#╳ ┊ ɪɴʙᴏx

[xnchxntmxnt]

hurt comfort with the astarion guy pls I don't don't know anything about the game I've just seen clips of him on youtube and I love him

you aSK AND YOU SHALL RECIEVE i love him

Blood is Rare and Sweet as Cherry Wine

Character: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)

Warnings: reverse hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol (reader doesn’t drink), general astarion backstory information but it’s nothing super specific. not proofread

Notes: almost cried writing this. im sorry. anyway I'm a hozier lover what else is new.

gn reader

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Astarion stared at the fire, leaning back against one of the boxes under his tent. There was something serene about this area—they’d never been attacked at camp, and it comforted him to know he could let his guard down somewhere. If only slightly. 

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you walking up to him until you spoke. 

“Astarion?” you asked, voice softer than he expected. “Are you alright?”

He must have looked upset—he didn’t need your pity, though, so he tried to shake himself back to reality. “What can I do for you, my dear?” he asked, sitting up a bit straighter and taking a sip of the ale next to him. 

You paused, looking at him with your eyebrows furrowed slightly, then finally decided to sit next to him. He offered the ale but you declined. Instead, you turned your body to face him and slowly, gently, brushed a bit of hair out of his face. 

And he flinched. 

You quickly pulled your hand away from him and rested it in your lap. He stared, wide-eyed, terrified of his own actions. He’d inflicted pain on countless others and never felt guilt for it, but such a simple gesture broke him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice small and quiet. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Astarion was always so eccentric, so proud, so…unafraid. This was an entirely new side to him, and he was even more embarrassed to show it to you. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide, but he didn’t have the energy to make his feet move. To make anything move. 

There was a beat of silence, where the two of you only listened to the crackling fire a few feet away. Then, you spoke. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

He didn’t understand how you could be so kind to him. There were so many things wrong with him as a person, or things from his past—he’d hurt people, tricked them, found ways for dear Cazador to turn them into mindless little puppets. Like he was, before all this mindflayer business. 

There was so much wrong in the world, and there you sat. His ray of sunshine—his hope. Somehow with you, things seemed a little less dreary. True, there was some mystical dream-being that followed you around keeping everyone from sprouting tentacles, so that was something positive. But your general disposition, the way you smiled at him when you caught him staring at you, the way you snuck away from the rest of camp with him to watch the stars…all these things made him fall so hopelessly in love. 

He couldn’t be that person for you, though. He never learned how to make big, romantic gestures or show his affection in a way that made sense. A way that made sure you knew he adored you in your best and worst moments. Cazador had ruined him—he’d ruined any semblance of having a normal life. On top of being a vampire spawn and ripped away from his life before, he was stuck in an endless loop of servitude and puppetry or constantly fearing for his life. He never learned or could afford, to just relax. You deserved someone who could love you whole-heartedly, not the monster he’d become. 

“I care for you so, so deeply, my dear,” he all but whispered, voice tight with emotion. 

“I know.”

“I cannot, for the life of me…” he trailed off, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I cannot understand why you care for me.”

His head hung low; you stared at him, shocked and unsure how to react to his words. He felt embarrassed, he felt small—there was nothing he could do, it seemed, to pull himself out of this rut he had himself stuck in lately. 

Then he heard your words. 

“Can I hug you, Astarion?”

He glanced over to you, seeing teh pleading look in your eyes. You’d asked. Maybe that made him feel a little more normal, a little less messed up. Hesitantly, he leaned into your embrace. The moment he felt the warmth of your arms around him, though, he melted. He laid his head on your chest, his full weight falling into you exponentially by the second. And with it, he began to cry. 

It was heart-wrenching sobs that felt like someone stabbing him through the heart every time, but he couldn’t mistake the comfort of your hands running through his hair. The soothing, repetitive motion calmed his nerves more than he thought possible. After what felt like ages, he began to sit up, trying to put himself back together like that hadn’t just happened. His eyes looked slightly irritated, but he tried desperately to wipe any evidence of his outburst from his face—

Suddenly, he felt your hands around his face, thumbs running over his cheeks. He stopped—his hands slowly fell, and he relaxed into your embrace once again. 

“You do not have to apologize for feeling things, Astarion,” you said softly. “And you certainly don’t have to hide from me. Not your thoughts, not your emotions.”

He nodded, turning his head slightly to the side to kiss the palm of your hand. His voice was hoarse but surprisingly gentle. “Thank you. I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s the thing. You do.”

He smiled softly—it had been a long time since he felt like he could do so freely. 

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@grays321

[oflorien]

THEY’RE A 10 BUT he's an orc, and he also stole an entire territory by killing a bunch of people via a volcano.

