#➸ let's compare scars; I'll tell you whose is worse【haleir && godric】

[hillrot]

"Kiss me one more time." He says, knowing full well he'll want another, then another.

KISSY SENTENCE STARTERS.

       He pauses from his search for his shirt, half convinced that his darling might have concealed it attempts to keep Godric close at hand. (As though Godric can’t go to a noon time shirt with a bareback. He would burn, red as a lobster from head to hips, but he could to prove a point.) “Tempting me back into your arms, siren?” he teases, straightening as much as he can in the belly of the ship to saunter over. Clear to see, it’s working, as it always does. Ducking beneath a support beam to close the distance between them, to weave his fingers into Haleir’s shirt and tug him into a sweet kiss, tilting them forward still to deepen this kiss and make up for all the ones they missed while sleeping in different quarters. 

     “Four hours,” he laments eventually, voice slipped into a language known only to them. “How on earth will I contend myself without you for that long?” 

[hillrot]

@winterfollows

Set of holographic stickers dedicated to The Holy Trinity.

[hillrot]

"Oh, but your love is sunlight. My Sunlight."

(this is soft as fuck)

 Look at him: the might and scarred, rendered malleable by the most precious words. The old knight bows his head, hiding, in the crook between Haleir’s neck and shoulder. Both of them laid bare in every each possible as Godric cradles the elf in his lap, hugging around his waist and fighting the urge to deny it or claim it all a mistake. They were no strangers to each other, but he was still growing accustomed to this warmth, the adoration and the very thought that another could simply love him. (That he could love in turn, and the pieces of a soul or heart were not as broken as Ainslie and Cirrus had intended them to be.) Haleir is far, far too kind to him, offering comparisons of very warmth that gives life to the world. 

      “Yours,” he breathes shakily, the least that he can agree to. 

[hillrot]

If they had a kid: Godric + Hal because I can't not? It could be Eira or any others who may come after~

(well alright then)

     i’m so soft for the aesthetic of them having a daughter and godric having the daddy’s little girl vibe with his daughter. and i know eira should have red hair and this fc does not, so maybe we use our imaginations, or maybe eira does have a younger sister because lbr her parents are insatiable. but i present: this background character from the last season of orange is the new black (presented 100% out of context to avoid spoilers and below cut). but she’s got hal’s face and godric’s messy curls and in the scene she’s singing a naughty song which is 100% godric’s fault. i’m inclined to hope this is a suitable young eira fc. but eira is your muse not mine

but. if they did have another daughter. godric has always insisted that someone he marries names their kid. and i’m sure godric aND hal both are firm believers in a private (true) name and at least a nickname to use in public. whether from hal or their habits of accidentally fussing over strays and maybe this time, they just don’t turn the little one loose when they leave town. consider: the family curled up and godric softly admitting, “my mother’s name was rosie. well, not really -- but she was the closest thing I ever had to a mother.” and them deciding to call her rosemary. and probably something more traditional sounding, give her a middle name to use when she’s at home so she doesn’t get taken. 

[hillrot]

Stop reblogging this. I'm not a resource blog.

[hillrot]

@winterfollows​

[walks up to couple] so who’s the ancient forest spirit and who’s the human who stumbled upon them?

[hillrot]

"Sunlight, come here." His breath is warm, soft and ticklish like thistledown when he bends to press a kiss to Godric's temple. Delicate fingers comb through his curls, trace lazy figure-eights along the inked and scarred planes of his back. "Rest a moment with me." His lap smells like linen and wildflowers.

( unprompted soft)

      Tranquility used to be an unspoken rarity. A distant memory, haunting like a far away dream -- meant only be chased, always out of reach. Once, he was deprived of the sun. Taunted with old mistakes and bloodied memories that had earned him chains and promises of eternity spent under the hill. Once, this was an impossibility. 

    But now? Now the sun was warmth on the bare skin of his back, the grass beneath his skin. He didn’t flinch away from the steady steam of fingers in his curls, along his back and body. He trusted, yielded even, and his eyes were closed in utter contentless of it. “Mhmm,” humming, sleepily. The ginger shifts up on his elbows and moves not very far at all to lay himself cross the soft lap beside him. One arm lazily curled around Haleir’s hips while he tucks the other under his cheek as mock pillow and simply tucks in. Sprawled now, nuzzling against a thigh and breathing deeply. 

     “You got me” he yawns. “Looks like I’m stuck here forever.” 

