#❝ nighttime daydreams // dawn speaking. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mochidrabbles · 6 years

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how does head canons of bed time shenanigans sound???

Sounds good to me!! 👀

Though tbh I wasn’t completely sure what you meant by ‘bedtime shenanigans’ so I went for bedtime routines (featuring a s/o)! I hope that’s ok!!

Asra is a bit of a night owl, but he’s responsible enough to go to bed at a decent enough time for him to get up at least a few hours before the shop opens to set up. If s/o is more of an early to bed person he’s happy to retire with them, though he might bring a book to read by gentle magic light while they sleep next to him. Asra just about always has a cup of tea before bed, often camomile or other herbal mixes to help him sleep. He likes to do a little light reading as well, though it’s not a bad idea for s/o to keep him from getting into any of the heavier magic books, lest his mind get too excited wandering over the possibilities invoked by what he’s reading. Before he sleeps Asra always double-checks the locks and barriers on the shop, just to be sure. Saying goodnight to Faust is, of course, a must, as are her goodnight chin scratches before she slithers off to bed. Asra loves to daydream before bed, but if his partner is up for it he’s happy to talk about little, silly things with them cuddled up in his arms until they both drift off.

Julian is unfamiliar with the concept of ‘bedtime.’ Sleep? He doesn’t know her. Seriously though, though Julian is trying to get better it’s very common for him to get wrapped up in work, research, or even just a good book and entirely lose track of time until morning. Other times he’s afraid to lay down to sleep, worried that the moment he tries to shut his mind off his demons will come out to haunt him. Whichever the case nighttime rituals almost always begin with Julian’s partner dragging him to bed by whatever means necessary. Used to being on the run and often only sleeping when he quite literally passed out from exhaustion, Julian doesn’t have much of a nighttime routine. Often he’ll just flop on the bed beside s/o and tuck in to cuddle with them. If Julian actually is tired he’s happy to just lay in s/o’s arms until he drifts off, but on nights he’s more anxious he and s/o have worked out a routine of finding a good book and having him read aloud to them by bedside candlelight until s/o drifts off. It helps Julian relax, and seeing s/o so at ease, asleep on his chest lulled by his own voice, puts Julian a bit more at ease.

Nadia actually has a pretty regulated bedtime routine, though it’s not exactly unusual for it to be broken when she’s too bogged down by her duties as countess. She’s a morning person, so she tries to go to bed early but again, she’s often kept up late by responsibilities. It’s a necessary evil sometimes, but when she’s overdoing it s/o would do well to gently convince her to come to bed - the work will still be there in the morning, after all. Nadia always likes to bathe before sleep (save the nights she’s up so late she can barely keep herself from passing out on the spot) as she finds it incredibly relaxing and prefers to be clean before getting into bed. Of course she wants s/o with her in those baths, and she loves to wash their hair and their back for them. Nadia likes to put on lotion before bed and has quite a few scented mixtures of Prakran make: she’s happy to share them with s/o if they’re interested. Then it’s silken pajamas and snuggles beneath the sheets. Often Nadia is exhausted enough to fall asleep fairly quickly, but on nights when her worries overtake her she finds comfort in holding s/o close and rubbing their back as they talk to her. S/o can talk about anything: she just finds comfort in hearing their voice.

Muriel doesn’t honestly have a bedtime routine. He sleeps when he’s tired and doesn’t have work to do, when s/o wants to go to bed and/or when Inanna wants to go to bed. Living alone and secluded from society, there’s nothing to dictate when he should sleep and wake except for Muriel himself - though s/o does introduce a little more structure and balance to his life. Muriel isn’t super fussed about sleeping together at the same times (he’s honestly more used to seeing one person sleep while someone else is awake to keep watch) but if s/o asks him to come to bed with them he really can’t say no. Before he’ll even think of laying to sleep though Muriel has to triple check the locks and protections on and around his hut. He wont be able to rest at all otherwise. After that Muriel makes sure Inanna doesn’t need anything and curls up in bed with her and s/o, listening to s/o ramble about their day and letting their voice help him relax enough to fall asleep.

Portia wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, so you best believe she’s in bed early. She definitely prefers to have s/o with her so she can snuggle up to them, even if they’re not sleeping, but even though she’s a little pouty if they want to stay up later she won’t force it. If anything’s been left untidy, any dishes left, ect Portia will take care of it before she goes to sleep so it doesn’t weigh on her mind. She also likes to use face masks and creams she got from Nadia before bed; it’s a habit she picked up from the countess, but she’s quite addicted to those sorts of beauty products now. If s/o wants, or even will just let her, she likes to apply the face masks to them too. Portia is always sure to check outside for Pepi, who just about always comes inside so she can snuggle while Portia sleeps. Portia works super hard every day, so she honestly falls asleep as soon as she gets comfortable.

