with a burning passion

Fly High and Burn Brightly

Parallels between Scanlan’s and Vex'ahlia’s trials.

She needs to fly, the broom isn’t enough even with the temporary haste. He doesn’t hesitate, this small gnome who left her, left them. There is trust in his eyes, no not trust, a knowing. She will succeed, all she needs is a little push.

She’s a dragon. Burning, bright and strong. Her scales as red as Grog’s rage and the haze she saw when facing down The Cinder King.

She’s flying. Fast, strong and free, and filled with this fire within her that she’s not sure whether it is the nature of the creature, or her own burning passion and determination.

She’s pure instinct, get to the burning beacon, get to the light and the fire of the Dawnfather. There is no time for the doubt to seep in. She can feel the tremendous heartbeat of the scaled beast in her throat. Boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. It seems to match the beating of her wings. Flying seemed as natural as her heartbeat now, she needn’t think about it.

She’s burning, bright and beautiful. The scales are practically blown away from her form as she barrels into the beacon of light, hundreds, perhaps thousands, feet above her family. Everything about her is melted away, everything that made her be like a dragon, fierce and ferocious, hoarding every scrap to survive. Protecting what’s hers and her family is hers. Percival is hers. Whitestone, her home, is hers. Vex’ahlia De Rolo needn’t have that haze of red burning in her heart. Instead there was shining white. Pure and precious, and irreplaceable. Another star in the bright sky.

He needn’t make her a dragon any longer, because a star outshone any fire.

~~

He cannot fly, for all his magic he cannot make himself fly while being able to make his way through this library, this sanctuary of stories. She does not hesitate and helps him fly through the seemingly never ending maze of books.

He is confused and overwhelmed, none of the spirits will speak to them and they heed them no attention.

He does what he does best. He uses his sword, Mythcarver, as a tuning fork and sings. He may tell stories and share lies and partial truths that have knowledge within them, hidden away so that someone may find a lesson within that, but sing is what he does best.

He pleads and he sings. The more purpose within his voice the more they notice them and move. She flies him to his destination, and there’s a lock. Her way of opening the way snaps within the lock but it’s enough. She tells herself it’s enough and it opens.

He doesn’t know which book to take, and neither does she. In a frantic effort to not waste time she takes all the books she can. He sees the one without anything on it, no knowledge on the cover of what it is and no knowledge within. Strange how there seemed to be a book of nothing in a library of everything. Then again he was always quite good at trying to read between the lines.

They speed away and he almost drops it as she flies him back to the pillows and tea. Faster she wills the broom faster. Reveal he sings reveal until he puts intense magical energy within to the book. That seemed to be a theme with the creatures that represented Ioun and everything surrounding her. Knowledge was not deserved but it was earned.

He is back in time and for a moment the goddess makes him doubt himself but he is sure. This small tomb, this meager excuse for a book that anyone would overlook… Scanlan Shorthalt is sure that this is the answer, because that is all he can do. And it is.

She needn’t to help him fly any longer, because he had a bard’s worth of knowledge to help him.

I hated Sasuke from his opening monologue with a burning passion the minute i saw that nigga mumbling about being an avenger i wanted him dead

Bertolt x Fem!S/O [NSFW]

!!!NSFW WARNING!!!

Bertolt’s lips grazed your skin, setting fire to your already hot body. His teeth nibbled the sensitive area of your neck, painting it with his marks, claiming you as his.

Bertolt sat up on his knees, his eyes half lidded as he stared at the sight under him. His eyes were glazed with a burning lust and passion at seeing you naked, panting, face flushed a dark crimson, and your back arching, your body begging for his touch.

“Bertolt,” You called out, your voice dripping with seduction and pure lust for him. Bertolt felt himself grow tighter against his pants, his body longing for your touch. Bertolt fought that urge, wanting to make you feel like you were on Cloud 9 tonight. He wanted his name to be the only word you could possibly utter. He wanted you to chant his name like it was a sacred prayer.

He took his index finger and trailed it down the valley of your breasts and down your stomach, setting off sparks and shocks on top of your body. “Such a beauty,” Bertolt whispered, leaning back to place heated kisses down your stomach and to your womanhood.

His hot breath fanned against your inner thigh as he trailed his tongue against it. Shivers whacked through your body as Bertolt treated your body like it was a porcelain doll.

His hands caressed your skin like a feather, gently pulling you closer. He felt his arousal grow when he say how wet you’ve grown due to his touches, his heart threatening to break out of his rib cage as his fingertips collected your lust with them.

His simple action caused a wave of euphoria to wash over your body, making you whimper and buck your hips. Bertolt’s eyes widened at your reaction, wanting to hear more of your heavenly noises.

Bertolt’s fingers held your lower lips apart, leaving your sensitive clit exposed to him. He pressed his tongue to it, swirling it around and then pressing a kiss to it. He laid his tongue flat against you, trailing it down to your entrance, which was begging for his attention.

