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dreamsandstars24 · 1 month

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🫖HUSH🫖

my little Gwynriel fic because I am listening to a House of Wind library ambience and it has teleported me to another realm. Just fluff because it's quick but my Valkyries are here and they make me soft. Anyway, enjoy!

Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn were in the library. That had been as much as Azriel's shadows had reported to him before frantically going in the direction of the library.

With a sight, with Rhys and Cassian behind him, he made his way to the library, fully aware of the quietness that was inside the place. Once he reached the closed doors, he knocked softly and opened the door, ready to go in, but the scene he found froze him in his spot, and a part of him noticed how his brothers stopped and took the scene in.

For starters, the library had cushions everywhere of every colour with piles and piles of books filling the floor, teapots whistling softly on a small stove, and the three most feared Valkyries spread throughout the place.

Nesta had found her place on the window, sitting on a cushion so big that it appeared as if it could swallow her. Her feet were tugged in under her, and a frown had been set on her brow as she read the book she was holding between her hands and supporting with her legs, the name of which was impossible for him to see.

Emerie, on the other hand, was near the bookshelf. Her wings were relaxed, and the smell of floral oils seemed to emanate from her. She had a thick blanket covering her legs, but her feet peeked under it as a soft smile was plastered on her lips.

When Azriel found Gwyn, he had the urge to laugh out loud. She was on the floor, lying on her back, as an invisible hand kept the book right on top of her. Her feet were moving happily, her hair like a valley of flowers under her hair and pooling on the floor, a soft blush on her cheeks as her lips moved quietly following her reading.

With astonishment, he noticed how his shadows were moving around her, caressing her skin in subtle ways. Her fingers moved against them as if she could feel them between her hands.

She looked peaceful. She looked beautiful. She looked safe.

With his heart on his throat at the sensation of having witnessed something beautiful, he turned to his brothers, motioning for them to keep quiet with a finger on his lips. Both Cassian and Rhys nodded, their eyes soft as they stared at the females, who seemed at peace in their own space, undisturbed and happy in their quietness.

Reluctantly, they moved out of the room and closed the door quietly behind them to not bother them.

Azriel took a deep breath, taking in once again the petrichor smell that surrounded Gwyn, and stepped away, knowing she was safe.

His shadows, however, stayed with her. Making sure she was safe, holding her in the way he secretly wished he could.

#gwynriel #nessian #emerie #nesta #gwyneth #azriel #rhysand #cassian #house of wind #mates #acotar #sjm #sjmaas #grwynriel fanfiction #fluff #short and sweet #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn

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dailyclassicwho · 2 years

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Think about it, though. Christmas 1860. It happened once. Just once, and it's... gone, it's finished. It'll never happen again. Except for you. You can go back and see days that are dead and gone, a hundred thousand sunsets ago. No wonder you never stay still.

DOCTOR WHO EPISODES THE UNQUIET DEAD (1.03)

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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

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Gwyn x f!reader: devotion[*]

Summary: you and Gwyn have been emotionally involved with one another for a while, neither of you have yet taken that step to form a physical connection. Yet.

Warnings: smut, face sitting, pussy eating, 69-ing, mentions of squirting

It starts with the two of you planning to spend the night to review some scrolls, but as the night wares on your guards fall, beginning to relax into one another until you’re practically draped across her lap, lying on your stomach while she attempts to read through one of the sacred scripts.

You shift to get more comfortable, hips wiggling as the material of your robe raises to your upper thighs. Gwyn’s sure that if she were stood behind you she would be blessed with an unobscured view of your underwear.

The last straw is when you yawn, stretching your arms before you shift to your hands and knees, showing off the muscle in the backs of your thighs. You yawn again, arms stretching to the air as her eyes lap up your form: the swell of your breasts beneath the robes, the plump roundness of your ass, the plush skin of your thighs. She swallows.

