#hes half my soul as the poets say;

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

II Drabble for @vxctorx

Boyish, blue orbs waltzed a delicate balance of hasty yet purposeful glances upon the roughened facade of his sketchpad's parchment, now etched with meticulously drawn ribbons and curves of ebony and ashen shades, and the golden image of his love's reclined figure. The honeyed tones of tender sunbeams and the sea's untamed locks rapping upon the distant shore perfectly accompanied such a waltz. "Just continue lyin' just like tha'... Aye, tha's righ'. Just keep tha' hand of yer's framed close to yer' face. I promise I'm almost done, just a few more touches, is all." Oh, how Vic was born to be an artist's muse (not that Richard counted himself as much of the former). The auric bends of his muscles, tied together with his princely crown of tawny curls that Richard had raked with wandering fingers a hundred times over; and not to mention the captivating splash of teal concealed in such a handsome gaze. The sort of gaze that Richard would recognize out of a crowd of thousands. The sort of gaze he would recognize in the depths of darkness. Such godly traits would be enough to make Apollo blush. "Have I e'er told ye' tha' I always wanted to go to art school. Ended up becomin' a fanciful dream, I suppose," he tut, as poised fingers weaved the sketcher's charcoal upon the final flourishes.

He could feel the round of his heart cuff against the walls of his chest. A misplaced pulse trapped against his throat now, which he silently tried to swallow back. "Y'know, I realized I've collected way too many fanciful dreams, and endorsed certain realities mainly 'cause I was expected to do so or... maybe even 'cause I was too much of a coward to figh' for wha' migh' actually make me happy." He paused. ".... It's time to put an end to tha'...." Since the weeks leading up to their seaside holiday, Richard had been wrestling with this notion, which eventually bloomed into something of a confession in his busied mind. One ripe enough that the plump of its cheek would break off from its stem on its own accord and tumble against entwined roots. Richard lowered the barrier of his sketching pad, his blue eyes-- now brimming with the excitement of hope, the fear of refusal, and, mostly, the amount of overpowering love and affection he held for this man before him. His love. His future. His everything. Placing his materials down, he drew forward before taking a seat beside his beloved; his warm hand, now lightly freckled with echoes of their previous, sunsoaked days, clasping Vic's. "Before I say wha' I've been wantin' to ask ye', I need to tell ye' tha' I got a job in London... Or, at least I applied for one, but rumour is tha' the position's as good as mine. Aye, it's not anythin' fancy like bein' a lawyer or bein' a gen'leman but it's a start; and, more importantly, it's certainly enough to buy a wee flat, and food, and clothes, and a new life. Our new life!" Our new life. Ours. Oh, how that word tasted all the more sweet now that he was saying it aloud.

His eyes crinkled into a fervid smile, as his adoring gaze remained transfixed in earnest upon Vic, as if he were the North Star amidst a night as black as tar. "Come away with me, Vic. Aye, I know, it's sudden and I don't have a ring I can offer ye' righ' now, but I'll work hard. Hell, I'll even put in two shifts. Three, if it means makin' sure ye' ne'er want for more." Fingers folded a little tighter round Vic's hand now. Youthful optimism radiated with every word the Scotsman spoke, placing what sliver of doubt he once held upon the backcloth of his mind's eye. "Just imagine, a new life away from Sco'land. A life in London! Ye' can be whoever ye' want to be and work in wha'ever job makes ye' happy, and, in time, we may just have enough to purchase Our own plot of wood. For our cottage," he cooed, Their evergreen dream never having strayed away from such ingenue beliefs. "Look, ye' don't have to answer me righ' away if ye' donnae' want to. I know wha' I'm askin' is no small feat. I just-... No ma'er how many times I played it out in my mind my life in London, my happiness, wouldn't be complete without ye'.-- To put it bluntly, I'm ready to finally be brave if ye' are too." Gentle lips kissed the gilded hills of the gentleman's knuckles. "Come with me..." Richard whispered against the other's skin, the taste of sun and brine still stained upon His skin. ".... Come with me...."

[harritudur]

― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

[rexsterss]

Were none of you gonna warn me on the fact that Fox and Thorn’s paint jobs are just opposites of each other. When one’s drenched with red, the other leaves it white. When blank plastoid is exposed, the other will cover it with red. They're half of each other's souls, Scoob.

[voidcatofbedlam]

Achilles and Patroclus reuniting in the underworld

Gouache on canvas

Finished reading the Song of Achilles in a day and oh gods it hurt me so much I need to paint the ending scene

[ghostisun]

dewther and their favourite places to kiss each other is that sliver of skin underneath the ear. it's ticklish and feather-light, a brush of unyielding affection, and the place where their scent is most potent.

dew's always rewarded with a giggly aether when he kisses him there so of course he begins to tease more; hot breaths and fever-warm lips. his element—which has always been dangerous and volatile—is twisted into something playful for his love. into something kind. into something that draws aether into his arms.

aether purrs when dew does this, burly arms curling around the slope of dew's waist and tugging him close—his sputtering furnace mixing with aether's rippling tenderness.

he loves him. satanas, oh how he loves aeth.