THEYRE A 10 BUT…accepting

Owns land ✅

Has goals ✅

Hot single dad ✅

Still 10

[ithilforged]

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃  𝐔𝐏  𝐈𝐍  𝐀  𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐎𝐖𝐍  𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆,  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒  𝐍𝐎  𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐘  𝐓𝐎  𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄  𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅  𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌  𝐈𝐓.  there  is  space  the  length  of  a  splintered  table,  ancient  wounds  allying  them  still.  fingertips  stained  in  foraged  herbs  hold  the  cup  as  a  poor  substitute  for  a  shield.  there  is  no  veil,  no  wall  that  could  keep  the  inner  workings  of  her  psyche  from  spilling  once  it  was  carved  open.  composure  forged  over  centuries  cracks  the  earth  with  a  sundering  force  and  clings  to  the  edge  of  her  features.  barely  by  a  thread  but  kept  nonetheless.

it  was  not  just  curiosity.  her  fascination  with  the  uruk  long  past  the  point  of  denying  the  existence  of  her  lingering  gaze.  how  it  catches  him  in  moments  of  sincerity  amongst  his  children.  the  depths  of  heart  in  every  conviction  held  fast  through  ages  of  torment.  the  traces  of  sunlight  arcing  the  depths  of  a  father's  love,  the  aspect  of  a  joyful  shadow  in  his  gaze  when  walking  amongst  them.  how  he  shares  in  their  grief  and  triumphs,  never  abandoning  the  mountain  of  destruction  it  will  take  to  rebuild  their  freedom.  gloria  cannot  deny  it  nor  can  she  deny  the  darkness  bound  to  his  essence.  she  is  consumed  in  the  beauty  of  it  all,  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲  𝐨𝐟  𝐡𝐢𝐦. 

❛  a  truth  that  does  not  absolve  you  from  the  same.  ❜  adar  has  every  right  to  do  so.  she  finds  herself  amongst  the  company  of  those  deemed  by  her  kin  and  kind  to  be  foes.  and  oh!  they  once  were;  an  epoch  of  desolation  in  her  story  and  yet,  she  still  tends  their  wounds  with  every  ounce  of  tenderness  and  vigilance  they  would  allow  of  her.

the  elf-maiden  finds  her  feet,  palms  empty  and  splayed  open  in  a  show  of  amity.  the  distance  slowly  crept  into  naught  between  them.  the  closer  she  gets,  the  more  the  cloak  of  boldness  falls  into  ruin.  ❛  those  in  your  service  carry  your  marking.  ❜  the  breath  taken  still  catches  in  her  throat,  ragged  and  sharp  as  frayed  thorns.  ❛  is  my  worth  unproven  still?  ❜  honey  eyes  dripping  with  a  yearning  that  suffocates.  𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇  𝐈𝐒  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋  𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

"I can feel you watching me… even when you shouldn't." adar / @muutos 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 & 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄 // 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

[nvrcmplt]

…| 🇲‌🇪‌🇲‌🇪‌🇸‌, 🇮‌🇨‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇦‌🇨‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌🇸‌ 🇦‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇴‌🇴‌🇨‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇦‌🇨‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌🇸‌.

…| 🇹‌🇭‌🇮‌🇸‌ 🇦‌🇱‌🇱‌🇴‌🇼‌🇸‌ 🇲‌🇪‌, 🇲‌🇾‌🇸‌🇪‌🇱‌🇫‌ 🇦‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇮‌, 🇹‌🇴‌ 🇭‌🇦‌🇻‌🇪‌ 🇵‌🇪‌🇦‌🇨‌🇪‌ 🇴‌🇫‌ 🇲‌🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇼‌🇭‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇮‌'🇲‌ 🇮‌🇳‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇴‌🇴‌🇩‌ 🇹‌🇴‌ 🇸‌🇵‌🇦‌🇲‌ 🇲‌🇾‌ 🇲‌🇺‌🇹‌🇺‌🇦‌🇱‌🇸‌.

…| 🇮‌ 🇼‌🇦‌🇳‌🇳‌🇦‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇦‌🇨‌🇹‌ 🇼‌🇮‌🇹‌🇭‌ 🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌ 🇦‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌🇷‌ 🇲‌🇺‌🇸‌🇪‌🇸‌.

[neesieiumz]

hiiii bae <3 did you loveee ultraman rising?

Hiii babes, I’m so sorry this is so late (like I’m barely on here anymore) but I LOVED Ultraman Rising. Me and Kenji have things to discuss in a room… in which there are no others 🤭

Emi is the cutest EVER too!! I enjoyed the movie so much 😭

[luckyfiona]

“ you can’t or you won’t? ”

                  ❝ ——  Oh. Hm. ❞

                                          ( Uh-oh. )

Lawless Lucky talked a big game around the bonfire last night. She wasn't too oblivious to pick up on the fact that her being scandalized and upset by the boys' violent sides was beginning to grate on them. So, when all of the boys were talking about the gruesome things they'd like to do to the people who made their lives hard in The Other Place, she forced herself to laugh along, and even took the opening to spin a tale about how she was planning to poison her old employer's food. And, oh, those rotten pirates? Well, she would do the same to them if she had a chance.

So busy seizing on the moment, she didn't consider that she would actually have to put her money where her mouth was.

It would shatter the illusion of Neverland as her luxurious, peaceful, happily-ever-after paradise if she had to see any real carnage with her own two eyes, much less deal any of it herself. But here was dear Peter, ever the altruist, granter of all her wishes, suggesting she come along to their next raid of the Jolly Roger. Lucky's pretty sure he knows this is out of her comfort zone, if he's paid any attention to her — and he does, of course he does. Why else would he go through the trouble of bringing all of these troubled souls to the island if he didn't empathize and care about all of them, right? She can't imagine any motive but love and sympathy. — It's funny, considering how anxiously, meticulously sensitive she tries to be to his boundaries. There was something maybe endearingly boyish about his disregard for hers.