“I think you should go to bed, now,” she manages, the scroll discarded thoughtlessly. Her breath catches as you swing a leg over her lap, settling down comfortably as you lazily drape yourself over her body, pushing against her until she loses balance, toppling back onto the floor of her bedroom. Heat flushes her cheeks as she feels your soft form pressing against her own, fire warming in her lower belly.

Hesitantly, her hands positions themselves on your waist. She doesn’t really know what to do. She doesn’t want to push you off for fear of hurting you - the floor is wooden - but she knows her scent will betray her if you’re allowed to stay settled. Gwyn’s body tenses as you nose her collar bone, heart pounding in her chest.

She inhales heavily, attempting to calm herself but instead your scent is like a kick to the stomach. Her breath catches at the distinct flavour of arousal permeating the air. “Gwyn,” you sing song sleepily, pushing up until you’re seated over her hips. She notes your eyes are clear of fatigue, wide open and sparking with mischief. She swallows as she realises what you’ve been doing.

You peer down at her, cheeks heated while her hair is splayed across the floor, “you okay with this?” You murmur softly, hands set on either side of her pretty face. Her eyes trace your features, desire twining with heat as they drop to your mouth, her hands still perched on your hips. She nods, fingers pressing a little harder through your robes, “yeah,” she breathes, “just…” she looks away and you wait patiently, “can I…” You tilt your head, curious.

She sets her gaze on yours firmly, a flush coating her cheeks as she opens her mouth, “I, uh, I want to be on top.” She swallows as she gets the admission out in the open, waiting for your reaction.

You grin, excitement sparking and you shuffle off her lap, kneeling by her side as she sits up, “and we can stop at any time,” you add softly as her hands cup your jaw. You make sure she’s looking into your eyes, “any time, Gwyn. Just say the word and we’ll stop, okay?” She smiles, “right back at you.” Then she’s kissing you softly, lips moving over one another seamlessly, pressing here and there as her hands land on your shoulders.

“Bed,” you mumble through the feverish kisses, “it’ll be nicer on the—” Her tongue shoves into your mouth, her hands sliding down to your waist as she pulls you upright. The two of you stumble, too preoccupied with one another to pay attention to your surroundings as you scramble onto her bed.

“Gwyn,” you pant as she pushes you down gently, “I want you, too.” Your arms are slung over her shoulders, pulling desperately, “fuck, I want to taste you so bad,” you plead against her lips, your eyes squeezing shut at the thought of having her seated atop your mouth.

Her breathing becomes heavier at the confession, her hand cupping your jaw, “you want me on your mouth, honey? Want to take me while I take you?” You nod frantically, panting as your back arches, pressing your breasts to hers. There would be time for teasing on a separate occasion. Right now you need one another, need to feel the hot brush of skin against skin. It’s been so long since either of you had been afforded that comfort.

She kisses you once more before she pulls away, shifting as she throws a leg over you and already you’re gripping her hips, needfully tugging her toward your face. She chuckles, “slow down, my robes are in the way.”

“Damn the robes,” you pant, hands shoving the offending material up over her thighs. You moan as you set your eyes on her, perfect and wet.

Gwyn laughs at your frenetic movements, “I don’t think you’re supposed to utilise curse words as a priestess.” Your hands roam over the plumpness over her ass, spreading her as you lift your head, pressing into her heat as she moans at the abrupt pleasure. “As a priestess, I know the Mother willed you to be here.” You deliver an open mouthed kiss to her clothed cunt, “and I’m certain with the amount of worship I’m about to give you, she won’t mind one bit.” You thumb away the damp slip of fabric, immediately latching your mouth onto her, tongue lapping greedily at her as she pushes back against you.

Her hands scramble through the layers of your own robes, pushing and shoving at them until they’re spooled around your belly. “Goodness,” she breathes reverently, cupping you as your hips buck. “How can you be so pretty?” She pants, thumbing at your clit, making you whine. She leans back onto your face, pressing you into the mattress as she sits, her middle and forefinger running up and down over your pussy.