Lucio has the most lavish, extra bedtime routine ever; he also refuses to do it himself. First is his bedtime snack, usually something light like fruits but occasionally something more decadent, like chocolate desserts; either way, he usually prefers to be fed. He has his servants remove his makeup and bathe him, brush his hair, and clothe him in light pajama pants and one of his massive fur robes. His room is to be prepared to his exact specifications before he arrives, which usually just means perfectly arranged sheets and snacks and drinks for himself and s/o on the table. He absolutely expects s/o to join in on this routine, and insists that the servants pamper them just as much as they do him. That is, except when it comes to bath time. After he’s taken care of he probably ushers everyone from the room so he can wash s/o himself: he doesn’t want anyone touching them but him. He won’t *force* s/o to join him if they don’t want to, but he definitely prefers to have them there. Generally speaking, Lucio is a night owl and loves to stay up until the early hours of the morning. However, he absolutely hates s/o going to bed before him so he can be easily convinced to retire early if s/o just says they’re going to bed. On the flipside, if s/o is even *more* of a night owl he will convince them to go to bed with him via whining until they give in.

#the arcana #imagine #headcanons #lucio #asra #julian #nadia #muriel #portia #fluff #characterxreader #gn reader #request #thearcanashenanigans

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mandysimo13 · 7 years

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Chapter 5 - Where is My Gallant Knight

Chapter 5 is up, y’all! Just started a new job and second stage of German so life’s been a little hectic. But here we are, chapter 5 for your reading pleasure! Enjoy! On AO3 (X)

“I have so many questions,” John said softly as he dropped heavily onto the ground in front of the tent. He laid back, not caring that the ground was moist or that there were twigs and stones digging into his body. He needed to be horizontal more than anything else no matter the terrain.

Greg stood next to him, groaning with exhaustion. “You and me both. That fire was incredible!”

“But did you see how it drained him? How he just crumpled like wet paper afterwards? Do you think that using his magic hurts him?”

Greg shrugged. “We’ll have to wait until he comes round again. Not much else we can do but make him comfortable and wait.”

John nodded. “Too true. What do we do in the meantime? Can’t light a fire. Those bandits are probably out there looking for us as we speak.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I plan on filling the water skins and then laying down for an early night, myself.” He walked off towards their packs so as to retrieve their empty water skins.

John felt uncharacteristically restless. His brain was wired, flooding with questions about Sherlock and his magic, worrying that every twitch and rustle in the woods was an enemy, wanting to get up and help Greg just so his hands would be busy. But his whole body screamed with exhaustion from their harrowing capture and escape. His body yearned to crawl inside the tent and curl up next to Sherlock, the prospect of cuddling the man becoming less and less distasteful by the second. He would be able to feel every breath of Sherlock’s, the gentle rise and fall of his chest to assure John that he was still alive. He would be there when Sherlock woke first thing, to see for himself that the wizard hadn’t slipped back into eternal sleep.

Not that kissing him back to life would be a hardship.

John’s eyes snapped open, not recalling when he had first closed them. Why was he wanting to kiss Sherlock again? Sherlock had made it clear that advances on his person were unwelcome. Was it just gratitude for having saved them all? That had to be it. John didn’t exactly execute his plan with the bandits well. The situation spiralled way out of hand and Sherlock managed to save him and Greg, even despite Sherlock’s insistence that he didn’t care what happened to his rescuers. He just wanted to show his appreciation.

Right. Enough of that , he decided.

Resolute, he forced himself to stand up and go help Greg with the water before scouting out a good place to set up a watch. With the action they had with the bandits, it was ludicrous not to have someone stand watch over night.

Finding Greg at the water’s edge, filling their skins, John crouched beside him and grabbed an empty one. He dipped it into the river and told Greg of his decision to have a watch. They agreed it was prudent, capping their full skins and reaching for the last two empties. “I’ll take first watch,” John insisted.

“Find by me,” Greg said, voice weary. “I’m so knackered, I could fall asleep here.”

John grinned. “Please don’t. I don’t have the energy for a water rescue right now. Can’t have you drowning on me.”

“I do live to make your life easier,” Greg quipped dryly, smile on his face.

They rose with groans and popping joints and arms full of water. It didn’t take long for them to stow their water and do a sweep of the perimeter of their camp for any and all possible attacking points. All things considered, they were well placed. River behind their tent. Not far off in front of them but far enough back you couldn’t see them from was the road. Dense foliage on either side to shield them from those coming from either side. It seemed to be a popular spot to make camp but evidence showed that no one had been there in awhile, no recent human footprints or fire residue.