[hillrot]

👫 Leaves this here 2 million years late

👫 and get some hcs about our muses

 bonus for their baby daughter

there came a time when haleir had been poisoned by godric’s old weapon, when the illness seemed so dire, godric very nearly considered handing himself back over to the fey in exchange for the antidote. if haleir was still cognizant, he might have been able to catch bits of godric’s early morning ‘prayers’ spent reflecting over the idea and cursing their former queen up and down. which in hindsight, might have been a catalyst for discovering his prayers were giving away their locations daily but i digress. what ultimately stops him is that in all of his distrust, he could not thing of a concrete phrasing for a deal that would not allow loopholes to take place. he didn’t trust that the antidote given would be a permanent one, or that it wouldn’t contain a worse poison. or that it would come in time. but oh, he certainly was willing to make that sacrifice.

i’m inclined to say that’s when the cracks in his crystal first started to appear, contemplating how to safely break his oath; in hiding Haleir and tending to him between fights; that he finally broke down in tears. looking for any sort of divine intervention. That is his grief, someone stumbles upon the messy, blood-soaked and hysteric tiefling and tries to comfort him and for once, he tells most of the truth. That the love of his life is sick and dying because of his mistakes, he doesn’t know how to cure him. They ask him three questions: if he would die for this love, if the love of his life would ever forgive him for dying, and what he would offer in exchange for help. hesitant on the last and jaded by the fey, he offers, “a favor, barring any that would endanger my love, of equivalent effort and time spent, and only to any singular persons who assisted.” he doesn’t think much of owing the stranger, and in fact intends to blow them off once the materials or antidote is in hand. it isn’t until quite possibly months to years later. he doesn’t even think of favor owed until he spots a familiar face soliciting assistance from able-bodied people to help a temple for the goddess, sune. 

sometime after the inevitability that is godric losing his job in the city for being late / not showing up, haleir offers that he can use the crossroads to market his cures and little fixer business. provided he cleans up his clientele. cue someone new, nervous looking soul during the day coming inside and blindly calling out: “uhhh, I was hoping to have a word in private with Mr. Ralaferin?” and Hal from the bar plus Godric from tidying up or something simultaneously asking, “Which one?”

i bet haleir gets nervous after he discovers his long lost privateer, and what he really does for a living now. (well before the moving in.) nights where things that reek of magical intervention come across the news and he thinks of higgins going overboard, but this time, worries they might show a photo of an unidentified member of the nypd. he always texts or leaves a short voicemail to make sure godric made it in okay, and godric calls him back so hal knows for certain it’s him. they take turns offering to keep talking depending on their nights and how busy it is. haleir until godric can fall asleep. godric mumbling softly until haleir can close down. 

BONUS: godric bought a journal, sometime after he finally comes to his senses and starts holding eira. every so often, he would trace her baby hand inside of hers or Haleir’s. he would write about when she started teething, keep a little scrapbook of things like a lock of her hair from her first haircut. what they did for her birthday. wishes for her - not like careers but how he hopes he’s happy and how much he believes in her, how hard they’re trying to give her everything they never had.  patches of clothes from her old favorite clothes and what she would do in them, a little scrapbook if you will. it’s a sizable journal, so there’s plenty of room left in it. besides the fact that him and haleir probably curl up with it when their nest is empty and their baby girl is grown up, he waits for something big to happen to happen when she’s older before giving it to her. maybe it’s her buying a place of her own (but she’s welcome to stay forever i bet even if that cramps her style), maybe it’s waiting to see her get serious with someone. in any case: “this is the story of you, of our baby girl. now, i don’t know what happens next. but sometimes it helps to be able to look back and see where you’ve come from, to know where you’re going. and there’s room to grow in it too, if it ever strikes your fancy.” (it of course, does not use anyone’s name, only terms of affection, your father / me etc)

[hillrot]

💝 me frantically catching up on missed memes

send in a ‘💝’ for a random special valentine’s day kiss

      He doesn’t want to head in to work. How could he could he when he had the chance to wake up to a warm bed, beside someone who had fussed and sheltered him long before any romance had been cemented, someone who cared for him even when Godric once couldn’t remember the other man’s name. It’s an odd feeling… to wake up and realize how full and content one was with the world, that it might pass by outside, and he wouldn’t even care so long as that time was shared. Was that love? Or hopelessness? 

      “Haleir.” Too soft to stir the other as he sits up, the covers on his side of the bed falling to his lap. Part of him not wanting to steal the bartender from sleep, but the vast majority of him wants a proper farewell as he gets ready for work. Really, he should start leaving a spare suit here. Or at least a change of slacks. There were only so many walks of shame into work he could make before people would start to meet the ‘lucky devil’. The thought to shake the fae awake to fufill that desire of his comes to mind, but passes just as quickly. 

     Instead, Godric ducks underneath the covers, stretching down and across the mattress until his mouth finds it’s way to the plush skin of one of Haleir’s hips. Once there, laying a gentle kiss in place. “Starlight?” Another, attention wandering yet again in lieu of the inevitable march of time. A gentle warning to “Wake up”, before setting his sights on Haleir’s stomach. A quick inhale of breath and if the elf wasn’t awake already, he had the misfortune of being woken up to Godric blowing raspberry kisses against his belly. 