With trembling hands, she pushes the fabric aside, moaning as her eyes attach to your sex. The scent is overpowering, arousal roiling throughout her bedroom as she drops her mouth to you, tongue licking over your clit then moving down to your entrance, both of you locked into a hazy madness, intent on taking everything until there’s no difference between you, until you blend to one.

Your mouth moves to her clit, suckling eagerly as one of her hands wraps around your thigh, spreading you wider for her. She needs to have all of you, right now. Neither of you can stand the thought of stopping your frenzied coupling.

Your beloved female pulls away to coat her fingers, circling your entrance before gently pushing in, pulling out, pressing further and she’s rewarded with a loud moan, your mouth working harder to please her. “Gwyn,” you pant, heat coiling in the pit of your belly as her nimble fingers fill you up, her lips suckling your clit. “Gwyn please.”

She moans onto you, your desperate pleas bringing her close to her peak. Flame ignites her body as she winds her hips over you, grinding against your tongue as it presses inside her, the sensation mouth-watering in its eroticism. “Go on,” she laughs, pressing her fingers deep into you, the heel of her palm rubbing over your clit, “I want to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers.” She smiles in delight as your hips buck greedily. “You’re going to taste so good,” she moans, reattaching her mouth to your clit as she feels you fluttering around her, hips undulating.

The sensations send her spiralling, unravelling on your mouth as she gushes. Moans fill the room as you drink her in, tongue soothing over her clit in time with the now gentle pumps of her fingers, guiding one another down from your highs.

You lap over her entrance, pressing your face into her slick heat as she rides out her orgasm. You never want to leave her. Even as your highs fade into calming thrums of euphoria, you keep her seated on your mouth, licking and kissing all of her, devout in your ministrations.

She shifts, attempting to pull away from you but you whine, hands latching over her hips to keep her mounted atop your lips. She releases an adoring laugh, “you need to breathe at some point.” She laughs harder when you shake your head beneath her, tongue swirling over her clit, making her bite her lip.

Steadying herself, she pushes upward, her hands braced softly on your rib cage, fingers playing with your nipples absently. She takes the time to catch her breath, gazing down at your body: how saliva is glossing your pretty thighs, the handprints over your hips, the slick that’s been transferred to your perky nipples as she pinches them softly; teasing.

You nip at her clit in return, making her whimper and Mother above if it isn’t a sound that could bring you to your knees in an instant. She’s perfect and divine in every sense, from the taste of her orgasm, to the ring of her laugh, to the set of her mouth when she’s concentrating on deciphering a scroll or searching for a manuscript.

If you ever lose her you’ll never forgive yourself.

And if you spend the rest of your life with her, enriching every moment with soft puffs of breath and warm touches, you’ll go to the Mother happy.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#Gwyn #Gwyn smut #Gwyn x f!reader #acotar smut #gwyneth #gwyneth berdara #xf!reader #June

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bisexualmultifandommess · 11 months

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It’s time for my favourite girl!

Now I usually headcanon Rose as Bi but recently I’ve been thinking that maybe she’d identify as Pan or maybe be unlabelled because I think Rose would be the type to like someone no matter what they look like but I also think she wouldn’t really put a name to it. I think either works for her.

Rose has always had an interest in men but as she got older started to realise that she liked girls a lot too. The first girl she ever kissed was her friend Shareen when they were both thirteen because they were having fun and wanted to know what it was like and if they would like it. Shareen decided instantly that it wasn’t really for her but Rose realised that she actually didn’t mind the kiss. She didn’t feel anything for her friend but she knew that it wasn’t because she kissed a girl.

For a short while she had a relationship when she was fourteen with a girl who lived a few streets away. Her name was Nell and they used to hang out after school and cuddle at Nell’s. They kept it hidden because neither girl were out yet and eventually they had to break up because Nell and her family moved away. Rose found out years later after social media became more popular that Nell had a girlfriend she started dating a few years after she left and they were expecting a baby. Rose was very happy for them.