She reasons that she should be grateful for his investment in keeping things fresh and interesting. This is what a sensible, healthy relationship looked like, right? Balancing energies was a major tenet of Celtic magic— it was the key to harmony and prosperity. A passive, supportive person worked best with a person who was a little more... challenging. It would be too stagnant or too chaotic any other way. She gives a fond half-smile to her love, her true love, convinced he's only looking out for her best interests. She would find a way to explain to him that this doesn't really interest her... another time.

               ❝ Well, I suppose I would... ❞ 

Lucky? Morally opposed to it? No sir, you've got the wrong lassie. You must be thinking of that prude from Chicago, Fiona Comisky, who used to dote and cry and sermonize Nate Larsen any time he got injured in a fight with some low-class brute he should've run away from. She had no qualms with clodhopping bullies who started barbaric fights. Didn't find it tasteless in the slightest.

She was opposed to tagging along for much more modest, supportive, team-playering reasons, to be certain. The same reasons why she declined Nate's offer to teach her how to use a bow and arrow: why would the Princess of Neverland get her dainty, dignified, not-at-all-labor-calloused hands dirty learning how to hunt when her boys got such a thrill out of slaying those innocent animals?

                ❝ But why bring a girl along to steal all of the attention?                        I'm not as strong or as sneaky as you. I may ruin the... Element of surprise. Or... distract everyone when they have to keep me out of harm's way. And there’s really— there's so much I could do back here. I thought I should make some sort of victory banquet for the boys to come back to. ......Besides... ❞

Lucky's fingers sidled over to his, tips brushing over his knuckles, as if timidly asking permission to show tenderness before making any sudden moves. Peter was a bit strange about physical touch. She could never tell if he was enjoying it, or if she maybe wasn't doing it right. When he didn't immediately swat her away, she gingerly placed her palms in his, intuitively careful not to scare him away like a baby deer too shy for human touch, or startle him like a scorpion ready to plunge a stinger into her at any moment. She has experience with his type. She has nothing if not patience and willpower to break through to them. She has hope that one day she'll be able to fully embrace him. If she's really as lucky as everybody says, maybe she'd be able to fully-fully "embrace" him.

                ❝ I love when you tell me all about your thrilling adventures. You get such this 𝓅𝓊𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓁𝑒 in your eye... It's the same one you had when you first found me— the one that I saw and thought, 'Oh, there it is: my 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫. At last, I can see it!' ❞ 

She boldly ventures to show a little more affection while she pleads, but not enough to push him too far, just enough to remind him that he can touch her back any time he's ready. (If he's rallying her to come out of her comfort zone, maybe this is a good time to encourage him to be a little more adventurous, too.) Her fingers, ever-so-lightly cupped over his hands, gently lace themselves into the spaces between his. She's not naïve enough to believe she's going to get out of raids forever. She just wants to experience feeling truly loved and close to him, just one time, before she has to see him at his absolute nastiest.

           ❝ Oh, Peter, won't you please let me see my 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 again when you fill me in later? ❞ 

( Won't you please let her be so lucky as to skip out on this? )

╳ — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ! // ACCEPTING.

[dusmoros]

 I’ve noticed you mention Persephone a couple times in regards to Meg and I’m curious how Meg views her and what sort of role and influence she’s had on Meg throughout the years. If you’re ever up for talking about them in more detail. 👀  [ @fireandfae​​ ] ⇀ 　Send me lore questions

 well I should have seen this coming at some point,  shouldn’t I?  after all,  Megaera is so tied up in two of the most well known mythological figures,  for all she is someone who barely exists in the mythology as we know it today.  but this is my playground now,  so let’s peak behind the curtain and into the things Megaera holds so dear that even though she has become very,  very acquainted with the lethe,  these memories linger,  albeit fuzzy at the edges.

to start,  we must set the stage just so,  by reiterating what has been spoken of at great length previously  ( because I am long-winded and I put too much into this not to bring it up ad nauseam )  : 

Megaera and her sisters are part of a curious group of children born from Nyx alone.  they aren’t quite primordial like some of their siblings, being closer to Titans.  but they remain one of the few groups that stayed completely neutral towards their own kin and the next wave of deities,  all the way to the Olympians.  they could not be swayed by any one side,  and that was for the best,  given that they must pass judgement and dole out punishments.  they reside within Erebus,  one of the deepest pits of Hades,  the resting place of Primordial Darkness,  Erebus himself.  a place that,  generally,  no one is really allowed to just step foot in willy-nilly.