(can't help myself but thinking about how when aether left, dew started wearing his hair down more and dressing up more; turtle necks and collared button-ups even when it's warm out—his last semblance of hiding himself, especially his most sensitive spot. aether's favourite place to kiss.)

[rambling-melpomene]

“I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.”

“He smiled, and his face was like the sun.”

“When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.”

“I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.”

“He said what he meant; he was puzzled if you did not.”

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

[risetherivermoon]

work on all of my ao3 wips << start a new oneshot abt terry jr x lark

[dxrknlight]

"He is half of my soul, as the poets say"

just finished the book had to make some lockscreens i miss them

if you'd like more tell me which is ur fav quote of the song of achilles and ill make one

[inspotlight]

NINI + the princess's private snap story. ↳ featuring ricky bowen & mimi st. james (@melodyplucked, @mimistjames), do not reblog if you're not tagged.

[pellelavellan]

where i've been all day...finishing modern au vibes hippie goth pelle gives me life look at him he's adorable.

I am sure somewhere in those comments someone has pointed out they failed to make a heart lmao

text:

69 likes

twinkerpelle: and they were roommates... <3

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talwinning: ...omg no one else like this lmfao

[lives-in-a-fictional-world]

The placement of these 2 frames together just gives me so many feels😭😭

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

for the ship meme: Richard and Vic

SEND ME A SHIP and I’ll tell you: ACCEPT

II @vxctorx

Who said “I love you” first: Richard, specifically during his sudden confession when his emotions for Vic all comes flooding out because he couldn't hold it back anymore.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background: I feel like they would have a picture of the two of them on their phones OR they would maybe carry a physical, small photograph of the two of them being happy together in their wallets 🥺

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror: Both of them. Sometimes they write something sweet, other times it's a reminder, and other times it's a pun (courtesy of Richard ofc <;3)

Who buys the other cheesy gifts: Richard. Especially when the cheesy gift has a dumb amazing pun on them 😌

Who initiated the first kiss: Vic. While Richard confessed his feelings first in a flurry of emotions, something tells me that Vic was the first one who initiated the kiss. Just pulled Richard by the front of his shirt and went for it.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning: Riiiichard <3 There've been countless times wherein he sees Vic is slowly waking up and immediately lays on top of him before showering a flurry of kisses all across his face in an attempt to wake him up quicker.

Who starts tickle fights: Vic, just to hear Richard's adorable laugh. Although, Richard has learned to fight back and will sneakily try to go for Vic's sides.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower: Vic, although, something tells me Vic won't even bother asking and would just step in and join Richard 😌

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch: Richard. Although, I feel like (mainly during their uni days) maybe Vic would surprise Richard with a picnic lunch, perhaps?

Who was nervous and shy on the first date: Ohhh Richard, definitely! I feel like, even though he and Vic were friends first, whenever the two had their first, official date together, Richard was probably a little jittery and flustered at the beginning.

Who kills/takes out the spiders: Vic would most likely leave the spiders be, before bullying Richard, who's jumped up on some chair or high surface in an attempt to get as far away as possible from the spider, by schooling him his incredibly smug smirk.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk: Richard. I swear, he's such a mushy and gregarious drunk. He would certainly be the type to just wrap Vic into a tight hug and proclaim just how much he loves him. (Although, something tells me Vic has his own ways of showing Richard how much he loves him when he's drunk through actions 👀).

[typewriter-worries]

Monsters, Dorothea Lasky [transcript in ALT]

[pearlsinmyhair]

v + m

a moment. a retcon. a release.

when mansk was little, he always told his ma about how the girl he was going to marry was going to be a dancer. she had laughed- not in a mocking way or like she wanted to make him feel smaller. it was the kind of laugh a parent lets out when they understand that their child is pure. it has a bittersweet edge to it, tinged with the knowledge that this pureness is not everlasting. because abigail mansk knew that her son may find a dancer, but she would not be the one he called his.

and she was right, at least at first. mansk found a dancer. she danced right into his heart and mind and danced right out just as quick. she found another boy who could keep up with her rhythm, and mansk was left in the dust.

it was a hard lesson to learn, but he learned it well.

and then he saw her.

it was something about the way she moved, like every plant and animal turned to look. like her arms conducted a symphony that he couldn’t hear, but that he could feel buzzing just under the surface of his skin.

every step. every twitching finger. every lifted arm.

she was something that neither him nor his mother had accounted for. she was art, moving at a frequency that he could never quite catch on to. but then she would stop, turn to look over her shoulder, and catch his eye.