Bertolt grabbed your legs and made them open wider, holding them there. He slid his tongue in and out of you, his thumb rubbing your clit. Your breathing quickened its pace, your legs starting to shake. The only noises you could produce were in incoherent moans of pleasure.

Bertolt hummed against you, making your skin seem to vibrate. Your breaths became shallow as you drowned in absolute bliss. Bertolt’s tongue returned to your clit and was replaced by his first two fingers entering you. He twisted inside of you, getting deeper and deeper with each twist.

His mouth was sucking on your clit, his tongue occasionally running up and down it. His fingers curled, hitting that one spot that made you lose all sense you had. You called out his name like it was your life line as he continued that action upon seeing your reaction.

“B-Bert…I-I’m so close…” You almost screamed out. Bertolt went faster, wanting to taste you even more. You couldn’t hold onto the knot in your stomach anymore and released it with a cry of his name.

Bertolt removed his fingers, which were now coated with your fluids. He went back up to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead. “I love you,” He murmured, stroking your sides lovingly. You gave him a weak, but genuine smile.

“I love you too. And I’m not just saying that because you’re amazing at oral for some reason,” You joked, making him give a small laugh. You really weren’t expecting that sort of attention tonight, but you weren’t complaining. Not at all.

2

Looks can be deceiving…


(Sorry for being inactive guys sOBS exams are really kicking my ass but ill hopefully be able to draw more after… Im more active on Twitter!)

Sade Songs for the Venus Signs

Because who doesn’t love this Cap sun/Aries moon queen?

Aries•Cherish the Day
“You’re ruling the way that I move,And I breathe your air, You only can rescue me, This is my prayer”

Taurus•Nothing can come between us
“I always hope that you remember,What we have is strong and tender, the middle of the madness, Hold on”

Gemini•Smooth Operator
“Coast to coast, LA to Chicago, western male, Across the north and south, to Key Largo, love for sale,Face to face, each classic case, We shadow box and double cross,Yet need the chase”

Cancer•Is it a crime
“He takes her love, but it doesn’t feel like mine, He tastes her kiss, her kisses are not wine, they’re not mine, He takes, but surely she can’t give what I’m feeling now”

Leo•Paradise
“I’d give the world if it was mine, Feels like You’re mine, I’m Yours, So fine, Like Paradise, I’d wash the sand off the shore, Give you the world if it was mine, Blow you right to my door”

Virgo•The Sweetest Taboo
“There’s a quiet storm, And it never felt this hot before, Giving me something that’s taboo, Sometimes I think you’re just too good for me”

Libra•Jezebel
“You can see it in her pride And the raven in her eyes, Try show her a better way, She’ll say you don’t know what you’ve been missing, And by the time she blinks you know she won’t be listening”

Scorpio•Hang onto your love
“In heaven’s name why do you play these games, Hang on to your love, Be brave when the journey is rough, It’s not easy when you’re in love, Don’t be ashamed when the going gets tough, It’s not easy don’t give up”

Sagittarius•Never as Good as the First Time
“Good times they come and they go, Never going to know, What fate is going to blow, You’re way just hope it feels right, Sometimes it comes and it goes, You take it ever so slow”

Capricorn•Your love is King
“Your love is king, Crown you with my heart, Your love is king, Never need to part, Your kisses ring, Round and round and round my head, Touching the very part of me,It’s making my soul sing”

Aqua•Love is stronger than pride
“I won’t pretend that I intend to stop living, I won’t pretend I’m good at forgiving, But I can’t hate you, Although I have tried, Mmmmm, I still really really love you, Love is stronger than pride”

Pisces•No Ordinary Love
“I gave you all the love I got, I gave you more than I could give, I gave you love, I gave you all that I have inside, And you took my love, You took my love, I keep crying, I keep trying for you,There’s nothing like you and I baby”

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

@asrielisdeadandfloweyisabitch, this is what happens when you give me too much room for interpretation in a prompt~

[But seriously, I hope this is alright XD this dumb idea’s been sitting in my head for way too long and this gave me an excuse to go for it haha]

error belongs to @loverofpiggies 

2

THANKS FOR CONTRIBUTING TO THIS IDEA @hybridshadowz

I hate backgrounds with a burning passion and this was really rushed but here have this parody scene from my Tododeku fic, Many More Flames when Mine is Gone, a fluff/angst fic with Hanahaki disease :)

Bakugou is surprisingly determined to play matchmaker.

The fic is here!
http://archiveofourown.org/works/11421855/chapters/25589325

love witch self-care tips ❤️

- draw a little heart on your wrist as a reminder to never stop noticing the lovely, tiny things

- write a love letter to anything you want (a favorite character, pet, or person; the earth, yourself)

- surround yourself with rose quartz and ruby

- create an altar dedicated to something you adore

- burn a red candle to encourage more passion within your life

- try and give someone a wonderful compliment each day, even if they are a stranger (spread love all around)