over time,  Hades would be gifted rule of the most undesirable location,  that is what is from the earth to what lies below,  a supposedly poor lot he would,  in a way,  share with Poseidon,  who held rule over all bodies of water and what lay within,  even the great depths.  but with the Underworld came Tartarus,  the gates to the abyssal Erebus,  and a realm all its own,  housing the great Tartarus within.  and further still,  the Furies,  the Keres,  and more of Nyx’s numerous children.  by divine right of guests and the divine duty of the hosts,  peace was founded between Hades and those who existed within the untamed Underworld.  and under the unity of Hades,  the Furies became almost an extension of him.  a neutral party to side with the only god who did not wish to push his will upon them,  and to dictate their duties as he saw fit.  ( and should he ever violate this hospitality offered and given,  he would be punished not only by Zeus,  but also Nemesis or even Nyx herself. )

and for a time things were rather simple in the Underworld,  with conflicts being few and far between and solved as swiftly as they appeared.  and it ought to have stayed that way until the appearance of Kore,  of soon to be Persephone,  called Despoina.  however she arrived in the Underworld,  as bride or gift or destined,  she brought with her change.  at first the Furies ignored her,  for she was but another Olympic god come to trouble the lord of the land in their eyes,  and they had so much on their plate already.  but when Kore did not just leave,  it caused quite a ripple.  what being of light and life and nature would linger longer than Dionysus?  when called upon to greet her,  only three of the Furies would show themselves,  Megaera,  Alecto,  and Tisephone.

this meeting was not one with any passionate display of revulsion and anger or despair as one might hope.  no drama to be had,  as they believed Hades would not suddenly lead them astray after all this time,  and not just for some pretty thing he saw while picking flowers in some field.  they knew,  without a shadow of a doubt,  that Kore had a place here,  that she belonged here just as they did.  they could see it in how her presence had taken root in the stone,  how the world seemed to still at her feet,  awaiting with baited breath her next command.

the Furies were not unaware what the goddess had done since her arrival;  they were not unaware of the advancements she was making,  what modifications had already taken root,  and what modifications had yet to be made.  they could see clear as any how Persephone had begun altering the way which souls came and went.  how the unruly lands had blossomed under her hand,  given new life and purpose,  how even Hades seemed different with her at his side.  she had so quickly,  so effortlessly taken to the land of the dead,  as if she were always meant to be here.

the very landscape of the Underworld was changed under her hands.  those lands which Hades had left aside,  deeming them as solely belonging to Nyx’s brood,  were reclaimed by Persephone,  since they had been abandoned.  those very lands,  connected to the wild Asphodel Meadows,  were given new life,  a new title,  a much needed purpose.  the Elysium Fields would become the final resting place of the heroes of old,  and the heroes to come.  the Asphodel Meadows would become the true resting place of the ordinary souls,  the restless spirits which had once meandered here and there.  pathways to each land were carefully carved out,  and each location gained a new warden,  hand picked by Hades once he had approved of Persephone’s vision of the lands he had been bequeathed.

where Hades could be swayed by the pleas of the dead,  Persephone was rigid,  her softness only showing itself on rare occasions,  but her judgement was just and firm.  order had shifted,  and the duties of the Furies came with such ease now,  no longer did they have to track souls,  they received them readily within Tartarus.  Persephone had extended her hands to the Furies,  encouraging their participation in the ruling of the Underworld,  wanting to hear their opinions during the judging of souls.  to the Keres and those of Death,  she extended her ear,  her patience.

if Hades was the King of Death,  the sovereign of Tartarus,  than she,  the maiden,  sweet as honey,  was none other than dread Persephone.  Despoina come to take her throne.

to say the very least,  what Megaera and her sisters felt at this point was relief.  acceptance.  Persephone belonged here,  by Hades side,  with them.  ( even when,  for a fortnight,  one could scarcely separate the two from each others arms,  for Persephone wasn’t done with Hades yet.  and all the Underworld seemed to gossip of the possibility of an heir. )   and though Megaera had intended to keep her distance from Persephone,  the way she had with Hades to this point,  she found that Persephone had a kind of magnetism to her.  her personality was one which was welcoming,  and her attentive nature was attractive,  even to the Fury.  Persephone was easy to talk to in a way Hades wasn’t,  and she understood Megaera’s wants and needs like few others had.  theirs,  Megaera told herself over and over again,  was little more than a friendship rooted in respect,  a desire to be held as equals,  and built upon by mutual trust.

such feelings,  Megaera knew,  might spark into something else.  did,  actually,  spark richer,  deeper feelings for both the King and Queen.  she had begun pinning for them in a way she had never intended to.  she was not like Alecto,  who could act upon her feelings towards Ares.  and she was not like Tisephone,  who did not feel romantically.  of course,  Megaera had no intention of ever acting upon this desire for intimacy.  in fact,  it was shame,  however,  at having these feelings,  these emotions,  that began to bloom within her.  this was a weakness,  after all,  and one that she would never allow to affect her any more than it already had.

it wasn’t difficult for Megaera to put herself aside to continue this relationship with Persephone.  she remained quite content to be one of Persephone’s judges.  to stand at her side to receive the damned.  to converse with her so casually about the state of things above and below,  and to welcome her at the gate to the Underworld at the beginning of fall,  to lead her,  hand in hand,  to her awaiting spouse.  she laughed,  mouth pressed into extended wing,  each time Persephone bullied Hades,  until she,  too,  began to bully him during the seasons of Persephone’s leave from her throne.  she began to wear her hair in some style Persephone wished to see,  began to lower her guard as one might around someone they were close with  ...

and then she rebelled.  yes,  Megaera and her sisters rebelled against the Olympians,  and they were punished for it.  and Persephone was the one who saw her off.  and Persephone would be the one who welcomed her from the despair and anger rich depths of the Styx when,  at last,  she was freed of her mortal coil.  that tenderness which Persephone showed to Megaera then had left a mark on her for eternity.  so it is no wonder that she mourned for Persephone when,  as the age of gods began to end,  she vanished.

the Underworld would never be the same,  then,  nor now.

it was Persephone who shaped Megaera into a being worthy of being called a warden of the Underworld,  who had,  unknowingly,  shaped her into the sharp tongued STYX agent she is today.  and if she could be reunited with Persephone now,  eons later,  perhaps her heart might stutter,  perhaps she will hold out her hand at the gate to the Underworld and welcome her home..