She kept it hidden that she liked girls because in the early 2000s it wasn’t as accepted and when she met and started dating Jimmy she didn’t mention it because he didn’t seem the type to accept anything like that. She didn’t feel comfortable sharing that news about her with him but still liked him because she was young and he made her feel pretty. She eventually realised that he wasn’t good for her after all the things he did and with the help of her mum and Mickey she was able to get out and come home.

Rose came out to her mum shortly after and although Jackie was a bit confused at first she eventually came around and became Rose’s biggest supporter. The moment anyone discriminates against her Jackie is furious.

Despite her feelings for The Doctor, Rose definitely found Gwyneth attractive. She felt a connection to her and like she understood her a lot. She didn’t act on anything because she was starting to develop feelings for The Doctor and it was in the past so Gwyneth probably wouldn’t have appreciated Rose being so forward.

The Doctor ended up taking her to the future and the TARDIS had accidentally dropped them off near a pride parade event. The Doctor had been surprised but also happy when Rose was excited about it and he took time to explain all the flags even the ones that in her time weren’t as popular. She felt so happy and safe with him she decided to come out as Queer. At this point in her journey she wasn’t exactly sure what she identified as she just knew she liked men and women. She enjoyed dancing at the event and even got a few souvenirs to take back to her room on the TARDIS. She had her photo taken in front of one of the pride signs with The Doctor next to her, which she keeps on her bedside table as both a reminder of the great day she had and to remind her of her first Doctor. She vowed to go again with Ten but she never got the chance.

Rose would sometimes flirt with the men and women on planets or times they visited before her feelings for The Doctor got serious. It would often make The Doctor a little jealous.

She and Jack once had a competition to see how many people in a bar they could get the numbers of. The loser had to buy them all the next round. Rose only just managed to win by getting the number of a person called Robin. The Doctor was very exasperated by the both of them.

During her time with the dimension canon to find Ten, she saw the Thirteenth Doctor and was a little surprised. She’s always been sure after getting over her shock of him regenerating the first time that she would love him no matter what he looked like. She knew that she would love this version too.

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hdtt555 · 3 months

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ﾟ+o｡◈｡o+ﾟ+o｡◈｡o+ﾟ+o｡◈｡o+ﾟ+o｡◈｡o+

Sticker with Lavatune is a direct reference to the song Сектор Газа ― 1999

I drew this sticker pack as a gift to a friend, but I open access for all fans of the game ^^

For all the time that I am a fan of the game and constantly create new fanarts, this is the boldest possible step in the community and the most fruitful work. Thanks to the developers for the hundreds of favorite stories that will always be in my heart and will continue to lead my creativity up the ladder of growth.

This is a modest gift as a sign of my appreciation for the game ( ,,>ω•́ )۶

02.02.2024

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snailomancy · 7 months

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#baldur's gate 3 #my art #halsin #karlach #oc art #everyone was so nice on my last post but i am not very familiar with new tumvlr etiquette so i dont know how to say thank you!!!#but thank you!!!#gwyneth likes pretend she has a modicum of control #it ends up being very funny watching her cope with getting the absolutely opposite #gwyneth

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fieldofdaisiies · 6 months

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gwyn x balthazar | 2,7k words | warnings: mention of post trauma | masterlist

Night starts to settle over the war camp and Balthazar finds himself in his woodcrafting space. Mind-stilling was good, but nothing compares to woodcrafting.

His shirt once again discarded somewhere in the room, Balthazar stands in the middle of the wood trunks and his tools, working on yet another project. The air, rich with the heady fragrance of freshly hewn timber, fills his nostrils and Balthazar relishes in the sent of it.

Dust dances in the gentle glow of the fairy-lights, and Balthazar blows out a long breath. His calloused hands move with a grace as he brushes them over the stool he is currently working on.