[hillrot]

“ You know who isn’t screwed yet ? Me. ” //have a fussy needy archfey, you're welcome

( lost the meme but this is beautiful and demands reply )

     “Not feeling very subtle, are we?” Oh, he shouldn’t laugh. That should not be the first noise he makes after entering their rented room, even if the evening’s plans have gone off without a hitch. Even if, for once, his pockets are flush of coin and there is a socialite and fiance now likely regret ever setting eyes on a glamoured ‘human’ with eyes more captivating than all the seas. But he can’t help but chuckle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tail, still loosely wrapped around one leg so as to not be tripped or stepped on in light of his glamouring, flitting ever so slightly as he tries not to seem too pleased with how much he was missed. 

       After a moment of consideration, he makes a point to lock the door before stepping forward. Just enough to perch himself on the arm of a chair nearby to where Haleir stood, a comfortable distance where he could take up one of the elf’s hands and turn it over, idly kissing at the back of bare knuckles. “My poor starlight, have I been neglecting you?” Lowering the hand from lips, Godric pulls gently, hoping that he’s not in so much trouble that Haleir won’t stand close to him. “Should I have left the assignment you gave me and come back to you sooner? Is that how you imagined it? Because it sounds like you’ve been thinking about this an awful lot. So go on. How would you have me fix this?”

[hillrot]

"These eyes can do more than see."

“Repo! The Genetic Opera” sentence meme

     What is this now? His third, fourth time where he finds himself inexplicitly drawn to the Crossroads? His penchant for a saccharine wine that tastes like the only thing he could ever consider his home getting the best of him yet again, while the bartender’s sweet-as-molasses voice can’t quite offset Godric’s nervous edge. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t put himself into such close proximity to a fae that he knows next to nothing about, but this bar is the closest place he’s come to even thinking it might be safe to unfurl or relax. The supposed sympathetic warlock. 

      But even as many glasses in as he is, Godric can hear innuendo in those words. “I don’t ... know what you’re talking about. How can you do more than see?” It’s one thing to play games of innocuous circumstances. (For all anyone knew, he could have been traded faerie wine as payments. Nothing should be suspicious by him finding pleasure in it.) But there’s something more. Far more. 

     The fae across the bar counter is staring at him, eyes tracking over the curved scar that once tore through his flesh from temple to temple. The doe-eyed fae could see through his glamour -- that much had always been evident to Godric. To the point that after the first visit, he had yet to bother repeating the simple trick. But this is different; this is being seen through. A thinly veiled not-quite accusation of possessing the Sight. 

     “You know what? Never -- never mind.” He pushed back away from the counter abruptly. His wine sloppily discarded on the counter as he tries to stand and leave --- 

      And it’s like he forgets how heavily that drink affects a mortal constitution. The world spins out from beneath him in a sudden head rush and he’s left grasping blindly for the countertop, panic rising in his chest. 

[hillrot]

12.) Things you said when you thought I was asleep

( things you said )

       “You’re a wicked man, do you know that?” 

        Back pressed against Haleir’s bedroom door and a rapport of terrible ideas echoing through his head. Godric, ever weak for the fae who had dozed off sometime in their discussions. What a queer little pair they make; the human seated at the floor, frayed in mind, body and soul, gazing up at Hal, the very embodiment of grandeur hidden behind a coquettish smile. Hal who had lounged on his bed for what felt like hours as the two traded stories of old offense and disdain for court life. The occasional, rare laugh brimming to surface as Godric came to realize a small cruelty. 

      That six degrees of separation applied to Otherworlds as well. Though he didn’t think he had caught sight of Hal before – after centuries of freedom now, it was entirely possible he didn’t remember – the thought that there was always someone this blinding and pristine just out of reach was almost heartwrenching. If they had known each other in their respective Befores, he might know what to do. He might be capable of reading into the fae’s flirtations, or what it meant to be singled out during dances. He might allow himself to stop rebuffing endearments and tenderness. He might do a great many things. (“There’ll be nothing but gossip tomorrow about you abandoning your station yet again to drag me here. Only now...”)

      Tonight he is full of heart and full of fae spirits, as evidenced by the once shared empty bottle rolling around the bedroom floor somewhere. His cheeks flush from the wine and his heart drumming with either bravery or stupidity. It’s a blessing when, somewhere between distracted speeches, Hal seems to dip off into sleep because it means Godric has the perfect excuse to leave. To do nothing and leave, and to not act on a heart that hasn’t fluttered like this in nigh on a century, at least. And he shouldn���t -- he absolutely should hold no place in his heart for the same type of creature that once enslaved him. 

     “...Now I’m either the man who runs out before the sun wakes, or I sleep on your floor and make those rumors worse. Either way, I have absolutely nothing to show for it.” With some effort, he manages to get himself off of the floor and to brush off his backside. He considers, then, just leaving. But he finds himself walking up the bedside instead, reaching down to pull the comforter from one side of the bed to cover what he thinks is a sleeping fae. “Either way, it’s a game a trickery unto them and a way to pass the time for yourself. And either way, you’ve raked me through the coals.” And before he straightens, he moves to tuck some loose hair back into ornate braids but maybe -- just maybe -- there’s the quiet kiss blow against snowy tresses before they’re put back into place. 

[hillrot]

godric and his current trainwreck ships are tagged. need to retroactively tag some stuff.