[arinmacil]

tag dump 001

[xnchxntmxnt]

We need more solomon x reader ffs

How about a jealous Solomon because he gets constantly cock blocked by the demon brothers and in the end he makes an angry love confession to the reader?

Jealousy

Characters: Solomon

Warnings: possibly some minor cursing

Notes: ok this ended up not being an angry love confession but i believe in talking about emotions healthily <3. Also i just liked this resolution SORRY ITS NOT EXACTLY WHAT YOU ASKED !!!

gn reader

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He couldn’t believe this. 

Again. 

For the nth time since he’d realized his complicated feelings about you, those stupid brothers found continual ways to keep him from getting any alone time with you. There you were, agreeing to make dinner with him before being called away by Mammon again so he could have your assistance with dinner. And being their attendant at this point in time, you had to agree. 

That didn’t mean he liked it. 

He ate some poorly cooked chicken for dinner and didn’t even touch the scorched vegetables—his cooking wasn't incredible, but even this was a new low. He was too distracted while he was cooking though. Too busy thinking about you. 

When you finally got back to your dormitories (that was the best thing to call it at the moment), he was still rather irritated, but instead of fuming or yelling at you, he curled up on the couch with a book to take his mind off of everything. 

“Solomon?” you asked, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him. “You alright over there?”

“Perfect,” he said, tone short and curt with you. He didn’t mean it to be rude, but he had too many things on his mind and he didn't want to be disturbed. 

You sighed and he watched you cover yourself with the blanket out of the corner of his eye. Frustrating as the situation was, he couldn’t stand the thought that he was the reason for the small pout that sat on your face. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, placing his finger in the book and closing it. “It’s not your fault—I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you.”

“What’s wrong?”

That was the question of the hour, it seemed. He had to decide now: tell you and risk the relationship you’d built together, or keep it a secret and leave you wondering if he was upset with you. Neither of those were lovely options, but he had to weigh his odds in a split second. 

“I…I wanted to spend more time with you this evening,” he admitted, speaking much softer than he had been. He’d deny it adamantly, but the tips of his ears were slightly pink (and gaining color the longer he spoke). “I feel like I haven’t…been able to spend enough time with you. Those pesky brothers continue to steal you away from me.”

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he continued. This was going to be the hardest part. “(Y/N), in my hundreds of years of living, I've never met someone quite like you. And I've met a lot of people. You…there’s something special about you—some spark—that I can’t ignore. You’re dedicated, passionate, and a joy to be around, frankly. And I…I guess I've grown to be quite fond of you. And maybe a little jealous…”

It took a moment for the information he just gave you to sink in. He watched as the realization dawned on your face and hated every second of silence that passed as it did. After what felt like forever, you smiled at him. Smiled. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re telling me the all powerful warlock Solomon has a crush on me?” you asked, grin spreading wider and wider on your face. 

He groaned and hit himself on the head with his book. “I take it back! You’re terrible to me. I give you my heart and you proceed to make fun of me, how dare you!” He couldn’t be angry at you, though. Really, he was trying his best to hold in his laughter. 

When he opened his eyes again, you were sitting next to him instead of across the couch. You looked adorable with that mischievous glint in your eye he didn’t exactly trust. 

“What?” he asked. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re plotting.”

“I’m not plotting!”

“You’re plotting something.”

Without any extra room to argue, you leaned in and placed a dramatic kiss on his lips, complete with a small ‘mwah’ sound. He sat there, stunned for a moment, mind short-circuiting under the circumstances. 

“You-you just-”

“I did.”

“And you-”

“Breathe, first,” you teased, smiling a bit softer at him. “You should have said something ages ago. I would have made sure to make more time for you. And for what it’s worth…I’m quite fond of you too.” You dropped your voice, trying to mock his earlier words. In response, he shoved your shoulder and laughed. 

“You’re horrible to me!” he complained again, though he couldn’t find it in himself to stop smiling. This is everything he’d wanted for ages—to have you, to love you, and feel that affection in return. Now he had it, and there wasn’t a reason in the world he’d throw it away. 

taglist

@grays321 @kodzukoi @kage7ama @poeberlyavenue

[oflorien]

