#(way later)

[cxbin-pxrsephone]

*Hylla appears*

[clinging-to-the-bars]

[streetknown-moved]

veras fav hobby is calling men pretty boy, boytoy, and baby boy

[immortalety]

U kno...consider me on an indef hiatus :'( </3

Find me at unpeachy on tumblr or hmu for discord! Ive yet to really do much on twitter,,,I love u all sm

[every-single-one-of-the-things]

Say, what if there was an official palette entitled "hobbits cuddling" (capitalized title? whatever works for you. no further context. just whatever you feel the colors of hobbits cuddling or Hobbits Cuddling are, if you want to at all.)

I'm honored that you are of the opinion that my word is law when it comes to color palettes, I can absolutely do that

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Excerpt: 

Tybalt was the gingery tabby cat that lived around Sophie’s apartment. One day, about two years ago during rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet, he spontaneously appeared with big sad eyes that compelled Sophie to feed him bits of hot dog she couldn’t manage to eat. The cat is a predator, don’t feed him, he’ll be fine, Anthony said, but Sophie felt too bad, and soon enough, inspired by the character she was playing at the time, decided to name him. She was mildly allergic to cats, but it didn’t stop her from having her morning coffee with him outside on her small balcony, as she did almost every day since she met him. Always when the door opened every morning, Tybalt would climb the tree onto the railing, and Sophie would rub his head and ask him the important things in life.

“Where is Connor I wonder?” she asked Tybalt that morning of the first work day of the first work week she would spend without him. Where is my tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed darling. Is he thinking of me as I am thinking of him?

He was a constant thread in her thoughts since they parted. Connor, his idiosyncrasies, and his little moments with her. His hands steadying her, and also his hands through her hair. Too she thought of his how his gaze lingered on her as “Don’t Worry Baby” by the Beach Boys played. She thought of how she shimmied her hips and wondered if he was paying any note to them. Gazes could be so invasive from the wrong person, but Connor could never be invasive. If he wanted to live a lifetime keeping a lingering gaze on her, she would have given him another. She felt so intensely alive near him, stagnant when she wasn’t. The feelings left her thrilled. They left her wondering and burning. He cared intensely, and he saw no qualms with letting her know. It was beautiful to be cared about, and cared about so unabashedly.

[malvoliowithin]

I wrote a thing because I am disappointed in my lack of prose lately.

Plot: Richard and Anne (the latter version) are newlyweds and it goes about as well as you’d expect. 

Which is to say not well at all. 

Richard’s wife would not let him touch her.

He supposed he should have expected as much; she didn’t like him, and he felt about the same way towards her. Their match had been purely for benefit, and of course, neither one could ignore the fact that Richard had killed Anne’s previous husband and loved every minute of it

Which is why it was strange that she on rare occasions would approach him and place a hand on his arm or his shoulder - a brief gesture, almost one of closeness if he didn’t know better. When people were around, she even kissed him. Never lingering, and she always turned away quickly without looking him in the face. But even so.

He had expected to have to fight her at every turn, or to be blessed with a cold and furious presence that hated him to the bone and would stop at nothing to let him know it. Truly, her insults towards him as he tried to convince her to wed him had seemed to indicate it. 

But within a fortnight of their marriage she no longer walked the halls like a soldier made of stone. She did not love him. But she seemed resigned, if saddened by her fate. On the occasions when he caught her staring into space with eyes full of sorrow and dismay, he would reach out to draw her back with a touch.

It was not meant to harm. But she flinched anyway, and in those moments she would look at him like the evil thing he was. And he would remember. He almost hated her for reminding him. 

Still. Late at night when the household was quiet and she dozed while he sat up writing, he asked her whether she despised him like she ought. He didn’t expect a prompt answer.

“Yes,” she replied.

His hand tightened against the table’s edge. “Well, that’s good. Because I feel the same way about you.”

“That isn’t fair. I’ve done nothing to you and you’ve been so cruel to me. You stole everything I had.”

“You’ve done nothing?” he stood and came over to see her lying in their bed with her hair loose about her shoulders, her gray eyes calm but hazy with fatigue as she stared up at him.

“No, nothing, I think. Why? What have I done?”

“You look at me like I’m a hideous creature.”

“You are.”

“You touch me. You speak kindly to me and then you pull away when I try to -” he stopped. “Why do you even bother? Just let me alone if you hate me so much.”

It seemed the thought had never occurred to her. “I’m your wife.”

“To your disappointment.”

She reached a hand out towards him and he drew back and returned to his writing desk. “Richard,” she said. “When I married you I knew I was going to have a life that was miserable, and painful, and short.”

Short it would be, if she kept speaking like that, but Richard didn’t respond and she went on; “But even so, I know that I devoted my life to you. I’m yours and I can remember the past and long for it all I want but that’s not going to bring my husband back anytime soon.”

“And?” he asked, barely concealing his anger.

“And I - miss being loved,” her voice grew quiet; sadder than he’d ever heard it. “I only knew Edward for a short time, but he was kind. I never got a chance to care for him, not really. So when I see you - I suppose I just miss having someone I’m allowed to love.”

Richard tried to fathom that. Love had always been an unreachable tangle that buzzed around his brain - sometimes he thought he caught glimpses of it, like a brief sighting of a hart in a dark wood, but then it was gone and he was as empty and bitter as ever. He could not imagine willingly giving himself to another living thing. 

“You can kill me now,” she said quietly, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Kill you?”

“At least I’d be in a happier place, I suppose. With Edward.”

And far from me, forever, Richard thought, his heart twisting with a deep and bitter fury. “You really think I’m such a villain that I would murder my own wife?” he growled.

She looked up at him without a flicker of doubt in her eyes and smiled gently. “Take your time.” 

With that he turned and stormed from the room without another word. He would find rest elsewhere tonight, if he could begin to manage it.