and he got it, like a needle on a record player catching the grooves on vinyl, and he knew that his ma was wrong.

because once he caught on to her melody, he couldn’t stop.

when venus had her first heartbreak, her mother told her that there would always be someone that she could never have. it didn’t matter when, and it didn’t matter what. she would love someone so hard it killed her, and there would be nothing she could do to make them stay.

her mother claimed that she had gotten lucky with father. by all accounts, jake could have turned a blind eye to everything neytiri taught him. he could have watched hometree destroyed and never tamed toruk and gone back to the omatikaya. but he had, and while he would say that he did it for eywa, venus knew that it was mostly for his love of her mother.

but they were an odd case, neytiri assured her. it was a natural thing to occur, to have someone that you could never completely hold.

venus had thought that hers was ku’altu. but no, she could have had him if she wanted him enough. jake would have let her go if she begged. she could have stood the shame of abandoning her clan if it was for the sake of her mate.

but no, she had chosen her duty over him. it was a choice, not a forced outcome.

and meeting him only confirmed it.

because the moment she met him, the moment she looked into his eyes, she knew that she was branded. if fate existed, this was it.

and this claim was not for the sake of romantic tragedy or a poetic heart.

no. when venus saw him, her heart felt at peace. when he looked at her, her soul felt bare. he made her feel…

…she didn’t have words. but it felt right. when he touched her, she buzzed and silenced at the same time. she felt like the war was gone and it was only them.

and then she focused on the logo on his shirt, and she remembered her mothers lesson.

she pleaded to eywa selfishly, begging the great mother to give him to her. do not take him away, she asked, make him stay with me.

but just as her duty pulled her away from ku’altu, his pulled him away from her.

but sometimes, when all was quiet and they sat side by side, listening to each others heartbeats, she could pretend like he was hers.

she could pretend like she wouldn’t have to let him go.

mansk didn’t know how to hug people. or how to hold hands. or how to grab something without automatically imagining breaking it. it was a side effect of both his marine training and his new body.

he was powerful in a way that was excessive. carbon reinforced and infused with training on how to jump into action in a millisecond made him a timebomb of destruction. surprise him, and he might just break your arm.

she figured this out quick, and she quickly found a way to let him know she was there without ever saying a word.

one beat. two beats. step. one-two. step. one-two. step.

she was like a deer, always stepping out quietly and elegantly in a way that made you wonder how long she had been there.

and even worse, her long limbs looked so damn breakable next to his. his hands were larger than hers, big enough to hold her forearms in his palms and let his fingers overlap. he was bulky, the human dna making him broader.

she was lithe as a willow. he was as thick as an oak.

and yet she touched him like he would break. like he was the one who could be hurt when their physical beings brushed. so he was even softer- ever hesitant in initiating contact. it was almost always a tap of his tail or the brush of his thumb. gripping her or grabbing her felt like entrapment.

but she found a remedy for this, too. she guided his hands to her, lifted his palms to press her own against.

this is how, she said without every verbalizing, this is how you hold me without hurting me.

he didn’t know everything yet, but he’d learn if it meant feeling her heartbeat next to his.

when venus sees him in her dreams, she knows it is traitorous. she smells the blood before it is spilt, senses her mothers rage before it lights, knows her fathers disappointment before he processes it.

to imagine this man in this way is to be against her people. to think of him in this way is to betray her clan. to crave him like she does is to stab the most sacred part of herself and bleed until she has no more to give.

but oh, how she wants him. his mouth, his hands, his back, his shoulders. she burns with an ache so very consuming that she wonders how she is not ash. when venus looks at him, it’s like her body goes hazy. it forgets where hers ends and his begins, and every bit of her wants to not see the need to know such boundaries.

venus wants to get lost in him, and she wants him to get lost in her.

she wants to know what his mouth tastes like when he says he wants her. she wants to know what his skin feels like in the places that others do not get to touch. she wants to kiss every scar and trace every stripe until his body is a map blazed into her mind.

and venus wants him to do the same to her.

she doesn’t think he knows the power of his palms. he held her hands one night and all she can think of is them holding her waist as he kisses her neck and chest and stomach and-

traitor traitor traitor traITOR TRAITOR TRAITOR-

venus wants to know the depths of his mind in the way only mates can. she wants to be mates with him. eywa, her skin itches with her own blasphemy. but her limbs burn with need. and sometimes her body is more desire than hellfire, and she has to stop herself from wanting to find him when the others are asleep. has to stop herself from taking him to some secluded space to whisper her deepest thoughts.

if not just to see if his own eyes light with the same desperation, or that his body tenses with the same apprehension.

betrayal of her blood. a fool. a beggar at a house that will disappoint her.

but if he doesn’t think the same, then why does he look at her like he’s on fire, too?

mansk does not deserve her. he knows this in his bones. it’s carved into the inside of his ribs, burning and bright.