IF THEY HAD A KID... accepting gil-galad @ celebrían ft. @scion-of-kings

NAME:   (  princess  )  ELBERETH;  queen  of  stars  GENDER:  cis  female GENERAL   APPEARANCE:  she  has  dark  hair  spun  with  natural  silver  highlights  that  sparkle  when  touched  by  the  sun.  much  like  her  mother,  she  favours  wreaths  and  flora  accessories,  intricate  little  braids  offset  by  diadems  occasionally.  there  is  no  singular  doubt  that  her  features  hold  all  the  loveliness  between  her  parents.  her  eyes  are  grey,  dark  and  sweet  and  (  which  makes  it  near  impossible  to  at  least  understand  her  view  point….or  say  no  ),  gentle  as  spring.  tall,  lithe  but  statuesque  in  frame;  she  walks  as  though  she  is  simply  floating  on  air.  what  is  prominent  is  the  cluster  of  freckles  that  dot  across  her  nose  and  beneath  her  eyes;  as  though  a  constellation  of  stars  kissed  her  upon  birth.  her  smile  is  a  coveted  little  treasure,  plentiful  and  a  reminder  of  all  that  had  been  fought  for.  PERSONALITY:  she  is  highly  intelligent,  a  quality  that  is  to  be  expected  when  considering  her  parentage  but  she  far  exceeds  expectations.  has  always  existed  above  the  learning  curve  of  her  peers;  wise,  sharp,  contemplative  and  calm.  not  a  child  of  rash  decision-making,  even  her  risks  were  calculated  and  thought  out  before  engaging.  politically  minded,  gentle  of  nature,  curious  and  charismatic,  CHEEKY.  she  has  a  delicate  and  profound  grasp  on  histories,  politics,  philosophies  and  diplomacy.  her  sense  of  humour  is  well-matched  to  her  mother  and  father  and  because  of  this,  elbereth's  laughter  and  joy  can  often  be  heard  before  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  princess.  she  is  to  be  considered  spoiled  by  way  of  unconditional  love  from  her  family  (  and  gil-galad  LETS  BE  HONEST  ).  despite  that,  she  is  a  gracious  being.  SPECIAL   TALENTS:  she  loves  horseback  riding,  racing  up  trees  with  her  mother,  and  an  adept  hand  with  archery,  sword  and  shield,  though  she  never  intends  to  take  to  battle.  she  is  musically  talented  with  the  harp  and  carries  a  spec  of  her  maternal  grandmother's  foresight.  WHO   THEY   LIKE   BETTER:  i  can  promise  she  loves  her  family  in  equal  measure  but  the  question  should  be  who  lets  her  get  away  with  more  and  that's  her  father…without  a  single  question.  same  as  he  is  with  her  mother.  the  poor  high  king  has  his  odds  stacked  against  him.  WHO   THEY   TAKE   AFTER   MORE:  she  is  much  like  her  father  in  manner  and  mind  but  carries  herself  similar  to  her  mother  which  extends  to  her  mischievous  qualities,  even  if  each  on  is  well  thought  out  before  she  partakes.  PERSONAL   HEADCANON:   politically  minded,  she  becomes  an  honorary  herald  of  her  father  and  eventually  emissary  that  runs  between  lothlórien.  should  her  father  ever  step  down  from  his  position,  it  is  likely  she  will  find  place  where  he  was  or  inherit  lorien.  FACE   CLAIM:   alexandra  dowling

[ithilforged]

𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐔𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓,  𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒  𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄.  her  fingertips  stained  in  foraged  flora  to  tend  his  brood  of  children,  each  tenant  of  ancient  wisdom  instilled  with  care.  the  least  of  her  burdens,  an  earned  trust  which  eased  an  emptiness  and  reforged  purpose.  a  divine  calling  to  understand  those  held  at  the  tip  of  so  many  blades,  crushed  under  the  violence  of  willful  ignorance  worldwide.  not  that  she  laid  faith  in  that  which  could  not  be  seen,  that  which  has  forgotten  her  to  rust  under  sorrow.

no  longer,  it  seems.  the  thought  of  leaving,  of  walking  away  fills  her  with  visceral  dread.  every  century  of  solitude  holds  onto  her  bones,  a  reminder  of  what  it  felt  like  to  be  abandoned.  left  behind  to  lands  beyond  her  reach,  no  kin,  no  country,  nor  place  to  call  home. 

the  dark  wild  curls  brushed  over  her  shoulder.  his  presence  moves  her  fëa.  aligning  instincts,  stirring  darkened  longings  and  giving  them  hearth  to  ignite.  𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐓𝐎  𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇  𝐈𝐒  𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇  𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇  𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆.  alcariel  falters  in  concentration,  tome  and  quill  forgotten  with  the  press  of  his  lips  against  the  raised  skin.  adar's  mark  worn  as  pride,  as  anchor.  pressed  to  the  edge  as  a  heart  beating  upon  her  sleeve,  her  breath  catches.  softest  exhale  shattered  by  want.  ❛ do  you  tire  of  seeing  it  yet?  ❜  a  taunt  held  at  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  body  swayed  with  a  dance  of  quiet  need  sung  in  her  hips.

head  adjusted  in  slight,  offering  more  to  adorn  and  burn.  her  hand  woven  into  callous,  a  scarred  palm  brought  to  her  lips.  each  kiss  planted  with  REVERENCE.  ❛ or  do  you  like  knowing  what's  yours,  írima  hér?  ❜  her  voice  a  husk  of  broken  spring,  as  if  to  dare  his  word  otherwise.

a kiss on the back of the neck @uruuk 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 //𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

[wandasgirlblog]

I love your blog it’s so pretty! It’s bringing out the marvel dork in me lol 🫣

ahh??? omg stop thank you, i’m blushing. i’m so happy to read that🥹🥹. 🩷🩷

doing this blog literally makes the marvel fan inside me so happy

[neesieiumz]

hii neesie! i just want to give you praise for that nanami fic! you had me biting my nails reading it 😭 but seriously it was so good!!!!!

