Prompt: Could you write something where taron has had too much to drink and he can’t think of anyone else to call so he calls the reader and he confesses his feelings for her while she’s taking care of him? Thank you! (Anonymous)
After he threw his head back and swallowed his sixth shot of Jack Daniels, the cold liquid burning this throat as it travelled down, Taron knew he was in trouble. The effects of the numerous glasses of alcohol had hit him all at once and as his body began to get numb and his head began to spin, he immediately regretted going to the bar in the first place. He sat by himself, fully aware that now he had started, he wouldn’t be able to stop because without a second thought he held up his glass to the bartender, nodding with a quick “keep them coming!”.
He didn’t intend to be drinking alone; he was supposed to be out with his co-stars, having a wrap party to celebrate the end of one of his movies that he had worked hard on. However, after having an explosive row with you, he couldn’t bring himself to go.
Before I get on to my next post this week about Llantwit Major, I have a few questions for everyone -
Why you learning Welsh?
What interests you about Welsh as a language?
Is it a casual interest or something more focused?
Please respond in the comments if you can or reblog it/message me with answers! 😊 I’ll go first by telling you about my journey with Russian.
When I was a little girl, about 9 years old, I bought an information pack about the ancient Egyptians. Soon, I had taught myself how to write in hieroglyphs. Then, I got a pack about the ancient Greeks and I taught myself how to write in their alphabet, and then runic after that too! An unusual thing for a 9 year old child to do! Since then, I was always confident that I’d be able to learn a language that used a different alphabet like Russian. The technical term for it is orthography.
I’m not a big ‘Russophile’ like some people, but I’m interested in some things like their fairytales, traditional costumes, and especially the language. I think it’s a beautiful and interesting language, but very complex!
Pam ‘da chi'n dysgu Cymraeg?
Pam ‘da chi efo diddordeb yn y iaith Gymraeg?
Ydi o'n rhywbeth mwy achosol, ‘ta rhywbeth efo fwy o ffocws?
Atebwch plis efo'ch atebion neu ailflogiwch 😊
‘Na i fynd gyntaf a deud wrtha chi am fy siwrna fi efo Rwsieg.
Pan o'n i'n hogan bach, tua 9 oed, nesi prynnu pecyn gwybodaeth am y hen Eifftiaid. Yn o fuan, o'n i 'di dysgu fi fy hyn syt i sgwennu mewn hyrogliffiaid. Wedyn, ges i pecyn am y hen Groegwyr a 'nes i ddysgu syt i sgwennu yn y wyddor hen grogaidd, ac wedyn hen rwnaidd hefyd ar ol hynna! Peth weddol anghyffreddin i blentyn naw oed i 'neud! Ers hyna mi o'n i ohyd yn hyderys mi fyswn i'n gallu dysgu iaith sy'n defnyddio wyddor arall fel Rwsieg.
Dydw i ddim yn 'Russophile’ mawr fel rhei pobl, ond ma’ gena fi ddiddordeb yn rhei pethau fel storiau tylwyth teg, gwisgoedd traddodiadol ac yn enwedig iaith nhw. Dwi'n meddwl bod o'n iaith hardd a diddorol, ond cymleth iawn!
AN// hello loves!! my first aneurin imagine because i love him so!! i hope you like it!!
you awake to sweet wet kisses pressed against your shoulder blades. aneurin is always the first to wake. and he always takes advantage of it. whispering sweet nothings into your ear, kissing you out of your slumber, admiring his idea of perfection while you dream away silently, except for the occasional snore, which he adores.
you decide to try to get some more sleep, almost every night since he’s been home from filming has been spent with your bodies desperate for each other’s touch, making up for lost time while he was away. you assume he understand as you pull the blanket back up to your face. just as your consciousness begins to slip into a place farther away you hear aneurin speaking.
it wasn’t just any words he was saying, he was speaking welsh. and god you loved hear him talk in his native tongue, it’s was like a mystery. you didn’t know what he was saying, but you knew it meant something he couldn’t seem to want to tell you in english. he didn’t speak it much around you since you hadn’t learned much yet. mostly he spoke it in times like these; when he was so overwhelmed with his love for you he poured his heart out in something he knew you didn’t understand verbally, but felt emotionally.
“gallai fy angel, sut i ddymuno geiriau fynegi'r syniadau sydd fi wedi tuag atoch. os i ddweud fi cariad chi, yna y cant yn fwy o fy ngeiriau yn dal unexpressed. Ond wrth gwrs, mae'n rhaid i ddweud rhywbeth … mae fy nghalon yn curo ar eich cyfer chi, ac mae fy nghalon yn hiraethu ar eich cyfer chi.”
he speaks into the air, brushing his fingers through your hair slowly. “what does that mean, love?” you question, pulling your mind back to the real world. “oh, nothing darling. don’t worry yourself, go back to sleep.” he whispers. you turn over and look aneurin deep into his eyes, fingers entangled to the curls at the back of his neck,“please tell me, i want to understand.”
“i said, ‘my angel, how i wish words could express the thoughts that i have towards you. if i should say i love you then the greater percent of my words are still unexpressed. but of course, i must say something … my heart beats for you, and my heart longs for you.’”
his words bring tears to your eyes. “don’t cry, love.. please don’t cry.” he says wiping your tears away pulling you into his chest. the way he is holding you so protectively, guarding you from whatever has fought these tears upon, and the confession of his love is overwhelming and you can’t hold back anymore. “it’s just that, no one has ever said something so endearing to me before. christ, i love you so much aneurin. are these the kind of things you’ve being saying in welsh this whole time?” you ask framing his hair behind his ears. “possibly.” he answers kissing you to change the subject. you could tell he was embarrassed by the tips of his ears turning red and voice becoming quieter.
one thing leads to another and aneurin is on top of you proceeding with your usual precious, slow, and sloppy morning sex. “i can’t get enough of you, Y/N” he whispers into your ear as he gives you everything he’s got. your toes curl in pleasure, your gaze half lidden but never breaking away from those deep brown eyes.
your moans and aneurin’s quick grunts filled the space. “aneurin, i love you” you manage to speak through the pleasure. “i love you to, darling.” his thrusts becoming careless and slower as you both come to your end. pulling each other close, breath still panting, coated with a new layer of sweat. “how did i ever go so long with out this everyday?” he says caressing your back. “i don’t know but let’s not ever push it again.” you press your forehead to his, taking in the moment. “rwy'n dy garu di..” aneurin speaks softly. the only welsh phrase you know, and your favorite by far. “i love you to.”
Although I haven’t been religious about it, on my best weeks I’ve been trying to set aside an hour in the morning for sketching. Ironically, the more I’ve been getting into water color the slower I’ve been working. I used to open a sketchbook and try to hit a page count before closing it. Since I’ve been giving myself a time quota instead of a page quota, I have let myself really linger over mixing up each little color. It’s a great way to counter balance the deadline mania that I get into when I’m working on assignment.
These are all drawn with Noodler’s Polar Black and a Lamy Safari Fountain Pen. The color is Windsor Newton watercolor.