and yet his heart rebels every time she is near, pounding like a damn freight train, charging like the beats of hooves in a stampede. she’s not his to claim, and yet in the most secluded spots of his mind she is his.

her name echos in the caverns of his skull so often that he can hear it as if said. his banshee often teases him, in their odd bonded way, about the lingering thoughts about her mate’s rider. his desire is no secret to the one that shares his mind, and he has long since ceased trying to make it so.

she saw through it instantly, though he is convinced that she tried to ignore it. mansk understands the reason her eyes glance away and her hands flinch from his.

this is not some love story, sugary sweet and without consequences. there is no true happy ending to whatever this feeling is, however requited it may be.

the other day they paused at a stream and broke from the others, him sent by quaritch as an escort for the ever wandering forest girl.

she had reached above her to brush her fingertips along a leaf, and fan-lizards twisted about her head as she twirled, the trill of her laugh soft and unworried. she held her hand to one, bringing it to him to point out its delicate patterns.

when he traced his own finger along its fans it flew, and he turned to find her face only a breath from his.

this close, he could see the rings of gold in her irises, study the small divots in her skin, see every hair of her eyebrows. his eyes dipped to her mouth, and she inhaled softly.

just as his nose brushed hers, she stepped away and walked straight back to the group, her tail twisting in uncontrolled swirls. she disappeared from his sight, and he only saw her much later when she returned with zdog, who complained loudly that venus wouldn’t emerge from a chilly spring.

they slept on opposite sides of the group that night, and all he could hear as he faded into sleep was the hitch of her breath and the flutter of the fan-lizard.

no, mansk didn’t deserve her. but damn if he wouldn’t fight for her the moment she gave him permission.

war thrums under venus’s skin like a promise. she was born in war, born to it, born out of it. her life has been fight for so long that sometimes she doesn’t know anything else. defense is natural, and her hand finds the hilt of her blade swifter than a nantang closes its jaws around prey.

her mother had praised her for it, but neytiri was also a woman cultivated by war. she understood the necessity of swiftness, of no hesitation. her brothers played at battle and glory, but venus knew only protect at all cost.

so how is it that he so quietly slipped past the cage of her ribs and into her most vulnerable place?

it is a miracle after all she’s been through. after what happened only a year ago, venus was honestly surprised that her heart had the capacity to let another in, let alone another who carried the promise of war at his heels.

and yet he was here, in her mind and in her soul, making himself known to the expanse of her.

the fiery yearning that had stolen into her gut had simmered since the stormy night of her brothers death, but it is still there. now, there is only solemn understanding in her heart of the impermanence of them. because just around the corner, in a matter of hours, she will once again be amongst na’vi. true na’vi, with understanding eyes and criticizing gazes. they will smell her deceit before they see it, and they will most assuredly see it.

so for these final nights, she allows herself clarity.

it’s a terrible thing, to give up something that was never yours to begin with.

he’s confused by the way she looks at him, disturbed at how she pulls back from him. she’s been marked by him, but she has endured the pain of loneliness before.

she sits before him, her thighs brushing his as her forehead rests against his shoulder. they are not visible to the group, their little meeting a secret to scrutinizing eyes.

he hesitates for only a second before his arm is gentle pulling her to him by the waist, and she knows that he understands.

tamar’s quills tickle her back, and with a final breath in and out, she breaks the embrace and pulls away.

———————————————————————————————

my breath of venus readers, i know you have been starving!!! i’m so so sorry 😭 this is just a cute little “get it out of my system” write that i wanted to do for mansk and venus based on some quotes that remind me of them. i hope you enjoyed <3

taglist:

@xstarsdiary @xstarsmvxz @lisedanie @avatar4eva @henhouse-horrors @xylianasblog @knmendiola @isnt-itstrange

[soul-of-rei]

ah.

[ofaetherium]

@starsasunder sent in: ‘kill me. it will not bring her back.’

He rips himself away from her, a snarl on his lips as anger ignites within him. Inanna falls to the ground as he moves, the hand that had been supporting her now grabbing at the ancient's own hair in frustration.

Blind rage courses through him, a rare moment where his carefully held control slips away, the mask that had protected him for millennia cracking, fracturing under her words. He didn't understand it, how this small creature was able to so easily slip beneath his armor, her words like arrows that pierce his flesh. It was so easy to give in to her taunts, to allow himself to fall into the trap she had lay before him. It seemed that she always knew just what to say, exactly what words would easily crawl beneath his guard and draw out the emotions he held so carefully.

He tilts his head up and screams, his rage and frustration finally spilling out from him. Cracks of purple thunder strike the ground around him, and he throws the knife in his hand to the ground before stalking away. He can find no words, unable to properly express the tide of emotion that rolled within him. He turns and stalks away, sparks of residual lighting crackling behind him with every step.