If they were lucky, the night would be uneventful.

John found himself a perch on a large boulder nearby and Greg waved to him in goodnight before crawling inside their tent for the next few hours. John was left with his thoughts and the sounds of the nighttime forest for company. He didn’t want to tread back into dangerous territory, thinking about Sherlock, so he played a game with himself. As the nightly chorus of forest animals began to play, John picked out each one and named them. Owl calling out after prey. Two foxes who have found their mate. A flock of bats on the hunt. Deer stalking gently through the underbrush.

The game eventually became tiresome and repetitive. His eyes drooped and his head jerked up sharply in an effort to stay awake. Rather than try to play his guessing game he began to daydream. His mind began to wander. He thought of the cadence of his horse’s steps while they rode that day, the feel of his chest against Sherlock’s chest. If he closed his eyes he could feel the sway of their bodies atop the beast and almost smell the dusty sweat of travel that collected at the back of Sherlock’s neck. Their shared ride had ended with an argument and a capture that irked John to no end. He replayed the encounter with Felix over and over, trying to see where he could have done better. But every scenario still ended with Sherlock taking matters into his own enflamed hands.

Realization dawned on him, the reason he was revisiting the scene over and over again.

John had never been saved before.

He had always been the rescuer, the one to arrive in the nick of time, the hero. But it was undeniable in the dark and still of night; John had been in need of help, in need of rescue, and Sherlock delivered. The first to ever extend a hand and pull John out of peril. He put himself in harm’s way to save John and couldn’t fathom why.

Why why why why why why why?

He implied he’d run off at the first chance he got and he hadn’t. He said he would let bandits and thieves be a cover for him to take off and leave us to fate but he didn’t. He argues and rails against being rescued but then saves his captors from death even though it would benefit him. And inconvenience his brother with a ransom which, given his expressed “brotherly affection”, is something he’d draw amusement from. He could have let us die and yet he put himself in the line of fire.

John had never been more confused.

At last, his watch ended and it was time for him to get some blessed sleep. He slid off his boulder, stretching briefly and rubbing his numb bottom, and went to wake Greg. A gentle shake of the shoulder and whisper of “your turn” and Greg was grumbling awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. John sat back on his heels so Greg could crawl out of the tent and after a quick exchange of words, observations then goodnights, John let himself fall into the space his squire had occupied.

The bedroll was warm from Greg’s body and John snuffled happily into the cushioning. The chill of the evening slowly dissipated and his body relaxed, preparing for sleep. His eyes peeked open to where Sherlock was sound asleep. The man had his back to John but splayed limply as if he had melted, unconsciously taking advantage of the extra space with only two in the tent at a time.

Suddenly the warmth of Greg’s bedroll couldn’t compete with the warmth of Sherlock’s body. John’s fingers twitched with the desire to scoot his padding closer and collect Sherlock in his arms as he had that morning. To feel the soft puffs of sleep sour breath, to feel rather than hear dreaming snuffling, to have Sherlock clutch him again.

But he wouldn’t force himself on Sherlock again. Even if it was to break a spell, his kiss was unwanted and John doubted Sherlock would ever want him intimately in return. He wouldn’t ever force himself on Sherlock again. Sherlock didn’t want him anyway, even if he had wrapped himself around John that morning and saved him from certain death. That just proved that a sleeping Sherlock sought the warmth of another body and that awake Sherlock preferred one band of kidnappers over another. Neither occurrence was promising of anything other than platonic.

With a sigh and a wave of sadness, John pushed off his desire and wrapped his arms around himself and forced himself to roll away from Sherlock. He would go to sleep and wake up the next day and, maybe, they would get Sherlock to tell them a little about his magic.

\~*~/

John found himself walking to the river’s edge, disrobing as he went and desperate for a bath. He knew the water would be cold but refreshing and he welcomed the sensation. His skin was hot, so hot, he needed to cool himself nor surely he would catch fire. His feet squished the mud beneath, oozing between his toes and sending little thrills of cold chills up his spine as the breeze danced across his naked skin. The first touch of the cool, glassy water pulling a gasp from his lips.

He waded into the river, feeling the water support him and the current move around him. He walked and walked, knowing without realizing that he was seeking someone in the water. He turned his head this way and that, searching for someone. A few yards down the river a shock of pale skin and dark curls grabbed his attention.

Sherlock. Of course, of course he had been looking for Sherlock.

Despite the temperature of the water John felt his own temperature rise. His mouth stretched into a wry grin. He stood there, watching for a moment as Sherlock bathed himself with his back to John. Sunlight glinted off the droplets of water that perched on his creamy skin and John’s mouth went dry. He licked his lips, needing to taste the water on Sherlock’s skin. As if he were a bee seeking nectar from a flower.