AAAAHH im so glad you enjoyed it!! please cherub’s apple is probably my favorite fic I’ve ever worked on 😭 the brain rot was so real

[eomrk]

oi oi oi baka heh

my first message on this account and it’s “oi oi oi baka heh” kinda honored booka butt 😇

[luckyfiona]

“ what are you doing out here by yourself? ”

(Flashback to their first meeting???¿?¿?)

She hasn't stopped thinking about him, not even to sleep. Every inch of her― her brain, her heart, her soul, her dreams― everything is preoccupied with the brave boy who kept her out of harm's way the other night.

It's been one year since Fíona's parents had to give her up, because they couldn't afford to feed her. They couldn't take care of her, so they sent her off with Captain Price to give her a better life in America. In theory, he's her savior, but Fíona doesn't feel very safe with him. Maybe because she knows he only took her because it's profitable for him. The stranger who protected her had nothing to gain in doing so; he only did it out of an extraordinary humanitarianism. He acted more like a loving family member to her since she first emigrated to this place. She didn't know his name.

She's been scavenging for loose change since she started her indentured servitude, to try to slowly create the more beautiful life she was promised in America, as if her savings of pennies would ever afford her the dresses she makes at the boutique, or even a vase of flowers to put in her sad little room. But recent events have her realizing that if she truly wants to beautify her life, she's better off investing in people to keep in it. She thinks she'd be happier as a pauper with a family than a luxurious little orphan in a cold, dark manor. So, she takes her modest savings to the kindly old man on the corner with some kind of popcorn stand. He says he's selling the new all-time favorite American snack. He calls it Cracker-Jack. She's never heard of it, but she hopes her new all-time favorite American boy has.

She counts out her modest savings on the table of the popcorn stand with raw determination in her eyes. She wants to offer the boy something to eat. She wants to take care of him the way he took care of her, so she never had to lose him. She wants to feed him so she never has to give him up.

She takes her offering to the spooky alley where she first saw him, in eager anticipation that he'll slip through again― as if some part of him might be hoping to cross paths with her again, too. As the minutes pass into hours, optimism turns into dread and every noise seems to startle her, and it's the first time in her life that she realizes just how much danger she's willing to put herself in to find someone who will care about her. By the time he spots her, she's so focused on the noise she heard at the other end of the alley, convinced there's someone there with hungry eyes and a knife, she nearly jumps out of her skin at the blunt tap of his fingers on her shoulder. When she whips around to meet his gray eyes, she realizes she should've spent less time convincing herself that there were ghouls floating around her and more time planning what she was going to say.

❝ Hi. Sorry. ❞

She's reminded of what a maladjusted outsider she really is when she finally has a chance to talk to someone her own age and doesn't know how to. She stammers, taking in boyish features: raised eyebrows that don't posit to have seen everything, a mischievous elven nose ready to be thumbed at anyone trying to use their stature to pick on him, wide eyes that haven't lost their humanity even despite the purple crescent moon framing the left one, which paints a scene to her of him earning it while sticking up for a little guy― she wouldn't find out until a bit later that he received it from being too scared to stick up for himself in the face of a volatile commander. Awkward and curt, starstruck and stumbling, she shoves the bag of Cracker-Jack against his chest and insists:

❝ It― It's America's new all-time favorite snack. ❞

In an act of kindness she never anticipated, and maybe one even he didn't know he had in him, he suggests they sit and eat it together. Two underfed strays, they're halfway through wordlessly devouring the box of Cracker-Jack, with rogue kernels flying out of the sides of their mouths and down their shirts when his stomach is finally full enough to collect himself and address the elephant in the alleyway:

(“what are you doing out here by yourself?”)

Fiona fixes her posture and pivots to the persona of a sophisticated woman who has to finish chewing and swallow before she speaks, and it gives her enough time to figure out how to answer that question. He already had to have gathered she was waiting for him with the gift. It was a bit late to play it cool or tough. Her posture sinks back into a more comfortable position, honest with herself and open to him.

❝ I suppose I haven't got any friends to be out here with me. ❞

There was nothing to gain in pretending she wasn't sad and lonely. She couldn't do anything to fix it if she didn't address it. There was productivity in being intimately vulnerable, and if she took the lead in establishing that kind of disarmament, it could encourage him to do the same. It didn't seem like either of them had much to lose, but they could help each other if they dropped their guards.

❝ But it doesn't seem like you have many real friends, either. ❞

She couldn't help but notice, that night she first saw him, how quickly the street urchins he was horsing around with scattered the second he threw himself into harm's way to help Fíona. Hungry, desperate, lost and unloved boys seem to operate more like a wild pack of dogs than a band of brothers who would back each other up if it wouldn't benefit themselves. She decided that she and her favorite boy could be better than typical mutts. She holds out a hand to shake, like a civilized dog― one that people could love.