He coaxes curves and lines, each stroke a whispered conversation between him and the piece of wood on the crafting bench in front of him. The young Illyrian is filing down one side of the piece of wood and lifts his gaze to look outside. It is already night, he summarises, stars brightly twinkling in the sky behind the dusty windows.

Whenever he is here, he forgets about the time, forgets about everything around him. Hours blur into hours, and times passes without him even noticing.

Balthazar blows some sawdust from the already smooth surface and tiny specks of dust dance fly away, dancing in the fairy-light. Balthazar brushes his hand over the surface, making sure it is really smooth so no one would get hurt when sitting on it. He looks over his shoulder, at the large grandfather clock and notices that it is already close to midnight. But he wants to finish this piece, this stool…or maybe it will be an actual chair? He is not sure yet, will see into which direction his heart will guide him.

Balthazar grabs another piece — a piece of wood that was once plain and boring. He used to work on it a few weeks ago, smoothing the surface and then carving small details into it. It looks beautiful and it would serve as a great backrest for a chair.

With a few quick movements, it truly transforms into the back of the chair, now attached to the stool piece. His hands rest top it, his gaze momentarily moving to the vibrant green of his siphons, lingering and he has to admit that in the dim light, the green is not fully green. It is more, turquoise into the direction of…teal. Just like Gwyn's eyes.

But then he shakes his head, focusing back on the task at hand. He really likes the outturn, makinga few more adjustments so it will really work as a chair. The tools he uses to shape the wood create a rhythm around him, a sound he loves so very much. And so the chair comes to life, now nearly finished. Balthazar smiles to himself, knowing that he only has to add a thin coat of polish to make it all shiny and really smooth and then it is perfect.

But so far, the woodcrafting part is done. The chair serves as a symbol of his hard work.

Balthazar steps back, looking at the chair. He feels a little proud. This is his doing, just like the other things he has created so far, and that makes him proud.

Balthazar's bones crack loudly when he straightens up, rolls back his shoulders and cranes his neck. "Ugh," he groans, weighing his head from one side to the other.

He has been bent over the piece of wood for a little too long again, his back now sore, muscles tense. But it is the reminder he needs to finally stop with his work and return back home to catch some sleep.

Finishing up, he leaves his wood crafting place, the nearly finished chair now resting on the bench until he returns. He collects his shirt and dons it before he closes the creaking door behind him and locks up the space.

The moon is bright as Balthazar steps outside and then flares his wings, shaking them so all the dust flies away. He knows it must look silly, as he stands there, bouncing on his feet to get rid of all the dust. But it is the only way to do it.

The air, cool and crisp, wraps around him immediately and Balthazar draws in the scent of fallen leaves, of mud, of wood and night. He walks the short distance to his own hut, faint lights of fire pits still flickering in the distance. Balthazar's gaze strays, moves to the row of huts behind the fire pits. His eyes linger there, and he stops.

Almost like a sign, he feels the large key press against his thigh and knows that he could go there just now. It is almost like he is drawn there, like something is calling him there. Curiosity beckons him, and he follows like a sailor to a siren's call.

It is supposed to be his office one day so he is allowed to go inside. Cassian said so, so it is utterly strange that he feels like an intruder, but still he does.

With a hesitant hand and very gently, he pushes the key in turns it and finally pulls down the handle. The door swings open easily, and Balthazar glimpses inside.

What is he even scared of? Nervous about?

The eerie atmosphere of the outside Illyrian war camp vanishes when Balthazar steps inside, closes the door behind him, and stands alone in the darkness and silence of the office. Good Gods!

Lighting the fairy-lights on the wall, Balthazar finds himself standing in a realm of knowledge and memories, once belonging to Devlon. A bit of moonlight filters in through the curtain-framed windows, and Balthazar looks around the office for a long moment.

When he finally starts to move, his steps echo on the aged floorboards as he walks through the office, his fingers grazing the spines of old books in the large shelves behind the worn desk. Balthazar reads the titles of the books.

