, and pulled the blanket higher over them both.

And eventually, they did. Pressed against each other, the vampire laid awake and felt it happen. Warmed by the other, by his blood beating through both of them, and the terrifying, complicated, tangle of affection and guilt that burned in his chest. But for now, for tonight, he let himself enjoy it. He indulged deeply in the chaste intimacy and let himself drift away to trance.

Now, awake after a blissful few hours of rest, the sun not yet up, he's left with only the guilt. And a beautiful, trusting man that just wants him to stay. Orion has no idea that this was all just a maneuver. He knows every stratagem and tactic for the battlefield, and nothing about people who could do all of that in bedrooms.

"You want to-...?" He scoffs, squeezes the hand on his arm. Remembers that first night together, how he woke up with Orion on his chest and the sun on his face. How it ruined him. He could do it again. And every morning he wanted to. Guilt be damned, it was time to face the harder emotions, he wouldn't let them keep him away from this light.

"Okay." He shifts back down into the bed, the half elf hums contentedly and turns towards him. A tanned arm falls over his side, and Astarion tenses. "Is this okay?" "...yes." No one had ever asked if it was okay before, no one asked if he was happy with what was happening to him. Things happened to him one way or another so why bother. But he was asked, because Orion wanted to know the answer, for just an arm over his side. And Astarion hurts.

The space between them now feels far too large and too cold. Again, Astarion presses back against his partner. Back flush against the chest of his protector and protected. The man who cares if he's okay laying in bed, being touched. Orion's arm tightens around him, legs curl together, and the vampire closes his eyes and lets himself be lost in this. He doesn't deserve it, and he's going to drink in every second before Orion figures that out.

Hours go by, and the red behind his eyes and the returning color of the things in the tent when he opens them let Astarion know that the sun is coming up. He curses it, curses the passage of time, holds gently to the arm over him and wills the sun to slow down or go away. That clouds will roll in, a thunderstorm will trap them, that Orion is never awoken by the daybreak. If he had ever wondered if Lathander was the one to hear his pleas, sending him a parasite to walk under his sun and a son to walk with him, he knew that by making this night end, that that surely couldn't be the case.

Just like he feared, his darling stirs behind him. Orion takes a deep, filling breath, and squeezes the vampire impossibly closer. A sleepy kiss is pressed on the cool skin of his neck, and Astarion releases any dread he had about the night being over. "Mornin'" He mumbles against the pale neck, and the sleepy smile can be heard in his words. "Good morning," Astarion breathes, letting his own happiness live here, too. "I don't want to get up." "Then don't." Holding Orion's arm tighter to his chest, he kisses the knuckles still split and bruised from the last fight. "I said I would stay, you have me until you're ready to go." The sincerity of it crushes him, what is he saying? "Don't say that. I'll send everyone else out to kill a cult and save a city without us." "Well they'd be doomed without you… That would make me the new villain of our little adventure." "Mm," he nuzzles into Astarion's back, seriously considering going back to sleep. "As long as it's you they're blaming and not me…"

Astarion huffs a quiet laugh, then lets their back and forth taper to silence. He's lost in the feeling of laying here for so long he really does wonder if Orion's gone back to sleep after all. He chances it: "Would you really like that? To just stay in bed all day?" "Hm?" Orion adjusts their pillows, stalling his answer. "Not by myself, I don't usually like to just waste a day, but with you…” he sighs, embarrassed, but if these feelings were nothing they wouldn’t be holding each other in bed right now. “I’d love to. Do nothing but lounge with the windows open, let the sea breeze come in. I’ll read over your shoulder, you can get frustrated when I can’t keep up with you.”

The vampire’s smile softens, he can picture it all too clearly. Slanted afternoon sun cascading over linens and thin house clothes, the breeze swaying the curtains around the window and on what he can only assume is Orion’s four poster bed. There’s a cat purring by their feet, and so many pillows. His lover glows in the sun as always, looking at him with nothing but trust and adoration. Astarion’s heart twists with how sudden and intense the want is. A life like this was never for him, he’d never even dare dream of it, but now that he has, it feels like it could be so close.

“Honestly, I could do it today. Not ideal in a tent, but I could make it work.” He clears his throat, and Astarion knows he's flushed without even having to see it, but he wants to anyway. He turns in his arms, happy to see reddened cheeks and tips of ears. That golden look off to the left, his tell for when he doesn't want to admit something. “The tentacle time bombs in our heads put a damper on things, too.”

Just laying in each other's embrace, quiet, enjoying each other. Could anyone be content with just that? Could he believe that Orion would? "Would you?" the fighter interrupts his distant look and far off thoughts. The distracted elf blinks, brought back, realizing he hadn't answered but instead just watched Orion's face in awe. "Lounging all day in a giant bed, you under an arm? All that would be missing is decent wine, and I could see myself being quite content, actually." Orion props his head onto an elbow, still with a shy smile. "Good." He looks to the left again, chewing his lip like he has more to say, but he releases it for now.

“People are going to start looking for us.” “I know, I should leave before they let themselves in to make sure you weren’t drained in the night.” Orion laughs, and looks like he’s going to kiss Astarion again, just on the shoulder where he’s closest, but he lingers and pulls away instead. It’s a loss when the arm around Astarion is now pushing the blanket off of them both. He hadn’t even realized how cold the morning was until now, without him.

The vampire follows suit, not going to be the one left looking like a jilted, wanting lover still in bed. He straightens his clothes out, the ones that miraculously, weirdly, stayed on all night while Orion stretches and rolls his shoulder. As Astarion unties the tent, debating how he'll react to curious looks that might be up early, he drops his voice. "I enjoyed this." Orion looks up, unfastening his shirt just to change it with the brightest, most excited grin. "I did too. Let's do it again sometime." "...yes, let's."

[showmethesneer]

Was mentioning once again that I'm thinking about learning to play violin, and my subby puppy boy informs me that it's actually one of the most annoying instruments to hear someone learning.

So I've actually met my next-door neighbour and now I'm thinking I need to soundproof my apartment. Not because I'm constantly talking to myself and my cat. Not because I'm having the loudest sex in the creakiest bed imaginable. Not because I'm subjecting this girl to the same 12 SZA and Chappell Roan songs and my tearful rendition of the Steven Universe theme song every 12 minutes..

But because practicing violin as a beginner might be too annoying.

[marydododoe]

god gives his creakiest beds to his pudgiest soldiers