❝ I'm― ❞ The name Fíona Comascaigh nearly leaves her mouth before she remembers Mrs. Price told her not to say it like that anymore if she wants to be accepted. It's crucial to meet people on their level, to bend herself and acclimate to their culture for them to see her as a member of their tribe. She affects her best American accent before fumbling out: ❝ Fiona Comisky. ❞

When they shake, with their hands caked with nutty caramel and popcorn dust―the bread they've broken together― it feels meaningful to her, like they've sealed a bond she'll hold with her for a long, long time. They're attached now. As both of their disgusting candy residue intermingles, it's like a blood pact ritual. But stickier.

╳ — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ! // ACCEPTING.

[dusmoros]

questions sent in by @wishkept​​ ⇀ 　Send me lore questions

What was Meg's initial impression of the Shrouds and their attempts at managing the Underworld in Hades' absence? How did she handle the loss of him on her own end?

To start,  we need to go to your second question and then work our way up to the Shroud line.  It’s a long story,  but I’ll keep it as short as I can. 

Megaera had,  and still has,  complicated feelings towards Hades,  and Persephone;  these feelings that she cannot readily express,  or that she considers her greatest weakness.  The kind of feelings that would put her on the same level as Alecto,  and that is not something she will ever be ready to discuss out loud.  As the Age of Gods came to an end and the Gods she was closest to began to fade,  entering the great sleep or unmaking,  Megaera found a lot of her time being spent at Hades’ side,  fulfilling roles that were once Persephone’s,  for the Queen wouldn’t return after the last Spring of the Era.  ( Hades would be marked as one of the last Gods to fade,  lingering longer than Poseidon,  and even Zeus,  but outlived by Hera. )

During this tumultuous time,  Megaera had to balance out her duties as a Fury,  and those of Underworld guardian.  Her feelings,  whatever they were for Hades,  were buried beneath eons of careful planning and diligent work effort.  And should she stray too close,  quick backlash would make her retreat.  Not that she ever strayed in the sense of wanting to become that kind of companion.  ( Megaera does bear several scars from Hades’ wrath as his time grew shorter and his temper flared.  The most obvious one is a ring of burned tissue around her throat that she masks beneath an illusion casting choker. )

When Hades did eventually disappear,  Megaera was given temporary control over the Underworld.  She became the key-holder to the gateway to the Underworld,  and the wingless queen upon the throne.  For centuries she remained in the dark,  her sole focus on ensuring that the Isle of Lamentation would not be found until a true heir could take her spot.  During these centuries,  Megaera was unable to really contemplate the disappearance of Hades.  She wasn’t allowed to linger on her wants,  or to mourn him.  She was busy trying to hold up an entire island,  to use her own body as an anchor point to the Underworld,  guiding souls and so forth.  This would cause severe damage to her body,  let alone her own core being,  burning away at her primordial essence,  but she bore the unending pain for the sake of loyalty.

When the first Shroud arrived,  he was little more than a child,  almost physically comparable to Ortho.  He,  so full of potential,  would take his seat on Megaera’s lap,  and from there be reared by her until he could be bathed in the waters of the Styx and receive the blessing of the Underworld.  This child would be given the name Shroud only after he came up from the Styx,  if he survived at all.  This would birth the Shroud curse as well,  to be caught between life and death,  to produce blot and burn it at an alarming rate.

To say the truth,  Megaera felt nothing for this child at first.  He was merely the one who survived the ritual,  the child who bore the fading blood of the gods.  But he was dedicated,  and he ruled the Underworld like Nyx had once ruled the Night,  grasp lose enough to give freedom,  but tight enough to remind everyone not to fuck with what is theirs.  Megaera can,  now,  many eons later,  say that she respected the first Shroud,  and his approach to managing the Underworld.  But he was no Hades,  and over time,  none of his children could really fill that role,  nor those who came after him.

Does she remember anything at all regarding being immersed in the River Styx? If so, how would she describe it?

So Megaera has no memory of her deaths as Megara and her interactions with Styx.

However,  she has become very acquainted with the river outside of those instances,  as she is one of the guiding hands which leads the Shroud heirs into the heart of the Underworld where the river resides,  wading only to her waist before letting the souls of the despairing pull the heir under.  And should the child live,  they will have to drag themselves out of the soul filled stygian depths.  The waters feel incredibly heavy to Megaera,  like wading through a eternal quagmire,  the overwhelming despair of millions of souls fighting endlessly,  despairing,  hating,  suffocating.

Upon getting her wings back, did she feel more complete in herself or was it something she barely thought about?

Getting her wings back was like being reborn,  like being made whole again.  It was like awakening in Persephone’s arms,  returned from her accursed mortal life,  and feeling weightless.  Returning to the cosmos,  the everdark.  If it weren’t for the fact that the problem children still being around,  she might have manifested her wings,  might have stretched them to the sky,  shedding this fragile mortal shell for the first time in eons.  But it also made Megaera keenly aware of how fragile she had become,  separated as she was from her sisters,  her mother,  and Erebus.

If she could claim the ability to open and close the gate of the Underworld, would she?

Since she has already had such an ability in the past,  she would only claim it if she was certain that Idia or,  in some instances,  Ortho could not handle the ability.  In the past,  she has had to forcefully rip this ability from previous heirs who had gone mad with power,  or buckled beneath the weight of the Underworld.