History on Prythian. Warfare One until twenty. Battle. Battle Tactics. History on Windhaven. History on Ironcrest. Thunderpeak. Dawnbreak. Silverwind.

Balthazar shrugs, wondering if Devlon had to read through all of that, had studied all the books, had had all the knowledge one could get from those books and he comes to the conclusion that Devlon definitely had. He was incredibly intelligent.

He turns on his heels, pulling back the worn leather chair and drops into it. He crosses one ankle over the other under the desk and places his hands on top of the old oak. On top maps, documents, and lists.

Devlon's presence still somehow lingers in the air, and Balthazar knows that this place is a treasure of hidden information and memories, tales and secrets. He has only been in here twice, when he needed to deliver information to Devlon and that was it. He actually does not know this place, and it also does not feel familiar. But maybe with some tidying up and organising it will.

It is the maps and documents and lists that lie scattered across the well-worn desk that suddenly capture his attention. These maps, bearing countless traces all across the Night Court and places marked in the Illyrian steps, grasp him and Balthazar follows some of the lines with his index finger.

He looks closer. His fingers trace the faded lines of notes, decoding the cryptic and barely legible handwriting of Devlon. Each scrap of paper, each word written in old innk is a testament to the camp's history, revealing both victory and failure of the warriors who once lived here, or who still do.

He shoves some papers aside, looking at the lists beneath it. From supplies and rations to the Blood Rite participants, everything can be found here.

Balthazar hums lowly, eyes trailing over the written names, until he finds his own. Balthazar Attas.

His name is circled and he gathers that those who made it out alive are the ones who are circled.

He finds himself looking for Gwyn's name but suddenly his gaze strays further away, captured by something else.

Nestled among the papers further at the back of the desk, he stumbles upon something that sends a shockwave through his senses. His heart quickens as his eyes lock onto a word—a word that speaks volumes. Wings. And beneath it there are names. And there is one name. Fiara Calla. His mother's maiden name.

"Good fucking Gods," Balthazar breathes, his trembling hand reaching forward to grab the old piece of parchement. He is shaken when he glances at it, reading the note at the top. Reading about where and how the wings needed to be clipped in order to make females unable to fly. His eyes follow the names, he does not know most of them, but then he reads Emerie's name his heart drops into his belly. Her wings were clipped at a time when it was not even allowed anymore. Her wings were clipped by her own family…

With a loud sigh, he places the papers down on the desk again and leans his head against the back of the chair, eyes starting to burn fiercely.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"You know why I am…worried?"

"Because you've never had sex and you might fail miserably when you finally get with a female?"

"I was talking about camp lord business."

"And I am talking about the female with the red hair and the beautiful smile you can barely function around."

Balthazar frowns at his best friend and then places the glass with the liquor on the couch table and draws in a deep inhale.

"I think we finally need to talk about other things than camp lord business. You've just spent hours in Devlon's old office, it is enough for today. We talk about females now." "There is not much to talk about." "There is. You totally like this female, the Valkyrie who was in the Blood Rite. Well, the one who won the Blood Rite alongside Emerie. The one—" Balthazar lifts his hand. "I get it."

"I think you don't get it. I don't think you get what you looking at her with those dreamy eyes means. Or you making a woodcrafted fish for her, you letting her show you these breathing things—" "Mind-stilling!" Balthazar interrupts and throws his best friend a look. He regrets it a moment later when Corrian chuckles in triumph.

"Exactly what I am talking about. But to make it shorter, might she be the first female to crack your shell? To be let into your heart." "It is not about my heart…" Balthazar murmurs. He lets his head hang, hands folded behind his neck. His gaze is trained on the ground between his feet, eyes following the markings of the wooden floorboards.

"No, it is because you are afraid you will become like him."

Balthazar says nothing, his friend having hit the needle on the head. This is exactly it.

"Only difference, your father was never good. Never kind. Never like you are."