His feet carried him towards Sherlock, the water quietly shushing and swishing with his movements. He knew Sherlock was aware of his presence, how could he not. Still, he kept his face turned away, letting John gaze only upon the canvas of skin of his back. John stopped, a hand's breadth of space between them, and he could swear for a moment that the air crackled like lightning between them.

Unable to contain himself any longer, John raised a wet hand to Sherlock’s shoulder, the drops from his fingers mingling with the ones already present on the man’s shoulder. “Sherlock,” he whispered, afraid to break the intensity but needing to see him all the same.

His fingertips barely brushed Sherlock’s skin when his voice answered back, more of a sigh than a word. “John…”

Slowly, deliberately, Sherlock moved. First, his chin lifted, tilting his head so that John could see him in profile. Then his shoulder shifted, torso twisting to bring his front into John’s sight. Lastly, his arms, ones that had been curled protectively around himself, unfolded to draw John impossibly closer. In a second, their bodies were flush together and the water around them practically boiled with passion.

“John,” his whispered again, lips against John’s earlobe. The word, said like a prayer, sent shivers along his spine and John found his hands caressing Sherlock’s bare hips.

“Sherlock,” he murmured back.

Without words of mutual agreement, they bent their heads and slot their lips against each other. This kiss was worlds different than their first. Sherlock didn’t hit him or push him away. In fact, Sherlock’s arms tightened around him, hands clutching at his bare skin as his lips slid over John’s. He opened underneath Sherlock’s momentum, relishing the control he took as he let Sherlock’s tongue dip inside his mouth. The groan that was torn from his mouth was swallowed by Sherlock and John sent his hands roaming for better holds. One splayed over the marblesque skin of his back and the other firmly grasping Sherlock’s arse, he rutted their pelvises together and they both moaned in slick delight.

“John,” Sherlock sighed once more, tilting his head back in ecstasy.

“Sherlock,” John replied, desperate.

“John…

John

John.

Tags under the cut Continued on AO3 (X)

@sweeter-than-cynicism @beadmaven @readermagnifique @conversationswithjohnlock @lawyermargo @sundayduck @cloakstone69 @ellipsicalelle @salve-regina-mills @cannibalcuisine @thedownfaller @soldierjhwatson @fuck-off-watson @littlethingwithfeathers @benedictgingerbatch00

As always, if you want to be tagged and I didn’t tag you, let me know. And if you don’t want to be tagged let me know. You guys rock! Thanks for reading!

#fic #my fic #fic update #shameless advertising #where is my gallant knight #writing #my writing

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lehohoho · 7 years

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Memory 1: The trudge back home

Her hunched figure trudging down the street

a look of a women who had been worn-down by life

moving toward simply because mixture of expectations and natural impulse

trudging down the street

i stop for no reason

taking a closer look at her

we're holding hands but it feels like she's in her own world

Is she stuck in memories, present thoughts, or daydreams of the future?

she looks back at me.

eyes like the long-eared puppy-dogs you see in the disney movies

so vulnerable yet guarded

as if even in her dawning adulthood, her naiveness had been torn away

what does she see in my face?

curiosity, puzzlement, or indifference

the blank expression that sits ever so present on my face

multiple fortune tellers repeatedly told my folks that their son was destined for two government posts

as if one wasn't enough to get them reaching their pockets for more prophecies

they joked that it had to be true

i always had a blank face on

As if nothing excited me, nothing frightened me. everything was simply there to me

the poker face befitting an unreadable Chinese government official

what did she see?

someone that didn't care

a stranger she had been talking to for months

a distant figure that somehow landed next to her

a ticking time-bomb remainder of yet another impeding fucked-up relationship

We trudge along the winter road, down past the empty library

cutting across a bridge to get to her dorm

home

walking down the steps into a basement

it reminded me of when i used to live in basement of my aunt's house

when our two families lived together in overfilled rooms

paul and i would wrestle in my parents room whenever they left weekends to sell at flea-markets

1...2...3...ding ding ding

he would always let me win

we get into her room, welcomed by the gentle dimness of a string of lights

she's exhausted by the day's work with more to come

I jump into bed, warm feelings filling my stomach

there's no feeling like the one falling asleep with a person you’re utterly comfortable with

i remember the tickle of her hair on my face

despite the distance how close she felt to me

somehow she had gotten so close

in nighttime glare

she looked so regal but strong

I wonder what she hopes i will be

a partner that gets excited to hear her speak

shares her loud animated laughs

listens to her fears and frustration without giving advice but simply to listen

to understand the present her

and

the her, she is trying to become

but none of those thoughts came across my mind that night

only simply a lingering thought of

this is a good time

take one final look

and fall asleep

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