"But mother still fell in love with him, so he must have a had a good side."

"Even if he had a good side, you are nothing like him," Corrian says, voice tinged with empathy. He reaches over and squeezes his best friend's shoulder.

"What if I raise my hand at her…or any female? What if I lose control? What if I suddenly lash out and…I don't know…"

Balthazar lifts his head, slowly turning his gaze towards Corrian.

He takes a sip from his drink and then shakes his head. "You won't. I know this. This is not you. And if you do, I will beat the living shit out of you and put you on a pole like the late camp lord."

"Idiot." "I mean it and I want you to see this as well. Baz, we have been friends for our entire life, you are like the little brother I never had. I know you, I know you better than anyone else and I know this, I know that you would never hurt a female."

A small smile appears on Balthazar's face and he reaches forward to grab his glass, pouring the liquor down his throat in one big gulp.

"You made a fish for her? Seriously, a fish?"

Balthazar's lips curl and he flashes Corrian a glower. "What is wrong about a fish? Her eyes are teal, like the ocean. I thought a fish would suit…"

Balthazar technically has no idea what the ocean really looks like. What the sea looks like. He has only ever seen pictures of it in books and the colour was exactly the same as Gwyn's eyes.

"A little cheesy, but it just proves my point. You are kind, and have a very good heart. I can't think of another male, an Illyrian of your height and strength who would spend time on crafting a tiny, little fish." "She saved my life." It is not really an answer, but Balthazar does not know what else to say.

"She did." Corrian smiles, brightly and with some emotion passing over his face that Balthazar can't quite place. And then he sighs, loud and long, leans back on the couch and crosses his hands behind his head. "I would really like it for you if it works out. She seems like a good match."

"You don't know her. I don't even know her."

"I am a great observer, Baz, as you might have noticed, but seem to ignore right now. I see and have noticed, and observed, that you would be a great match."

Balthazar laughs a little at that and gives his head a shake. "Well, you great observer, if you say so."

"You better believe me, brother."

"I do." Balthazar smiles, more to himself, when he thinks about the great match thing. Would they really be? This incredible fae female and…him. An Illyrian…not high fae, not fortunate, considered a brute?

He draws in a deep inhale, locking these thoughts away for the moment.

Balthazar does not quite know how late it is already, it must be past one or maybe even two and tiredness slowly nears. Yet, there is still so much to talk, still so much on his mind.

"But with the camp lord business, don't you think it will be too much to handle at once?"

"You don't handle a female, you love her and she loves you and she will provide you the necessary distraction you need from the camp lord business, bring you comfort, tend to your sore muscles and so on." Corrian shakes his head and reaches for the bottle to pour himself and also Balthazar another drink.

"But what if I don't have enough time for her?"

He talks as if there was truly a chance with Gwyn, if there was really the possibility of being with her. This is all wishful thinking at this point, but with a little liquor in his veins, and tiredness in his brain, he allows himself to dwell on these hopes and dreams. He takes a sip from the newly poured liquid, places his glass down again and presses the heel of his palm against his chest.

The little pull there has loosened a little and Balthazar guesses it might just be some tension in a muscle…or so.

"Then you have to make sure you have enough time for her." There is a hint of annoyance in his Corrian's voice, like he is slightly fed up with Balthazar's gloomy state. "Or Thena and I will have to help you with the camp lord business and take over when you are…otherwise occupied."

Corrian nods, encouraging his best friend to nod as well.

"Good."

They chat a bit longer about Balthazar's upcoming trip to Velaris. Corrian hints that he should brush up a bit, maybe cut his hair, and then they decide to call it a night.

~~~~~~~~~ tag list: @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel @callmeblaire @headcanonheadcase @waternymphia @autumndreaming7 @devilsfoodcake22 @readercacau @sv0430 @bubybubsters @cyntia-ktn

#gwyn x balthazar #gwyn berdara #acotar #acosf #gwyneth #gwyn acotar #acofah

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